Sentinel!Neal 19/19
Here's a request from a help_horses participant: the next (and last) installment of Sentinel!Neal. As you'll see, I've left myself plenty of scope for a sequel, but I think I've done everything I had in mind for this story. Thank you, Debs, for the generous donation that provided the necessary kick in the rear for me to come back to this universe!
“This is where the Clinic has you staying? It’s lovely,” Elizabeth said as they walked up a path to a small, lilac-covered cottage. She had been expecting something more institutional.
“Yeah, it’s nice,” Peter said. “I’m still not sure how Neal pulled this one off.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Neal said, from where he was walking a few feet behind them.
Before El could give Peter a disapproving look-was he still accusing Neal of wrongdoing all the time?-Peter said, “I know you didn’t.”
Neal didn’t answer that; El glanced back at him. His expression was quiet and serious, but when he saw her looking, he flashed her a big, fake-looking smile. She smiled back.
Peter unlocked the front door and held it open for her. She went inside, noticing that the cottage was just as lovely inside as out. It was open and airy, with a sitting area opening onto a dining area, then a kitchenette. Doors to either side led, presumably, to bedrooms and bathroom. As she got her bearings, Elizabeth heard Peter say, “Are you coming in? Geez; you’re like a cat.”
Neal came inside and stood by the door, holding the carryon bag he’d insisted on taking for her in both hands, looking like he was the guest, and unsure of his welcome to boot.
That wasn’t good. At the airport, after coming down the ramp and greeting Peter with an enthusiastic kiss, she’d looked around for Neal and found him standing a few yards away, looking at the ceiling. She’d assumed at the time that he was hoping to disassociate himself from the public display, like a teenager trying to pretend he’d never met those embarrassing adults in his vicinity. On the ride from the airport, he’d been quiet-but he’d been sitting in the back of the car, and she and Peter had a lot to catch up on, so she hadn’t thought much of it.
Now, though….now it was looking more like Neal didn’t think he belonged here, or didn’t belong with Peter now that she was here. Something like that.
Shutting the door behind him, Peter said, “Here, let me take that,” and reached for her carryon. Taking it from Neal, he added to her, “Our room’s this one-I’ll just put these….” He disappeared into the first bedroom for a moment. Returning, he looked at Neal, who was still standing by the door. “You okay?”
Neal came to life. “Yeah! Yeah, fine. I’ll just-you know what, you guys probably want some privacy.” He dodged past Peter, into the other bedroom, and shut the door behind him.
Elizabeth looked over at Peter, who shrugged and said, “Mm, privacy,” pulling her in for a kiss.
#
Someone knocked on Neal’s door, then opened it. “Neal?” Peter said. “Dinner.”
Neal got up from where he’d been lying on the bed, trying to read. It had been a tremendous relief when the sounds and smells of Peter starting to cook the pot roast he’d been talking about all weekend replaced those of Peter and Elizabeth making out just steps from Neal’s bedroom. It was no surprise that, as a healthy and affectionate couple, Peter and Elizabeth would be having what Neal decided to think of as ‘marital relations’ during this visit. He had worried, a little, about how he might react to the sensory evidence of that fact. According to the reading he’d done, a territorial freakout was entirely possible. Completely out of line, given the parameters of their relationship, but possible.
Going into the main room, Neal wondered if he should fix himself a plate and go back to his room. Peter and Elizabeth didn’t need him getting in the way during the limited time they had together-it was bad enough that they’d be sacrificing their afternoons to go to the Clinic.
On the other hand, not eating with them might look like he was resentful of Elizabeth being here, which he most definitely was not; she had every right to be here. Where Peter was.
And the table was set with three places, so that answered that question. He’d eat with them, be funny and charming, and then go back to giving them privacy. Plan.
“So that’s the famous pot roast,” he said as Peter approached the table with a platter. “It looks….” Neal meant to say something complimentary, but words failed him. On the platter were chunks of meat that had been boiled until they lost all structural cohesion, heaped together with dingy orange and beige lumps of carrot and potatoes.
“It’s not very photogenic,” Elizabeth said.
“Trust me,” Peter said.
Neal recovered. “It smells good,” he said hopefully.
“If it wasn’t good, I’d have made Peter take us out to dinner,” Elizabeth said. “Don’t worry.”
He wasn’t sure if he would have taken Peter’s word for it, but if Elizabeth thought it was good, maybe it would be all right.
Elizabeth was pouring wine, and Neal took a grateful sip as he sat down. Peter was scooping meat, potatoes, and carrots onto each of their plates, following it up with generous dollops of brownish gravy. Neal was reminded of a school cafeteria. Or a prison one.
But it actually did smell good, he reminded himself. Still, he waited until he saw Elizabeth take her first bite, with every sign of genuine enthusiasm, before trying it himself.
It was actually…good. Tender, definitely-so tender it practically fell apart on the fork. The flavor was very simple-the main notes were beef, carrot, black pepper, and salt-but intense and satisfying. The slightly earthy red that Elizabeth paired it with-Neal was almost certain Peter hadn’t chosen it-was an excellent choice. “This is-actually really good.” He had a feeling his tone betrayed an unflattering amount of surprise.
“And you doubted me,” Peter said smugly.
“Honey,” Elizabeth said, “everyone doubts you about the pot roast, at first. I’m pretty sure even Satchmo was dubious.”
As they ate, Elizabeth talked about some of her recent jobs, and they talked a little about the art cache. “Yesterday, we found something I’m pretty sure is a lost Vermeer,” Neal remarked.
“Really?” Elizabeth asked.
“If it’s not, I’d like to meet the forger,” Neal said with a shrug. “There are still some tests I want to do.”
“Can I see it?” She glanced over at Peter. “Peter?”
“It’s still in the lab,” Neal pointed out. If it had been sealed in an evidence crate, they’d need some kind of excuse to take it back out, but as it was, nobody would ever know.
“All right, I suppose,” Peter said. “But I’m not really supposed to be showing evidence to civilians.”
“We could smuggle her in,” Neal suggested. “The loading dock around back is not very well secured.” He’d noticed that on their second visit to the police station. “After that, it’s just a matter of avoiding the security cameras on the way to the labs-I might need to work that part out on a piece of paper. And Peter has an access card, so once we get there, we’re in.”
“Or we could just walk in the front door,” Peter said dryly. “I’m an FBI agent; no one’s going to stop us.”
“Oh, right,” Neal said. “Social engineering. Look like you’re supposed to be there, and nobody will ask any questions.”
“I don’t know; Neal’s plan sounds more exciting,” Elizabeth said.
“Exciting isn’t really a positive when you’re planning a con.” He must be spending too much time hanging around Mozzie, Neal thought. He was picking up on his taste for the Baroque.
“It’s not a con,” Peter said.
“You just said you’re not supposed to be doing it,” Neal said. “And you’re doing it anyway. It’s a con. Just a little one.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t, then,” Peter said.
“Peter,” El said, with a sigh. “Don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud.” Neal knew there was something he liked about her.
“I don’t want to set a bad example for Neal,” he said.
Well, that was no good-Neal hadn’t meant to deprive Elizabeth of the chance to see the maybe-probably-likely Vermeer. “Elizabeth, didn’t you mention once that you know a fair amount about seventeenth-century Dutch furnishings?”
She caught on quickly. “Well, I wouldn’t say I’m an expert, but I did a paper on them in college.”
“Oh, well, in that case, you should have a look at the sideboard in the background of this painting. Tell us whether you it looks legit or not.”
“I could do that,” she agreed brightly.
Now it was Peter’s turn to sigh.
After dinner, Elizabeth said she wanted to have a walk around the campus. “Neal, why don’t you come and show me around, while Peter’s busy with the dishes?”
Neal had been about to suggest the opposite, but Elizabeth seemed to know what she wanted, so he didn’t argue. Even though he had a moment’s panic that she wanted to talk about his obvious and inappropriate attraction to her husband.
They started out with a circuit of the Clinic garden. “You and Peter seem to be settling in,” she observed. “Things are a lot less tense than the last time we all had dinner together.”
“Yeah,” Neal said. That was a slightly more comfortable topic than the one he’d been fearing. “Yeah, we’re…doing pretty well.” Their feet crunched softly on the graveled pathway. “He’s a stand-up guy. I always knew that.”
“Are you still worried about ruining our marriage?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “But I’m…getting more confident that we can figure something out that works for all of us.” At least, he would be confident if not for what he decided to think of as the Backrub Problem. With Elizabeth in the same time zone, it was painfully obvious that jerking off while thinking about Peter was nothing other than creepy and inappropriate.
“That’s good,” she said, slipping her arm into his.
“I’m getting a little bit spoiled out here,” he added. “You know, with the cottage and everything.” Everything including having Peter all to himself. He didn’t mention that.
He could manage to avoid the actual jerking-off part, but he couldn’t do anything about the arousal. And the fact that Peter responded the same way didn’t make it any better. Maybe they could keep a lid on things during Elizabeth’s visit, but they were still supposed to do backrubs two or three times a week after they went back to New York.
“The cottage is lovely,” she agreed.
“It is,” he said. “I guess Sentinels can be fussy, and they’re used to indulging them. Us. I’m not going to argue with them about it.” He grinned and shrugged. “Have you seen the whirlpool tub yet? Make sure you don’t miss that.” That wasn’t getting him quite as far from the topic of sex as he would have liked, but it was a start.
She laughed. “I’ll have to try it.”
He nodded. “I don’t even have one of those in New York.” He thought June’s own bathroom might, but his apartment just had a shower. Which, he reminded himself, he didn’t have to share with a hundred possibly violent other guys. He’d managed to be left alone in prison, but it still wasn’t exactly relaxing.
“Peter might be almost sorry to come home,” she said.
“I’m sure he won’t be,” Neal said gallantly. He would be, but that wasn’t really the point. “I’m glad you could come out,” he said instead. He was-he did like Elizabeth, and they needed to figure out how they were all going to live, once this West-coast Idyll was over.
“So am I,” she said. “Is that the famous museum?”
“Yes,” Neal said. They’d left the garden and started up the pathway toward the center of campus, which took them near the museum. “You’ll have to alibi me if anything happens.”
“Should we go in?” she asked.
“I think they’re about to close,” Neal answered, checking his watch.
As they passed the main entrance, two familiar figures came out. “Mr. Neal!” Sophia yelled, running down the sidewalk toward them.
Neal winced slightly. “Hi, Sophia,” he said, stepping out of her enthusiastic hug as quickly as he could. “Sophia, this is, uh, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Hi Sophia,” she said.
Grabbing his free hand, Sophia leaned back to study Elizabeth. “Can you see Kitty and Doggie?”
“I don’t know; I haven’t been to the museum yet,” she answered.
