Occam's Razor, part 1 [White Collar, Peter/Elizabeth, Neal/Peter, NC-17
Title: Occam’s Razor
Pairing: Peter/Elizabeth, Peter/Neal
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 12,263
Spoilers: Takes place somewhere during Season 1, but no specific spoilers.
Summary: Peter has never been able to say no to Neal; but saying yes is much more difficult.
Author's Note: Many many thanks to everyone who helped me through this: gin200168, you are an excellent cheerleader; karaokegal, my writing would be a lot worse without you around. Thank you to the mods of the whitecollar_bb for doing this. Having run Big Bangs in the past, I know how much work it takes. You’ve done a fantastic job. Finally, I do not own any of the characters or situations of White Collar.
Art: Excellent art by canarypaper, who not only did the wonderful banner you see above, but illustrated three separate scenes for me. <3
Peter knew that he would accept Neal's offer the minute Neal met his eyes and criticized his suit. The offer wasn’t even on the table, but it didn’t matter. He's never talked to Neal without some sort of bargaining happening.
This is asking for trouble, Peter thinks after El goes back to bed. He signs the forms anyway. Neal's eyes are staring unblinkingly up from his mug shot clipped to the top of the folder.
***
Currently, Neal is laughing at El's anecdote about a client's wine preference while they sip something Neal brought over from June's. Neal meets Peter's eyes while they laugh, and Peter is left wondering when this became a normal part of his life. Somewhere between picking up Neal from jail and Neal turning up on his couch just days later.
Because Neal is ostensibly at their house to go over their latest case, they pull out the folders while El cleans up dinner (Neal offered to help, but she shooed him away) and spread out over half the table. They're discussing possible ways to target Kiernan when Peter suddenly notices that Neal has moved his chair around the table and is now sitting elbow to elbow with him. Also, his glass is still full, despite the fact that Peter knows he's been steadily drinking.
They've both been silent for a while, staring at the same page and not really seeing it when El comes up behind him and whispers in his ear.
“Don’t be too long.” She presses a soft kiss to his cheek before disappearing up the stairs. Peter turns and watches her walk upstairs.
"I should go," Neal says, straightening up his files and stacking them neatly. "We can look at it with fresh eyes in the morning."
Neal finishes his wine while Peter calls a cab. He wants to say something more, but he's not sure what that something is, so they listen to El move around as she gets ready for bed. The cabbie calling to tell them he's outside startles Peter, and he can see Neal jump, too.
With his pulse beating just slightly higher than normal, Peter fights the urge to help Neal with his coat, it’s some misguided chivalrous impulse, but he settles for fiddling with the lock on the door instead.
“Thanks for dinner, Peter,” Neal says before walking out the door. Neal pauses for a second and Peter thinks he may be about to say something else, but Peter speaks instead.
“I’ll pick you up at 7:00.”
As he watches Neal disappear into the dark car, he quickly dispels the idea that maybe Neal stood a little closer than normal while meeting his eyes and saying goodbye. It's most likely his imagination, and in any case, El is waiting for him upstairs and she'll notice in a heartbeat if he's distracted. They don't keep secrets; but while Peter knows he'll tell her about whatever this is eventually, he's not even sure how to put a name to it yet. He forces himself to leave it at the front door, and each step up the stairs leaves a little more of that odd feeling behind until he feels like himself again at the door to their bedroom.
El is sitting against the bed frame, reading some new mystery novel with her hair coming loose in strands from where it's tucked behind her ears. Peter plucks the book from her hands, and carefully marks the spot before brushing her hair back and leaning in to kiss her, all thoughts of Neal completely forgotten.
***
It takes another two weeks to catch up to Kiernan, but they finally find him casing the same gallery where Peter met El all those years ago. Peter tries to catch Neal's eye as he clicks the handcuffs around Kiernan's wrist, a moment of hard-won triumph that he nearly desperately wants to share, but he finds that Neal is looking anywhere but at Peter. More specifically, anywhere but the handcuffs that are now locked. For a fleeting moment, Peter thinks he knows why Neal is so uncomfortable with the scene, but he promptly forgets it as he recites the Miranda warnings and shoves Kiernan into the back seat of one of the other bureau cars. Diana can take care of the processing.
