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elrhiarhodanTitle: Red Velvet - Part Eight of Nine
Notes: See Master Post - On LJ | On DW
Neal closed his eyes briefly and tried to not to feel so confused, so close to the edge of anger. But it was hard to listen to Peter rhapsodize about another man, someone who had hurt him. “No, please – you want to tell me, I’ll listen.”
The smile Peter gave him was sweet, grateful and Neal felt like a thousand kinds of shitheel.
“There was something easy between us, it seemed like Dan was the other half of my soul. I know that sounds corny and trite, but you have to realize, I’d never really had a relationship with a guy like that. I’d dated – New York was full of gay men – but a cop? Someone who understood what the job really meant? Do you have any idea what it’s like to be a fetish object? I can’t tell you how many guys I’d dated that were turned on when they found out I carried a gun. It was worse when I had a mustache – you’d think I was something out of a Tom of Finland illustration.”
Neal had never given that a thought, but of course Peter would have attracted a certain type of guy. He didn’t say anything, just nodded in understanding.
Peter went for the whiskey glass, but maybe he remembered that he’d cut Neal off and he reached for a gingersnap instead. Neal winced, slightly revolted by the combination of spiced cookie and single-malt Scotch; but Peter didn’t seem to mind and ate it in two bites.
“I think we dated for three weeks before Dan got his cast off, and that night – ” Peter stopped himself. “I really don’t think you want to hear about our sex lives.”
Neal wanted to say no, but he just shrugged. “If you need to tell me, I’m here to listen.”
“Okay – thanks. I’ll get to the point soon enough.” Peter took a deep breath, as if he was bracing himself. “Our sex life was good – better than good. It was nice to have a steady partner. We always played it safe, you know – never went without a condom, even after Dan …”
Peter cut himself off, his face took on a strained look.
“After Dan what?” Neal prodded.
“After he asked me if we were a couple, if we were going to be exclusive. I’d forgotten that. I’d forgotten that he asked me for a commitment. And I gave it to him – I told him that there was no one else I wanted to be with, and he said the same thing, that I was everything he ever wanted in a man. That it was like I was made just for him.”
“Did you move in together?”
“No – we’d talked about it, but we both decided that we needed a little space. That’s not to say that I didn’t spend most of my nights with Dan. We worked the same shift, usually – except when we didn’t. Law enforcement isn’t a nine-to-five career.”
Neal had to ask, “How long were you together?”
“About four years.” Peter stood up and paced the length of the room. “No. That’s not accurate. We were together for three years, six months, and fifteen days – give or take a few hours. It’s etched in my brain.” He went to the French doors that led out to the balcony, resting his hands on the icy glass.
Neal watched and ached. He’d been wrong, thinking that Peter was still in love with this ghost. Peter seemed frozen now, lost and alone. Neal went to him, bringing him back to the table, taking his cold hands and warming them up between his own. “Can you go on?”
The look of gratitude in Peter’s eyes was a dagger to his heart. “Yeah, I think so.” Peter freed himself from Neal’s grasp and scrubbed at his face. “This is hard, it’s a lot harder that the first time.”
“First time?”
“Yeah, when I told my therapist. She said it would be easier, but it’s not. I think that’s because you matter so much more me.”
Neal wanted to weep at those words. “We can take a break; we don’t have to do this now.” He wanted Peter to take the out he was giving him; hating the pain on that beloved face.
“No – I think if I don’t finish this now, I’ll never be able to. I need to move forward, not stay caught in the past. And if I don’t tell you, that’s what’s going to happen.”
Neal retrieved the whiskey bottle. They both needed it.
“On paper, we were far from a perfect match. Dan loved being a little outrageous. He wasn’t campy, but he just was a hell of a lot more at ease in that world that I was. I’d never felt the need to be part of the gay culture in the city, it wasn’t who I was. But Dan didn’t pressure me, he didn’t try to change me and maybe that’s why we lasted, why I fell so hard.”
Peter fiddled with his glass, looking at the amber liquid like it held the secrets of the universe.
“I didn’t try to change him either – so I guess I deluded myself into thinking we had this perfect partnership, we were willing to accept each other’s limitations. It was all a lie, though.”
Neal waited for Peter to continue.
“Like I said, Dan and I were together for four years. We didn’t live together, but we did everything together. He’d go to Yankee games with me because I enjoyed them. I went clubbing with Dan because he loved to dance. We made room for each other, if that makes any sense.”
“Yes, it does. You shared a life – you wanted to make each other happy.” Neal tamped down the rising jealousy. “You loved him, he loved you and that’s what you do for someone you love.”
Peter nodded. “Things seemed to be going perfectly – at home, at work. I’d been given my own task force, and Dan – unbelievably – got promoted again, this time to captain. We finally started talking about living together. I was so fucking smug – thinking that we had the rest of our lives mapped out. I even started day dreaming about a commitment ceremony, believe it or not. Everything was Dan and I this, Dan and I that, and he went right along with it, playing into my perfect domestic fantasies.”
Peter wiped his mouth, pausing like he needed to find the right words – the ones that wouldn’t tear him apart.
“It fell apart in a single day in March. What’s the line, ‘Beware the Ides of March’? FBI agents have to have a yearly physical, the usual stuff to make sure that you’re still fit for field duty. The blood work is pretty routine: cholesterol, thyroid function, blood sugar, and apparently some sexually transmitted diseases.
“About a week after I had the physical, I went for the follow up, figuring that the doctor’s going to tell me I need to watch my cholesterol, lose a few pounds. But no, he tells me I have syphilis, and that this was the first time it showed up in my blood work. The infection was recent, at least since my physical the previous year. I remember looking at him like he was crazy. How the hell could I have an STD? I’ve only had one partner for the last four years.”
Neal didn’t know what to say; he could only imagine Peter’s horror. And even though he’d forgiven Peter for the terrible words he’d flung at him that night, it wasn’t until this moment that he understood what made him say them.
“Of course, a shot of penicillin took care of the infection. I’d have to have another blood test, naturally, but the doctor kept stressing how it was more important that I get in touch with all my sex partners over the last year and let them know they’d been exposed. Even though everyone worried about AIDS, common VD – the stuff we were warned about in high school health class – was still a public health issue.”
Peter stopped talking, and the silence echoed with his anguish.
“You don’t have to do this, Peter. You don’t have to tell me anymore of it.”
The gratitude in Peter’s eyes was heartbreaking, but he again refused to stop. “I have to, it hurts but I have to.”
Neal reached out, taking hold of Peter’s hands. They were still icy cold, but he didn’t think it was from the contact with the window. “Then tell me.”
“I didn’t know what to do. Of course, the doctor insisted on doing an AIDS test – he even had the equipment for a rapid result. It was negative, thank god. I left the doctor’s office and just wandered for hours. It seemed too impossible to believe. I tried to think of any other possibility, any other way I could have gotten infected. All of the old stories – the ones that you hear as a kid – sitting on a toilet seat, touching a doorknob, I thought maybe there was some truth to that. Anything but admitting that the man I loved, the only man I’d been with for four years, had been cheating on me.
“It was late when I got home. There was a message from Dan on my answering machine. He had to work late, but he’d be over tomorrow – we’d have pizza and watch the Knicks-Heat game.
“I don’t know – there was something in his voice, something that made me think he was lying. It could have been all in my head, after all.”
“What did you do?”
“I – I paced around my apartment, I listened to Dan’s message over and over, obsessively trying to pick out anything that would tell me what he was really doing. Half the time, it sounded like he was in his office at One Police Plaza, the other half, I was convinced he’d called me from a pay phone on the street.” Peter let out a bemused chuckle. “It was 1998 and neither of us had cell phones yet. Pagers were standard issue, but not cell phones.
“Anyway – I finally made up my mind that I was going to have to talk to Dan that night. I was going to go over to apartment and wait for him to get home. There was no point in just sitting and stewing. I needed answers.”
“Did he give them to you?”
“No – or yes, well – yeah. I got the answers I was looking for, but not the way I was looking for them. I thought I was heading over to Dan’s apartment, but I found myself in the East Village instead. There was a dance club we’d go to, it was mostly gay, but a lot of girls liked it too – ”
Neal knew where this was going, he felt sick – like he was watching an accident he couldn’t prevent.
“It was still early – I don’t know what I thought I was going to find. You know the night life in New York, nothing really starts until after ten and it was still only a little before nine. But the club’s front door was open and I’d gotten out of my suit, so I guess I looked like I fit in and no one stopped me.
“I wish they had – I really wish they had. The main room was mostly empty, but I knew I wouldn’t find Dan in there. I went into the back, behind the stage – there was this area that was pretty notorious.” Peter stopped and closed his eyes, and Neal could see the tears start to form.
Peter didn’t stop, though. “Dan was there, he was screwing a woman – going at her like a jackhammer, holding onto her tits, playing with her nipples, and talking to her like they were making a porno movie. He kept telling her how tight and wet her cunt was, how much he loved pussy, he could never get enough of it. That he was going to shoot his load in her and eat it out of her.”
“Peter – ”
“No – I have to finish this.” Peter pulled his hand out of Neal’s and reached for the Scotch, emptying the glass. “Sorry – I …”
“Nothing to apologize for, please.”
“I didn’t stay, I didn’t interrupt them. I just left. What was I going to do, confront him while he still had his dick in some bimbo?” Peter shook his head. “No – that’s not fair. Whoever the woman was, she doesn’t deserve my contempt.”
“You’re far more generous than I’d be.”
“Believe me, it’s taken me a lot of work and time to get to this point, Neal.”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Telling Neal was not easier, despite what his therapist had said. It was so much worse, and not just for the compassion he saw in Neal’s eyes, how he shared his pain.
The only thing that kept him going was Neal’s rock-steady presence.
“What did you do?”