“Mr. Neal can see them,” Sophia informed him. “And Mr. Jim and Mr. Blair. But Mommy can’t, and Mr. Peter can’t, and Miss Julie my teacher at school can’t, and--”
“Sophia,” her mother said, catching up. “I think Mr. Neal might be busy with his…friend.” She gave Elizabeth a very dubious look.
“Hi,” Elizabeth said, extending her hand. “I’m Elizabeth Burke. Peter’s wife.”
“Amanda,” she said, briefly shaking Elizabeth’s hand.
“How come you weren’t at the party?” Sophia asked.
“She was still in New York then,” Neal explained. “She just came out to see Peter for a few days.”
“To see both of you,” Elizabeth said.
Neal glanced over at her. Really?
“Neal’s a friend of the family, as well as Peter’s Sentinel,” Elizabeth went on.
“That’s…nice,” Amanda said. “Sophia, say goodbye-we have to get home.”
“Bye, Sophia,” Neal said.
“Bye Mr. Neal! Bye Miss Elizabeth!”
Once they were out of earshot, Elizabeth observed, “That’s the little girl Guide you met at the museum, right? Her mom didn’t seem very friendly.”
“Yep,” Neal said. “She…just found out about the felon on work-release thing. She wasn’t exactly thrilled about it. I can see why-the kid’s crazy about me, for some reason, and she can’t suddenly say she doesn’t want her talking to me without some kind of explanation.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Elizabeth said. She looked off in the direction Sophia and Amanda had gone. “I’d like to give her a piece of my mind.”
“It turns out a lot of people find the idea of a criminal Sentinel a little scary,” Neal said.
“If they know you, they should know better.”
She sounded so confident that Neal couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth nodded and smiled. “Tell me about these people I’ll be meeting tomorrow,” she suggested.
“At the Clinic, you mean?”
She nodded.
Neal told her about Tim and Dr. Desai as they circled around the museum and started back. “We haven’t met the work-life balance people yet. There’s also Selena, but we probably won’t be doing that while you’re here.” God, he hoped not. “She does…relaxation exercises and stuff.”
“I’ve heard about that,” Elizabeth said. Before he could get really worried about what she might have heard, she added, “Peter isn’t exactly a fan.”
“I’d noticed,” Neal said. “I’m not, either, but they tell us it’s important.” He quickly changed the subject to the Vermeer.
It was the same sort of conversation they’d had on the phone a couple of times now-a bit of talking about Peter, a bit of talking about him, a bit of talking about less personal topics. It was getting less excruciatingly awkward every time.
When they got back to the cottage, Peter had the dishwasher running and the pots and pans dried and put away. After exchanging a few words with him, Neal picked up Operation: Give Them Some Privacy where he’d left off. Going into his room and shutting the door, he very carefully ignored the obvious-to-a-Sentinel fact that Peter and Elizabeth were necking on the couch.
He kept right on ignoring it-and reading the same page in his book over and over-until they retired to the bedroom. The familiar smell of Peter’s arousal mixed with Elizabeth’s. Not a Guide’s scent, but just as intoxicating-Neal had always loved women, and she was beautiful and charming. And to the very small, frequently quashed part of himself that looked at Peter and growled mine, the fact that she was Peter’s wife made the whole thing even hotter.
He didn’t, as he had feared, want to run in there and tear the intruder away from his Guide. No, he wanted to run in there and have them both, one after the other. Or simultaneously. He wasn’t picky. Maybe he could bury his face between El’s thighs while Peter fucked him from behind.
His hand went to his cock, seemingly of its own volition. El’s scent was so heavy in the air he could almost taste her, panting with his mouth open. Was Peter eating her out? He bet he was. If he was in there, Peter could tell him just what she liked. He’d use the same voice he used when they were doing relaxation exercises or sensory work, the one that went straight to his hind-brain. Flick her clit with your tongue, he’d say, or Really drive into her, she likes that. And at the same time, Peter would be gripping his hips and driving into him-not hard, but deep and powerful. Maybe he’d bring them off at the same time, and they’d collapse into a sweaty heap, Peter warm and solid against his back, him nuzzling his face against El’s breasts and belly.
And once they’d caught their breath, they’d take him in hand-El’s slender fingers overlapping with Peter’s broader ones. It would only take a few strokes, after what he’d done to them, and then they’d lick him off of each other’s fingers….
It wasn’t until the moments after his climax, when he was panting to catch his own breath, and listening to El trying to stifle her moans in the other room, that he realized the magnitude of the boundary he’d just breached. Cleaning himself up as quickly as he could, he grabbed his phone and hurried outside. Collapsing into one of the porch chairs, he dialed with shaking hands.
“Moz? I am completely, totally, and absolutely fucked.”
#
“So,” Tim said after a little preliminary chit-chat about El’s flight and how she liked Cascade, “how’s it working out, sharing Peter?”
Neal choked on his pomegranate juice. Peter thumped him on the back, glad for the distraction. Tim’s question had produced a sudden and vivid mental image that he was certain was not the sort of “sharing” that the therapist had in mind.
“Neal, sweetie, are you all right?” El asked.
Neal nodded frantically, and after a few more coughs said raspily, “Just…went down the wrong pipe.” He took another, cautious sip of his drink. This one seemed to go down all right. “It’s going fine. Uh. Great. Clear sailing so far.”
El nodded. “I thought Neal was avoiding me at first, but I think he was just trying to give us some alone-time.”
“Right,” Neal said. “I thought you guys might want some….you know…privacy.”
Tim nodded. “That’s important. Peter? What do you think?”
For a panicked second, Peter thought Tim was asking what he thought about “…you know …privacy.” But he meant the original question. About the sharing. “Fine,” he echoed. “No problems.” Apart from the fact that he hadn’t quite found a way to tell El about his inappropriate reactions during the mandatory backrubs. He’d thought it was better done in person than on the phone, but now that El was here, there was a new problem: he knew how good Neal’s hearing was, and there wasn’t anywhere in the cottage where they could discuss the matter without the chance of Neal accidentally overhearing.
“That’s good,” Tim said. “Of course, I’m sure everyone’s on their best behavior for the first day of Elizabeth’s visit. That’s a little difficult to sustain over the long term.”
“We won’t all be living in the same house once we go back,” Neal pointed out.
There was an idea, maybe he could wait to tell El about it when they went home. It seemed like a long time to sit on a secret like that, but there were extenuating circumstances, weren’t there?
“Yes, and that brings its own challenges, doesn’t it?”
So they talked about that for a while-the ways that Neal could feel left out if he felt Peter was always rushing home as soon as they finished working, the ways El could feel neglected if being Neal’s Guide extended his already long work hours. And the ways that Peter could feel pulled in conflicting directions.
“I can handle it,” Peter said, but no one seemed particularly interested in that.
“I think one thing we ought to do is make sure all three of us get together on a regular basis,” El said. “I’m thinking family dinner…maybe not every week, but as close as we can manage with everyone’s schedules.”
Neal was nodding. “I’d like that. And we can do it at my place, sometimes,” he added.
“He’s a good cook,” Peter told El. They’d gone to their old breakfast place by the motel that morning, and lunch had just been sandwiches, so she hadn’t had a chance to experience Neal’s cooking yet.
“Do you think it might be difficult having a stranger in your primary territory?” Tim asked.
“She’s not a stranger; she’s Peter’s wife,” Neal said.
“I know you think that’s the right answer, but is it what you really feel?”
“Yes,” Neal said mulishly.
Elizabeth pointed out sensibly, “We can always try it, and if it’s a problem we can just use our place instead. Or restaurants.”
“Or June’s dining room,” Neal added. “I don’t think she’d mind. If it was going to be a problem.”
Their second session of the day was with the work-life balance team, a young man named Keith and a woman named Emily.
“I can tell you’re a Sentinel,” Neal said to Keith. “But…are you?” he asked Emily.
“Mundane spouse of a Guide,” she said with a smile. “You can probably smell Marcia on me; that trips a lot of Sentinels up.”
“Yes,” Neal said, sniffing discretely. “Okay, I can see it now.”
Most of the session was spent filling Keith and Emily in on their situation. Peter suspected they’d been briefed in advance; they didn’t bat an eye over Peter’s UnRegistered status or Neal’s tracking anklet. Then they repeated some of the same reassuring statistics that Blair had spouted a couple of weeks ago. “It’s very common for one or both of a working Sentinel-Guide pair to have a spouse or partner,” Keith said. “Divorce rates are a little higher than the national average-but that’s also true of mundanes in careers that require a high level of commitment, like law enforcement. Since Sentinels and Guides are over-represented in those fields, it’s difficult to separate the two effects, statistically.”
Elizabeth nodded. “A lot of Agents’ spouses feel like the job, or the partner, or both, are third parties in their marriage. Go into the kitchen at any FBI party and you’ll find half a dozen wives, and one or two husbands, talking about it. It’s the people who try to fight it that have problems. You can’t tell your spouse that they have to risk, I don’t know, leaving a serial killer free to strike again because it’s Date Night. You just can’t.”
“It’s the same with police spouses,” Emily agreed, adding as an aside, “Marcia is Cascade PD.” Peter wondered if they’d met her-maybe during the search for Kate; they had mostly used last names then. “Personally, I’ve found that sometimes it’s harder to accept if she has to work late because, oh, John has a headache, or something like that. What do you think about that, Elizabeth?”
“It hasn’t come up yet,” she answered.
“You don’t consider this month it ‘coming up’?” Neal asked. His tone was curious, not hostile.
“I agreed to this month,” she reminded him. “And no, it’s pretty clear that this is an emergency.” She considered. “I don’t think I’ll like it very much if Peter always puts Neal’s needs first.”
“No reason why you should,” Neal said. “Or why he should.”
“I’m your Guide,” Peter pointed out.
“And her husband,” Neal said.
“Neal, sweetie,” Elizabeth broke in. “Let’s keep in mind that I’m perfectly capable of speaking up for myself if I feel like Peter’s neglecting me, all right?”
Neal looked startled. “Right. Yes, of course you can. But--”
“But, nothing. Understanding how I feel and communicating about it is my job. Understanding how you feel and communicating about it is your job.” She turned to Peter. “And-I cannot stress this enough-understanding how you feel and communicating about it is your job.”
Peter and Neal both nodded meekly.
#
“Concentrate on your breathing. In…out…in…out.”
Elizabeth sneaked one eye open, seeing Neal in his perfect half-lotus and Peter sitting awkwardly crosslegged next to him. It was after dinner, and she was sitting in on Peter and Neal’s relaxation practice. She had to admit, it was a side of Peter she hadn’t seen before. He complained a lot about the relaxation exercises, but once they got started, he took them as seriously as he did everything else.
She was a little disappointed that they weren’t doing clouds, though.
Peter shifted his weight in her direction, and she quickly shut her eyes again. They continued breathing for another minute or two, until Peter said, “All right.” She heard the sounds of clothing rustling, and opened her eyes again to see Neal unfolding his legs and stretching. She did the same.
