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Neal heard someone outside in the hall. He opened his eyes, trying to ignore the fact that he had drooled all over his pillow. Who would bother him at this hour? June and her granddaughter were away. And the tread was different than Mozzie's: less delicate, more brusque.
Damn, damn, damn, damn. It was Peter.
Sure enough, there was a knock on the door, followed by Peter's voice. "Neal? You okay in there?"
"I'm sick, Peter. Didn't you get my message? I can't come to work today."
"Yeah. Don't worry; I just want to check up on you. I'm coming in, okay?"
"No, it's not okay! Please leave me alone. I'm not up to company."
But Peter, being Peter, ignored his plea. Neal heard the door open; why the hell hadn't he put a lock on it? Not that it would have made a difference. So he groaned and buried his face underneath his pillows. "Go away!"
Peter crossed over to his bed and sat down on the edge of it. Neal felt the agent's hand on his shoulder.
"Relax, Neal. What's wrong? Are you in pain? Do you have a fever?"
"I have a little fever," Neal admitted, still hiding his face. "But I'll be okay—I just need a couple of days to rest up."
"Do you have the flu?"
"Something like that."
"Enough of this. Roll over. Let me feel your forehead."
"I'm okay!"
"Neal, do as I say."
Neal silently cursed himself for agreeing to be released into Peter's custody. Right now, prison was looking preferable to this humiliation.
"Come on, Neal."
"Don't laugh!"
"Why would I laugh?"
Neal emerged from the pillows, allowing Peter to see his face. To his credit, the agent didn't even crack a smile. His eyes narrowed in concern, but there was no trace of mockery in them.
"What is this?" Peter asked. "Chickenpox?"
Neal nodded, feeling himself flush in embarrassment. He had never felt so ugly and unattractive. "My face is a disaster."
"It's not as bad as you think. You never got this as a kid?"
"No. I thought I was immune. But a friend of June's granddaughter—the little granddaughter, I mean—just had this. I guess she was never vaccinated."
"Have you seen a doctor?"
"No. It's just the chickenpox."
"It's a dangerous disease, especially for adults. We'll get you an appointment today."
"I don't want to go. I can hardly walk—I've got this stupid rash in three places: all over my face, my chest and the bottom of my feet." He paused to pull one foot out from under the covers to show the agent.
Peter winced. "Nasty."
"Yeah, and it means I can hardly walk. It's too painful. I'm hobbling everywhere."
"I'm sorry, Neal, but you still have to see a doctor. And June's away, isn't she? You should stay with El and me. You won't have to walk around as much in our house; we can cook for you and bring your meals up."
"I'm not going outside looking like this."
Peter rolled his eyes. "Rash or not you're still gorgeous."
"Am not—wait. You think I'm gorgeous?"
"I'm not blind, pretty boy."
Neal almost managed a smile at that. "Thanks. Even if you're just trying to make me feel better."
Peter raised his eyebrows at that, but didn't respond. He pulled out his cell phone instead. "I'm calling the Bureau to let them know I'm taking you to a doctor. We'll get you checked out and then I'm bringing you to my place."
"No! Peter, I—"
"Shhh," Peter said, putting a finger over Neal's lips. "Elizabeth will have my head if I let you stay here alone. Besides, don't you want to live on her cooking for a few days? She's going to spoil you rotten."
"That is tempting," Neal owned. "Okay. I'll skip the doctor's, but I'll come stay with you."
"This isn't a negotiation, Neal."
Neal sighed, recognizing defeat. He knew Peter would drag him if necessary. Or toss him over his shoulder or something equally humiliating. "Fine. Just pick out some non-descript clothes from my dresser and then get me my hat and sunglasses. Maybe no one will recognize me."
~*~
Peter glanced at Neal, who was sound asleep in the passenger's seat. Small wonder; he was worn out from being sick and from waiting for over two hours at the doctor's office. Well, at least they were almost home.
Peter shook his head. What had inspired him to invite the kid over for a few days? He suspected that a sick Neal would prove to be at least as much of a handful as a healthy Neal. Why hadn't he let the ex-con cowboy up and take care of himself?
Partly because Peter liked life. El really would have killed him if he had left Neal to fend for himself. And partly because there was something about Neal that made people want to look after him—and Peter wasn't immune. He sighed. What a handy trait for a con artist.
