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elrhiarhodanTitle: It Must Be Now - Part Two-A of Seven
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Artist:treonb / Art Post
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R (Chapter Two - NC-17)
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, David Siegel, Diana Berrigan, Theodore "Mozzie" Winters, Theo Berrigan, Sara Ellis, Clinton Jones, Matthew Keller; Peter/Elizabeth (Past), Peter/Neal (Past), Neal/Keller (Past), Peter/Neal
Word Count: ~60,000 Total
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Major Character Illness
Beta Credit:pooh_collector, sinfulslasher
Summary: In this alternate universe, the story opens as Peter and Elizabeth's marriage ends. Peter tries to move into a new life, but finds himself haunted by his past - a relationship with Neal Caffrey when they were both students at Harvard - and a future that might come to an end far too soon.
Author’s Note: Many, many thanks to my alpha readerstheatregirl7299 and miri_thompson, who provided an endless bounty of encouragement.
Even more thanks to my wonderful and talented artist,treonb, who created the beautiful and evocative promo video.
Title from the Annie Lennox Song "Oh God (Prayer)", which TreonB used in the vid.
Note for Part Two – Because of LJ's entry size limitations, Part Two is in two parts. The link at the end of this entry will take you to the conclusion of this chapter.
__________________
Cambridge, Massachusetts. August, 1987
"Still can't believe that Fowler bailed on us." Peter picked up the lease for the house they were renting and then tossed it back on the table. "What the hell are we going to do? It's too late to get on-campus housing for the semester, and it's less than a week until we move in."
"Don't worry. Something will turn up." David Siegel was far too relaxed about everything, which irritated the hell out of Peter. "Besides, I've got enough money to cover Fowler's part of the first and last month's rent."
"At least the shithead didn't insist on us returning his share of the deposit."
"As if we would. Who'd a thunk that ass would get into LSE?"
Peter rolled his eyes at David's comment. Garrett Fowler might be a shit for bailing out on their housing agreement so close to move in, and he certainly was not one of the most impressive specimens on campus, but he was still pretty damn smart. Smart enough to carry a perfect GPA at Harvard and get into the London School of Economics for his senior year.
"We still need to find a third housemate."
"You really think that's going to be difficult?"
"I don't want just anyone moving in."
David sniffed. "You're too particular."
"Unlike you, I don't have a family legacy to fall back on. And my shot at the Business School is still dependent on keeping up my GPA. Don't want someone who's just looking to party."
"I know your rules. No smokers, no burners, no one who's looking to have the least bit of fun."
Peter glared at David. "If I'm such a bore, why are you taking a house with me?"
"Because you're a fucking chick and dick magnet, that's why. And you put up with my perversities."
"Will you lower your voice?" Peter looked around the coffee shop.
"Why – it's no big deal. So you swing both ways. Like I've always said, that doubles your chance of scoring. And that doubles my chances of some viewing pleasure."
Peter sighed at the familiar refrain. He knew he was fortunate in his friendship with David. They'd been an unlikely pairing since freshman year put them together as roommates. David was Jewish and the privileged only son of a Chicago industrialist, while Peter was a lapsed Catholic with a bum arm that killed his professional baseball career just as it started and the first in his family to attend college. David liked to party, while Peter was keen on keeping his nose to the grindstone.
Except on Saturday nights, when they'd head into Boston and hit the college-friendly bars. At first David had tried to make Peter his wingman, and had been generous to share the girls he'd attracted. But it soon became clear that Peter didn't need David's help or his leftovers. Girls seemed to find him irresistible. There was rarely a Sunday morning that he didn't show up still dressed in Saturday night's clothes and reeking of sex and cheap perfume.
Except for the time that he thought David was out of town for some family thing and was getting paid for his calculus tutoring with a blowjob from some cute surfer dude who needed help with his Leibniz notation.
David had gotten an eyeful, but he hadn't blinked. He'd just dropped his bags, leaned against the doorframe and watched. When the other guy left, David said that his flight had been cancelled and suggested that the next time, Peter tie a sock on the doorknob – the tried and true method of letting his roommate know not to enter.
The conversation they'd had after Peter zipped up his pants was bizarre. Before David could say anything, he had offered, "I'll move out if you want."
"Why?"
"Because – you know."
"Because you're gay? But you're not really gay, because you get more pussy than the local cat sanctuary. You're bi, right?"
Peter had shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Curious, mostly."
David smirked at him. "Looked like a hell of a lot more than just curiosity."
Peter had realized something. "You like to watch?"
"Yeah. No interest in getting dick myself, but yeah, watching's cool."
"I'm not interested in giving you a show."
"Too bad. If you change your mind, let me know."
"You're a bit of a freak, you know that?"
"Yup, that I am." David laughed. "Since I was thirteen, when I caught my oldest sister doing it doggy style with the gardener while the chauffeur was giving it to him up the ass. What a bar mitzvah present that was!"
Occasionally, if just to reward his roommate's open mind, he let him watch him fuck guys, as long as the guys he was with didn't object. It was kind of creepy screwing with David in the room, not participating but just rubbing his dick through his pants. But David enjoyed it and never passed judgment. Peter figured he couldn't ask for more than that. And after three years, he got used to it.
David brought him back to the present. "Why don't you post something in the math department? You're pretty tight with the profs, right? And didn't you bounce a couple of the secretaries on your ahem – pogo stick – at a party last semester?"
Peter glared at David. "Seriously, someone needs to take a bar of soap to your mouth."
David was unfazed. "And here I was, trying for a little discretion." David picked up the lease agreement and stuffed it in his back pocket. "Take my advice – use your legendary wit and charm and get permission to post a flyer. There's always some grad student transferring in that'll need housing." He dropped a few bucks on the table to pay for their coffees. "I'm off – places to go, people to see."
Peter nodded, already thinking about how to ask Shelley – the department secretary – if he could put up a flyer for a few weeks. David wasn't mistaken; he'd done both Shelley and her assistant, Robyn, in the supply closet during the end-of-semester gathering last May. He'd also spent the last three months trying not to make eye contact with either lady.
But it turned out that asking Shelley for permission was unnecessary. The university grapevine was highly efficient and the department head buttonholed him as soon as he walked in the office. It seemed that some hot-shot math genius was transferring in from Princeton and would need housing for at least the fall semester. The sudden vacancy in Peter's housing situation was perfect.
Peter made arrangements for an interview with the guy, not wanting to let the professor think he was a pushover, but in his head, it was a done deal. As long as he didn't smoke or have terrible personal hygiene, Peter would take him on as a housemate. How noisy could a guy majoring in math be?
Two days later, he and David were at their usual coffee shop near the campus – the one on Kennedy, right across from the T stop – and waiting for the potential housemate to show up. Peter had a name – Neal G. Caffrey – and a copy of the guy's transcript from Princeton, which he really didn't think he should have been given. What was more interesting than the grades was the guy's age – the same as Peter's, but he wasn't a senior. He'd already gotten his Bachelor's and his Master's, and was working on a PhD in statistics and market theory, which meant he really was something of a genius.
It was about ten minutes after the time for the interview and Peter was getting annoyed.
"Relax, man." David's attempts to calm him down only succeeded in making him more agitated.
"If he can't show up for a simple interview on time, how can we expect him to pay the rent when it's due?"
"Jeez – what crawled up your butt and died? It's summertime, the guy probably just arrived in Boston and got lost. Or maybe there was a breakdown on the T. Or he got tied up in a meeting. You're being an ass."
Peter knew that David was right. He had a thing about punctuality and sometimes he went a bit overboard.
"I'd say you need to get laid, but since I watched you in an epic double-header with the Carlton twins last night, I know that's not the problem."
Peter rolled his eyes. He had gotten laid last night, rather spectacularly. Which reminded him, he needed to stop at the CVS and get another box of condoms.
"So, chill out. All this worrying isn't good for your blood pressure."
"Now you sound like my mother."
"God forbid!"
The coffee shop door opened, flooding the place with bright August sunshine and too much Boston humidity. Peter blinked as his eyes adjusted – there was a guy standing at the door. From his silhouette, he looked young enough. Maybe this was their prospective housemate?
The silhouette approached their table and Peter blinked again. The guy was … perfection. Tall, slim, a brunet, and if he wasn't mistaken, those were blue eyes behind the black-rimmed glasses. Just his type. Which David clearly realized, because he kicked him under the table.
"Peter Burke? David Siegel?"
David answered, because Peter's tongue had gone AWOL. "Yep. You're Neal G. Caffrey?"
"Just Neal Caffrey. No need for the middle initial." He sat down across from them. "Who's who?"
David introduced himself and then added, "This moron next to me is Peter Burke. He had too much sex last night and squirted what was left of his brains into a condom, in case you want to know why he can't say hello."
Peter wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. Instead, he shoved at David and held out his hand. "Ignore this foul-mouthed ass. He's pre-law and can't help being a jerk."
Neal took it and gave him a speculative look. "But is he a liar?"
"Huh?"
"Did you really have too much sex last night? Because I thought that advanced lying was a prerequisite for pre-law."
David choked on his coffee and Peter grinned. "Is it possible to have too much sex?"
Neal smiled back. "I've been trying to find that out, but haven't found an upper limit yet."
Before Peter could say another word, David dropped the lease on the table. "I like you and I'm pretty sure that Sex-Brain here likes you too, so let's consider this a done deal. Your share of the rent is three hundred a month, utilities included. First and last paid up front. You'll get your own bedroom, but you'll have to share a bathroom with Sex-Brain. Since my name's on the lease, I get my own bathroom. House rules are simple – no smoking inside, no loud music or partying unless we both say it's okay. And that's likely not going to happen, since Sex-Brain is actually a serious student. Generally speaking, you make a mess, you clean it up. And you have a choice – either contribute fifteen bucks a month towards a cleaning service, or you'll clean the kitchen and living room, floor to ceiling, once a month."
