White Collar Fic - The Wonder(ful) Years - Chapter 5 - Part 2

[elrhiarhodan]

Peter was ruined. Completely and utterly ruined.

That’s what happens when you let someone suck your dick. Especially in a semi-public locker room.

Matthew Keller told him he had pictures of him and some guy on his knees, giving him a blow job. That would probably be Avery Philips, the new catcher on the varsity baseball team. He had transferred in last fall and made the squad during open tryouts. Peter hadn’t really taken notice of the kid - he was only a junior - until after the first practice session of the season.

They were scrubbing up after an inter-squad game, and Avery had given him a look. The Look. Peter wasn’t stupid and he wasn’t naive. A guy looks at your cock before he looks at your face and you know that he’s not going to be trying to poach your girlfriend. It wasn’t until the third home game, when Peter decided to linger in the shower, that Avery made a move.

He went down on his knees and practically swallowed him whole. It felt so damn good. Almost too good. Avery was much better at this than El. And if Peter closed his eyes and concentrated on the sound of his heartbeat, he could imagine that it was Neal sucking him.

And now, that rat-faced little shit, Matthew Keller, said he had pictures. If he didn’t give him two hundred dollars, he’d pin copies of them to every bulletin board in school, and he’d keep doing it until Peter paid up.

He broke out in an ice cold sweat at the thought of anyone finding out - anyone and Neal Caffrey. If Neal found out he was gay - he was a perv - Jesus. He didn’t know what he’d do.

Peter had always supposed that he’d make it right with Neal after graduation - they’d be going their separate ways, after all. He had sent his acceptance to college, applied for every scholarship and student aid that he could and kept his fingers crossed that Neal was going someplace other than Harvard, especially since he was determined to join the FBI. Harvard grads didn’t go into the FBI.

But if Neal knew what he was, there wouldn’t be any chance of any reconciliation. Neal would think he was nothing more than another Vincent Adler. A sicko pervert who preyed on little boys. Except that little boys didn’t interest him. He liked guys - men with nice muscles and maybe a beard. He liked being with someone his equal, someone who’d give as good as he could get. But Neal wouldn’t see it that way.

He actually had the two hundred that Keller was asking for - it was almost all of the money he’d saved. But the problem was that Matthew probably wouldn’t be satisfied - blackmailers don’t stop. He’d seen enough episodes of Columbo to know that. Keller had said nothing about giving him the negative, and without that, he’d have to pay and pay and pay.

He could kill him. And Peter’s soul recoiled at the thought. No - that definitely wasn’t an option. He could tell his folks, but they’d disown him, or worse. If Keller published, he’d probably get his scholarships revoked. And they wouldn’t let him graduate. The parade of horrors marched through his brain. El would dump him, of course. He’d be kicked off the baseball team.

It just got worse and worse and worse. It wasn’t that he hated himself for being queer - he wasn’t going to start acting any differently. He was who he was, but he was terrified of people knowing that.

Peter stowed his books and gear in his locker. It was a quarter to five and he had an appointment to keep. The walk across the grounds to the football field and the permanent bleachers took all of ten minutes, but it felt like an hour. The acrid smell of cigarette smoke made his nose and throat itch. Keller was already under the bleachers.

“Right on time, Burke.”

“All right, let’s get this over with.”

“No so fast.”

“Come on - I’ll give you the money when you give me the pictures and the negative.”

“I never said my price included the negative. You think I’m going to let this little cash cow just wander off?” Keller tapped an envelope against one of the metal stanchions. “You’ll find a way to get me money, Burke. If you want to keep your reputation intact.”

Peter closed his eyes in despair. “I’m giving you all the money I have - I’m no cash cow. My folks don’t have money either.”

“But your best friend, Neal Caffrey, does.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s got pots of money, didn’t you know?”

Peter ignored that last comment, as if he’d take money from Neal. “We aren’t friends anymore, haven’t you heard?”

“Ah - you should just kiss and make up. I bet you ask nicely, he’ll let you have some, though you might have to suck his dick first.”

That was it - Peter wasn’t going to take any more of it. He grabbed Keller by the throat; he was going to kill him. He was --

“Don’t waste your energy, Peter. He’s not worth it.” Neal’s voice came out of nowhere. Peter spun around to find Neal and Moz just standing there.

Moz threw in his two cents. “You know, Keller – you are way too interested in other guys’ dicks.”

Keller sneered. “You don’t want to mess with me, Mozzie. I’m sure you’ve got loads of secrets you don’t want people to know about.”

“And so do you,” Moz interrupted. “I wonder what everyone would think about the porno in your locker.”

Keller glared at them. “What are you talking about?”

“The male skin mags – the ones with the guys with the big dicks.”

Peter watched in appalled fascination as Keller froze. “You’re bluffing. You can’t know about that.”

Neal was amazingly nonchalant. “Not only do I know about those magazines, I’ve seen them - we’ve seen them.” Neal pointed over to Mozzie. “Which is why I have to wonder about your obsession with cock sucking.”

Keller shook himself like a wet dog. “That doesn’t matter – you can’t prove anything. But your pal Burke here, he’s in a load of trouble.”

Peter could see where this was going. “Neal – get the fuck out of here, it’s none of your business.”

Neal shook his head. “No, Peter, it is. Despite what you may think or say or how you act, you’re still my friend.” He turned back to Keller. “You don’t get to do this.”

“How are you going to stop me?” Keller waved the envelope. “Either Burke pays up, or this picture goes public. He’s not going to be such a well-liked guy anymore.”