“Right,” Neal said, starting to get to his feet. “That was nice. I’ll just--”
“We haven’t done backrubs yet,” Peter pointed out.
“Uh…I thought maybe we’d skip those today, Peter,” Neal suggested.
“Do you want to tell Tim and Selena we skipped it?”
“I can do that,” Neal agreed. “Totally. No problem.”
“Tough,” Peter said. “Take off your shirt; I’ll get the cushions.”
“Maybe I should take a walk,” Elizabeth suggested. Peter tended to get a little cagey when talking about this part of their relaxation exercises, and she thought he might be less embarrassed about it if she wasn’t watching.
“No!” Peter yelped. “I mean, I think you should stay. If Neal doesn’t mind.”
Neal looked back and forth between the two of them. “Whatever you guys think is best,” he said cautiously.
“I can stay, if you’d rather,” she agreed. Maybe he thought having her in the room would protect him from any possible gay cooties. How adorable was that?
Peter arranged the couch cushions on the floor as Neal slowly, with several poorly-concealed glances in her direction, unbuttoned his shirt.
She could see what Peter was concerned about-clothed, Neal was seriously gorgeous; stripped to the waist, he was a sort of cross between a Botticelli angel and a Greek god. Seeing him spread out on the cushions waiting to be rubbed made her feel a slight need for a cold shower.
Or maybe a warm bath. She moved to the armchair, where she’d be out of the way, and watched as Peter knelt stiffly next to Neal and got started.
Peter worked in near-silence, only occasionally saying something like, “How’s that?” or “Good?” Neal answered with sleepy murmurs of agreement. Before long, his face took on a blissed, heavy-lidded expression similar to Satch in the middle of a serious tummy rub.
“Okay?” Peter said, finishing up just above the waistband of Neal’s yoga pants.
“Uh-huh. Yeah. I’m just gonna lay here for a minute.”
“All right,” Peter said, standing up. As he did so, Elizabeth caught sight of the very obvious tenting in the front of his trousers, which had formerly been concealed by his kneeling position.
She followed him into their bedroom. “Peter,” she said sweetly. “Is there something you wanted to tell me?”
He winced. “El, it’s--” He glanced at the closed door of their room and lowered his voice. “Nothing happened. And I have to do it-Sentinels need to be touched by their Guides. It’s a thing.”
“I know,” she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “So that’s why you don’t like the relaxation exercises.”
“One reason,” Peter agreed, sitting on the edge of the bed. “And it’s more that I like them a little too much. I was going to tell you, but I couldn’t figure out how to….”
“Raise the subject?” she suggested. She heard the shower coming on from the other side of the cottage. Somehow, she didn’t think Neal was in a big hurry to wash Peter’s scent off of himself.
“Tell you that I’m having inappropriate feelings about my CI,” he answered, clearly not amused.
“Normal feelings about your Sentinel,” she suggested instead. “I don’t blame you,” she said, sitting next to him. “He’s beautiful.”
Peter had his you’re-not-taking-this-seriously-enough expression on.
“And just your type,” she added, drawing him into a kiss.
“Mm,” he said. “You know how I feel about smart brunettes.”
“I do,” she agreed.
He kissed his way down her neck. “I thought it might be easier to stay professional with you there, but-God, both of you in the same room.”
“We’re not both in the same room now,” she pointed out, undoing his waistband and slipping her hand inside.
“Uh…no…better hurry, if we’re going to be done while he’s still in the shower.”
#
He’d thought last night was bad. Neal stroked himself with a wet, soapy hand, imagining Elizabeth getting up from the armchair to join in the “relaxation,” two pairs of hands touching him, rubbing him. His pants disappeared, somewhere, in this fantasy, giving them more bare skin to work with. And they quickly went beyond anything that could remotely be considered therapeutic massage, kissing and licking. Together, they rolled him onto his back, and someone’s lips brushed the head of his cock-
Neal was scrupulously careful to wash every last trace of come down the drain. Not even another Sentinel would be able to detect it.
The thing was, to a Sentinel, a woman’s arousal was just as obvious as a man’s. Elizabeth had been turned on too, out there in the living room. Not as much as he was, maybe, and not as much as Peter-but then, she hadn’t actually been participating.
Neal wasn’t sure if that made the whole thing better or worse. But it definitely made it more complicated.
#
The next day at their session with Tim, he opened by saying, “Neal, you said something last week that I want to pick up on.”
Elizabeth peeked over at Neal, who was sitting on Peter’s other side on the couch in Tim’s office. He had his usual bright smile, but El thought it might be a little fixed.
“Which thing?” Neal asked.
“You mentioned that your father had an affair with his Guide, Ellen, while he was married to your mother.”
Oh, Neal. No wonder he and Peter hadn’t managed to say anything about their obvious attraction for each other.
“Yes, he did,” Neal agreed. “And yes, I have considered the possibility that that’s why I think being my Guide could put a strain on Peter’s marriage.”
Tim nodded. “That was one of my follow-up questions. Matter of sexuality can be…complicated, for Sentinels and Guides.”
“We’re not having sex,” Peter said, very carefully not looking at her. “It’s a strictly professional relationship.”
“Okay,” Tim said, nodding. “Let’s back up to Neal’s father and Ellen for a moment. Neal, you said that Ellen told you that your mother was aware of the relationship and consented to it.”
“That’s actually pretty common,” El spoke up. “I joined a Facebook group for mundane spouses,” she added in answer to Peter’s questioning look. “Apparently some couples feel that since the relationship between a Sentinel and Guide is so intense anyway, there’s no point fighting to keep sex out of it.” She wasn’t sure how she’d feel about that herself.
Neal and Peter were now both blushing furiously. Tim quickly glanced back and forth between them before adding, “Yes, and some feel that, for the same reason, sex should be reserved for the marital partnership. There’s no single answer that works for every partnership.”
It would have been a good time, Elizabeth thought, for someone to bring up Peter’s attraction to Neal. But Peter was clearly doing everything he could to keep them away from that subject. “I’m sure we could talk about it, if something like that came up,” she ventured.
“It’s not going to come up,” Neal said quickly.
“Right,” said Peter.
She gave up.
#
Astonishingly, they managed to get through the next couple of days without talking about it again. In the mornings they did touristy things-the wharf, a hike in the nearby mountains, shopping for presents for El’s nieces-and in the afternoons they went to the Clinic and talked about things like the importance of open communication and how Peter should have some backup in the Guide department.
Keith and Emily were asking about Neal’s social support system, apart from Peter-it seemed to consist of June and the J. Edgar Hoover guy, something Peter decided not to look at any more closely than he had to-when Keith asked who he for respite.
“What?” Peter asked blankly.
“There are other Guides in your workplace, aren’t there?”
“Uh-sure,” Peter said. “Not in White Collar, but in the New York bureau, yeah.” He wasn’t entirely sure who any of them were. “I don’t really know them.”
“You should,” Keith told him, “And Neal should meet them. It’s important for both of you to know who you can call on if something goes wrong and Peter isn’t available.”
Emily nodded. “Sentinels don’t like to share their Guides, but in an emergency, they’ll cope. Suppose Peter gets hurt, for instance?”
Another thing Peter hadn’t even thought of. White Collar was supposed to be low risk, but somehow, things had a way of not quite working out how they were supposed to. He could just imagine Neal having some kind of Sentinel meltdown in the ER waiting room, and El scrambling to find someone who could come handle it. She’d manage, somehow, but it was better to be prepared.
So the subject of how they all needed to get to know more Sentinels and Guides was on their minds when they ran into Dr. Temas, the little Sentinel ophthalmologist, on their way out of the Clinic.
“Hi Neal, Peter,” he said. “Kas, look, it’s Neal and Peter.”
“Hi,” Peter said. “My wife, Elizabeth,” he added, indicating her.
“Angel Temas,” he said, offering her his hand. “I didn’t know Peter was married.”
“I’ve been holding down the fort at home while the boys are out here,” she explained. “I just came for a visit.”
“Neat. Hey, you know what? You guys should come to my party.”
“Angel,” Kas said.
“No, they should. It’s tonight, at our house. There’ll be lots of people there you met at the other party-Guides, Sentinels, Clinic people.” He looked worried for a second. “But not Bob. Just nice people.” He bounced a little on his toes.
“Uh, thanks for asking us,” Peter said. “But it’s El’s last night in town, so….”
“I think we should go, hon,” she said. “I’d like to meet some more Sentinels and Guides.”
“Yeah,” said Temas. “You know, there’ll be some mundane spouses, too. Kelly, and, uh, let’s see. If Eduardo comes, he’ll bring Hank.”
“Mike and Laura,” Kas added.
“Right, them too.” Bouncing again, Temas took out a business card and scribbled on the back. “That’s the address. We’re starting pretty early, since it’s a weeknight. About seven-ish.”
“Why are you having a party on a Wednesday, anyway?”
“It’s my birthday,” Temas answered. “Oh! But you don’t have to bring me a present. If you don’t want to.”
Peter would have been happy to take him at his word, but El and Neal both agreed that meant they’d better show up with something. They settled on a bottle of wine as the simplest option, and discussed varietals and vintages enthusiastically for the rest of the short walk home.
#
When they got to Angel’s place, Neal regretted more than ever that he hadn’t managed somehow to fend off Peter’s insistence that they do “relaxation exercises” before coming here. Peter had said that they wouldn’t want to do them after the party, and Neal suspected he had a point-being a little tipsy would only make it likelier that one of them would blunder into the subject they had been dancing around since Monday night.
On the other hand, it was a Sentinel party, and all three of them positively reeked of sex. There was probably some kind of etiquette thing-or if there wasn’t, there should be.
Any hope Neal had that it was somehow not obvious to any of the other dozen or so Sentinels at the party was dashed when they ran into Jim and Blair, by the present table. “Oh, hi, guys,” Blair said. “And Elizabeth.” They had all met briefly the other day, when they went to the police station to look at the Vermeer.
Elizabeth and Blair made polite small-talk for a moment or two, but Neal didn’t miss the way Jim’s nostrils flared slightly, or the way, as they separated, Jim leaned down to whisper something to Blair that made him cast a startled look in their direction before assuming a studied air of nonchalance.
The best course of action, Neal decided, would be to break up the trio. Peter and El smelling like they’d been going at it would be completely unremarkable. So he grabbed a glass of wine and started to circulate. Angel’s collection of friends, he discovered, was more eclectic than he’d let on. There were quite a few Sentinels, Guides, and Clinic people at the party. There was also a sizeable contingent from the Northwestern Llama and Alpaca Club, another from Angel’s church, and many others Neal couldn’t categorize. He ended up joining in a surprisingly fascinating conversation with a radical Catholic priest, a fiber artist, and a science-fiction novelist, which started out being about altar cloths and ranged over a vast array of other subjects. He learned, among other things, that there were regional differences in llama fiber that, to a connoisseur, were as recognizable as those among wine-producing regions.
