White Collar Fic - A Life Less Ordinary - Part Two

[elrhiarhodan]

“You did what?” He couldn’t believe it.

“I invited Neal to dinner on Sunday. Well, the original invitation was for Friday, but he said he couldn’t make it that night.”

“El …”

Peter was relaxing on the bed, watching as his wife stripped out of her business clothes and changed into an exercise bra and shorts. He felt like a randy teenager peering into the girls’ locker room; particularly as El went through her stretches. Arousal rumbled through him, a warm spark in his belly, the unexpected invitation to Neal momentarily forgotten.

She looked up, mischief in her eyes, breasts outthrust. He could see the outline of her nipples against the tight material.

“You’re doing that deliberately, aren’t you?

“Now, hon.” El began her workout.

“Hmmmm.” He watched her through narrowed eyes. Pilates wasn’t supposed to be sexy.

It wasn’t until she finished, and then they finished, that Peter remembered the invitation.

“You really want to do this?” He was a little worried that El was humoring him. Well, not humoring, but accommodating him.

“Peter – calling Neal Caffrey ‘symmetrical’ is like calling the Eiffel Tower ‘tall.’ You may be technically correct, but you’re not telling the whole story.”

“I did say he’s gorgeous, El.”

She sat up, naked breasts bobbing – a distraction. “And if it was just a matter of his spectacular looks, I’d call you shallow and wish you good luck. But there’s something…” She rolled over onto her back and her voice trailed off.

“Yeah, something about him. I can’t put my finger on it. It’s like I need to get to know him better. Like he was meant to be part of us.”

“I know. It’s crazy.” El got up and went to take a shower.

Peter closed his eyes and thought about the strange and oddly elusive Neal Caffrey. It didn’t take much for his daydreams to turn interesting.

He reached down and brushed his fingers against his spent cock, which began to twitch back to eager life. It was as if all the desire he hadn’t been able to feel since the shooting was now bubbling in his veins. He concentrated on the man’s blue eyes, the clever twist of his lips, his obvious passion. He saw a wicked smile, bright and intense like quicksilver, then felt it against his own lips. A catch of indrawn breath – the sensation was almost real.

His fingers, the gun calluses gone soft, stroked up and down his cock, his thumb catching a fluid drop of precome, using it like slick. The build was slow – not because desire was hard to call, but because he was a man, and he just had a very satisfying encounter with his wife. Slow was good, though. Slow meant his imagination could roam free – all the things he now wanted to do, he wanted done to him.

“Can anyone join this party?”

El had come back into the bedroom, wrapped in a towel, her damp hair framing her face. Peter fought hard against the distraction she presented.

“Are you thinking about Neal?” She ran a finger across the tip of his cock, swirling the precome.

“Yeah.”

“Tell me.”

“I’m thinking about how his beard will feel against my thighs. How expert his mouth will be.”

“Or maybe we’ll have to train him?”

That idea was appealing, and Peter imagined Neal naked, on his knees, El behind him, teaching him how to give head, whispering all sorts of dirty instructions. His cock, already hard, got impossibly harder.

“You like that, hon.”

“Yes. You’ll show him just what I like.”

“We’ll make him into such a perfect cock sucker. He’ll be begging for it when we’re done with him.”

He should have been embarrassed that he came just from El’s words and the images they created. He should have been embarrassed about so thoroughly objectifying a man they barely knew, who probably would run screaming if he knew what they wanted to do to him.

But he couldn't bring himself to be embarrassed. There was nothing wrong with a few harmless fantasies, right?

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Neal dithered – and he wasn’t the dithering type.

After walking Elizabeth Burke home on Tuesday night and accepting her rather surprising dinner invitation, he thought about canceling.

Constantly.

By noon, Wednesday, he had dialed Elizabeth’s cell phone number a dozen times, but couldn’t bring himself to press “send.” By Thursday, he had made himself into a nervous wreck. It was stupid – just a dinner with a nice couple who were welcoming him into the neighborhood. Nothing sinister, nothing to be afraid of.

But he was – that was the simple, honest truth. He was scared witless. It had been more years than he cared to remember since he had just socialized with people. Had a casual meal with friends. Enjoyed himself without having to watch his back or consider every word that came out of his mouth.

But Neal didn’t cancel. He remembered the first impression he had had of Peter Burke. Decent, honest, kind. Not a man who’d …

No – don’t think about that. Neal’s body clenched in remembered shame and agony. And grief.