He invites Neal over for dinner, but the invitation is turned down. Even though the conversation is light and constant, Neal stares out the window during the entire drive back to June's.
***
Neal knocks on Peter's door at the office while Peter is going through the paperwork for a case they closed a month ago, prepping himself for court the next day. The combination of dark shirt and dark tie make Neal look like he's half hidden, melting into the shadows; no mean feat given the bright industrial lighting in the Federal building.
"I have a question for you," Neal says, sitting down and crossing his right leg easily over the other.
Neal isn't carrying a file with him, but Peter tries not to read too much into that, as he knows exactly how smart Neal is. Certainly smart enough to carry on a conversation about a case or suspect without having the material in front of him as a crutch.
"Would you mind if I invited Elizabeth to the Opera on Thursday night?"
The question is so far out of left field that Peter isn't sure how to respond, so he says nothing and waits for Neal to continue.
"It's just that June has tickets, and I'd normally go with her, but her granddaughter has a recital that night."
"Let me get this straight," Peter starts. The verbal tag gives him enough time to sort out his thoughts. Well, mostly. "You're asking permission to take my wife on a date?"
"Not a date," Neal counters. "I have tickets and you don't strike me as the opera type. I think Elizabeth would enjoy it."
"What about Alex?" Peter asks, though he’s somewhat relieved that Alex isn’t at the top of Neal’s list. She’s the last person he needs around right now.
"I don't think she wants to see me right now. And besides, xiandaixi* isn't her thing."
Neal's eyes are focused directly on Peter, as though he's attempting to read Peter's response in the lines of his face, the set of his arms. And maybe he can because Neal's eyes light up a split second before Peter nods. "Sure, why not. There's a game on that night anyway."
There's a swagger in Neal's step that Peter hadn't noticed before as he walks back to his desk. Neal's smile is bright and genuine when he looks back and meets Peter's eyes before sitting down and picking up his phone.
***
On Thursday, Neal leaves work early to get ready for the Opera (an event which Peter absolutely refuses to call a date). They're still working on cleaning up Keirnan's operation, and Neal isn't really needed, and mostly gets in the way at this stage anyway. Peter generally prefers to keep Neal in the office and therefore out of trouble, but today he doesn't protest when Neal leaves directly after paying his half of their lunch tab.
El is still in the shower when he gets home, so he goes up to say hello, knowing she won't hear him otherwise. As he approaches the bathroom he can hear El humming above the sounds of the water, but he can't identify the melody. This is nothing new; Peter may like to believe that she's perfect, but as much as she likes to sing in the shower, she can't carry a tune to save her life. Something he learned the first time she stayed over at his place. The door to the bathroom is closed, but Peter opens it anyway, getting a face full of steam as he does so.
"Is that you, honey?" El asks without opening the curtain.
"Are you expecting someone else?" Peter says.
"Just Neal," El says.
"I should hope you're not expecting him to join you in here," Peter says.
The water stops and El's face pokes around the edge of the curtain. She's smiling widely, a wrung out tail of hair falling over her shoulder.
She stretches up to kiss him squarely on the lips, lingering a bit before pulling back. "Pass me my towel?"
Peter unfolds it and wraps it around her before pulling her against his chest. It's a routine that they've been through many times before, but tonight El pulls away after just a few seconds. "Not now, honey. I have to get ready."
Peter frowns above her head (An hour and a half should really be more than enough time), but he kisses her hairline before letting her go and disappears into the bedroom to change out of his suit. El's dress is hanging on the door, and just seeing it on the hanger makes Peter's breath catch. She hasn't worn it for a few years, not since the last time she invited Peter to one of her bigger functions in a hotel downtown. For a split second, he wishes he was going with them, but Neal is right, opera isn't his thing, and there really is a game on tonight that he's happy to be able to watch uninterrupted.
El comes into the bedroom wrapped in a towel and starts digging around in her top drawer. "There's leftovers and a new six-pack of in the fridge," she tells him. "Don't work too much."
"I don't plan to," he says. "There's a Ranger's game tonight."