He found a spot close to the house; it was just across the street and two houses down. It was tight, but he managed to squeeze in. He turned off the car and nudged Neal awake.
"Come on, Sleeping Beauty. We're home."
Neal gave him a groggy nod and soon the two men were walking toward the house. Neal hadn't been kidding about hobbling: he was in obvious pain as he leaned against Peter. Peter cringed on his behalf. Even in his brief look at the bottom of Neal's feet, he had seen that the pox themselves were still straining to poke through the skin.
"Here," Peter said, making for to carry him.
"I can walk!" Neal insisted.
Peter nodded, but he couldn't help noticing that Neal was putting even more of his weight against him. He was practically carrying him already.
"This is ridiculous," he said after they'd gone a few steps. "Don't you dare fight me."
He heard Neal swear under his breath as he scooped him up into his arms. But, to Peter's amazement, Neal didn't resist. He even put his arms around Peter's neck. His feet must really be killing him. Either that or he was just too tired to fight.
"How sweet," Neal commented as Peter climbed up the front steps. "You're going to carry me over the threshold. Elizabeth won't mind, will she?"
"Not at all," Peter retorted. "She's used to having you as competition."
That drew a smile from him. "Well, she doesn't have to worry. I'll respect all her first-wife privileges."
Peter grinned at that as he managed to get the door open. "Down Satch," he said, shooing the dog back as he stepped inside. Neal didn't need to be pawed at just now.
"Hey pup," Neal said to the dog as Peter carried him over to the couch.
"There you go," Peter said, setting Neal down. "Why don't you stay here till supper? We'll get you upstairs afterward."
Neal nodded as he toed off his shoes, closed his eyes and nestled into the couch. "Kay. Can I have a blanket?"
"Yeah, I'll find one."
He left the room and came back a few minutes later with a cotton blanket and a comfy afghan. He put them both over Neal and then paused to look him over. The kid was already half asleep.
"Neal?"
"Yeah?" he answered, not bothering to open his eyes.
"I'm going out to get your prescription filled, all right?"
"Kay. Thanks, Peter."
"You're welcome," Peter said, reaching down to tousle his hair. "Get some rest."
Neal yawned. "I will. Love you."
Peter almost didn't catch that last bit. Not because Neal had been speaking too low, but because it had sounded like such a natural thing for him to say. So natural that Peter hadn't quite registered it.
Peter shook himself. Maybe he hadn't heard it. And if he had—well, Neal was just over tired. He probably didn't know what he was saying. Yeah, that was it. Still, Peter couldn't squash the surge of affection he felt for the younger man as he walked back out the door.
~*~
Neal woke up in bed—a warm, comfortable bed with the kind of fluffy pillows and high-thread count sheets he liked. He furrowed his brow, trying to remember how he had gotten into it. Peter must have carried him upstairs last night.
He yawned and stretched and then glanced at the clock. It was 3 AM. Great. Everyone else in the house must be asleep. Well, almost everyone. Satchmo was pawing at his door.
Neal slid out of bed and hobbled to the door to let Satch in. Pretty soon the two of them were back on the bed, with Neal snuggled under the covers and the dog lying on top of them. Neal grinned, feeling like a kid who had finally gotten the puppy he always wanted.
Neal put a lazy arm over the dog and sighed. In his mind, Peter and Elizabeth's house was 'the-place-where-everything-was-perfect.' The Burkes made a perfect couple, with the perfect dog, the perfect white picket fence . . .
Okay, they didn't have a white picket fence. This was Brooklyn, after all. But everything was still perfect here.
Neal rolled over, put his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. He wanted to scratch at his face and his chest and underneath his feet, but his fear of scarring was stronger than his desire for relief. Still, it was best to keep his mind off the itching and on the Burkes.
How did he fit in here? He wasn't sure, but he knew that he did. No matter how badly he screwed up—no matter how furious Peter might be with him at times—Peter would never give up on him.
He wasn't sure when Peter had started loving him. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what kind of love it was. Did Peter think of him as a troublesome son? As an annoying little brother? As his personal indentured servant? As his partner? All of the above? Neal refused to worry about it. Peter’s love was unconditional, and that was all that mattered. Now that Neal had it, it would never go away. It was the only thing in life Neal was sure of.