Saturday rolled around and he went to retrieve his stuff, personal things that had been in storage for almost a decade. During the drive to Armonk, Neal wondered why he kept these things, why he just didn't let them go. Because they were memories of better times, and if he didn’t remember, who would?

The drive back home to Brooklyn was pleasant. Again, it was the thought of going to someplace where he knew he belonged. Someplace that was his, that was untainted by bad decisions, bad memories. As he crossed over the Tappan Zee, Neal caught a moment’s glimpse of the New York City skyline and smiled at the happiness the sight brought. Yes, this was going to be his home for a long time to come.

Suddenly, the thought of dinner with the Burkes tomorrow night wasn’t something to be endured, something to get out of. It was an evening that he should anticipate. There was a good wine shop near the office, and he'd already stocked his wine rack with some good bottles. He’d take a few as a gift, and maybe stop at the Italian bakery that Donna recommended.

Life was good. He was good. And maybe the past would stay where it belonged.

By Sunday afternoon, he was dithering again, but not because he was thinking about canceling. There was box of pastries and bottles of Amarone and Barolo waiting on the hall table. And half his wardrobe was tossed on the bed.

He couldn’t wear a suit and tie – that would be ridiculous for an informal Sunday dinner at home. He pulled out and threw aside a dozen different combinations of shirts and pants and felt utterly ridiculous. Like a high school girl on her first big date. In the end, Neal settled for navy chinos and a pale gray collared shirt. He shoved his bare feet into a pair of loafers and with no small amount of anticipation, left for the Burkes.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Elizabeth looked at her husband with a combination of pride and worry. The strides he had made this week were astonishing. He no longer tired after the simplest task, and his mental state – which had been positive throughout the entire ordeal – seemed almost stratospheric. She wondered how much of that had to do with the resumption of their sex life.

Biting her lip, El felt her insides clench and her cunt start to flood in the memory of last night. And this morning. It wasn’t that the sex was kinky – though Peter’s near insatiable need was a turn-on all by itself – but that they came together in such complete harmony. It was fierce, it was tender and even when their bodies weren’t in sync, it was still so perfect that the memory of it had the power to steal her breath in arousal.

And with no small amount of willpower, she forced herself to stop thinking about her husband and concentrate on getting ready for their dinner date. She flicked through her closet and selected a sheer blouse in deep blue, sighing in contentment.

“What’s the matter?” El hadn’t heard Peter come up behind her.

“Oh, nothing.”

“Come on, share.” Peter pressed a gentle kiss under her ear. She shivered, and her nipples tightened painfully.

She elbowed him back and took out a pair of low-cut jeans. “Peter, if you don’t stop that, our guest is going to spend the evening wondering why his hosts never answered the door.” El tossed the clothes on the bed and retrieved the bra and panties that matched her blouse. The bra was opaque enough that she didn’t have to worry about her nipples showing.

Peter sat down on the easy chair and watched her dress. He looked good enough to eat in dark blue jeans and a silvery-gray polo that didn’t quite cling to his still too-thin frame. El thought about giving Peter a bit of a show – but considering that she just warned him about their guest’s imminent arrival, that wouldn’t be too fair.

Maybe later.

“Are those for me, or are you thinking about Doctor Symmetrical?”

She looked down to where Peter was pointing. Her nipples were poking up through the satin and were visible under her chiffon shirt. So much for subtlety. She raised her chin and looked Peter in the eye and grinned. “Just a bit chilly.”

“Liar.”

She didn’t bother to respond, just slicked on some lipstick, a bit of eye shadow, a spritz of perfume, and she was ready for anything.

Peter levered himself out of the chair and held out a hand, “After you, Mrs. Burke.”

Her grin widened as she walked past him. “You’re not being a gentleman, Mr. Burke. You just want to look at my ass.”

She had managed an early Sunday afternoon wedding reception and Peter, newly energized, had done most of the prep work for their dinner date. Not that there was a lot to do – most of the food came from her favorite caterers, who were always eager to supply her with relatively small quantities to encourage future business. The porterhouse steak was from a butcher who only sold grass-fed beef, and that was going on the grill.

All in all – they were ready.

“Want a glass of wine?” Peter had taken a beer for himself.

“Nah – I’ll have a sip of yours.” She grabbed his longneck and took a swallow. They’d become quite the pair of lightweights recently – and a glass of wine on an empty stomach wasn’t such a good idea.