“Oh, go eat a mango,” Moz commented.

“What?”

It all happened a little too fast for Peter to follow, but somehow Matthew was distracted by Mozzie’s non sequitur and Neal grabbed the envelope.

“That changes nothing, Caffrey. I’ve got a dozen other copies and the negative.”

“You’re an idiot, Keller. How do you think we found out about your stash of gay porno? We have the copies of this. And the negative, too.”

Peter wanted to die, right then and there. Neal had seen the picture. Neal knew what he was.

Keller sneered, “You’re bluffing, Caffrey.”

“You think so?” Neal held up a strip of film. Keller made a grab for it, but Mozzie tripped him and then sat down on top his ass.

Neal walked around Keller, managing to kick some dirt into his face. “Oh – are you choking?”

Keller was coughing too hard to answer.

“I guess not.”

Peter stood there, angry, embarrassed. “Neal – you should have stayed out of this.”

Neal’s face was grave, serious and so beautiful that his heart ached. “And let you get hurt? How many times have you stuck up for me? Defended me? Protected me? Too many times to count.”

“I didn’t want you to know.”

They looked at each other, the silent communication that had been so much a part of their friendship made words almost unnecessary. The compassion in Neal’s eyes was nearly too much, especially after everything he had done to push him away. Neal handed him the strip of negative. “This is what I found in Keller’s locker.”

Peter took it and held it up the light. There were five images, four were blurry, but the fifth clearly showed him getting a blowjob. It was a lucky shot – but one that could ruin his life. Peter swallowed, hard.

“Here.” Neal handed him a Bic lighter.

“You’re such a fucking boy scout, Caffrey.” Keller sneered.

Moz bounced on his ass. “Shut your pie hole, jerkwad.”

“Thanks.” Peter didn’t say anything else as he flicked the lighter and touched the flame to the edge of the plastic. He held it as it burned down to his fingers and then he dropped it into the dirt, where the fire consumed the last of it and it smoldered until Peter ground the embers out with his sneaker. The acrid smell of burning plastic stuck in his nose.

“What do you want to do with this asshole?” Moz bounced on Keller again and he yelped.

Peter was so relieved that all he could say was “Let him go.”

Moz disagreed, though. “Bad move – you should never leave your enemies alive, they’ll only come back and hurt you again.”

“I don’t want to kill him!”

“Then let me take care of the problem. I’ve got some friends who would be very interested in Mr. Keller here.” He got up, but before Matthew could run off, Moz grabbed his earlobe, pinching it hard. He pulled and dragged Keller along. Over the yelps and screams, Moz called out, “Enjoy your weekend, boys. Remember to come up for air.”

Peter looked at Neal, puzzled. “What type of friends does he have?”

“Some mad Russians, probably – but I’ve learned not to ask him too many questions these days.” Neal pulled an envelope out of the back of his pants. “You may want to burn these someplace safer – they’re the other copies.”

“You looked at them?” He asked, fear and self-loathing making his voice stiff.

“Yeah.”

Why was Neal smiling at him like that? Why wasn’t he running away, running to safety? “Why?” It was the only thing he could say.

“Because. Tell you what, I’ll answer your question if you answer one for me.” The look on Neal’s face was hard to understand, his smile was – ambiguous. But there was tension there, too. And Peter could read excitement in his eyes.

Peter didn’t know if he should accept this bargain. “What’s your question.”

Neal swallowed and Peter thought he could see tears. “Why did you …Why did you dump me like that?” He let out a huff of bitter laughter. “One day we’re friends – the next day you say I’m cramping your style and you don’t want me around anymore. Why? What did I do?”

These were the same questions Neal asked him earlier in the week, the same questions he was terrified of answering. He licked his lips and was as honest as he could be. “Because I’m a fucking queer.” He paused and the admission burned like acid in his gut. “Because I’m like your perverted stepfather.” He waited for Neal to do something, to say anything. To bolt. To punch him in the face.

Neal did none of that. He just took a step closer, and another step, until there was no more room. Peter’s back was against a pole and the only way to move was to go through Neal. He could feel Neal’s breath, the heat from his body. “Don’t, please just … don’t.” He couldn’t help himself, the tears started and Peter knew they weren’t going to stop.

“Why do you think you’re like Adler? Do you get turned on by little boys?”

“Hell no.” Peter nearly shouted.

“Then why?”

“Don’t you get it? Can’t you see? Do you have to make me say it?” The words came on harsh, soul-breaking sobs. “I want you – okay? I’ve wanted you since we were in ninth grade and I barely understood why.”

Neal reached out and touched his face, smoothing away the tears. “You’re crazy, you know that?” He shook his head. “You ended our friendship to protect me from your own crazy, stupid self.”

He nodded in agreement. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want you to be frightened of me, like you were of that perv Adler. I remember that night – like it was yesterday. I remember how terrified you were.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I think I’d kill myself before I let that happen to you again.”

Neal took a step back, and Peter was relieved by the sudden distance. Until Neal punched him in the stomach. He dropped to his knees, more from the surprise than any pain. “What the fuck did you do that for?”

Neal stood over him. “Because you’re a shit, Peter Burke. A first class, world champion shit. Don’t you think that I can take care of myself?” Neal shouted, “Don’t you get it? I’m not some helpless kid anymore! I’d beat your ass if you tried to hurt me.”

Peter recoiled from the rage in Neal’s voice. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I thought it would be better if you hated me.” He waited for Neal to run away.