Peter's not hungry yet, so he leaves the food where it is and just grabs a beer. Despite what he told El, Peter had wanted to get some work done, but after a long day at the office, the couch is the more inviting option, and he figures that it's not going to kill him or their case to take the night off.
The game is well into the second period when El comes down the stairs, dress shimmering slightly, heels clacking on the wood of the stairs. Peter can't help himself, he gets up and goes to meet her at the bottom of the staircase. "You look beautiful," he tells her. "Now I remember why I married you."
"Like I'd let you forget," she retorts, smacking him on the arm.
"And that's it, right there." They share a laugh. It's a conversation that's familiar and comforting, something Peter doesn't know he needs until the doorbell rings, breaking the moment.
Since Peter's closer to the door, he opens it, knowing full well that it's Neal. But when the door swings open and he sees the suit Neal is wearing tonight, he suddenly feels odd, maybe out of place, sandwiched between El's radiance and Neal's elegance. Peter does the only thing he knows how to do, and bows out to go fetch El's good coat from the closet.
By the time Peter gets back, Neal has come inside and he's standing close to El, their heads bent together, discussing the opera they're about to see. They fall silent as Peter helps her on with her coat. She stands up on her toes and whispers, "I love you," in his ear before giving him a quick kiss. She takes Neal's arm and Peter holds the door for them as they make their way down the sidewalk to the town car that's waiting at the curb.
"Have her back by midnight," Peter says after El is safely in the car, but before Neal is. The "Or you're back inside" is silent but perfectly understood. It's an empty threat, and they both know it. Even in the dim light Peter can see Neal's smirk before he climbs in the opposite side and the car takes off.
***
Peter is trying to read and checking the clock every minute or so by the time he finally hears the door. Neal's voice is quiet enough that Peter can't make out the words, but he can clearly hear El's "he's still awake, probably watching the clock."
"Thank you," he hears her say to Neal a minute later. The door shuts, and Peter picks up his book again to at least have the pretense of reading. El will see through it in a minute anyway.
The second she steps through the bedroom door, Peter wonders why he even bothered with the book. She's almost literally glowing with energy, all smiles and swishes. She tosses her coat on the chair in the corner (something she never, ever does) and climbs onto the bed, still wearing her dress. When she takes the book from his hand and closes it, tossing it carelessly aside, Peter opens his mouth to protest, but El gives him a look, telling him in no uncertain terms that she knows he wasn't reading it, and he's smart enough to remember where he was anyway, without the aid of a bookmark.
She reaches down and pulls his shirt up, running her hands up his chest, using it to steady herself as she leans in and kisses him, hard, demanding, swallowing any questions or comments Peter might have had about her night out. They stay connected at the mouth even as she slides off and begins to peel off her stockings, one at a time, only pulling away as she starts to lose her balance. Peter sits up straighter to help her, but a look and a raised finger keep him in his place. In all the years they've known each other, El has never been shy about demanding what she wants, either from the chef at their favorite Italian place or from him in bed. But moods like this are rare, and Peter knows well enough to go along for the ride when it happens. So while she removes her dress and tosses it with her coat, Peter peels back the sheets and sheds his own shirt, tossing it at her the moment she looks back up at him. It hits her in the face, but she just smiles and lets it fall to the floor.
In no time flat, she's back on the bed. She's done minimal undressing, knowing that he likes to do some of it himself (and vice versa, he left his pajama bottoms on for a reason, too), so while she leans in to kiss him again, he snakes one hand behind her back and unhooks her bra, peeling the straps down her arms and off. He throws it somewhere else, but doesn't look to see where it lands. They'll find it in the morning, or three days later when he's looking under the dresser for his favorite pen that's gone missing yet again. Smoothing his hands down the uninterrupted skin of her back, he groans as she does the same to his chest, sliding back on his legs just enough so that she can get him to reposition, flat on his back, head on her pillow and legs almost dangling off the bed.
In the dim light of his bedside lamp, the sight of her mostly naked and moving above him is breathtaking. He’s been hard almost from the moment she sashayed into the room, but now it's all he can think about. Her nails scraping his nipples send pinpricks of sensation straight to his cock. She kisses her way down his chest, following the trails her fingers are making, until finally she finds his waistband and tugs.