“Nervous?” Peter took his beer back and gave her a searching look.

“A little. It’s been a while since we did this.”

“Yeah.” There was something in Peter’s response that made her curious.

“What’s the matter?”

“What if we’re wrong? We’ve never gone into something like this so … blindfolded. And aren’t we being a little careless?”

“Peter, just because you had me under surveillance for a month before you got up the nerve to ask me out doesn’t mean that you have to do a background check on everyone.”

“I know, I know. But still.”

“It’ll be fine, hon. And there’s nothing that says we have to do anything tonight. We’re just welcoming Neal to the neighborhood. Making a new friend.”

Peter laughed, a sharp huff. “Hmm, yes. No reason to expect it to go beyond that.”

El looked at her husband, really looked at him. He was very nervous. Despite all the progress he’d made, she could see how worried he was about failing, faltering. About being less than the sum of himself.

“Peter …” She reached up, a hand cupping the back of his head, the clean silk of his hair threading through her fingers. She kissed him – not with lust, but with the strength of her love and devotion and yes, even admiration.

“You have nothing to worry about, Peter Burke. You just be you.”

He leaned his forehead against hers. “Thank you.”

Elizabeth kissed him again but broke it off when the doorbell rang. As she flitted to the door, Peter grabbed her wrist. “I love you.”

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

What the hell are we doing? What the hell am I doing?

That had been the refrain going through his head since Tuesday, when El told him she invited Neal Caffrey for dinner.

It repeated through his brain like a demented mantra.

But if being shot taught him anything, it was that life came down to a very few moments, and this was one of them.

Satchmo rushed between his legs, nearly tripping him, to greet someone who was clearly now one of his favorite people. His dignity and his balance saved, Peter watched as Neal greeted Elizabeth – handing her a box and a bag, then got on his knees to say hello to the dog.

“I still think you’re wearing bacon-scented cologne.”

“Hey there, Peter.” Neal chuckled and stood up. “Thank you for the invitation.”

“That was El’s doing – but you’re welcome. Come on in.” He turned and walked into the living room and this time, when Satchmo ran between his legs, he lost his balance.

It wasn’t the first time Peter had fallen, and falling in his own home was a lot easier than falling on the sidewalk or in a store or even walking into a doctor’s office. But falling in front of a guest, honored or not, was humiliating.

“Damn.”

El was at his side in an instant. Satch was whimpering and licking his face, trying to buy forgiveness with affection. Neal just held a hand out to him, no fuss, no pity. Peter reached out and took it. He got to his feet and dusted himself off. El stepped back, concerned but understanding.

“And now that the floor show is over, can I get you a drink?”

Neal smiled. “Sure. A beer is fine.”

“You sure? I figured you for a fine wine type of guy.” Peter shook out the aches from his spill and went into the kitchen.

“I am, but I’m in the mood for beer.”

“Then beer it is. Any preferences?”

“Whatever you’re having is fine.”

Peter opened the fridge and pulled out two bottles. He opened both and handed one to Neal.

“Thanks.”

Peter wasn’t ordinarily a man who got was at a loss for words, but he felt a little awkward and tongue-tied at the moment. Maybe because he still felt that crazy, instant attraction. “So – settling in?”

Neal smiled. “Yeah – it’s good to be back here.”

“Back here? You’re from Brooklyn?”

“Not really – I lived in this neighborhood for a few years when I was growing up. My mother taught at Pratt in the late 1980’s. Brooklyn was very different then.”

“Hmm – yeah. It was affordable.” Peter chuckled. “Your mother is an artist?”

“A photographer, actually. She passed away about ten years ago.”

“I’m sorry.” Peter wanted to say something more, but didn’t quite know what.

“Thanks.” Neal took a sip of his beer. “I lived on this exact block from the time I was eleven until I was sixteen. We lived with Ellen – Dr. Parker – she and my mom had been roommates at Vassar. It’s been like coming home. No – not like. I have come home.”

Peter smiled. “El and I moved here about ten years ago – just before Cobble Hill became the new ‘it’ neighborhood. It’s changed a little. More yuppies now, but it’s still nice.”

It was Neal’s turn to chuckle. “And you’re not yuppies?”

“Well … not precisely. I’m not exactly young.”

“You’re not old either.”

Peter wasn’t sure what, if anything, Neal’s appreciative look meant. But he didn’t have time to think about it. Elizabeth joined them in the kitchen. She took one look at the beers in their hands and shook her head.

