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elrhiarhodanTitle: Fortune Favors the Bold
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Peter/Elizabeth, Peter/Neal (fantasy)
Word Count: ~2800
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Fantasy dub-con
Beta Credit:coffeethyme4me
Summary: Pre-series, Peter is on the chase and ends up stuck in a dingy hotel room in Helena, Montana on his fifth anniversary. He has a rather unique way of celebrating.
Author’s Note: Written for the first night of Fic-Can-Ukah for my dearest friend,theatregirl7299. Her prompt was "Only Here, Only Now" and while she initially asked for some naughty RPS, she agreed to accept a little Peter/Neal instead.
__________________
Peter was loathe to admit it, but he always liked Neal Caffrey. And maybe more than liked.
It started as admiration – for the talent to create those forgeries, to an appreciation for the balls it took to walk up to the investigating agent and hand him a lime green lollipop. As the years passed, the admiration grew. Caffrey was a gentleman thief – not a Robin Hood by any stretch of the imagination – but someone who had a brain and wasn’t afraid to use it in the most intriguing ways. He eschewed violence, which increased Peter’s admiration by a very large notch, and he never took more than his victims could afford to lose.
He’d sit at his desk and puzzle over Caffrey’s latest caper – a set of bronze Renaissance medallions replaced with foil covered chocolate replicas, a Raphael stolen while in transit from the National Gallery, a series of manuscripts from Hellenistic Antioch that were so old they needed to be kept in an airtight safe – and think that the guy really wasn’t doing this for the money. There were easier targets that would turn greater profits.
No, for Neal Caffrey, it wasn’t about the money or the stuff, it was all about proving that he could do this. Peter often wondered if Neal was really trying to impress his estranged girlfriend. It was weird (okay, maybe he was weird), but he hoped that Neal was trying to prove something to him, too. That he was just as smart, just as quick, just as good as the man who was going to catch him.
Peter had no doubt that he would catch him. Sooner or later, he’d put the cuffs on Neal Caffrey and end his criminal career.
And that made him sad. There was so much potential in Caffrey, so much he wanted to do to him. No, do for him.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Conmen weren’t supposed to like the Feds chasing after them. It was a simple fact of life. Cats don’t like dogs, antelope don’t like lions, and criminals don’t like cops.
But Peter Burke wasn’t an ordinary cop – or Fed, to be precise. He was a cut above the average Government careerist. Burke intrigued him. He was smart, diligent, thorough and so much more than that.
He was pretty damn hot. And Neal found himself disturbed by that.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been attracted to a guy. Adler had been hot, too. And after Adler, there had been many good looking marks, men ripe for the plucking. But Burke was married, and by all accounts, very happily so to a woman who looked remarkably like Kate. He might have no compunction about helping himself to a nation’s cultural patrimony, but there was no way he’d do anything to interfere with a happy couple’s wedded bliss.
There were lines in the sand, even for him.
And yet, he still wanted.
Moz thought he was crazy, all the risks he took just to get a brief glimpse of Agent Burke. He lingered almost a moment too long in Venice – but it was worth it, just to see the look on Peter’s face before he jumped off the Rialto and onto the canopy of a passing water bus.
He hadn’t heard the end of it for months. Moz wouldn’t shut up about his need to taunt the Fed. Kate just looked at him with sad, knowing eyes. She understood him a little too well, and maybe that was why she left him and went back to New York, back to a life without constant danger or excitement.
Or maybe she was just tired of all the lies.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
“El – I’m so sorry that I can't get home.” Peter felt like shit. Like week-old road kill. Like the disgusting remains of coffee left in the bottom of the cup of the over the weekend. It was their fifth anniversary and he was stuck in a airport hotel in Helena, Montana, trapped by the need to catch Neal Caffrey and an unseasonable blizzard.
“I understand.”