Neal didn’t leave, though. He went down on his knees next to him, way too close. “Do you hate being gay?” Strange, there was no rage in that question.

Peter didn’t have to think about that question. “No – not really. I mean, I don’t want people to know because I don’t want them to hate me. But it’s who I am.” He shifted his body and sat down. Neal stayed on his knees.

“Good.”

“Good? What do you mean, ‘good’?” That seemed like a pretty stupid thing to say.

“I mean ‘good’ because …” Neal scooted a bit closer, and put a hand on his knee. “I’m gay too. And it would be pretty fucking awful if you hated what you were, because I’ve been in love with you since – like – forever.”

Peter wasn’t quite sure he heard what he thought he heard. “You’re not gay.”

Neal laughed, leaned in, and kissed him. It was just the barest brushing of lips. A second or two of contact. And his world changed forever.

There was a breathlessness to Neal’s voice, like he just ran a marathon. He sounded a little scared and more than a little excited. “I’m gay, Peter. A fag. Queer as a three-dollar bill. I’m a homosexual. Just like you.” Neal licked his lips, and looked up at him from under his eyelashes. “I thought you hated me because you knew I was gay. And that I was …” Neal paused. “That I was really attracted to you. When you called me a girl the other day – ”

“I’m sorry about that – I just wanted you to go away before I did something awful.”

“Like what?”

“Kiss you, touch you. And then you’d really hate me.” Peter grimaced. “I had this plan, you see. I thought maybe after graduation, just before we started college, I’d come over and apologize. We’d be friends again for a few weeks - I could keep my hands to myself for that long. And then we’d be far enough apart –”

All of a sudden, Neal started laughing and he couldn’t seem to stop. Between the gasping whoops of hysteria, he asked Peter, “Where are you going?”

“Harvard – and what the fuck is so funny?”

“And where am I going?”

“How the hell should I know? We haven’t talked in six …” It was like someone turned on the lights. “You’re going to Harvard, too. Shit - I never would have held out.” Peter started laughing too.

“It was meant to be, you moron. We were meant to be.” Neal caught his breath, and Peter couldn’t catch his. In the shadowed half-light under the bleachers, Neal’s eyes were like stars. Peter was consumed by them, and when Neal leaned in to kiss him, all he could see was blue.

This kiss was more than a simple meeting of lips. Neal was pouring himself into Peter, and Peter thought that he would never be morethan at this moment. They ate at each other, in turn hard and almost violent, their breaths harsh. Peter reveled in the feel of Neal’s stubble against his cheek, his upper lip. Peter had done a lot with other boys, but not this, not kissing. Somehow, it felt wrong that he should. But now, kissing Neal was the most perfect thing he ever did, and that it was every kind of right in the universe.

He ran his fingers through Neal’s curls, they were softer than he dreamed of, and Neal’s touch on his own head, his nails running across his scalp was just about the most arousing thing he’d ever experienced. Peter groaned, he wanted … he wanted.

Neal pulled back, and Peter actually whimpered.

Neal whispered, “Not here.”

He came to his senses. “Yeah - anyone could find us.”

Neal gave a huff of laughter. “I wasn’t thinking about that - I was thinking that there are lot rocks and dirt and bugs.”

It was Peter’s turn to laugh. “Trust you to think of the creature comforts first.”

Peter got to his feet and held out a hand to Neal. They brushed themselves off - no need to advertise that they’d been rolling on the ground. He glanced at his watch, it was nearly six. Funny how the world changed in an hour.

Hands in their pockets, they walked across the field, to the student parking lot. Peter had to admit, “I’m terrified, you know.”

“Yeah, I am too.”

“What are we going to do?” He was thinking about keeping this a secret when he wanted to shout it from the roof.

But Neal had other things on his mind. “I’ve never done anything with a guy, not like you.”

Peter blushed. “Yeah, well. Sorry.”

“Don’t be - it’s good that one of us knows what he’s doing. I’ve been with girls, but it’s not the same.”

Apropos of everything, Peter commented, “I like dicks. I like them a lot.” He felt almost giddy saying that out loud.

“Yeah - that’s obvious.” Neal’s comment was wry, but Peter thought he heard a touch of jealousy. He smiled. Life had just become … amazing. Neal wanted him.

They got into Peter’s car and Neal looked down at his hands, like he was worried about something. “What are you going to tell Elizabeth?” He then looked at Peter and asked in a quiet voice, “Or are you going to continue to date her?”

Peter had often thought about telling El the truth. She had, in a small way, filled a bit of the hole in his life after he had ended things with Neal. She was a good friend, and she seemed to understand that there was always going to be a distance between them. “I think she deserves to know. I don’t want to lie to her - not anymore.”

Neal didn’t say anything for a moment. “Do you think she’ll tell anyone?”

“No - not Elizabeth. I think she’ll be mad at me, but I don’t think she would gossip about it.”

“No, she won’t.”

Peter stopped at a red light and looked at Neal. “You seem awfully sure of that. Did you tell her about yourself?”

“No - Moz was the only person I told. But I just have this feeling. Dunno why, but I do.”

“I hope you’re right.”

They drove in silence, until Peter couldn’t bear it anymore. “My folks are going away for the weekend. Want to come over?” He sounded like he was in third grade, trying to play with one of the cool kids.

“And do what?” Neal’s question was equally off-hand.

“Hmmm, talk. Play chess. Screw?” Peter bit his lip hard, trying not to laugh at his own witticism.

