sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2010-08-15 07:16 am
sam_storyteller) wrote2010-08-15 07:16 am
Entry tags:
Exquisite, Ch. 5
Title: Exquisite
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17 for language, sexual content.
Summary: There's a place in Neal Caffrey's head where he doesn't have to lie to himself or be three steps ahead of the other guy, but so far only Peter has found it -- and Peter won't give him what he really wants. Elizabeth, meanwhile, is slowly adjusting to the idea of abetting felons...
Chapter Four
***
Peter didn't like Kimberly Rice. He didn't like feds who went after fame. Rice was loud and pushy, and he could respect that because it sucked to be a woman in the old boys' network. But she was loud and pushy and an attention-seeker, looking to climb the ranks through publicity rather than on merit. Show-offs went into Missing Persons, because if they failed they got to look sad and dramatic for the cameras, and if they succeeded they got to stand next to the joyfully weeping family for the photo ops.
Plus she was trying to take Neal away from him, and Peter really hated people who did that.
Still, there was a missing girl involved, and Neal could genuinely be of help. So he let Rice take Neal out. If he kept Neal's tracker map up on his computer in real-time while Neal wasn't under his eye, then he was at least smart enough to realize this was crazy and make sure nobody else saw.
It was a quiet day; Jones and Cruz were busy starting the paperwork on the Franklin Bottle, and with Neal out of the office Peter found himself at loose ends. Plus, it really was very crazy to have Neal's map up on his screen, because Neal hadn't moved much in the last two hours. Finally he called Elizabeth.
"Hey, lunch date," he said, when she answered. "You, me, somewhere swanky."
"Somewhere swanky like our dining room?" El replied.
"Stuck at home?"
"Tied to the laptop till I see the bids go through for the furniture rental."
"No problem," Peter said. "As long as it gets me out of the office."
"Peter," El said, "Did you talk to Neal this morning?"
Peter paused. "I talk to Neal every morning."
"Is he there?"
"No, he got loaned out to another department on a case."
"So you didn't really get to talk to him," El concluded.
"Why, did he need to say something? He had the time," Peter said, confused.
"No, it's nothing. Come home, I'll make you some deviled ham."
When he got home he meant to ask her what she meant by all the talk about talking, but he was still -- concerned, that was a good word, professionally concerned about Neal. Rice wasn't like him, she didn't feel responsible to the Bureau in the same way he did, and now that he didn't have Neal's map at his elbow he was wondering if he could get an app for it installed on his phone.
El seemed to understand; she made small talk, and then made gentle fun of him when she caught him blatantly not listening. She saw no problem with Peter actually going to where Neal was and having a look around. Peter knew it was bad form to crash a case, but he also knew El was playing some kind of very quiet game with him, and that intrigued him. El didn't play games very often.
Plus, he'd get to put his eyes on Neal for a few minutes and make sure Rice hadn't gotten him killed or something.
Neal was still at the scene of the kidnapping when Peter got there after lunch. He was sitting in the car, looking bored. He must be sulking; if Peter had sent him to sit in the car he'd have gone to the car, stayed there for maybe two minutes, and then wandered off to get into some kind of useful trouble. When Peter knocked on the window, Neal burst into a grin. Peter wouldn't say it out loud, ever, because it only led to trouble and he had enough of that, but he liked it when he walked into the room and Neal lit up. For a start, it meant that Neal was behaving himself.
Even seeing Neal felt wrong, though, because seeing him reminded Peter that Neal belonged to Rice at the moment. That felt wrong instinctively -- and it felt way, way too wrong for Rice to send Neal into Wilkes's club undercover. Without his tracker.
He should have listened to his instincts. He knew he should have when Gless mentioned offhand to him that his daughter's safety had been promised if Neal would meet up with Wilkes at the club.
He got the warning to Neal almost in time.
So when Kimberly Rice walked into the field office like she was any kind of competent agent and clapped her hands and said his people belonged to her in order to find Neal, after she'd lost Neal to Wilkes in the first place, Peter fucking lost it. He told her what he thought of her, what he thought of what she'd done to Neal, and he didn't care if everyone in the office saw that it was Neal he was worried about, Neal who mattered. He didn't care if Hughes saw. He didn't care if anyone knew that clearly he was way over the line when it came to Neal, because Neal belonged to him and he let someone else have him for one goddamn day and now he was missing.
Hughes did see. Everyone saw. But nobody seemed to notice, because Hughes gave him the case and then, at least, it was Peter's job to find Neal. He could deal with everyone knowing he was inappropriately attached to his CI later.
Neal had been missing and completely out of contact for thirteen hours when El called Peter to tell him that Moz was at their home (slightly worrying) and he had a message from Neal.
"Oh, good boy," Peter said, under his breath, when the travel agency gave up the video footage of Neal walking into the office. He was not so pleased when Rice passed him a file on Edward Riley, the guy Neal had apparently been chasing down. Riley was connected to a lot of thefts, and almost as many killings. Still, if Neal was playing front-man for some op Wilkes was running, at least now they knew where he'd be.
Neal had been missing for seventeen hours when he turned up at LaGuardia and Peter for a second just wanted to shove him into a wall and force a tracker around his leg. The strength of the urge surprised him. It was possessive and a little bit dark. But he didn't do what he pleased, because the job came first; they did their job, Jones kept Neal from getting shot, and Peter found the girl. Wilkes was going to go away.
So Peter was feeling pretty pleased with himself and the world, and looking forward to getting Neal checked over and sending him home to sleep off a bad couple of days, when Neal vanished.
Son of a bitch, what did it take to keep Caffrey on a leash these days?
***
Neal knew, when he dodged out without his anklet on, that there would be hell to pay later, but he had no choice. He just needed a little time to get home, to show Alex his tracker was off, and to get the location of the music box. He was willing to risk it, for Kate, and he didn't think risking Peter's passing wrath was so very terrible.
"You're late," Alex said, when Neal walked in the door. His head hurt; his neck was killing him where they'd tased him the first time, and his left arm was sore. He felt like he might have a bruised rib or three. He was tired, and he just wanted the bullshit to be over.
"Long day," he said shortly, wishing this were anyone but Alex. Even Mozzie's spectacular obsessive shit-fits would be better than this.
"What's with the outfit?"
"Long story," he sighed. He was going to have to flirt this, but he could make it quick. He pulled up his trouser leg, showing off the ankle with no tracker, too tired to crack a joke about an Amish peep show.
"Congratulations," Alex said, sounding unimpressed. "How'd you do it?"
"You'd be surprised how much I can get done in a day," Neal said, which was really only funny to him.
Alex wanted to bargain, again, but Neal played along right up until the moment she actually mentioned Kate. That she didn't trust him anymore because he'd left her bed and got on a flight to Japan and fifteen months later he showed up with Kate.
They'd never made any promises. It was like him and Keller, or him and Deirdre in Vegas, or him and Tom in Norway. Nobody ever asked for more from him and so they never got it.
He remembered now that he had left Keller. Matty had gone off on a job and while he was gone Neal had left for the Keys because the opportunity was too sweet to resist. God, maybe that had actually hurt Matty -- maybe Neal really was just a shitty boyfriend.
He'd stuck by Kate, though, loved her thoroughly and as deeply as he could, wanted the world for her. Other people trusted him now too, June and Jones and Cruz -- and Elizabeth. And Peter. Who asked so much more from him than he could even give and yet wouldn't ask for the one thing Neal wanted to give him.
The thing with Kate had happened. Neal and Alex both knew it. Everyone knew it. But suddenly Neal was seeing it in a new light -- the light of Alex, who had sent her boyfriend to Japan and missed him and then found him a year and a half later running around with some other chick.
"That's over now," he said. He wasn't even sure if it was a lie.
Alex gave him an origami flower -- he'd sent her those from Japan, before disappearing -- and inside were three words: It's in Manhattan.
Well, it was a step. When the time came he was sure Alex would tell him right where to find it. And then they could steal it...together.
Neal rubbed his eyes, put the sheet of paper in the sink, poured a shot of alcohol over it and dropped a match. It flared briefly, and when the paper was destroyed he ran water over it, washing the ash down the drain. One more thing to do before tonight was complete.
Once he got to the FBI offices, he expected to be shouted at, but Peter didn't even look up; nobody seemed to notice Neal crossing the floor, climbing the half-flight of steps. Peter just held up the tracking anklet and asked, "Forget something?"
Neal prayed it would really be this easy. "Made it all the way home before I realised it was gone."
"Just slipped your mind?" Peter asked.
So, no, then.
"I came back," Neal tried.
"What did Alex have to say?" Peter asked. Neal gave up on smiling and trying to seem innocent. It had never worked all that well on Peter in the first place.
Peter seemed to know everything, either by research or inference -- that he'd met with Alex, that Alex wanted him to be able to slip his anklet, that they were going after the music box. It was actually a little scary how much he knew, but Neal didn't think he was really in trouble until Peter told him his choices: he could try for the music box and go back to prison, or he could be a good boy and stay with the FBI.
Kate wasn't even on the list. Nothing Peter offered him would end with him getting Kate back.
Peter was walking away, leaving the anklet behind. Neal snatched it off the desk and ran after him. He didn't make it before the elevator closed, but he caught up in the parking garage.
"Peter!"
Peter turned. Neal stopped running.
"I need to tell you something," he said. He saw Peter's eyes flick down to his ankle. He'd put the tracker on in the elevator.
"What?" Peter asked, spreading his arms.
"Not here," Neal said. "Jesus, in a parking garage?"
Peter rolled his eyes. "You're ruining my dramatic exit," he said, but he gestured at the Taurus. "Come on, get in the car."
Neal ran across the garage, ducking into the car before Peter could change his mind. Peter started it up and looked at him.
"You want me to take you home?" he said. Neal inhaled.
"I want you to take me home with you," he replied. Peter shook his head. "Please, Peter."
"This had better be good," Peter said, backing them out and pulling through the gate onto the street. "Is it about the box?"
"No. Just -- give me this, okay? Today's been long enough."
"Fine." Peter flipped open his phone and dialled without looking. "Yeah, it's Burke. I'm taking Caffrey out of his radius." he reeled off a pair of numbers -- his badge, Neal's tracker ID -- then tossed the phone in a cupholder.
"How's Lindsey?" Neal asked, into the silence that followed.
"She's at home, resting. Gless called me, asked if he could submit a letter of thanks to the Bureau for our efforts."
"A thank-you note. That's a new one," Neal said, because he could sense something on the horizon. Peter tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel as he drove.
"You know I got a file on you," he said, finally. "Not the official one. I got a file that has every case we've worked on and a list of everyone who knows you and knows what you did for them. People who would remember you as something more than a con. There's business owners, cops, even a priest or two. Gless is on there now."
"Why?" Neal asked.
"Because in two years you come up for a parole hearing," Peter said. "And maybe you get your tracker off early. It's not easy getting a job as an ex-felon; if you stayed with the Bureau you could have steady work, even choose what cases to take. You could work with other field offices. I'd like you in White Collar but you'd have options, because of that file, because of the work you do. You know who else in your line of work, with your kind of history, gets that kind of deal? Nobody. And all you have to do is be good at this."
"You mean be good," Neal said.
"That too," Peter agreed.
They rode the rest of the way in silence.
***
"El!" Peter called, when they got back, tossing his keys on the table and hanging up his coat. There was a clatter from upstairs.
"Hi honey!" she yelled back, leaning over the railing. "Did you find -- hi Neal," she said, sounding a little surprised.