"Cleaning service?" Neal blinked. "What student has a cleaning service?"
Peter answered, "This one does. He was born with a silver button in his mouth."
"Button?"
"Yeah – his family fortune came from making elevator number buttons."
"Well, I guess someone has to make those things."
David chimed in, "That's what my great-grandfather said."
Neal pulled out his wallet and Peter's jaw dropped as he pulled out a half-dozen Franklins. "This should cover the first and last month's rent. What about a damage or security deposit? Do you need my share for that?"
Peter's brain was occupied with the fact that their new housemate dropped six hundred bucks on the table like he was paying for coffee and the newspaper, so David answered. "Nope, we're good. The guy who bailed on us didn't ask for his share of the security deposit back." David pointed to the lease. "This is the agreement between the three of us, just put your John Hancock on the bottom of the page and you're set."
Neal's lips twitched as he took the document and pulled out a pen. He didn't turn the paper around, but signed it with a flourish. "There, big enough so King George can read it."
Peter grabbed the paper and shouted with laughter. Scrawled across the top of the page was the name "John Hancock", complete with the legendary flourish. To Peter's mind, it looked exactly like the signature on the actual Declaration of Independence.
"How the hell did you do that?"
"Well, your hand is programmed over years to write letters a certain way. You try to mimic someone else's and your own style will always creep in. But, turn the signature upside down and it becomes nothing more than a drawing. All you have to do is copy the lines. Your preconceptions about letters go away and you have a perfect signature."
Peter blinked. "That's kind of dangerous."
Neal nodded, "Which is why I pay cash for everything. No checks, ever."
"Hate to interrupt you boys, but I still need Caffrey's signature on this. His real signature."
"Okay, okay." Neal took the paper back, turned it the right way around and signed on the bottom, just under his signature and David's. "Satisfied?"
"Yup."
"When can I move in?"
"We're getting the keys first thing Monday morning. If you're at the house by nine, you can move in with us."
"Sounds perfect, I've got a few things to take care of this weekend." Neal slid out of the booth. "See you Monday morning."
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Neal slotted himself into their household with the ease of a well-oiled cog. He was tidy, quiet, paid his share of the rent on time, always left money for the cleaning woman that David insisted on, never ate Peter's food, and disappeared every single weekend.
The last disturbed Peter and he didn't want to think about why. Yeah, Neal Caffrey was gorgeous in a way that really pushed his buttons, but Peter wasn't going to crap where he slept. Screwing Caffrey and living with him was a recipe for disaster. And from the few times they'd chatted, he certainly hadn't gotten any vibes that the man was interested in dick.
So he told himself that he was just curious where the man disappeared to every Friday night. He knew Caffrey was going out of town, he'd seen him head towards the T stop with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder and get back to the house sometime early Monday morning, usually just as Peter was coming out of the shower or stumbling into the kitchen for his first cup of coffee.
And Peter kind of resented the man. Wherever he went, however he travelled, it was clearly in style. Seven-thirty in the morning and he was perfectly groomed, wearing – of all things – a suit and tie with matching pocket square and braces.
This particular Monday morning was no different, and Peter was more annoyed than usual. Caffrey was already in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a cup of coffee, doing the crossword puzzle. In pen.
Peter grunted, "Hey, that's my paper. That's my puzzle."
"It is?"
"Yeah. I paid for the subscription. You can read the paper but next time you do the puzzle, I'll …" Damn, he was too stupid with sleep to think of a suitable threat.
"No need to threaten. I won't encroach on the puzzle again. Besides, it's not much of a challenge. Prefer the puzzles in the Times, myself."
"Really?" Peter glared at Caffrey. "Eugene Maleska's been repeating his clues for the last decade. I can do the New York Times Monday puzzle in about five minutes and even the Sunday ones are barely a challenge."
"I meant the London Times – the cryptic crosswords. Those are a real challenge."
"Oh." Now Peter felt really stupid.
Caffrey made a show out of returning the paper to its original state. "Sorry about the puzzle – won't happen again." He got up and to Peter's amazement, actually yawned. "Shit, I'm tired. Mind if I take the shower first?"
"No, go ahead. And don't worry about the puzzle."
"Okay."
"Mind if I have some of your coffee?" Peter gestured to the half-full pot.
"Not at all." Neal hefted his duffle bag and disappeared into his bedroom. Peter buried himself in the day's news and the very excellent coffee that Neal managed to brew from the ancient drip pot that came with the house. A few minutes later, Peter heard the sound of the shower running and tried not to imagine what Caffrey looked like. Was he furry or smooth and more importantly, was he natural or cut. Peter tended to prefer smooth over hairy, and more importantly, cut over natural, after a very bad experience with smegma back in high school.
The shower noise stopped and the pipes squealed – one of the less than lovely aspects of living in an old house. Peter finished his coffee, refolded the paper and washed out his cup. Time to start the day. His first class wasn't until ten, but he wanted to take a run along the river. He and David usually ran together in the mornings, but David was back in Chicago until Wednesday. It was Rosh Hashanah, and that meant a command performance with the whole Siegel clan in attendance.
He headed back to his bedroom and crashed into Neal, who was wearing nothing but a towel around his hips.
"Oof." He found himself with an armful of damp, naked man. As he steadied himself, he looked down and almost drowned in a pair of blue eyes. This was the first time he'd encountered Caffrey without his glasses and he absently thought that he'd never seen such long eyelashes on anyone – girl or guy. He forced himself to let go and step back.
Neal apologized. "Sorry – I'm kind of blind as a bat without my glasses."
Peter nodded. Not only was his question about Neal's body hair answered – he didn't have a single strand of body hair between his neck and his navel – but his other question was answered, too. Neal was cut. And he was big. Not freakishly so, but enough to make Peter's mouth water.
"I, um, ah – am I going out for a run?"
Neal picked up his towel and didn't bother to put it back on. "What? Don't you know if you're going for a run?"
"Yeah – I am. Sorry. Brain's still not engaged." He brushed passed Neal and tried not to feel the warmth of the other man's skin. Back in his bedroom, he got out of the sweatpants and tee shirt he slept in and pulled on running shorts and sneakers. He found his Walkman, shoved a cassette into it, draped the headphones around his neck and headed out.
Thankfully, he didn't bump into Neal again and jogged down towards the Charles. He ran for almost an hour to the sound of the Rolling Stones, and the exercise cleared his head. By the time he was back at the house on Sidney Street, he'd pretty much conquered his inappropriate attraction.
The rest of the week went quickly. David returned and soon it was Friday again. To Peter's surprise, Neal was sitting at the kitchen table on Saturday morning, looking like an ordinary person, not someone who'd just stepped out of the pages of GQ.
"What are you doing here?" The words popped out of his mouth.
"Good morning to you, too." Neal lifted his coffee mug and stared at him over the rim.
"You're never here on the weekends."
"Well, this weekend, I am. Is that going to be a problem?"
"No. Of course not. I was just kind of shocked." He poured a cup of coffee and felt like an ass.
"So I guess no wild parties?"
David walked in. "Hey, Neal. And no, no wild parties. Although I might have a poker game here tonight if Peter can yank the stick out of his ass for a couple of hours."
Peter glared at his friend. "Why do you need to have the game here?"
"Because one of Jack's housemate's got some weird flu that I don't want to catch. And because my name's on the lease."
Peter felt his temper snap. "Will you shut the fuck up about that? Yeah – your name's on the lease, but that doesn't mean you get to lord it over everyone all the time. We pay rent, too. And if you want to have your fucking poker game here, I don't give a damn. But it would be nice to be invited once in a while."
David blinked. "I didn't know you wanted to play. Last time I asked, you said no."
"That was freshman year and I was dead broke. Couldn't afford the buy-in. You never asked again."
"Oh, okay. Sorry. You're more than welcome to join in. Neal? If you're going to be around, do you want to play, too?"
"I don't think that's a good idea."
Peter asked, "Why not?"
"I – I just don't."
"You don't know how to play poker?" David seemed kind of appalled.
"Oh, I know the game. Believe me, just – well, you know I'm working on my PhD in statistics and probability theory."
"Ah, right. So you think that makes you a bit of a ringer?"
"Wouldn't you?"
David seemed unbothered by it. "Nah, it's a friendly game – the buy-in's fifty bucks. If you can get yourself a little extra cash at the expense of my friends, I don't care. Peter – you cool with this?"
There was something else going on with Caffrey, but Peter wasn't quite sure what it was. "Sure. Sounds good to me. If we're having the game here tonight, I'm going to head over to the library and finish my accounting homework now."
David shook his head. "Someday, someone is going to yank that stick out of your ass. These are supposed to be the best years of your life. All you do is study. "
Peter stared at David, completely forgetting that Neal was sitting there. "Come on, you know that that's not all I do."
"That's right. You have sex. Lots of sex. Are you going to have sex in the library?"
"No, I'm going to finish my accounting homework, and get a start on my senior thesis. Besides, sex in the library is not really as much fun as you think it is."
"Damn, you have had sex in the library. How did you manage not to get arrested – you are something of a noisy fuck, you know."
The sound of Neal gagging on his coffee reminded Peter that there was someone else in the room. "Sorry – David's got a mouth like a sewer."
"S'okay." Neal wiped his face. "And for the record, if you've brought any girls back here, I've never heard anything."
David kept digging a hole for him. "Peter doesn't bring girls back here. He's more the love 'em and leave 'em kind of guy when it comes to the ladies."
"So how do you know he's a noisy fuck?"
Peter felt the deep burn of embarrassment cover his face, but David just smirked and said, "Ah, grasshopper, that would be telling."
