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elrhiarhodanTitle: The Eternal Optimism of Two Men Stuck in a Single Hotel Room with One Bed
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17 (For explicit sexual content)
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Peter/Elizabeth, Peter/Neal
Spoilers: Vague references to S3.16, S4.01
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None, except for pancakes, UST, and sex.
Word Count: ~7600
Beta Credit:coffeethyme4me (without whom this fic may not have been written).
Written For:daria234, for her prompt Peter/Neal – Winter, for the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
wcpairings fic Exchange, Round 2.
Summary: The blizzard of the century is about to hit, and Peter and Neal take refuge in the last hotel room available in Schroon, New York. The only problem is that there’s just one bed. At least it’s king sized, right?
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National Weather Service has issued a Blizzard Warning for the following counties: In New York: Albany, Columbia, Greene and Saratoga counties; in Vermont: Addison, Rutland, Bennington… Record snowfall expected to start between 6:00 PM and 9:00 PM, increasingly heavy with accumulations of an inch or more an hour, total accumulation of three to five feet possible in higher elevations. Snowfall to continue through Wednesday, tapering off to flurries by early evening. Temperature expected to remain well below freezing for the next five days.
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Peter expected Neal to put up a much bigger fuss about staying in a hotel in a small, run-down resort town on the edge of Lake Champlain. The trip upstate was a wild goose chase. The so-called cache of forgeries was nothing more than hobbyist attempts at recreating Old Masters. That there were a lot of canvases didn’t mean squat and had nothing to do with the wave of forgeries that were turning up in some of Manhattan’s finest galleries.
They hadn’t planned on stopping here for the night. They had reservations at a hotel about a hundred miles south, but the weather report, combined with El’s insistence that they’d get caught in a blizzard, convinced them both that staying off the road was the smart thing to do.
But this small hotel, probably built during the Gilded Age and cheaply renovated sometime in the last decade, was about as far from his partner’s usual choice of lodgings as the moon was from the sun.
“Well, it’s warm, it’s cozy and it’s clean.” Neal stood in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets, surveying the place. “If we’re going to be stuck someplace because of a blizzard, it could be a lot worse.”
Peter would concede that, but he couldn’t keep from needling Neal. “What, no comments about the lack of a top-shelf mini-bar or how the low thread count sheets will make it impossible to sleep?”
Neal chuckled and shook his head. “Peter, Peter, Peter…you seem to have forgotten something.”
He looked at Neal, puzzled. For the life of him, he couldn’t think of what Neal was talking about. “Okay, what am I forgetting?”
Neal laughed again. “Hmmm, my address for the years 2005 to 2009. No top shelf mini bar, no high thread count sheets. No king-sized bed, either. Compared to Sing-Sing, this hotel room may as well be the Palazzo Sasso.”
The truth to be told, Peter had actually forgotten about that. He might mock Neal with threats of orange jumpsuits, but he never liked to think of Neal in prison. It disturbed him in a terrible, visceral way, maybe because he had sacrificed so much to keep Neal out of such a place.
“What?” Neal asked with a bit of a stare. “You’ve got the oddest look on your face. I don’t even want to figure out what you’re thinking.”
It was Peter’s turn to laugh. “You’re right, you don’t want to know.”
They set themselves to unpacking the basics. Neal relaxed in an armchair and checked his Blackberry, and Peter set up his laptop and logged into the free wifi. He squirmed a little in the desk chair. It felt almost too comfortable.
“Any thoughts on dinner?” Neal commented idly.
“No – but this isn’t Manhattan, so don’t expect gourmet takeout.”
Neal sighed again. “You really have a bizarre perception of me, don’t you? I’m not the fuss budget you apparently think I am.”
“I seem to remember your reaction to a certain motel from early in our association.”
“That was completely and utterly different. That place on the Bowery was actually worse than my prison cell. There were rats and roaches and the dog…”
“Yeah – the dog.” Peter had experienced that dog.
“You can’t judge me because of my aversion to that place. Besides, you didn’t manage to stay the night there either.”
“Hmmm, that’s true.” He had to acknowledge that. “Okay, okay – so I’ve underestimated your ability to rough it.”
“Peter – if you think this is roughing it, I’ve got to really wonder about you..” Neal didn’t look up from his Blackberry. “And besides, there’s a well-respected diner across the street. You like meatloaf, right? According to the website, it was featured on the Food Network.”
He didn’t actually like meatloaf, and he supposed he should be grateful that Neal wasn’t making an issue about having to share the only room left at this particular inn, or eating down market diner food. Well, maybe not the food – diners were trendy right now, weren’t they?”
Honestly, he was the one who was antsy. He really couldn’t place the reason for this feeling. He had been in similar situations before, holing up with colleagues, unexpectedly sharing quarters. It was – it should have been – no big deal.
Except that it was. Because this was Neal. Laughing, smiling, at ease with himself and the world around him Neal.
Didn’t he ever see it? Sense it? This thing between them? It had always been there, since the very beginning, but since the tracking anklet came off, it had gotten so much worse.
Peter could pinpoint the moment when everything changed, when he was finally willing to acknowledge what he felt.
He had chased the boy who stole his wallet up to the top of that tower, and Neal was there, his voice lightly taunting but his stance warding him off. And yet, Peter couldn’t stop himself, he couldn’t stop from wrapping his arms around Neal and holding him. It felt so good, so right. He had only been gone six weeks, but it might have been six years.
But that wasn’t when the lightening struck. No, that happened a few seconds later, when Neal dropped his guard and hugged him back, completing their circuit. Peter knew then that he truly loved this man, and that he couldn’t ever bear the thought of letting him go.
Six months, a year, two years later, those feeling hadn’t changed. Peter didn’t expect that they ever would.
“So – that diner for dinner?” Neal interrupted his ruminations.
“Sure.” He put on his coat, opened the door and gestured for Neal to precede him.
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Dinner at the diner was surprisingly good. Neither he nor Peter had the famous meatloaf because there were pancakes. After all, they were about three miles west of the Vermont border.
Neal started with a short stack of angel’s food pancakes, Peter tried the pumpkin. When the waitress came around to refill their coffee, Neal asked for an order of the cornmeal pancakes and Peter seemed to develop a sudden craving for chocolate and banana.
The waitress came back with the pancakes, a variety of meats, and a platter of eggs. She smiled at them, explaining, “We’ll probably be shut down tomorrow – they’re talking two to three feet. You might as well enjoy this – it’ll go in the trash otherwise.”
Neal thanked her by name – “Maggie” on the little tag – and asked if they could get some food to take back to the hotel, which had limited dining facilities. He didn’t even need to use the Caffrey charm.
She took their orders and came back with a large cooler, packed to bursting. “This should keep you guys for a day or two. Just leave the cooler at the front desk when you check out.” She left the check and went back to the counter to talk about the impending “Storm of the Century.”
The pancakes were a wreck of syrup-soaked crumbs. Neal eyed the last sausage and shook his head. “All yours.”
“El will kill me if she finds out what I’ve just eaten. If I don’t have a heart attack first.” Peter dug his fist into his chest, as if to ward off said coronary.
The snow was beginning to fall as they started to make their way back to the hotel. A blinking neon sign caught Neal’s attention. “I’ll see you back at the room, okay? Just a few things I’d like to pick up if we’re going to be stuck for the next day or two.”
When he didn’t elaborate, Peter nodded. “Don’t make me send the Marshals out after you.”
“Can’t anymore. The tracker’s off. I finished my sentence, remember?”
Peter smiled, and Neal wanted to bask in that look of pleased satisfaction. “Yeah, right. But just be careful, okay?”
“Of course. And where would I go anyway?”
Peter turned and headed back to the hotel, cooler in hand. The drifting flakes of snow created a hazy outline of his receding figure, like he was stepping into some fantastic portal. Neal shivered, but not from the cold.
The convenience store was just that – convenient. Neal bought a deck of cards, a few bottles of decent wine as well as a bottle of a surprisingly fine brand of single malt Scotch whiskey, a six pack of Peter’s favorite beer, a container of half and half, because while he’d drink coffee from an automatic drip maker, non-dairy creamer was really beyond his level of tolerance.
He also purchased two boxes of condoms and a bottle of lube. He was actually surprised that they stocked the stuff, but he wasn’t going to question his good fortune. He knew he was pushing his luck, or more accurately, building castles in the air. They might be sharing a bed tonight, but the odds of getting Peter to fuck him were about as good as the odds of Mozzie voting Republican.
Two boxes. You’re being unreasonably over-optimistic, Neal George Caffrey.
He shoved the condoms and the bottle in his coat pocket, and made his way back to the hotel. The snowfall was well more than flurries now, and he was grateful for the blast of heat as he walked through the door.
The desk clerk smiled a greeting and commented about the weather while Neal waited for the ancient elevator to arrive. He hoped that the building’s heating system was a little more modern. The creaking trip to the fourth floor reminded Neal of one of Mozzie’s more spectacular safe houses.
Peter was actually waiting at the door for him.
“Worried?”
“Nah – the clerk called up, said your hands were full.”
Neal made a mental note to tip the young man.
“What have you got?” Peter took the bags from him.
“All the essentials, especially if we’re going to be stuck for a few days.”
“In other words, wine and beer?”
“How did you guess?”
“I know you, remember?”