“What do you do?” the priest asked Neal, when the fiber artist had finished describing her latest project.
“Oh, well, that’s kind of a funny story.” On that Neal wasn’t exactly thrilled about telling, considering how it had gone over at last week’s party. “I work for the FBI-but I used to be a con man.” He delivered the last with a bright smile.
His new friends, at least, took the news without bolting, or backing away with fixed smiles on their faces. “How did you manage that career change?” the novelist asked.
“I’m on work release from a federal penitentiary,” he said with another bright smile. “I have a tracking anklet.”
The novelist proceeded to ask him several follow-up questions about exactly how that worked. The fiber artist and the priest drifted away during that, but Neal had the impression it was more because they weren’t particularly interested in the subject than because they feared for their wallets, so that was all right.
After Angel cut his birthday cake-chocolate with buttercream frosting and a nicely tart raspberry filling-several guests clamored for him to open his birthday presents. As Neal had suspected, their bottle of wine was one of the less impressive offerings. The fiber artist had given him a sweater knitted from the fiber of Angel’s personal llamas-which answered Neal’s question about the slight aroma of livestock that he’d noticed on their way up the drive.
#
Dr. Temas’s house was a great party space-an open-plan A-frame with a cathedral-ceilinged great room and plenty of little nooks for more intimate conversations. Elizabeth wished more of her clients had a place like it-trying to arrange a party for a hundred people in a Manhattan apartment’s living room was usually a nightmare.
Still, when everyone gathered in the great room at once for the cake and presents, it became a little claustrophobic. After finishing her cake, El took the rest of her glass of wine out onto the back deck for some fresh air.
She was leaning on the railing, admiring the landscaping and wondering if there was any way of incorporating a water feature into their postage-stamp backyard in Brooklyn, when the door slid open behind her. She glanced over her shoulder.
“Just me,” said Angel Temas, with a little wave.
“Happy birthday,” she said with a smile. “You have a lovely home.”
“Thanks; we like it.” He picked a spot of railing a few feet down from hers and leaned on it. “Go back to sleep, Carlos,” he said to the empty air.
“Hm?” she asked.
“One of my llamas,” he explained, waving a hand in the direction of a small barn some distance away. “He’s humming at me. They do that.”
“I didn’t hear anything,” she said.
“Well, you’re not a Sentinel.” He shrugged. “How is that, by the way?”
“How is it that I’m not a Sentinel?” she asked, a little confused.
“No, I just meant…you and Peter, Peter and Neal.” He made a vague gesture. “Sorry, I’m being rude. I just can’t quite imagine what it would be like if Kas was married. To someone else, I mean. But I guess you three have it all worked out.” Another gesture. “You know. Probably the best way. I don’t know if I could handle that-I’m not really an orgy person-oh, hi Peter. Hi Neal.”
Elizabeth turned around to see Peter and Neal coming through the sliding door, Peter carrying her jacket. Neal distinctly mouthed the words Oh, shit.
“Orgy?” Peter asked.
“Well, you know, threesome,” Angel babbled. “Maybe that doesn’t count as an orgy. I’ve never looked up the strict definition. You know, maybe I’ll go check if we have enough ice. Bye!” He darted between Peter and Neal and into the house, before either of them could do anything more than look gobsmacked.
“El,” Peter said. “Is there any particular reason Temas thinks we’re having a threesome?”
“I’m not sure,” El said.
“Ah,” Neal said. “Well. You know. That’s the thing about Sentinels.”
#
Neal had thought that stumbling on Angel and Elizabeth talking about orgies was the most embarrassing moment of his life to date. It was quickly trumped, however, by the next several moments in which he tried to explain how Angel had come to that particular conclusion.
The moments after that, when Kas came out onto the deck to apologize for the complete lack of any filter between his Sentinel’s brain and his mouth, were almost refreshing by comparison.
Fortunately, guests were starting to drift away from the party, so they made their goodbyes and joined the exodus. The ride back to the cottage was…quiet. That was fine, Neal thought. He could handle quiet. Maybe they would be able to just go back to carefully not-talking about it, which had been working out just fine for the last several days.
But as soon as they got back to the cottage, and Elizabeth had poured glasses of wine for each of them-Peter, who had been their designated driver, gulped his-she said, “All right, I’m just going to say it.”
There went that idea. Damn Mozzie, who, Monday night, had convinced him that his first impulse to run away, if possible to a remote island with no extradition treaty with the US, or back to prison if not, was premature. Now Peter really was going to kill him.
“It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” Elizabeth finished.
That was…anticlimactic. And not very flattering. But those thoughts quickly fled as all the blood in his brain made a rapid and immediate plunge southward. Peter was clearly having the same problem; Neal thought even Elizabeth ought to be able to smell how turned on he was-and if not, the way his mouth was hanging open might have been a clue.
Elizabeth rescued the wine glass from Peter’s slack hand before he could spill it. “I don’t think we should rush into anything,” she continued, “but we’re all consenting adults, and we’re all attracted to each other. It’s something to think about.”
Neal managed to pull himself together first-for a given value of “together,” at least. “Are you serious?” he asked. “I mean-you-Peter-me-getting sweaty and naked, seriously?”
“Oh my God,” said Peter. He sat down on the edge of the couch and put his head in his hands.
“That’s not a no,” Neal observed. “I mean, nobody’s run out of the room or thrown a drink in anyone’s face. This is already the closest I’ve ever gotten to a threesome.”
“Really?” said Peter. “What about you and that girl thief? Alicia Barnes, Alice Baxter, whatever her real name is.”
“No,” Neal said. “She and Kate didn’t like each other very much. It was a struggle to even get them to pull a three-man con together.” Alex and Mozzie could have happened, but Neal didn’t really see Mozzie that way. “What about you guys?”
“We’ve talked about it, but we’ve never found the right third,” Elizabeth answered. “I think we’re getting sidetracked. Neal, it sounds like you’re on board.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I am so on board.”
“Peter?” asked Elizabeth.
He groaned. “I want to say yes. I so, so want to say yes. But.”
“But?” Neal asked. He didn’t like the sound of that.
“But I’m your custodial agent,” he said, looking pained.
“So?” Neal asked.
“So it would be…inappropriate.”
“I’m a Sentinel, remember?” he asked. The books were pretty clear that Sentinels and Guides were exceptions to professional standards about fraternization and conflict of interest. “And you’re a Guide. And Elizabeth doesn’t work with either of us.”
“It’s not that,” Peter said. “There could be an…appearance of coercion.”
“I didn’t think about that,” Elizabeth admitted.
Of course she hadn’t. Who in their right mind would think of something like that in the face of such brain-melting hotness? Only Peter. “Nobody’s going to think that,” Neal said.
“They could,” Peter said.
“No. No, and I can prove it,” Neal said.
“How?”
“Blair didn’t,” he said triumphantly. “And if anybody was going to, it would be Blair. With the shooting and the horsewhipping.
“Blair wasn’t there,” Peter pointed out. “He doesn’t know. Not that there’s anything to know. But if there was he didn’t know it.”
“Pretty sure Jim told him,” Neal answered.
“How would Jim--”
“Same way Angel did.”
“You mean every Sentinel at that party thinks we’re--”
“Just the ones who saw us together.”
“Oh,” Elizabeth said. “That’s why you disappeared right after we ran into Jim and Blair?”
“Yep,” Neal said.
Peter groaned again.
“Anyway,” Neal continued, “since they already think we are, we might as well.” He was pleased with that bit of logic.
Peter opened and closed his mouth several times. “That’s not how it works!”
“Maybe we can come up with some kind of compromise,” Elizabeth suggested.
#
Neal’s lips traced a line of kisses across her cheek and down her neck. “Mm,” he murmured into her skin. “You smell like Peter. Peter was kissing you here earlier, wasn’t he Before the party?”
“Yes,” she said.
“That’s so hot.”
El had to agree. She was already regretting the limits of the compromise they had agreed on-making out, fully clothed, with an agreement to discuss going further once they were all back in New York. She knew it was the right choice, the sensible choice. For the three of them to dive headfirst into a sexual relationship had so many ways to end badly. But she was soaking wet and dying for more. “Peter, why don’t you get the other side,” she suggested breathlessly.
One problem with the kissing compromise was that they only had one mouth apiece-but if they were doing necks now, there was enough for both boys to share.
Peter happily agreed, and started nuzzling the other side of her neck. He broke off only when Neal’s hand came up to cup El’s breast. “Neal, are you stealing second?”
“What did you expect?” he asked, punctuating his words with kisses.
#
Neal’s mouth, Peter thought, should have been illegal. His kisses could go from tender and sweet to passionate and filthy in nothing flat. And back again. His hands tangled in Peter’s hair as he pressed forcefully into him, using his tongue as if he were fucking. Then they smoothed and stroked as he delivered chaste pecks to the corners of his mouth, his cheeks, his eyes.
Peter let out a small moan of disappointment as Neal pulled away. Neal reached back with one hand, tangling his fingers in Peter’s, even as he leaned into El. They were beautiful together.
Neal tore himself away from her lips long enough to ask, “What does she like, Peter? Tell me what she likes.”
#
El’s kissing compromise was either the best idea anyone had ever had, ever, or a specially devised torture for horny Sentinels. Neal wasn’t sure which. He knew, more than any of them, how incredibly turned on they all were-the scent of it was heavy in the air, and he could hear it in the rapid rhythm of their pulses. It would have been so easy to go beyond what they had agreed-to bury himself in El’s moist heat, or to take Peter’s cock into his mouth. The fact that he couldn’t quite figure out the logistics of doing both at once might have been the only thing that stopped him from trying.
On the other hand, he was right here between them, not left out on his own, imagining it all. That was El’s mouth on his, Peter’s on his earlobe. Peter’s arm reaching around him, pulling them all close as he caressed El’s face.
He wasn’t used to settling for what he could get, not when there was a chance to steal more. But if they kept this up, Neal thought, Peter and Elizabeth might just make an honest man of him.
Epilogue:
The next morning at the airport, Neal watched Elizabeth and Peter kiss goodbye in the lineup for the security area. In some ways, it was a repeat of their reunion a few days before. But that time, Neal had been trying not to watch, trying not to become inappropriately aroused.
Now…well. After finishing with Peter, Elizabeth turned to him. He’d expected a chaste peck on the cheek-they were in public-but she went for it, tongue, everything, like a soldier going off to war.
“Yowza,” he said when she released him.
A bystander, he noticed, was watching them with open curiosity. Neal tipped his hat to her; she sniffed and developed a sudden need to study the informational sign about liquids and gels, as though there might be a test on it.
“Remember,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll see both of your boys in a week and a half.”
“You most certainly will,” Neal said.
“Sure thing, hon,” Peter said.