“I went to Dan’s place – it wasn’t that far from the club where I’d found him. I wanted to tear the place apart; I wanted to be like some stereotypical vengeful spouse, destroying everything that mattered to him.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No, of course not. I had some self-control left. But I packed up my stuff – after nearly four years, I’d left a lot of my things there. It was one of the reasons why we’d really decided that it was time to buy a place together. I’d go crazy looking for a suit jacket, only to find I’d left it at Dan’s. He’d do the same thing. And since we were both working in Lower Manhattan, we thought it was time to try and find a place together. It just made sense. We’d even looked at a few high rises in Jersey City and Hoboken.”
Peter realized he’d gotten diverted. “Sorry, you really don’t want to hear about the real estate saga.”
“It’s all part of the story, Peter. Tell me as much as you can bear.”
“Thank you.” He took a deep breath and continued. “Anyway – I packed up everything. Clothes, books, stuff – whatever I brought with me, but I wanted nothing that we’d bought together. None of the movies or the music and definitely none of the pictures of us. I knew that when I walked out of there, I wanted no reminders. Everything was piled up in a couple of garbage bags and I put them outside, in the hallway. When I finished telling Dan we were done, I could just leave. I was such a fucking Boy Scout, always prepared.
“I didn’t know how long I’d have to wait, and the waiting was the worst of all, thinking about everything – all the good times, all the hopes and plans, and realizing that none of those plans really meant a thing to Dan.”
“You think he didn’t love you – that he’d spent four years with you as a lie?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think it was a lie – that he was stringing me along – I think he cared for me, but the future wasn’t important to him.”
Neal’s anger was gratifying, and in a way, almost amusing. “If he cared for you, he wouldn’t have cheated on you, he wouldn’t have infected you. He would have been honest with you if he really cared.”
“Maybe. Or maybe he cared as much as he could. I realized, sitting there and waiting for him, that Dan was a risk junkie. That he thrived on the edge. Hell, the night I rescued him, he’d set the whole thing up, knowing that he was in for a beat down. Most risk junkies get their fix with extreme sports – BASE jumping, free climbing – or they take jobs that put them in danger every day. I think, if Dan wasn’t gay and wasn’t so fucking ambitious, he’d have probably been a fireman or worked as a beat cop in some high-crime precinct. But he liked the accolades as much as the adrenaline.”
“So he indulged in high-risk sex,” Neal said, his voice filled with contempt. “He betrayed you and for what?”
“Yeah – I know, I know.”
“I hope you beat the shit out of him when he came home.”
“No, I didn’t. I thought about it, but that’s not who I am. I just wanted to tell him it was over, I wanted to be done. I didn’t want a confrontation. But it was inevitable. Dan came in about an hour after I’d finished packing. He cursed as he tripped over the bags I left in the hallway.
“I just sat there and watched him…
“Peter – ” Neal tried to hold onto him, but he needed some distance.
“That wasn’t the last time I saw Dan.”
“He tried to get back together?”
“Yeah – he called me a few times. I had my number changed to an unlisted one. He sent me a few letters. I wrote ‘Return to Sender’ on all of them. I wanted nothing to do with him. I had no room in my heart for forgiveness.”
“What he did was unforgivable.” Neal sounded so adamant, so sure.
“Maybe – I know that I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him, hearing his voice and knowing that even if he really did love me, he never understood me, he never …” Peter couldn’t find the words around the pain that suddenly seemed so fresh. This time, when Neal came to stand behind him, when he rested a hand against his back, Peter allowed himself to be soothed.
“Can I ask you something?”
“What?” Peter was almost afraid of what Neal was going to ask.
“That night, at Reese and Elizabeth’s – when I told you I wanted to hurt the man who damaged you so badly, you said I couldn’t, that he was dead. How?”
That was the question he was afraid of. “Like I said, I saw Dan again – just one more time. About eighteen months after I left him, I got a call from a social worker at Mount Sinai hospital. Dan was in the hospice unit there, and I’d been listed as his agent on his health care proxy. They had a copy of his living will and he’d specified that he wanted no extraordinary measures taken to extend his life, but they needed me to sign off on removing him from a ventilator.”
Peter could feel the shock of discovery as if he’d just gotten that phone call. “I’d forgotten, a few months before I found out just what he was, back when we were beginning to think about intertwining our lives, we made out living wills and health care proxies, naming the other as the person to make the end of life decisions. Can you guess what Dan was dying from?”
“AIDS?”
“It wasn’t hard to figure that one out. The retrovirals that were like miracle to others weren’t working on him. Or maybe he figured that this was one more knife edge he could ride and never bothered getting tested or taking the medications.”
“You went to see him?”
“Yeah, I had to. He was terminal – it was a matter of days at that time. He was on a vent and a feeding tube, and at the point where only extraordinary means would keep him alive. It was a matter of days, a week at the most. The hospice people wanted to know if I would be able to make a decision to remove him from life support.”
“It was like looking at a corpse from a concentration camp. He weighed maybe 75 pounds and was covered in sarcomas. But he was still awake, still aware, and even though he was probably out of his mind from the pain and the cancer eating him up, his eyes – ”
Peter finally broke. He hadn’t when he’d told Dr. Teller, he’d been remarkably dry-eyed in her office. Now, though, he couldn’t say it, he couldn’t – all he could do was sob, the grief was gut wrenching and terrible.
Neal wrapped his arms around him, trying to give as much solace as he could. “Shhh, it’s done. It’s over. You don’t have to say anything more.”
But he did, he had to finish this. “He begged me – he was still Dan, and his eyes – he begged me to have the machines turned off.”
“And did you?”
Peter nodded. “I wanted to be vengeful; I wanted him to suffer because I suffered. I wanted – but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do that to him. I never forgave him, but I couldn’t let him suffer for a moment longer. I stood there and watched as the nurses removed the tubes, turned off the machines, until there was just the heart rate monitor and then that just stopped. He died. I stood by his bed and watched him die.”
Neal was crying, he didn’t care that the tears were pouring down his face. He’d lost friends to the plague. Who hadn’t? But no one with whom he’d been that close to, never a lover, never someone who had held his heart. Peter wasn’t crying, though. He looked wrecked, but his eyes were dry.
“I didn’t go to his funeral, Neal. I – I couldn’t. I was still so angry, even after watching him suffer like that. I was angry and all I could think about were the lies and the dreams he destroyed.”
“I can understand.”
“I was also angry that he left me, that he did this to himself. And I was angry at myself, too.”
“Why? You were blameless – he cheated, he lied and he didn’t care what happened to you.”
“I think it was survivor guilt – I left him, maybe if I stayed and tried to work things out, he wouldn’t have gotten sick. Or if he did, he wouldn’t have had to die like that.”
“Or maybe he would have dragged you into a never ending spiral of addiction and failed recovery, Peter. Maybe he would have infected you.” Neal wasn’t crying anymore. His tears were for Peter and his pain and loss, not for the man who brought such agony.
“I don’t know – it’s likely. But I’ve learned something.” Peter gave him a gentle smile. “I’ve learned that I can’t live for the past, I can’t live as if the past is present. Dan made his choices, I made mine. He’s been dead fourteen years and I’ve finally been able to start moving past it.”
Peter went back to the windows and Neal joined him. The city lights drowned even the brightest stars, but the moon hung there, like an ornament on a Christmas tree.
Neal wondered, though, where they were going to go from here. He still loved Peter, he wanted a future with him more than ever and he was willing to take this man in whatever state he was in, heartbroken or heart-whole.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
He wanted to tell Neal that he loved him; that he always had. The words had been on the tip of his tongue since the afternoon, watching Reese and El say their vows. Or maybe he’d wanted to say them as far back as October.
No, it wasn’t then. Peter knew when he first wanted to tell Neal the true nature of his feelings, and it was at the very beginning. That first morning, but back then, it seemed improbable and impetuous and downright stupid.
Peter knew, looking at things objectively, that despite his cruelty and his anger, he hadn’t killed Neal’s affection. That night at Reese and Elizabeth’s, Neal had asked him if reconciliation was possible. Back in October, after the party, Neal even said that they couldn’t move forward until Peter was able to tell him the whole story.
But now, after he’d laid bare his soul and displayed his wounds, he couldn’t stop wondering, worrying that he’d never be able to get back what he once had with Neal. And then it struck him: he didn’t want that. He didn’t want the vague feelings of insecurity, the need to compartmentalize his relationship with Neal away from the rest of his life. He wanted so much more, he knew – if Neal shared his feelings – he could give this man all the love he deserved.
Something must have shown on his face, because Neal asked, “What’s the matter?”
Peter knew he was being reckless, but if ever there was a moment in his life where he needed to take a risk, this was it. “I know it’s probably not the right moment, after everything I’ve just told you, but there’s one more thing you need to know. I love you, Neal. I always did, and I always will.”
The seconds stretched out into eternity, and then that eternity collapsed on itself like a star going supernova. “I love you too, and I don’t think anything will ever change that. I forgave you, long before you apologized. Probably before I saw you at Reese and Elizabeth’s. And you’ve done what I’ve asked, you’ve entrusted me with the truth. But right now, I can’t help but wonder if – ” Neal’s hesitation was painfully honest. “If you’ll ever be able to trust me. If you’d ever stop wondering if I didn’t want something more.”
This was something Peter had never thought about, what the next steps in their lives would be. “My heart is certain that I love you. That much I know. I’ve learned that what I said to you that night, my anger then, my need to compartmentalize, was a product of my past. Can I promise that I’m never going to behave like an asshole again, that I’m never going to wonder and worry and act out my insecurities? I wish I could, but to use the hackneyed expression, I’m a work in progress. I was wearing my pain for so long, it became comfortable, easy. I’m naked, now. It hurts to be so exposed and I keep thinking how easy it would be to just put on the old clothes, to fall back into the old habits.”
“I can understand that.”
“But?”
“No buts, Peter. I want to move forward with you. I just wanted you to understand what I’m feeling, too.”
Peter nodded, “Of course. It would be foolish to think that we could just go back to where we were. And you know what? I don’t want that. You deserve better than that.”