Neal gave him a speculative look and didn't say a word. David took off, muttering something about getting beer and eats for the game and Peter grabbed his books and headed off to the library.
The afternoon had been somewhat productive. He finished his accounting homework, which was boring, but essential. However, he couldn't wrap his brain around a topic for his senior thesis. He had decided to double major in math and finance, because he wanted to have a job when he graduated. Peter knew that he'd never be good enough to make a real career out of math and he didn't have the temperament for academics. But the double major pretty much guaranteed him a slot at the Harvard Business School, which meant he'd be able to write his own ticket when he was done.
Nothing was ever going to equal playing professional baseball, but at least he'd have a shot at the good life. He had plans.
David might joke that he had a stick up his ass and that he never had any fun and that he was wasting the best years of his life studying. But they both knew that wasn't true. Peter had plenty of fun – and yes, sex was fun. He figured that this was a time when he could be curious without worrying too much about what other people thought. He could have all the ass he wanted, all the pussy too, and it wouldn't matter. Once he was out of school, though – everything would have to change. No big Wall Street firm would hire a guy who was gay, or even bisexual. And that was okay. He was good at compartmentalizing things and pretty self-disciplined. If he couldn't have dick, he wouldn't have it. Once out of school, he'd get on with his life, find a wife, settle down, have a few kids, a dog, a house in the suburbs. He'd look back on these years with fondness, but he wouldn't long for something he couldn't, shouldn't have.
Peter lingered in his carrel, tossing around ideas for his future, when a movement caught his eye. It was Chad, or Brad, or someone from one of his classes last year. The guy was cute and he'd given him the eye all semester. This time, Peter gave him the eye back and the guy came closer.
"Didn't know you worked up here – it's pretty dead on this floor."
"That's why I like it, no one's around." Peter leaned back, and spread his thighs.
What's-his-name licked his lips. "No one?"
"I've been using this carrel for two years and I've never been bothered – by a librarian, that is."
"There's always a first time."
Peter couldn't help but notice the bulge developing behind the guy's fly. "Does that turn you on?"
He nodded.
"Do you swallow?"
He nodded again.
"Then get over here and get on your knees and suck my dick."
The guy did just that. And he was talented. Peter let him do all the work, deep throating him for minutes on end. While David might have teased him about being a noisy fuck, Peter was also pretty good at silent orgasms, too. He held the cocksucker's face to his groin as he pumped his come down his throat, all without saying a word.
The whole encounter lasted about ten minutes, which wasn't bad. The guy even tucked him back into his jeans before getting up.
"You good?"
The man nodded, licked his lips and pulled out a tin of breath mints. "Want one?"
Peter chuckled and declined the offer. "You're supposed to use them before or during, not after."
The guy sniffed. "I think I did just fine without them."
"Yeah, you did."
The guy hefted his package. "Don't suppose you're going to offer to reciprocate."
Peter shook his head. "Maybe some other time."
"I've heard you were a bit of a selfish prick."
"I guess you heard right." Peter knew his reputation. He really didn't care.
The guy sniffed again and gave him the stink eye before disappearing back into the stacks.
In the distance, Peter heard a carillon chime and cursed. It was six o'clock and he just remembered that he'd needed to stop at the drugstore and get condoms, but it was closed and he didn't feel like heading to the big CVS on Brattle. Besides, he needed to get back to the house. David was probably going to fuss about the game and he should give him a hand getting it set up. He probably should also take a shower and wash the smell of sex off himself.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Peter grimaced and tossed his headphones aside as the batteries on his Walkman died and the music came to a halt. Not that he needed the music to block out noise – like he had at the dorms. On the contrary, the house was too quiet and the music helped him concentrate.
The textbook joined the headphones on the bed and Peter leaned back. He was in no mood to study. He was in the mood for something else. But it was Sunday and the bars were closed. It was also too late to head over to the library and hope that what's-his-face might be hanging around, still. Not that he was looking to reciprocate, but if he had to, he would. Or maybe he'd head over to campus, there had to be some girls around. Except he was out of condoms.
Well, that really wasn't a problem. He could just take care of himself.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts and intentions. Peter sat up, double-checked that he wasn't revealing anything he should and called out, "Come in, Neal."
Neal came in and asked, "How did you know it was me?"
"I saw David leave an hour ago and he hasn't come back yet." Peter gestured to the window, which overlooked the front of the house."
"Ah, and that's why you've got a four year scholarship to Harvard."
"Among other reasons." Peter smiled. After the game last night he felt a lot more comfortable around Neal. Which was strange, because Neal wiped him out. It was a winner take all game and Neal wiped everyone out. "What's up?"
"Just wanted to give this to you." Neal held out a folded wad of bills.
"Huh?"
"The pot from last night." Neal dropped the money on the bed and sat down next to him. "You should have won."
"As I recall, you beat me on that last hand, fair and square."
Neal made a face.
"Did you cheat?"
"No, not really."
"What do you mean, not really?"
"Remember the conversation we had when David asked me to play?"
"Yeah – you said you shouldn’t. You thought you'd have an unfair advantage because of your incredible math skills."
Neal winced. "Yeah, well. That's not really the whole truth."
"Oh?"
"I didn't win because I'm a math genius. Or just because of that."
"Then what do you mean?" Peter was getting a little annoyed at all this cryptic back and forth.
"I'm a pro."
"A pro?"
"A professional poker player. That's what I do on the weekends. I'm either in Atlantic City or a private club in Manhattan – high stakes games. That's how I've paid my way through school."
"Oh." Then something occurred to him. "You're awfully young to be a professional poker player."
Neal chuckled. "Don't tell anyone, but I started playing when I was sixteen. Got myself a really good fake ID and the casinos don't care how old I am, as long as I don't cheat and I don't fleece the whales in every game."
"Whales?"
"The really big high rollers – the ones who spend a few hundred grand a weekend.
"So – you were going to win last night, no matter what."
"Pretty much."
"So, why are you giving this to me?" Peter picked up the money.
"It doesn't seem fair – you would have won if I hadn't been in the game."
"Oh." It didn't feel right, though. "But you were, and you played better than anyone." He tried to hand the money back to Neal. He refused to take it.
"It was a fun game, but it wouldn't be right. You're a good player – almost impossible to read."
"What do you mean?"
"Everyone has tells – little ticks that betray their emotions. David blinks three times whenever he has a good hand. Jack taps his index finger on the table when he's got nothing. The other guys all have some type of obvious twitch. I couldn't figure out yours until we went head to head."
Now Peter was curious. "So, what gives me away?"
"I shouldn't tell you."
"Come on, you can't not tell me."
"You swallow twice when you've got an ace in your hand."
"You can see me swallow?"
"Your mole – it moves a little."
Peter touched his throat self-consciously.
"If you were wearing a collared shirt or a turtleneck, I never would have figured it out."
"Oh." Peter flipped through the bills; there was three hundred bucks there. A lot to him, but probably just pocket change for Neal.
"So, if you’re a professional poker player, why are you working on a PhD in math?"
"Because I don't want to be a professional poker player for the rest of my life. Besides, I like the challenge of academics."
"I guess if you don't have to worry about money, it's a good career."
"Yeah. What about you? I know that Bingham was pissed that you turned down the assistanceship. He's been muttering about the goddamned B-school stealing his best students."
"Professor Bingham was really that pissed?"
Neal nodded. "You're going to the Business School?"
"I've applied, just waiting for an answer. My advisor for my Finance degree is pretty certain I'll get in. Then I'll get my MBA, make a fortune on Wall Street, and retire early."
"You've got your life mapped out already?"
"Yeah."
"Cool."
Neal sat there and gave him a speculative look. "Can I ask a question?"
"Sure."
"What's with you and David?"
"Me and David?"
"Yeah – there's definitely a vibe going on between you."
"What are you asking?"
Neal leaned back, hands up in a defensive posture. "Just saying – he seems to be inordinately interested in your sex life. Just wondering if you two had something going on."
Peter didn't answer – he couldn't tell what Neal was thinking.
"It's cool if you do." Neal grinned.
Peter thought that smile should be classified as a weapon. It disarmed him completely. "I'm not gay."
And just like that, the smile disappeared.
Peter grinned back. "I'm bi."
"Oh." Neal looked at him again. "Oh…"
"Yeah, oh."
They sat together and Peter waited for Neal to say something else. Or get up and leave.
"So, what about you and David? You're not having a thing?"
"It's complicated."
"He's in the closet?"
"No." Peter figured that he ought to tell Neal the truth. "Okay, it's not so complicated. He likes to watch."
"Seriously? He watches you have sex? You like that?"
"I don't mind, and it's only sex with guys that he likes to see. He's a perverted freak. He gets plenty of action on his own – and only with girls. When he watches, he's just watching. He never participates."
Neal laughed and shook his head. "Takes all kinds."
"So, what about you? I don't get the gay vibe off you."
"I'm like you – I swing both ways. Mostly prefer guys, but girls are good, too." Neal dropped his hand on Peter's knee.
Which Peter promptly removed.
"Why? I really got the feeling you were interested. You couldn't take your eyes off me when I dropped the towel last Monday."
"That was deliberate?"
"You're that dim?" Neal put his hand back on his knee.
"I guess I wasn't expecting it." And Peter moved the hand again. "I don't think hooking up with you is a good idea."
"Why not?"
"We have to live together."
"So what? That makes it really convenient."
"And really awkward the morning after. I don't do regular relationships."
"What do you mean regular relationships?"
Peter explained, "Guys are generally a one-time only thing."
"I get the feeling that girls are, too. David pretty much said you're the 'wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am' type."
Peter shrugged. "I've had a few relationships with women, but it's different with guys. Never stay the night, no breakfast the next morning. I'm not interested in anything more than casual screwing."