“Also got a bottle of Scotch, Glen Garioch ’91.”
Peter looked impressed. “What’s a bottle of that doing in a small town liquor store?”
“Dunno, but it will be worth every penny when the power goes.” Neal hung up his coat, all too aware of what was in the pockets. He’d transfer the stuff to the night table when Peter went to the bathroom. He felt like a teenager, hoping he’d get lucky.
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Peter watched Neal, hoping his gaze would be hidden by the laptop screen. His partner was reading a book, an old hardcover, the dust jacket gone, the cloth-covered boards stained by time and frequent handling. His shoes were off and his long, elegant feet were propped up on an ottoman. The lamplight gilded his hair, the tips of his eyelashes, the late-day scruff with its telling strands of silver.
He often wondered if Neal wasn’t this beautiful, this physically perfect, would he have felt this way? Maybe, maybe not. And maybe it didn’t matter – it wasn’t like he’d be able to act upon it.
Peter tried not to think about sharing a bed with Neal, and of course, the more he tried not to, the more his mind kept wandering back to what he was trying to avoid. El, if she were here (most improbably) would give him yet another lecture on why denying his feelings for Neal would only result in a diminished life span.
“What’s the matter?”
Peter blinked at Neal’s question. “Huh?”
“You sighed like someone just told you Santa Claus wasn’t real.”
“Nothing, just thinking about things.” Neal wasn’t the only person in the room who was good at deflecting.
Neal put his book down. “Wanna talk about it? I’m a good listener.”
“Thanks – it’s something I’ve got to sort out for myself. But the offer is appreciated.”
The wind sent the panes rattling and Peter got up to look outside. “Holy shit – I haven’t seen a blizzard like this since I was a kid.”
Neal stood next to him, peering out of the window. Peter took a deep breath; the other man’s closeness was unnerving. But his scent – a combination of the day’s musk and the fading notes of some delicious, woodsy-spicy cologne – made him dizzy.
Peter backed away from the window. “Well, it looks like they got it right.”
“Hmm, yeah. Inch an hour?”
“At least.” Peter looked at his watch, surprised that it was only eight thirty; it was way too early to think about bed. The deck of cards sitting next to the bottle of Scotch caught his eye. “Care for a game?”
There was a sudden gleam in Neal’s eyes.
“And no, not poker. Was thinking gin.”
“Damn, would have enjoyed going head to head with you.”
Peter hoped he didn’t flush at that double entendre. “So – gin it is. Hollywood, Oklahoma, aces are high, a spade is doubled and we play to two-fifty per frame?”
Neal snorted and shook his head. “Somehow, I think I’d be safer playing Texas Hold ‘Em with you.” He opened the Scotch, and poured them both a double.
Peter shuffled the deck and they pulled for hi-lo. He drew a deuce, Neal a Jack, so he dealt the first hand. The game progressed and both men played for knock. Neal was good, but Peter was just that much better, schneiding Neal for the first two games.
“Well –” Peter licked the tip of the pen in an old-fashioned gesture. “If we’re playing a nickel a point, you owe me one thousand two hundred fifty-six dollars. Or you can do my 5-0-5 forms for the next two months.”
“Your math is suspect, Peter.” Neal reached for the paper that Peter was using to keep score, but he held it up and away. Neal almost climbed over him to get at it.
“Uh-uh. You’re just being a sore loser.” He tossed the pad to Neal and took a sip of whiskey. It was good – smooth and smoky – and it set up a nice buzz. “Wanna play another round?”
Neal to a sip of his own drink and looked at the scorecard. “Hmmm, maybe.”
The lights flickered, but stayed on.
Peter put down his glass. “You know what? I think I’m going to take a hot shower now. Who knows what we’ll have in the morning.”
“Good idea – leave me some hot water, will you?” Neal smiled up at him and Peter wondered if he’d be better off taking a cold shower.
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The past few hours had been an interlude in very refined torture. Peter was still Peter – but there was something else going on. A subtle flirting, which was impossible since Peter Burke was on record as the world’s worst flirt. If he wasn’t going to call it flirting, then maybe it was a strange sort of receptiveness.
He never should have lost those card games to Peter, not that Peter was a better player (and if he was, it was only by a very slim margin), but that he was so distracted. By Peter’s behavior, by the condoms and the bottle of lube in his coat pocket, by the storm.
By the single king-sized bed in the middle of the room.
Peter finished rummaging through his luggage and went into the bathroom. Neal waited until he heard the shower come on and dove for his coat. He grabbed the bag out of the pocket and put it in the bedside table. The shower was still running when Neal fished out his sleepwear and toiletries. He wondered if it would be too much of a signal if he shaved. But he could always say that he didn’t want to have to wear two days of scruff if the power did go out.
And Peter would probably see right through that. Especially since his razor was battery operated.
The shower was still running and Neal was getting antsy. The wind and snow kept buffeting the building and the power flickered every few minutes. He turned on the television, expecting every channel to be reporting on the storm conditions. Except that it seemed like every channel was filled with electronic snow. He kept pressing the button on the remote – the clerk, on check-in, boasted that the hotel had a hundred and fifty cable television stations. It looked like all of them were off line, except for one.
Neal blinked, then blinked again. And swallowed hard. The only station still working was the porn channel. He should have turned the television off; that would have been the smart thing to do. It wasn’t as if he actually *liked* porn. It had its uses, but he was the type of guy who truly preferred something a little classier. Sweaty, oiled bodies humping each other for the maximum camera-angle advantage and close-ups of surgically enhanced breasts and genitalia weren’t things that ordinarily turned him on. Except that this did.
The scene started out with a man and a woman in a typical configuration – the woman on her knees giving overly enthusiastic head. But there was something about the way the man was holding her hair, carding his fingers through the long brown tresses that touched something in Neal. It was as if the man on the screen actually cared about his partner.
Of course he didn’t – but the illusion was convincing.
Neal was just about to turn the television off when a third person entered the scene. Not another woman, but a man. His finger hovered over the off-button, but he couldn’t seem to make that finger work. The second guy, tall and broad shouldered, and quite a bit older than the average porn actor, gave the woman a cursory caress, a slap on the ass and told her to leave. She gave the cock she was sucking a lick from stem to stern, got up and simply walked off camera.
The two men started kissing and Neal forgot how to breathe. When the older guy pushed his partner down on the bed and started spanking him, he thought he was going to pass out.
And then a message popped up, blocking the middle of the screen: Your free preview has expired. Please press the ‘Buy’ button on your remote to continue watching.
It was a good thing that Neal noticed that Peter had turned off the shower; otherwise he might have purchased the rest of the porno. He carefully put the remote back on top of the television and went to the window. The icy chill radiating from the old glass felt good against his overheated skin. There was nothing to see except for swirling, blowing snow colored a sickly orange by the streetlights.
Neal felt a little like a traveler lost in a storm. He couldn’t stand still and every step forward could be a step into disaster. He picked up a glass – it didn’t matter if it was his or Peter’s – and swallowed the last few ounces of whiskey and thought about pouring another double.
But getting shit-faced wouldn’t solve his problem. He’d get horny and sloppy and end up destroying the thing he valued the most. Instead, he’d rub out this lingering desire in the shower, get control of his feelings and have a good, chaste night’s sleep.
And if he were wise, he’d take the condoms and lube out of the nightstand and bury them deep in his suitcase. But he wasn’t. The bathroom door opened, Peter came out, and all his good intentions simply evaporated like an ice cube on a hot July sidewalk.
Someone – Elizabeth, most likely and bless her – had given Peter a set of burgundy silk pajamas and a navy silk robe. Neal’s mouth actually started to water and he swallowed to keep from drooling.
Peter glared at him. “Don’t laugh. El packed for me.”
“Your wife has exquisite taste.” Was that his voice, so harsh?
Something in Peter seemed to relax, and he gave him a big, bright smile. “They are kind of nice, you know.”
“I figured you for shorts and a tee shirt to bed kind of guy.” Neal couldn’t believe he was talking with Peter about his preference in jammies.
“Yeah.” He plucked at the robe. “This is more your sort of thing.”
Neal hoped Peter didn’t notice the bulge in his pants as he picked up his stuff and headed for the bathroom. “See you in a few.”
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Peter watched Neal saunter into the bathroom. His gait was a little funny, almost like he was …
Nah. Not even remotely possible.
He hung up his suit, put his dirty clothes in a bag in his suitcase and listened for running water. Peter had something to do and he didn’t want to be interrupted. As soon as he heard the shower start, he dug through the side pocket inside his suitcase.
Condoms and lube in hand, Peter went over to the bed. The night table would be the best place to stash them. As if he’d actually get a chance to use this stuff. He opened the drawer. Next to the copy of the Book of Mormon and a Gideon Bible was a small, white bag. Peter picked it up carefully. Never knew what housekeeping had overlooked.
He peered inside and laughed. There were two unopened boxes of Durex extra-large and a bottle of K-Y. The last occupant of the room had been highly optimistic and obviously disappointed. He was about to put it back when he noticed the receipt in the bag. In addition to the sundries, it listed two bottles of wine, a small container of half and half, a six pack of Heisler Gold, a rather expensive bottle of Scotch and a deck of cards.
It was dated today, just a few hours ago.
Joy leaped in his veins and he wanted to laugh, to sing, to rush into the bathroom and take Neal against the shower wall like a barbarian.