“What’s the matter, hon?”

“Oh, nothing.” She nudged him gently and opened the fridge, pulling out bowls and dishes.

“Neal – I hope you’re hungry.”

Watching her work her way around the kitchen, putting bowls and plates into their hands and then pushing them out onto the patio, Peter couldn’t help but feel that Elizabeth had some kind of magic about her. Just her presence eased the awkwardness between them.

The chatter flowed smoothly between them and Peter wondered how and when Elizabeth became such a skilled interrogator. Or maybe it was just her conversational skills; she wasn’t extracting any of Neal’s personal information. At least, not yet.

When El went back inside, Neal didn’t hesitate to comment. “Your wife is … awesome.” He shook his head.

Peter grinned. “Yeah, I know. She’s … well, there really aren’t words to convey my feelings.” He took a sip of his beer to cover the swell of emotion.

“How long have your been married?”

“It’ll be twelve years, October. There are days that I can’t remember what my life was like before and there are days when it seems like we’re barely out of our honeymoon.”

“You’re one of the lucky ones – don’t half of all marriages end up in divorce?”

“I’ve heard that statistic, but it also means that half of all marriages last.”

“You’re a ‘glass half-full’ kind of guy.”

“I am, it seems.”

“I wouldn’t have expected it – given your profession.”

Peter was surprised that Neal mentioned that, given his obvious distaste for it. “I don’t think being in law enforcement means I have to be a pessimist.”

“No – I would have thought that dealing with the criminal element day-in, day-out would make you expect the dark side to triumph. That your suspect is guilty, regardless.”

Peter wondered at the hint of bitterness but didn’t pursue it. “Hmmm, maybe. But suspects aren’t chosen at random, we don’t decide that someone’s guilty out of convenience. The justice system requires proof, evidence. And I’ve always prided myself on having an open mind – and I expect my team to have the same qualities.”

“Innocent until proven guilty?” There was now more than a hint of bitterness there. Peter was becoming convinced that Neal Caffrey had some prior run-in with the FBI and it didn’t go well for him. But Neal was a guest, and Elizabeth would kill him if he started digging.

“It’s more than that. It’s about getting it right, not being right.” Peter sat back, a wave of longing sweeping over him.

“What’s the matter?” Neal must have noticed his distraction.

“I’ve been away from the FBI for a long time – and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to go back.” He shifted, lifting – or trying to – his leg.

“This wasn’t recent?” Neal’s question was reluctant.

Before he could answer, El rejoined them. “No – Peter was shot about ten months ago. He was in the hospital and rehab for nearly four months. He nearly died.”

“Hon – please.” He didn’t really want to break out the violins.

Neal looked at him and then at Elizabeth. “I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through.”

“When you say my wife is amazing – ” Peter took El’s hand, “You don’t know the half of it.”

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

It occurred to Neal, as he sat and watched Peter and Elizabeth Burke, that he really liked them. That they were people worth knowing, people who would make his life better by their simple presence in it. He masked his epiphany with the beer bottle. He still wasn’t sure what they wanted from him, though.

She had a rather obvious sexual interest. And if Neal wasn’t mistaken, so did he. Peter’s was a bit more subtle – now. Neal remembered the smile and look he had received when Peter had brought the puppy in. There was interest there, curiosity and consideration. And attraction.

He didn’t quite know what to make of them as a couple – they were clearly devoted to each other, not only as the two halves of a married couple, but as lovers. Even though his own perceptions about people had proven to be terribly flawed – there was no mistaking the magnetism between Elizabeth and Peter Burke. So where did that leave him?

“What are you thinking?” Elizabeth interrupted his train of thought.

“Just enjoying the evening. And how nice it is – you’d never know you were in Brooklyn.”

“Hmmm, I don’t know about that.” A distant siren punctuated her words, and they all chuckled.

Peter heaved himself out of his chair and started to fuss with the grill. “How do you like your meat?”

Damn it, but he couldn't stop the blush. “Rare – medium rare.”

Elizabeth gave him a smile that seemed full of hidden meaning and Neal hoped she didn’t notice his pinked cheeks. Peter didn’t say anything.