Peter could hear the lie in her voice. His wife was an angel, as close to perfection as a woman could be. But she wasn’t a saint, and she had every right to be pissed off that he wasn't home for their anniversary. “Hon, I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“I know you will. Don’t worry.”
“I love you, very much.”
“And I love you, and I really do understand.”
“But you’re still pissed off.”
“Yeah, but not at you.”
“Getting angry at the weather is rather pointless.”
“I’m not angry at the weather, I’m angry at Neal Caffrey.”
Peter sighed. “Maybe getting angry at the weather would be a better use of your time and energy.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Yeah, hon, that’s true.”
Peter laughed and felt the tiniest bit better about missing their anniversary.
“Did you come close this time?”
That minute feeling of well-being disappeared with Elizabeth’s innocent question.
“Not even… Caffrey wasn’t in Helena. He wasn’t in Montana. And I somehow doubt he was on this side of the Continental Divide. Or even on this continent.”
“Hon …”
“It’s okay, El. He’s out there, somewhere, and I’ll get him.”
“And when you do?”
Peter shivered. It wasn’t because his room was cold. It was the dirty intent in Elizabeth’s voice that sent chills down his spine. They’d played this game before.
“I’d lock the cuffs on his wrists…”
“And then?”
Peter swallowed. They’d shared this particular fantasy from the first time Elizabeth had seen Neal’s photo.
“I’d sit him down …”
“And lecture him about the evils of a criminal lifestyle?”
Peter couldn’t restrain a shout of laughter. “Not hardly!”
“What will you do with Neal Caffrey, handcuffed and helpless? I bet he’s frightened that Big Bad Peter Burke’s going to haul him away to prison.”
Peter bit his lip. Even though they’d played this game a dozen times, giving voice to his fantasies was always a bit shocking. At least, until he got started. “I’d – I’d brush my thumb across his lips, and tell him not to cry. That there’s nothing to be scared of.”
“And then?” Peter enjoyed the breathless quality in his wife’s voice.
“I’ll give him a choice. He can suck my cock or I can fuck his ass.” Peter knew he was stringing this out. Might as well get comfortable. He pushed down his sweatpants and pulled his cock out. It was hard and hot and heavy, it felt so good in his hands. It would feel better in El’s hands, but that wasn’t possible at the moment. He wondered what her hands were doing at the moment.
“Oh, Agent Burke – you’re such a … evil man.” Peter didn’t have to wonder anymore. El only got that particular hitch in her voice when she was toying with her nipples.
“Neal doesn't answer; he just looks at me, those big blue eyes wide and innocent. But he’s no innocent.”
“You’ve seen the photographs. You have evidence of what he likes…”
“Yes, we've both seen them.” Peter had broken a dozen rules and regulations when he showed Elizabeth the surveillance photos of Neal Caffrey and a certain Arabian prince doing things that would have gotten them both beheaded in the prince’s homeland.
“He’s such a dirty boy, doing those things to other men, when he should be doing them to you.”
“I tell him that, and he smiles and takes my thumb in his mouth. He licks it like it’s candy. It seems like he’s made his choice.”
“He’s going to suck your cock? Or are you going to pull him out of that chair, toss him over your desk and give him the fucking he so richly deserves?”
Peter closed his eyes, letting the fantasy take hold. “Yeah – that’s what I’m going to do. He’s a dirty criminal that needs to be fucked, hard.” He could see Neal, pants pulled down, that perfect ass bared for his own, private desecration.
“I can see you fucking him, shoving your big dick up his tiny ass. Making him scream with pleasure.”
The images that accompanied El’s words were almost as hot as the very idea of her inciting him to that act. He couldn’t hold on any longer and erupted into his fist. “Oh, god – oh, god.” The phone slipped away from his ear, but he heard his wife panting her pleasure, too.
It took a few moments to recover, for his heart to stop racing and his mind to remember that he wasn't some sort of sex fiend, but Peter Burke, FBI agent, husband and good man. He wiped his hands on the bedspread and pulled up his sweatpants, figuring that he'd shower in a bit.