There could be no mistake. Neal purchased these things tonight, he put them next to the bed, he hoped to use them. Peter was the only other person in the room.
Therefore; Neal wanted to have sex with him.
Quod erat demonstrandum.
Peter put the bag back in the drawer, and added his own supplies and grinned. Thirty-six condoms.
He closed the drawer and reality intruded. He couldn’t just fall on Neal like that – because, well because – the intent expressed in his purchase didn’t quite equate to consent. They had a night to get through, and probably one, maybe two days. Better to play it cool.
A buzzing from the desk interrupted his train of thought. It was his cell phone. He knew who it was without checking; El was calling. They had spoken several times during the day and evening and she beat him to their goodnight call.
“Hey, hon. How’s it going?”
“You were right about Neal. He bought condoms.”
There was laughter on the other end. “Well, that wasn’t the answer I was expecting, but it’s good news none the less. Aren’t I the best wife ever?”
“You are, you absolutely are.”
She switched tracks on him. “I’ve been watching the Weather Channel – they’re calling this the Storm of the Century.”
“Yeah – it’s definitely a blizzard, and I have a feeling we’re going to be socked in for a few days. How’s it down there?”
“We’ll get about six inches, a little more, a little less. Just enough to make life inconvenient. But enough of the weather. Where’s Neal, and why aren’t you jumping his bones yet?”
“He’s taking a shower – who knows what the heat and hot water situation will be tomorrow.” At some point, the water in the bathroom turned off, but Peter hadn’t noticed. Neal came back into the room, and like him, was dressed in silk pajamas and a matching robe. He wanted to laugh at their sartorial symmetry; he handed the phone to Neal instead. “It’s Elizabeth, she wants to say ‘goodnight’ to you.”
Neal took the phone with a raised eyebrow. Peter listened to their chatter and enjoyed the undercurrents in the room. He went to the window – there was nothing to see anymore. Whether the town turned off the streetlights or the power was down, there was no more artificial light to cut through the darkness. But it was still coming down, several inches of snow and ice had accumulated on the window ledge, and the wind battered against the pane.
He dropped the curtain and turned back to Neal, who had a puzzled look in his eyes as he held out the cell phone.
“El?”
“I think I just freaked Neal out.”
Peter looked up at the other man, who was pacing the room, running his hands through his damp hair.
“What did you do?”
“I told him that you like to snuggle, and he should enjoy the opportunity.
“Ah.” Peter met Neal’s eyes. He was definitely freaked out. El may have just put a spanner in the works, but he wasn’t got to tell her that. “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
“Enjoy yourself, call me in the morning – I’m going to want all the details.”
Peter laughed. “Sleep well, sweet dreams, hon.”
“You too, love you much, honey.”
The call ended and Peter stared at the phone for a few seconds before looking at Neal. “So, El told you I’m a cuddler?”
Neal nodded, eyes wide.
“If you want, we can put a pillow down the middle of the bed.” He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Especially since there were thirty-six condoms and two bottles of lube in the night table drawer.
Neal seemed to get control of himself, or maybe he remembered that this was something he really wanted. “No, we’ll be fine. It’s not like you have any sense of personal space when you’re awake, anyway.”
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“Just so you know, sweetie, Peter’s an octopus in bed. He’s going to grab hold and he won’t let go. So I hope you don’t mind a little cuddling, because you won’t be able to avoid it.”
Elizabeth probably thought she meant well, warning him like this. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know how handsy Peter was. He’d been at the receiving end of those hot, hard hands for the better part of four years. From the very beginning, Neal had liked those casual touches, a hand on his arm, at his waist, at the small of his back. Hell, there were times that he all but provoked Peter into grabbing him.
He longed for those hands, for those touches, so much during his Cape Verde hiatus. That moment, when Peter wrapped his arms around him, hugging him tight, stunned him. The weight, the heat, the mass of Peter Burke holding him was like a paralytic drug; he simply froze. As Peter whispered to him, “I’ve missed you so much,” something loosened and he realized that while he could run for the rest of his life, he’d always be running towards this.
Peter’s offer to put a pillow down the middle was, well, sweet. Truth was, Neal wasn’t so much freaked out by the thought of waking up wrapped in Peter’s arms as waking up in Peter’s arms and sporting a huge erection. Nothing he could do about that, biology was biology and just because he bought two boxes of condoms didn’t mean that he expected to use any of them.
Liar.
“So, what now? Want to watch some television?”
Peter’s question startled him out of his reverie. Before he could say anything, Peter turned the set on and Neal cringed. Unlike almost all of the hotels he had stayed at, this one did not reset back to the internal channel. And the free viewing period seemed to have reset, because there was no banner blocking the view of two guys engaged in a sexual act that should have been physically improbable.
Neal expected Peter to immediately shut the television off, or at least change the channel. But he didn’t – he just stood there, remote control in hand, frozen. Except for the bulge forming under the once-smooth front of his robe.
Neal carefully extracted the remote and turned the television off. Peter looked up at him and blinked. He tried not to smirk; this was almost too good to be true.
“There’s nothing on except for that – ” He gestured to the now blank screen. “Everything else was knocked out.”
“Ah – okay.” Peter’s hand shook a little as he poured himself another glass of Scotch. He swallowed it in a single gulp and emphatically put the glass back down. “I suppose the wifi’s out, too?”
Neal hadn’t thought about that, but checked his phone. “Yeah – it’s out. Want to finish that gin game?”
Peter shook his head. “Since we’re stuck here for the next few days, we’ll be playing cards until the pips are worn off.” He looked at the clock on the night table. “I’m going to go to bed. It’s nearly ten, anyway.”
“I thought you were a night owl.”
Peter shrugged. “Dunno – bored, tired. Nothing else to do.” He shed his robe and Neal watched, dismayed, as Peter took his side of the bed.”
“Any chance I could get you to sleep on the other side?”
“Any chance you want to be back in the anklet?”
“You must be tired if that’s the best you can come up with.” Neal turned on the reading lamp next to the room’s single easy chair and turned off the rest of the lights. “I’ll read for a while – not really that tired yet.”
Coward.
All he got was a muffled grunt from the bed.
Neal read, or tried to read for the better part of an hour. The wind pushed relentlessly against the windows, the sound of driving snow and ice vaguely unnerving. The lights flickered every time there was a particularly fierce gust and he finally gave up. He turned the lamp off and groped his way across the room and to the bed.
At least Peter wasn’t a bed hog. Neal’s eyes adjusted to the darkness and there was just enough light to see that the lump under the covers was more or less on one side of the bed. He contemplated leaving his robe on, but in a moment of bravado, took it off and took off his pajama top, too.
As soon as he slid into the bed, he was glad he shed the top. Peter was a human-sized smelting furnace, radiating enough heat to melt a glacier. Neal grinned in the darkness, hugged an extra pillow to himself and tried to relax. Falling asleep would be a tall order, since Peter was suddenly chatty.
“Caffrey?”
“Were you expecting someone else?”
“Funny.”
“What’s up?” Neal had to wonder at himself, was he going to commit suicide by double entendre?
Apparently so. “How long did you watch the porn channel?”
The heat under the covers doubled. He decided on honesty. “Long enough to get timed out for the free preview.”
In the darkness, Peter’s chuckle was like some rich, heady wine. There were a few minutes of silence and he thought that Peter finally dozed off. But he hadn’t.
“Neal?”
“Still here.”
“Don’t be cute.”
“I can’t help it.”
A pause and Neal almost thought he could hear Peter smiling.
“Two boxes of condoms?”
Neal wasn’t sure he heard Peter correctly. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve either got an extremely optimistic perception of my sexual capacity, or you are an out-of-control impulse shopper. Since you only bought one bottle of lube, I’m going for the former.” The amusement in Peter’s voice was unmistakable.
Humiliated, Neal threw back the covers and launched himself out of the bed. Or tried to. Peter was surprisingly quick and he grabbed him by the waist and hauled him back.
“Let me go, damn it.”
“Hey, hey. What’s the matter?” Peter sounded genuinely puzzled.
“Look, I’m sorry – don’t know what I was thinking.” Neal pushed at Peter’s broad chest, feeling a little too much like a heroine in one of June’s romance novels that still filled the bookcases in his apartment.
“You were thinking that if you got lucky, you needed to be prepared.” Peter’s voice had deepened, the humor was still there – so was something else. “Wanna hear a secret?”
Neal wanted to escape, to be anywhere but here, with Peter mocking him. But since Peter wasn’t letting him go, all he could do was pout in frustration. “Okay, but if you tell me, it won’t be a secret any longer.”
Peter laughed, and the sound raised hairs on the back of his neck. “I discovered your stash when I was putting away mine.”
Now Neal was completely confused. “What?”
“You like Durex. I’m a Trojan man, myself.” Peter was talking about condoms like he was talking about his preference for a brand of beer. “We’ve got a dozen of mine to add to the stash.”
Neal couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m not having this conversation in the dark.” He reached over Peter, turned on the lamp and looked down at him. Even in the deeply shadowed light, he couldn’t find any mockery. There was happiness and satisfaction, and more than a bit of wonder in his face.
Neal pulled back, stunned. “How can you want this?”
Peter ran a big, warm hand down his neck, resting it on his shoulder. “I think the question is: how have I held out against this for so long?”