“In the meantime-don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
She disappeared into the security area. “You know,” Neal said, touching his tongue to the taste of her on his lips. “I think there might be a loophole in that.”
“This is where the Clinic has you staying? It’s lovely,” Elizabeth said as they walked up a path to a small, lilac-covered cottage. She had been expecting something more institutional.
“Yeah, it’s nice,” Peter said. “I’m still not sure how Neal pulled this one off.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Neal said, from where he was walking a few feet behind them.
Before El could give Peter a disapproving look-was he still accusing Neal of wrongdoing all the time?-Peter said, “I know you didn’t.”
Neal didn’t answer that; El glanced back at him. His expression was quiet and serious, but when he saw her looking, he flashed her a big, fake-looking smile. She smiled back.
Peter unlocked the front door and held it open for her. She went inside, noticing that the cottage was just as lovely inside as out. It was open and airy, with a sitting area opening onto a dining area, then a kitchenette. Doors to either side led, presumably, to bedrooms and bathroom. As she got her bearings, Elizabeth heard Peter say, “Are you coming in? Geez; you’re like a cat.”
Neal came inside and stood by the door, holding the carryon bag he’d insisted on taking for her in both hands, looking like he was the guest, and unsure of his welcome to boot.
That wasn’t good. At the airport, after coming down the ramp and greeting Peter with an enthusiastic kiss, she’d looked around for Neal and found him standing a few yards away, looking at the ceiling. She’d assumed at the time that he was hoping to disassociate himself from the public display, like a teenager trying to pretend he’d never met those embarrassing adults in his vicinity. On the ride from the airport, he’d been quiet-but he’d been sitting in the back of the car, and she and Peter had a lot to catch up on, so she hadn’t thought much of it.
Now, though….now it was looking more like Neal didn’t think he belonged here, or didn’t belong with Peter now that she was here. Something like that.
Shutting the door behind him, Peter said, “Here, let me take that,” and reached for her carryon. Taking it from Neal, he added to her, “Our room’s this one-I’ll just put these….” He disappeared into the first bedroom for a moment. Returning, he looked at Neal, who was still standing by the door. “You okay?”
Neal came to life. “Yeah! Yeah, fine. I’ll just-you know what, you guys probably want some privacy.” He dodged past Peter, into the other bedroom, and shut the door behind him.
Elizabeth looked over at Peter, who shrugged and said, “Mm, privacy,” pulling her in for a kiss.
#
Someone knocked on Neal’s door, then opened it. “Neal?” Peter said. “Dinner.”
Neal got up from where he’d been lying on the bed, trying to read. It had been a tremendous relief when the sounds and smells of Peter starting to cook the pot roast he’d been talking about all weekend replaced those of Peter and Elizabeth making out just steps from Neal’s bedroom. It was no surprise that, as a healthy and affectionate couple, Peter and Elizabeth would be having what Neal decided to think of as ‘marital relations’ during this visit. He had worried, a little, about how he might react to the sensory evidence of that fact. According to the reading he’d done, a territorial freakout was entirely possible. Completely out of line, given the parameters of their relationship, but possible.
Going into the main room, Neal wondered if he should fix himself a plate and go back to his room. Peter and Elizabeth didn’t need him getting in the way during the limited time they had together-it was bad enough that they’d be sacrificing their afternoons to go to the Clinic.
On the other hand, not eating with them might look like he was resentful of Elizabeth being here, which he most definitely was not; she had every right to be here. Where Peter was.
And the table was set with three places, so that answered that question. He’d eat with them, be funny and charming, and then go back to giving them privacy. Plan.
“So that’s the famous pot roast,” he said as Peter approached the table with a platter. “It looks….” Neal meant to say something complimentary, but words failed him. On the platter were chunks of meat that had been boiled until they lost all structural cohesion, heaped together with dingy orange and beige lumps of carrot and potatoes.
“It’s not very photogenic,” Elizabeth said.
“Trust me,” Peter said.
Neal recovered. “It smells good,” he said hopefully.
“If it wasn’t good, I’d have made Peter take us out to dinner,” Elizabeth said. “Don’t worry.”
He wasn’t sure if he would have taken Peter’s word for it, but if Elizabeth thought it was good, maybe it would be all right.
Elizabeth was pouring wine, and Neal took a grateful sip as he sat down. Peter was scooping meat, potatoes, and carrots onto each of their plates, following it up with generous dollops of brownish gravy. Neal was reminded of a school cafeteria. Or a prison one.
But it actually did smell good, he reminded himself. Still, he waited until he saw Elizabeth take her first bite, with every sign of genuine enthusiasm, before trying it himself.
It was actually…good. Tender, definitely-so tender it practically fell apart on the fork. The flavor was very simple-the main notes were beef, carrot, black pepper, and salt-but intense and satisfying. The slightly earthy red that Elizabeth paired it with-Neal was almost certain Peter hadn’t chosen it-was an excellent choice. “This is-actually really good.” He had a feeling his tone betrayed an unflattering amount of surprise.
“And you doubted me,” Peter said smugly.
“Honey,” Elizabeth said, “everyone doubts you about the pot roast, at first. I’m pretty sure even Satchmo was dubious.”
As they ate, Elizabeth talked about some of her recent jobs, and they talked a little about the art cache. “Yesterday, we found something I’m pretty sure is a lost Vermeer,” Neal remarked.
“Really?” Elizabeth asked.
“If it’s not, I’d like to meet the forger,” Neal said with a shrug. “There are still some tests I want to do.”
“Can I see it?” She glanced over at Peter. “Peter?”
“It’s still in the lab,” Neal pointed out. If it had been sealed in an evidence crate, they’d need some kind of excuse to take it back out, but as it was, nobody would ever know.
“All right, I suppose,” Peter said. “But I’m not really supposed to be showing evidence to civilians.”
“We could smuggle her in,” Neal suggested. “The loading dock around back is not very well secured.” He’d noticed that on their second visit to the police station. “After that, it’s just a matter of avoiding the security cameras on the way to the labs-I might need to work that part out on a piece of paper. And Peter has an access card, so once we get there, we’re in.”
“Or we could just walk in the front door,” Peter said dryly. “I’m an FBI agent; no one’s going to stop us.”
“Oh, right,” Neal said. “Social engineering. Look like you’re supposed to be there, and nobody will ask any questions.”
“I don’t know; Neal’s plan sounds more exciting,” Elizabeth said.
“Exciting isn’t really a positive when you’re planning a con.” He must be spending too much time hanging around Mozzie, Neal thought. He was picking up on his taste for the Baroque.
“It’s not a con,” Peter said.
“You just said you’re not supposed to be doing it,” Neal said. “And you’re doing it anyway. It’s a con. Just a little one.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t, then,” Peter said.
“Peter,” El said, with a sigh. “Don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud.” Neal knew there was something he liked about her.
“I don’t want to set a bad example for Neal,” he said.
Well, that was no good-Neal hadn’t meant to deprive Elizabeth of the chance to see the maybe-probably-likely Vermeer. “Elizabeth, didn’t you mention once that you know a fair amount about seventeenth-century Dutch furnishings?”
She caught on quickly. “Well, I wouldn’t say I’m an expert, but I did a paper on them in college.”
“Oh, well, in that case, you should have a look at the sideboard in the background of this painting. Tell us whether you it looks legit or not.”
“I could do that,” she agreed brightly.
Now it was Peter’s turn to sigh.
After dinner, Elizabeth said she wanted to have a walk around the campus. “Neal, why don’t you come and show me around, while Peter’s busy with the dishes?”
Neal had been about to suggest the opposite, but Elizabeth seemed to know what she wanted, so he didn’t argue. Even though he had a moment’s panic that she wanted to talk about his obvious and inappropriate attraction to her husband.
They started out with a circuit of the Clinic garden. “You and Peter seem to be settling in,” she observed. “Things are a lot less tense than the last time we all had dinner together.”
“Yeah,” Neal said. That was a slightly more comfortable topic than the one he’d been fearing. “Yeah, we’re…doing pretty well.” Their feet crunched softly on the graveled pathway. “He’s a stand-up guy. I always knew that.”
“Are you still worried about ruining our marriage?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “But I’m…getting more confident that we can figure something out that works for all of us.” At least, he would be confident if not for what he decided to think of as the Backrub Problem. With Elizabeth in the same time zone, it was painfully obvious that jerking off while thinking about Peter was nothing other than creepy and inappropriate.
“That’s good,” she said, slipping her arm into his.
“I’m getting a little bit spoiled out here,” he added. “You know, with the cottage and everything.” Everything including having Peter all to himself. He didn’t mention that.
He could manage to avoid the actual jerking-off part, but he couldn’t do anything about the arousal. And the fact that Peter responded the same way didn’t make it any better. Maybe they could keep a lid on things during Elizabeth’s visit, but they were still supposed to do backrubs two or three times a week after they went back to New York.
“The cottage is lovely,” she agreed.
“It is,” he said. “I guess Sentinels can be fussy, and they’re used to indulging them. Us. I’m not going to argue with them about it.” He grinned and shrugged. “Have you seen the whirlpool tub yet? Make sure you don’t miss that.” That wasn’t getting him quite as far from the topic of sex as he would have liked, but it was a start.
She laughed. “I’ll have to try it.”
He nodded. “I don’t even have one of those in New York.” He thought June’s own bathroom might, but his apartment just had a shower. Which, he reminded himself, he didn’t have to share with a hundred possibly violent other guys. He’d managed to be left alone in prison, but it still wasn’t exactly relaxing.
“Peter might be almost sorry to come home,” she said.
“I’m sure he won’t be,” Neal said gallantly. He would be, but that wasn’t really the point. “I’m glad you could come out,” he said instead. He was-he did like Elizabeth, and they needed to figure out how they were all going to live, once this West-coast Idyll was over.
“So am I,” she said. “Is that the famous museum?”
“Yes,” Neal said. They’d left the garden and started up the pathway toward the center of campus, which took them near the museum. “You’ll have to alibi me if anything happens.”
“Should we go in?” she asked.
“I think they’re about to close,” Neal answered, checking his watch.
As they passed the main entrance, two familiar figures came out. “Mr. Neal!” Sophia yelled, running down the sidewalk toward them.
Neal winced slightly. “Hi, Sophia,” he said, stepping out of her enthusiastic hug as quickly as he could. “Sophia, this is, uh, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Hi Sophia,” she said.
Grabbing his free hand, Sophia leaned back to study Elizabeth. “Can you see Kitty and Doggie?”
“I don’t know; I haven’t been to the museum yet,” she answered.
“Mr. Neal can see them,” Sophia informed him. “And Mr. Jim and Mr. Blair. But Mommy can’t, and Mr. Peter can’t, and Miss Julie my teacher at school can’t, and--”
“Sophia,” her mother said, catching up. “I think Mr. Neal might be busy with his…friend.” She gave Elizabeth a very dubious look.