"He followed me home," Peter told her, a little grimly, as she came down the stairs.
"You want something to eat?" she asked, kissing him hello.
"Thanks, I got something at the office."
"Neal?" El leaned around him. Neal, who was giving Satchmo hello-skritches, looked up at them.
"Oh -- no, thanks, I'm okay," he said. El looked back and forth between them.
"I'll make some tea," she announced, and went into the kitchen. Peter took off his suit-coat, loosened his tie, and walked into the dining room, leaning on the table, arms crossed. Neal took his time hanging up his jacket. He looked down at the thin chauffeur's-uniform tie he was wearing, grimaced, and pulled it off, tossing it in the trash can by the door. Then he followed Peter, standing in front of him like a kid expecting a dressing down, hands shoved in his pockets.
"You wanted to talk," Peter said.
"It's not about the box," Neal said, studying Peter's shoes. "And it's not -- it's important to me, not to the work."
"Okay," Peter said slowly.
"But the job comes first, right?" Neal asked, eyes darting up.
"That depends. The job comes before our egos," Peter said, because he was in very uncertain waters here. "It comes before things like personal wants, personal emotions. Not before our health. Not before our sanity."
Neal laughed a little. "Yeah, sure."
"Neal, what the hell is it?" Peter asked.
"It's about Keller," Neal said, and finally looked up. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw shadows moving in the kitchen -- El, standing near the door, perhaps listening.
There were a thousand things that Neal could say about Keller, Peter thought; that they'd been in on the scam together, that Neal was planning to spring him, that he knew of evidence that could help indict him.
"We've hardly finished processing him," Peter said. "We don't even have any court dates yet."
"I know, it's not that," Neal waved a hand dismissively. "Elizabeth said I should talk to you about him."
Peter straightened up a little. "Since when do you talk to my wife about Matthew Keller?"
"Look, I had a bad night, okay? Moz called her and told her. We talked. What, I'm not allowed to talk to Elizabeth?"
Peter ran a hand over his face. "No. Of course you are. I just didn't know."
"Yeah, well, there wasn't a lot of time," Neal said, voice a little sharper now. Peter gave him a warning look.
"Keller," he prompted.
"Keller wasn't just some guy I knew back when," Neal said. Peter noticed his shoulders were pulling in, hands restless; he was the striking opposite of the Neal Caffrey who walked around New York every day like he owned it. "I slept with him."
"You what?" Peter asked, startled. "When?"
"Not on the case!" Neal said, looking a little offended Peter would assume that. "When we were kids. In Monaco. I liked the guy. I didn't think he was a murderer. He used to be my -- my boyfriend, and he killed someone, and now he's going away for that because of me. I don't know what I should think about that."
Peter bowed his head. Caffrey had put an ex-boyfriend away and the next day he'd been abducted, and the day after that he'd nearly been shot, again. And here he was in Peter's home clearly begging for some kind of help with his screwed-up life.
"Elizabeth told me about you and Shattuck," Neal added. Peter laughed a little to himself. Of course she had. El thought the junior G-man and the flatfoot was a romantic story, if one that should stay firmly in the past. "She said you'd understand."
Peter nodded, looking up. "Is that all you want? My understanding?"
"It'd help," Neal said. "At least I'd know we can go forward. Right now I don't feel like I know anything."
Peter pushed off from the table and closed the gap between them a little. Neal's eyes kept flicking -- sidelong and back to his face, down, up, as if he didn't want Peter to think he was getting too good a look.
"You've had a long three days," Peter said gently. "And yeah. I do understand. It's hard seeing people you loved change. Maybe that's not something you're used to."
"I didn't love him -- " Neal began to protest, but Peter held up a hand.
"These are things you don't have to tell me. It's not mandatory, not like other things we've talked about," Peter said. "But you can, if you want to. And I will understand."
Neal nodded. Peter rubbed his arm, only meaning to be comforting. He was opening his mouth to tell Neal he could have some tea and then a cab home, but he stopped when he saw Neal flinch. Just a barest flicker, but definitely there.
Peter dug his thumb into Neal's arm, caught the flinch again. He let him go. With a glance that told Neal not to even think about objecting, Peter lifted his arm and turned it. There were scorchmarks in the shirt.
"They tased me," Neal reminded him, pulling away.
"You didn't get it looked at? I thought you'd at least stop to get some damn bandages," Peter said, angry that he hadn't noticed sooner. Neal flinched again. Peter wasn't even touching him.
"I didn't have time," Neal mumbled. Peter took a deep breath.
"Okay. Shirt off," he said.
"It's not a big -- "
"Off," Peter repeated. Neal, looking like he'd been asked to strip naked, unbuttoned his shirt slowly, easing it down his shoulders. He held out his arm obediently enough, putting it in the light from the dining room lamp, but he kept his body back in the darkness of the living room. Peter took his elbow and tugged him forward.
On his arm, just below the shoulder, were a pair of two blistered red burns, close-set, one of them scabbed around the edge. Higher up, along the line of his throat -- Peter tilted his chin around and Neal went with the motion -- were two more.
"It wasn't a big deal," Neal repeated. The larger burn on his neck was almost the size of a quarter. There were bruises, too, one big faded purple one on his chest (looked like a punch; Peter had been in enough fights to know) and a few smaller ones down his side, where he'd probably fallen on something.
"I got worse from being dragged down a fire escape," Neal said, with a fake grin.
"Sit," Peter told him, pulling one of the chairs out.
"Look, just point me at the -- "
"Did I ask?" Peter said. "Sit down."
Neal circled him, wary, and settled on the edge of the chair, elbows on the table, thumbs pressed against his lips. Peter touched his shoulder lightly, to make sure he'd stay, and then hurried up the stairs to the first-aid kit in the bathroom.
"I have tea," he heard El say, while he was digging out supplies. "I don't know if you -- oh. Kay," she said. "Peter? Neal's shirtless."
"I told him to take it off," Peter called.
"Exciting," El called back. "Neal, what did you do to yourself?"
"He didn't," Peter yelled. "He got tased."
"I got tased," Neal said, and there was enough amusement in his voice that Peter thought he was probably over whatever little freakout he'd just had.
"Witch hazel's in the -- "
"I know," Peter said, annoyed.
"And I have some aloe cream -- "
"I got it," Peter told her, descending the stairs again. Neal looked at him like this was some kind of strange barbarian ritual he'd never encountered before.
Peter laid out the stuff on the table -- gauze, medical tape, El's funky aloe sunburn cream, witch hazel, scissors and a handful of cotton balls. He popped the lid on the aloe.
"So," El said, putting out a hand to redirect Neal's attention from Peter as he sat in the chair next to him and took his left arm, stretching it out. "I keep asking Mozzie what he does for a living and he won't say."
"Mozzie's a freelancer," Neal replied. When Peter touched the cotton ball with the aloe on it to his arm, his muscle twitched. "He does a little bit of everything. I keep him on retainOW," he said, looking woundedly at Peter, who had just prodded the blister.
"Neal, over here," El told him. Neal glanced back at her. "He said he thought my company was a front for Peter."
Peter snorted, dabbing the aloe around the blister. Above it, the scar Carruthers had given Neal looked stark and unforgiving. These things happened, even when you were one of the good guys.
"Mozzie thinks everything's a front," Neal said, though it sounded like it was taking some effort to focus. "I mean, you gotta admire a guy with that much strength of imagination. Think how much more interesting his world must be."
"If you like fairy tales," Peter muttered. He caught El glaring at him as he unwound the gauze and began wrapping it around Neal's arm.
"Maybe some of us do," Neal said. He lifted his other arm and sipped his tea while Peter cut and taped the gauze. "Besides, it helps with code-passing. He gets inventive, and he understands stuff. He understood the code I sent him this morning."
Peter lifted his fingers and touched Neal's jaw. Neal tipped his head sideways, exposing the burns on his neck.
"Good," Peter told him, bending over to study them. Neal closed his eyes.
"You know what he calls -- " Neal hissed momentarily, when Peter applied the aloe, " -- you know what he calls Agent Rice?"
"What's that?" El asked. Peter looked up and saw her smiling.
"The Pants Suit," Neal said. El laughed. Peter snorted.
"If she got you killed I was going to make sure she never worked in law enforcement again," he said, and suddenly everyone was serious. "What?" he asked, cutting a pad of gauze and fitting it over the burns. "Hold that there."
Neal did as he was told.
"He could do that," El said, while Peter taped the gauze down. Neal was silent. "He has that kind of power in the Bureau. If you said the word he probably would."
"I'd still be dead," Neal pointed out, letting his hand fall. He tipped his head upright again and opened his eyes. "And I wouldn't ask for that."
"The point isn't whether you'd ask," El said. "It's that if you did, he would."
Neal glanced up at Peter, who gave a slight nod before turning to El. "Honey, could you get one of my shirts from the washer?"
"Sure. Don't go anywhere," El told Neal, who laughed a little. She disappeared into the kitchen, heading for the laundry room. Peter pushed back Neal's chair with one foot, making space between him and the table. He cut another pad and held it over the top of the witch hazel bottle, tipping it to wet the gauze.
"I can do that myself," Neal said, when Peter tipped the bottle back.
"I know you can," Peter said. "But I'm going to. Problems?"
Neal shook his head. Peter bent over him, spreading one hand on unbruised skin, subtly probing his ribs as he swabbed the bruises with his other hand.
"Nothing's broken," Neal told him. Their foreheads were almost touching. "I'd know, because of all the pain and difficulty breathing."
"You don't like to tell me important information," Peter said. "So why don't you let me check anyway?"
"Look at you, all Dr. Peter Burke," Neal said.
"I was a first-responder in college," Peter told him gravely.
Neal -- such an opportunist -- lifted his head slightly and pressed his lips to Peter's. Peter didn't stop checking, fingers moving up along the curve of each rib, and he didn't kiss back, but Neal didn't seem to care. If it was distraction, fine, Peter had done worse things for people he liked less --
There was a cough from the kitchen doorway. Peter froze.
***
Neal wasn't sure what he was supposed to do, exactly, about the fact that Peter was feeling him up. Checking for broken ribs, sure, but Neal hadn't had this much skin-to-skin contact with anyone in a couple of years, at least. He wasn't worried, exactly. He didn't have to worry, because Peter hadn't given him a choice. But it was distracting, all this touching, and Peter's wide sarcastic mouth was right there. So Neal kissed him, because if he couldn't have Peter he could have this, at least.
When he heard Elizabeth cough, he felt Peter tense, and he pulled back just enough that they could, if they wanted, all pretend he hadn't done that. Peter's hands were still on his chest, checking the lowest ribs on his left side.
"This isn't what it looks like," Peter said, which was a lie. He straightened up and half-turned, hip against the table. "Hi, sweetie."
"Neal," Elizabeth said -- she was looking past Peter, at him, like she knew everything about him. She had a white cotton t-shirt in one hand. "You have to stop kissing my husband without his permission."
"Well I would, but he won't say yes," Neal heard himself say.
"El -- " Peter began, swallowing. She touched his arm and put her finger to her lips, shushing him.
"You," she said to Neal, "have been nothing but trouble since the day Peter took your case."
Neal tried not to let anything show on his face. Of course, he had to go and screw this up, he'd been just fine with all the touching and the talking about how he meant something to them, and then he'd screwed it up.
"I guess it keeps life interesting," Elizabeth continued, "but it makes for some awkward moments, Neal."
Neal put out his hand for the shirt. "I can go -- "
Elizabeth held it out of reach.