“What about El?” He had a feeling he knew the answer, given the conversation they had earlier. But he still had to ask.
“Who do you think packed my Trojans, as well as a fresh bottle of lube?”
“That was NOT the answer I was expecting, sort of.”
“Sort of?” The amusement was back
“Okay – I don’t know what I was expecting. But hearing that your wife is enabling us was not it.”
Peter sat up and suddenly, Peter was on top. Neal was a little dizzy, a little breathless from the speed of the maneuver. Looking up at Peter, who was now haloed by the light, he felt the touch of inevitability, that they were destined to end up like this.
He blinked against the light, against the sudden rush of tears. “I love you, you know.”
“I love you too.” Peter kissed him, swift and hard, in confirmation. “This has been a long time coming, hasn’t it?”
Neal kissed him back, long and sweet. Desire was a given, but there was something more, something physical, emotional – maybe even spiritual. At least it seemed that way to him, but he couldn’t think anymore. The physical had overtaken everything else. Peter’s cock was a hard, heavy bar next to his. The sensation was exquisite – the silk rubbing against silk, the growing dampness, the almost unbearable heat.
The lights flickered again and the room plunged into complete darkness. All the little glowing indicators of modern technology disappeared in an instant. The utter lack of light should have been frightening, except that Neal wasn’t alone. He was in bed with someone – with Peter – who he loved more than anyone in this world, who he had longed for so helplessly for so many years.
Neal reached up, threading his fingers through the rough silk of Peter’s hair, pulling him down, bringing him close. “Kiss me?”
“You don’t have to ask.” Peter’s mouth stole his breath.
Neal felt like he was being swallowed whole, the darkness, the heat and the overwhelming joy of yearning fulfilled, transported him. Peter’s hands were everywhere, working at the waistband of his sleep pants. Neal’s fingers were equally busy, struggling to get Peter just as naked.
There was something so outrageously delicious about his skin against Peter’s, the meeting of smooth, hard flesh, so different from a woman’s. If he thought that Peter was inexperienced at this – at making love to another man – he was wrong. There was heat and eagerness and hands where few hands that hard had ever ventured. He had to ask, because even this aroused, he needed to know.
“You’ve done this before?”
Peter panted a laugh into the curve of his neck. “I’ve been married nearly fifteen years, Caffrey. To a lusty woman who knows what she wants and likes to experiment. I know my way around a body.” Peter cupped his hips and lifted him, their cocks met, kissed and slid against each other.
What Neal was about to say – that he wasn’t a woman – was lost in a tidal wave of pure sensation. Peter set the edge of his teeth against his neck and bit down carefully, the length of his cock riding him. “Need lube, need a condom – now.”
Their hands and arms met in a tangle as the each reached for the drawer. Peter, on top, was more successful. Neal’s efforts were valiant, and in vain.
“I got it, just relax.” Peter tossed back the covers and the cool air was almost a relief.
There was the unmistakable rip and crackle of a condom package opening, then the snap-pop of the lube bottle. Neal reacted like one of Pavlov’s famed dogs, but it wasn’t his mouth that drooled.
“Lift your hips.”
Neal obeyed without thought, without question. Peter’s finger was gentle as he breached him.
“You have definitely done this before, and not just with El.” Neal hissed, half in pleasure, half in rather delightful pain.
Peter pulled his finger out and sat back. It was too dark to see anything and the chilly air was no longer pleasant. “You want to know my sexual history, now?”
Neal whimpered. “No – come back here. Please.” He didn’t care that he was shamelessly begging. The warmth, the heat of Peter’s skin was a relief. His hands were merciless, and Neal almost came as Peter added a second, then a third finger, twisting perfectly. His back arched, lifting off the bed.
In the darkness, Peter’s laugh was demonic. “Found your joy button?”
“Ung, yesss.” Neal didn’t care that he was all but incoherent. The torture was pure pleasure or maybe the pleasure was a perfect torture, and he couldn’t figure out which. “Damn it, fuck me.”
Peter laughed again. “So, I’ve finally found a way to still that golden tongue of yours.”
“You wish!” It would have been a battle of wills and wits, except that Peter withdrew his fingers, Neal cried out at the loss, and then moaned when Peter pressed the head of his cock against his hole. It felt so damn good.
“God, Neal – you’re burning me alive!”
It was Neal’s turn to laugh, which set up a small chain reaction of delight. “You should talk – or maybe you shouldn’t.” He reached up to pull Peter close and kissed him. It was a messy thing, teeth and tongues and panting breath and Neal loved it. He loved the bite of pain, the overwhelming heat and mass of Peter Burke on top of him, the burn of his cock sliding in and pulling out, the sheer joy of surrender.
In the darkness, time had no meaning. They could have been fucking for hours, it didn’t matter. Peter’s hand, still slick with lube, was stroking his dripping cock, toying with his balls, generally driving Neal out of his mind.
“You like that?” Since Neal was leaking precome like a faucet, he didn’t think a verbal acknowledgment was necessary, but Peter asked again. “Tell me – does that feel good?”
He couldn’t answer and Peter stopped moving. Buried balls deep, he insisted. “Tell me, Neal.”
He arched his hips, pushing Peter just a fraction deeper. “Yes, you bastard, it feels incredible.” Neal wondered if Peter was going to go on forever, keeping him on just the wrong side of completion when he groaned and shuddered, jackhammering into him. Merciless, relentless, perfect.
Neal came, screaming his pleasure, and Peter swallowed his cries as he came, too.
He savored Peter’s weight on him, and at some point, simply fell asleep, happy and complete.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Peter opened his eyes. The light in the room was fitful, more that it wasn’t night anymore than it was daytime. He burrowed out of the covers and found his cell phone. It was after nine AM and even if it had been three hours earlier, his bladder was all but crying out at him. He braced himself for frigid air as he slid out from under the covers, doing his best not to disturb Neal, who looked exactly like Peter thought he’d look after a night’s fucking. Like some fallen, debauched angel.
To his surprise and delight, the room was chilly, but it wasn’t ice cold, even though the power was still off. As he made his way to the bathroom, Peter noticed a radiator – the old fashioned kind. It was pumping out heat just fine, which was a good thing, he guessed, since it meant that there would be hot water too. Although he was disappointed that they wouldn’t have to huddle for warmth, it would be nice to be clean.
He took care of business, put on his pajama bottoms and robe and went to check the state of affairs outside.
It was still snowing, thick and fast. There was a single plow on the street, struggling heroically, but it was a pointless effort. He twitched the curtain closed and went back to bed.
Neal opened his eyes, and the look on his face was wary, uncertain. Peter kissed him, not the least put off by morning breath. That restored the wonder and the joy.
“It’s still snowing, there’s heat but no power.” Peter doffed his robe and his pajama bottoms before climbing back under the covers. “It’s going to be a long, quiet day. Can you think of something you'd like to do?”
Neal grinned. “I can think of plenty of ways to pass the time. After all, we’ve got thirty-five condoms left.” He paused, purely for drama. “Unless you’d rather play gin?”
FIN
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17 (For explicit sexual content)
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Peter/Elizabeth, Peter/Neal
Spoilers: Vague references to S3.16, S4.01
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None, except for pancakes, UST, and sex.
Word Count: ~7600
Beta Credit:
coffeethyme4me (without whom this fic may not have been written).Written For:
daria234, for her prompt Peter/Neal – Winter, for the wcpairings fic Exchange, Round 2.Summary: The blizzard of the century is about to hit, and Peter and Neal take refuge in the last hotel room available in Schroon, New York. The only problem is that there’s just one bed. At least it’s king sized, right?
National Weather Service has issued a Blizzard Warning for the following counties: In New York: Albany, Columbia, Greene and Saratoga counties; in Vermont: Addison, Rutland, Bennington… Record snowfall expected to start between 6:00 PM and 9:00 PM, increasingly heavy with accumulations of an inch or more an hour, total accumulation of three to five feet possible in higher elevations. Snowfall to continue through Wednesday, tapering off to flurries by early evening. Temperature expected to remain well below freezing for the next five days.
Peter expected Neal to put up a much bigger fuss about staying in a hotel in a small, run-down resort town on the edge of Lake Champlain. The trip upstate was a wild goose chase. The so-called cache of forgeries was nothing more than hobbyist attempts at recreating Old Masters. That there were a lot of canvases didn’t mean squat and had nothing to do with the wave of forgeries that were turning up in some of Manhattan’s finest galleries.
They hadn’t planned on stopping here for the night. They had reservations at a hotel about a hundred miles south, but the weather report, combined with El’s insistence that they’d get caught in a blizzard, convinced them both that staying off the road was the smart thing to do.
But this small hotel, probably built during the Gilded Age and cheaply renovated sometime in the last decade, was about as far from his partner’s usual choice of lodgings as the moon was from the sun.
“Well, it’s warm, it’s cozy and it’s clean.” Neal stood in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets, surveying the place. “If we’re going to be stuck someplace because of a blizzard, it could be a lot worse.”
Peter would concede that, but he couldn’t keep from needling Neal. “What, no comments about the lack of a top-shelf mini-bar or how the low thread count sheets will make it impossible to sleep?”
Neal chuckled and shook his head. “Peter, Peter, Peter…you seem to have forgotten something.”