Elizabeth loved him too. Amazing. She had every reason to be jealous of Neal. Not because Peter would even consider cheating on her—no, it was nothing so crass. It was just that Neal was high maintenance and he took up more than his fair share of Peter's time. But instead of resenting Neal, Elizabeth had welcomed him into their life. Neal, in return, had developed a chaste and chivalrous crush on her. (So had Mozzie, but for different reasons. Elizabeth seemed to inspire that in people.)
Of course, Elizabeth was a gorgeous, sexy woman. Neal's musings on her weren't invariably chaste. But he did his best to steer them in that direction.
With Peter, it was different. Neal allowed himself a harmless, unrequited crush on the agent—and there was nothing chaste about it.
It was a safe crush, though. Neal was more-or-less straight. And Peter was a stereotypical hetero guy who had probably never even admired another man's ass, let alone masculine beauty. Neal was still astonished that Peter had complimented his looks—even if it was just to make Neal feel better.
Neal grinned. Maybe it wasn't so surprising. Neal would just have to accept the fact that he was so pretty even a painfully hetero guy like Peter could see it.
Yeah, it was a safe crush. And Neal was safe here . . . and, despite his itching and his fever, everything was right with the world.
At least for tonight.
~*~
Neal must have drifted back to sleep, because he didn’t stir again until Satchmo licked his face. “Hey there, boy,” Neal said through a yawn.
He opened his eyes to find Peter standing in the doorway. The agent smiled at him and the dog. “Morning, you two.”
“Morning,” Neal answered through a yawn. “Did you bring me up here last night?”
Peter nodded. “Yeah, you were pretty out of it. How you feeling now?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll bring you up some breakfast—make sure you take your medicine with it.”
Neal rolled his eyes as Satchmo jumped off the bed. “Yes, Dad.”
“Watch it, smart ass, before I decide to ground you,” Peter warned him as he scratched Satchmo’s ears.
“Think I’m already grounded, courtesy of the chickenpox.”
“True. Speaking of which, are you up to some television today?”
“I think I can manage that—oh wait! You want me to watch the Goldman Sachs hearing.”
Peter watched Satchmo trot out of the room and then turned back to Neal. “Would you mind?”
“Peter, that might be the one thing I can think of that will bore me more than baseball.”
“Baseball isn’t boring. You just have to learn to appreciate the game.”
“The hearing will be boring. No matter how much I appreciate the intricacies of finance.”
“Yeah,” Peter admitted as he crossed the room and took a seat on the edge of the bed. “But it’s important for the white collar unit.”
“Why? Peter, this is an SEC issue right now. It’s just a civil suit.”
“Yeah. But even if no one at Goldman Sachs did anything illegal, the rules of the game are going to change. Believe me, that will change things for our division. Come on, Neal. Just watch it and sum it up for me.”
“Why don’t you just read the New York Times tomorrow?”
“I will. But I want your perspective on it. You have a unique view on white collar issues.”
“Art fraud is my specialty, remember?”
“Neal . . .”
“Fine, fine. I’ll take a glance at it. On one condition.”
Peter narrowed his eyes. “What would that be?”
“Tell me I’m gorgeous again.”
“What?”
“Yesterday, when I was worried about this stupid rash, you told me I was still gorgeous.”
“Yeah. So you’ve already heard it from me.”
Neal shrugged. “I want you to say it again.”
“Neal, this is ridiculous.”
“Okay. Guess I won’t waste my time watching the hearing.”
“Why do you need to hear this?”
“To punish you for telling me I looked like a cartoon.”
It was Peter’s turn to roll his eyes. “Oh for—I can’t believe you still remember that!”
“Of course I remember it! I was so anxious to show off the new suit and hat . . . and you insulted me.”
“And you expect me to believe that you’re still devastated?”
Neal shrugged again.
“Okay, fine. You’re gorgeous.”
Neal shook his head. “No, Peter. You have to say it like you mean it. You have to make me believe it.”
Peter stared at him. “Make you believe it,” he repeated.
Neal nodded.
Peter glanced up at the ceiling, let out a long suffering sigh, and then stared at Neal again. “You really are gorgeous.”
Neal pretended to consider his tone. “No, I’m still not feeling it.”