"El, what are you doing?" Peter asked.
"I think Neal should stay here tonight," she said. She looked at Peter, finally. "With us. I think he should stay with us."
"We're married," Peter said softly. "I'm not -- I made you a promise, El."
"And you've been very good about keeping it," she told him, patting his cheek. Neal fought down a sudden laugh. "But I think this is a little bit different, don't you?"
"What, so now there are exceptions to wedding vows?" Peter asked. "No. That's not how it works. I married you. I screwed up once -- "
"I love you, sweetheart, but you're right. My record's a little better than yours at the moment," Elizabeth said. Neal saw she was smiling. "Neal wasn't a screwup. Neal was...an inevitability. I'm guessing," she added, looking at Neal, "that Neal needed you. It's hard for you to say no to that. It's one of many reasons I love you, and a good reason Neal should stay here tonight."
Peter looked like he might give in, but he set his mouth in a firm line and pulled away from both of them. "No. I can't do that."
"I'm not saying you should," Elizabeth told him. "I'm saying we should."
Peter stared at her. Neal did too.
"There are so many ways this could go wrong -- " Peter began.
"Like what?" Elizabeth asked. "Bad sex?"
"I'm responsible for him!" Peter shouted.
"Uh, still here," Neal said, holding up a hand.
"Fine. I'm responsible for you," Peter said. Neal leaned away from him a little, defensively. "It's a massive breach of protocol."
"And I've let that stop me when?" Neal asked.
"You might not. I have to."
"Not as much around Neal though, huh, honey?" Elizabeth asked. Peter turned back to her. "What? I'm not the only one who was -- what was it, Neal?"
"Hindering Prosecution," Neal supplied.
"You're supposed to be on my side!" Peter snapped at Elizabeth.
She touched his shirt, smoothing it down a little. "It's not your side, Peter. It's the Bureau's side, and it's making everyone miserable."
Peter swayed into the touch. Neal watched, fascinated.
"He's my responsibility. I literally have the power to send him to prison," Peter said. "He can't give free consent."
"Oh, I totally do," Neal volunteered.
"Shut up, Neal," Peter said. Neal closed his mouth.
"If Neal said no, would you? Send him to prison?" Elizabeth asked.
"No, of course not," Peter replied. "But nobody else knows that. It wouldn't hold up. This is my career, and if I go down for coercing him, Neal goes back to prison whether I want him to or not." He paused, as if something had just occurred to him. "El, are you saying you want this?"
She gave him a fond, you're-an-idiot smile. "I'm saying none of us are happy right now. You're confused, and Neal needs us, and -- well, I think it would be hot," she added.
"You're a little obsessed with the hotness of my CI," Peter told her.
"Your partner," she answered. Something warm and sharp filled Neal's chest.
When he stood up, the chair's legs on the floor felt like the loudest thing in the world. Elizabeth put her hand out and touched him, fingertips on his chest. She had one hand on each of them. Peter was watching Neal with keen, hungry eyes.
It occurred to Neal for the first time that Peter wanted him -- that he wasn't only taking something from Peter. Peter wanted something from him, too, and just hadn't allowed himself to have it before.
Elizabeth slid her hand down Neal's chest, hooking her fingers in his belt and tugging him forward. He went, feeling like the air had been sucked out of the room -- and he actually, literally knew what that felt like, which was so fucking funny it was almost unreal, but before he could laugh Elizabeth kissed him. He smiled against her mouth and kissed back, raising a hand to tangle in her hair. When he looked up from the kiss, her fingers had knotted in Peter's shirt, white-knuckle tight. Peter's mouth was open, but he hadn't moved.
"He's so bad at this," Elizabeth said in Neal's ear. Neal grinned.
"We can make it work," he told Peter. "We've done dumber things before."
"I'm not so sure about -- " Peter broke off when Neal kissed him, pressing a hand over Elizabeth's, still holding onto his shirt. This time, Peter bent his head, and for the first time, he gave in. Just an inch, just a small movement, but he kissed Neal back.
Neal felt a hand close around his throat, fingers resting gently there, thumb in the hollow of his jaw. Peter could end this at any minute with the slightest pressure. Peter could choke off his air with not much more. But he wouldn't.
Neal didn't bother to silence the high, eager whine in his throat this time. He heard Elizabeth catch her breath.
"Make him do that again," she said. Instead, Peter's thumb pressed minutely, easing Neal back a little until they could make eye contact.
"If you say no, we stop," Peter said. "If El says no, we stop. No questions, no negotiating. We stop."
The pressure on his jaw eased, enough for Neal to talk.
"What if you say no?" Neal asked.
Peter's lips curved upwards, the way they did when he was most pleased with Neal.
"I'm not going to say no," he said.
He slipped away from Neal, kissed Elizabeth once, and walked towards the stairs. Neal watched him, wide-eyed, stunned by this little piece of intel. He shouldn't be, really. It should have been expected. When Peter went into something, he went in all the way.
Elizabeth took Neal's hand, patted it, and grinned at him.
"He gets that way," she said, pulling him along slowly.
"Yeah, I know," Neal replied, and followed.
Upstairs, the lights were on; Peter was standing in the bedroom, chin lifted, unknotting his tie. Elizabeth left Neal hesitating in the doorway and crossed to Peter, helping him pull it off. Peter caught her around the waist and kissed her -- deep, proprietary, certainly not the quick pecks Neal had seen them give each other in the course of their everyday lives. He watched, uncertain he was welcome anymore, because this was something else. This was ten years of two people together. He saw the tie unspool from Elizabeth's fingers and fall to the floor.
Then Peter glanced up and caught his eye.
"Oh, now you're nervous?" Peter asked.
"Just enjoying the view," Neal replied, but he didn't come forward. That was Peter and Elizabeth's bed. That was Elizabeth, pulling off the bathrobe she'd been wearing.
Peter in his dress shirt, toeing off his work shoes. Elizabeth in a plain blue nightgown, undoing the knotted laces at the top of it. Neal, standing at the threshold still, bruised, with a white bandage around his arm and a tracker on his leg. One of these things is not like the others...
But then Elizabeth took his hand again, tugging him along. Neal, by habit, catalogued escape routes in his head until he realized he was standing in front of Peter, and Peter was touching him again, one hand on his uninjured shoulder, the other on his waist.
"I think," Peter said, slowly, "you owe Elizabeth something, don't you?"
Neal nodded, uncertain where this was going but fast approaching the blank, mindless place where he didn't have to be three steps ahead or hide his reactions or fake his way through. He just had to listen, and do as he was told.
"Because we've had something, and she hasn't," Peter continued, and it clicked over in Neal's brain. He turned to look at Elizabeth, wondering if she would even let him.
Elizabeth smiled and shrugged out of her nightdress. She wasn't wearing anything underneath. Neal hadn't seen a naked woman in almost five years, and Elizabeth Burke was beautiful.
He wanted to sculpt her. Caffrey's study for Desire, #3: Woman At Bedside. Maybe something in Brancusi's vein, all curve of breast and hip.
"Stop thinking," Peter said in his ear. The hand on his shoulder slid around to cup the back of his neck.
"She's -- " Neal couldn't figure out how to say it.
" -- my wife," Peter said, grip tightening just slightly. "Respect her."
"Honey, you're scaring him," Elizabeth said. She didn't seem at all unsettled by Neal's gaze. "Neal, sweetheart, come here."
Peter let him go and Neal almost stumbled. He felt graceless, fumbling, as he put an arm around her waist and kissed her again. He cautiously cupped one of her breasts, and she sighed happily. God, if he could get her to do that again he could come just from kissing her.
Her hands were warm on his chest when she pushed him back, and then she gave him the most wicked smile he'd ever seen on her.
"So?" she asked. "You think Peter's right?"
"He usually is," Neal said, encouraged by the smile. Elizabeth edged back, onto the bed. Neal cupped a thigh to help her up, then slid his hand up over her stomach admiringly. He kissed between two of his spread fingers and then worked upwards for a little while, mapping out the curve of her ribcage with his tongue, nosing along her breasts.
"Neal," she said, head tipping back a little when he licked one of her nipples experimentally. It was good to know what a woman liked. "If you don't -- "
"Okay," he said, almost against her skin. He moved back down her body, nudging one knee aside with an elbow. He felt Peter's hand on the back of his head, the same wordless approving gesture Peter had given him the night Neal had sucked him off in the Taurus.
Really, this was an unfair deal. A hasty, selfish blowjob in a car was nothing compared to what Neal was going to do to Elizabeth.
"Stop. Thinking." Peter's voice in his ear again. Elizabeth huffed impatiently. Neal bowed his head and smiled against her skin.
He'd almost forgotten how this felt, how intimate it was, how women tasted. When he licked, a broad sweep of his tongue, Elizabeth arched her back and gasped. He settled a hand on her thigh and nuzzled against her, breathing warm air across her skin, nipping gently with his teeth -- oh, that got a reaction, and when he looked up briefly he saw Peter was bent over her. One hand still on Neal's head, Peter was kissing his wife, and the heat of it was stunning.
Peter's fingers tightened in his hair, a subtle command, and Neal bent back to Elizabeth's body, intent on coaxing another moan out of her so that he could hear Peter's mouth muffle it. Elizabeth bucked her hips, and Neal slid his hand up from thigh to stomach to keep her settled. One of her hands covered his.
He let his thoughts drift away from any real intent, focused on the slick damp skin under his mouth. Wonderful serenity; the only thing in the world was to please Elizabeth, and nothing else mattered, nothing else had to matter right now.
"Neal -- oh -- " Elizabeth's fingers dug into the back of his hand, sharp and thrilling. "Peter -- Neal -- "
Peter was back, then, bent over Neal's ear. "Good," he murmured. "Good, Neal, that's -- "
Neal didn't hear the rest, or whether Peter even finished his sentence. Elizabeth cried out sharply and her clit fluttered against his tongue, orgasm flowing over her, muscles tense under his hand. Neal leaned back a little and rested his chin on her thigh, staring up at her, watching the last of her bliss ebb away. He cut his eyes to Peter, who was watching Elizabeth with unadulterated pleasure.
"Oh my god," Elizabeth said eventually.
"Hot?" Peter asked, voice deep and amused. She curled her fingers and Peter went back to kiss her, leaving Neal to watch again. Peter was still fully dressed; Neal still had his trousers and his shoes on.
Elizabeth seemed to be eagerly working on Peter's shirt, though, as they kissed, so Neal sat up and dangled a leg over the side of the bed, pulling the other one up so he could tug his shoe off. He had both of them off when he felt Peter's touch his shoulder, and then Peter was crouching in front of him, a warm hand resting on his calf.
Neal watched as Peter edged the leg of his trouser up, over the slight bulge of the tracker, and then edged the tracker up too, fingers cradled under the strap so that it didn't pull against Neal's skin as he slid the sock off underneath it. His hand curved around the slight red band on Neal's ankle where the tracker sometimes chafed.
"It doesn't hurt," Neal said, which was true. He hardly noticed it, only the weight of it against the spur of his tibia. Sometimes, it was reassuring. Peter's thumb brushed the darker spot there.
"Your own damn fault," Peter said, but he didn't sound like his heart was in it. Elizabeth sat up slowly and kissed Neal's shoulder. One of her hands drifted down to rub the shell of Peter's ear.
"Are we even now?" she asked, looking past Neal's arm to Peter, who was leaning into her touch again. "Because I really think you boys should take your pants off."