He looked at Neal, puzzled. For the life of him, he couldn’t think of what Neal was talking about. “Okay, what am I forgetting?”
Neal laughed again. “Hmmm, my address for the years 2005 to 2009. No top shelf mini bar, no high thread count sheets. No king-sized bed, either. Compared to Sing-Sing, this hotel room may as well be the Palazzo Sasso.”
The truth to be told, Peter had actually forgotten about that. He might mock Neal with threats of orange jumpsuits, but he never liked to think of Neal in prison. It disturbed him in a terrible, visceral way, maybe because he had sacrificed so much to keep Neal out of such a place.
“What?” Neal asked with a bit of a stare. “You’ve got the oddest look on your face. I don’t even want to figure out what you’re thinking.”
It was Peter’s turn to laugh. “You’re right, you don’t want to know.”
They set themselves to unpacking the basics. Neal relaxed in an armchair and checked his Blackberry, and Peter set up his laptop and logged into the free wifi. He squirmed a little in the desk chair. It felt almost too comfortable.
“Any thoughts on dinner?” Neal commented idly.
“No – but this isn’t Manhattan, so don’t expect gourmet takeout.”
Neal sighed again. “You really have a bizarre perception of me, don’t you? I’m not the fuss budget you apparently think I am.”
“I seem to remember your reaction to a certain motel from early in our association.”
“That was completely and utterly different. That place on the Bowery was actually worse than my prison cell. There were rats and roaches and the dog…”
“Yeah – the dog.” Peter had experienced that dog.
“You can’t judge me because of my aversion to that place. Besides, you didn’t manage to stay the night there either.”
“Hmmm, that’s true.” He had to acknowledge that. “Okay, okay – so I’ve underestimated your ability to rough it.”
“Peter – if you think this is roughing it, I’ve got to really wonder about you..” Neal didn’t look up from his Blackberry. “And besides, there’s a well-respected diner across the street. You like meatloaf, right? According to the website, it was featured on the Food Network.”
He didn’t actually like meatloaf, and he supposed he should be grateful that Neal wasn’t making an issue about having to share the only room left at this particular inn, or eating down market diner food. Well, maybe not the food – diners were trendy right now, weren’t they?”
Honestly, he was the one who was antsy. He really couldn’t place the reason for this feeling. He had been in similar situations before, holing up with colleagues, unexpectedly sharing quarters. It was – it should have been – no big deal.
Except that it was. Because this was Neal. Laughing, smiling, at ease with himself and the world around him Neal.
Didn’t he ever see it? Sense it? This thing between them? It had always been there, since the very beginning, but since the tracking anklet came off, it had gotten so much worse.
Peter could pinpoint the moment when everything changed, when he was finally willing to acknowledge what he felt.
He had chased the boy who stole his wallet up to the top of that tower, and Neal was there, his voice lightly taunting but his stance warding him off. And yet, Peter couldn’t stop himself, he couldn’t stop from wrapping his arms around Neal and holding him. It felt so good, so right. He had only been gone six weeks, but it might have been six years.
But that wasn’t when the lightening struck. No, that happened a few seconds later, when Neal dropped his guard and hugged him back, completing their circuit. Peter knew then that he truly loved this man, and that he couldn’t ever bear the thought of letting him go.
Six months, a year, two years later, those feeling hadn’t changed. Peter didn’t expect that they ever would.
“So – that diner for dinner?” Neal interrupted his ruminations.
“Sure.” He put on his coat, opened the door and gestured for Neal to precede him.
Dinner at the diner was surprisingly good. Neither he nor Peter had the famous meatloaf because there were pancakes. After all, they were about three miles west of the Vermont border.
Neal started with a short stack of angel’s food pancakes, Peter tried the pumpkin. When the waitress came around to refill their coffee, Neal asked for an order of the cornmeal pancakes and Peter seemed to develop a sudden craving for chocolate and banana.
The waitress came back with the pancakes, a variety of meats, and a platter of eggs. She smiled at them, explaining, “We’ll probably be shut down tomorrow – they’re talking two to three feet. You might as well enjoy this – it’ll go in the trash otherwise.”
Neal thanked her by name – “Maggie” on the little tag – and asked if they could get some food to take back to the hotel, which had limited dining facilities. He didn’t even need to use the Caffrey charm.
She took their orders and came back with a large cooler, packed to bursting. “This should keep you guys for a day or two. Just leave the cooler at the front desk when you check out.” She left the check and went back to the counter to talk about the impending “Storm of the Century.”
The pancakes were a wreck of syrup-soaked crumbs. Neal eyed the last sausage and shook his head. “All yours.”
“El will kill me if she finds out what I’ve just eaten. If I don’t have a heart attack first.” Peter dug his fist into his chest, as if to ward off said coronary.
The snow was beginning to fall as they started to make their way back to the hotel. A blinking neon sign caught Neal’s attention. “I’ll see you back at the room, okay? Just a few things I’d like to pick up if we’re going to be stuck for the next day or two.”
When he didn’t elaborate, Peter nodded. “Don’t make me send the Marshals out after you.”
“Can’t anymore. The tracker’s off. I finished my sentence, remember?”
Peter smiled, and Neal wanted to bask in that look of pleased satisfaction. “Yeah, right. But just be careful, okay?”
“Of course. And where would I go anyway?”
Peter turned and headed back to the hotel, cooler in hand. The drifting flakes of snow created a hazy outline of his receding figure, like he was stepping into some fantastic portal. Neal shivered, but not from the cold.
The convenience store was just that – convenient. Neal bought a deck of cards, a few bottles of decent wine as well as a bottle of a surprisingly fine brand of single malt Scotch whiskey, a six pack of Peter’s favorite beer, a container of half and half, because while he’d drink coffee from an automatic drip maker, non-dairy creamer was really beyond his level of tolerance.
He also purchased two boxes of condoms and a bottle of lube. He was actually surprised that they stocked the stuff, but he wasn’t going to question his good fortune. He knew he was pushing his luck, or more accurately, building castles in the air. They might be sharing a bed tonight, but the odds of getting Peter to fuck him were about as good as the odds of Mozzie voting Republican.
Two boxes. You’re being unreasonably over-optimistic, Neal George Caffrey.
He shoved the condoms and the bottle in his coat pocket, and made his way back to the hotel. The snowfall was well more than flurries now, and he was grateful for the blast of heat as he walked through the door.
The desk clerk smiled a greeting and commented about the weather while Neal waited for the ancient elevator to arrive. He hoped that the building’s heating system was a little more modern. The creaking trip to the fourth floor reminded Neal of one of Mozzie’s more spectacular safe houses.
Peter was actually waiting at the door for him.
“Worried?”
“Nah – the clerk called up, said your hands were full.”
Neal made a mental note to tip the young man.
“What have you got?” Peter took the bags from him.
“All the essentials, especially if we’re going to be stuck for a few days.”
“In other words, wine and beer?”
“How did you guess?”
“I know you, remember?”
“Also got a bottle of Scotch, Glen Garioch ’91.”
Peter looked impressed. “What’s a bottle of that doing in a small town liquor store?”
“Dunno, but it will be worth every penny when the power goes.” Neal hung up his coat, all too aware of what was in the pockets. He’d transfer the stuff to the night table when Peter went to the bathroom. He felt like a teenager, hoping he’d get lucky.
Peter watched Neal, hoping his gaze would be hidden by the laptop screen. His partner was reading a book, an old hardcover, the dust jacket gone, the cloth-covered boards stained by time and frequent handling. His shoes were off and his long, elegant feet were propped up on an ottoman. The lamplight gilded his hair, the tips of his eyelashes, the late-day scruff with its telling strands of silver.
He often wondered if Neal wasn’t this beautiful, this physically perfect, would he have felt this way? Maybe, maybe not. And maybe it didn’t matter – it wasn’t like he’d be able to act upon it.
Peter tried not to think about sharing a bed with Neal, and of course, the more he tried not to, the more his mind kept wandering back to what he was trying to avoid. El, if she were here (most improbably) would give him yet another lecture on why denying his feelings for Neal would only result in a diminished life span.
“So, your telling me I should embark on a torrid affair with my male CI to prevent a stroke?” He laughed, but it sounded false to his ears. It wasn’t like the thought of having a relationship with Neal hadn’t ever crossed his mind. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been obsessing about it ever since the tracker came off and Neal elected to stay.
But El treated the question with utmost seriousness. “Yes, I’m saying just that. And Neal’s a hell of a lot more than simply ‘your male CI.’ You keep denying your feelings, you let them stay bottled up, you’re going to get high blood pressure …”
“Neal Caffrey doesn’t have to be naked, on his knees, and in my bed to keep me from becoming hypertensive.” Peter blinked. “Wait – that didn’t come out the way I meant it to.”
El gave him that secretive little cat smile, the one that always drove him a little nuts. “You see – you’ve been thinking about it.”
“I’ve also been thinking how nice a Ferrari would be, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to go buy one.”
“Hon – it’s okay that you want to fuck Neal. It’s okay if you fuck him.”
Peter felt a sudden rush of jealousy. “Because you want to, too?”
“This conversation isn’t about what *I* want. But for the record, I have no ulterior motives. Other than wanting you to be happy, healthy and satisfied.”
It still didn’t feel right. “You use the word ‘fuck.’ Is that a deliberate choice?”