Peter opened his mouth to deliver a retort, but then seemed to change his mind. A mischievous light sprang in his eye—a light that was usually in response to some antic of Neal’s that amused him.
Before Neal guessed his intention, Peter was leaning toward him. And then his mouth was pressing against his. Neal felt Peter’s hands on the back of his head as his fingers twined into Neal’s hair. Neal’s eyes widened as Peter drew him closer.
For a crazy few seconds, Neal stopped breathing. Than he closed his eyes and opened his lips in response to the urging of Peter’s tongue.
When they broke apart—and that was a long moment later—Peter just grinned at him. “You’re gorgeous. Do you believe me now?”
~*~
Neal stared at Peter, unable to find the words that would adequately answer his question. He finally collapsed back onto his pillows, letting his mouth hang open.
Peter, damn him, flashed him a triumphant grin. “What? I’ve finally got Neal Caffrey at a loss for words?”
Neal collected himself. “You—ah, you realize that you just kissed me, right?”
“Yeah. I was there, remember?”
“Elizabeth lets you kiss other people?”
To Neal’s surprise, Peter took a long time to answer that. When he finally spoke up, his face held an expression that Neal couldn’t quite read. “El and I agree that you don’t quite fall under the category of ‘other people.”
“What category do I fall under?”
“I don’t know,” Peter admitted.
“But it’s a category that makes it okay to kiss me?”
Peter sighed. “I don’t know,” he said again.
Neal rolled his eyes. “Glad to see you two have thought this out.”
“Stop being a smart ass.”
Neal glared at him. “You’re supposed to be painfully straight.”
Peter looked surprised. “Is that how you see me?”
“Yeah! Isn’t that how you see yourself?”
“No. I’ve known since my senior year of high school that I was bi.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugged. “Why should I? I don’t feel the need to run around announcing my orientation.”
“I’m not talking about telling everyone—but don’t you think this is something you should mention to your pet convict?”
Peter opened his mouth to respond, but abruptly shut it again. “Are you angry about the kiss?”
“Yes! No—I’m not sure. Damn it, Peter, why did you have to screw everything up? I was happy with my unrequited crush.” Neal folded his arms over his chest as he spoke and continued to glare at the agent. He was practically daring Peter to comment on the ‘unrequited crush’ bit, but Peter didn’t oblige him.
“Look,” Peter said, “we can forget the kiss happened. Let’s just chalk it up to a bit of teasing that went too far.”
“Great. So now you’re sorry you kissed me?”
“I didn’t say that!”
Neal rolled his eyes. “Peter, go to work. I’ll stay here and watch the stupid hearing. We’ll talk—we’ll talk when . . . I don’t know when we’ll talk about this. Later, I guess.”
“Fine. I’m just going to get you breakfast, okay?”
“Yeah. I still expect you to wait on me hand and foot.”
Peter gave him a warning look. “Don’t push it, Neal.”
“Don’t threaten me—not after you just took shameless advantage of my virtue.” Neal tried to keep a straight face while he spoke, but he couldn’t quite stop a smile from tugging at his lips.
Peter smiled back at him and then put a hand on Neal’s shoulder. He gripped it tightly for a moment, but then let go in order to stand up and leave the room.
Neal shut his eyes, trying not to think too hard about the whole situation. It was just a kiss—nothing to get all worked up about. As for the conversation that followed . . . Neal was not ready to think about that yet. So when Peter reappeared with his breakfast, he didn’t even mention it.
“The TV in here can best be described as adequate,” he said instead.
“You want me to help you downstairs to the flat screen?” Peter asked, setting some cereal and fruit on the night table.
Neal considered that. “What’s in your room?”
“A flat screen. You want to watch in there?”
“Yeah. Is that okay?”
Peter nodded. “I’ll just go put fresh sheets on the bed.”
“Thanks,” Neal said. Then he tried to convince himself that he wasn’t getting a hard on just thinking about spending the day lying on Peter and Elizabeth’s bed.
~*~
Truth be told, Neal didn’t pay much attention to the hearings. As he expected, both sides were just blustering and posturing. So he closed his eyes for a while, letting the voices from the TV drift past him, and remembered what it was like when Peter kissed him.