The look on Peter's face was difficult to interpret -- amused resignation was the closest label Neal could find to put to it, as if he had spent their whole married life together doing what Elizabeth told him to do but knew that most of the time he'd be pleasantly surprised by the outcome. He straightened, hands going to his belt-buckle, and Neal reached out to help him. Peter caught him by the wrist briefly.
"Take your own pants off," he said, but there was a smile hinting around his lips. Neal wanted to, but instead he curled his palms over his thighs and watched the slide of leather through Peter's belt-loops, the pop of the button underneath.
He didn't realise Elizabeth had been working on his belt until he felt her hand brush his stomach, sliding under the waistband of his underwear. He whined again when her fingers slipped down his cock.
"Okay?" she asked, rubbing gently. Neal didn't take his eyes from where Peter was stepping out of his trousers.
"It's been a while," Neal admitted. He'd seen Peter naked before -- well, the parts that counted, anyway -- but that had been at night, in shadows, and he'd been frantic and trying to keep Peter from cracking him on the head and throwing him out of the car. Peter turned away to take his underwear off, which was kind of annoyingly charming. Elizabeth's fingers tightened and Neal moaned, jerking forward, eyes closing on the afterimage of Peter mid-movement.
Caffrey's study for Desire, #12: Man, Turning.
He inched backwards onto the bed a little, trousers sliding down his hips, and felt Elizabeth let go of him to hook a thumb in his underwear and slide that down, too. Peter gathered up the clothing and swept it to the floor, kneeling over Neal and then, when Neal fell back on his elbows, bending over to kiss him.
"Sweetheart," Elizabeth said softly.
"Mm?" Peter asked, into Neal's mouth. Neal really hoped he wasn't going to stop kissing him, because as long as Peter was kissing him he didn't have to think. Peter was really, really good at this.
"His bruises," Elizabeth reminded them. Neal could give a damn about his bruises just at the moment but it was true the burns on his arm were making his muscles ache. Peter pulled away -- Neal tried to follow and got a hand on his chest for his pains -- and then rolled over onto his back, Neal half-lying on one side of him, Elizabeth kneeling on the other. One of Peter's hands nudged his hip and Neal, hardly believing his luck, straddled Peter's thighs.
"So," Peter said. "Neal Caffrey on top. That's..."
"Ironic?" Neal asked. Elizabeth giggled.
"Is it?" Peter said, staring up at him. Neal bent and pressed his face to Peter's throat.
"Anything you want," he said, surprised when no pang of embarrassment or shame hit him over the admission. Why should he be ashamed? Peter owned him, and they both knew it. "Anything, Peter. Tell me -- "
"Shh, easy." Peter's hand stroked his hair again. No -- Elizabeth's. Her fingernails were a little longer, gently scratching at his hairline. He arched up into it. Peter's arm was wrapped around his waist, and when he tightened it a little it was enough to bring them together. Peter's cock brushed his thigh.
"El?" Peter asked. Neal licked along his collarbone, hiding the gesture with a turned head.
"Gentleman's choice," Elizabeth said. Neal turned to look at her and found her watching them with wide eyes. She looked like she was enjoying herself. Well, Peter had said she liked the idea of her husband and other men in theory; hopefully they were living up to the fantasy.
"Like this," Peter told him, adjusting the way they fit so that their bodies were almost flush. Neal arched and pushed, bucking against him, eager to prove that he'd done this before, he could be good at it for Peter. Peter laughed and then cut off with a groan, eyes closing, hips pushing up against Neal's. Peter's hand wrapped around both of them together and pulled -- Peter was touching him, Peter was everywhere, Elizabeth still had a hand on the back of his head and Peter's pace was a little bit brutal...
Neal came embarrassingly fast, in the middle of a kiss, biting down on Peter's lip. Elizabeth held him through it, Peter still pushing him with each pulse of pleasure up through his body, until he grunted and collapsed against Peter's chest.
"I didn't," he managed, the aftershocks still rolling through him. God, it had felt so good to touch someone, to be with someone else who wanted to touch him after years of no privacy and no touch in prison, years of waiting. "I didn't mean to, I -- "
"It's okay," Peter said, interrupting him, soothing little hums in his chest. "It's okay, shh."
"I wanted to -- "
"Neal," Peter said. Neal had never been so glad of the chain in his life; Peter's voice silenced him completely. Elizabeth's fingers stilled against his skin.
"Some other time, I'll make you wait," Peter said. Elizabeth made a noise. Neal couldn't have agreed more.
Peter kissed him and then gently rolled him away, onto his side -- they were both messy with Neal's come, but Peter was still hard, and Neal watched as Elizabeth pulled him down on top of her. They fit together, Peter and Elizabeth, and he wouldn't have credited that anyone could be so easy together except there they were. Elizabeth had her thighs hooked at Peter's hips and Peter was moving slowly, though Neal knew he had to be desperate. Slow, confident, watching her face to gauge what she felt, dipping his head to kiss her, and Elizabeth said...something, Neal couldn't hear, too busy drowsing in the glow of orgasm and watching them make love.
He wasn't just a spectator; spectators might see Peter and Elizabeth eat breakfast together or go shopping or bicker about chores, but not this. A voyeur wouldn't have been allowed into their bed to see this. Which meant Neal was part of it, something nobody even had a name for, not a participant just at the moment but inside the little sphere of Peter-and-El nonetheless. Peter-and-El-and-Neal. He belonged here. All he had to do at the moment was see this, and rest.
He put a hand out to touch what he could -- drifting down from Peter's waist to Elizabeth's hip, feeling her move, feeling the skin shift as her muscles tensed there, as she arched her head back and cried out. Peter came with a low, almost relieved moan. For a little while, the room was silent.
Finally, Peter drew a deep breath.
"I need a tissue," he said. Elizabeth giggled again. Neal burst out laughing. Peter lifted his head and glared. "So do you."
"Here, hon," Elizabeth said, elbowing him off her a little so she could reach for the bedside table. Neal was still laughing when Peter's hand pushed him over, the swipe of rough tissue raising gooseflesh on his skin. Neal, feeling greedy, leaned up to kiss Elizabeth before Peter settled in again, on his side, Elizabeth draped over his shoulder. They both looked at Neal like he was the best Christmas present ever.
"See? This was a good idea," Elizabeth said. Peter tugged on Neal's hip and Neal obligingly shuffled forward enough to curl into Peter's body, secure there. "My god, Neal, you're built like a Greek sculpture," she added.
"I work out," Neal mumbled sleepily. He heard Peter laugh. Caffrey's study for Desire, #7: The Bed.
"If it's a Greek sculpture, he probably stole it," Peter said, and Elizabeth laughed too, which was the last thing Neal heard before dropping into deep, dreamless sleep.
***
Peter woke the next morning to find there was an extra naked person in his bed. It wasn't the most surprising thing he'd ever encountered on waking up, but it was right up there in the top ten.
Elizabeth was on his right, pulled a little away from him in sleep. On his left, Neal was sprawled on his stomach, left arm thrown across Peter's waist, face smashed into one of the pillows. Peter touched the bandage on Neal's arm, making sure it was still secure. Last night had been...athletic. Neal stirred, turning his head until his nose bumped into Peter's shoulder.
"Peter?" he mumbled, arm tightening.
"Yeah," Peter said.
"Thought so," Neal sounded triumphant, and only about half-awake.
"Should I be glad you didn't say Kate?" Peter asked. Neal curled closer.
"Kate wore Chanel to bed. Like Marilyn Monroe," he muttered. "Loved the classics. Always smelled like it."
"I don't smell like Chanel," Peter told him. Past tense Kate. Interesting.
"Nope. Unwashed Fed," Neal replied. Peter elbowed him gently. Neal's eyes opened. His hair, which Peter thought just grew perfect, was sticking out all over his head. "Hey, we just had a lot of sex."
"You know, that's why I like you, you're so observant," Peter told him.
"I saw Elizabeth naked," Neal continued, apparently processing extra-slow this morning.
"She's still naked," Peter said, pointing over his shoulder at his (gently snoring) wife.
"That's the first time I've had sex since you put me away," Neal added, pushing himself up to sit on the bed.
"True love waits," Peter drawled. Neal grinned.
"Can we do it again?"
Peter threw an arm over his eyes. "Not this morning. We have to work. I need a shower," he added, edging around Neal and off the bed. Neal caught his wrist; Peter, feeling magnanimous, bent back down to kiss him. "Entertain Elizabeth," he said, and went to prepare for the day.
When he emerged from the shower, Neal and Elizabeth were still in bed -- Neal was sitting where he'd left him, talking, probably telling some kind of joke. El was propped half-upright, listening with a smile on her face. Peter leaned in the doorway and watched.
This would never have worked if Neal didn't understand that Elizabeth was the most important thing in the world to him. After ten years maybe he took it a little for granted sometimes, but Elizabeth was still the centre of his thoughts, the best part of his day. If Neal hadn't understood that -- if Neal didn't see the reason for it -- then it would have been something shameful, another theft.
It still might not work. Peter had grave doubts about this whole situation, and only time would make those pass or bring them to light. Neal was still chasing Kate. If he found her he'd run, and that would hurt like fuck; if he found out Kate was playing him, as Peter suspected, it would break Neal's heart and that would hurt Peter too.
But he was confident that this, here in this room, was not a game to Neal. And he hoped that if Neal had the choice to run, he would remember this and think twice.
"Hey, baby," El said, noticing him in the doorway. "Neal was telling me about training carrier pigeons."
Peter came forward and rested a hand on Neal's shoulder, bending down. "If you turn my wife into a criminal, I will end you."
Neal grinned at him. "Have you met your wife? She wouldn't need my help."
"Okay, boys," Elizabeth said, sliding out of the bed and pulling her bathrobe on. "I need to be at the florist's at nine-thirty. Peter, are you taking Neal home?"
"I should change," Neal said, looking regretfully at the clothing still strewn all over the floor. "Can't we just skip school today?"
"Paperwork," Peter told him, walking to the dresser and pulling on a t-shirt. "Plus it'll give us time to figure out what to tell anyone who noticed your tracking anklet was at my house all night."
Neal snorted, untangling his trousers. "I had a rough day. You let me sleep on your couch. Problem solved."
"Hmm." Peter watched in the mirror by the dresser as Neal pulled his trousers on.
"You got a better idea?" Neal asked. "Can I borrow one of your shirts?"
"Yeah." Peter tossed him a dress shirt, buttoning his own down his chest. "It's going to be an ongoing issue, you know."
"Well, I hope so," Neal said. He was grinning at Peter in the mirror. "I'd invite you guys back to June's place, but the bed's kind of small and Moz tends to come and go without warning."
"We'll figure it out," Peter said, buckling his belt. He reached for a tie, but Neal took it out of his hands and turned him, looping it around his neck. "I can tie my own tie, Neal."
"Let me do this for you," Neal said, carefully looking at the knot he was tying and not Peter's face. "You always tie four-in-hand. Windsor looks better."
"This is very weird," Peter told him.
"You'll get used to it, it's not that complicated -- "
"I didn't mean the knot. I meant you tying it. Around my neck."
Neal glanced up at him, then back down at the tie. "You've got a tracker on my ankle. Elizabeth's got a ring on your finger. You've got one on hers. Gimme something here, Peter."
Peter considered him. Neal was waiting, the knot half-complete.
"Yeah, okay," he said, lifting his chin. Neal finished the loop and snugged it up against Peter's throat.
"Let's go be heroes," Neal said. Peter shook his head, but he followed Neal down the stairs.