“As opposed to ‘make love’?”
He nodded.
El didn’t say anything at first – she looked deep in thought. “Do you love him?” When he didn’t answer right away, she gave him a small, twisted smile. “Of course you do.”
“I think the question is, do I love Neal as much as I love you?”
“And?” That single syllable was fraught with tension.
“No, El. I do love Neal – he’s my friend, my partner, he’s someone I’d trust with my life. But he’s not you, he’ll never be you.” He paused and let out a gusty sigh. “You know what? It’s not going to happen. Neal isn’t interested in men, and he’s certainly not interested in me like that.”
El raised an eyebrow. “Don’t be too sure of that, hon.”
But El treated the question with utmost seriousness. “Yes, I’m saying just that. And Neal’s a hell of a lot more than simply ‘your male CI.’ You keep denying your feelings, you let them stay bottled up, you’re going to get high blood pressure …”
“Neal Caffrey doesn’t have to be naked, on his knees, and in my bed to keep me from becoming hypertensive.” Peter blinked. “Wait – that didn’t come out the way I meant it to.”
El gave him that secretive little cat smile, the one that always drove him a little nuts. “You see – you’ve been thinking about it.”
“I’ve also been thinking how nice a Ferrari would be, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to go buy one.”
“Hon – it’s okay that you want to fuck Neal. It’s okay if you fuck him.”
Peter felt a sudden rush of jealousy. “Because you want to, too?”
“This conversation isn’t about what *I* want. But for the record, I have no ulterior motives. Other than wanting you to be happy, healthy and satisfied.”
It still didn’t feel right. “You use the word ‘fuck.’ Is that a deliberate choice?”
“As opposed to ‘make love’?”
He nodded.
El didn’t say anything at first – she looked deep in thought. “Do you love him?” When he didn’t answer right away, she gave him a small, twisted smile. “Of course you do.”
“I think the question is, do I love Neal as much as I love you?”
“And?” That single syllable was fraught with tension.
“No, El. I do love Neal – he’s my friend, my partner, he’s someone I’d trust with my life. But he’s not you, he’ll never be you.” He paused and let out a gusty sigh. “You know what? It’s not going to happen. Neal isn’t interested in men, and he’s certainly not interested in me like that.”
El raised an eyebrow. “Don’t be too sure of that, hon.”
“What’s the matter?”
Peter blinked at Neal’s question. “Huh?”
“You sighed like someone just told you Santa Claus wasn’t real.”
“Nothing, just thinking about things.” Neal wasn’t the only person in the room who was good at deflecting.
Neal put his book down. “Wanna talk about it? I’m a good listener.”
“Thanks – it’s something I’ve got to sort out for myself. But the offer is appreciated.”
The wind sent the panes rattling and Peter got up to look outside. “Holy shit – I haven’t seen a blizzard like this since I was a kid.”
Neal stood next to him, peering out of the window. Peter took a deep breath; the other man’s closeness was unnerving. But his scent – a combination of the day’s musk and the fading notes of some delicious, woodsy-spicy cologne – made him dizzy.
Peter backed away from the window. “Well, it looks like they got it right.”
“Hmm, yeah. Inch an hour?”
“At least.” Peter looked at his watch, surprised that it was only eight thirty; it was way too early to think about bed. The deck of cards sitting next to the bottle of Scotch caught his eye. “Care for a game?”
There was a sudden gleam in Neal’s eyes.
“And no, not poker. Was thinking gin.”
“Damn, would have enjoyed going head to head with you.”
Peter hoped he didn’t flush at that double entendre. “So – gin it is. Hollywood, Oklahoma, aces are high, a spade is doubled and we play to two-fifty per frame?”
Neal snorted and shook his head. “Somehow, I think I’d be safer playing Texas Hold ‘Em with you.” He opened the Scotch, and poured them both a double.
Peter shuffled the deck and they pulled for hi-lo. He drew a deuce, Neal a Jack, so he dealt the first hand. The game progressed and both men played for knock. Neal was good, but Peter was just that much better, schneiding Neal for the first two games.
“Well –” Peter licked the tip of the pen in an old-fashioned gesture. “If we’re playing a nickel a point, you owe me one thousand two hundred fifty-six dollars. Or you can do my 5-0-5 forms for the next two months.”
“Your math is suspect, Peter.” Neal reached for the paper that Peter was using to keep score, but he held it up and away. Neal almost climbed over him to get at it.
“Uh-uh. You’re just being a sore loser.” He tossed the pad to Neal and took a sip of whiskey. It was good – smooth and smoky – and it set up a nice buzz. “Wanna play another round?”
Neal to a sip of his own drink and looked at the scorecard. “Hmmm, maybe.”
The lights flickered, but stayed on.
Peter put down his glass. “You know what? I think I’m going to take a hot shower now. Who knows what we’ll have in the morning.”
“Good idea – leave me some hot water, will you?” Neal smiled up at him and Peter wondered if he’d be better off taking a cold shower.
The past few hours had been an interlude in very refined torture. Peter was still Peter – but there was something else going on. A subtle flirting, which was impossible since Peter Burke was on record as the world’s worst flirt. If he wasn’t going to call it flirting, then maybe it was a strange sort of receptiveness.
He never should have lost those card games to Peter, not that Peter was a better player (and if he was, it was only by a very slim margin), but that he was so distracted. By Peter’s behavior, by the condoms and the bottle of lube in his coat pocket, by the storm.
By the single king-sized bed in the middle of the room.
Peter finished rummaging through his luggage and went into the bathroom. Neal waited until he heard the shower come on and dove for his coat. He grabbed the bag out of the pocket and put it in the bedside table. The shower was still running when Neal fished out his sleepwear and toiletries. He wondered if it would be too much of a signal if he shaved. But he could always say that he didn’t want to have to wear two days of scruff if the power did go out.
And Peter would probably see right through that. Especially since his razor was battery operated.
The shower was still running and Neal was getting antsy. The wind and snow kept buffeting the building and the power flickered every few minutes. He turned on the television, expecting every channel to be reporting on the storm conditions. Except that it seemed like every channel was filled with electronic snow. He kept pressing the button on the remote – the clerk, on check-in, boasted that the hotel had a hundred and fifty cable television stations. It looked like all of them were off line, except for one.
Neal blinked, then blinked again. And swallowed hard. The only station still working was the porn channel. He should have turned the television off; that would have been the smart thing to do. It wasn’t as if he actually *liked* porn. It had its uses, but he was the type of guy who truly preferred something a little classier. Sweaty, oiled bodies humping each other for the maximum camera-angle advantage and close-ups of surgically enhanced breasts and genitalia weren’t things that ordinarily turned him on. Except that this did.
The scene started out with a man and a woman in a typical configuration – the woman on her knees giving overly enthusiastic head. But there was something about the way the man was holding her hair, carding his fingers through the long brown tresses that touched something in Neal. It was as if the man on the screen actually cared about his partner.
Of course he didn’t – but the illusion was convincing.
Neal was just about to turn the television off when a third person entered the scene. Not another woman, but a man. His finger hovered over the off-button, but he couldn’t seem to make that finger work. The second guy, tall and broad shouldered, and quite a bit older than the average porn actor, gave the woman a cursory caress, a slap on the ass and told her to leave. She gave the cock she was sucking a lick from stem to stern, got up and simply walked off camera.
The two men started kissing and Neal forgot how to breathe. When the older guy pushed his partner down on the bed and started spanking him, he thought he was going to pass out.
And then a message popped up, blocking the middle of the screen: Your free preview has expired. Please press the ‘Buy’ button on your remote to continue watching.
It was a good thing that Neal noticed that Peter had turned off the shower; otherwise he might have purchased the rest of the porno. He carefully put the remote back on top of the television and went to the window. The icy chill radiating from the old glass felt good against his overheated skin. There was nothing to see except for swirling, blowing snow colored a sickly orange by the streetlights.
Neal felt a little like a traveler lost in a storm. He couldn’t stand still and every step forward could be a step into disaster. He picked up a glass – it didn’t matter if it was his or Peter’s – and swallowed the last few ounces of whiskey and thought about pouring another double.
But getting shit-faced wouldn’t solve his problem. He’d get horny and sloppy and end up destroying the thing he valued the most. Instead, he’d rub out this lingering desire in the shower, get control of his feelings and have a good, chaste night’s sleep.
And if he were wise, he’d take the condoms and lube out of the nightstand and bury them deep in his suitcase. But he wasn’t. The bathroom door opened, Peter came out, and all his good intentions simply evaporated like an ice cube on a hot July sidewalk.
Someone – Elizabeth, most likely and bless her – had given Peter a set of burgundy silk pajamas and a navy silk robe. Neal’s mouth actually started to water and he swallowed to keep from drooling.
Peter glared at him. “Don’t laugh. El packed for me.”
“Your wife has exquisite taste.” Was that his voice, so harsh?
Something in Peter seemed to relax, and he gave him a big, bright smile. “They are kind of nice, you know.”
“I figured you for shorts and a tee shirt to bed kind of guy.” Neal couldn’t believe he was talking with Peter about his preference in jammies.
“Yeah.” He plucked at the robe. “This is more your sort of thing.”
Neal hoped Peter didn’t notice the bulge in his pants as he picked up his stuff and headed for the bathroom. “See you in a few.”