"Well, I'm not looking for hearts and flowers or a relationship – nothing exclusive or anything like that. Just saying that having a fuck-buddy in the bedroom next door wouldn't be a bad thing." The hand was back and it was moving north of his knee.
Neal was smiling, his hand was sneaking under the board shorts he was wearing, and Peter found him almost impossible to resist. He licked his lips.
"Do that again."
"What?"
"That thing with your tongue."
Peter repeated the gesture.
"I bet you're a fantastic kisser."
"I don't kiss."
Neal looked like he'd been slapped. "You don't kiss?"
"I've never kissed a guy. And kissing a girl? All that makeup? It's like licking a candle." Peter made a face.
"Well, I promise you, I don't wear makeup."
"You want me to kiss you?"
"Yeah." Neal sounded enraptured by the idea. "Or I could kiss you. Kissing is …" Neal licked his lips. "Kissing someone for the first time is like turning the corner and walking into paradise. Like finding something unexpected and realizing that it's exactly what you needed in your life."
Peter blinked. He hadn't expected this poetry from Neal.
And Neal must have realized that. He gave him a chagrined look and shrugged. "Sorry – I like kissing and I can't imagine someone not. It's like someone not liking chocolate."
Peter blinked again.
"And if you tell me you don't like chocolate, I'm going to get up and walk out of here. Because there's something seriously wrong with someone who doesn't like chocolate."
"I like chocolate."
"You'll like kissing, too."
"And you'll be the one to prove it to me?"
Neal didn't answer, but he put his words into action. Peter's accounting textbook and his Walkman were carefully deposited on the floor and suddenly Neal was perched over him. "I bet you're a top."
Peter nodded. He'd bottomed a few times back in high school, but that wasn't his scene. "I really enjoy being in control."
Neal looked down at him, eyes dancing with humor and understanding. "I'm sure you do. But for the moment, just relax. I'll let you run the scene in a little bit."
"Okay." He wasn't sure why he was agreeing to this. Neal Caffrey should be off limits for so many reasons.
Peter didn't close his eyes as Neal's face got closer and closer. The scent of the man – his perspiration, the lingering tang from his shaving cream, the soap he used, was intoxicating and he wanted to drink it in. Neal was so close now that Peter could feel the heat of his skin on his face and the universe seemed to begin and end with those blue eyes. He was dizzy, at least until Neal's lips touched his – just a gentle brush of firm flesh against his mouth.
Peter breathed in and he could taste Neal, and somewhere in the back of his brain, he knew he was forever going to associate the flavors of toothpaste and coffee with kissing. Neal's tongue snuck between his lips, first shy and tentative, then sly and wicked.
Then demanding.
Peter realized that Neal wasn't holding him down and there was no reason to remain passive. He reached up and cupped Neal's face between his hands, holding him in place while he answered Neal's insistent tongue with his own.
Yeah, he could really get into kissing.
Neal chuckled and Peter swallowed his exhalation before breaking the kiss. "What's so funny?"
"For someone who doesn't kiss, you're pretty damn good at it."
Peter felt himself smiling. "I've always been a fast learner."
Neal started kissing him again and Peter felt his arousal grow like a tidal wave. It wasn't just his cock – which felt hard enough to break stone – but his whole body. Everywhere they were connected felt like fire and he desperately needed to get out of his clothes. To get Neal out of his clothes.
It didn't take much effort to flip Neal over onto his back and take the dominant position.
"Well, that didn't take long." Neal grinned.
"You don't mind?"
"Nah, I figured that I'd end up like this once we got started."
Peter snorted. "Yeah, well…" He pulled his tee shirt off and commanded, "Get naked."
"And you're bossy, too."
"You like that, don't you."
Neal lifted his hips. "I think that's pretty evident."
Peter rocked back against Neal, appreciating the massive evidence of the other man's desire. "Damn."
"Damn?"
"Just an expression of appreciation. And if you're not going to get your shirt off, I may just tear it off you."
"Oooh, you're going all caveman on me." Neal teased him, just lifting the edge of his shirt high enough to expose his belly button.
"Caffrey…" Peter sat back on his haunches, not caring that his cock was making a rather obscenely wet tent out of his shorts. Actually, he was rather proud of it. And even more delighted when Neal reached for it.
"God, you're hung like a horse."
Peter laughed, he couldn't help it. "And you like that?"
"Mmm, yeah. But it kind of terrifies me."
"Don't worry – I'll go slow."
"I like being terrified." Neal finally stopped teasing him and pulled off his shirt.
Peter took a deep breath, just to get control of himself. Some guys preferred big pecs, big arms and salivated over muscle magazines, but he wasn't that type. He liked his guys to look like guys, but no over-developed caricatures of masculinity. Michelangelo's David rather than Tom of Finland's leather dudes.
And Neal Caffrey was his ideal. Smooth and strong and definitely a guy. Peter found himself quelling the urge to bite down on the perfect round apple of his shoulder, to mark him in the most primitive way possible.
Instead, he leaned over and kissed Neal. Nothing gentle or tender or slow. He kissed Neal because he needed to, and Neal kissed him back with the same ravenous hunger.
As he feasted on Neal's mouth, Peter thought, How could I not like kissing?
Neal's hands found their way under his shorts and without breaking their connection, Peter managed to wriggle out of them. In retrospect, it was a miracle that he didn't strangle his dick. Neal's jeans took a little more effort and they were laughing and panting before they finally managed to get him naked.
"Condoms? You got condoms?" They were lying next to each other and Neal was stroking his cock. "I want this monster in me."
Peter rolled away and growled. "That's going to be a problem. I forgot to get condoms."
Neal leaned over him. "You don't even have an extra in your wallet?"
"Nope, used that one, too. What about you? You carrying?"
Neal shook his head in frustration. "Got lucky last weekend, forgot to replace it. Don't have any in my room, damn it."
A voice interrupted them. "But I've got a brand new box, and I'm willing to share."
Peter looked up and saw David leaning against the door frame with his hand down his pants. "If we let you watch, right?"
Neal groaned. "You weren't kidding." He turned and buried his face against Peter's chest.
"Nope." Peter curled around Neal, feeling oddly protective. "David, get out."
"Really?" David stroked himself. "Come on, my –"
"If you say that your name's on the lease, I'm going to punch you."
David let out a deep sigh and gave him a wry smile. "Okay, okay. But you'll either have to go bare, or do something other than fucking. You don't share, I don't share."
Peter got out of bed and without the slightest shred of embarrassment, closed the door in David's face and locked it.
But of course, David had to have the last word. Through the closed door, he said, "I've got Trojans, extra-large. Just saying."
Peter looked at Neal with a question in his eyes.
Neal shook his head and Peter didn't bother responding. He just climbed back onto the bed and over Neal. "There's plenty we can do without condoms."
"It's going to get messy."
"That's what the washing machine is for."
Neal laughed; the sound like a bright silver bell. "True enough."
Peter wrapped his arms around Neal, relishing the heat, the mass, the complete nakedness of the other man. He usually didn't get this amount of skin when he was with another guy. In fact, it had been a long time since he'd been totally naked with a man. So long that he couldn't remember.
The animal-like urgency that he'd felt before had morphed into something richer, slower. He wanted to explore Neal, to take his time. And Neal didn't seem to mind. They kissed, lips and tongue meeting and retreating in luscious slow motion, like something out of a lesbian porno. But better.
Neal's hands, so hot and so insistent, were everywhere. On his hips, pinching his nipples, squeezing his ass, and one daring finger toying with his hole.
Peter reciprocated and his middle finger breached that hot, tight space. Neal growled into his mouth and started bucking against him, his cock burning hot against Peter's thigh.
"That's it, come on, baby, come on." Peter crooned, encouraging Neal to ride him.
"Fuck me, Peter. Fuck me."
"Can't – not yet." But he did push his finger a little deeper. "You're so tight. Bet you're gonna need a lot of lube when I fuck you with my cock."
"You're gonna tear me apart."
"But you want that, don't you?"
"Yeah, oh yeah. You're so huge." Neal's voice was breathy, whiney.
Peter wondered if that was his only appeal to Neal, but then discarded the idea. Neal had started coming onto him before his "assets" were evident. Hell, Neal had dropped his towel last weekend without even being sure that he liked guys.
"Come on, come for me, come for me." His hands clamped hard on Neal's ass, Peter jerked his hips, forcing Neal to ride his thigh. "Wanna see you come."
Neal grasped his cock and worked it, his fist pumping. He flung his head back, his mouth wide open, gasping as semen erupted out of it in long ropey strings. Most of it hit Peter's chest, but some splashed on his chin and just a bit landed on his lips.
It didn't take much effort to flip Neal over; he was almost boneless from his orgasm. But instead of using his fist, he maneuvered Neal so that his cock rode between his sweaty ass cheeks, the head poking hard against the tight hole, but never breaching it. He worked himself slowly against Neal, holding his butt tight, making it like a glove against his cock.
Neal stared at him, licking his lips, panting and gasping and Peter felt like a god as he came and came and came. It seemed like his orgasm was never going to end.
But it did and he collapsed against Neal, the pair of them coated in come and grinning like idiots.
Neal raised himself upon an elbow and peered at Peter. "So, was I right or was I right about kissing?"
"Far be it from me to contradict a genius."
Neal kissed him one last time, licking that little bit of come that had dried on Peter's lips. "Since you've so graciously acceded to my greater wisdom, you can have the shower first."
Peter spoke without considering his words. "How about sharing it with me?"