Neal watched as Peter handled the grill with skill and efficiency, resting on a tall stool when he got tired of standing. He thought about offering to help, but felt that it would be, well, inappropriate. As the food cooked, they talked about inconsequentialities – the new arena in the Atlantic Yards and whether the relocation of the Nets would be good for the neighborhood. The conversation turned serious as they touched on politics. Neal was surprised to learn that both of his hosts were not-so-closet lefties, with strong opinions about not only the importance of government oversight of the banks and financial industry, the need for government to support and encourage individual achievement.

“But just as long as they stay out of our bedrooms.” Neal’s eyes widened at Peter’s deliberate use of the plural.

“And our bodies.” Elizabeth chimed in, just as emphatically.

Neal tried a conversational gambit. “It looks like the Supreme Court’s going to take up marriage equality this session. What do you think the odds are that DOMA is going to be struck down?”

Peter turned the steaks and growled, “I don't how good the odds are, but think it’s about damn time.” He gave Neal a level stare and Neal couldn’t help but shiver as their eyes locked.

“Yeah.” His concurrence was lame, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. It was weird, but he was aroused by Peter’s gaze. He felt his nipples harden into painful points and swallowed, hoping that the bulge in his crotch wasn’t obvious.

Elizabeth crossed into his field of vision to hand Peter a tray for the meat, breaking the connection. Neal took a deep breath and willed his body to settle down.

Conversation was abandoned in favor of the excellent food, and by the time Neal waved off Elizabeth’s offer of some more salad, he was afraid that his pants would burst. “I haven’t eaten like this … I can’t remember when.” He held back an appreciative belch. “Thank you.”

El smiled and took his plate. “Why don’t you and Peter take Satch for a walk, I’ll get this cleaned up and we’ll consider dessert.”

“Hon –” Peter stood, attempting to gather up their plates.

“Shoo. I can handle this, and the dog does need to be walked. And so do you.” She gave his leg a look.

Neal watched the by-play and smiled. Yes, he definitely liked Peter and Elizabeth Burke, but he still wanted to know what they wanted from him.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


Peter side-eyed Neal as he went to fetch Satchmo's leash. "You don't have to come with me."

"No – I could use a walk, too. If just to avoid falling into an embarrassing food coma." Neal grinned.

Satch cooperated by jumping up – behavior that Peter knew he should discourage – but it made it so much easier to get the leash on. His leg had gotten a little too stiff to bend gracefully, and he'd rather not embarrass himself again by falling over. He took his cane and opened the door, letting Satchmo lead the way. "Come on, then."

DeKalb Avenue was a little quieter at this hour, but people were still strolling along, a few teenagers were surfing the asphalt on skateboards. It was late June and at nine o'clock, the sun was still a golden shimmer against the deepening blue of the evening sky.

Peter thought this was a reasonable version of paradise.

They walked in companionable silence, until Neal was the one to break it.

“Thank you for dinner.”

Peter chuckled. “You sound like a sixteen year-old who just remembered his manners.”

Neal laughed too. “Yeah, well – manners are good and I was sort of at a loss for words.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that happens too often to you.” Satchmo paused and lifted a leg. Peter rested on the cane, hoping the ache in his leg wasn’t presaging another major cramp.

“You’d be surprised.”

The ache eased, Satchmo finished and they continued walking.

“So, what’s on your mind?” It wasn’t hard to see that Neal had questions, obvious questions.

“What’s the deal with you and your wife, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“And if I did mind?”

Neal huffed a sigh. “Look – I’m getting some vibes here. And I don’t really want to step into something blind. Or be completely off base.”

Peter was a little surprised that Neal was so forthright. In the decade and more of their marriage, he and Elizabeth had about a dozen semi-serious relationships. “Semi-serious” was the operative term – men and woman who took up residence in their lives and beds, but never in their hearts. People who were more than casual lovers but less than true commitments, although there were one or two that could have been more than semi-serious. And each one of them knew the rules before they started. Neal didn’t – and Peter had the feeling that Neal was going to be something completely and utterly different from any other experience.

Satchmo stopped again and Peter turned to Neal. “Have you ever heard the word ‘polyamory’?”

Neal frowned, clearly puzzled. “Is that like polygamy?”

“No – not really. Polyamory is – well – consensual non-monogamy.”

“You and your wife are swingers?” Neal was clearly shocked.

Peter shook his head. This was always the reaction. “Swinging – I hate that word. We don’t have sex with other people as casual recreation.” He looked over at Neal, who had a thoughtful expression on his face. Which was good, because Peter had been afraid that he was going to run for the hills.

“I find it hard to wrap my brain around this. You and your wife have an open marriage?”