Peter watched Neal saunter into the bathroom. His gait was a little funny, almost like he was …
Nah. Not even remotely possible.
He hung up his suit, put his dirty clothes in a bag in his suitcase and listened for running water. Peter had something to do and he didn’t want to be interrupted. As soon as he heard the shower start, he dug through the side pocket inside his suitcase.
“Hon, come on.”
El pushed his hands away and tucked a box of Peter’s preferred brand of condoms and a bottle of slick into his luggage. She blocked him as he tried to take the items out. “Peter Burke, you were an Eagle Scout. You should remember their motto, ‘Be Prepared’.”
“And what you want me to use those things for would get me thrown out of the Boy Scouts, you know.”
El just smiled.
El pushed his hands away and tucked a box of Peter’s preferred brand of condoms and a bottle of slick into his luggage. She blocked him as he tried to take the items out. “Peter Burke, you were an Eagle Scout. You should remember their motto, ‘Be Prepared’.”
“And what you want me to use those things for would get me thrown out of the Boy Scouts, you know.”
El just smiled.
Condoms and lube in hand, Peter went over to the bed. The night table would be the best place to stash them. As if he’d actually get a chance to use this stuff. He opened the drawer. Next to the copy of the Book of Mormon and a Gideon Bible was a small, white bag. Peter picked it up carefully. Never knew what housekeeping had overlooked.
He peered inside and laughed. There were two unopened boxes of Durex extra-large and a bottle of K-Y. The last occupant of the room had been highly optimistic and obviously disappointed. He was about to put it back when he noticed the receipt in the bag. In addition to the sundries, it listed two bottles of wine, a small container of half and half, a six pack of Heisler Gold, a rather expensive bottle of Scotch and a deck of cards.
It was dated today, just a few hours ago.
Joy leaped in his veins and he wanted to laugh, to sing, to rush into the bathroom and take Neal against the shower wall like a barbarian.
There could be no mistake. Neal purchased these things tonight, he put them next to the bed, he hoped to use them. Peter was the only other person in the room.
Therefore; Neal wanted to have sex with him.
Quod erat demonstrandum.
Peter put the bag back in the drawer, and added his own supplies and grinned. Thirty-six condoms.
He closed the drawer and reality intruded. He couldn’t just fall on Neal like that – because, well because – the intent expressed in his purchase didn’t quite equate to consent. They had a night to get through, and probably one, maybe two days. Better to play it cool.
A buzzing from the desk interrupted his train of thought. It was his cell phone. He knew who it was without checking; El was calling. They had spoken several times during the day and evening and she beat him to their goodnight call.
“Hey, hon. How’s it going?”
“You were right about Neal. He bought condoms.”
There was laughter on the other end. “Well, that wasn’t the answer I was expecting, but it’s good news none the less. Aren’t I the best wife ever?”
“You are, you absolutely are.”
She switched tracks on him. “I’ve been watching the Weather Channel – they’re calling this the Storm of the Century.”
“Yeah – it’s definitely a blizzard, and I have a feeling we’re going to be socked in for a few days. How’s it down there?”
“We’ll get about six inches, a little more, a little less. Just enough to make life inconvenient. But enough of the weather. Where’s Neal, and why aren’t you jumping his bones yet?”
“He’s taking a shower – who knows what the heat and hot water situation will be tomorrow.” At some point, the water in the bathroom turned off, but Peter hadn’t noticed. Neal came back into the room, and like him, was dressed in silk pajamas and a matching robe. He wanted to laugh at their sartorial symmetry; he handed the phone to Neal instead. “It’s Elizabeth, she wants to say ‘goodnight’ to you.”
Neal took the phone with a raised eyebrow. Peter listened to their chatter and enjoyed the undercurrents in the room. He went to the window – there was nothing to see anymore. Whether the town turned off the streetlights or the power was down, there was no more artificial light to cut through the darkness. But it was still coming down, several inches of snow and ice had accumulated on the window ledge, and the wind battered against the pane.
He dropped the curtain and turned back to Neal, who had a puzzled look in his eyes as he held out the cell phone.
“El?”
“I think I just freaked Neal out.”
Peter looked up at the other man, who was pacing the room, running his hands through his damp hair.
“What did you do?”
“I told him that you like to snuggle, and he should enjoy the opportunity.
“Ah.” Peter met Neal’s eyes. He was definitely freaked out. El may have just put a spanner in the works, but he wasn’t got to tell her that. “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
“Enjoy yourself, call me in the morning – I’m going to want all the details.”
Peter laughed. “Sleep well, sweet dreams, hon.”
“You too, love you much, honey.”
The call ended and Peter stared at the phone for a few seconds before looking at Neal. “So, El told you I’m a cuddler?”
Neal nodded, eyes wide.
“If you want, we can put a pillow down the middle of the bed.” He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Especially since there were thirty-six condoms and two bottles of lube in the night table drawer.
Neal seemed to get control of himself, or maybe he remembered that this was something he really wanted. “No, we’ll be fine. It’s not like you have any sense of personal space when you’re awake, anyway.”
“Just so you know, sweetie, Peter’s an octopus in bed. He’s going to grab hold and he won’t let go. So I hope you don’t mind a little cuddling, because you won’t be able to avoid it.”
Elizabeth probably thought she meant well, warning him like this. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know how handsy Peter was. He’d been at the receiving end of those hot, hard hands for the better part of four years. From the very beginning, Neal had liked those casual touches, a hand on his arm, at his waist, at the small of his back. Hell, there were times that he all but provoked Peter into grabbing him.
He longed for those hands, for those touches, so much during his Cape Verde hiatus. That moment, when Peter wrapped his arms around him, hugging him tight, stunned him. The weight, the heat, the mass of Peter Burke holding him was like a paralytic drug; he simply froze. As Peter whispered to him, “I’ve missed you so much,” something loosened and he realized that while he could run for the rest of his life, he’d always be running towards this.
Peter’s offer to put a pillow down the middle was, well, sweet. Truth was, Neal wasn’t so much freaked out by the thought of waking up wrapped in Peter’s arms as waking up in Peter’s arms and sporting a huge erection. Nothing he could do about that, biology was biology and just because he bought two boxes of condoms didn’t mean that he expected to use any of them.
Liar.
“So, what now? Want to watch some television?”
Peter’s question startled him out of his reverie. Before he could say anything, Peter turned the set on and Neal cringed. Unlike almost all of the hotels he had stayed at, this one did not reset back to the internal channel. And the free viewing period seemed to have reset, because there was no banner blocking the view of two guys engaged in a sexual act that should have been physically improbable.
Neal expected Peter to immediately shut the television off, or at least change the channel. But he didn’t – he just stood there, remote control in hand, frozen. Except for the bulge forming under the once-smooth front of his robe.
Neal carefully extracted the remote and turned the television off. Peter looked up at him and blinked. He tried not to smirk; this was almost too good to be true.
“There’s nothing on except for that – ” He gestured to the now blank screen. “Everything else was knocked out.”
“Ah – okay.” Peter’s hand shook a little as he poured himself another glass of Scotch. He swallowed it in a single gulp and emphatically put the glass back down. “I suppose the wifi’s out, too?”
Neal hadn’t thought about that, but checked his phone. “Yeah – it’s out. Want to finish that gin game?”
Peter shook his head. “Since we’re stuck here for the next few days, we’ll be playing cards until the pips are worn off.” He looked at the clock on the night table. “I’m going to go to bed. It’s nearly ten, anyway.”
“I thought you were a night owl.”
Peter shrugged. “Dunno – bored, tired. Nothing else to do.” He shed his robe and Neal watched, dismayed, as Peter took his side of the bed.”
“Any chance I could get you to sleep on the other side?”
“Any chance you want to be back in the anklet?”
“You must be tired if that’s the best you can come up with.” Neal turned on the reading lamp next to the room’s single easy chair and turned off the rest of the lights. “I’ll read for a while – not really that tired yet.”
Coward.
All he got was a muffled grunt from the bed.
Neal read, or tried to read for the better part of an hour. The wind pushed relentlessly against the windows, the sound of driving snow and ice vaguely unnerving. The lights flickered every time there was a particularly fierce gust and he finally gave up. He turned the lamp off and groped his way across the room and to the bed.
At least Peter wasn’t a bed hog. Neal’s eyes adjusted to the darkness and there was just enough light to see that the lump under the covers was more or less on one side of the bed. He contemplated leaving his robe on, but in a moment of bravado, took it off and took off his pajama top, too.
As soon as he slid into the bed, he was glad he shed the top. Peter was a human-sized smelting furnace, radiating enough heat to melt a glacier. Neal grinned in the darkness, hugged an extra pillow to himself and tried to relax. Falling asleep would be a tall order, since Peter was suddenly chatty.
“Caffrey?”
“Were you expecting someone else?”
“Funny.”
“What’s up?” Neal had to wonder at himself, was he going to commit suicide by double entendre?
Apparently so. “How long did you watch the porn channel?”
The heat under the covers doubled. He decided on honesty. “Long enough to get timed out for the free preview.”
In the darkness, Peter’s chuckle was like some rich, heady wine. There were a few minutes of silence and he thought that Peter finally dozed off. But he hadn’t.
“Neal?”
“Still here.”
“Don’t be cute.”