"Hon?" El's voice sounded tinny and distant. Peter retrieved his cell phone. "You okay?"
"Yeah – you?"
"Oh, definitely." El laughed, though. "We're kind of sick, aren't we?"
"Hmmm, maybe. I mean, it's not like I'd ever do that to Caffrey – even if I caught him." Peter tried not to sound too regretful.
There was a strange sort of silence at the other end.
"Hon?"
"You know, Peter – I wouldn't mind."
His heart all but stopped. "You wouldn't mind, what?"
"If you fucked him."
Peter swallowed, hard. "El – "
"I mean, I'd like to watch. But I really wouldn't mind, provided you came home and told me about it afterwards. Or took pictures. But only Neal – none of those hot-to-trot co-eds they've been pushing on you. Just Neal. And just the fucking."
Peter took a deep breath, his thoughts were crazy. El was crazy. "I love you, honey. You know that?"
"Yeah, hon. I do. And happy anniversary, Mr. Special Agent Peter Burke."
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
"Happy anniversary, Mr. Special Agent Peter Burke."
Neal pulled the earpiece off and stared, shocked, at the cell phone in his hand.
A few weeks ago, Moz had cloned Peter Burke's cell phone for him, a useful tool for staying out of the Fed’s way. Moz had made a mistake, though. He'd captured Burke's personal cell phone, not the one the FBI issued. Still, it was useful and he was able to keep one step ahead of Peter.
Even so, it was almost tragically ironic that they both ended up in this nondescript low-budget hotel on the outskirts of Helena, Montana.
Moz had gotten a lead on some gold, mined and processed in the late 1800s, but never shipped out. There were supposed to be forty bars in a basement safe in a derelict mansion outside of Maryville. There was no gold, but there was a few hundred pounds of silver ingots. They picked the place clean, almost breaking their backs in the process. Moz got out before the storm hit, driving the long haul to Seattle, and then down the coast. They’d meet up eventually and Moz would give him his share. They never traveled together, not after jobs. Neal was planning on taking a flight to Oakland, and maybe back to New York, to try and find Kate again. Except that all the flights out were cancelled because of the impending storm that was suddenly not so impending.
It was his good luck that just as Neal was checking into the hotel; Burke's wife sent a text asking her husband when his flight was getting into New York. He avidly watched the exchange of messages between the Burkes, and was almost startled out of his skin when the man himself walked into the hotel lobby, hair and shoulders covered in melting snow. Peter was so intent on his phone that he didn't notice Neal making his escape via the elevator bank behind the reception desk.
He was even more freaked out when he heard half of a conversation going on in the room next door. It was Burke, complaining bitterly to one of his subordinates that Caffrey was nowhere in sight and he was stuck in Upper Bumfuck, Montana on his anniversary. He wasn't quite reaming the guy out, but he was certainly questioning the quality of intel that put him on yet another wild goose chase, bitterly complaining that Caffrey was probably laughing his ass off on some beach in Brazil.
Neal relaxed. Burke had no idea he was here, had no reason to think that his target was less than ten feet away, separated by nothing more than a cheap connecting door with a lock that a blind man could pick.
He didn't have to run, not that he could. There was already a foot of snow on the ground and the weather report predicted another three feet before the storm ended. He was stuck, but he'd been stuck in worse places. He was warm and dry and best of all, he had Peter Burke's cell phone.
Today was the man's anniversary, and Neal added that bit of information to his mental files about Peter. He probably should send his wife some flowers and a box of chocolates. Two dozen long-stemmed pink roses and a box of Jacques Torres’ best truffles. He'd sign Peter's name to it, too. Neal had smiled at the thought of Burke getting some extra special nookie when he got home – all because Neal was such a boy scout.
And then he tried not to think about Burke making love to his hot wife, he tried not to think about those long legs and broad shoulders and that mole at the base of the man's throat. He tried not to think about his wife licking that mole, working her way down that body, finding all the erogenous zones that Neal himself longed to explore.