Neal’s lips twitched, as if he was fighting a smile.
“Something funny?”
“Sort of. We keep using that word.”
“What word?”
“‘Deserve’. It’s almost like a theme song for us.”
Peter thought back, realizing that Neal was right. How many times had he used that term over the past few months? Too many.
The stood shoulder to shoulder, watching the city lights. Peter broke the silence. “Thank you, Neal.”
He turned and looked at Peter. “For what?”
“For everything. For your forgiveness, for being the man you are. For listening to me. Hell, for giving me a reason to face what I’d been denying for so long. For still loving me, despite your very valid reservations.” Damn, now he started to cry? Neal leaned into him and Peter relished the familiar warmth of him. “I should go.”
“Go? Where?”
“Home. It’s late.”
Neal’s expression was grave. “It’s not that late, Peter.”
He looked at his watch, surprised to see that it was barely eight PM. “It feels like it’s close to midnight.”
“We’ve been through a lot today. Want dinner?”
Truthfully, he wanted some fresh air, something to clear the emotion and Scotch-induced fog from his brain. He still needed to tell Neal about London, anyway. “Sound’s good. My treat.”
“Sure, why not?”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
It was still freezing out, the wind was like a knife, but Neal didn’t notice. Happiness was lighting him up from the inside, even though it was tinged with wariness. But the cold, dark spots weren’t that cold, that dark anymore, because hope was there, too.
There was another hurdle, though. One of his own making, and he wasn’t sure how he could handle it without hurting Peter, without unraveling the fragile peace they’d just wrought.
The diner on the corner of 81st and Broadway was a beacon for the cold and the hungry, but Neal was a familiar face and the hostess ushered them to a small table in the back. The coffee was industrial strength, but it was hot and the addition of cream and sugar made it palatable.
“The usual, hon?”
Neal nodded and when Peter asked what the usual was, he said “Scrambled eggs, bacon and buttered toast. You remember, sometimes I like to have breakfast for dinner.”
“Yeah, of course I do.” Peter turned to the waitress. “You know, that sounds good, I’ll have the same.”
The waitress disappeared with their order.
“I – ”
“I’ve – ”
The laughed as they started talking at the same time. Peter gestured for him to go first.
Neal plowed forward, “I have something I need to tell you.”
“This doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s not terrible, but it’s something that might be a problem.”
“You’re seeing someone else?” There was a sad inevitability in Peter’s response.
Neal was quick to reassure him. “No, oh god, no! Nothing like that. I just … ” He paused, then plunged forward. “A few months ago, one of my mentors from culinary school contacted me – he was opening up a small, private pastry school and asked me to help him. To teach.”
Peter smiled, clearly relieved at the news. “That’s wonderful. You must be excited.”
“I am, but the school is in London. Classes start the third week in January. I’ll be in England until late May.” Neal waited for Peter’s dismay, it didn’t come. The other man just sat there, an odd and indecipherable look on his face.
“Look – I didn’t mean to lead you on, and I’d get out of it if I could. But I can’t – do you have any idea how difficult it is to get a temporary work visa, even for a teaching gig?”
Peter still didn’t say anything; he just sat there and started laughing. It wasn’t bitter or angry and there was genuine pleasure in the tone. He started shaking his head, almost as if he was denying something.
“Peter? What’s going on?”
“Those conniving bastards. Those conniving, well-meaning, match-making bastards.”
“What are you talking about. Who are you talking about?”
Peter struggled to catch his breath. “My partner, Reese Hughes. Your boss, his new wife, Elizabeth. Your landlady and my client and friend, June Ellington. They’ve been pulling my strings and I didn’t even see it.”
Neal sat there, blinking.
“June came up to me at the party in October and said we needed to talk. It seemed that a major museum in London is doing a massive retrospective of 20th Century American urban artists, and they want to include a few dozen of Byron’s most famous works. June asked me to coordinate directly with the museum, and it would be best if I did it from London. It would save her a lot of worry, since many of the paintings that the museum wants are in her private collection. I told her I’d consider it, and then Reese told me that June’s timing couldn’t be better, since we’re attracting a global clientele now, and we should seriously think about setting up a satellite office in Europe. London would be the best place, as it’s become a hub for the international art market.”
Neal couldn’t believe what he’s hearing. Well, actually, he could. June had told him about the London exhibition, but of course, she’d never mentioned any of the business details. Neal had even offered to help her out, but she just patted his cheek and told him he was so sweet. She had business managers to oversee these things.
“Elizabeth told me that I needed to get out of New York, I needed a fresh start, a chance to get out of my rut. I’d never be able to do that as long as I stayed here. That this was an opportunity I should seize with both hands. I could have told June that I didn’t need to live in London to manage the collection, and Reese’s idea seemed a bit, well, too pie-in-the-sky for him, but Elizabeth was insistent, implacable. She was like water on a stone, wearing me down in the most gentle of ways.”
Neal shook his head, this was almost too much. “I’ve always known that El was more than a little devious, but I have to say, that’s a master stroke even for her.” He laughed. “So – we are both going to London. Why do I have the feeling that our three matchmakers weren’t going to leave it up to chance that we’d just happen meet up in that great metropolis?”
“Because they are wicked and devious and they absolutely wouldn’t leave that to chance?” Peter grinned. “Where are you going to be living in London?”
“June just happens to have a house in Bloomsbury, off of Russell Square. Byron bought it in the sixties, and she’d been renting it out. But a few years ago, when she started traveling with her granddaughters, she let it go vacant and has been using it as a second home. She told me it has four bedrooms and it’s big enough that I wouldn’t be in the way when she and the girls were in London.” Neal could see this coming from miles away. “Don’t tell me, June offered you the house in Bloomsbury?”
“Of course she did. I was going over there at her insistence, this was the very least she could do.” Peter eyes were sparkling. “You know, after everything before – after everything I told you, I still couldn’t figure out how to tell you that I was going to be out of New York for the next six months.”
“That’s exactly what was going through my mind – I put you through all kinds of hell and then I’d tell you, ‘Oh, by the way – I’m going to England for six months.’ I felt like such a bastard.”
“Hey, my therapist thought I should wait until after I came back to talk to you. Little did we know …”
“Yeah, little did we know we were a pair of marionettes on the strings of master puppeteers.”
The waitress came back with their food. Neal found he was ravenous, hungry like he hadn’t been for months. The way Peter was wolfing down his own eggs, he wondered if he felt the same.
When they were together, before, they’d talk through dinner – food growing cold as they discussed anything and everything under the sun. But tonight, Neal was inclined to silence, and Peter, the same. Maybe it was all the words that had been said before.
As they waited for the check, a thought occurred to him. “You’re okay with this, right? I’m sort of making a huge assumption here.”
“Okay with what?”
“That we’re going to be together in London, in the same house.” Neal licked his lips.
“I’m probably the one who should ask you that, since you were the one who made the plans initially. I’m just the victim of Reese, Elizabeth and June’s good-intentioned manipulations.
Neal felt shy suddenly. “It’s a pretty huge step – going right from reconciliation to living together.”
“And you’re not without reservations.” Peter took his hand and squeezed it gently, “Rightly so.”
“And June says, the house is big – so we don’t have to live on top of each other.” Neal was thinking that if he had to sleep alone for more than a week, he’d go crazy. And he was probably crazy for even thinking that.
“You’ll be working, so will I.” Peter noted, the voice of reason and maturity. “It not like we’ll be spending every waking minute together.”
“That’s true.”
The waitress came back with the check, and as he’d promised earlier, Peter took it and joked. “Jeez, Caffrey, you’re a cheap date.”
There was a crowd at the door and they fought their way out.
“Damn, it’s cold.” Peter went to the curb, and he looked like he was about to hail a cab.
Neal wondered at his sense of self-preservation. It seemed even more non-existent tonight than usual. “Come back with me. Stay the night.”
Peter turned to look at him, his deep eyes glowing under the street lights. “Neal – ”
“I don’t want to watch you drive away tonight.” The walls between them were falling down. “I can sleep on the couch – but I just don’t want this to end.”
Peter touched his face. “I don’t either.” His breath steamed in the icy air. “You’re not going to sleep on the couch, unless you want to.”
Neal shook his head. “No – I don’t. I’ve missed you too much. I don’t think I can wait any longer. I’m not sure that this is the best thing for us, but I’m certain that if we’re going to share a life, I want that life to start now.”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The apartment was almost too warm after the frigid air outside, but Peter just stood there, making no attempt to get comfortable, to settle in. He had to ask again, “Are you sure about this, Neal? Maybe we should take this slower?”
“I’m as sure of this as I am of my name. I don’t want to wait. I want you – I want to make love with you, tonight.”
Neal sounded so certain, so sure of his heart. Could he do anything but trust it?
“Are you going to stay?” Neal bit his lip.
Peter nodded and took off his coat and then his suit jacket. “If I stay, I may never leave.”
“I wouldn’t mind that.” Neal’s smile was sweetness itself.
“We’ll be sharing a house in London – that just a few weeks away.”
“A few weeks that feels like forever, Peter. Do you really want to wait that long?” Neal rested his hands on Peter’s shoulders, as if to anchor him here.
He shook his head. “No, no I don’t.” He slid his own hands underneath Neal’s suit jacket, almost intoxicated by the heat, the never-forgotten strength of him. He took the jacket off, tossing it onto the couch, then pulled Neal’s tie loose. He fumbled with the buttons and pushed Neal’s hands out of the way when he started to undress himself. “No – tonight I do this for you.”
Buttons undone, the shirt joined Neal’s tie and jacket. He looked at Neal, awed as he’d always been by his physical perfection, but he knew that even without those gifts, he would still love him, still want him. It was the perfection of his spirit, the generosity of his soul that Peter loved more than his beauty.