“Hi,” Elizabeth said, extending her hand. “I’m Elizabeth Burke. Peter’s wife.”
“Amanda,” she said, briefly shaking Elizabeth’s hand.
“How come you weren’t at the party?” Sophia asked.
“She was still in New York then,” Neal explained. “She just came out to see Peter for a few days.”
“To see both of you,” Elizabeth said.
Neal glanced over at her. Really?
“Neal’s a friend of the family, as well as Peter’s Sentinel,” Elizabeth went on.
“That’s…nice,” Amanda said. “Sophia, say goodbye-we have to get home.”
“Bye, Sophia,” Neal said.
“Bye Mr. Neal! Bye Miss Elizabeth!”
Once they were out of earshot, Elizabeth observed, “That’s the little girl Guide you met at the museum, right? Her mom didn’t seem very friendly.”
“Yep,” Neal said. “She…just found out about the felon on work-release thing. She wasn’t exactly thrilled about it. I can see why-the kid’s crazy about me, for some reason, and she can’t suddenly say she doesn’t want her talking to me without some kind of explanation.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Elizabeth said. She looked off in the direction Sophia and Amanda had gone. “I’d like to give her a piece of my mind.”
“It turns out a lot of people find the idea of a criminal Sentinel a little scary,” Neal said.
“If they know you, they should know better.”
She sounded so confident that Neal couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth nodded and smiled. “Tell me about these people I’ll be meeting tomorrow,” she suggested.
“At the Clinic, you mean?”
She nodded.
Neal told her about Tim and Dr. Desai as they circled around the museum and started back. “We haven’t met the work-life balance people yet. There’s also Selena, but we probably won’t be doing that while you’re here.” God, he hoped not. “She does…relaxation exercises and stuff.”
“I’ve heard about that,” Elizabeth said. Before he could get really worried about what she might have heard, she added, “Peter isn’t exactly a fan.”
“I’d noticed,” Neal said. “I’m not, either, but they tell us it’s important.” He quickly changed the subject to the Vermeer.
It was the same sort of conversation they’d had on the phone a couple of times now-a bit of talking about Peter, a bit of talking about him, a bit of talking about less personal topics. It was getting less excruciatingly awkward every time.
When they got back to the cottage, Peter had the dishwasher running and the pots and pans dried and put away. After exchanging a few words with him, Neal picked up Operation: Give Them Some Privacy where he’d left off. Going into his room and shutting the door, he very carefully ignored the obvious-to-a-Sentinel fact that Peter and Elizabeth were necking on the couch.
He kept right on ignoring it-and reading the same page in his book over and over-until they retired to the bedroom. The familiar smell of Peter’s arousal mixed with Elizabeth’s. Not a Guide’s scent, but just as intoxicating-Neal had always loved women, and she was beautiful and charming. And to the very small, frequently quashed part of himself that looked at Peter and growled mine, the fact that she was Peter’s wife made the whole thing even hotter.
He didn’t, as he had feared, want to run in there and tear the intruder away from his Guide. No, he wanted to run in there and have them both, one after the other. Or simultaneously. He wasn’t picky. Maybe he could bury his face between El’s thighs while Peter fucked him from behind.
His hand went to his cock, seemingly of its own volition. El’s scent was so heavy in the air he could almost taste her, panting with his mouth open. Was Peter eating her out? He bet he was. If he was in there, Peter could tell him just what she liked. He’d use the same voice he used when they were doing relaxation exercises or sensory work, the one that went straight to his hind-brain. Flick her clit with your tongue, he’d say, or Really drive into her, she likes that. And at the same time, Peter would be gripping his hips and driving into him-not hard, but deep and powerful. Maybe he’d bring them off at the same time, and they’d collapse into a sweaty heap, Peter warm and solid against his back, him nuzzling his face against El’s breasts and belly.
And once they’d caught their breath, they’d take him in hand-El’s slender fingers overlapping with Peter’s broader ones. It would only take a few strokes, after what he’d done to them, and then they’d lick him off of each other’s fingers….
It wasn’t until the moments after his climax, when he was panting to catch his own breath, and listening to El trying to stifle her moans in the other room, that he realized the magnitude of the boundary he’d just breached. Cleaning himself up as quickly as he could, he grabbed his phone and hurried outside. Collapsing into one of the porch chairs, he dialed with shaking hands.
“Moz? I am completely, totally, and absolutely fucked.”
#
“So,” Tim said after a little preliminary chit-chat about El’s flight and how she liked Cascade, “how’s it working out, sharing Peter?”
Neal choked on his pomegranate juice. Peter thumped him on the back, glad for the distraction. Tim’s question had produced a sudden and vivid mental image that he was certain was not the sort of “sharing” that the therapist had in mind.
“Neal, sweetie, are you all right?” El asked.
Neal nodded frantically, and after a few more coughs said raspily, “Just…went down the wrong pipe.” He took another, cautious sip of his drink. This one seemed to go down all right. “It’s going fine. Uh. Great. Clear sailing so far.”
El nodded. “I thought Neal was avoiding me at first, but I think he was just trying to give us some alone-time.”
“Right,” Neal said. “I thought you guys might want some….you know…privacy.”
Tim nodded. “That’s important. Peter? What do you think?”
For a panicked second, Peter thought Tim was asking what he thought about “…you know …privacy.” But he meant the original question. About the sharing. “Fine,” he echoed. “No problems.” Apart from the fact that he hadn’t quite found a way to tell El about his inappropriate reactions during the mandatory backrubs. He’d thought it was better done in person than on the phone, but now that El was here, there was a new problem: he knew how good Neal’s hearing was, and there wasn’t anywhere in the cottage where they could discuss the matter without the chance of Neal accidentally overhearing.
“That’s good,” Tim said. “Of course, I’m sure everyone’s on their best behavior for the first day of Elizabeth’s visit. That’s a little difficult to sustain over the long term.”
“We won’t all be living in the same house once we go back,” Neal pointed out.
There was an idea, maybe he could wait to tell El about it when they went home. It seemed like a long time to sit on a secret like that, but there were extenuating circumstances, weren’t there?
“Yes, and that brings its own challenges, doesn’t it?”
So they talked about that for a while-the ways that Neal could feel left out if he felt Peter was always rushing home as soon as they finished working, the ways El could feel neglected if being Neal’s Guide extended his already long work hours. And the ways that Peter could feel pulled in conflicting directions.
“I can handle it,” Peter said, but no one seemed particularly interested in that.
“I think one thing we ought to do is make sure all three of us get together on a regular basis,” El said. “I’m thinking family dinner…maybe not every week, but as close as we can manage with everyone’s schedules.”
Neal was nodding. “I’d like that. And we can do it at my place, sometimes,” he added.
“He’s a good cook,” Peter told El. They’d gone to their old breakfast place by the motel that morning, and lunch had just been sandwiches, so she hadn’t had a chance to experience Neal’s cooking yet.
“Do you think it might be difficult having a stranger in your primary territory?” Tim asked.
“She’s not a stranger; she’s Peter’s wife,” Neal said.
“I know you think that’s the right answer, but is it what you really feel?”
“Yes,” Neal said mulishly.
Elizabeth pointed out sensibly, “We can always try it, and if it’s a problem we can just use our place instead. Or restaurants.”
“Or June’s dining room,” Neal added. “I don’t think she’d mind. If it was going to be a problem.”
Their second session of the day was with the work-life balance team, a young man named Keith and a woman named Emily.
“I can tell you’re a Sentinel,” Neal said to Keith. “But…are you?” he asked Emily.
“Mundane spouse of a Guide,” she said with a smile. “You can probably smell Marcia on me; that trips a lot of Sentinels up.”
“Yes,” Neal said, sniffing discretely. “Okay, I can see it now.”
Most of the session was spent filling Keith and Emily in on their situation. Peter suspected they’d been briefed in advance; they didn’t bat an eye over Peter’s UnRegistered status or Neal’s tracking anklet. Then they repeated some of the same reassuring statistics that Blair had spouted a couple of weeks ago. “It’s very common for one or both of a working Sentinel-Guide pair to have a spouse or partner,” Keith said. “Divorce rates are a little higher than the national average-but that’s also true of mundanes in careers that require a high level of commitment, like law enforcement. Since Sentinels and Guides are over-represented in those fields, it’s difficult to separate the two effects, statistically.”
Elizabeth nodded. “A lot of Agents’ spouses feel like the job, or the partner, or both, are third parties in their marriage. Go into the kitchen at any FBI party and you’ll find half a dozen wives, and one or two husbands, talking about it. It’s the people who try to fight it that have problems. You can’t tell your spouse that they have to risk, I don’t know, leaving a serial killer free to strike again because it’s Date Night. You just can’t.”
“It’s the same with police spouses,” Emily agreed, adding as an aside, “Marcia is Cascade PD.” Peter wondered if they’d met her-maybe during the search for Kate; they had mostly used last names then. “Personally, I’ve found that sometimes it’s harder to accept if she has to work late because, oh, John has a headache, or something like that. What do you think about that, Elizabeth?”
“It hasn’t come up yet,” she answered.
“You don’t consider this month it ‘coming up’?” Neal asked. His tone was curious, not hostile.
“I agreed to this month,” she reminded him. “And no, it’s pretty clear that this is an emergency.” She considered. “I don’t think I’ll like it very much if Peter always puts Neal’s needs first.”
“No reason why you should,” Neal said. “Or why he should.”
“I’m your Guide,” Peter pointed out.
“And her husband,” Neal said.
“Neal, sweetie,” Elizabeth broke in. “Let’s keep in mind that I’m perfectly capable of speaking up for myself if I feel like Peter’s neglecting me, all right?”
Neal looked startled. “Right. Yes, of course you can. But--”
“But, nothing. Understanding how I feel and communicating about it is my job. Understanding how you feel and communicating about it is your job.” She turned to Peter. “And-I cannot stress this enough-understanding how you feel and communicating about it is your job.”
Peter and Neal both nodded meekly.
#
“Concentrate on your breathing. In…out…in…out.”
Elizabeth sneaked one eye open, seeing Neal in his perfect half-lotus and Peter sitting awkwardly crosslegged next to him. It was after dinner, and she was sitting in on Peter and Neal’s relaxation practice. She had to admit, it was a side of Peter she hadn’t seen before. He complained a lot about the relaxation exercises, but once they got started, he took them as seriously as he did everything else.
She was a little disappointed that they weren’t doing clouds, though.
Peter shifted his weight in her direction, and she quickly shut her eyes again. They continued breathing for another minute or two, until Peter said, “All right.” She heard the sounds of clothing rustling, and opened her eyes again to see Neal unfolding his legs and stretching. She did the same.
“Right,” Neal said, starting to get to his feet. “That was nice. I’ll just--”
“We haven’t done backrubs yet,” Peter pointed out.