Neal didn’t rise to the bait. “Sounds good to me.”

_________________________

To say he was a little nervous was like saying that John Lennon was just a little dead. Neal wanted to reach over and touch Peter, to reassure himself that this was real. He could still taste Peter, the salt and the sweat of his skin. He could still feel him, too. Beard burn and strength. He thought that for the rest of his life, he’d forever associate sharp light and deep shadows with Peter Burke.

Which really wouldn’t be such a bad thing, would it?

They pulled up to the curb in front of his house; his dad’s car was in the driveway, trunk opened and ready for a trip. Neal followed Peter along the familiar path to the back yard and the kitchen door. He saw Peter’s mom - Aunt Cathy - inside, and smiled. Yeah, he had missed Peter during their – hiatus, break up, cold war – whatever, but he had missed Uncle Joe and Aunt Cathy, too. He missed their low key approach to life and problems. He missed being able to come and go and always be welcome. He loved Aunt Ellen, but she had a busy and important job, and she wasn’t a mom. His thoughts shied away from his actual mom – that was still a problem he was going to have to deal with. Eventually, but not now.

Neal couldn’t help but wonder what the Burkes’ reaction was going to be when he walked in and she saw him. He didn’t have long to wait. Peter opened the door and walked into the kitchen, and he was no more than two steps behind. Aunt Cathy looked pissed.

“Peter Burke! You knew that your father and I wanted to be on the road by 6 at the latest, and here it is, 6:15. I hope you have a good …” Her voice trailed off as Neal stepped out from behind Peter.

“Hi.” He gave her a small, hopeful smile. “Don’t be too mad at him, it was my fault.”

Peter looked about to contradict him, but whatever he was going to say was drowned by his mother’s squeal of joy.

“Neal Caffrey!” She ran around the table to wrap him in a hug. “What are you … you and Peter have settled your differences?”

“Yeah.” He ducked his head, a little overwhelmed by her greeting.

“Let me look at you.” She held him at arms length. “You look like you’ve been through the wars.”

“Yeah, well – I had a stomach bug earlier this week.” That was the truth as far as anyone really needed to know.

“I did run into your Aunt Ellen on Wednesday, she said you were under the weather.” She gave him a penetrating look. “I’m just so glad you boys have kissed and made up.”

“Mom!” Peter’s cry of outrage was perfectly timed, because Neal felt himself turning bright, bright red.

She rushed over and gave Peter a hug. “You two boys! I promised your father I wouldn’t pry, he said you’re almost a grown man, but you’re still my son.” She let Peter go and looked at both of them. “I didn’t ask what happened in October and I’m not going to ask what happened now – but I’m so happy you’re friends again.”

Neal shot a look at Peter. “I am, too.” He didn’t say that he never stopped being Peter’s friend – that was water under the bridge, really.

“Hon, have you heard from your son? If we don’t get going now, it’ll be close to midnight by the time we get to your sister’s.” Peter’s dad came into the kitchen; he sounded exasperated. “It’s not like Peter to be so irresponsible.” The grumbling stopped when he saw Neal.

“Hey there, Uncle Joe.”

Neal was grateful that Peter’s dad didn’t indulge in the same near-hysterical greeting as Peter’s mom. He gave both of them a smile and simply said. “Well, well – about time you boys buried the hatchet.”

“Mom, Dad, would it be okay if Neal stayed here over the weekend?” Peter asked, and Neal just continued to play it cool.

Aunt Cathy, who was still grinning, said, “Don’t see why not – I bet you boys have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Yeah – ” Neal was about to say something about helping Peter study for his French Regents, but decided that the less he said, the better. “And I remember the drill; I’ll call my aunt and let her know where I’ll be.”

Peter’s mom rested a warm palm across his cheek. “You doing okay at home?”

His smile was more a twist of his lips. “I’ll be fine.” Now.

Uncle Joe pulled out his wallet and dropped twenty bucks on the counter. “That’s for the two of you – don’t spend the whole weekend studying. Go to the movies, have some fun.”

Peter thanked his folks, and so did Neal. He hoped he was as stone-faced as Peter; it was just too funny that his folks were giving them money to go out on a date.

“We’ll be back on Sunday – probably after the dinner hour, so don’t wait for us. We’ll call you from the road and let you know when we’ll be home.” Peter’s mom kissed them both on their cheeks and his dad hustled her out the door. They both watched them pull out of the driveway and head off.

Peter closed the door, and the hallway fell into shadow. Neal swallowed, unaccountably nervous. The excitement and bravado from the afternoon, the adrenaline from the successful rescue, the joy of their reconciliation and that wonderful kiss were still bubbling in his veins, but all of a sudden, everything seemed a bit too much. He waited for Peter to make the first move.

All Peter did was tug him back into the kitchen. “Come on.” He stuck his head into the fridge and called out a choice of beverages. “Coke? 7-Up? Iced tea? Orange juice?”

“Coke’s fine,” Neal replied. He called Aunt Ellen at the precinct to let her know he’d be at Peter’s for the weekend. She didn’t pry, but she did have other questions.

“You’re feeling okay?”

“Fine, never better.” That was certainly true.

“You could have called the house and talked to your mother.”

Neal didn’t say anything.

“Yeah, right. I should know better than to say that. Just take it easy, kiddo.”

“I will.” He looked up at Peter, who was standing there, hands in his pockets and a questioning expression on his face. “Look, gotta go – I’ll see you Monday.”

“Love you, babe.”