Damn it! When had his crush gone from unrequited to requited? Not that Neal was complaining about the kiss . . . it just made things complicated. There was the office to think about. More importantly, there was Elizabeth.
Neal inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of the room. There was the smell of fresh sheets, straight from the dryer, mixed with the lingering scent of Elizabeth’s perfume. And Neal could almost feel both Elizabeth and Peter on the bed—he could imagine how each of them slept. Elizabeth would curl herself into the crook of Peter’s shoulder, and Peter would pull her closer even in his sleep. And some nights they would have that after-sex smell to them, because they’d be too tired to shower up . . .
Neal wondered what it would be like if he were part of the mix. Kissing Peter like that every night, and then turning to Elizabeth. Snuggling up between them. Allowing Peter’s hands to explore his entire body. Tasting every inch of both Peter and Elizabeth.
His hand drifted to his cock as he indulged in his fantasy. He really shouldn’t be doing this here, on their bed. But he wouldn’t make a mess—not outside his own boxers. And he would have plenty of time to hobble to the bathroom and clean himself up; maybe even make it back to the guestroom for fresh underwear.
Besides, in his imagination, it was Peter stroking him and teasing him, taking his sweet time about it. And then it was Elizabeth pumping him with one hand as she brushed his balls with the other. His breaths grew shorter and shorter as he quickened the pace, racing toward a climax. Almost there . . .
“Oh, here you are Neal! I was wondering where you had gotten to—”
Neal’s eyes flew open as he realized that he hadn’t even heard Elizabeth enter the house, let alone enter the room.
And Elizabeth, for her part, froze in the doorway as soon as she registered what Neal was doing. He wasn’t even under the covers. There was no way to hide it.
There was a confused moment of Neal jerking his hand out of his pajamas and Elizabeth hurrying out while closing the door behind her. About fifteen minutes of utter humiliation passed before Neal heard a tentative knock. He put a pillow over his face before telling Elizabeth to come in.
“Hi, Neal,” she ventured in a voice that she was probably forcing to be normal.
“Hey,” he said through the pillow.
He heard her cross the room and then the weight on the bed shifted. He cringed, knowing what was coming, but he didn’t struggle when Elizabeth pulled the pillow off his face.
“Hey,” he said again, keeping his eyes resolutely shut.
He felt her kiss his forehead. “How are you feeling?”
He shrugged. “Embarrassed, humiliated and—oh yeah, still itchy from the chickenpox—but otherwise fine.”
There was a smile in her voice when she spoke. “You, um, didn’t touch your rash before you, um . . .” she let her voice trail off.
Neal couldn’t help but grin at that. “No,” he said, opening his eyes. “I’ve been careful to leave the rash alone.”
Elizabeth grinned back and then turned to kick off her shoes. Next thing Neal knew, she was sitting on the bed right next to him, her legs stretched out in front of her.
“Oh,” she said, regarding the television. “Peter’s making you watch the hearing?”
“Yes.”
“Is it interesting?”
“Not in the least.”
She nodded. “Good,” she said, grabbing for the remote. “Then you won’t mind if I shut it off. We'll DVR it so you and I can talk instead.”
Neal felt his face turn red. Redder, rather. “Um—about what?”
She smiled at him, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “Don’t worry, Neal. Peter already told me that he kissed you.”
~*~
Neal didn’t know whether to cringe or sigh in relief. Of course Peter had told Elizabeth. These two shared everything; they had the perfect, trusting, happy-ever-after type relationship. The kind that would never allow Peter to indulge in some tawdry affair with Neal on the side.
Not that the kiss meant Peter wanted to have an affair with Neal. Peter had just been trying to prove a point.
“He told you?” Neal managed, finally speaking up.
Elizabeth nodded.
“How did that work? He just called and said, ‘Hey, guess what? I kissed Neal.’”
She smiled and leaned over to kiss him lightly on the lips, as heedless of his chickenpox rash as Peter had been. Apparently both halves of this couple were blind.
“Something like that,” she said, brushing a stray curl off his forehead as her blue eyes lingered on his face.
“So, ah, what does this mean?”
“What would you like it to mean?”
Neal shook his head. “No, you first.”
She smiled and took his hand in hers. “I’m not sure. But I know you’re a part of our lives, Neal. And I know I want it to stay that way.”