“No – it’s not quite that either, but ‘open’ is a better term than ‘swinging’. Mostly we share other partners, but sometimes we’ll each have our own relationship.”

“Share?” The question in Neal’s voice was obvious.

“Yes, share. We’re both bisexual.” They reached the far end of the block and turned around. “Look, I know this is a lot to take in.”

Neal gave a dry laugh. “I’ll say. And would I be wrong in guessing that you’re – well – interested in me?”

Peter leaned on his cane, this moment as welcome as it was unexpected. His answer was simple. “No, you’re not wrong. We are interested.”

“Ah.”

He didn’t know what to make of Neal’s response. It was noncommittal at best. When Neal didn’t add anything to that single syllable, Peter drew what he thought was an obvious conclusion. “But you’re not particularly interested in us?”

Neal still didn’t reply and Peter’s heart sank. Bitterness and embarrassment churned in his belly. “I see. You’re not interested in me.” He tried not to be disappointed. It wasn’t surprising – he was at least a decade and a half older than Neal, broken in body, and probably the wrong sex. “Look – we can forget we had this conversation. I won’t make a nuisance of myself.” Peter tugged on Satchmo’s leash, the puppy was intrigued by each and every sign and pole and tree and they’d never get home at this rate. He wished he could walk faster, that he could get home and close the door on the evening.

He thumped along, all but dragging Satchmo in his haste.

“Hey, hey.” Neal grabbed at his arm. “I am not uninterested – it’s just a lot to take in. We barely know each other.”

Peter stopped, not willing to hope, but willing to listen. “Yeah, I know. But sometimes you just get a feeling. And besides, you were the one who asked. I don’t like playing coy.”

Neal ducked his head. “Yeah, you’re right. And I do appreciate the honesty.”

“But …”

It was almost full dark and they stood under a streetlamp, the orange glow casting almost sickly shadows. “It’s not that I’m uninterested. Far from it. This isn’t something I’ve ever experienced, and I’m …” Neal paused, lips pursed. “I’m intrigued.”

“But?” Peter repeated, this time a question.

“My life hasn’t been the most stable; there are things in my past that continue to make my life difficult.”

Peter was curious, and being who he was, he couldn’t help but ask. “A criminal record?”

“No – not that. Thank god, not that.”

He thought Neal’s response was a little strange, but he said nothing and filed it away. “What is it? Health issues?” Peter hoped not, but that wasn’t insurmountable if they were careful.

“No – not that. I’m clean.”

“Then what?” Peter tried not to press, not to interrogate. The shadows hid too much, and Peter had a gut feeling that Neal was hiding something important.

“I – I was in a difficult relationship a few years ago.” It wasn’t hard to tell that Neal was choosing his words with great care, equivocating.

Peter took a low key approach. “Left you a little gun-shy?”

They started walking back, Neal with his hands shoved in his pockets, looking like a delinquent angel. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Look – we’ve just met and normally I don’t lay the cards out like this.”

“And you’re usually dealing with someone who knows the score?”

“Something like that.” Satchmo paused to water the last tree before the got back to the house. “There’s no rush, no deadlines. We like you, we’re interested in something – it doesn’t have to be …” It was Peter’s turn to find the right words. “Look – we want more than just another sex partner. We want someone in our lives, someone to share things with.”

Neal laughed, skepticism coloring the sound with unpleasant tones. “You’re not going to say the sex is the least of it?”

It was Peter’s turn to laugh, but his was tinged with real amusement. “Hell, no.” I’d scare you all the way to New Jersey if I told you what my thoughts were on that score.

“Whew!” Neal pretended to wipe sweat off his brow, the overly dramatic gesture a contrast to his earlier mood.

“But I’m also saying that we don’t have to hop into bed right away. There’s no timetable here.” Peter felt as earnest as a boy scout helping an old woman across the street. “We can be patient.”

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

It was possibly the strangest conversation he ever had, and also the most arousing. Neal had shoved his hands in his pockets, hoping to disguise what was certain to be an embarrassingly obvious development. Had his life taken a normal path, he’d have probably jumped Peter Burke and beaten him to ground, the puppy and the public sidewalk be damned.

As swift as his arousal was, it died just as quickly. His life wasn’t normal and as much as he wanted what was being offered, the idea of a relationship with anyone, male or female, suddenly terrified him. Committing himself – giving control of his life to another person – or in the case of the Burkes, to two other people, letting them make decisions for him sent wave of panic through him. It was an irrational fear, because – despite – everything that happened to him, that wasn’t the way things worked.