He was startled out of his reverie when the cloned cell phone started to ring. The call was from E. Burke, Home.
Moz told him, when he gave him the phone, that the only way to listen in was to answer after Burke had connected with the caller, but before he started talking. Neal debated for a split second before running over to the door and listening for Peter. He slipped on a wireless headset, one Moz had tinkered with so it didn't transmit any sound, and pressed the answer button just before Burke greeted his wife.
“El – I’m so sorry that I can't get home.”
Neal had felt just the tiniest bit guilty, listening to Peter apologizing. But guilt turned to minor outrage as Elizabeth Burke seemed to direct her ire at him. It wasn't his fault that her husband was so damned dogged in his pursuit.
But that outrage morphed into something else entirely as he listened to husband and wife having telephone sex.
They were sharing fantasies about him.
The blood that hadn't rushed right to his dick was pooling in his cheeks. Who would have thought that the Burkes were so … kinky?
Neal might have been able to laugh the whole thing off – after beating off – except for what Elizabeth Burke told her husband just before they ended the call. I wouldn't mind if you fucked him.
She wasn't joking. And Peter wasn't laughing.
Peter Burke wanted him. He wanted to fuck him.
Neal put down the cell phone and wiped his hands on his pants. They were sweating. He stared at the connecting door, wondering just what would happen if he opened it.
Would Peter arrest him? Drag him through the snow to a police station and have him held until he could be transported back to New York. Or would he make good on his fantasies, knowing that his wife wouldn't object.
Neal didn't even realize he had taken out his lock picks until he was on his knees, working a torsion wrench and half-diamond pick into the deadbolt lock on the other side of the connecting door.
The pins fell into place and Neal quickly turned the deadbolt, but he didn't open the door.
This was insanity. A madness of the highest order. But who knew when – or even if – he'd have another chance.
Audentes fortuna iuvat, or more likely, fortune favors the insane.
He opened the door, willing to take the chance.
FIN
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Peter/Elizabeth, Peter/Neal (fantasy)
Word Count: ~2800
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Fantasy dub-con
Beta Credit:
coffeethyme4meSummary: Pre-series, Peter is on the chase and ends up stuck in a dingy hotel room in Helena, Montana on his fifth anniversary. He has a rather unique way of celebrating.
Author’s Note: Written for the first night of Fic-Can-Ukah for my dearest friend,
theatregirl7299. Her prompt was "Only Here, Only Now" and while she initially asked for some naughty RPS, she agreed to accept a little Peter/Neal instead.Peter was loathe to admit it, but he always liked Neal Caffrey. And maybe more than liked.
It started as admiration – for the talent to create those forgeries, to an appreciation for the balls it took to walk up to the investigating agent and hand him a lime green lollipop. As the years passed, the admiration grew. Caffrey was a gentleman thief – not a Robin Hood by any stretch of the imagination – but someone who had a brain and wasn’t afraid to use it in the most intriguing ways. He eschewed violence, which increased Peter’s admiration by a very large notch, and he never took more than his victims could afford to lose.
He’d sit at his desk and puzzle over Caffrey’s latest caper – a set of bronze Renaissance medallions replaced with foil covered chocolate replicas, a Raphael stolen while in transit from the National Gallery, a series of manuscripts from Hellenistic Antioch that were so old they needed to be kept in an airtight safe – and think that the guy really wasn’t doing this for the money. There were easier targets that would turn greater profits.
No, for Neal Caffrey, it wasn’t about the money or the stuff, it was all about proving that he could do this. Peter often wondered if Neal was really trying to impress his estranged girlfriend. It was weird (okay, maybe he was weird), but he hoped that Neal was trying to prove something to him, too. That he was just as smart, just as quick, just as good as the man who was going to catch him.
Peter had no doubt that he would catch him. Sooner or later, he’d put the cuffs on Neal Caffrey and end his criminal career.