GO TO PART TWO – B
Author:
elrhiarhodanArtist:
treonb / Art PostFandom: White Collar
Rating: R (Chapter Two - NC-17)
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, David Siegel, Diana Berrigan, Theodore "Mozzie" Winters, Theo Berrigan, Sara Ellis, Clinton Jones, Matthew Keller; Peter/Elizabeth (Past), Peter/Neal (Past), Neal/Keller (Past), Peter/Neal
Word Count: ~60,000 Total
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Major Character Illness
Beta Credit:
pooh_collector, sinfulslasher Summary: In this alternate universe, the story opens as Peter and Elizabeth's marriage ends. Peter tries to move into a new life, but finds himself haunted by his past - a relationship with Neal Caffrey when they were both students at Harvard - and a future that might come to an end far too soon.
Author’s Note: Many, many thanks to my alpha readers
theatregirl7299 and miri_thompson, who provided an endless bounty of encouragement. Even more thanks to my wonderful and talented artist,
treonb, who created the beautiful and evocative promo video. Title from the Annie Lennox Song "Oh God (Prayer)", which TreonB used in the vid.
Note for Part Two – Because of LJ's entry size limitations, Part Two is in two parts. The link at the end of this entry will take you to the conclusion of this chapter.
Cambridge, Massachusetts. August, 1987
"Still can't believe that Fowler bailed on us." Peter picked up the lease for the house they were renting and then tossed it back on the table. "What the hell are we going to do? It's too late to get on-campus housing for the semester, and it's less than a week until we move in."
"Don't worry. Something will turn up." David Siegel was far too relaxed about everything, which irritated the hell out of Peter. "Besides, I've got enough money to cover Fowler's part of the first and last month's rent."
"At least the shithead didn't insist on us returning his share of the deposit."
"As if we would. Who'd a thunk that ass would get into LSE?"
Peter rolled his eyes at David's comment. Garrett Fowler might be a shit for bailing out on their housing agreement so close to move in, and he certainly was not one of the most impressive specimens on campus, but he was still pretty damn smart. Smart enough to carry a perfect GPA at Harvard and get into the London School of Economics for his senior year.
"We still need to find a third housemate."
"You really think that's going to be difficult?"
"I don't want just anyone moving in."
David sniffed. "You're too particular."
"Unlike you, I don't have a family legacy to fall back on. And my shot at the Business School is still dependent on keeping up my GPA. Don't want someone who's just looking to party."
"I know your rules. No smokers, no burners, no one who's looking to have the least bit of fun."
Peter glared at David. "If I'm such a bore, why are you taking a house with me?"
"Because you're a fucking chick and dick magnet, that's why. And you put up with my perversities."
"Will you lower your voice?" Peter looked around the coffee shop.
"Why – it's no big deal. So you swing both ways. Like I've always said, that doubles your chance of scoring. And that doubles my chances of some viewing pleasure."
Peter sighed at the familiar refrain. He knew he was fortunate in his friendship with David. They'd been an unlikely pairing since freshman year put them together as roommates. David was Jewish and the privileged only son of a Chicago industrialist, while Peter was a lapsed Catholic with a bum arm that killed his professional baseball career just as it started and the first in his family to attend college. David liked to party, while Peter was keen on keeping his nose to the grindstone.
Except on Saturday nights, when they'd head into Boston and hit the college-friendly bars. At first David had tried to make Peter his wingman, and had been generous to share the girls he'd attracted. But it soon became clear that Peter didn't need David's help or his leftovers. Girls seemed to find him irresistible. There was rarely a Sunday morning that he didn't show up still dressed in Saturday night's clothes and reeking of sex and cheap perfume.
Except for the time that he thought David was out of town for some family thing and was getting paid for his calculus tutoring with a blowjob from some cute surfer dude who needed help with his Leibniz notation.
David had gotten an eyeful, but he hadn't blinked. He'd just dropped his bags, leaned against the doorframe and watched. When the other guy left, David said that his flight had been cancelled and suggested that the next time, Peter tie a sock on the doorknob – the tried and true method of letting his roommate know not to enter.
The conversation they'd had after Peter zipped up his pants was bizarre. Before David could say anything, he had offered, "I'll move out if you want."
"Why?"
"Because – you know."
"Because you're gay? But you're not really gay, because you get more pussy than the local cat sanctuary. You're bi, right?"
Peter had shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Curious, mostly."
David smirked at him. "Looked like a hell of a lot more than just curiosity."
Peter had realized something. "You like to watch?"
"Yeah. No interest in getting dick myself, but yeah, watching's cool."
"I'm not interested in giving you a show."
"Too bad. If you change your mind, let me know."
"You're a bit of a freak, you know that?"
"Yup, that I am." David laughed. "Since I was thirteen, when I caught my oldest sister doing it doggy style with the gardener while the chauffeur was giving it to him up the ass. What a bar mitzvah present that was!"
Occasionally, if just to reward his roommate's open mind, he let him watch him fuck guys, as long as the guys he was with didn't object. It was kind of creepy screwing with David in the room, not participating but just rubbing his dick through his pants. But David enjoyed it and never passed judgment. Peter figured he couldn't ask for more than that. And after three years, he got used to it.
David brought him back to the present. "Why don't you post something in the math department? You're pretty tight with the profs, right? And didn't you bounce a couple of the secretaries on your ahem – pogo stick – at a party last semester?"
Peter glared at David. "Seriously, someone needs to take a bar of soap to your mouth."
David was unfazed. "And here I was, trying for a little discretion." David picked up the lease agreement and stuffed it in his back pocket. "Take my advice – use your legendary wit and charm and get permission to post a flyer. There's always some grad student transferring in that'll need housing." He dropped a few bucks on the table to pay for their coffees. "I'm off – places to go, people to see."
Peter nodded, already thinking about how to ask Shelley – the department secretary – if he could put up a flyer for a few weeks. David wasn't mistaken; he'd done both Shelley and her assistant, Robyn, in the supply closet during the end-of-semester gathering last May. He'd also spent the last three months trying not to make eye contact with either lady.
But it turned out that asking Shelley for permission was unnecessary. The university grapevine was highly efficient and the department head buttonholed him as soon as he walked in the office. It seemed that some hot-shot math genius was transferring in from Princeton and would need housing for at least the fall semester. The sudden vacancy in Peter's housing situation was perfect.
Peter made arrangements for an interview with the guy, not wanting to let the professor think he was a pushover, but in his head, it was a done deal. As long as he didn't smoke or have terrible personal hygiene, Peter would take him on as a housemate. How noisy could a guy majoring in math be?
Two days later, he and David were at their usual coffee shop near the campus – the one on Kennedy, right across from the T stop – and waiting for the potential housemate to show up. Peter had a name – Neal G. Caffrey – and a copy of the guy's transcript from Princeton, which he really didn't think he should have been given. What was more interesting than the grades was the guy's age – the same as Peter's, but he wasn't a senior. He'd already gotten his Bachelor's and his Master's, and was working on a PhD in statistics and market theory, which meant he really was something of a genius.
It was about ten minutes after the time for the interview and Peter was getting annoyed.
"Relax, man." David's attempts to calm him down only succeeded in making him more agitated.
"If he can't show up for a simple interview on time, how can we expect him to pay the rent when it's due?"
"Jeez – what crawled up your butt and died? It's summertime, the guy probably just arrived in Boston and got lost. Or maybe there was a breakdown on the T. Or he got tied up in a meeting. You're being an ass."
Peter knew that David was right. He had a thing about punctuality and sometimes he went a bit overboard.
"I'd say you need to get laid, but since I watched you in an epic double-header with the Carlton twins last night, I know that's not the problem."
Peter rolled his eyes. He had gotten laid last night, rather spectacularly. Which reminded him, he needed to stop at the CVS and get another box of condoms.
"So, chill out. All this worrying isn't good for your blood pressure."
"Now you sound like my mother."
"God forbid!"
The coffee shop door opened, flooding the place with bright August sunshine and too much Boston humidity. Peter blinked as his eyes adjusted – there was a guy standing at the door. From his silhouette, he looked young enough. Maybe this was their prospective housemate?
The silhouette approached their table and Peter blinked again. The guy was … perfection. Tall, slim, a brunet, and if he wasn't mistaken, those were blue eyes behind the black-rimmed glasses. Just his type. Which David clearly realized, because he kicked him under the table.
"Peter Burke? David Siegel?"
David answered, because Peter's tongue had gone AWOL. "Yep. You're Neal G. Caffrey?"
"Just Neal Caffrey. No need for the middle initial." He sat down across from them. "Who's who?"
David introduced himself and then added, "This moron next to me is Peter Burke. He had too much sex last night and squirted what was left of his brains into a condom, in case you want to know why he can't say hello."
Peter wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. Instead, he shoved at David and held out his hand. "Ignore this foul-mouthed ass. He's pre-law and can't help being a jerk."
Neal took it and gave him a speculative look. "But is he a liar?"
"Huh?"
"Did you really have too much sex last night? Because I thought that advanced lying was a prerequisite for pre-law."
David choked on his coffee and Peter grinned. "Is it possible to have too much sex?"
Neal smiled back. "I've been trying to find that out, but haven't found an upper limit yet."
Before Peter could say another word, David dropped the lease on the table. "I like you and I'm pretty sure that Sex-Brain here likes you too, so let's consider this a done deal. Your share of the rent is three hundred a month, utilities included. First and last paid up front. You'll get your own bedroom, but you'll have to share a bathroom with Sex-Brain. Since my name's on the lease, I get my own bathroom. House rules are simple – no smoking inside, no loud music or partying unless we both say it's okay. And that's likely not going to happen, since Sex-Brain is actually a serious student. Generally speaking, you make a mess, you clean it up. And you have a choice – either contribute fifteen bucks a month towards a cleaning service, or you'll clean the kitchen and living room, floor to ceiling, once a month."
"Cleaning service?" Neal blinked. "What student has a cleaning service?"
Peter answered, "This one does. He was born with a silver button in his mouth."
"Button?"
"Yeah – his family fortune came from making elevator number buttons."
"Well, I guess someone has to make those things."