Chapter Six
References:
Brancusi's Maiastra and Three Penguins.
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17 for language, sexual content.
Summary: There's a place in Neal Caffrey's head where he doesn't have to lie to himself or be three steps ahead of the other guy, but so far only Peter has found it -- and Peter won't give him what he really wants. Elizabeth, meanwhile, is slowly adjusting to the idea of abetting felons...
Chapter Four
***
Peter didn't like Kimberly Rice. He didn't like feds who went after fame. Rice was loud and pushy, and he could respect that because it sucked to be a woman in the old boys' network. But she was loud and pushy and an attention-seeker, looking to climb the ranks through publicity rather than on merit. Show-offs went into Missing Persons, because if they failed they got to look sad and dramatic for the cameras, and if they succeeded they got to stand next to the joyfully weeping family for the photo ops.
Plus she was trying to take Neal away from him, and Peter really hated people who did that.
Still, there was a missing girl involved, and Neal could genuinely be of help. So he let Rice take Neal out. If he kept Neal's tracker map up on his computer in real-time while Neal wasn't under his eye, then he was at least smart enough to realize this was crazy and make sure nobody else saw.
It was a quiet day; Jones and Cruz were busy starting the paperwork on the Franklin Bottle, and with Neal out of the office Peter found himself at loose ends. Plus, it really was very crazy to have Neal's map up on his screen, because Neal hadn't moved much in the last two hours. Finally he called Elizabeth.
"Hey, lunch date," he said, when she answered. "You, me, somewhere swanky."
"Somewhere swanky like our dining room?" El replied.
"Stuck at home?"
"Tied to the laptop till I see the bids go through for the furniture rental."
"No problem," Peter said. "As long as it gets me out of the office."
"Peter," El said, "Did you talk to Neal this morning?"
Peter paused. "I talk to Neal every morning."
"Is he there?"
"No, he got loaned out to another department on a case."
"So you didn't really get to talk to him," El concluded.
"Why, did he need to say something? He had the time," Peter said, confused.
"No, it's nothing. Come home, I'll make you some deviled ham."
When he got home he meant to ask her what she meant by all the talk about talking, but he was still -- concerned, that was a good word, professionally concerned about Neal. Rice wasn't like him, she didn't feel responsible to the Bureau in the same way he did, and now that he didn't have Neal's map at his elbow he was wondering if he could get an app for it installed on his phone.
El seemed to understand; she made small talk, and then made gentle fun of him when she caught him blatantly not listening. She saw no problem with Peter actually going to where Neal was and having a look around. Peter knew it was bad form to crash a case, but he also knew El was playing some kind of very quiet game with him, and that intrigued him. El didn't play games very often.
Plus, he'd get to put his eyes on Neal for a few minutes and make sure Rice hadn't gotten him killed or something.
Neal was still at the scene of the kidnapping when Peter got there after lunch. He was sitting in the car, looking bored. He must be sulking; if Peter had sent him to sit in the car he'd have gone to the car, stayed there for maybe two minutes, and then wandered off to get into some kind of useful trouble. When Peter knocked on the window, Neal burst into a grin. Peter wouldn't say it out loud, ever, because it only led to trouble and he had enough of that, but he liked it when he walked into the room and Neal lit up. For a start, it meant that Neal was behaving himself.
Even seeing Neal felt wrong, though, because seeing him reminded Peter that Neal belonged to Rice at the moment. That felt wrong instinctively -- and it felt way, way too wrong for Rice to send Neal into Wilkes's club undercover. Without his tracker.
He should have listened to his instincts. He knew he should have when Gless mentioned offhand to him that his daughter's safety had been promised if Neal would meet up with Wilkes at the club.
He got the warning to Neal almost in time.
So when Kimberly Rice walked into the field office like she was any kind of competent agent and clapped her hands and said his people belonged to her in order to find Neal, after she'd lost Neal to Wilkes in the first place, Peter fucking lost it. He told her what he thought of her, what he thought of what she'd done to Neal, and he didn't care if everyone in the office saw that it was Neal he was worried about, Neal who mattered. He didn't care if Hughes saw. He didn't care if anyone knew that clearly he was way over the line when it came to Neal, because Neal belonged to him and he let someone else have him for one goddamn day and now he was missing.
Hughes did see. Everyone saw. But nobody seemed to notice, because Hughes gave him the case and then, at least, it was Peter's job to find Neal. He could deal with everyone knowing he was inappropriately attached to his CI later.
Neal had been missing and completely out of contact for thirteen hours when El called Peter to tell him that Moz was at their home (slightly worrying) and he had a message from Neal.
"Oh, good boy," Peter said, under his breath, when the travel agency gave up the video footage of Neal walking into the office. He was not so pleased when Rice passed him a file on Edward Riley, the guy Neal had apparently been chasing down. Riley was connected to a lot of thefts, and almost as many killings. Still, if Neal was playing front-man for some op Wilkes was running, at least now they knew where he'd be.
Neal had been missing for seventeen hours when he turned up at LaGuardia and Peter for a second just wanted to shove him into a wall and force a tracker around his leg. The strength of the urge surprised him. It was possessive and a little bit dark. But he didn't do what he pleased, because the job came first; they did their job, Jones kept Neal from getting shot, and Peter found the girl. Wilkes was going to go away.
So Peter was feeling pretty pleased with himself and the world, and looking forward to getting Neal checked over and sending him home to sleep off a bad couple of days, when Neal vanished.
Son of a bitch, what did it take to keep Caffrey on a leash these days?
***
Neal knew, when he dodged out without his anklet on, that there would be hell to pay later, but he had no choice. He just needed a little time to get home, to show Alex his tracker was off, and to get the location of the music box. He was willing to risk it, for Kate, and he didn't think risking Peter's passing wrath was so very terrible.
"You're late," Alex said, when Neal walked in the door. His head hurt; his neck was killing him where they'd tased him the first time, and his left arm was sore. He felt like he might have a bruised rib or three. He was tired, and he just wanted the bullshit to be over.
"Long day," he said shortly, wishing this were anyone but Alex. Even Mozzie's spectacular obsessive shit-fits would be better than this.
"What's with the outfit?"
"Long story," he sighed. He was going to have to flirt this, but he could make it quick. He pulled up his trouser leg, showing off the ankle with no tracker, too tired to crack a joke about an Amish peep show.
"Congratulations," Alex said, sounding unimpressed. "How'd you do it?"
"You'd be surprised how much I can get done in a day," Neal said, which was really only funny to him.
Alex wanted to bargain, again, but Neal played along right up until the moment she actually mentioned Kate. That she didn't trust him anymore because he'd left her bed and got on a flight to Japan and fifteen months later he showed up with Kate.
They'd never made any promises. It was like him and Keller, or him and Deirdre in Vegas, or him and Tom in Norway. Nobody ever asked for more from him and so they never got it.
He remembered now that he had left Keller. Matty had gone off on a job and while he was gone Neal had left for the Keys because the opportunity was too sweet to resist. God, maybe that had actually hurt Matty -- maybe Neal really was just a shitty boyfriend.
He'd stuck by Kate, though, loved her thoroughly and as deeply as he could, wanted the world for her. Other people trusted him now too, June and Jones and Cruz -- and Elizabeth. And Peter. Who asked so much more from him than he could even give and yet wouldn't ask for the one thing Neal wanted to give him.
The thing with Kate had happened. Neal and Alex both knew it. Everyone knew it. But suddenly Neal was seeing it in a new light -- the light of Alex, who had sent her boyfriend to Japan and missed him and then found him a year and a half later running around with some other chick.
"That's over now," he said. He wasn't even sure if it was a lie.
Alex gave him an origami flower -- he'd sent her those from Japan, before disappearing -- and inside were three words: It's in Manhattan.
Well, it was a step. When the time came he was sure Alex would tell him right where to find it. And then they could steal it...together.
Neal rubbed his eyes, put the sheet of paper in the sink, poured a shot of alcohol over it and dropped a match. It flared briefly, and when the paper was destroyed he ran water over it, washing the ash down the drain. One more thing to do before tonight was complete.
Once he got to the FBI offices, he expected to be shouted at, but Peter didn't even look up; nobody seemed to notice Neal crossing the floor, climbing the half-flight of steps. Peter just held up the tracking anklet and asked, "Forget something?"
Neal prayed it would really be this easy. "Made it all the way home before I realised it was gone."
"Just slipped your mind?" Peter asked.
So, no, then.
"I came back," Neal tried.
"What did Alex have to say?" Peter asked. Neal gave up on smiling and trying to seem innocent. It had never worked all that well on Peter in the first place.
Peter seemed to know everything, either by research or inference -- that he'd met with Alex, that Alex wanted him to be able to slip his anklet, that they were going after the music box. It was actually a little scary how much he knew, but Neal didn't think he was really in trouble until Peter told him his choices: he could try for the music box and go back to prison, or he could be a good boy and stay with the FBI.
Kate wasn't even on the list. Nothing Peter offered him would end with him getting Kate back.
Peter was walking away, leaving the anklet behind. Neal snatched it off the desk and ran after him. He didn't make it before the elevator closed, but he caught up in the parking garage.
"Peter!"
Peter turned. Neal stopped running.
"I need to tell you something," he said. He saw Peter's eyes flick down to his ankle. He'd put the tracker on in the elevator.
"What?" Peter asked, spreading his arms.
"Not here," Neal said. "Jesus, in a parking garage?"
Peter rolled his eyes. "You're ruining my dramatic exit," he said, but he gestured at the Taurus. "Come on, get in the car."
Neal ran across the garage, ducking into the car before Peter could change his mind. Peter started it up and looked at him.
"You want me to take you home?" he said. Neal inhaled.
"I want you to take me home with you," he replied. Peter shook his head. "Please, Peter."
"This had better be good," Peter said, backing them out and pulling through the gate onto the street. "Is it about the box?"
"No. Just -- give me this, okay? Today's been long enough."
"Fine." Peter flipped open his phone and dialled without looking. "Yeah, it's Burke. I'm taking Caffrey out of his radius." he reeled off a pair of numbers -- his badge, Neal's tracker ID -- then tossed the phone in a cupholder.
"How's Lindsey?" Neal asked, into the silence that followed.
"She's at home, resting. Gless called me, asked if he could submit a letter of thanks to the Bureau for our efforts."
"A thank-you note. That's a new one," Neal said, because he could sense something on the horizon. Peter tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel as he drove.
"You know I got a file on you," he said, finally. "Not the official one. I got a file that has every case we've worked on and a list of everyone who knows you and knows what you did for them. People who would remember you as something more than a con. There's business owners, cops, even a priest or two. Gless is on there now."
"Why?" Neal asked.
"Because in two years you come up for a parole hearing," Peter said. "And maybe you get your tracker off early. It's not easy getting a job as an ex-felon; if you stayed with the Bureau you could have steady work, even choose what cases to take. You could work with other field offices. I'd like you in White Collar but you'd have options, because of that file, because of the work you do. You know who else in your line of work, with your kind of history, gets that kind of deal? Nobody. And all you have to do is be good at this."
"You mean be good," Neal said.
"That too," Peter agreed.
They rode the rest of the way in silence.
***
"El!" Peter called, when they got back, tossing his keys on the table and hanging up his coat. There was a clatter from upstairs.
"Hi honey!" she yelled back, leaning over the railing. "Did you find -- hi Neal," she said, sounding a little surprised.
"He followed me home," Peter told her, a little grimly, as she came down the stairs.