“I know.” The exchange from “The Empire Strikes Back” was an old joke between them. Neal ended the call, “Catch the bad guys.”

“Everything okay?” Peter asked as he poured him a glass of soda.

“Yeah – Aunt Ellen’s pushing me to talk to my mother.” Neal took a sip. “That’s not going to happen.” He shook his head. “Nope, not now, not ever.”

Peter didn’t say anything, thankfully. They sat across from each other, the moment both awkward and comfortable.

“What now?” They both asked the question at the same time and laughed, breaking the tension.

Peter spoke first. “I like kissing you. I really like kissing you.”

Neal couldn’t think of a better way to spend the evening than necking with Peter, but then he remembered there was something they had to do. “Wait – the pictures. We should burn them.”

Peter got up, pulled the now crumpled envelope out of his pocket and headed outside. “I think the grill is probably the best place for this.” Peter tore the photos into strips and set them in the base of the kettle grill. Using the Bic that Neal gave him earlier he set the mass of paper on fire.

Neal watched the pictures burn, and an odd thought occurred. “You know what? I got to save you this time.”

Peter looked up, startled. “What do you mean, this time?”

“You’ve always been the one to rescue me.” Neal admitted a little shyly.

“Huh?”

“Since that time you beat up that kid after he spiked Mozzie during dodge ball. You remember that, don’t you?”

Peter laughed. “Yeah – I do. It was Philip Kramer – Phil the Pill. Jeez, I had forgotten about that. I got suspended, you know. Two days for starting a fight.” Peter stirred the embers, making certain that no scraps were left unburned. “It was worth it.”

“You saved my life a few more times after that.”

Peter nodded. “And you just saved mine.” He looked at Neal, serious and stern. Neal shivered; there was something about that look. “After what I did, I didn’t deserve it.”

“I guess you were trying to do what was right. What you thought was right.”

Peter stirred the ashes once more before putting the lid back on, apparently satisfied that everything was completely burned. “Anyway – I don’t think I said this - thank you.”

Their eyes met and it was one of those moments that Neal knew would be part of his life forever. “You’re welcome.”

He followed Peter back inside, through the kitchen. Satchmo, elderly and slow, lifted his head and gave a single woof of greeting, before returning to his doggie dreams. Peter didn’t stop, nor did Neal, until they were in Peter’s bedroom, the door shut behind them.

Peter put a hand on his shoulder and hauled him close. “Come here.”

Neal was again aware of how much bigger Peter was. This time, the feeling was a delicious thrill and his dick twinged. He almost wanted to say to Peter, “Make me,” but he didn’t. It was a novel sensation to look up at someone in this situation. Neal wasn’t short and he wasn’t a weakling, but Peter was tall, and years of athletics – particularly pitching and conditioning, made him broad and strong. Peter cupped his head and leaned in.

Whether Peter pulled him, or Neal pushed, it didn’t really matter – bodies met the mattress and it gave a little bounce. They clung to each other, kissing frantically. Neal had always prided himself on his expertise, focusing on his partner’s desire as a way to forget that the smooth cheeks, pouting lips and long hair weren’t what he wanted.

Peter wasn’t a great kisser; he was a little rough, a little frantic. He didn’t finesse, he conquered. Neal didn’t mind. In fact, he loved it. He loved Peter’s body on top of him, pushing him into the mattress, grinding against him, hard and desperate. That was okay, because Neal was hard and desperate too.

He tried to work his hands between them, he wanted to touch Peter. But it wasn’t possible, Peter was pulling his thighs apart, settling himself in the slim cradle of his hips, Peter’s erection – hot and large – riding against him. The pressure from their zippers hurt, but in a good way. It was like riding a bike down the steepest hill with your hands in the air, your face in the wind and nothing to stop you. And you never wanted that ride to end.

But it was going to end really soon. Neal felt like he was about to explode, turning inside out maybe. It had never been this good – not even in his own bed with his own hand and visions of Peter, naked and wet, in his head. It had definitely never been this good with a girl.

Peter was rubbing up against him, his mouth buried against his neck, panting his name like it was a prayer. He was panting too, “Peter” and “fuck me” and maybe even, “love you” (which he’d been saying in his head for the better part of three years anyway). When Peter came in a scalding, uncontrollable rush, it triggered his own orgasm, and he blew like Mount St. Helens.

They rubbed and humped against each other, a bit less frantic now. The descent from ecstasy was slow and delicious. Neal turned his head and tried to look at Peter. His whole universe consisted of brown eyes and he never, ever wanted to move again. They then separated just far enough that Neal could finally see all of Peter’s face, and he thought, This is what happiness really looks like. Peter was smiling from his soul. And laughing a bit, too.

“Can’t believe we just did that – we didn’t even take our shirts off.”

Neal had to laugh too. “It was incredible, though.” Peter hugged him and Neal tucked himself into his body. They lay there, curled together, legs still tangled, for a few moments. Sticky and damp jeans made for an uncomfortable repose, though.

“Shower?” Peter asked.

“Shower,” was his reply.

Neal had been hoping for the opportunity to recreate the scene in the picture that had caused so much grief, but Peter didn’t give him the opportunity. As the water poured over them, Peter poured himself over Neal and Neal reveled in it. The touch of wet skin against wet skin, hotter than the water, was like nothing he ever experienced. Peter held him against the tile wall with a knee as he drizzled baby oil into his palm, grasping his cock and stroking. Peter’s hand was hard and his fingers callused, but his palm was slick and smooth in the right places.