David chimed in, "That's what my great-grandfather said."
Neal pulled out his wallet and Peter's jaw dropped as he pulled out a half-dozen Franklins. "This should cover the first and last month's rent. What about a damage or security deposit? Do you need my share for that?"
Peter's brain was occupied with the fact that their new housemate dropped six hundred bucks on the table like he was paying for coffee and the newspaper, so David answered. "Nope, we're good. The guy who bailed on us didn't ask for his share of the security deposit back." David pointed to the lease. "This is the agreement between the three of us, just put your John Hancock on the bottom of the page and you're set."
Neal's lips twitched as he took the document and pulled out a pen. He didn't turn the paper around, but signed it with a flourish. "There, big enough so King George can read it."
Peter grabbed the paper and shouted with laughter. Scrawled across the top of the page was the name "John Hancock", complete with the legendary flourish. To Peter's mind, it looked exactly like the signature on the actual Declaration of Independence.
"How the hell did you do that?"
"Well, your hand is programmed over years to write letters a certain way. You try to mimic someone else's and your own style will always creep in. But, turn the signature upside down and it becomes nothing more than a drawing. All you have to do is copy the lines. Your preconceptions about letters go away and you have a perfect signature."
Peter blinked. "That's kind of dangerous."
Neal nodded, "Which is why I pay cash for everything. No checks, ever."
"Hate to interrupt you boys, but I still need Caffrey's signature on this. His real signature."
"Okay, okay." Neal took the paper back, turned it the right way around and signed on the bottom, just under his signature and David's. "Satisfied?"
"Yup."
"When can I move in?"
"We're getting the keys first thing Monday morning. If you're at the house by nine, you can move in with us."
"Sounds perfect, I've got a few things to take care of this weekend." Neal slid out of the booth. "See you Monday morning."
Neal slotted himself into their household with the ease of a well-oiled cog. He was tidy, quiet, paid his share of the rent on time, always left money for the cleaning woman that David insisted on, never ate Peter's food, and disappeared every single weekend.
The last disturbed Peter and he didn't want to think about why. Yeah, Neal Caffrey was gorgeous in a way that really pushed his buttons, but Peter wasn't going to crap where he slept. Screwing Caffrey and living with him was a recipe for disaster. And from the few times they'd chatted, he certainly hadn't gotten any vibes that the man was interested in dick.
So he told himself that he was just curious where the man disappeared to every Friday night. He knew Caffrey was going out of town, he'd seen him head towards the T stop with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder and get back to the house sometime early Monday morning, usually just as Peter was coming out of the shower or stumbling into the kitchen for his first cup of coffee.
And Peter kind of resented the man. Wherever he went, however he travelled, it was clearly in style. Seven-thirty in the morning and he was perfectly groomed, wearing – of all things – a suit and tie with matching pocket square and braces.
This particular Monday morning was no different, and Peter was more annoyed than usual. Caffrey was already in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a cup of coffee, doing the crossword puzzle. In pen.
Peter grunted, "Hey, that's my paper. That's my puzzle."
"It is?"
"Yeah. I paid for the subscription. You can read the paper but next time you do the puzzle, I'll …" Damn, he was too stupid with sleep to think of a suitable threat.
"No need to threaten. I won't encroach on the puzzle again. Besides, it's not much of a challenge. Prefer the puzzles in the Times, myself."
"Really?" Peter glared at Caffrey. "Eugene Maleska's been repeating his clues for the last decade. I can do the New York Times Monday puzzle in about five minutes and even the Sunday ones are barely a challenge."
"I meant the London Times – the cryptic crosswords. Those are a real challenge."
"Oh." Now Peter felt really stupid.
Caffrey made a show out of returning the paper to its original state. "Sorry about the puzzle – won't happen again." He got up and to Peter's amazement, actually yawned. "Shit, I'm tired. Mind if I take the shower first?"
"No, go ahead. And don't worry about the puzzle."
"Okay."
"Mind if I have some of your coffee?" Peter gestured to the half-full pot.
"Not at all." Neal hefted his duffle bag and disappeared into his bedroom. Peter buried himself in the day's news and the very excellent coffee that Neal managed to brew from the ancient drip pot that came with the house. A few minutes later, Peter heard the sound of the shower running and tried not to imagine what Caffrey looked like. Was he furry or smooth and more importantly, was he natural or cut. Peter tended to prefer smooth over hairy, and more importantly, cut over natural, after a very bad experience with smegma back in high school.
The shower noise stopped and the pipes squealed – one of the less than lovely aspects of living in an old house. Peter finished his coffee, refolded the paper and washed out his cup. Time to start the day. His first class wasn't until ten, but he wanted to take a run along the river. He and David usually ran together in the mornings, but David was back in Chicago until Wednesday. It was Rosh Hashanah, and that meant a command performance with the whole Siegel clan in attendance.
He headed back to his bedroom and crashed into Neal, who was wearing nothing but a towel around his hips.
"Oof." He found himself with an armful of damp, naked man. As he steadied himself, he looked down and almost drowned in a pair of blue eyes. This was the first time he'd encountered Caffrey without his glasses and he absently thought that he'd never seen such long eyelashes on anyone – girl or guy. He forced himself to let go and step back.
Neal apologized. "Sorry – I'm kind of blind as a bat without my glasses."
Peter nodded. Not only was his question about Neal's body hair answered – he didn't have a single strand of body hair between his neck and his navel – but his other question was answered, too. Neal was cut. And he was big. Not freakishly so, but enough to make Peter's mouth water.
"I, um, ah – am I going out for a run?"
Neal picked up his towel and didn't bother to put it back on. "What? Don't you know if you're going for a run?"
"Yeah – I am. Sorry. Brain's still not engaged." He brushed passed Neal and tried not to feel the warmth of the other man's skin. Back in his bedroom, he got out of the sweatpants and tee shirt he slept in and pulled on running shorts and sneakers. He found his Walkman, shoved a cassette into it, draped the headphones around his neck and headed out.
Thankfully, he didn't bump into Neal again and jogged down towards the Charles. He ran for almost an hour to the sound of the Rolling Stones, and the exercise cleared his head. By the time he was back at the house on Sidney Street, he'd pretty much conquered his inappropriate attraction.
The rest of the week went quickly. David returned and soon it was Friday again. To Peter's surprise, Neal was sitting at the kitchen table on Saturday morning, looking like an ordinary person, not someone who'd just stepped out of the pages of GQ.
"What are you doing here?" The words popped out of his mouth.
"Good morning to you, too." Neal lifted his coffee mug and stared at him over the rim.
"You're never here on the weekends."
"Well, this weekend, I am. Is that going to be a problem?"
"No. Of course not. I was just kind of shocked." He poured a cup of coffee and felt like an ass.
"So I guess no wild parties?"
David walked in. "Hey, Neal. And no, no wild parties. Although I might have a poker game here tonight if Peter can yank the stick out of his ass for a couple of hours."
Peter glared at his friend. "Why do you need to have the game here?"
"Because one of Jack's housemate's got some weird flu that I don't want to catch. And because my name's on the lease."
Peter felt his temper snap. "Will you shut the fuck up about that? Yeah – your name's on the lease, but that doesn't mean you get to lord it over everyone all the time. We pay rent, too. And if you want to have your fucking poker game here, I don't give a damn. But it would be nice to be invited once in a while."
David blinked. "I didn't know you wanted to play. Last time I asked, you said no."
"That was freshman year and I was dead broke. Couldn't afford the buy-in. You never asked again."
"Oh, okay. Sorry. You're more than welcome to join in. Neal? If you're going to be around, do you want to play, too?"
"I don't think that's a good idea."
Peter asked, "Why not?"
"I – I just don't."
"You don't know how to play poker?" David seemed kind of appalled.
"Oh, I know the game. Believe me, just – well, you know I'm working on my PhD in statistics and probability theory."
"Ah, right. So you think that makes you a bit of a ringer?"
"Wouldn't you?"
David seemed unbothered by it. "Nah, it's a friendly game – the buy-in's fifty bucks. If you can get yourself a little extra cash at the expense of my friends, I don't care. Peter – you cool with this?"
There was something else going on with Caffrey, but Peter wasn't quite sure what it was. "Sure. Sounds good to me. If we're having the game here tonight, I'm going to head over to the library and finish my accounting homework now."
David shook his head. "Someday, someone is going to yank that stick out of your ass. These are supposed to be the best years of your life. All you do is study. "
Peter stared at David, completely forgetting that Neal was sitting there. "Come on, you know that that's not all I do."
"That's right. You have sex. Lots of sex. Are you going to have sex in the library?"
"No, I'm going to finish my accounting homework, and get a start on my senior thesis. Besides, sex in the library is not really as much fun as you think it is."
"Damn, you have had sex in the library. How did you manage not to get arrested – you are something of a noisy fuck, you know."
The sound of Neal gagging on his coffee reminded Peter that there was someone else in the room. "Sorry – David's got a mouth like a sewer."
"S'okay." Neal wiped his face. "And for the record, if you've brought any girls back here, I've never heard anything."
David kept digging a hole for him. "Peter doesn't bring girls back here. He's more the love 'em and leave 'em kind of guy when it comes to the ladies."
"So how do you know he's a noisy fuck?"
Peter felt the deep burn of embarrassment cover his face, but David just smirked and said, "Ah, grasshopper, that would be telling."
Neal gave him a speculative look and didn't say a word. David took off, muttering something about getting beer and eats for the game and Peter grabbed his books and headed off to the library.
The afternoon had been somewhat productive. He finished his accounting homework, which was boring, but essential. However, he couldn't wrap his brain around a topic for his senior thesis. He had decided to double major in math and finance, because he wanted to have a job when he graduated. Peter knew that he'd never be good enough to make a real career out of math and he didn't have the temperament for academics. But the double major pretty much guaranteed him a slot at the Harvard Business School, which meant he'd be able to write his own ticket when he was done.