"You want something to eat?" she asked, kissing him hello.
"Thanks, I got something at the office."
"Neal?" El leaned around him. Neal, who was giving Satchmo hello-skritches, looked up at them.
"Oh -- no, thanks, I'm okay," he said. El looked back and forth between them.
"I'll make some tea," she announced, and went into the kitchen. Peter took off his suit-coat, loosened his tie, and walked into the dining room, leaning on the table, arms crossed. Neal took his time hanging up his jacket. He looked down at the thin chauffeur's-uniform tie he was wearing, grimaced, and pulled it off, tossing it in the trash can by the door. Then he followed Peter, standing in front of him like a kid expecting a dressing down, hands shoved in his pockets.
"You wanted to talk," Peter said.
"It's not about the box," Neal said, studying Peter's shoes. "And it's not -- it's important to me, not to the work."
"Okay," Peter said slowly.
"But the job comes first, right?" Neal asked, eyes darting up.
"That depends. The job comes before our egos," Peter said, because he was in very uncertain waters here. "It comes before things like personal wants, personal emotions. Not before our health. Not before our sanity."
Neal laughed a little. "Yeah, sure."
"Neal, what the hell is it?" Peter asked.
"It's about Keller," Neal said, and finally looked up. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw shadows moving in the kitchen -- El, standing near the door, perhaps listening.
There were a thousand things that Neal could say about Keller, Peter thought; that they'd been in on the scam together, that Neal was planning to spring him, that he knew of evidence that could help indict him.
"We've hardly finished processing him," Peter said. "We don't even have any court dates yet."
"I know, it's not that," Neal waved a hand dismissively. "Elizabeth said I should talk to you about him."
Peter straightened up a little. "Since when do you talk to my wife about Matthew Keller?"
"Look, I had a bad night, okay? Moz called her and told her. We talked. What, I'm not allowed to talk to Elizabeth?"
Peter ran a hand over his face. "No. Of course you are. I just didn't know."
"Yeah, well, there wasn't a lot of time," Neal said, voice a little sharper now. Peter gave him a warning look.
"Keller," he prompted.
"Keller wasn't just some guy I knew back when," Neal said. Peter noticed his shoulders were pulling in, hands restless; he was the striking opposite of the Neal Caffrey who walked around New York every day like he owned it. "I slept with him."
"You what?" Peter asked, startled. "When?"
"Not on the case!" Neal said, looking a little offended Peter would assume that. "When we were kids. In Monaco. I liked the guy. I didn't think he was a murderer. He used to be my -- my boyfriend, and he killed someone, and now he's going away for that because of me. I don't know what I should think about that."
Peter bowed his head. Caffrey had put an ex-boyfriend away and the next day he'd been abducted, and the day after that he'd nearly been shot, again. And here he was in Peter's home clearly begging for some kind of help with his screwed-up life.
"Elizabeth told me about you and Shattuck," Neal added. Peter laughed a little to himself. Of course she had. El thought the junior G-man and the flatfoot was a romantic story, if one that should stay firmly in the past. "She said you'd understand."
Peter nodded, looking up. "Is that all you want? My understanding?"
"It'd help," Neal said. "At least I'd know we can go forward. Right now I don't feel like I know anything."
Peter pushed off from the table and closed the gap between them a little. Neal's eyes kept flicking -- sidelong and back to his face, down, up, as if he didn't want Peter to think he was getting too good a look.
"You've had a long three days," Peter said gently. "And yeah. I do understand. It's hard seeing people you loved change. Maybe that's not something you're used to."
"I didn't love him -- " Neal began to protest, but Peter held up a hand.
"These are things you don't have to tell me. It's not mandatory, not like other things we've talked about," Peter said. "But you can, if you want to. And I will understand."
Neal nodded. Peter rubbed his arm, only meaning to be comforting. He was opening his mouth to tell Neal he could have some tea and then a cab home, but he stopped when he saw Neal flinch. Just a barest flicker, but definitely there.
Peter dug his thumb into Neal's arm, caught the flinch again. He let him go. With a glance that told Neal not to even think about objecting, Peter lifted his arm and turned it. There were scorchmarks in the shirt.
"They tased me," Neal reminded him, pulling away.
"You didn't get it looked at? I thought you'd at least stop to get some damn bandages," Peter said, angry that he hadn't noticed sooner. Neal flinched again. Peter wasn't even touching him.
"I didn't have time," Neal mumbled. Peter took a deep breath.
"Okay. Shirt off," he said.
"It's not a big -- "
"Off," Peter repeated. Neal, looking like he'd been asked to strip naked, unbuttoned his shirt slowly, easing it down his shoulders. He held out his arm obediently enough, putting it in the light from the dining room lamp, but he kept his body back in the darkness of the living room. Peter took his elbow and tugged him forward.
On his arm, just below the shoulder, were a pair of two blistered red burns, close-set, one of them scabbed around the edge. Higher up, along the line of his throat -- Peter tilted his chin around and Neal went with the motion -- were two more.
"It wasn't a big deal," Neal repeated. The larger burn on his neck was almost the size of a quarter. There were bruises, too, one big faded purple one on his chest (looked like a punch; Peter had been in enough fights to know) and a few smaller ones down his side, where he'd probably fallen on something.
"I got worse from being dragged down a fire escape," Neal said, with a fake grin.
"Sit," Peter told him, pulling one of the chairs out.
"Look, just point me at the -- "
"Did I ask?" Peter said. "Sit down."
Neal circled him, wary, and settled on the edge of the chair, elbows on the table, thumbs pressed against his lips. Peter touched his shoulder lightly, to make sure he'd stay, and then hurried up the stairs to the first-aid kit in the bathroom.
"I have tea," he heard El say, while he was digging out supplies. "I don't know if you -- oh. Kay," she said. "Peter? Neal's shirtless."
"I told him to take it off," Peter called.
"Exciting," El called back. "Neal, what did you do to yourself?"
"He didn't," Peter yelled. "He got tased."
"I got tased," Neal said, and there was enough amusement in his voice that Peter thought he was probably over whatever little freakout he'd just had.
"Witch hazel's in the -- "
"I know," Peter said, annoyed.
"And I have some aloe cream -- "
"I got it," Peter told her, descending the stairs again. Neal looked at him like this was some kind of strange barbarian ritual he'd never encountered before.
Peter laid out the stuff on the table -- gauze, medical tape, El's funky aloe sunburn cream, witch hazel, scissors and a handful of cotton balls. He popped the lid on the aloe.
"So," El said, putting out a hand to redirect Neal's attention from Peter as he sat in the chair next to him and took his left arm, stretching it out. "I keep asking Mozzie what he does for a living and he won't say."
"Mozzie's a freelancer," Neal replied. When Peter touched the cotton ball with the aloe on it to his arm, his muscle twitched. "He does a little bit of everything. I keep him on retainOW," he said, looking woundedly at Peter, who had just prodded the blister.
"Neal, over here," El told him. Neal glanced back at her. "He said he thought my company was a front for Peter."
Peter snorted, dabbing the aloe around the blister. Above it, the scar Carruthers had given Neal looked stark and unforgiving. These things happened, even when you were one of the good guys.
"Mozzie thinks everything's a front," Neal said, though it sounded like it was taking some effort to focus. "I mean, you gotta admire a guy with that much strength of imagination. Think how much more interesting his world must be."
"If you like fairy tales," Peter muttered. He caught El glaring at him as he unwound the gauze and began wrapping it around Neal's arm.
"Maybe some of us do," Neal said. He lifted his other arm and sipped his tea while Peter cut and taped the gauze. "Besides, it helps with code-passing. He gets inventive, and he understands stuff. He understood the code I sent him this morning."
Peter lifted his fingers and touched Neal's jaw. Neal tipped his head sideways, exposing the burns on his neck.
"Good," Peter told him, bending over to study them. Neal closed his eyes.
"You know what he calls -- " Neal hissed momentarily, when Peter applied the aloe, " -- you know what he calls Agent Rice?"
"What's that?" El asked. Peter looked up and saw her smiling.
"The Pants Suit," Neal said. El laughed. Peter snorted.
"If she got you killed I was going to make sure she never worked in law enforcement again," he said, and suddenly everyone was serious. "What?" he asked, cutting a pad of gauze and fitting it over the burns. "Hold that there."
Neal did as he was told.
"He could do that," El said, while Peter taped the gauze down. Neal was silent. "He has that kind of power in the Bureau. If you said the word he probably would."
"I'd still be dead," Neal pointed out, letting his hand fall. He tipped his head upright again and opened his eyes. "And I wouldn't ask for that."
"The point isn't whether you'd ask," El said. "It's that if you did, he would."
Neal glanced up at Peter, who gave a slight nod before turning to El. "Honey, could you get one of my shirts from the washer?"
"Sure. Don't go anywhere," El told Neal, who laughed a little. She disappeared into the kitchen, heading for the laundry room. Peter pushed back Neal's chair with one foot, making space between him and the table. He cut another pad and held it over the top of the witch hazel bottle, tipping it to wet the gauze.
"I can do that myself," Neal said, when Peter tipped the bottle back.
"I know you can," Peter said. "But I'm going to. Problems?"
Neal shook his head. Peter bent over him, spreading one hand on unbruised skin, subtly probing his ribs as he swabbed the bruises with his other hand.
"Nothing's broken," Neal told him. Their foreheads were almost touching. "I'd know, because of all the pain and difficulty breathing."
"You don't like to tell me important information," Peter said. "So why don't you let me check anyway?"
"Look at you, all Dr. Peter Burke," Neal said.
"I was a first-responder in college," Peter told him gravely.
Neal -- such an opportunist -- lifted his head slightly and pressed his lips to Peter's. Peter didn't stop checking, fingers moving up along the curve of each rib, and he didn't kiss back, but Neal didn't seem to care. If it was distraction, fine, Peter had done worse things for people he liked less --
There was a cough from the kitchen doorway. Peter froze.
***
Neal wasn't sure what he was supposed to do, exactly, about the fact that Peter was feeling him up. Checking for broken ribs, sure, but Neal hadn't had this much skin-to-skin contact with anyone in a couple of years, at least. He wasn't worried, exactly. He didn't have to worry, because Peter hadn't given him a choice. But it was distracting, all this touching, and Peter's wide sarcastic mouth was right there. So Neal kissed him, because if he couldn't have Peter he could have this, at least.
When he heard Elizabeth cough, he felt Peter tense, and he pulled back just enough that they could, if they wanted, all pretend he hadn't done that. Peter's hands were still on his chest, checking the lowest ribs on his left side.
"This isn't what it looks like," Peter said, which was a lie. He straightened up and half-turned, hip against the table. "Hi, sweetie."
"Neal," Elizabeth said -- she was looking past Peter, at him, like she knew everything about him. She had a white cotton t-shirt in one hand. "You have to stop kissing my husband without his permission."
"Well I would, but he won't say yes," Neal heard himself say.
"El -- " Peter began, swallowing. She touched his arm and put her finger to her lips, shushing him.
"You," she said to Neal, "have been nothing but trouble since the day Peter took your case."
Neal tried not to let anything show on his face. Of course, he had to go and screw this up, he'd been just fine with all the touching and the talking about how he meant something to them, and then he'd screwed it up.
"I guess it keeps life interesting," Elizabeth continued, "but it makes for some awkward moments, Neal."
Neal put out his hand for the shirt. "I can go -- "
Elizabeth held it out of reach.
"El, what are you doing?" Peter asked.