And that made him sad. There was so much potential in Caffrey, so much he wanted to do to him. No, do for him.
Conmen weren’t supposed to like the Feds chasing after them. It was a simple fact of life. Cats don’t like dogs, antelope don’t like lions, and criminals don’t like cops.
But Peter Burke wasn’t an ordinary cop – or Fed, to be precise. He was a cut above the average Government careerist. Burke intrigued him. He was smart, diligent, thorough and so much more than that.
He was pretty damn hot. And Neal found himself disturbed by that.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been attracted to a guy. Adler had been hot, too. And after Adler, there had been many good looking marks, men ripe for the plucking. But Burke was married, and by all accounts, very happily so to a woman who looked remarkably like Kate. He might have no compunction about helping himself to a nation’s cultural patrimony, but there was no way he’d do anything to interfere with a happy couple’s wedded bliss.
There were lines in the sand, even for him.
And yet, he still wanted.
Moz thought he was crazy, all the risks he took just to get a brief glimpse of Agent Burke. He lingered almost a moment too long in Venice – but it was worth it, just to see the look on Peter’s face before he jumped off the Rialto and onto the canopy of a passing water bus.
He hadn’t heard the end of it for months. Moz wouldn’t shut up about his need to taunt the Fed. Kate just looked at him with sad, knowing eyes. She understood him a little too well, and maybe that was why she left him and went back to New York, back to a life without constant danger or excitement.
Or maybe she was just tired of all the lies.
“El – I’m so sorry that I can't get home.” Peter felt like shit. Like week-old road kill. Like the disgusting remains of coffee left in the bottom of the cup of the over the weekend. It was their fifth anniversary and he was stuck in a airport hotel in Helena, Montana, trapped by the need to catch Neal Caffrey and an unseasonable blizzard.
“I understand.”
Peter could hear the lie in her voice. His wife was an angel, as close to perfection as a woman could be. But she wasn’t a saint, and she had every right to be pissed off that he wasn't home for their anniversary. “Hon, I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“I know you will. Don’t worry.”
“I love you, very much.”
“And I love you, and I really do understand.”
“But you’re still pissed off.”
“Yeah, but not at you.”
“Getting angry at the weather is rather pointless.”
“I’m not angry at the weather, I’m angry at Neal Caffrey.”
Peter sighed. “Maybe getting angry at the weather would be a better use of your time and energy.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Yeah, hon, that’s true.”
Peter laughed and felt the tiniest bit better about missing their anniversary.
“Did you come close this time?”
That minute feeling of well-being disappeared with Elizabeth’s innocent question.
“Not even… Caffrey wasn’t in Helena. He wasn’t in Montana. And I somehow doubt he was on this side of the Continental Divide. Or even on this continent.”
“Hon …”
“It’s okay, El. He’s out there, somewhere, and I’ll get him.”
“And when you do?”
Peter shivered. It wasn’t because his room was cold. It was the dirty intent in Elizabeth’s voice that sent chills down his spine. They’d played this game before.
“I’d lock the cuffs on his wrists…”
“And then?”
Peter swallowed. They’d shared this particular fantasy from the first time Elizabeth had seen Neal’s photo.
“I’d sit him down …”
“And lecture him about the evils of a criminal lifestyle?”
Peter couldn’t restrain a shout of laughter. “Not hardly!”
“What will you do with Neal Caffrey, handcuffed and helpless? I bet he’s frightened that Big Bad Peter Burke’s going to haul him away to prison.”
Peter bit his lip. Even though they’d played this game a dozen times, giving voice to his fantasies was always a bit shocking. At least, until he got started. “I’d – I’d brush my thumb across his lips, and tell him not to cry. That there’s nothing to be scared of.”
“And then?” Peter enjoyed the breathless quality in his wife’s voice.