His palms caressed the warm skin and the dense muscles on Neal’s shoulders; they trailed down his back, fingers caressing, teasing as they reached the ticklish flesh at his waist, lingering at the waistband of his trousers. As much as his teasing aroused Neal, it aroused him even more. Peter growled and cupped his hands on Neal’s hips, pulling them close. The fine wool did nothing to shield the heat or soften the hardness as they rubbed against each other. Peter’s hands were busy at Neal’s fly, undoing his belt, the button, finally lowering the zipper. He was so desperate to feel bare flesh that he might have ripped the fabric apart if it didn’t cooperate. The trousers fell to the floor and Neal, ever graceful, stepped out of them and toed off his shoes in the same movement.
“Let me take care of you tonight.” Peter whispered and stroked his fingers down the side of Neal’s cheek. “Let me show you how much you mean to me.”
“You’ve shown me, Peter – you’ve put yourself through hell. I love you and that will never change.”
Peter threaded his fingers through Neal’s hair, bringing him close, kissing him with all the longing, the need that had been building since he’d seen him on the loading dock at the Hudson, when he found the courage to ask him if there was a way they could go forward. When Neal kissed him and promised him a possibility.
“Come – ” Peter held out a hand, drawing Neal towards his bed. It was both familiar and strange and it felt like the first time. Like he’d been reborn under this man’s regard. He sat Neal on the bed and knelt before him, pulling off his socks, rubbing away the marks on his skin before pressing a soft kiss on each ankle.
Neal laughed and the sound was so joyous. “That tickles. Have you developed a foot fetish, Mr. Burke?”
“Only for yours, Mr. Caffrey. Only for you.”
His lips and tongue trailed up Neal’s calves, over each knee, only stopping when he reach his thighs and the band of black cotton barred his contact with marble-smooth flesh. “Lie back.” Peter reinforced his command with a gentle push and Neal reclined across the bed, arms above his head like some fantastic captive.
A swift tug and the boxer-briefs were off, Neal was naked and his. Only his. The possessiveness struck a sour note. He did his best not to think in those terms. They were both captives, willing slaves to each other.
Neal leaned up on one elbow and looked at him, his eyes glowing in the semi-darkness. “Why are you still wearing so many clothes?”
“Because – ” Peter gave a wry smile, “I’m an idiot.”
“Or maybe you’re just waiting for me to do this?” Neal sat up and grabbed him by his tie, pulling him down onto the bed on top of him. “Or this?” Although he had six inches on Neal and at least twenty pounds, all of it muscle and bone, Neal and the advantage of surprise and flipped them over, straddling Peter.
He struggled, but not too much. After all, this wasn’t a contest. Regardless of who was on top or on bottom, they would both be winners. Neal gave him a wicked smile and took his damn time loosening his tie, undoing the complicated double Windsor like he was performing some kind of reverse striptease. He tugged and the band of silk slid out from his collar inch by inch. Of all the things to be aroused by…
The last bit came free and Neal was about to toss it aside when Peter grabbed it from him and then held it back out to him.
“Peter?”
He licked his lips. “Tie me up. Tie my hands to the headboard.”
Back when they were first together, Peter had once told Neal that he was unremittingly vanilla – but if there was anything he wanted to try, he should ask. Neal had made a joke about wanting to try out Peter’s old handcuffs and then nixed the idea, telling him that what he really liked was sex and a lot of it, as frequently as possible – but toys and games were weren’t his thing.
Tonight, though, Neal seemed to understand what Peter was asking. This wasn’t about bondage for the sake of kink. It was about trust and faith and Peter giving himself into Neal’s keeping.
“You really want this?”
“Yes – please. I wanted to take care of you – but I think now, I want you to do what you want with me.”
Neal sat back, his face unreadable in the dimmed light. Peter’s heart sank just a bit when Neal shook his head.
“I could tie you to the headboard, blindfold you and play you like a grand piano. But you have nothing to prove to me, Peter. You have already proven yourself – you’ve given me the hard truths and I can’t ask more of you than that.” Neal leaned forward and kissed him. “I love you and I understand you and in time, we will trust each other without question. But what we have now is not just about trust, it’s about faith that we can move forward together, that we can be honest with each other. That we can work through the problems that will come with being who we are.” Neal smiled and kissed him again. “Sorry – this is a little heavy for foreplay.”
Peter held him tight, relishing the strength and the closeness. The weight and mass of Neal in his arms dispelled the still too-strong memory of loneliness. “No, this is perfect.”
Somehow then ended up supine, legs entangled. Desire was there, but it was less urgent, sweeter. It was more about the simple miracle of being together than frantically coupling.
“You still have too many clothes on.” Neal laughed and pulled open his shirt, sending buttons scattering. “And your shoes are still on!”
“Well, you were the one who pulled me into bed.” Peter laughed too.
They managed to get Peter naked and both of them under the covers. Peter cupped his hand around Neal’s jaw and kissed him like he couldn’t get enough, like he was starving and the taste of Neal’s lips was the only thing that could satisfy his hunger, like he was bereft and Neal’s sighs of pleasure were the only sounds of comfort.
There was an inescapable darkness in him that even now tried to swallow the light and smother the joy. But Peter fought the darkness and won. He might not always win the battle, but he’d never give up without trying. He loved and was loved. He had faith in that love. It was the armor that would shield him, the sword that would pierce the darkness and let the light triumph.
Go to Part Nine - On LJ | On DW
Notes: See Master Post - On LJ | On DW
Neal closed his eyes briefly and tried to not to feel so confused, so close to the edge of anger. But it was hard to listen to Peter rhapsodize about another man, someone who had hurt him. “No, please – you want to tell me, I’ll listen.”
The smile Peter gave him was sweet, grateful and Neal felt like a thousand kinds of shitheel.
“There was something easy between us, it seemed like Dan was the other half of my soul. I know that sounds corny and trite, but you have to realize, I’d never really had a relationship with a guy like that. I’d dated – New York was full of gay men – but a cop? Someone who understood what the job really meant? Do you have any idea what it’s like to be a fetish object? I can’t tell you how many guys I’d dated that were turned on when they found out I carried a gun. It was worse when I had a mustache – you’d think I was something out of a Tom of Finland illustration.”
Neal had never given that a thought, but of course Peter would have attracted a certain type of guy. He didn’t say anything, just nodded in understanding.
Peter went for the whiskey glass, but maybe he remembered that he’d cut Neal off and he reached for a gingersnap instead. Neal winced, slightly revolted by the combination of spiced cookie and single-malt Scotch; but Peter didn’t seem to mind and ate it in two bites.
“I think we dated for three weeks before Dan got his cast off, and that night – ” Peter stopped himself. “I really don’t think you want to hear about our sex lives.”
Neal wanted to say no, but he just shrugged. “If you need to tell me, I’m here to listen.”
“Okay – thanks. I’ll get to the point soon enough.” Peter took a deep breath, as if he was bracing himself. “Our sex life was good – better than good. It was nice to have a steady partner. We always played it safe, you know – never went without a condom, even after Dan …”
Peter cut himself off, his face took on a strained look.
“After Dan what?” Neal prodded.
“After he asked me if we were a couple, if we were going to be exclusive. I’d forgotten that. I’d forgotten that he asked me for a commitment. And I gave it to him – I told him that there was no one else I wanted to be with, and he said the same thing, that I was everything he ever wanted in a man. That it was like I was made just for him.”
“Did you move in together?”
“No – we’d talked about it, but we both decided that we needed a little space. That’s not to say that I didn’t spend most of my nights with Dan. We worked the same shift, usually – except when we didn’t. Law enforcement isn’t a nine-to-five career.”
Neal had to ask, “How long were you together?”
“About four years.” Peter stood up and paced the length of the room. “No. That’s not accurate. We were together for three years, six months, and fifteen days – give or take a few hours. It’s etched in my brain.” He went to the French doors that led out to the balcony, resting his hands on the icy glass.
Neal watched and ached. He’d been wrong, thinking that Peter was still in love with this ghost. Peter seemed frozen now, lost and alone. Neal went to him, bringing him back to the table, taking his cold hands and warming them up between his own. “Can you go on?”
The look of gratitude in Peter’s eyes was a dagger to his heart. “Yeah, I think so.” Peter freed himself from Neal’s grasp and scrubbed at his face. “This is hard, it’s a lot harder that the first time.”
“First time?”
“Yeah, when I told my therapist. She said it would be easier, but it’s not. I think that’s because you matter so much more me.”
Neal wanted to weep at those words. “We can take a break; we don’t have to do this now.” He wanted Peter to take the out he was giving him; hating the pain on that beloved face.
“No – I think if I don’t finish this now, I’ll never be able to. I need to move forward, not stay caught in the past. And if I don’t tell you, that’s what’s going to happen.”
Neal retrieved the whiskey bottle. They both needed it.
“On paper, we were far from a perfect match. Dan loved being a little outrageous. He wasn’t campy, but he just was a hell of a lot more at ease in that world that I was. I’d never felt the need to be part of the gay culture in the city, it wasn’t who I was. But Dan didn’t pressure me, he didn’t try to change me and maybe that’s why we lasted, why I fell so hard.”
Peter fiddled with his glass, looking at the amber liquid like it held the secrets of the universe.
“I didn’t try to change him either – so I guess I deluded myself into thinking we had this perfect partnership, we were willing to accept each other’s limitations. It was all a lie, though.”
Neal waited for Peter to continue.
“Like I said, Dan and I were together for four years. We didn’t live together, but we did everything together. He’d go to Yankee games with me because I enjoyed them. I went clubbing with Dan because he loved to dance. We made room for each other, if that makes any sense.”
“Yes, it does. You shared a life – you wanted to make each other happy.” Neal tamped down the rising jealousy. “You loved him, he loved you and that’s what you do for someone you love.”
Peter nodded. “Things seemed to be going perfectly – at home, at work. I’d been given my own task force, and Dan – unbelievably – got promoted again, this time to captain. We finally started talking about living together. I was so fucking smug – thinking that we had the rest of our lives mapped out. I even started day dreaming about a commitment ceremony, believe it or not. Everything was Dan and I this, Dan and I that, and he went right along with it, playing into my perfect domestic fantasies.”