“Uh…I thought maybe we’d skip those today, Peter,” Neal suggested.
“Do you want to tell Tim and Selena we skipped it?”
“I can do that,” Neal agreed. “Totally. No problem.”
“Tough,” Peter said. “Take off your shirt; I’ll get the cushions.”
“Maybe I should take a walk,” Elizabeth suggested. Peter tended to get a little cagey when talking about this part of their relaxation exercises, and she thought he might be less embarrassed about it if she wasn’t watching.
“No!” Peter yelped. “I mean, I think you should stay. If Neal doesn’t mind.”
Neal looked back and forth between the two of them. “Whatever you guys think is best,” he said cautiously.
“I can stay, if you’d rather,” she agreed. Maybe he thought having her in the room would protect him from any possible gay cooties. How adorable was that?
Peter arranged the couch cushions on the floor as Neal slowly, with several poorly-concealed glances in her direction, unbuttoned his shirt.
She could see what Peter was concerned about-clothed, Neal was seriously gorgeous; stripped to the waist, he was a sort of cross between a Botticelli angel and a Greek god. Seeing him spread out on the cushions waiting to be rubbed made her feel a slight need for a cold shower.
Or maybe a warm bath. She moved to the armchair, where she’d be out of the way, and watched as Peter knelt stiffly next to Neal and got started.
Peter worked in near-silence, only occasionally saying something like, “How’s that?” or “Good?” Neal answered with sleepy murmurs of agreement. Before long, his face took on a blissed, heavy-lidded expression similar to Satch in the middle of a serious tummy rub.
“Okay?” Peter said, finishing up just above the waistband of Neal’s yoga pants.
“Uh-huh. Yeah. I’m just gonna lay here for a minute.”
“All right,” Peter said, standing up. As he did so, Elizabeth caught sight of the very obvious tenting in the front of his trousers, which had formerly been concealed by his kneeling position.
She followed him into their bedroom. “Peter,” she said sweetly. “Is there something you wanted to tell me?”
He winced. “El, it’s--” He glanced at the closed door of their room and lowered his voice. “Nothing happened. And I have to do it-Sentinels need to be touched by their Guides. It’s a thing.”
“I know,” she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “So that’s why you don’t like the relaxation exercises.”
“One reason,” Peter agreed, sitting on the edge of the bed. “And it’s more that I like them a little too much. I was going to tell you, but I couldn’t figure out how to….”
“Raise the subject?” she suggested. She heard the shower coming on from the other side of the cottage. Somehow, she didn’t think Neal was in a big hurry to wash Peter’s scent off of himself.
“Tell you that I’m having inappropriate feelings about my CI,” he answered, clearly not amused.
“Normal feelings about your Sentinel,” she suggested instead. “I don’t blame you,” she said, sitting next to him. “He’s beautiful.”
Peter had his you’re-not-taking-this-seriously-enough expression on.
“And just your type,” she added, drawing him into a kiss.
“Mm,” he said. “You know how I feel about smart brunettes.”
“I do,” she agreed.
He kissed his way down her neck. “I thought it might be easier to stay professional with you there, but-God, both of you in the same room.”
“We’re not both in the same room now,” she pointed out, undoing his waistband and slipping her hand inside.
“Uh…no…better hurry, if we’re going to be done while he’s still in the shower.”
#
He’d thought last night was bad. Neal stroked himself with a wet, soapy hand, imagining Elizabeth getting up from the armchair to join in the “relaxation,” two pairs of hands touching him, rubbing him. His pants disappeared, somewhere, in this fantasy, giving them more bare skin to work with. And they quickly went beyond anything that could remotely be considered therapeutic massage, kissing and licking. Together, they rolled him onto his back, and someone’s lips brushed the head of his cock-
Neal was scrupulously careful to wash every last trace of come down the drain. Not even another Sentinel would be able to detect it.
The thing was, to a Sentinel, a woman’s arousal was just as obvious as a man’s. Elizabeth had been turned on too, out there in the living room. Not as much as he was, maybe, and not as much as Peter-but then, she hadn’t actually been participating.
Neal wasn’t sure if that made the whole thing better or worse. But it definitely made it more complicated.
#
The next day at their session with Tim, he opened by saying, “Neal, you said something last week that I want to pick up on.”
Elizabeth peeked over at Neal, who was sitting on Peter’s other side on the couch in Tim’s office. He had his usual bright smile, but El thought it might be a little fixed.
“Which thing?” Neal asked.
“You mentioned that your father had an affair with his Guide, Ellen, while he was married to your mother.”
Oh, Neal. No wonder he and Peter hadn’t managed to say anything about their obvious attraction for each other.
“Yes, he did,” Neal agreed. “And yes, I have considered the possibility that that’s why I think being my Guide could put a strain on Peter’s marriage.”
Tim nodded. “That was one of my follow-up questions. Matter of sexuality can be…complicated, for Sentinels and Guides.”
“We’re not having sex,” Peter said, very carefully not looking at her. “It’s a strictly professional relationship.”
“Okay,” Tim said, nodding. “Let’s back up to Neal’s father and Ellen for a moment. Neal, you said that Ellen told you that your mother was aware of the relationship and consented to it.”
“That’s actually pretty common,” El spoke up. “I joined a Facebook group for mundane spouses,” she added in answer to Peter’s questioning look. “Apparently some couples feel that since the relationship between a Sentinel and Guide is so intense anyway, there’s no point fighting to keep sex out of it.” She wasn’t sure how she’d feel about that herself.
Neal and Peter were now both blushing furiously. Tim quickly glanced back and forth between them before adding, “Yes, and some feel that, for the same reason, sex should be reserved for the marital partnership. There’s no single answer that works for every partnership.”
It would have been a good time, Elizabeth thought, for someone to bring up Peter’s attraction to Neal. But Peter was clearly doing everything he could to keep them away from that subject. “I’m sure we could talk about it, if something like that came up,” she ventured.
“It’s not going to come up,” Neal said quickly.
“Right,” said Peter.
She gave up.
#
Astonishingly, they managed to get through the next couple of days without talking about it again. In the mornings they did touristy things-the wharf, a hike in the nearby mountains, shopping for presents for El’s nieces-and in the afternoons they went to the Clinic and talked about things like the importance of open communication and how Peter should have some backup in the Guide department.
Keith and Emily were asking about Neal’s social support system, apart from Peter-it seemed to consist of June and the J. Edgar Hoover guy, something Peter decided not to look at any more closely than he had to-when Keith asked who he for respite.
“What?” Peter asked blankly.
“There are other Guides in your workplace, aren’t there?”
“Uh-sure,” Peter said. “Not in White Collar, but in the New York bureau, yeah.” He wasn’t entirely sure who any of them were. “I don’t really know them.”
“You should,” Keith told him, “And Neal should meet them. It’s important for both of you to know who you can call on if something goes wrong and Peter isn’t available.”
Emily nodded. “Sentinels don’t like to share their Guides, but in an emergency, they’ll cope. Suppose Peter gets hurt, for instance?”
Another thing Peter hadn’t even thought of. White Collar was supposed to be low risk, but somehow, things had a way of not quite working out how they were supposed to. He could just imagine Neal having some kind of Sentinel meltdown in the ER waiting room, and El scrambling to find someone who could come handle it. She’d manage, somehow, but it was better to be prepared.
So the subject of how they all needed to get to know more Sentinels and Guides was on their minds when they ran into Dr. Temas, the little Sentinel ophthalmologist, on their way out of the Clinic.
“Hi Neal, Peter,” he said. “Kas, look, it’s Neal and Peter.”
“Hi,” Peter said. “My wife, Elizabeth,” he added, indicating her.
“Angel Temas,” he said, offering her his hand. “I didn’t know Peter was married.”
“I’ve been holding down the fort at home while the boys are out here,” she explained. “I just came for a visit.”
“Neat. Hey, you know what? You guys should come to my party.”
“Angel,” Kas said.
“No, they should. It’s tonight, at our house. There’ll be lots of people there you met at the other party-Guides, Sentinels, Clinic people.” He looked worried for a second. “But not Bob. Just nice people.” He bounced a little on his toes.
“Uh, thanks for asking us,” Peter said. “But it’s El’s last night in town, so….”
“I think we should go, hon,” she said. “I’d like to meet some more Sentinels and Guides.”
“Yeah,” said Temas. “You know, there’ll be some mundane spouses, too. Kelly, and, uh, let’s see. If Eduardo comes, he’ll bring Hank.”
“Mike and Laura,” Kas added.
“Right, them too.” Bouncing again, Temas took out a business card and scribbled on the back. “That’s the address. We’re starting pretty early, since it’s a weeknight. About seven-ish.”
“Why are you having a party on a Wednesday, anyway?”
“It’s my birthday,” Temas answered. “Oh! But you don’t have to bring me a present. If you don’t want to.”
Peter would have been happy to take him at his word, but El and Neal both agreed that meant they’d better show up with something. They settled on a bottle of wine as the simplest option, and discussed varietals and vintages enthusiastically for the rest of the short walk home.
#
When they got to Angel’s place, Neal regretted more than ever that he hadn’t managed somehow to fend off Peter’s insistence that they do “relaxation exercises” before coming here. Peter had said that they wouldn’t want to do them after the party, and Neal suspected he had a point-being a little tipsy would only make it likelier that one of them would blunder into the subject they had been dancing around since Monday night.
On the other hand, it was a Sentinel party, and all three of them positively reeked of sex. There was probably some kind of etiquette thing-or if there wasn’t, there should be.
Any hope Neal had that it was somehow not obvious to any of the other dozen or so Sentinels at the party was dashed when they ran into Jim and Blair, by the present table. “Oh, hi, guys,” Blair said. “And Elizabeth.” They had all met briefly the other day, when they went to the police station to look at the Vermeer.
Elizabeth and Blair made polite small-talk for a moment or two, but Neal didn’t miss the way Jim’s nostrils flared slightly, or the way, as they separated, Jim leaned down to whisper something to Blair that made him cast a startled look in their direction before assuming a studied air of nonchalance.
The best course of action, Neal decided, would be to break up the trio. Peter and El smelling like they’d been going at it would be completely unremarkable. So he grabbed a glass of wine and started to circulate. Angel’s collection of friends, he discovered, was more eclectic than he’d let on. There were quite a few Sentinels, Guides, and Clinic people at the party. There was also a sizeable contingent from the Northwestern Llama and Alpaca Club, another from Angel’s church, and many others Neal couldn’t categorize. He ended up joining in a surprisingly fascinating conversation with a radical Catholic priest, a fiber artist, and a science-fiction novelist, which started out being about altar cloths and ranged over a vast array of other subjects. He learned, among other things, that there were regional differences in llama fiber that, to a connoisseur, were as recognizable as those among wine-producing regions.