“I’ll give him a choice. He can suck my cock or I can fuck his ass.” Peter knew he was stringing this out. Might as well get comfortable. He pushed down his sweatpants and pulled his cock out. It was hard and hot and heavy, it felt so good in his hands. It would feel better in El’s hands, but that wasn’t possible at the moment. He wondered what her hands were doing at the moment.
“Oh, Agent Burke – you’re such a … evil man.” Peter didn’t have to wonder anymore. El only got that particular hitch in her voice when she was toying with her nipples.
“Neal doesn't answer; he just looks at me, those big blue eyes wide and innocent. But he’s no innocent.”
“You’ve seen the photographs. You have evidence of what he likes…”
“Yes, we've both seen them.” Peter had broken a dozen rules and regulations when he showed Elizabeth the surveillance photos of Neal Caffrey and a certain Arabian prince doing things that would have gotten them both beheaded in the prince’s homeland.
“He’s such a dirty boy, doing those things to other men, when he should be doing them to you.”
“I tell him that, and he smiles and takes my thumb in his mouth. He licks it like it’s candy. It seems like he’s made his choice.”
“He’s going to suck your cock? Or are you going to pull him out of that chair, toss him over your desk and give him the fucking he so richly deserves?”
Peter closed his eyes, letting the fantasy take hold. “Yeah – that’s what I’m going to do. He’s a dirty criminal that needs to be fucked, hard.” He could see Neal, pants pulled down, that perfect ass bared for his own, private desecration.
“I can see you fucking him, shoving your big dick up his tiny ass. Making him scream with pleasure.”
The images that accompanied El’s words were almost as hot as the very idea of her inciting him to that act. He couldn’t hold on any longer and erupted into his fist. “Oh, god – oh, god.” The phone slipped away from his ear, but he heard his wife panting her pleasure, too.
It took a few moments to recover, for his heart to stop racing and his mind to remember that he wasn't some sort of sex fiend, but Peter Burke, FBI agent, husband and good man. He wiped his hands on the bedspread and pulled up his sweatpants, figuring that he'd shower in a bit.
"Hon?" El's voice sounded tinny and distant. Peter retrieved his cell phone. "You okay?"
"Yeah – you?"
"Oh, definitely." El laughed, though. "We're kind of sick, aren't we?"
"Hmmm, maybe. I mean, it's not like I'd ever do that to Caffrey – even if I caught him." Peter tried not to sound too regretful.
There was a strange sort of silence at the other end.
"Hon?"
"You know, Peter – I wouldn't mind."
His heart all but stopped. "You wouldn't mind, what?"
"If you fucked him."
Peter swallowed, hard. "El – "
"I mean, I'd like to watch. But I really wouldn't mind, provided you came home and told me about it afterwards. Or took pictures. But only Neal – none of those hot-to-trot co-eds they've been pushing on you. Just Neal. And just the fucking."
Peter took a deep breath, his thoughts were crazy. El was crazy. "I love you, honey. You know that?"
"Yeah, hon. I do. And happy anniversary, Mr. Special Agent Peter Burke."
"Happy anniversary, Mr. Special Agent Peter Burke."
Neal pulled the earpiece off and stared, shocked, at the cell phone in his hand.
A few weeks ago, Moz had cloned Peter Burke's cell phone for him, a useful tool for staying out of the Fed’s way. Moz had made a mistake, though. He'd captured Burke's personal cell phone, not the one the FBI issued. Still, it was useful and he was able to keep one step ahead of Peter.
Even so, it was almost tragically ironic that they both ended up in this nondescript low-budget hotel on the outskirts of Helena, Montana.
Moz had gotten a lead on some gold, mined and processed in the late 1800s, but never shipped out. There were supposed to be forty bars in a basement safe in a derelict mansion outside of Maryville. There was no gold, but there was a few hundred pounds of silver ingots. They picked the place clean, almost breaking their backs in the process. Moz got out before the storm hit, driving the long haul to Seattle, and then down the coast. They’d meet up eventually and Moz would give him his share. They never traveled together, not after jobs. Neal was planning on taking a flight to Oakland, and maybe back to New York, to try and find Kate again. Except that all the flights out were cancelled because of the impending storm that was suddenly not so impending.