Peter wiped his mouth, pausing like he needed to find the right words – the ones that wouldn’t tear him apart.
“It fell apart in a single day in March. What’s the line, ‘Beware the Ides of March’? FBI agents have to have a yearly physical, the usual stuff to make sure that you’re still fit for field duty. The blood work is pretty routine: cholesterol, thyroid function, blood sugar, and apparently some sexually transmitted diseases.
“About a week after I had the physical, I went for the follow up, figuring that the doctor’s going to tell me I need to watch my cholesterol, lose a few pounds. But no, he tells me I have syphilis, and that this was the first time it showed up in my blood work. The infection was recent, at least since my physical the previous year. I remember looking at him like he was crazy. How the hell could I have an STD? I’ve only had one partner for the last four years.”
Neal didn’t know what to say; he could only imagine Peter’s horror. And even though he’d forgiven Peter for the terrible words he’d flung at him that night, it wasn’t until this moment that he understood what made him say them.
“Of course, a shot of penicillin took care of the infection. I’d have to have another blood test, naturally, but the doctor kept stressing how it was more important that I get in touch with all my sex partners over the last year and let them know they’d been exposed. Even though everyone worried about AIDS, common VD – the stuff we were warned about in high school health class – was still a public health issue.”
Peter stopped talking, and the silence echoed with his anguish.
“You don’t have to do this, Peter. You don’t have to tell me anymore of it.”
The gratitude in Peter’s eyes was heartbreaking, but he again refused to stop. “I have to, it hurts but I have to.”
Neal reached out, taking hold of Peter’s hands. They were still icy cold, but he didn’t think it was from the contact with the window. “Then tell me.”
“I didn’t know what to do. Of course, the doctor insisted on doing an AIDS test – he even had the equipment for a rapid result. It was negative, thank god. I left the doctor’s office and just wandered for hours. It seemed too impossible to believe. I tried to think of any other possibility, any other way I could have gotten infected. All of the old stories – the ones that you hear as a kid – sitting on a toilet seat, touching a doorknob, I thought maybe there was some truth to that. Anything but admitting that the man I loved, the only man I’d been with for four years, had been cheating on me.
“It was late when I got home. There was a message from Dan on my answering machine. He had to work late, but he’d be over tomorrow – we’d have pizza and watch the Knicks-Heat game.
“I don’t know – there was something in his voice, something that made me think he was lying. It could have been all in my head, after all.”
“What did you do?”
“I – I paced around my apartment, I listened to Dan’s message over and over, obsessively trying to pick out anything that would tell me what he was really doing. Half the time, it sounded like he was in his office at One Police Plaza, the other half, I was convinced he’d called me from a pay phone on the street.” Peter let out a bemused chuckle. “It was 1998 and neither of us had cell phones yet. Pagers were standard issue, but not cell phones.
“Anyway – I finally made up my mind that I was going to have to talk to Dan that night. I was going to go over to apartment and wait for him to get home. There was no point in just sitting and stewing. I needed answers.”
“Did he give them to you?”
“No – or yes, well – yeah. I got the answers I was looking for, but not the way I was looking for them. I thought I was heading over to Dan’s apartment, but I found myself in the East Village instead. There was a dance club we’d go to, it was mostly gay, but a lot of girls liked it too – ”
Neal knew where this was going, he felt sick – like he was watching an accident he couldn’t prevent.
“It was still early – I don’t know what I thought I was going to find. You know the night life in New York, nothing really starts until after ten and it was still only a little before nine. But the club’s front door was open and I’d gotten out of my suit, so I guess I looked like I fit in and no one stopped me.
“I wish they had – I really wish they had. The main room was mostly empty, but I knew I wouldn’t find Dan in there. I went into the back, behind the stage – there was this area that was pretty notorious.” Peter stopped and closed his eyes, and Neal could see the tears start to form.
Peter didn’t stop, though. “Dan was there, he was screwing a woman – going at her like a jackhammer, holding onto her tits, playing with her nipples, and talking to her like they were making a porno movie. He kept telling her how tight and wet her cunt was, how much he loved pussy, he could never get enough of it. That he was going to shoot his load in her and eat it out of her.”
“Peter – ”
“No – I have to finish this.” Peter pulled his hand out of Neal’s and reached for the Scotch, emptying the glass. “Sorry – I …”
“Nothing to apologize for, please.”
“I didn’t stay, I didn’t interrupt them. I just left. What was I going to do, confront him while he still had his dick in some bimbo?” Peter shook his head. “No – that’s not fair. Whoever the woman was, she doesn’t deserve my contempt.”
“You’re far more generous than I’d be.”
“Believe me, it’s taken me a lot of work and time to get to this point, Neal.”
Telling Neal was not easier, despite what his therapist had said. It was so much worse, and not just for the compassion he saw in Neal’s eyes, how he shared his pain.
The only thing that kept him going was Neal’s rock-steady presence.
“What did you do?”
“I went to Dan’s place – it wasn’t that far from the club where I’d found him. I wanted to tear the place apart; I wanted to be like some stereotypical vengeful spouse, destroying everything that mattered to him.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No, of course not. I had some self-control left. But I packed up my stuff – after nearly four years, I’d left a lot of my things there. It was one of the reasons why we’d really decided that it was time to buy a place together. I’d go crazy looking for a suit jacket, only to find I’d left it at Dan’s. He’d do the same thing. And since we were both working in Lower Manhattan, we thought it was time to try and find a place together. It just made sense. We’d even looked at a few high rises in Jersey City and Hoboken.”
Peter realized he’d gotten diverted. “Sorry, you really don’t want to hear about the real estate saga.”
“It’s all part of the story, Peter. Tell me as much as you can bear.”
“Thank you.” He took a deep breath and continued. “Anyway – I packed up everything. Clothes, books, stuff – whatever I brought with me, but I wanted nothing that we’d bought together. None of the movies or the music and definitely none of the pictures of us. I knew that when I walked out of there, I wanted no reminders. Everything was piled up in a couple of garbage bags and I put them outside, in the hallway. When I finished telling Dan we were done, I could just leave. I was such a fucking Boy Scout, always prepared.
“I didn’t know how long I’d have to wait, and the waiting was the worst of all, thinking about everything – all the good times, all the hopes and plans, and realizing that none of those plans really meant a thing to Dan.”
“You think he didn’t love you – that he’d spent four years with you as a lie?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think it was a lie – that he was stringing me along – I think he cared for me, but the future wasn’t important to him.”
Neal’s anger was gratifying, and in a way, almost amusing. “If he cared for you, he wouldn’t have cheated on you, he wouldn’t have infected you. He would have been honest with you if he really cared.”
“Maybe. Or maybe he cared as much as he could. I realized, sitting there and waiting for him, that Dan was a risk junkie. That he thrived on the edge. Hell, the night I rescued him, he’d set the whole thing up, knowing that he was in for a beat down. Most risk junkies get their fix with extreme sports – BASE jumping, free climbing – or they take jobs that put them in danger every day. I think, if Dan wasn’t gay and wasn’t so fucking ambitious, he’d have probably been a fireman or worked as a beat cop in some high-crime precinct. But he liked the accolades as much as the adrenaline.”
“So he indulged in high-risk sex,” Neal said, his voice filled with contempt. “He betrayed you and for what?”
“Yeah – I know, I know.”
“I hope you beat the shit out of him when he came home.”
“No, I didn’t. I thought about it, but that’s not who I am. I just wanted to tell him it was over, I wanted to be done. I didn’t want a confrontation. But it was inevitable. Dan came in about an hour after I’d finished packing. He cursed as he tripped over the bags I left in the hallway.
“I just sat there and watched him…
“What the fuck…” Dan finally realized that there was someone in his apartment and he went for his service weapon.
“Don’t shoot, it’s me.”
“Peter? What…?” The emotions that crossed Dan’s face weren’t hard to decipher – confusion, annoyance, guilt, even anger. “What are you doing here? Didn’t you get my message?”
“Oh, I got your message. But I don’t think you were working late.”
“Huh? I just got done – there were some problems with an investigation. A witness came forward and it might exonerate one of the cops on the Galeki bust.”
Dan sounded so sincere, and if Peter hadn’t seen him at the club, he might just have believed him. Well, he would have if he hadn’t been told he had syphilis that afternoon.
“I saw you.”
“Saw me, where?”
“At the Hi-Line, about two hours ago. You had your dick in a woman, going at her like a dog on a bitch in heat, all the while telling her how much you loved tight pussy.”
Dan turned bright red. “You were following me? You were spying on me? You have no right – ”
“I guess the old saying is true, ‘the best defense is a good offense.’ I wasn’t following you, I wasn’t spying on you – ”
Dan opened his mouth to speak, but Peter interrupted him. “Don’t even think about telling me you were fucking her for a case.”
Both men lapsed into silence.
“Then why were you there?”
“I was looking for you.”
Dan collapsed into the chair next to Peter’s. “I left you a message, I was working late. Why were you looking for me at the Hi-Line?”
Peter didn’t feel the need to hold back. “I had my annual physical last week. They always do blood work and I got called back to the doctor’s office. It seems that I somehow contracted syphilis. And since you’re my only partner…” He left the rest unsaid.
“Peter – ”
“Don’t, Dan. Don’t lie to me, not anymore.”
“I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere, but Peter didn’t care about sincerity.
“I’m sure you are, now that you’ve been found out.” Peter was proud of how calm he sounded. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re bi?”
The other man shrugged. “Didn’t seem relevant. I like fucking women, but I love you. What happened back there, who else I screw doesn’t change that – I’ll always love you.”
Peter waved a hand, as if to disperse the words. “Three years ago, you asked me for a commitment and you’ve been fucking around on me all that time, haven’t you? And I have to wonder, since you gave me syphilis, how much of your screwing has been bareback.”
