elrhiarhodan

Close Your Eyes and Think of Me (call out my name) - Epilogue

Early November

Neal texted Peter, letting him know that he’d be home around ten o’clock.

Home. That word felt so good. His official residence was still June’s Riverside Drive mansion, but most of his days and nights were spent with Peter and Elizabeth in Brooklyn.

They understood why he kept the apartment. They understood his occasional need to retreat into solitude and create, and that sometimes it was just easier to take the creaking elevator up to the fourth floor than to climb the fifteen steps to their bedroom.

Despite three doctors’ appointments and a grueling physical therapy session, tonight wasn’t one of those nights. Neal felt strong and vital.

And disappointed when he let himself into the house, only to find the downstairs deserted. But looking up the staircase, he could see the light from the master bedroom and he smiled.

The stairs were a slow climb, they always would be no matter how much he exercised, how strong he was. There were too many missing bits that would have made the movement easy and painless. He walked into the bedroom; both Peter and Elizabeth were reading and looked up when he entered.

“How did it go?” Peter doffed the cheaters he’d started to wear.

Neal wanted to tell him to leave the glasses on. He always got a thrill out of seeing Peter wear them. “The orthopedist was pleased and has discharged me.”

“Oh, sweetie - that’s wonderful.” El got out of bed and hugged him. “What does that mean, though?”

Neal chuckled and gave her a kiss. “It means that he will no longer need to follow my case, and I only need to see him if I’m having problems.”

“You’re not stopping therapy?” That was Peter’s question.

“No - that’s something I’ll need for a while yet. I had suggested working with a trainer at a gym, but the doctor recommended against that. I’ll be better off with the specialists at the physical therapy center.” Neal sat down on the chair, enjoying the picture of Elizabeth in her blue satin pajamas, Peter in bed - in a bed that had room for him.

“You had a few other appointments?” Peter didn’t ask directly, that wasn’t his way.

Neal sighed and grimaced. “The neurologist is being cautious about the thing with my hands. Could be just the herniated discs or something else. I’m scheduled for a few tests next week.” Despite the doctor’s caution, he wasn’t particularly worried. The slight numbness didn’t affect his day-to-day life, and it had gotten no worse since the problem first manifested last year.

“One of us will go with you.”

“Peter - that’s not necessary.”

“Yes, it is.”

Neal didn’t think he needed anyone to come with him, but he still secretly thrilled to Peter’s insistence.

Elizabeth came and sat on the edge of the chair. She watched him like a hawk watches for prey. “And what about the last appointment?”

Neal swallowed and didn’t look at either of his lovers. Peter got up and joined them.

“Neal?”

He took a deep breath. “They declined my request.”

Peter hugged him. “I’m sorry.” El joined them.

Neal fought free of their arms. “Hey, it’s okay - really.”

“I know how much this mattered to you.”

“But it doesn’t matter to you, right?” Neal looked at both of them, suddenly needing their understanding.

“Of course - the scars never mattered to us.”

The last thing Neal had done before he left the clinic in Montreux was have the scars on his face revised and reduced. There were a set of fine lines now; more “added character” rather than “eye-catching deformities” in Neal’s mind. But the scars on his torso and legs, legacies from the numerous surgeries, were another story.

Peter once called them a roadmap to recovery, and Neal sort of laughed at the cliché. It was true, but it didn’t mean he had to like them. Even tonight, at the pool, people couldn’t take their eyes off them. He seriously thought about getting a one-piece racing swimsuit, but as vain as he was, Neal thought it seemed too much like hiding.

“What did the surgeon say, exactly?”

Neal sighed at Elizabeth’s question. She was the direct one, these days. “There are too many scars and not enough undamaged skin. Some of them are too deep and it would be too risky - particularly on the ones on my knee. I could probably find a plastic surgeon willing to do the work, but a reputable doctor wouldn’t do it.”

Neither Peter nor Elizabeth said anything, but their touch was comfort enough.

“Nearly dying has a way of putting life into perspective. They are a small price to pay for survival. I can live with them. ” That was the truth of it.

“And so can we.” Peter drew him up and out of the chair - his intent obvious. Neal quivered, his arousal - the miracle of it - came at him hard and fast.