The anxious thoughts cascaded through his brain and Neal started to sweat. He looked up and down the street, wondering if any of the doors would open to him if he needed sanctuary.

“Neal? Are you all right?”

Peter’s calm, deep voice cut through the fear.

He nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. I think I’m going to head home.” It would be for the best. Give him a chance to regroup, to build up some defenses.

Peter didn't bother to hide his disappointment. “Don’t you want to come back in, have dessert? It’s not like you have far to go.”

He wavered between the desire to run and simple desire.

“At least come in and say goodnight to Elizabeth.” Peter started up the steps, moving a lot slower than he should. When he stumbled on the third step, Neal reached out to catch him.

“I’ve got you, just hold on." He was startled by the heat radiating off of Peter. It wasn't abnormal, it wasn’t feverish. Just simply something he hadn't experienced in a long time.

"Thanks – thought I was going to take another header." Peter turned and sat down on his own stoop with a distinctly relieved thump. Satchmo barked at Neal, as if to tell him to sit down, too.

The front door opened and Elizabeth poked her head out. "There you are, thought you had decided to walk to the airport."

"No, not quite ready for that yet, hon."

"Not by a long shot, mister." Elizabeth smiled at Neal. "Want to take your coffee out here? The evening's nice."

Neal shrugged in agreement. Even in this day and age, Brooklynites still treated the front steps as another living room.

Elizabeth took Satchmo's lead from Peter and went back inside. Neal could hear the dog whining a little about being cut off from the company and all the delightful scents of the great outdoors.

Desperate to make conversation, Neal asked Peter what Elizabeth meant by walking to the airport.

"It's a thing – every year, a group of locals walks from lower Manhattan to JFK. El and I did it one year – one of our former partners thought it would be an interesting thing to do."

"And was it?" Neal was reluctantly intrigued.

"Well, it was interesting, if you like walking for eight hours through some neighborhoods best seen from behind a locked car door," Peter replied with a laugh. "El and I completed it, but Jonathan … he wimped out at the fourth hour and took a cab home. Which pretty much ended that relationship."

"Seems like an odd thing to break up over."

"I think the relationship had run its course. Jon turned out to be a prissy little whiner with a daddy complex. And to be honest, I'm not interested in being anyone’s daddy."

Light streamed down the steps as El joined them. "You’re telling Neal about Jonathan?" She seemed totally unsurprised at that.

"Yeah."

"He had talents, but they didn't compensate for his faults."

She handed him a cup of espresso. He hoped it was decaf. And even if it wasn't, he was probably going to be up all night thinking about Peter and Elizabeth and what had been so delicately offered to him.

Sitting on the steps, they chatted for another half hour, words falling off into the darkness. After a few minutes of silence, he politely announced, “I think it’s time I said ‘good night’.” He put his cup down and stood, looking down at both of the Burkes’ shining, happy faces. There was something about them, something so pure and stainless and perfect. Elizabeth had a streak of wickedness in her, and Peter was so casually dominant that Neal had to stop himself from offering him anything, everything, but they were good people. Uncommonly good.

If he were smart, he’d run, because he’d end up destroying that goodness, staining them with the corruption that plagued his life.

Elizabeth stood up, too. One step up, she was eye-to-eye with him, and even in the dim glow of the street lamp, he could see that she had something planned, but before he could figure out just what that was, she acted.

And kissed him.

Her lips were soft but determined and he fell into that kiss like a starving man. It had been so damn long. Neal cupped his hands around Elizabeth’s face, gently threading his fingers through her hair. She tasted like coffee, dark, a touch bitter and absolutely delicious. Her mouth opened under his, her tongue flirted and retreated. He felt her whole body lean into him, giving him everything, taking everything.

When she stepped back, Neal was chilled and he shivered in the warm night air. Elizabeth licked her lips; she had stars in her eyes and a smile that promised heaven.

He wanted to believe that promise.

“Are you going to kiss my husband now?”

Neal reared back, startled by the question.

“Or don’t you want to?” Elizabeth inadvertently echoed Peter’s earlier assumption.

“I – ”

She gave him a push, just a little shove, hard enough that he stumbled back into Peter. A dangerous thing, since the man wasn’t so steady on his feet. But Peter caught him. Unlike his wife, there was no mischief in his expression, just a grave intensity, a yearning too akin to what Neal was feeling at this moment.