Peter shifts as much as he needs to until the pants are down below his ass, and with El's help, in a heap on the floor. His dick is standing straight up, begging for attention, but El shifts her mouth to his hip as she moves back up to kiss him, hair brushing him softly and causing him to shiver in the best way possible. She straddles him again, her silky underwear forming a barrier between them. Peter can feel her heat through the fabric, each tiny shift of her hips slowly driving him crazy.
Unable to take any more waiting, Peter reaches for the waist of her panties, only to find his hands caught in her grip and brought up above his head. She stops what she's doing long enough to give him a look that says if you had handcuffs anywhere near here, they'd be on your wrists faster than you can say 'catch me.' Peter takes the hint, and grips the pillow behind his head. It takes every ounce of self control he has left to keep them there when El rolls off him suddenly, and shimmies her hips quickly until she's (finally) tossing her underwear to the floor, too. Peter thinks they landed somewhere near her bra, but he knows from experience that they'll turn up tomorrow morning in the toe of his work shoes.
Before he can blink, she's on top of him again, sliding onto him as she throws her head back exposing the smooth lines of her throat. She's holding onto the headboard for leverage as she moves up and down, varying her movement randomly, keeping them both on edge. Peter's still gripping the pillow, but he lets go when she calls out his name, her voice throaty and breathless. His hands move immediately to her hips, not gripping, just resting there; she's still controlling their motion. Almost involuntarily, Peter shifts his hips up to meet hers, getting another low moan for his efforts. El hasn't protested his newly-freed hands so he takes the opportunity to slide them up to her breasts, thumbs scraping her nipples every so often.
He can feel her muscles tighten under his hands, and knows she's close, so he moves his hands down to her hips again, this time using one thumb to seek out her clit, letting her movement guide him, keeping up the light touch he knows she prefers. The movement in her hips speeds up, and he matches her, beat for beat until he feels her entire body contract, she freezes where she is for just a few seconds, eyes closed, breathing heavily. Body still tight, she starts moving again, steadily this time, faster. Peter's orgasm hits before he fully processes that it is; it's both sudden and a long time coming by the time he lets out his breath, feeling it sweep through him from his spine out to his fingers where they're gripping El's hips. She's still moving, but slower now, gentler, even though they're both breathing hard. She leans down to kiss him, and Peter can feel both their heartbeats, strong and slightly out of sync. The dissonance keeps sending tingling waves down his spine, and he hopes she can feel it too.
After a long pause where they’re both catching their breath she rolls off him, and curls up close to his side, head pillowed on his shoulder, hand over his heart. He links his fingers with hers and watches as her eyes drift closed, his own following soon after.
Maybe minutes, maybe hours later, Peter blinks awake and finds that they've fallen asleep with the light on again. Peter's not fully awake as he performs the familiar routine of straightening them out on the bed, and making sure the covers are securely tucked around them. Once that's done, he switches off the light. In the split second between the light disappearing and his eyes adjusting to the change, Peter thinks he sees the same dark hair framing a much more angular jaw on the pillow next to him. In that one second, he's perfectly comfortable with the idea, and he's still smiling as he wraps himself around El and falls asleep again.
Three weeks later, Neal comes into his office, again asking if he can take Elizabeth to the theater. Peter asks more questions than are necessary, and gives Neal hell for keeping her out so late the last time. Really, though, he knows he'll say yes the minute Neal steps into the office with the question.
***
On Monday, when Peter is driving Neal home, they pull up at the house just in time to see Elizabeth shake June's hand and turn to leave the house.
"What did you do?" Peter asks, because with Neal in his life he doesn't believe in coincidence anymore.
"June is throwing a party in a few weeks. I gave her the name of the best event planner I know." Neal's voice is perfectly innocent, but he's smirking slightly and Peter has a feeling that there's more to the story. A direct question won't get him the answers he wants, though, so he just says, "The only event planner you know."
"I own a bakery," Neal counters. "They cater, too."
"So why my wife?"
"I'm still trying to make up for ... things," Neal says, with a sweeping gesture. There's an edge to his voice, and Peter doesn't like it. Neal isn't so much confessing as forcing himself to confess to something.
There's something off about the whole situation, but before Peter can put his finger on it, El knocks on his window. Once he rolls it down, she leans in and kisses him.