Neal felt Peter’s hand spear through his hair, holding him still. Elizabeth curled close against his back, like a cat. Peter’s mouth found the sensitive point where his neck met his shoulder, and he bit down gently and then soothed him with a wet kiss. Arousal coursed through his veins like a freshly uncorked bottle of Champagne, and he rolled his hips against Peter’s. Neal reveled in the feel of Peter’s mouth on his skin, his cheek slightly rough against his neck, Peter’s hand cupping the back of his head, and the other hand against his cheek, holding him like he was something rare and precious.

Elizabeth’s hands were at his fly, dragging his flesh out into the cool air, stroking at the hardness of his cock. He moaned, and Peter caught it with his own mouth. There were times when kissing Peter was like doing battle, no quarter given or received. Peter nipped and bit hard at his lips, his tongue licking, hot and wet and demanding. Neal pressed into Peter’s mouth, his own tongue polishing against Peter’s teeth, his teeth biting back at Peter’s own lips.

He felt Elizabeth’s hot breath against his neck, and her mouth doing something to the hand in his hair. Peter’s whole body shuddered against him as Elizabeth’s hands slipped her husband’s pajamas off and dragged his cock against Neal’s. The twin sensation of her hands stroking him, and the hot length of Peter burning against him was almost more pleasure than he could bear. He loved this feeling of being taken over. There was no past to deal with, no scars, no damage and recovery. It was just the here and now of Peter and Elizabeth, their hot hands and wet mouths and their hardness and softness.

Elizabeth started to undress him, her small hands delicately unknotting his tie, and working each button loose, pulling the shirt from his pants, spreading her hands against his chest, then down one arm to undo the buttons at his cuff, and then the other. His dress shirt seemed to disappear. Elizabeth tugged off his undershirt, and knelt at his feet to remove his shoes and socks, then pulled down his pants, his briefs. She stood and hugged him again. Elizabeth, with her hands moving like butterflies, stripped him and Neal smiled.

Peter caught that smile. “What?”

“Squire Elizabeth.” Neal turned his head to catch Elizabeth’s eyes. “You strip me of my armor so effectively.”

Peter pulled him over to the bed, pinning him to the rumpled covers. Neal looked up into Peter’s eyes – dark against the pallor of his face, and he reached up to brush his fingers against those eyelids, down his cheek, across his lips – to touch, and to be made real. Neal shivered when Peter kissed his fingers, his palm, his wrist, brushing his lips against the fading scars that he found there.

Neal shivered again when Peter’s face, so gentle and then so fierce, moved in close, blotting out the rest of the universe. Peter devoured his mouth, as if Neal was his sole sustenance. He bucked against Peter, seeking greater contact, trying to gain some leverage. Peter rolled over, so he was behind him, curved around him, protective and sheltering.

Neal felt Elizabeth’s hands on him again, stroking the lines and ridges that marred his belly, where they cut into him to save his life over and over again. Her lips followed, and Neal moaned in wonder. Those marks had suddenly become an erogenous zone, ley lines to his sex. Her mouth drifted down, hot and wet against his cock. The sudden coolness when she pulled away was delicious, but Peter’s body was burning against his back, and his cock was even hotter against his ass, was equally delightful.

El came back, her hand cool with lube as she prepared him for Peter. Her clever fingers stretched him, first one, two, then three fingers flexing against his hole. Peter whispered something dirty to him, about wanting to see him take her whole hand and Neal heard himself whimper, unbearably aroused.

Peter pulled him closer and Neal pushed back. As well-stretched and slicked as he was, it was still a shock when Peter first breached him. Peter’s size, his heat, the incredible intimacy of the act, his love and possession and wonder broke him and rebuilt him with each stroke.

Neal tried to contain himself, to save something for Elizabeth, but Peter was merciless, driving into him at the perfect angle each time. When Peter growled, “You’re perfect to us, you have to know that,” Neal came, his world burning into white, his cock pulsing in Peter’s fist, his come pouring out on to the sheets. Peter worked into him for a few more strokes, and then finally surrendered his own control.

Neal turned his head, to see Elizabeth, naked, her fingers working into herself, her eyes opened and blind from her own climaxes. He tried to reach her, but he was still impaled on Peter’s cock, formidable even in its post-orgasmic state. He winced a bit as Peter finally withdrew, sore in a good and satisfied way. He watched as Peter gently replaced her fingers with his own. He heard Elizabeth’s keening and wondered if he sounded like that, too, when Peter was working him over.

The three of them collapsed back on the bed, a sweaty mass of satiated flesh. Neal’s heart slowed, his brain relaxed and as he felt himself drifting into sleep, he felt his lovers’ fingers drifting across his scars, their touch always healing him.

FIN