Nothing was ever going to equal playing professional baseball, but at least he'd have a shot at the good life. He had plans.
David might joke that he had a stick up his ass and that he never had any fun and that he was wasting the best years of his life studying. But they both knew that wasn't true. Peter had plenty of fun – and yes, sex was fun. He figured that this was a time when he could be curious without worrying too much about what other people thought. He could have all the ass he wanted, all the pussy too, and it wouldn't matter. Once he was out of school, though – everything would have to change. No big Wall Street firm would hire a guy who was gay, or even bisexual. And that was okay. He was good at compartmentalizing things and pretty self-disciplined. If he couldn't have dick, he wouldn't have it. Once out of school, he'd get on with his life, find a wife, settle down, have a few kids, a dog, a house in the suburbs. He'd look back on these years with fondness, but he wouldn't long for something he couldn't, shouldn't have.
Peter lingered in his carrel, tossing around ideas for his future, when a movement caught his eye. It was Chad, or Brad, or someone from one of his classes last year. The guy was cute and he'd given him the eye all semester. This time, Peter gave him the eye back and the guy came closer.
"Didn't know you worked up here – it's pretty dead on this floor."
"That's why I like it, no one's around." Peter leaned back, and spread his thighs.
What's-his-name licked his lips. "No one?"
"I've been using this carrel for two years and I've never been bothered – by a librarian, that is."
"There's always a first time."
Peter couldn't help but notice the bulge developing behind the guy's fly. "Does that turn you on?"
He nodded.
"Do you swallow?"
He nodded again.
"Then get over here and get on your knees and suck my dick."
The guy did just that. And he was talented. Peter let him do all the work, deep throating him for minutes on end. While David might have teased him about being a noisy fuck, Peter was also pretty good at silent orgasms, too. He held the cocksucker's face to his groin as he pumped his come down his throat, all without saying a word.
The whole encounter lasted about ten minutes, which wasn't bad. The guy even tucked him back into his jeans before getting up.
"You good?"
The man nodded, licked his lips and pulled out a tin of breath mints. "Want one?"
Peter chuckled and declined the offer. "You're supposed to use them before or during, not after."
The guy sniffed. "I think I did just fine without them."
"Yeah, you did."
The guy hefted his package. "Don't suppose you're going to offer to reciprocate."
Peter shook his head. "Maybe some other time."
"I've heard you were a bit of a selfish prick."
"I guess you heard right." Peter knew his reputation. He really didn't care.
The guy sniffed again and gave him the stink eye before disappearing back into the stacks.
In the distance, Peter heard a carillon chime and cursed. It was six o'clock and he just remembered that he'd needed to stop at the drugstore and get condoms, but it was closed and he didn't feel like heading to the big CVS on Brattle. Besides, he needed to get back to the house. David was probably going to fuss about the game and he should give him a hand getting it set up. He probably should also take a shower and wash the smell of sex off himself.
Peter grimaced and tossed his headphones aside as the batteries on his Walkman died and the music came to a halt. Not that he needed the music to block out noise – like he had at the dorms. On the contrary, the house was too quiet and the music helped him concentrate.
The textbook joined the headphones on the bed and Peter leaned back. He was in no mood to study. He was in the mood for something else. But it was Sunday and the bars were closed. It was also too late to head over to the library and hope that what's-his-face might be hanging around, still. Not that he was looking to reciprocate, but if he had to, he would. Or maybe he'd head over to campus, there had to be some girls around. Except he was out of condoms.
Well, that really wasn't a problem. He could just take care of himself.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts and intentions. Peter sat up, double-checked that he wasn't revealing anything he should and called out, "Come in, Neal."
Neal came in and asked, "How did you know it was me?"
"I saw David leave an hour ago and he hasn't come back yet." Peter gestured to the window, which overlooked the front of the house."
"Ah, and that's why you've got a four year scholarship to Harvard."
"Among other reasons." Peter smiled. After the game last night he felt a lot more comfortable around Neal. Which was strange, because Neal wiped him out. It was a winner take all game and Neal wiped everyone out. "What's up?"
"Just wanted to give this to you." Neal held out a folded wad of bills.
"Huh?"
"The pot from last night." Neal dropped the money on the bed and sat down next to him. "You should have won."
"As I recall, you beat me on that last hand, fair and square."
Neal made a face.
"Did you cheat?"
"No, not really."
"What do you mean, not really?"
"Remember the conversation we had when David asked me to play?"
"Yeah – you said you shouldn’t. You thought you'd have an unfair advantage because of your incredible math skills."
Neal winced. "Yeah, well. That's not really the whole truth."
"Oh?"
"I didn't win because I'm a math genius. Or just because of that."
"Then what do you mean?" Peter was getting a little annoyed at all this cryptic back and forth.
"I'm a pro."
"A pro?"
"A professional poker player. That's what I do on the weekends. I'm either in Atlantic City or a private club in Manhattan – high stakes games. That's how I've paid my way through school."
"Oh." Then something occurred to him. "You're awfully young to be a professional poker player."
Neal chuckled. "Don't tell anyone, but I started playing when I was sixteen. Got myself a really good fake ID and the casinos don't care how old I am, as long as I don't cheat and I don't fleece the whales in every game."
"Whales?"
"The really big high rollers – the ones who spend a few hundred grand a weekend.
"So – you were going to win last night, no matter what."
"Pretty much."
"So, why are you giving this to me?" Peter picked up the money.
"It doesn't seem fair – you would have won if I hadn't been in the game."
"Oh." It didn't feel right, though. "But you were, and you played better than anyone." He tried to hand the money back to Neal. He refused to take it.
"It was a fun game, but it wouldn't be right. You're a good player – almost impossible to read."
"What do you mean?"
"Everyone has tells – little ticks that betray their emotions. David blinks three times whenever he has a good hand. Jack taps his index finger on the table when he's got nothing. The other guys all have some type of obvious twitch. I couldn't figure out yours until we went head to head."
Now Peter was curious. "So, what gives me away?"
"I shouldn't tell you."
"Come on, you can't not tell me."
"You swallow twice when you've got an ace in your hand."
"You can see me swallow?"
"Your mole – it moves a little."
Peter touched his throat self-consciously.
"If you were wearing a collared shirt or a turtleneck, I never would have figured it out."
"Oh." Peter flipped through the bills; there was three hundred bucks there. A lot to him, but probably just pocket change for Neal.
"So, if you’re a professional poker player, why are you working on a PhD in math?"
"Because I don't want to be a professional poker player for the rest of my life. Besides, I like the challenge of academics."
"I guess if you don't have to worry about money, it's a good career."
"Yeah. What about you? I know that Bingham was pissed that you turned down the assistanceship. He's been muttering about the goddamned B-school stealing his best students."
"Professor Bingham was really that pissed?"
Neal nodded. "You're going to the Business School?"
"I've applied, just waiting for an answer. My advisor for my Finance degree is pretty certain I'll get in. Then I'll get my MBA, make a fortune on Wall Street, and retire early."
"You've got your life mapped out already?"
"Yeah."
"Cool."
Neal sat there and gave him a speculative look. "Can I ask a question?"
"Sure."
"What's with you and David?"
"Me and David?"
"Yeah – there's definitely a vibe going on between you."
"What are you asking?"
Neal leaned back, hands up in a defensive posture. "Just saying – he seems to be inordinately interested in your sex life. Just wondering if you two had something going on."
Peter didn't answer – he couldn't tell what Neal was thinking.
"It's cool if you do." Neal grinned.
Peter thought that smile should be classified as a weapon. It disarmed him completely. "I'm not gay."
And just like that, the smile disappeared.
Peter grinned back. "I'm bi."
"Oh." Neal looked at him again. "Oh…"
"Yeah, oh."
They sat together and Peter waited for Neal to say something else. Or get up and leave.
"So, what about you and David? You're not having a thing?"
"It's complicated."
"He's in the closet?"
"No." Peter figured that he ought to tell Neal the truth. "Okay, it's not so complicated. He likes to watch."
"Seriously? He watches you have sex? You like that?"
"I don't mind, and it's only sex with guys that he likes to see. He's a perverted freak. He gets plenty of action on his own – and only with girls. When he watches, he's just watching. He never participates."
Neal laughed and shook his head. "Takes all kinds."
"So, what about you? I don't get the gay vibe off you."
"I'm like you – I swing both ways. Mostly prefer guys, but girls are good, too." Neal dropped his hand on Peter's knee.
Which Peter promptly removed.
"Why? I really got the feeling you were interested. You couldn't take your eyes off me when I dropped the towel last Monday."
"That was deliberate?"
"You're that dim?" Neal put his hand back on his knee.
"I guess I wasn't expecting it." And Peter moved the hand again. "I don't think hooking up with you is a good idea."
"Why not?"
"We have to live together."
"So what? That makes it really convenient."
"And really awkward the morning after. I don't do regular relationships."
"What do you mean regular relationships?"
Peter explained, "Guys are generally a one-time only thing."
"I get the feeling that girls are, too. David pretty much said you're the 'wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am' type."
Peter shrugged. "I've had a few relationships with women, but it's different with guys. Never stay the night, no breakfast the next morning. I'm not interested in anything more than casual screwing."
"Well, I'm not looking for hearts and flowers or a relationship – nothing exclusive or anything like that. Just saying that having a fuck-buddy in the bedroom next door wouldn't be a bad thing." The hand was back and it was moving north of his knee.
Neal was smiling, his hand was sneaking under the board shorts he was wearing, and Peter found him almost impossible to resist. He licked his lips.
"Do that again."
"What?"
"That thing with your tongue."