Peter handled him, and Neal, mindless with desire, let him. Peter turned him around, and Neal leaned back into his arms. Peter cock was hard and hot and slick between his ass cheeks and he shivered – a little fear, a little anticipation.

“Shhh, shhh – not now. We’ll wait for that, okay?”

Neal nodded, relieved, and shimmied back against him. Peter’s hand tightened around his cock, slowly stroking, keeping him on the edge of forever. He didn’t come – he couldn’t come - until Peter scraped the edge of his thumb across the top of his cock, the rough cuticle catching just a little. As he shouted, Peter pinched his nipple hard. He could barely remember how to say his own name by the time the hot water ran out.

They may have spent the entire weekend gorging themselves on each other, but reality intruded in the form of a telephone call from Peter’s girlfriend late Friday night. As he listened to half of the conversation, Neal tried not to be jealous and to remember that El was his friend, too. Peter managed to sound normal as he talked to Elizabeth. To busy himself while Peter and El talked, Neal picked up their clothes and threw them in the washing machine. He put on a pair of Peter’s sweat pants and a t-shirt, but he’d need something more than that to wear and he didn’t want to go home and face his mother. Not just yet.

“El’s coming over on Sunday morning.” Peter said as he leaned against the door to the laundry room.

“We’re going to tell her?”

“No - I’m going to tell her. You’re going to sit quietly and make this as painless as possible.”

Neal arched an eyebrow at him.

“And stop giving me the Spock look. You’re the one who said that she wouldn’t get hysterical about this.”

“I know, but …”

“But what?” Peter interrupted.

Neal couldn’t keep in the gusty sigh. “I’m jealous, okay?”

Peter wrapped an arm around him, dragging him close and kissing the stuffing out of him. And the jealousy. He still wasn’t a great kisser, but he made Neal’s knees weak and filled his stomach with butterflies. “You have nothing to be jealous about. I just don’t want her to be hurt any more than she has to be. I’m breaking up with her for you, get it? And it’s not like you haven’t been dating. You do know your nickname, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” Neal felt himself blushing. Since October, he pretty much had dated every girl in the high school. And by dating, that usually meant fucking. Not all of the girls, but a lot of them. Or enough of them to earn Neal the title of “Casanova Caffrey.” Mozzie had thought it hysterical, since he had always seen Neal as a bookish nerd like himself. Neal didn’t tell him that if it wasn’t for the rule that you actually had to know how to play chess to be a member of Chess Club, it would have been inundated with girls.

Peter pressed him against the washing machine, and between the vibrations against his ass, and the heat and mass and proximity of Peter’s cock, his own dick stopped caring about El Mitchell and anything else.


_________________________

“Is it possible to die from too much sex?” Neal asked Peter, late Saturday night.

Peter rolled over and his hand landed in the vicinity of Neal’s sticky, spent groin. He toyed with the curls there, before moving a little south. Neal’s cock twitched and he laughed. “You? Too much sex? Not possible.”

Peter moaned just a little as Neal turned into him and buried his nose in the nape of his neck. He moaned a little more as Neal licked him and bit his ear lobe. “Could say the same thing about you, too.”

Truth was, Peter was exhausted. They hadn’t left the house except to walk Satchmo. Hell, they barely left the bedroom – since Friday evening. They slept a bit, ate, made out without their clothes – doing everything but the serious fucking, and repeated the process many times. Neal’s voice was hoarse. Not so much from screaming, but from trying to deep throat him. That wasn’t the best moment of the weekend. He had gotten a little too eager, Neal gagged and there was contact by Neal’s pearly whites with his tender flesh, and his erection died a sad and sudden death - for about ten whole minutes.

They talked too, about who to tell (El, of course, and Moz already knew), who not to tell (Peter’s parents (not yet, Neal’s aunt and mother, of course), and whether they’d room together at Harvard (most definitely).

Peter pulled the sheet over them – it was a mess and he’d have to do laundry in the morning. Again. They had despoiled this bed, the bed that Neal normally slept in, the couch in the den, and the kitchen floor. He made a mental note to wipe down the tables and chairs and all the countertops before El came over.

And definitely before his folks came home.

“You’re thinking too loudly,” Neal muttered.

“Sorry.”

“S’okay.”

Neal rolled back over and Peter draped an arm over his waist. Sleeping with Neal - sleeping – not fucking-sleeping - was wonderful, even in this narrow bed. Peter dozed off to the thought that when they got to Cambridge in the fall, they could sleep together every night.

It seemed like he had just fallen asleep when the alarm clock started to buzz. Peter opened his eyes and found the other side of the bed empty. But before he could panic, Neal walked out of the bathroom wearing just a towel wrapped around his waist.

“I called Mozzie – I asked him to come over, too.” Neal said by way of ‘good morning.’

Maybe his brain was still sleep-fuzzed. “Why?”

“El and Moz are good friends – ”

“Good friends? How good?”

“Why does that matter?”

Peter scratched the back of his ear. “Don’t know. Anyway – why should Mozzie be here?”

“I thought that maybe she’d want someone on her side. She’s the only girl that Moz really trusts.”

Peter let himself be persuaded.

“Get your stinky ass in the shower, Burke. They’ll be here in an hour.”

He got up, stretched, and caught Neal’s appreciative eye. And the newly forming hump under his towel. Neal smirked and Peter made to grab him, but all he ended up with was the towel as Neal skipped away.