It was his good luck that just as Neal was checking into the hotel; Burke's wife sent a text asking her husband when his flight was getting into New York. He avidly watched the exchange of messages between the Burkes, and was almost startled out of his skin when the man himself walked into the hotel lobby, hair and shoulders covered in melting snow. Peter was so intent on his phone that he didn't notice Neal making his escape via the elevator bank behind the reception desk.
He was even more freaked out when he heard half of a conversation going on in the room next door. It was Burke, complaining bitterly to one of his subordinates that Caffrey was nowhere in sight and he was stuck in Upper Bumfuck, Montana on his anniversary. He wasn't quite reaming the guy out, but he was certainly questioning the quality of intel that put him on yet another wild goose chase, bitterly complaining that Caffrey was probably laughing his ass off on some beach in Brazil.
Neal relaxed. Burke had no idea he was here, had no reason to think that his target was less than ten feet away, separated by nothing more than a cheap connecting door with a lock that a blind man could pick.
He didn't have to run, not that he could. There was already a foot of snow on the ground and the weather report predicted another three feet before the storm ended. He was stuck, but he'd been stuck in worse places. He was warm and dry and best of all, he had Peter Burke's cell phone.
Today was the man's anniversary, and Neal added that bit of information to his mental files about Peter. He probably should send his wife some flowers and a box of chocolates. Two dozen long-stemmed pink roses and a box of Jacques Torres’ best truffles. He'd sign Peter's name to it, too. Neal had smiled at the thought of Burke getting some extra special nookie when he got home – all because Neal was such a boy scout.
And then he tried not to think about Burke making love to his hot wife, he tried not to think about those long legs and broad shoulders and that mole at the base of the man's throat. He tried not to think about his wife licking that mole, working her way down that body, finding all the erogenous zones that Neal himself longed to explore.
He was startled out of his reverie when the cloned cell phone started to ring. The call was from E. Burke, Home.
Moz told him, when he gave him the phone, that the only way to listen in was to answer after Burke had connected with the caller, but before he started talking. Neal debated for a split second before running over to the door and listening for Peter. He slipped on a wireless headset, one Moz had tinkered with so it didn't transmit any sound, and pressed the answer button just before Burke greeted his wife.
“El – I’m so sorry that I can't get home.”
Neal had felt just the tiniest bit guilty, listening to Peter apologizing. But guilt turned to minor outrage as Elizabeth Burke seemed to direct her ire at him. It wasn't his fault that her husband was so damned dogged in his pursuit.
But that outrage morphed into something else entirely as he listened to husband and wife having telephone sex.
They were sharing fantasies about him.
The blood that hadn't rushed right to his dick was pooling in his cheeks. Who would have thought that the Burkes were so … kinky?
Neal might have been able to laugh the whole thing off – after beating off – except for what Elizabeth Burke told her husband just before they ended the call. I wouldn't mind if you fucked him.
She wasn't joking. And Peter wasn't laughing.
Peter Burke wanted him. He wanted to fuck him.
Neal put down the cell phone and wiped his hands on his pants. They were sweating. He stared at the connecting door, wondering just what would happen if he opened it.
Would Peter arrest him? Drag him through the snow to a police station and have him held until he could be transported back to New York. Or would he make good on his fantasies, knowing that his wife wouldn't object.
Neal didn't even realize he had taken out his lock picks until he was on his knees, working a torsion wrench and half-diamond pick into the deadbolt lock on the other side of the connecting door.
The pins fell into place and Neal quickly turned the deadbolt, but he didn't open the door.
This was insanity. A madness of the highest order. But who knew when – or even if – he'd have another chance.
Audentes fortuna iuvat, or more likely, fortune favors the insane.
He opened the door, willing to take the chance.
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