“I’ve never been with another man without a condom.”
Peter didn’t think he could be hurt even more, but hearing Dan admit to an even greater infidelity with such casualness was like a bullet wound. “I’m supposed to take comfort in that! You’ve been screwing women and other men!”
“It’s not like I cared about any of them. And you have to believe me – I wouldn’t put you at risk.”
“You know what, Dan – I don’t believe you. You thrive on risk and you don’t really think about anything but the next fix. ”
“I love you, Peter – ”
“Love! You have a funny way of showing it. You’ve given me World Series tickets, a reproduction Motherwell, and a sexually transmitted disease.”
Is if it would make a difference, Dan said, “It’s not like syphilis is incurable.”
“But AIDS is.” Peter paused, waiting for that to sink in. “Just so you know, I was tested this afternoon and thank God, I’m clean. But I’ll be getting retested every month for a long time because I can’t trust a word that comes out of your mouth."
Peter got up to leave. There was nothing more that Dan could say that he wanted to hear. “Get yourself to a clinic, and get some penicillin. Then tell everyone else you’ve fucked that you’ve given them the clap.”
Dan got up too and grabbed him. “Can’t we work this out? I’ll go into therapy – I’ll get help. I’m – I’m a sex addict. There’s treatment for that. I don’t want to lose you, Peter. I love you.”
He was merciless, he had to be. “You are an addict, but I don’t think your problem is sex. It’s the high you get from taking chances and you’re never going to stop, not until you hit bottom. We’re done, Daniel. I’m sorry that I wasn’t enough for you, that you need what I can’t give you.”
“Peter – please.”
“Don’t beg, Dan. Just – don’t.” His heart was shattered but he wasn’t going to give into the heartbreak. Not yet, hopefully not ever. “I’ll pack your stuff up and leave it in the lobby – if you don’t collect it, it’ll get tossed. I never want to see you again; I never want to hear from you again.”
Peter yanked his arm free and walked out the door.
“Don’t shoot, it’s me.”
“Peter? What…?” The emotions that crossed Dan’s face weren’t hard to decipher – confusion, annoyance, guilt, even anger. “What are you doing here? Didn’t you get my message?”
“Oh, I got your message. But I don’t think you were working late.”
“Huh? I just got done – there were some problems with an investigation. A witness came forward and it might exonerate one of the cops on the Galeki bust.”
Dan sounded so sincere, and if Peter hadn’t seen him at the club, he might just have believed him. Well, he would have if he hadn’t been told he had syphilis that afternoon.
“I saw you.”
“Saw me, where?”
“At the Hi-Line, about two hours ago. You had your dick in a woman, going at her like a dog on a bitch in heat, all the while telling her how much you loved tight pussy.”
Dan turned bright red. “You were following me? You were spying on me? You have no right – ”
“I guess the old saying is true, ‘the best defense is a good offense.’ I wasn’t following you, I wasn’t spying on you – ”
Dan opened his mouth to speak, but Peter interrupted him. “Don’t even think about telling me you were fucking her for a case.”
Both men lapsed into silence.
“Then why were you there?”
“I was looking for you.”
Dan collapsed into the chair next to Peter’s. “I left you a message, I was working late. Why were you looking for me at the Hi-Line?”
Peter didn’t feel the need to hold back. “I had my annual physical last week. They always do blood work and I got called back to the doctor’s office. It seems that I somehow contracted syphilis. And since you’re my only partner…” He left the rest unsaid.
“Peter – ”
“Don’t, Dan. Don’t lie to me, not anymore.”
“I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere, but Peter didn’t care about sincerity.
“I’m sure you are, now that you’ve been found out.” Peter was proud of how calm he sounded. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re bi?”
The other man shrugged. “Didn’t seem relevant. I like fucking women, but I love you. What happened back there, who else I screw doesn’t change that – I’ll always love you.”
Peter waved a hand, as if to disperse the words. “Three years ago, you asked me for a commitment and you’ve been fucking around on me all that time, haven’t you? And I have to wonder, since you gave me syphilis, how much of your screwing has been bareback.”
“I’ve never been with another man without a condom.”
Peter didn’t think he could be hurt even more, but hearing Dan admit to an even greater infidelity with such casualness was like a bullet wound. “I’m supposed to take comfort in that! You’ve been screwing women and other men!”
“It’s not like I cared about any of them. And you have to believe me – I wouldn’t put you at risk.”
“You know what, Dan – I don’t believe you. You thrive on risk and you don’t really think about anything but the next fix. ”
“I love you, Peter – ”
“Love! You have a funny way of showing it. You’ve given me World Series tickets, a reproduction Motherwell, and a sexually transmitted disease.”
Is if it would make a difference, Dan said, “It’s not like syphilis is incurable.”
“But AIDS is.” Peter paused, waiting for that to sink in. “Just so you know, I was tested this afternoon and thank God, I’m clean. But I’ll be getting retested every month for a long time because I can’t trust a word that comes out of your mouth."
Peter got up to leave. There was nothing more that Dan could say that he wanted to hear. “Get yourself to a clinic, and get some penicillin. Then tell everyone else you’ve fucked that you’ve given them the clap.”
Dan got up too and grabbed him. “Can’t we work this out? I’ll go into therapy – I’ll get help. I’m – I’m a sex addict. There’s treatment for that. I don’t want to lose you, Peter. I love you.”
He was merciless, he had to be. “You are an addict, but I don’t think your problem is sex. It’s the high you get from taking chances and you’re never going to stop, not until you hit bottom. We’re done, Daniel. I’m sorry that I wasn’t enough for you, that you need what I can’t give you.”
“Peter – please.”
“Don’t beg, Dan. Just – don’t.” His heart was shattered but he wasn’t going to give into the heartbreak. Not yet, hopefully not ever. “I’ll pack your stuff up and leave it in the lobby – if you don’t collect it, it’ll get tossed. I never want to see you again; I never want to hear from you again.”
Peter yanked his arm free and walked out the door.
“Peter – ” Neal tried to hold onto him, but he needed some distance.
“That wasn’t the last time I saw Dan.”
“He tried to get back together?”
“Yeah – he called me a few times. I had my number changed to an unlisted one. He sent me a few letters. I wrote ‘Return to Sender’ on all of them. I wanted nothing to do with him. I had no room in my heart for forgiveness.”
“What he did was unforgivable.” Neal sounded so adamant, so sure.
“Maybe – I know that I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him, hearing his voice and knowing that even if he really did love me, he never understood me, he never …” Peter couldn’t find the words around the pain that suddenly seemed so fresh. This time, when Neal came to stand behind him, when he rested a hand against his back, Peter allowed himself to be soothed.
“Can I ask you something?”
“What?” Peter was almost afraid of what Neal was going to ask.
“That night, at Reese and Elizabeth’s – when I told you I wanted to hurt the man who damaged you so badly, you said I couldn’t, that he was dead. How?”
That was the question he was afraid of. “Like I said, I saw Dan again – just one more time. About eighteen months after I left him, I got a call from a social worker at Mount Sinai hospital. Dan was in the hospice unit there, and I’d been listed as his agent on his health care proxy. They had a copy of his living will and he’d specified that he wanted no extraordinary measures taken to extend his life, but they needed me to sign off on removing him from a ventilator.”
Peter could feel the shock of discovery as if he’d just gotten that phone call. “I’d forgotten, a few months before I found out just what he was, back when we were beginning to think about intertwining our lives, we made out living wills and health care proxies, naming the other as the person to make the end of life decisions. Can you guess what Dan was dying from?”
“AIDS?”
“It wasn’t hard to figure that one out. The retrovirals that were like miracle to others weren’t working on him. Or maybe he figured that this was one more knife edge he could ride and never bothered getting tested or taking the medications.”
“You went to see him?”
“Yeah, I had to. He was terminal – it was a matter of days at that time. He was on a vent and a feeding tube, and at the point where only extraordinary means would keep him alive. It was a matter of days, a week at the most. The hospice people wanted to know if I would be able to make a decision to remove him from life support.”
“It was like looking at a corpse from a concentration camp. He weighed maybe 75 pounds and was covered in sarcomas. But he was still awake, still aware, and even though he was probably out of his mind from the pain and the cancer eating him up, his eyes – ”
Peter finally broke. He hadn’t when he’d told Dr. Teller, he’d been remarkably dry-eyed in her office. Now, though, he couldn’t say it, he couldn’t – all he could do was sob, the grief was gut wrenching and terrible.
Neal wrapped his arms around him, trying to give as much solace as he could. “Shhh, it’s done. It’s over. You don’t have to say anything more.”
But he did, he had to finish this. “He begged me – he was still Dan, and his eyes – he begged me to have the machines turned off.”
“And did you?”
Peter nodded. “I wanted to be vengeful; I wanted him to suffer because I suffered. I wanted – but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do that to him. I never forgave him, but I couldn’t let him suffer for a moment longer. I stood there and watched as the nurses removed the tubes, turned off the machines, until there was just the heart rate monitor and then that just stopped. He died. I stood by his bed and watched him die.”
Neal was crying, he didn’t care that the tears were pouring down his face. He’d lost friends to the plague. Who hadn’t? But no one with whom he’d been that close to, never a lover, never someone who had held his heart. Peter wasn’t crying, though. He looked wrecked, but his eyes were dry.
“I didn’t go to his funeral, Neal. I – I couldn’t. I was still so angry, even after watching him suffer like that. I was angry and all I could think about were the lies and the dreams he destroyed.”
“I can understand.”
“I was also angry that he left me, that he did this to himself. And I was angry at myself, too.”
“Why? You were blameless – he cheated, he lied and he didn’t care what happened to you.”
“I think it was survivor guilt – I left him, maybe if I stayed and tried to work things out, he wouldn’t have gotten sick. Or if he did, he wouldn’t have had to die like that.”