"I think Neal should stay here tonight," she said. She looked at Peter, finally. "With us. I think he should stay with us."
"We're married," Peter said softly. "I'm not -- I made you a promise, El."
"And you've been very good about keeping it," she told him, patting his cheek. Neal fought down a sudden laugh. "But I think this is a little bit different, don't you?"
"What, so now there are exceptions to wedding vows?" Peter asked. "No. That's not how it works. I married you. I screwed up once -- "
"I love you, sweetheart, but you're right. My record's a little better than yours at the moment," Elizabeth said. Neal saw she was smiling. "Neal wasn't a screwup. Neal was...an inevitability. I'm guessing," she added, looking at Neal, "that Neal needed you. It's hard for you to say no to that. It's one of many reasons I love you, and a good reason Neal should stay here tonight."
Peter looked like he might give in, but he set his mouth in a firm line and pulled away from both of them. "No. I can't do that."
"I'm not saying you should," Elizabeth told him. "I'm saying we should."
Peter stared at her. Neal did too.
"There are so many ways this could go wrong -- " Peter began.
"Like what?" Elizabeth asked. "Bad sex?"
"I'm responsible for him!" Peter shouted.
"Uh, still here," Neal said, holding up a hand.
"Fine. I'm responsible for you," Peter said. Neal leaned away from him a little, defensively. "It's a massive breach of protocol."
"And I've let that stop me when?" Neal asked.
"You might not. I have to."
"Not as much around Neal though, huh, honey?" Elizabeth asked. Peter turned back to her. "What? I'm not the only one who was -- what was it, Neal?"
"Hindering Prosecution," Neal supplied.
"You're supposed to be on my side!" Peter snapped at Elizabeth.
She touched his shirt, smoothing it down a little. "It's not your side, Peter. It's the Bureau's side, and it's making everyone miserable."
Peter swayed into the touch. Neal watched, fascinated.
"He's my responsibility. I literally have the power to send him to prison," Peter said. "He can't give free consent."
"Oh, I totally do," Neal volunteered.
"Shut up, Neal," Peter said. Neal closed his mouth.
"If Neal said no, would you? Send him to prison?" Elizabeth asked.
"No, of course not," Peter replied. "But nobody else knows that. It wouldn't hold up. This is my career, and if I go down for coercing him, Neal goes back to prison whether I want him to or not." He paused, as if something had just occurred to him. "El, are you saying you want this?"
She gave him a fond, you're-an-idiot smile. "I'm saying none of us are happy right now. You're confused, and Neal needs us, and -- well, I think it would be hot," she added.
"You're a little obsessed with the hotness of my CI," Peter told her.
"Your partner," she answered. Something warm and sharp filled Neal's chest.
When he stood up, the chair's legs on the floor felt like the loudest thing in the world. Elizabeth put her hand out and touched him, fingertips on his chest. She had one hand on each of them. Peter was watching Neal with keen, hungry eyes.
It occurred to Neal for the first time that Peter wanted him -- that he wasn't only taking something from Peter. Peter wanted something from him, too, and just hadn't allowed himself to have it before.
Elizabeth slid her hand down Neal's chest, hooking her fingers in his belt and tugging him forward. He went, feeling like the air had been sucked out of the room -- and he actually, literally knew what that felt like, which was so fucking funny it was almost unreal, but before he could laugh Elizabeth kissed him. He smiled against her mouth and kissed back, raising a hand to tangle in her hair. When he looked up from the kiss, her fingers had knotted in Peter's shirt, white-knuckle tight. Peter's mouth was open, but he hadn't moved.
"He's so bad at this," Elizabeth said in Neal's ear. Neal grinned.
"We can make it work," he told Peter. "We've done dumber things before."
"I'm not so sure about -- " Peter broke off when Neal kissed him, pressing a hand over Elizabeth's, still holding onto his shirt. This time, Peter bent his head, and for the first time, he gave in. Just an inch, just a small movement, but he kissed Neal back.
Neal felt a hand close around his throat, fingers resting gently there, thumb in the hollow of his jaw. Peter could end this at any minute with the slightest pressure. Peter could choke off his air with not much more. But he wouldn't.
Neal didn't bother to silence the high, eager whine in his throat this time. He heard Elizabeth catch her breath.
"Make him do that again," she said. Instead, Peter's thumb pressed minutely, easing Neal back a little until they could make eye contact.
"If you say no, we stop," Peter said. "If El says no, we stop. No questions, no negotiating. We stop."
The pressure on his jaw eased, enough for Neal to talk.
"What if you say no?" Neal asked.
Peter's lips curved upwards, the way they did when he was most pleased with Neal.
"I'm not going to say no," he said.
He slipped away from Neal, kissed Elizabeth once, and walked towards the stairs. Neal watched him, wide-eyed, stunned by this little piece of intel. He shouldn't be, really. It should have been expected. When Peter went into something, he went in all the way.
Elizabeth took Neal's hand, patted it, and grinned at him.
"He gets that way," she said, pulling him along slowly.
"Yeah, I know," Neal replied, and followed.
Upstairs, the lights were on; Peter was standing in the bedroom, chin lifted, unknotting his tie. Elizabeth left Neal hesitating in the doorway and crossed to Peter, helping him pull it off. Peter caught her around the waist and kissed her -- deep, proprietary, certainly not the quick pecks Neal had seen them give each other in the course of their everyday lives. He watched, uncertain he was welcome anymore, because this was something else. This was ten years of two people together. He saw the tie unspool from Elizabeth's fingers and fall to the floor.
Then Peter glanced up and caught his eye.
"Oh, now you're nervous?" Peter asked.
"Just enjoying the view," Neal replied, but he didn't come forward. That was Peter and Elizabeth's bed. That was Elizabeth, pulling off the bathrobe she'd been wearing.
Peter in his dress shirt, toeing off his work shoes. Elizabeth in a plain blue nightgown, undoing the knotted laces at the top of it. Neal, standing at the threshold still, bruised, with a white bandage around his arm and a tracker on his leg. One of these things is not like the others...
But then Elizabeth took his hand again, tugging him along. Neal, by habit, catalogued escape routes in his head until he realized he was standing in front of Peter, and Peter was touching him again, one hand on his uninjured shoulder, the other on his waist.
"I think," Peter said, slowly, "you owe Elizabeth something, don't you?"
Neal nodded, uncertain where this was going but fast approaching the blank, mindless place where he didn't have to be three steps ahead or hide his reactions or fake his way through. He just had to listen, and do as he was told.
"Because we've had something, and she hasn't," Peter continued, and it clicked over in Neal's brain. He turned to look at Elizabeth, wondering if she would even let him.
Elizabeth smiled and shrugged out of her nightdress. She wasn't wearing anything underneath. Neal hadn't seen a naked woman in almost five years, and Elizabeth Burke was beautiful.
He wanted to sculpt her. Caffrey's study for Desire, #3: Woman At Bedside. Maybe something in Brancusi's vein, all curve of breast and hip.
"Stop thinking," Peter said in his ear. The hand on his shoulder slid around to cup the back of his neck.
"She's -- " Neal couldn't figure out how to say it.
" -- my wife," Peter said, grip tightening just slightly. "Respect her."
"Honey, you're scaring him," Elizabeth said. She didn't seem at all unsettled by Neal's gaze. "Neal, sweetheart, come here."
Peter let him go and Neal almost stumbled. He felt graceless, fumbling, as he put an arm around her waist and kissed her again. He cautiously cupped one of her breasts, and she sighed happily. God, if he could get her to do that again he could come just from kissing her.
Her hands were warm on his chest when she pushed him back, and then she gave him the most wicked smile he'd ever seen on her.
"So?" she asked. "You think Peter's right?"
"He usually is," Neal said, encouraged by the smile. Elizabeth edged back, onto the bed. Neal cupped a thigh to help her up, then slid his hand up over her stomach admiringly. He kissed between two of his spread fingers and then worked upwards for a little while, mapping out the curve of her ribcage with his tongue, nosing along her breasts.
"Neal," she said, head tipping back a little when he licked one of her nipples experimentally. It was good to know what a woman liked. "If you don't -- "
"Okay," he said, almost against her skin. He moved back down her body, nudging one knee aside with an elbow. He felt Peter's hand on the back of his head, the same wordless approving gesture Peter had given him the night Neal had sucked him off in the Taurus.
Really, this was an unfair deal. A hasty, selfish blowjob in a car was nothing compared to what Neal was going to do to Elizabeth.
"Stop. Thinking." Peter's voice in his ear again. Elizabeth huffed impatiently. Neal bowed his head and smiled against her skin.
He'd almost forgotten how this felt, how intimate it was, how women tasted. When he licked, a broad sweep of his tongue, Elizabeth arched her back and gasped. He settled a hand on her thigh and nuzzled against her, breathing warm air across her skin, nipping gently with his teeth -- oh, that got a reaction, and when he looked up briefly he saw Peter was bent over her. One hand still on Neal's head, Peter was kissing his wife, and the heat of it was stunning.
Peter's fingers tightened in his hair, a subtle command, and Neal bent back to Elizabeth's body, intent on coaxing another moan out of her so that he could hear Peter's mouth muffle it. Elizabeth bucked her hips, and Neal slid his hand up from thigh to stomach to keep her settled. One of her hands covered his.
He let his thoughts drift away from any real intent, focused on the slick damp skin under his mouth. Wonderful serenity; the only thing in the world was to please Elizabeth, and nothing else mattered, nothing else had to matter right now.
"Neal -- oh -- " Elizabeth's fingers dug into the back of his hand, sharp and thrilling. "Peter -- Neal -- "
Peter was back, then, bent over Neal's ear. "Good," he murmured. "Good, Neal, that's -- "
Neal didn't hear the rest, or whether Peter even finished his sentence. Elizabeth cried out sharply and her clit fluttered against his tongue, orgasm flowing over her, muscles tense under his hand. Neal leaned back a little and rested his chin on her thigh, staring up at her, watching the last of her bliss ebb away. He cut his eyes to Peter, who was watching Elizabeth with unadulterated pleasure.
"Oh my god," Elizabeth said eventually.
"Hot?" Peter asked, voice deep and amused. She curled her fingers and Peter went back to kiss her, leaving Neal to watch again. Peter was still fully dressed; Neal still had his trousers and his shoes on.
Elizabeth seemed to be eagerly working on Peter's shirt, though, as they kissed, so Neal sat up and dangled a leg over the side of the bed, pulling the other one up so he could tug his shoe off. He had both of them off when he felt Peter's touch his shoulder, and then Peter was crouching in front of him, a warm hand resting on his calf.
Neal watched as Peter edged the leg of his trouser up, over the slight bulge of the tracker, and then edged the tracker up too, fingers cradled under the strap so that it didn't pull against Neal's skin as he slid the sock off underneath it. His hand curved around the slight red band on Neal's ankle where the tracker sometimes chafed.
"It doesn't hurt," Neal said, which was true. He hardly noticed it, only the weight of it against the spur of his tibia. Sometimes, it was reassuring. Peter's thumb brushed the darker spot there.
"Your own damn fault," Peter said, but he didn't sound like his heart was in it. Elizabeth sat up slowly and kissed Neal's shoulder. One of her hands drifted down to rub the shell of Peter's ear.
"Are we even now?" she asked, looking past Neal's arm to Peter, who was leaning into her touch again. "Because I really think you boys should take your pants off."