He got out of the shower to find the bed stripped and the smell of a pot of fresh coffee brewing. Neal was going to make a spectacular roommate. He dressed with some care, good enough that when he joined Neal in the kitchen, he was treated to a wolf-whistle.

“You look like something from the Preppy Handbook.”

Peter looked down at himself, and had to agree. The shirt was an Izod, a gift from his aunt, and the pants were the chinos he defaulted to on date night. “I thought I should make the effort.” He took a cup of coffee from Neal, added cream and sugar, drained it, and let Neal refill it for him.

He fed Satch a little kibble, and Neal gave him fresh water. They took apart the Sunday Times, Peter making a beeline for the crossword puzzle. Neal went for the Book Review and neither of them felt the need to talk.

Peter was so engrossed that when the doorbell rang, he almost jumped out of his skin. Neal stood up; the nervous expression on his face probably mirrored his own.

“I’ll get it.”

It wasn’t Elizabeth – it was Mozzie, carrying a bag of baked goods. “So, you two rub each other raw?”

“Nice, Havisham. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” Peter instantly regretted his flippant reply. Moz didn’t really have a family. He mumbled, “Sorry.”

“That’s okay – it’s old news. Where’s the boyfriend?”

“In the kitchen – and you’re really embracing our relationship.”

Mozzie muttered something about opportunities and bagels and cream cheese before heading into the kitchen.

Peter was about to close the door when he saw Elizabeth pull up in her bright red Camaro – an early graduation present from her parents. He waited at the door for her, with what he hoped was a welcoming smile. She leaned up to kiss him, and he turned so she’d land on his cheek.

She didn’t even give him a hurt look. But she did comment, “Is that Mozzie’s car?”

“Yeah, he just got here.”

El gave him a puzzled look. “I thought we were going to hang out today – just the two of us.”

Peter frowned. This was going to be so fucking difficult.

“What’s the matter?”

“We have to talk, El.” He held out a hand and took her into the kitchen.

Moz and Neal were sitting at the table, munching on bagels. Both of them looked up, and Moz had a worried expression on his face, which darkened to concern when he saw El. Neal’s face was carefully blank. Before Peter could say anything, El squealed, much like his mother had, when she saw Neal.

“You’ve made up? You’re friends again?”

Peter watched as Neal gave her a shy smile and ducked his head. “Yeah.”

El looked at him and then back to Neal. “Well, it’s about time. Life would have been pretty awkward when you both turned up at Harvard and refused to talk to each other.” She wandered over to the table and took one of the bagels. “But what’s Moz doing here?”

Moz flashed a panicked look at Peter but recovered quickly. “I’m here to supply the baked goods and make sure that Neal’s in fine form for the tournament next week.” He picked up the Sunday Times Magazine (Peter supposed for the chess column), his unbuttered-uncream cheesed bagel and a traveling chess set. “Come on, Boy Wonder, we’ve got some work to do.”

Moz hauled Neal onto the patio, leaving the two of them alone. The moment was awkward, to say the least.

El put down her bagel and sighed. “So – what do we have to talk about?”

Peter sat down and pulled El onto the chair next to him. “I don’t know how to say this …”

“You’re breaking up with me.” She said in a flat, sad voice.

He swallowed hard, and nodded. “I’m sorry – I just …” Peter couldn’t meet Elizabeth’s eyes.

El asked quietly, “Who is she?”

Peter took a deep breath. This was where it was going to get rough. “There’s no other girl, El.”

She blinked. “Then why?”

“It’s complicated.”

“What the hell could be so complicated? You’re seventeen!”

Peter looked up, past her shoulder, at Neal. He and Moz were sitting across from each other over the chess board. Moz was gesticulating wildly; Neal’s expression was unreadable. El followed his gaze and looked back at him.

“I think I understand.” She licked her lips. “I think.”

“Don’t hate me, please.” Peter would have gone down on his knees if he had to.

“Does he know how you feel?”

Stunned that she understood, she just got it with a simple glance outside, all Peter could say was “Yeah.”

“And he’s okay with it?”

Peter nodded. “We’re both okay with it.” And suddenly, he realized he had to say the words out loud. “We are both gay. We love each other.” There. It was out there. He hoped Neal was right, that El wouldn’t freak out.

She didn’t, at least on the surface. Peter couldn’t tell what was going on inside.

“Is that why you fought – last October? Neal told you he was gay?”

That was a plausible scenario, Peter thought. But as far from the truth as it could possibly be. And he owed Elizabeth the truth. “No – we didn’t really fight. I told him off because … because I didn’t want him to know how I felt about him. I – ” The thing with Neal’s stepfather wasn’t common knowledge and it wasn’t Peter’s story to share, so he couldn’t tell El about the guilt he had felt in his desire.

“So, what changed?”

This was something he could answer and he told her about Matthew Keller’s attempts to blackmail him. She was understandably furious that he had let Avery Philips give him a blow job when they were dating, but she was even more furious that he hadn’t told her about Keller’s threats.

“That little toad – when I see him …” She made a fist. “I’m going to – ”

“El, you’ll do nothing. He doesn’t have any evidence, but if you made a big deal out of it, he may just tell everyone anyway.” Peter actually didn’t know whether to expect Matthew to be in school on Monday. He’d have to ask Moz what his Russian friends were going to do to him.

She nodded in agreement, and Peter could tell how unhappy she was. “I’m sorry, I really am. I didn’t mean to lead you on.” He thought if he kept apologizing, maybe Elizabeth would be all right.