“Or maybe he would have dragged you into a never ending spiral of addiction and failed recovery, Peter. Maybe he would have infected you.” Neal wasn’t crying anymore. His tears were for Peter and his pain and loss, not for the man who brought such agony.
“I don’t know – it’s likely. But I’ve learned something.” Peter gave him a gentle smile. “I’ve learned that I can’t live for the past, I can’t live as if the past is present. Dan made his choices, I made mine. He’s been dead fourteen years and I’ve finally been able to start moving past it.”
Peter went back to the windows and Neal joined him. The city lights drowned even the brightest stars, but the moon hung there, like an ornament on a Christmas tree.
Neal wondered, though, where they were going to go from here. He still loved Peter, he wanted a future with him more than ever and he was willing to take this man in whatever state he was in, heartbroken or heart-whole.
He wanted to tell Neal that he loved him; that he always had. The words had been on the tip of his tongue since the afternoon, watching Reese and El say their vows. Or maybe he’d wanted to say them as far back as October.
No, it wasn’t then. Peter knew when he first wanted to tell Neal the true nature of his feelings, and it was at the very beginning. That first morning, but back then, it seemed improbable and impetuous and downright stupid.
Peter knew, looking at things objectively, that despite his cruelty and his anger, he hadn’t killed Neal’s affection. That night at Reese and Elizabeth’s, Neal had asked him if reconciliation was possible. Back in October, after the party, Neal even said that they couldn’t move forward until Peter was able to tell him the whole story.
But now, after he’d laid bare his soul and displayed his wounds, he couldn’t stop wondering, worrying that he’d never be able to get back what he once had with Neal. And then it struck him: he didn’t want that. He didn’t want the vague feelings of insecurity, the need to compartmentalize his relationship with Neal away from the rest of his life. He wanted so much more, he knew – if Neal shared his feelings – he could give this man all the love he deserved.
Something must have shown on his face, because Neal asked, “What’s the matter?”
Peter knew he was being reckless, but if ever there was a moment in his life where he needed to take a risk, this was it. “I know it’s probably not the right moment, after everything I’ve just told you, but there’s one more thing you need to know. I love you, Neal. I always did, and I always will.”
The seconds stretched out into eternity, and then that eternity collapsed on itself like a star going supernova. “I love you too, and I don’t think anything will ever change that. I forgave you, long before you apologized. Probably before I saw you at Reese and Elizabeth’s. And you’ve done what I’ve asked, you’ve entrusted me with the truth. But right now, I can’t help but wonder if – ” Neal’s hesitation was painfully honest. “If you’ll ever be able to trust me. If you’d ever stop wondering if I didn’t want something more.”
This was something Peter had never thought about, what the next steps in their lives would be. “My heart is certain that I love you. That much I know. I’ve learned that what I said to you that night, my anger then, my need to compartmentalize, was a product of my past. Can I promise that I’m never going to behave like an asshole again, that I’m never going to wonder and worry and act out my insecurities? I wish I could, but to use the hackneyed expression, I’m a work in progress. I was wearing my pain for so long, it became comfortable, easy. I’m naked, now. It hurts to be so exposed and I keep thinking how easy it would be to just put on the old clothes, to fall back into the old habits.”
“I can understand that.”
“But?”
“No buts, Peter. I want to move forward with you. I just wanted you to understand what I’m feeling, too.”
Peter nodded, “Of course. It would be foolish to think that we could just go back to where we were. And you know what? I don’t want that. You deserve better than that.”
Neal’s lips twitched, as if he was fighting a smile.
“Something funny?”
“Sort of. We keep using that word.”
“What word?”
“‘Deserve’. It’s almost like a theme song for us.”
Peter thought back, realizing that Neal was right. How many times had he used that term over the past few months? Too many.
The stood shoulder to shoulder, watching the city lights. Peter broke the silence. “Thank you, Neal.”
He turned and looked at Peter. “For what?”
“For everything. For your forgiveness, for being the man you are. For listening to me. Hell, for giving me a reason to face what I’d been denying for so long. For still loving me, despite your very valid reservations.” Damn, now he started to cry? Neal leaned into him and Peter relished the familiar warmth of him. “I should go.”
“Go? Where?”
“Home. It’s late.”
Neal’s expression was grave. “It’s not that late, Peter.”
He looked at his watch, surprised to see that it was barely eight PM. “It feels like it’s close to midnight.”
“We’ve been through a lot today. Want dinner?”
Truthfully, he wanted some fresh air, something to clear the emotion and Scotch-induced fog from his brain. He still needed to tell Neal about London, anyway. “Sound’s good. My treat.”
“Sure, why not?”
It was still freezing out, the wind was like a knife, but Neal didn’t notice. Happiness was lighting him up from the inside, even though it was tinged with wariness. But the cold, dark spots weren’t that cold, that dark anymore, because hope was there, too.
There was another hurdle, though. One of his own making, and he wasn’t sure how he could handle it without hurting Peter, without unraveling the fragile peace they’d just wrought.
The diner on the corner of 81st and Broadway was a beacon for the cold and the hungry, but Neal was a familiar face and the hostess ushered them to a small table in the back. The coffee was industrial strength, but it was hot and the addition of cream and sugar made it palatable.
“The usual, hon?”
Neal nodded and when Peter asked what the usual was, he said “Scrambled eggs, bacon and buttered toast. You remember, sometimes I like to have breakfast for dinner.”
“Yeah, of course I do.” Peter turned to the waitress. “You know, that sounds good, I’ll have the same.”
The waitress disappeared with their order.
“I – ”
“I’ve – ”
The laughed as they started talking at the same time. Peter gestured for him to go first.
Neal plowed forward, “I have something I need to tell you.”
“This doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s not terrible, but it’s something that might be a problem.”
“You’re seeing someone else?” There was a sad inevitability in Peter’s response.
Neal was quick to reassure him. “No, oh god, no! Nothing like that. I just … ” He paused, then plunged forward. “A few months ago, one of my mentors from culinary school contacted me – he was opening up a small, private pastry school and asked me to help him. To teach.”
Peter smiled, clearly relieved at the news. “That’s wonderful. You must be excited.”
“I am, but the school is in London. Classes start the third week in January. I’ll be in England until late May.” Neal waited for Peter’s dismay, it didn’t come. The other man just sat there, an odd and indecipherable look on his face.
“Look – I didn’t mean to lead you on, and I’d get out of it if I could. But I can’t – do you have any idea how difficult it is to get a temporary work visa, even for a teaching gig?”
Peter still didn’t say anything; he just sat there and started laughing. It wasn’t bitter or angry and there was genuine pleasure in the tone. He started shaking his head, almost as if he was denying something.
“Peter? What’s going on?”
“Those conniving bastards. Those conniving, well-meaning, match-making bastards.”
“What are you talking about. Who are you talking about?”
Peter struggled to catch his breath. “My partner, Reese Hughes. Your boss, his new wife, Elizabeth. Your landlady and my client and friend, June Ellington. They’ve been pulling my strings and I didn’t even see it.”
Neal sat there, blinking.
“June came up to me at the party in October and said we needed to talk. It seemed that a major museum in London is doing a massive retrospective of 20th Century American urban artists, and they want to include a few dozen of Byron’s most famous works. June asked me to coordinate directly with the museum, and it would be best if I did it from London. It would save her a lot of worry, since many of the paintings that the museum wants are in her private collection. I told her I’d consider it, and then Reese told me that June’s timing couldn’t be better, since we’re attracting a global clientele now, and we should seriously think about setting up a satellite office in Europe. London would be the best place, as it’s become a hub for the international art market.”
Neal couldn’t believe what he’s hearing. Well, actually, he could. June had told him about the London exhibition, but of course, she’d never mentioned any of the business details. Neal had even offered to help her out, but she just patted his cheek and told him he was so sweet. She had business managers to oversee these things.
“Elizabeth told me that I needed to get out of New York, I needed a fresh start, a chance to get out of my rut. I’d never be able to do that as long as I stayed here. That this was an opportunity I should seize with both hands. I could have told June that I didn’t need to live in London to manage the collection, and Reese’s idea seemed a bit, well, too pie-in-the-sky for him, but Elizabeth was insistent, implacable. She was like water on a stone, wearing me down in the most gentle of ways.”
Neal shook his head, this was almost too much. “I’ve always known that El was more than a little devious, but I have to say, that’s a master stroke even for her.” He laughed. “So – we are both going to London. Why do I have the feeling that our three matchmakers weren’t going to leave it up to chance that we’d just happen meet up in that great metropolis?”
“Because they are wicked and devious and they absolutely wouldn’t leave that to chance?” Peter grinned. “Where are you going to be living in London?”
“June just happens to have a house in Bloomsbury, off of Russell Square. Byron bought it in the sixties, and she’d been renting it out. But a few years ago, when she started traveling with her granddaughters, she let it go vacant and has been using it as a second home. She told me it has four bedrooms and it’s big enough that I wouldn’t be in the way when she and the girls were in London.” Neal could see this coming from miles away. “Don’t tell me, June offered you the house in Bloomsbury?”
“Of course she did. I was going over there at her insistence, this was the very least she could do.” Peter eyes were sparkling. “You know, after everything before – after everything I told you, I still couldn’t figure out how to tell you that I was going to be out of New York for the next six months.”
“That’s exactly what was going through my mind – I put you through all kinds of hell and then I’d tell you, ‘Oh, by the way – I’m going to England for six months.’ I felt like such a bastard.”
“Hey, my therapist thought I should wait until after I came back to talk to you. Little did we know …”
“Yeah, little did we know we were a pair of marionettes on the strings of master puppeteers.”
The waitress came back with their food. Neal found he was ravenous, hungry like he hadn’t been for months. The way Peter was wolfing down his own eggs, he wondered if he felt the same.
When they were together, before, they’d talk through dinner – food growing cold as they discussed anything and everything under the sun. But tonight, Neal was inclined to silence, and Peter, the same. Maybe it was all the words that had been said before.