"Perfect timing, honey," she says.
Just like that, whatever energy was reaching the breaking point around Neal dissipates and he steps out of the car, holding the door for Elizabeth. She kisses his cheek and he whispers something in her ear that makes her smile before getting into the car. Neal taps the roof twice in the universal signal for all good, you can leave now and turns to head up the walkway. Peter sticks around just long enough to see him glance back at the car before pulling out into traffic.
Peter’s suspicions are confirmed the night of the party. He receives a formal invitation, even though he's not sure exactly why, other than that El is going to oversee; Peter is absolutely sure that Neal is behind his invitation, not El. He arrives early, with Neal, as they've just come from the Bureau. El is flitting around the room dealing with different vendors, but she lights up when she sees him comes over to say hi and tell him that there's a change of clothes waiting for him in Neal's room, and would he please put them on? Peter hadn't thought about his clothing for the party, but when he thinks about it, he does need to change.
Neal closes and locks the door behind them and goes to where his own suit is hanging wrinkle-free on the wardrobe door.
"You were right, Peter," Neal starts as he undoes his tie.
Peter has an unpleasant feeling growing in his stomach. "About what," he asks, half-knowing the answer already.
"This isn't just a party," Neal starts his explanation. Peter opens his mouth to ask if Neal has gone stark raving mad, but Neal continues before he even gets half a syllable out. "A few months ago, June started noticing some anomalies in her finances. At first, she thought it was just the market; it's been a bad year for everyone. She asked me to take a look last week. She's right; the anomalies could easily be explained by an inept manager and market fluctuations. But Robert has been handling June's finances for twenty years now, and there's never been a problem like this. So I did some digging and found out that there's a new board member at the firm. He's been there six months, which is right before June started having problems."
"And you thought throwing a party for this guy would be a good idea?" Peter is speaking in a harsh whisper. Not because he doesn't want to be overheard (the only person who would be able to hear him is Neal anyway), but because if he doesn't, he'll be shouting, and he doesn't want to risk making this a bigger fight than it's going to be anyway. He has a feeling that he's going to need Neal on his side for this one. "Why didn't you bring this straight to me? This is what I do. This is what we do."
"I don't have any evidence," Neal counters, "just a hunch. I need to talk to this guy."
"No, you don't. I need to talk to this guy. Preferably with a wire and backup stationed outside."
"You think he won't make you for a Fed the moment you open your mouth?"
The comment stings, but Neal keeps going.
"You're good undercover, Peter, but this isn't your world. I'm not sure yet that anything is even going on, but I can work both Robert and the new board member for information without them suspecting anything. If I find something, I promise that I will bring June into the office tomorrow to file a report first thing."
Neal has won, and they both know it.
"Trust me," Neal says, looking straight into Peter's eyes.
"If anything happens to Elizabeth --" Peter begins.
"Maximum security," Neal interrupts.
Peter ignores him and keeps talking, "--they'll never find your body."
"Death threats. That's refreshing," Neal says, turning his back and letting his now-unbuttoned shirt slip off his shoulders.
A youth filled with sports and locker rooms has taught Peter that the polite thing to do is turn your back until the other person in the room is dressed. And he would, except that his suit is laid out nicely on Neal's bed, and given that it's now 7:00pm, guests should be arriving any minute. From what Neal said, they will need to be downstairs for pretty much the entire evening if they have a hope of actually getting enough information to proceed. And so, Peter steps forward and loosens his own tie and collar.
When Peter's shirt is halfway undone, Neal turns around, still without a shirt on, and hands a few hangers to Peter. He reaches out to accept them, knowing by feel exactly where they will be, which is a good thing because he can't seem to tear his eyes away from Neal's chest. Neal has much more definition than Peter would have expected, and the sprinkling of freckles on his shoulders makes him look like he just spent the day on the beach somewhere tropical and much warmer than New York in early spring. For as long as Peter has known Neal, he's never been able to study him so closely before, and he's loathe to give up the opportunity, but as soon as his hands close around the hangers, he remembers that there are more important things at stake, and he shouldn't be thinking along those lines anyway.
The rest of the time getting ready is spent in not-quite-comfortable silence.