Oddly enough, that got a chuckle of her. “Come on, Peter. It’s not like we were going to get married. And I honestly didn’t think we’d make it past this summer anyway. You’re going to be in college in Massachusetts, I’m heading off to Stanford, more than three thousand miles away.”

Trust her to be so practical. “You aren’t grossed out, though?”

“No. Did you want me to be?” That was a serious question.

“Hell no! But most people would. Will be.”

“Peter Burke – I thought you knew by now – I’m NOT most people.” She smiled at him, and there was no reservation in it. Elizabeth Mitchell was as true and honest as always. She got up and opened the patio door. “Neal – can you come here?”

Peter didn’t know what El wanted, and from the look on Neal’s face, he wasn’t expecting sweetness and light. Moz looked a little bereft, though. “You, too, Moz.” They trooped in.

El poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down, leaning back in the chair like she owned it.

Neal spoke first. “El – I’m –”

“Don’t say it, Neal.”

“Are we still friends?” Neal asked in an incredibly pathetic voice. He looked so dejected that Peter wanted to go put his arms around him. He didn’t.

El did instead, getting up and giving Neal a hug. “Of course, silly. If I’d known what was going on in both your stupid brains, you wouldn’t have spent the last six months pretending you hated each other.”

“I never hated Peter.” Neal defended himself and Peter felt a little like a shit.

“It’s my fault, okay. Can we move on?” He moved a little closer to Neal, just to make sure Neal understood that they were together.

“I have two questions, guys.” El stated.

Peter nodded, surprised it was only two.

“Okay – first question. What about prom? We’ve been dating for over a year, and I really don’t want to miss it because no one is going to ask me.”

Peter’s heart sank. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. He owed El, owed her big time. Not just for being his unwitting beard, but for accepting him and Neal with such grace. Yet, the thought of taking her and not Neal – not that taking Neal as his date would even be possible – was wrong and hurtful.

“I won’t mind if you take El, really. You two have been a couple since, like, forever.” Peter thought that Neal needed to work on his lying skills. Not even a four year old would be convinced by the words coming out of his mouth.

“Umm, Elizabeth?” Moz spoke for the first time since he and Neal came inside. They all turned to him. He pushed Neal to one side, Peter to the other, and stood in front of Elizabeth. “I know that I’m no Peter Burke or Neal Caffrey.” He rubbed the top of his head, calling attention to his already thinning hair. “And you’re probably not inclined to consider me more than a quirky friend, but I would be honored to escort you to the prom.” Moz finished his speech and bit his lip, blushing bright, bright red.

Peter had long suspected that the little guy had a serious crush on his girlfriend. This was all the proof he needed.

Elizabeth asked with some uncertainty. “I thought you didn’t subscribe to middle class expectations of conformity.”

“For you, fair lady, I’ll rent a tux and a limo and make sure every moment is one to remember.”

She blinked, then blushed and bit her lip, too. “I’d be honored to go to the prom with you, as your date. Your real date.”

Peter had never seen Moz smile quite like that.

Neal finally spoke, breaking the silence. “El, you said you had two questions. What’s the other one?”

Peter had no idea why, but El’s charming blush turned into a bright red flush, from her throat to her brow. “Elizabeth?”

She looked from him to Neal and back to him again.

“Come on, what’s the question?”

She took a deep breath. “CouldIseeyouandNealkissPlease?”

Peter didn’t understand a word of what she just said. “A little slower?”

Another deep breath and then every word carefully enunciated. “I said, could I see you and Neal kiss? Please? Each other. For real.”

It was Peter’s turn to get beet red, and just as he was about to say no, Neal – the little shit – stepped into it.

“Sure, why not?”

Peter stood there, mouth agape. He didn’t know what to say. Neal seemed – what? Hopeful? Eager? And then he thought about how much he liked kissing Neal. Why not do this? It wasn’t like El was going to take pictures of them or anything. So he said yes and didn’t look anywhere but at Neal.

Neal stepped in close, so close he could smell the coffee on his breath, the tang of the shaving cream still clinging to his skin. When Neal reached up to touch his temple, Peter pressed a kiss into his palm. There was a gasp from someone, but he didn’t care who.

Neal tilted his head up and drew him down against his lips; Peter opened his mouth and tried to swallow Neal whole, he tasted so fucking good.

“Slow down, tiger. The lady wants a show.” Neal murmured against his lips.

Peter tried to relax. It took all his willpower to dial back, to let his mouth go soft, to let Neal take the lead. Neal’s tongue dipped in, retreated, and fucking flirted with his. He didn’t think it was possible for lips to play coy, but Neal’s teased him, brushing against his like butterfly wings and then firm and decisive as a hand around his cock. They beckoned and he followed, helpless. All he heard were heartbeats and the slick-slide-click of skin and tongues and teeth. Hands had climbed up under his shirt, Neal’s hands, hard and soft and amazing.

Neal released him with a soft bite on his lower lip. Peter opened his eyes and discovered it was just the two of them, alone and aroused. Neal’s eyes were enormous, pupils huge and dark against icy blue.

Peter never wanted this moment to end. He understood that it would, that nothing could last forever, but this – this instant could be the most perfect one of his life. Whatever happened to him, to them, he swore he’d never forget it. And he had to say something – words he hadn’t yet said to Neal – because he meant them, believed them, and he couldn’t not say them and continue breathing.

“Neal Caffrey, I love you.”

Go to Chapter Five - Part 1 <- ::: -> Go to Epilogue