Peter didn’t kiss him. He simply raised a hand to stroke his face. Neal licked his lips and Peter’s thumb came to rest on the lower one, slowly wiping the moisture back and forth. His touch was surprisingly delicate, but for all that delicacy, there was nothing tentative in the gesture. Peter knew what he wanted, what he was going to do, and he just didn’t want to scare him off.

Neal smiled, an unspoken invitation. Peter didn’t accept it right away. He continued to watch him, head tilted to one side, like some curious and fierce predator. Just as he’d been one step below Elizabeth, he was one step above Peter and they were at equal height. It was a matter of inches; he could just lean forward and press his lips to Peter’s, no bending, no tilting. He didn’t know what he was waiting for.

So he did.

Peter’s kiss was different; it started with a surprised huff of laughter. Neal liked that – the vibration went through his whole body, pooling in his groin. His lips were firm, there was power there, restrained – barely. He was still capable of coherent thought, otherwise he would simply have surrendered when Peter’s other hand slipped around his waist. He wasn’t shackled, he wasn’t being held there, he was just being held. It was lovely and unique and Neal didn’t want it to end.

His lips opened under Peter’s, they just fit together – mouth and body and it scared him. The terror of this perfection was subdued by the simple pleasure of this human contact. When Peter broke their kiss, Neal’s lips tried to follow.

He opened his eyes, not even aware they’d been shut. Peter looked as devastated as he felt. His chest rose and fell, as if he’d just sprinted to the finish. Neal licked his lips again, this time tasting the essence of Peter Burke. He liked the flavor, perhaps too much.

“I think I’d better go.” Neal stepped down – just one step, then another and another until he was on the sidewalk. “Tomorrow – work. Early.”

Peter laughed at him – at his incoherence, but it wasn’t mean. “Then, good night.”

Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her husband’s waist, resting her cheek against his shoulder. “Good night, sweetie. Call us?”

Neal nodded. They looked so perfect, matching smiles, matching joy. It would have been so damn easy to walk back up those stairs, into the house, into their bed. “Yes, I will.”

He turned and walked down the block, feeling the Burkes’ gaze following him, a comforting accompaniment on his short journey home.


:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Yes, life did come down to a few important moments: the instant he decided that he’d rather become an FBI agent than be a broken down ex-baseball player, the day he screwed up the courage to ask a very beautiful assistant manager of the art gallery he had been investigating out to dinner, the afternoon he went to serve a warrant and was shot half a dozen times. And the moment he decided to trust his instincts about his dog’s new veterinarian.

Whatever happened next, whether Neal decided to share his life with them or not, Peter knew that nothing was going to be the same after this night. He caught El’s eye, her smile was tinged with the same fatalism that he was feeling.

They watched Neal as he walked down the now-quiet block, finally disappearing into the shadows.

“That went well.” El bent down and picked up their discarded coffee cups.

“Yeah, it did.” Peter held the door for her.

He did his usual checks of the house, locking up and setting the alarm. Cobble Hill was a good neighborhood, but it never hurt to keep vigilant. El had once accused him of being a professional paranoid, but it really wasn’t the case. She was just too precious to him to risk.

The thought brought him up short. He was too trusting of Neal Caffrey. There was something there, something in his past that was troubling. Neal himself alluded to it. But he had promised Elizabeth that he wouldn’t run a background check or have anyone at the office do it. She was adamant, and there was a part of him that didn’t blame her. No one deserved to have their privacy invaded.

But on the other hand, if there was something in Neal’s past that presented a danger to them, or more importantly, to Elizabeth, didn’t he have the right to know?

“I don’t like the expression on your face, hon.”

She startled him.

“Just thinking.”

“About Neal?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t look happy.” She seemed surprised.

“Just concerned. I would really like to run a background check – wouldn’t it be better to know if there are problems?”

She gave him a considering look. “Unless you’re prepared to give Neal your complete history and mine, you’re not going to do that.” El’s tone was sharp.

Peter felt the muscles in his jaw tighten. He didn’t want to argue with her. He muttered, “I have nothing to hide.”

“Peter – don’t. It’s not necessary.” Her tone was pleading, now.

He disagreed, but said nothing more on the subject.

El smiled and kissed him. “Come to bed.” She held out her hand, and he trailed her up the stairs, admiring how her ass swung and bounced with each step.

Part Three: On DW | On LJ