The look on Peter's face was difficult to interpret -- amused resignation was the closest label Neal could find to put to it, as if he had spent their whole married life together doing what Elizabeth told him to do but knew that most of the time he'd be pleasantly surprised by the outcome. He straightened, hands going to his belt-buckle, and Neal reached out to help him. Peter caught him by the wrist briefly.
"Take your own pants off," he said, but there was a smile hinting around his lips. Neal wanted to, but instead he curled his palms over his thighs and watched the slide of leather through Peter's belt-loops, the pop of the button underneath.
He didn't realise Elizabeth had been working on his belt until he felt her hand brush his stomach, sliding under the waistband of his underwear. He whined again when her fingers slipped down his cock.
"Okay?" she asked, rubbing gently. Neal didn't take his eyes from where Peter was stepping out of his trousers.
"It's been a while," Neal admitted. He'd seen Peter naked before -- well, the parts that counted, anyway -- but that had been at night, in shadows, and he'd been frantic and trying to keep Peter from cracking him on the head and throwing him out of the car. Peter turned away to take his underwear off, which was kind of annoyingly charming. Elizabeth's fingers tightened and Neal moaned, jerking forward, eyes closing on the afterimage of Peter mid-movement.
Caffrey's study for Desire, #12: Man, Turning.
He inched backwards onto the bed a little, trousers sliding down his hips, and felt Elizabeth let go of him to hook a thumb in his underwear and slide that down, too. Peter gathered up the clothing and swept it to the floor, kneeling over Neal and then, when Neal fell back on his elbows, bending over to kiss him.
"Sweetheart," Elizabeth said softly.
"Mm?" Peter asked, into Neal's mouth. Neal really hoped he wasn't going to stop kissing him, because as long as Peter was kissing him he didn't have to think. Peter was really, really good at this.
"His bruises," Elizabeth reminded them. Neal could give a damn about his bruises just at the moment but it was true the burns on his arm were making his muscles ache. Peter pulled away -- Neal tried to follow and got a hand on his chest for his pains -- and then rolled over onto his back, Neal half-lying on one side of him, Elizabeth kneeling on the other. One of Peter's hands nudged his hip and Neal, hardly believing his luck, straddled Peter's thighs.
"So," Peter said. "Neal Caffrey on top. That's..."
"Ironic?" Neal asked. Elizabeth giggled.
"Is it?" Peter said, staring up at him. Neal bent and pressed his face to Peter's throat.
"Anything you want," he said, surprised when no pang of embarrassment or shame hit him over the admission. Why should he be ashamed? Peter owned him, and they both knew it. "Anything, Peter. Tell me -- "
"Shh, easy." Peter's hand stroked his hair again. No -- Elizabeth's. Her fingernails were a little longer, gently scratching at his hairline. He arched up into it. Peter's arm was wrapped around his waist, and when he tightened it a little it was enough to bring them together. Peter's cock brushed his thigh.
"El?" Peter asked. Neal licked along his collarbone, hiding the gesture with a turned head.
"Gentleman's choice," Elizabeth said. Neal turned to look at her and found her watching them with wide eyes. She looked like she was enjoying herself. Well, Peter had said she liked the idea of her husband and other men in theory; hopefully they were living up to the fantasy.
"Like this," Peter told him, adjusting the way they fit so that their bodies were almost flush. Neal arched and pushed, bucking against him, eager to prove that he'd done this before, he could be good at it for Peter. Peter laughed and then cut off with a groan, eyes closing, hips pushing up against Neal's. Peter's hand wrapped around both of them together and pulled -- Peter was touching him, Peter was everywhere, Elizabeth still had a hand on the back of his head and Peter's pace was a little bit brutal...
Neal came embarrassingly fast, in the middle of a kiss, biting down on Peter's lip. Elizabeth held him through it, Peter still pushing him with each pulse of pleasure up through his body, until he grunted and collapsed against Peter's chest.
"I didn't," he managed, the aftershocks still rolling through him. God, it had felt so good to touch someone, to be with someone else who wanted to touch him after years of no privacy and no touch in prison, years of waiting. "I didn't mean to, I -- "
"It's okay," Peter said, interrupting him, soothing little hums in his chest. "It's okay, shh."
"I wanted to -- "
"Neal," Peter said. Neal had never been so glad of the chain in his life; Peter's voice silenced him completely. Elizabeth's fingers stilled against his skin.
"Some other time, I'll make you wait," Peter said. Elizabeth made a noise. Neal couldn't have agreed more.
Peter kissed him and then gently rolled him away, onto his side -- they were both messy with Neal's come, but Peter was still hard, and Neal watched as Elizabeth pulled him down on top of her. They fit together, Peter and Elizabeth, and he wouldn't have credited that anyone could be so easy together except there they were. Elizabeth had her thighs hooked at Peter's hips and Peter was moving slowly, though Neal knew he had to be desperate. Slow, confident, watching her face to gauge what she felt, dipping his head to kiss her, and Elizabeth said...something, Neal couldn't hear, too busy drowsing in the glow of orgasm and watching them make love.
He wasn't just a spectator; spectators might see Peter and Elizabeth eat breakfast together or go shopping or bicker about chores, but not this. A voyeur wouldn't have been allowed into their bed to see this. Which meant Neal was part of it, something nobody even had a name for, not a participant just at the moment but inside the little sphere of Peter-and-El nonetheless. Peter-and-El-and-Neal. He belonged here. All he had to do at the moment was see this, and rest.
He put a hand out to touch what he could -- drifting down from Peter's waist to Elizabeth's hip, feeling her move, feeling the skin shift as her muscles tensed there, as she arched her head back and cried out. Peter came with a low, almost relieved moan. For a little while, the room was silent.
Finally, Peter drew a deep breath.
"I need a tissue," he said. Elizabeth giggled again. Neal burst out laughing. Peter lifted his head and glared. "So do you."
"Here, hon," Elizabeth said, elbowing him off her a little so she could reach for the bedside table. Neal was still laughing when Peter's hand pushed him over, the swipe of rough tissue raising gooseflesh on his skin. Neal, feeling greedy, leaned up to kiss Elizabeth before Peter settled in again, on his side, Elizabeth draped over his shoulder. They both looked at Neal like he was the best Christmas present ever.
"See? This was a good idea," Elizabeth said. Peter tugged on Neal's hip and Neal obligingly shuffled forward enough to curl into Peter's body, secure there. "My god, Neal, you're built like a Greek sculpture," she added.
"I work out," Neal mumbled sleepily. He heard Peter laugh. Caffrey's study for Desire, #7: The Bed.
"If it's a Greek sculpture, he probably stole it," Peter said, and Elizabeth laughed too, which was the last thing Neal heard before dropping into deep, dreamless sleep.
***
Peter woke the next morning to find there was an extra naked person in his bed. It wasn't the most surprising thing he'd ever encountered on waking up, but it was right up there in the top ten.
Elizabeth was on his right, pulled a little away from him in sleep. On his left, Neal was sprawled on his stomach, left arm thrown across Peter's waist, face smashed into one of the pillows. Peter touched the bandage on Neal's arm, making sure it was still secure. Last night had been...athletic. Neal stirred, turning his head until his nose bumped into Peter's shoulder.
"Peter?" he mumbled, arm tightening.
"Yeah," Peter said.
"Thought so," Neal sounded triumphant, and only about half-awake.
"Should I be glad you didn't say Kate?" Peter asked. Neal curled closer.
"Kate wore Chanel to bed. Like Marilyn Monroe," he muttered. "Loved the classics. Always smelled like it."
"I don't smell like Chanel," Peter told him. Past tense Kate. Interesting.
"Nope. Unwashed Fed," Neal replied. Peter elbowed him gently. Neal's eyes opened. His hair, which Peter thought just grew perfect, was sticking out all over his head. "Hey, we just had a lot of sex."
"You know, that's why I like you, you're so observant," Peter told him.
"I saw Elizabeth naked," Neal continued, apparently processing extra-slow this morning.
"She's still naked," Peter said, pointing over his shoulder at his (gently snoring) wife.
"That's the first time I've had sex since you put me away," Neal added, pushing himself up to sit on the bed.
"True love waits," Peter drawled. Neal grinned.
"Can we do it again?"
Peter threw an arm over his eyes. "Not this morning. We have to work. I need a shower," he added, edging around Neal and off the bed. Neal caught his wrist; Peter, feeling magnanimous, bent back down to kiss him. "Entertain Elizabeth," he said, and went to prepare for the day.
When he emerged from the shower, Neal and Elizabeth were still in bed -- Neal was sitting where he'd left him, talking, probably telling some kind of joke. El was propped half-upright, listening with a smile on her face. Peter leaned in the doorway and watched.
This would never have worked if Neal didn't understand that Elizabeth was the most important thing in the world to him. After ten years maybe he took it a little for granted sometimes, but Elizabeth was still the centre of his thoughts, the best part of his day. If Neal hadn't understood that -- if Neal didn't see the reason for it -- then it would have been something shameful, another theft.
It still might not work. Peter had grave doubts about this whole situation, and only time would make those pass or bring them to light. Neal was still chasing Kate. If he found her he'd run, and that would hurt like fuck; if he found out Kate was playing him, as Peter suspected, it would break Neal's heart and that would hurt Peter too.
But he was confident that this, here in this room, was not a game to Neal. And he hoped that if Neal had the choice to run, he would remember this and think twice.
"Hey, baby," El said, noticing him in the doorway. "Neal was telling me about training carrier pigeons."
Peter came forward and rested a hand on Neal's shoulder, bending down. "If you turn my wife into a criminal, I will end you."
Neal grinned at him. "Have you met your wife? She wouldn't need my help."
"Okay, boys," Elizabeth said, sliding out of the bed and pulling her bathrobe on. "I need to be at the florist's at nine-thirty. Peter, are you taking Neal home?"
"I should change," Neal said, looking regretfully at the clothing still strewn all over the floor. "Can't we just skip school today?"
"Paperwork," Peter told him, walking to the dresser and pulling on a t-shirt. "Plus it'll give us time to figure out what to tell anyone who noticed your tracking anklet was at my house all night."
Neal snorted, untangling his trousers. "I had a rough day. You let me sleep on your couch. Problem solved."
"Hmm." Peter watched in the mirror by the dresser as Neal pulled his trousers on.
"You got a better idea?" Neal asked. "Can I borrow one of your shirts?"
"Yeah." Peter tossed him a dress shirt, buttoning his own down his chest. "It's going to be an ongoing issue, you know."
"Well, I hope so," Neal said. He was grinning at Peter in the mirror. "I'd invite you guys back to June's place, but the bed's kind of small and Moz tends to come and go without warning."
"We'll figure it out," Peter said, buckling his belt. He reached for a tie, but Neal took it out of his hands and turned him, looping it around his neck. "I can tie my own tie, Neal."
"Let me do this for you," Neal said, carefully looking at the knot he was tying and not Peter's face. "You always tie four-in-hand. Windsor looks better."
"This is very weird," Peter told him.
"You'll get used to it, it's not that complicated -- "
"I didn't mean the knot. I meant you tying it. Around my neck."
Neal glanced up at him, then back down at the tie. "You've got a tracker on my ankle. Elizabeth's got a ring on your finger. You've got one on hers. Gimme something here, Peter."
Peter considered him. Neal was waiting, the knot half-complete.
"Yeah, okay," he said, lifting his chin. Neal finished the loop and snugged it up against Peter's throat.
"Let's go be heroes," Neal said. Peter shook his head, but he followed Neal down the stairs.
Chapter Six
References:
Brancusi's Maiastra and Three Penguins.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Page 1 of 2