“What do you do?” the priest asked Neal, when the fiber artist had finished describing her latest project.
“Oh, well, that’s kind of a funny story.” On that Neal wasn’t exactly thrilled about telling, considering how it had gone over at last week’s party. “I work for the FBI-but I used to be a con man.” He delivered the last with a bright smile.
His new friends, at least, took the news without bolting, or backing away with fixed smiles on their faces. “How did you manage that career change?” the novelist asked.
“I’m on work release from a federal penitentiary,” he said with another bright smile. “I have a tracking anklet.”
The novelist proceeded to ask him several follow-up questions about exactly how that worked. The fiber artist and the priest drifted away during that, but Neal had the impression it was more because they weren’t particularly interested in the subject than because they feared for their wallets, so that was all right.
After Angel cut his birthday cake-chocolate with buttercream frosting and a nicely tart raspberry filling-several guests clamored for him to open his birthday presents. As Neal had suspected, their bottle of wine was one of the less impressive offerings. The fiber artist had given him a sweater knitted from the fiber of Angel’s personal llamas-which answered Neal’s question about the slight aroma of livestock that he’d noticed on their way up the drive.
#
Dr. Temas’s house was a great party space-an open-plan A-frame with a cathedral-ceilinged great room and plenty of little nooks for more intimate conversations. Elizabeth wished more of her clients had a place like it-trying to arrange a party for a hundred people in a Manhattan apartment’s living room was usually a nightmare.
Still, when everyone gathered in the great room at once for the cake and presents, it became a little claustrophobic. After finishing her cake, El took the rest of her glass of wine out onto the back deck for some fresh air.
She was leaning on the railing, admiring the landscaping and wondering if there was any way of incorporating a water feature into their postage-stamp backyard in Brooklyn, when the door slid open behind her. She glanced over her shoulder.
“Just me,” said Angel Temas, with a little wave.
“Happy birthday,” she said with a smile. “You have a lovely home.”
“Thanks; we like it.” He picked a spot of railing a few feet down from hers and leaned on it. “Go back to sleep, Carlos,” he said to the empty air.
“Hm?” she asked.
“One of my llamas,” he explained, waving a hand in the direction of a small barn some distance away. “He’s humming at me. They do that.”
“I didn’t hear anything,” she said.
“Well, you’re not a Sentinel.” He shrugged. “How is that, by the way?”
“How is it that I’m not a Sentinel?” she asked, a little confused.
“No, I just meant…you and Peter, Peter and Neal.” He made a vague gesture. “Sorry, I’m being rude. I just can’t quite imagine what it would be like if Kas was married. To someone else, I mean. But I guess you three have it all worked out.” Another gesture. “You know. Probably the best way. I don’t know if I could handle that-I’m not really an orgy person-oh, hi Peter. Hi Neal.”
Elizabeth turned around to see Peter and Neal coming through the sliding door, Peter carrying her jacket. Neal distinctly mouthed the words Oh, shit.
“Orgy?” Peter asked.
“Well, you know, threesome,” Angel babbled. “Maybe that doesn’t count as an orgy. I’ve never looked up the strict definition. You know, maybe I’ll go check if we have enough ice. Bye!” He darted between Peter and Neal and into the house, before either of them could do anything more than look gobsmacked.
“El,” Peter said. “Is there any particular reason Temas thinks we’re having a threesome?”
“I’m not sure,” El said.
“Ah,” Neal said. “Well. You know. That’s the thing about Sentinels.”
#
Neal had thought that stumbling on Angel and Elizabeth talking about orgies was the most embarrassing moment of his life to date. It was quickly trumped, however, by the next several moments in which he tried to explain how Angel had come to that particular conclusion.
The moments after that, when Kas came out onto the deck to apologize for the complete lack of any filter between his Sentinel’s brain and his mouth, were almost refreshing by comparison.
Fortunately, guests were starting to drift away from the party, so they made their goodbyes and joined the exodus. The ride back to the cottage was…quiet. That was fine, Neal thought. He could handle quiet. Maybe they would be able to just go back to carefully not-talking about it, which had been working out just fine for the last several days.
But as soon as they got back to the cottage, and Elizabeth had poured glasses of wine for each of them-Peter, who had been their designated driver, gulped his-she said, “All right, I’m just going to say it.”
There went that idea. Damn Mozzie, who, Monday night, had convinced him that his first impulse to run away, if possible to a remote island with no extradition treaty with the US, or back to prison if not, was premature. Now Peter really was going to kill him.
“It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” Elizabeth finished.
That was…anticlimactic. And not very flattering. But those thoughts quickly fled as all the blood in his brain made a rapid and immediate plunge southward. Peter was clearly having the same problem; Neal thought even Elizabeth ought to be able to smell how turned on he was-and if not, the way his mouth was hanging open might have been a clue.
Elizabeth rescued the wine glass from Peter’s slack hand before he could spill it. “I don’t think we should rush into anything,” she continued, “but we’re all consenting adults, and we’re all attracted to each other. It’s something to think about.”
Neal managed to pull himself together first-for a given value of “together,” at least. “Are you serious?” he asked. “I mean-you-Peter-me-getting sweaty and naked, seriously?”
“Oh my God,” said Peter. He sat down on the edge of the couch and put his head in his hands.
“That’s not a no,” Neal observed. “I mean, nobody’s run out of the room or thrown a drink in anyone’s face. This is already the closest I’ve ever gotten to a threesome.”
“Really?” said Peter. “What about you and that girl thief? Alicia Barnes, Alice Baxter, whatever her real name is.”
“No,” Neal said. “She and Kate didn’t like each other very much. It was a struggle to even get them to pull a three-man con together.” Alex and Mozzie could have happened, but Neal didn’t really see Mozzie that way. “What about you guys?”
“We’ve talked about it, but we’ve never found the right third,” Elizabeth answered. “I think we’re getting sidetracked. Neal, it sounds like you’re on board.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I am so on board.”
“Peter?” asked Elizabeth.
He groaned. “I want to say yes. I so, so want to say yes. But.”
“But?” Neal asked. He didn’t like the sound of that.
“But I’m your custodial agent,” he said, looking pained.
“So?” Neal asked.
“So it would be…inappropriate.”
“I’m a Sentinel, remember?” he asked. The books were pretty clear that Sentinels and Guides were exceptions to professional standards about fraternization and conflict of interest. “And you’re a Guide. And Elizabeth doesn’t work with either of us.”
“It’s not that,” Peter said. “There could be an…appearance of coercion.”
“I didn’t think about that,” Elizabeth admitted.
Of course she hadn’t. Who in their right mind would think of something like that in the face of such brain-melting hotness? Only Peter. “Nobody’s going to think that,” Neal said.
“They could,” Peter said.
“No. No, and I can prove it,” Neal said.
“How?”
“Blair didn’t,” he said triumphantly. “And if anybody was going to, it would be Blair. With the shooting and the horsewhipping.
“Blair wasn’t there,” Peter pointed out. “He doesn’t know. Not that there’s anything to know. But if there was he didn’t know it.”
“Pretty sure Jim told him,” Neal answered.
“How would Jim--”
“Same way Angel did.”
“You mean every Sentinel at that party thinks we’re--”
“Just the ones who saw us together.”
“Oh,” Elizabeth said. “That’s why you disappeared right after we ran into Jim and Blair?”
“Yep,” Neal said.
Peter groaned again.
“Anyway,” Neal continued, “since they already think we are, we might as well.” He was pleased with that bit of logic.
Peter opened and closed his mouth several times. “That’s not how it works!”
“Maybe we can come up with some kind of compromise,” Elizabeth suggested.
#
Neal’s lips traced a line of kisses across her cheek and down her neck. “Mm,” he murmured into her skin. “You smell like Peter. Peter was kissing you here earlier, wasn’t he Before the party?”
“Yes,” she said.
“That’s so hot.”
El had to agree. She was already regretting the limits of the compromise they had agreed on-making out, fully clothed, with an agreement to discuss going further once they were all back in New York. She knew it was the right choice, the sensible choice. For the three of them to dive headfirst into a sexual relationship had so many ways to end badly. But she was soaking wet and dying for more. “Peter, why don’t you get the other side,” she suggested breathlessly.
One problem with the kissing compromise was that they only had one mouth apiece-but if they were doing necks now, there was enough for both boys to share.
Peter happily agreed, and started nuzzling the other side of her neck. He broke off only when Neal’s hand came up to cup El’s breast. “Neal, are you stealing second?”
“What did you expect?” he asked, punctuating his words with kisses.
#
Neal’s mouth, Peter thought, should have been illegal. His kisses could go from tender and sweet to passionate and filthy in nothing flat. And back again. His hands tangled in Peter’s hair as he pressed forcefully into him, using his tongue as if he were fucking. Then they smoothed and stroked as he delivered chaste pecks to the corners of his mouth, his cheeks, his eyes.
Peter let out a small moan of disappointment as Neal pulled away. Neal reached back with one hand, tangling his fingers in Peter’s, even as he leaned into El. They were beautiful together.
Neal tore himself away from her lips long enough to ask, “What does she like, Peter? Tell me what she likes.”
#
El’s kissing compromise was either the best idea anyone had ever had, ever, or a specially devised torture for horny Sentinels. Neal wasn’t sure which. He knew, more than any of them, how incredibly turned on they all were-the scent of it was heavy in the air, and he could hear it in the rapid rhythm of their pulses. It would have been so easy to go beyond what they had agreed-to bury himself in El’s moist heat, or to take Peter’s cock into his mouth. The fact that he couldn’t quite figure out the logistics of doing both at once might have been the only thing that stopped him from trying.
On the other hand, he was right here between them, not left out on his own, imagining it all. That was El’s mouth on his, Peter’s on his earlobe. Peter’s arm reaching around him, pulling them all close as he caressed El’s face.
He wasn’t used to settling for what he could get, not when there was a chance to steal more. But if they kept this up, Neal thought, Peter and Elizabeth might just make an honest man of him.
Epilogue:
The next morning at the airport, Neal watched Elizabeth and Peter kiss goodbye in the lineup for the security area. In some ways, it was a repeat of their reunion a few days before. But that time, Neal had been trying not to watch, trying not to become inappropriately aroused.
Now…well. After finishing with Peter, Elizabeth turned to him. He’d expected a chaste peck on the cheek-they were in public-but she went for it, tongue, everything, like a soldier going off to war.
“Yowza,” he said when she released him.
A bystander, he noticed, was watching them with open curiosity. Neal tipped his hat to her; she sniffed and developed a sudden need to study the informational sign about liquids and gels, as though there might be a test on it.
“Remember,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll see both of your boys in a week and a half.”
“You most certainly will,” Neal said.
“Sure thing, hon,” Peter said.
“In the meantime-don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
She disappeared into the security area. “You know,” Neal said, touching his tongue to the taste of her on his lips. “I think there might be a loophole in that.”