“I can’t help it.”
A pause and Neal almost thought he could hear Peter smiling.
“Two boxes of condoms?”
Neal wasn’t sure he heard Peter correctly. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve either got an extremely optimistic perception of my sexual capacity, or you are an out-of-control impulse shopper. Since you only bought one bottle of lube, I’m going for the former.” The amusement in Peter’s voice was unmistakable.
Humiliated, Neal threw back the covers and launched himself out of the bed. Or tried to. Peter was surprisingly quick and he grabbed him by the waist and hauled him back.
“Let me go, damn it.”
“Hey, hey. What’s the matter?” Peter sounded genuinely puzzled.
“Look, I’m sorry – don’t know what I was thinking.” Neal pushed at Peter’s broad chest, feeling a little too much like a heroine in one of June’s romance novels that still filled the bookcases in his apartment.
“You were thinking that if you got lucky, you needed to be prepared.” Peter’s voice had deepened, the humor was still there – so was something else. “Wanna hear a secret?”
Neal wanted to escape, to be anywhere but here, with Peter mocking him. But since Peter wasn’t letting him go, all he could do was pout in frustration. “Okay, but if you tell me, it won’t be a secret any longer.”
Peter laughed, and the sound raised hairs on the back of his neck. “I discovered your stash when I was putting away mine.”
Now Neal was completely confused. “What?”
“You like Durex. I’m a Trojan man, myself.” Peter was talking about condoms like he was talking about his preference for a brand of beer. “We’ve got a dozen of mine to add to the stash.”
Neal couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m not having this conversation in the dark.” He reached over Peter, turned on the lamp and looked down at him. Even in the deeply shadowed light, he couldn’t find any mockery. There was happiness and satisfaction, and more than a bit of wonder in his face.
Neal pulled back, stunned. “How can you want this?”
Peter ran a big, warm hand down his neck, resting it on his shoulder. “I think the question is: how have I held out against this for so long?”
“What about El?” He had a feeling he knew the answer, given the conversation they had earlier. But he still had to ask.
“Who do you think packed my Trojans, as well as a fresh bottle of lube?”
“That was NOT the answer I was expecting, sort of.”
“Sort of?” The amusement was back
“Okay – I don’t know what I was expecting. But hearing that your wife is enabling us was not it.”
Peter sat up and suddenly, Peter was on top. Neal was a little dizzy, a little breathless from the speed of the maneuver. Looking up at Peter, who was now haloed by the light, he felt the touch of inevitability, that they were destined to end up like this.
He blinked against the light, against the sudden rush of tears. “I love you, you know.”
“I love you too.” Peter kissed him, swift and hard, in confirmation. “This has been a long time coming, hasn’t it?”
Neal kissed him back, long and sweet. Desire was a given, but there was something more, something physical, emotional – maybe even spiritual. At least it seemed that way to him, but he couldn’t think anymore. The physical had overtaken everything else. Peter’s cock was a hard, heavy bar next to his. The sensation was exquisite – the silk rubbing against silk, the growing dampness, the almost unbearable heat.
The lights flickered again and the room plunged into complete darkness. All the little glowing indicators of modern technology disappeared in an instant. The utter lack of light should have been frightening, except that Neal wasn’t alone. He was in bed with someone – with Peter – who he loved more than anyone in this world, who he had longed for so helplessly for so many years.
Neal reached up, threading his fingers through the rough silk of Peter’s hair, pulling him down, bringing him close. “Kiss me?”
“You don’t have to ask.” Peter’s mouth stole his breath.
Neal felt like he was being swallowed whole, the darkness, the heat and the overwhelming joy of yearning fulfilled, transported him. Peter’s hands were everywhere, working at the waistband of his sleep pants. Neal’s fingers were equally busy, struggling to get Peter just as naked.
There was something so outrageously delicious about his skin against Peter’s, the meeting of smooth, hard flesh, so different from a woman’s. If he thought that Peter was inexperienced at this – at making love to another man – he was wrong. There was heat and eagerness and hands where few hands that hard had ever ventured. He had to ask, because even this aroused, he needed to know.
“You’ve done this before?”
Peter panted a laugh into the curve of his neck. “I’ve been married nearly fifteen years, Caffrey. To a lusty woman who knows what she wants and likes to experiment. I know my way around a body.” Peter cupped his hips and lifted him, their cocks met, kissed and slid against each other.
What Neal was about to say – that he wasn’t a woman – was lost in a tidal wave of pure sensation. Peter set the edge of his teeth against his neck and bit down carefully, the length of his cock riding him. “Need lube, need a condom – now.”
Their hands and arms met in a tangle as the each reached for the drawer. Peter, on top, was more successful. Neal’s efforts were valiant, and in vain.
“I got it, just relax.” Peter tossed back the covers and the cool air was almost a relief.
There was the unmistakable rip and crackle of a condom package opening, then the snap-pop of the lube bottle. Neal reacted like one of Pavlov’s famed dogs, but it wasn’t his mouth that drooled.
“Lift your hips.”
Neal obeyed without thought, without question. Peter’s finger was gentle as he breached him.
“You have definitely done this before, and not just with El.” Neal hissed, half in pleasure, half in rather delightful pain.
Peter pulled his finger out and sat back. It was too dark to see anything and the chilly air was no longer pleasant. “You want to know my sexual history, now?”
Neal whimpered. “No – come back here. Please.” He didn’t care that he was shamelessly begging. The warmth, the heat of Peter’s skin was a relief. His hands were merciless, and Neal almost came as Peter added a second, then a third finger, twisting perfectly. His back arched, lifting off the bed.
In the darkness, Peter’s laugh was demonic. “Found your joy button?”
“Ung, yesss.” Neal didn’t care that he was all but incoherent. The torture was pure pleasure or maybe the pleasure was a perfect torture, and he couldn’t figure out which. “Damn it, fuck me.”
Peter laughed again. “So, I’ve finally found a way to still that golden tongue of yours.”
“You wish!” It would have been a battle of wills and wits, except that Peter withdrew his fingers, Neal cried out at the loss, and then moaned when Peter pressed the head of his cock against his hole. It felt so damn good.
“God, Neal – you’re burning me alive!”
It was Neal’s turn to laugh, which set up a small chain reaction of delight. “You should talk – or maybe you shouldn’t.” He reached up to pull Peter close and kissed him. It was a messy thing, teeth and tongues and panting breath and Neal loved it. He loved the bite of pain, the overwhelming heat and mass of Peter Burke on top of him, the burn of his cock sliding in and pulling out, the sheer joy of surrender.
In the darkness, time had no meaning. They could have been fucking for hours, it didn’t matter. Peter’s hand, still slick with lube, was stroking his dripping cock, toying with his balls, generally driving Neal out of his mind.
“You like that?” Since Neal was leaking precome like a faucet, he didn’t think a verbal acknowledgment was necessary, but Peter asked again. “Tell me – does that feel good?”
He couldn’t answer and Peter stopped moving. Buried balls deep, he insisted. “Tell me, Neal.”
He arched his hips, pushing Peter just a fraction deeper. “Yes, you bastard, it feels incredible.” Neal wondered if Peter was going to go on forever, keeping him on just the wrong side of completion when he groaned and shuddered, jackhammering into him. Merciless, relentless, perfect.
Neal came, screaming his pleasure, and Peter swallowed his cries as he came, too.
He savored Peter’s weight on him, and at some point, simply fell asleep, happy and complete.
Peter opened his eyes. The light in the room was fitful, more that it wasn’t night anymore than it was daytime. He burrowed out of the covers and found his cell phone. It was after nine AM and even if it had been three hours earlier, his bladder was all but crying out at him. He braced himself for frigid air as he slid out from under the covers, doing his best not to disturb Neal, who looked exactly like Peter thought he’d look after a night’s fucking. Like some fallen, debauched angel.
To his surprise and delight, the room was chilly, but it wasn’t ice cold, even though the power was still off. As he made his way to the bathroom, Peter noticed a radiator – the old fashioned kind. It was pumping out heat just fine, which was a good thing, he guessed, since it meant that there would be hot water too. Although he was disappointed that they wouldn’t have to huddle for warmth, it would be nice to be clean.
He took care of business, put on his pajama bottoms and robe and went to check the state of affairs outside.
It was still snowing, thick and fast. There was a single plow on the street, struggling heroically, but it was a pointless effort. He twitched the curtain closed and went back to bed.
Neal opened his eyes, and the look on his face was wary, uncertain. Peter kissed him, not the least put off by morning breath. That restored the wonder and the joy.
“It’s still snowing, there’s heat but no power.” Peter doffed his robe and his pajama bottoms before climbing back under the covers. “It’s going to be a long, quiet day. Can you think of something you'd like to do?”
Neal grinned. “I can think of plenty of ways to pass the time. After all, we’ve got thirty-five condoms left.” He paused, purely for drama. “Unless you’d rather play gin?”
Tags:
- character: elizabeth burke,
- character: neal caffrey,
- character: peter burke,
- genre: angst,
- genre: first time,
- genre: future fic,
- genre: post-anklet,
- genre: romance,
- genre: slash,
- kink: cuddling,
- kink: frotting,
- pairing: peter/elizabeth,
- pairing: peter/neal,
- type: fan fiction,
- white collar,
- written for: wcpairings,
- year: 2012