Peter repeated the gesture.
"I bet you're a fantastic kisser."
"I don't kiss."
Neal looked like he'd been slapped. "You don't kiss?"
"I've never kissed a guy. And kissing a girl? All that makeup? It's like licking a candle." Peter made a face.
"Well, I promise you, I don't wear makeup."
"You want me to kiss you?"
"Yeah." Neal sounded enraptured by the idea. "Or I could kiss you. Kissing is …" Neal licked his lips. "Kissing someone for the first time is like turning the corner and walking into paradise. Like finding something unexpected and realizing that it's exactly what you needed in your life."
Peter blinked. He hadn't expected this poetry from Neal.
And Neal must have realized that. He gave him a chagrined look and shrugged. "Sorry – I like kissing and I can't imagine someone not. It's like someone not liking chocolate."
Peter blinked again.
"And if you tell me you don't like chocolate, I'm going to get up and walk out of here. Because there's something seriously wrong with someone who doesn't like chocolate."
"I like chocolate."
"You'll like kissing, too."
"And you'll be the one to prove it to me?"
Neal didn't answer, but he put his words into action. Peter's accounting textbook and his Walkman were carefully deposited on the floor and suddenly Neal was perched over him. "I bet you're a top."
Peter nodded. He'd bottomed a few times back in high school, but that wasn't his scene. "I really enjoy being in control."
Neal looked down at him, eyes dancing with humor and understanding. "I'm sure you do. But for the moment, just relax. I'll let you run the scene in a little bit."
"Okay." He wasn't sure why he was agreeing to this. Neal Caffrey should be off limits for so many reasons.
Peter didn't close his eyes as Neal's face got closer and closer. The scent of the man – his perspiration, the lingering tang from his shaving cream, the soap he used, was intoxicating and he wanted to drink it in. Neal was so close now that Peter could feel the heat of his skin on his face and the universe seemed to begin and end with those blue eyes. He was dizzy, at least until Neal's lips touched his – just a gentle brush of firm flesh against his mouth.
Peter breathed in and he could taste Neal, and somewhere in the back of his brain, he knew he was forever going to associate the flavors of toothpaste and coffee with kissing. Neal's tongue snuck between his lips, first shy and tentative, then sly and wicked.
Then demanding.
Peter realized that Neal wasn't holding him down and there was no reason to remain passive. He reached up and cupped Neal's face between his hands, holding him in place while he answered Neal's insistent tongue with his own.
Yeah, he could really get into kissing.
Neal chuckled and Peter swallowed his exhalation before breaking the kiss. "What's so funny?"
"For someone who doesn't kiss, you're pretty damn good at it."
Peter felt himself smiling. "I've always been a fast learner."
Neal started kissing him again and Peter felt his arousal grow like a tidal wave. It wasn't just his cock – which felt hard enough to break stone – but his whole body. Everywhere they were connected felt like fire and he desperately needed to get out of his clothes. To get Neal out of his clothes.
It didn't take much effort to flip Neal over onto his back and take the dominant position.
"Well, that didn't take long." Neal grinned.
"You don't mind?"
"Nah, I figured that I'd end up like this once we got started."
Peter snorted. "Yeah, well…" He pulled his tee shirt off and commanded, "Get naked."
"And you're bossy, too."
"You like that, don't you."
Neal lifted his hips. "I think that's pretty evident."
Peter rocked back against Neal, appreciating the massive evidence of the other man's desire. "Damn."
"Damn?"
"Just an expression of appreciation. And if you're not going to get your shirt off, I may just tear it off you."
"Oooh, you're going all caveman on me." Neal teased him, just lifting the edge of his shirt high enough to expose his belly button.
"Caffrey…" Peter sat back on his haunches, not caring that his cock was making a rather obscenely wet tent out of his shorts. Actually, he was rather proud of it. And even more delighted when Neal reached for it.
"God, you're hung like a horse."
Peter laughed, he couldn't help it. "And you like that?"
"Mmm, yeah. But it kind of terrifies me."
"Don't worry – I'll go slow."
"I like being terrified." Neal finally stopped teasing him and pulled off his shirt.
Peter took a deep breath, just to get control of himself. Some guys preferred big pecs, big arms and salivated over muscle magazines, but he wasn't that type. He liked his guys to look like guys, but no over-developed caricatures of masculinity. Michelangelo's David rather than Tom of Finland's leather dudes.
And Neal Caffrey was his ideal. Smooth and strong and definitely a guy. Peter found himself quelling the urge to bite down on the perfect round apple of his shoulder, to mark him in the most primitive way possible.
Instead, he leaned over and kissed Neal. Nothing gentle or tender or slow. He kissed Neal because he needed to, and Neal kissed him back with the same ravenous hunger.
As he feasted on Neal's mouth, Peter thought, How could I not like kissing?
Neal's hands found their way under his shorts and without breaking their connection, Peter managed to wriggle out of them. In retrospect, it was a miracle that he didn't strangle his dick. Neal's jeans took a little more effort and they were laughing and panting before they finally managed to get him naked.
"Condoms? You got condoms?" They were lying next to each other and Neal was stroking his cock. "I want this monster in me."
Peter rolled away and growled. "That's going to be a problem. I forgot to get condoms."
Neal leaned over him. "You don't even have an extra in your wallet?"
"Nope, used that one, too. What about you? You carrying?"
Neal shook his head in frustration. "Got lucky last weekend, forgot to replace it. Don't have any in my room, damn it."
A voice interrupted them. "But I've got a brand new box, and I'm willing to share."
Peter looked up and saw David leaning against the door frame with his hand down his pants. "If we let you watch, right?"
Neal groaned. "You weren't kidding." He turned and buried his face against Peter's chest.
"Nope." Peter curled around Neal, feeling oddly protective. "David, get out."
"Really?" David stroked himself. "Come on, my –"
"If you say that your name's on the lease, I'm going to punch you."
David let out a deep sigh and gave him a wry smile. "Okay, okay. But you'll either have to go bare, or do something other than fucking. You don't share, I don't share."
Peter got out of bed and without the slightest shred of embarrassment, closed the door in David's face and locked it.
But of course, David had to have the last word. Through the closed door, he said, "I've got Trojans, extra-large. Just saying."
Peter looked at Neal with a question in his eyes.
Neal shook his head and Peter didn't bother responding. He just climbed back onto the bed and over Neal. "There's plenty we can do without condoms."
"It's going to get messy."
"That's what the washing machine is for."
Neal laughed; the sound like a bright silver bell. "True enough."
Peter wrapped his arms around Neal, relishing the heat, the mass, the complete nakedness of the other man. He usually didn't get this amount of skin when he was with another guy. In fact, it had been a long time since he'd been totally naked with a man. So long that he couldn't remember.
The animal-like urgency that he'd felt before had morphed into something richer, slower. He wanted to explore Neal, to take his time. And Neal didn't seem to mind. They kissed, lips and tongue meeting and retreating in luscious slow motion, like something out of a lesbian porno. But better.
Neal's hands, so hot and so insistent, were everywhere. On his hips, pinching his nipples, squeezing his ass, and one daring finger toying with his hole.
Peter reciprocated and his middle finger breached that hot, tight space. Neal growled into his mouth and started bucking against him, his cock burning hot against Peter's thigh.
"That's it, come on, baby, come on." Peter crooned, encouraging Neal to ride him.
"Fuck me, Peter. Fuck me."
"Can't – not yet." But he did push his finger a little deeper. "You're so tight. Bet you're gonna need a lot of lube when I fuck you with my cock."
"You're gonna tear me apart."
"But you want that, don't you?"
"Yeah, oh yeah. You're so huge." Neal's voice was breathy, whiney.
Peter wondered if that was his only appeal to Neal, but then discarded the idea. Neal had started coming onto him before his "assets" were evident. Hell, Neal had dropped his towel last weekend without even being sure that he liked guys.
"Come on, come for me, come for me." His hands clamped hard on Neal's ass, Peter jerked his hips, forcing Neal to ride his thigh. "Wanna see you come."
Neal grasped his cock and worked it, his fist pumping. He flung his head back, his mouth wide open, gasping as semen erupted out of it in long ropey strings. Most of it hit Peter's chest, but some splashed on his chin and just a bit landed on his lips.
It didn't take much effort to flip Neal over; he was almost boneless from his orgasm. But instead of using his fist, he maneuvered Neal so that his cock rode between his sweaty ass cheeks, the head poking hard against the tight hole, but never breaching it. He worked himself slowly against Neal, holding his butt tight, making it like a glove against his cock.
Neal stared at him, licking his lips, panting and gasping and Peter felt like a god as he came and came and came. It seemed like his orgasm was never going to end.
But it did and he collapsed against Neal, the pair of them coated in come and grinning like idiots.
Neal raised himself upon an elbow and peered at Peter. "So, was I right or was I right about kissing?"
"Far be it from me to contradict a genius."
Neal kissed him one last time, licking that little bit of come that had dried on Peter's lips. "Since you've so graciously acceded to my greater wisdom, you can have the shower first."
Peter spoke without considering his words. "How about sharing it with me?"
Tags:
- character: clinton jones,
- character: david siegal,
- character: diana berrigan,
- character: elizabeth burke,
- character: landon shepherd,
- character: matthew keller,
- character: mozzie,
- character: neal caffrey,
- character: peter burke,
- character: sara ellis,
- character: theo berrigan,
- genre: alternative universe,
- genre: angst,
- genre: comfort porn,
- genre: domesticity,
- genre: emotional trauma,
- kink: cuddling,
- kink: kissing,
- pairing: neal/keller,
- pairing: peter/elizabeth,
- pairing: peter/neal,
- type: fan fiction,
- type: longfic,
- wc verse: it must be now,
- white collar,
- written for: wcbb,
- year: 2015