He stared at her. “Look, you two are perfect together. Do you really want to risk me screwing that up?”
She laughed. “Neal, you’ve already screwed our lives up. We’ve just decided that we like it that way.” She paused, her face turning serious. “But there’s one thing I’d like to know.”
“What’s that?”
She took a deep breath. “Do you—do you only feel this way about Peter?”
Neal felt his face turn red. He swallowed, hoping that his rash disguised his embarrassment.
“If you do—if it’s only Peter, I mean—that’s okay,” she hastened to assure him.
Neal shook his head. “I, ah, I’ve spent a lot of time trying to make sure my crush on you remained chivalrous and chaste. But despite my best efforts, I may have given you a co-starring role in some of my fantasies.”
She laughed, satisfied. Then she kissed him lightly again and got up off the bed. “I found some lotion for your rash,” she said as she headed for the door. “I’ll go get it, and then we’ll watch the wretched hearing together.”
~*~
Peter didn’t get home until after ten. It had been a day of brutal meetings and endless paperwork. He grunted—to think that Caffrey had been moaning about watching a little TV. Nonetheless, Peter shook off all thoughts of the job as he crossed the threshold. He wouldn’t even grill Neal on the hearings tonight.
Only Satchmo was downstairs waiting to greet him. Peter smiled at the dog as he knelt down to pet him. “Okay, buddy,” he said. “We’ll go for a quick walk.”
The living room was still deserted when the pair returned. Peter walked quietly upstairs. Neal had probably hobbled back to the guestroom for some sleep. He needed it; he was still sick. And El was probably catching up on some rest too. Either that, or she wasn't even home yet.
But Peter didn’t find Neal in the guestroom. Instead, Neal was sound asleep on Peter’s bed, with El sleeping just as soundly in his arms. Peter stared at the pair open-mouthed. Then he glanced around the room. There was left over popcorn on the night table, next to an empty bottle of soda. And the TV was on, showing some all-news channel. Apparently these two had fallen asleep while watching the hearing.
Peter knew he should act the part of the outraged husband, but he couldn’t pretend to be jealous. He had to admit it: he liked seeing Neal and El together. He liked having the two people he loved best in the world safe in his bed.
He walked over to the bed, not sure what to do from here. Neal must have heard him, though, because his eyes fluttered open. Those baby blues were happy and welcoming at first—until they widened in alarm. The kid must have just remembered that Elizabeth was sleeping in his arms.
“Ah, Peter,” he whispered, “this is not what it looks like. We were just watching—I mean, we didn't—”
“Oh no?” Peter whispered back, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.
Neal stared at him for a moment and then breathed a sigh of relief. “You don’t want to strangle me.”
Peter grinned. “No—but I think this means we should have that talk you wanted to put off.”
Neal shook his head. “I’m not up to that. Just—just tell me this. Are you sure you two are ready to welcome me into your white-picket-fence home?”
“It wouldn’t matter if we weren’t. You’d just pick the locks.”
Neal smiled. “That’s true.”
Peter reached out to tousle his hair. “Shove over while I get changed, okay? And try not to wake El up.”
Neal complied, so by the time Peter had stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers there was plenty of room for him. Neal promptly snuggled up against him, pulling El along with him. Such was Neal’s finesse that El slept through the whole process.
“I love you,” Neal murmured, making himself comfortable. “Both of you.”
Peter grinned. The kid was awake enough this time to know what he was saying.
“I love you too,” Peter said. “And I’m sorry I said you looked like a cartoon.”
Neal snorted. “No you’re not.”
“I am,” Peter insisted. “Well, a little. And I do think you’re gorgeous.”
“That’s `cause you and your wife are both blind. But I’ll be gorgeous again once this rash is gone.”
Peter rolled his eyes again, but he didn’t bother trying to convince Neal that the rash didn’t matter. Neal was too vain and too insecure to believe him, and too used to living on his looks. He and El would have to teach him that he was more than a pretty face.
But that would come later—along with figuring out exactly how Neal would fit into their marriage and exactly how to play things at the office.
Yeah, all of that could wait. Right now, Peter was content to fall asleep with his wife and his pet convict. He drifted off to the sounds of El’s gentle snores and the weight of Neal’s head on his shoulder.
~THE END~