As they waited for the check, a thought occurred to him. “You’re okay with this, right? I’m sort of making a huge assumption here.”
“Okay with what?”
“That we’re going to be together in London, in the same house.” Neal licked his lips.
“I’m probably the one who should ask you that, since you were the one who made the plans initially. I’m just the victim of Reese, Elizabeth and June’s good-intentioned manipulations.
Neal felt shy suddenly. “It’s a pretty huge step – going right from reconciliation to living together.”
“And you’re not without reservations.” Peter took his hand and squeezed it gently, “Rightly so.”
“And June says, the house is big – so we don’t have to live on top of each other.” Neal was thinking that if he had to sleep alone for more than a week, he’d go crazy. And he was probably crazy for even thinking that.
“You’ll be working, so will I.” Peter noted, the voice of reason and maturity. “It not like we’ll be spending every waking minute together.”
“That’s true.”
The waitress came back with the check, and as he’d promised earlier, Peter took it and joked. “Jeez, Caffrey, you’re a cheap date.”
There was a crowd at the door and they fought their way out.
“Damn, it’s cold.” Peter went to the curb, and he looked like he was about to hail a cab.
Neal wondered at his sense of self-preservation. It seemed even more non-existent tonight than usual. “Come back with me. Stay the night.”
Peter turned to look at him, his deep eyes glowing under the street lights. “Neal – ”
“I don’t want to watch you drive away tonight.” The walls between them were falling down. “I can sleep on the couch – but I just don’t want this to end.”
Peter touched his face. “I don’t either.” His breath steamed in the icy air. “You’re not going to sleep on the couch, unless you want to.”
Neal shook his head. “No – I don’t. I’ve missed you too much. I don’t think I can wait any longer. I’m not sure that this is the best thing for us, but I’m certain that if we’re going to share a life, I want that life to start now.”
The apartment was almost too warm after the frigid air outside, but Peter just stood there, making no attempt to get comfortable, to settle in. He had to ask again, “Are you sure about this, Neal? Maybe we should take this slower?”
“I’m as sure of this as I am of my name. I don’t want to wait. I want you – I want to make love with you, tonight.”
Neal sounded so certain, so sure of his heart. Could he do anything but trust it?
“Are you going to stay?” Neal bit his lip.
Peter nodded and took off his coat and then his suit jacket. “If I stay, I may never leave.”
“I wouldn’t mind that.” Neal’s smile was sweetness itself.
“We’ll be sharing a house in London – that just a few weeks away.”
“A few weeks that feels like forever, Peter. Do you really want to wait that long?” Neal rested his hands on Peter’s shoulders, as if to anchor him here.
He shook his head. “No, no I don’t.” He slid his own hands underneath Neal’s suit jacket, almost intoxicated by the heat, the never-forgotten strength of him. He took the jacket off, tossing it onto the couch, then pulled Neal’s tie loose. He fumbled with the buttons and pushed Neal’s hands out of the way when he started to undress himself. “No – tonight I do this for you.”
Buttons undone, the shirt joined Neal’s tie and jacket. He looked at Neal, awed as he’d always been by his physical perfection, but he knew that even without those gifts, he would still love him, still want him. It was the perfection of his spirit, the generosity of his soul that Peter loved more than his beauty.
His palms caressed the warm skin and the dense muscles on Neal’s shoulders; they trailed down his back, fingers caressing, teasing as they reached the ticklish flesh at his waist, lingering at the waistband of his trousers. As much as his teasing aroused Neal, it aroused him even more. Peter growled and cupped his hands on Neal’s hips, pulling them close. The fine wool did nothing to shield the heat or soften the hardness as they rubbed against each other. Peter’s hands were busy at Neal’s fly, undoing his belt, the button, finally lowering the zipper. He was so desperate to feel bare flesh that he might have ripped the fabric apart if it didn’t cooperate. The trousers fell to the floor and Neal, ever graceful, stepped out of them and toed off his shoes in the same movement.
“Let me take care of you tonight.” Peter whispered and stroked his fingers down the side of Neal’s cheek. “Let me show you how much you mean to me.”
“You’ve shown me, Peter – you’ve put yourself through hell. I love you and that will never change.”
Peter threaded his fingers through Neal’s hair, bringing him close, kissing him with all the longing, the need that had been building since he’d seen him on the loading dock at the Hudson, when he found the courage to ask him if there was a way they could go forward. When Neal kissed him and promised him a possibility.
“Come – ” Peter held out a hand, drawing Neal towards his bed. It was both familiar and strange and it felt like the first time. Like he’d been reborn under this man’s regard. He sat Neal on the bed and knelt before him, pulling off his socks, rubbing away the marks on his skin before pressing a soft kiss on each ankle.
Neal laughed and the sound was so joyous. “That tickles. Have you developed a foot fetish, Mr. Burke?”
“Only for yours, Mr. Caffrey. Only for you.”
His lips and tongue trailed up Neal’s calves, over each knee, only stopping when he reach his thighs and the band of black cotton barred his contact with marble-smooth flesh. “Lie back.” Peter reinforced his command with a gentle push and Neal reclined across the bed, arms above his head like some fantastic captive.
A swift tug and the boxer-briefs were off, Neal was naked and his. Only his. The possessiveness struck a sour note. He did his best not to think in those terms. They were both captives, willing slaves to each other.
Neal leaned up on one elbow and looked at him, his eyes glowing in the semi-darkness. “Why are you still wearing so many clothes?”
“Because – ” Peter gave a wry smile, “I’m an idiot.”
“Or maybe you’re just waiting for me to do this?” Neal sat up and grabbed him by his tie, pulling him down onto the bed on top of him. “Or this?” Although he had six inches on Neal and at least twenty pounds, all of it muscle and bone, Neal and the advantage of surprise and flipped them over, straddling Peter.
He struggled, but not too much. After all, this wasn’t a contest. Regardless of who was on top or on bottom, they would both be winners. Neal gave him a wicked smile and took his damn time loosening his tie, undoing the complicated double Windsor like he was performing some kind of reverse striptease. He tugged and the band of silk slid out from his collar inch by inch. Of all the things to be aroused by…
The last bit came free and Neal was about to toss it aside when Peter grabbed it from him and then held it back out to him.
“Peter?”
He licked his lips. “Tie me up. Tie my hands to the headboard.”
Back when they were first together, Peter had once told Neal that he was unremittingly vanilla – but if there was anything he wanted to try, he should ask. Neal had made a joke about wanting to try out Peter’s old handcuffs and then nixed the idea, telling him that what he really liked was sex and a lot of it, as frequently as possible – but toys and games were weren’t his thing.
Tonight, though, Neal seemed to understand what Peter was asking. This wasn’t about bondage for the sake of kink. It was about trust and faith and Peter giving himself into Neal’s keeping.
“You really want this?”
“Yes – please. I wanted to take care of you – but I think now, I want you to do what you want with me.”
Neal sat back, his face unreadable in the dimmed light. Peter’s heart sank just a bit when Neal shook his head.
“I could tie you to the headboard, blindfold you and play you like a grand piano. But you have nothing to prove to me, Peter. You have already proven yourself – you’ve given me the hard truths and I can’t ask more of you than that.” Neal leaned forward and kissed him. “I love you and I understand you and in time, we will trust each other without question. But what we have now is not just about trust, it’s about faith that we can move forward together, that we can be honest with each other. That we can work through the problems that will come with being who we are.” Neal smiled and kissed him again. “Sorry – this is a little heavy for foreplay.”
Peter held him tight, relishing the strength and the closeness. The weight and mass of Neal in his arms dispelled the still too-strong memory of loneliness. “No, this is perfect.”
Somehow then ended up supine, legs entangled. Desire was there, but it was less urgent, sweeter. It was more about the simple miracle of being together than frantically coupling.
“You still have too many clothes on.” Neal laughed and pulled open his shirt, sending buttons scattering. “And your shoes are still on!”
“Well, you were the one who pulled me into bed.” Peter laughed too.
They managed to get Peter naked and both of them under the covers. Peter cupped his hand around Neal’s jaw and kissed him like he couldn’t get enough, like he was starving and the taste of Neal’s lips was the only thing that could satisfy his hunger, like he was bereft and Neal’s sighs of pleasure were the only sounds of comfort.
There was an inescapable darkness in him that even now tried to swallow the light and smother the joy. But Peter fought the darkness and won. He might not always win the battle, but he’d never give up without trying. He loved and was loved. He had faith in that love. It was the armor that would shield him, the sword that would pierce the darkness and let the light triumph.
Go to Part Nine - On LJ | On DW
Tags:
- character: clinton jones,
- character: diana berrigan,
- character: elizabeth burke,
- character: june ellington,
- character: matthew keller,
- character: mozzie,
- character: neal caffrey,
- character: ofc,
- character: omc,
- character: peter burke,
- character: reese hughes,
- character: sara ellis,
- genre: alternative universe,
- genre: angst,
- genre: domesticity,
- genre: fluff,
- genre: food,
- genre: friendship,
- genre: het,
- genre: hurt/comfort,
- genre: romance,
- genre: slash,
- pairing: elizabeth/mozzie,
- pairing: elizabeth/neal,
- pairing: elizabeth/reese,
- pairing: neal/kate,
- pairing: neal/keller,
- pairing: neal/sara,
- pairing: peter/neal,
- type: fan fiction,
- type: longfic,
- white collar,
- written for: wcbb,
- year: 2013
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2013-09-22 08:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-09-23 12:21 am (UTC)Hell, they already have. They are together again, beautiful and naked and together \o/ :D
Also, master puppeteers FTW \o/ :D Heeee :D With such wonderful friends there was no way in hell they wouldn't end up back together :D
no subject
Date: 2013-09-24 11:40 pm (UTC)"It was the perfection of his spirit, the generosity of his soul that Peter loved more than his beauty." Yes, they definitely 'deserve' each other!
And yay for June, Reese and El; perfect trio of mischief makers. How could the boys not work things out with them on the case?