By the time they make it back downstairs, there are a few new people milling around, glasses in hand and careful smiles on their faces. June is stationed close to the door so that she can greet all new guests, and El is over by the kitchen half-supervising the catering staff while keeping an eye on the guests. It's rare that Peter gets to see her so in her element and it makes him smile. He takes half a step over to join her, but Neal's hand on his arm stops him.
"You can talk to her later. We need to be introduced to Robert right now. The longer you're around, the more he'll trust you later."
Sparing a glance over at El, who is not paying the slightest bit of attention to them, Peter follows Neal over to where June is speaking to a man Peter presumes to be Robert. He's taller than she is, even though his posture is slightly hunched over. His smile doesn't quite go all the way, and the corners of his eyes betray his worry. A step or two before they join the conversation, Peter hears Neal mutter, "let me do the talking tonight." Peter would protest, but he's already in way deeper than he would like, and the life raft is just out of his reach.
June sees their approach and turns away from her guest just enough to widen the circle from two to four. "Robert," she starts, "I'd like to introduce you to Neal Caffrey, and Edgar Tannenbaum."
Peter is startled to hear that name again, but he quickly remembers the situation he's in and schools his face so as not to betray the cover story.
"Neal is a friend of the family," June continues. "Neal, Edgar, this is Robert Lewis, my finanicial advisor."
"Caffrey," Robert says, trying on the name for size. "It sounds familiar. Do you have family in the city?"
"Neal just moved back to New York from upstate," June says. Peter can see the moment Robert places the name. He watches as Roger does a surreptitious check of his jacket pocket. It seems to be a reflex movement, as Neal hasn't been close enough to Robert to actually get the wallet, but Peter can appreciate the instinct. It's saved him from embarrassment more than once now. He catches Neal's eye and they share a quick, private smile before focusing on the conversation again.
"So tell me Neal," Robert says, "What are you doing with yourself these days?"
"I'm working on a few small projects, chasing down some leads for work," Neal says. "June was kind enough to take me in while I look. Not many places are willing to hire an ex-con, especially these days."
Peter knows that's a flat out lie, he's been on the other end of Neal's powers of persuasion enough times to know that Neal could talk his way into any job in the country even without Fed backing. He's playing an angle, Peter realizes. And he suddenly knows that Neal was prepared to have Peter walk out on this project, reject the idea out of hand and call in backup from the Bureau. Neal doesn’t fully trust him, Peter realizes. It's to be expected, as Peter's still first and foremost a Fed, and Neal is still a criminal, but he thought that after everything there was at least enough trust between them for Neal to not need as many backup plans as he no doubt has. Peter's about to peel away from the gathering and go talk to El when Neal slides almost imperceptibly closer, switches his wine glass to his other hand and lays his newly free hand on Peter's back.
The touch is instantly calming, and as soon as Peter can breathe again, he spares a sideways glance at Neal, only to find that Neal is doing the same.
More people arrive, including Mozzie, but since Neal seems to be ignoring him, so too does Peter. They stay close together, and never more than a few paces away from Robert for the entire night. Peter thinks it's just his imagination that Neal is hovering closer than he needs to, constantly smiling, smirking or just looking up at him. Neal constantly has a drink in one hand, but his spare hand seems to always find its way to Peter somehow, either on his shoulder, his arm, the small of his back. Maybe it's the champagne Peter is sipping (from a glass that seems to never empty, El's catering staff are certainly doing their job well) but Peter swears that he can feel the echo of each time Neal has touched him tonight.
Later, when Peter can no longer quite identify exactly where they are connected, Neal's strategy seems to have paid off when Robert turns from the man he's talking to, and makes a motion for Neal to join him. The pressure of Neal's hand on his back brings Peter with them too.
They're introduced to Scott McIntire, and every instinct Peter has knows that this is who they're after. Neal most likely feels it too, which is why he's not looking at Peter for the first time all night. Instead, Peter seeks out El's face and finds it almost instantly. She smiles at him before turning back to her conversation with Mozzie. Their unlikely friendship puzzles Peter, but he's grateful for it in some strange way. In three years when Neal disappears on them (and Peter knows that he will as soon as the anklet is cut for good), he has a feeling that Mozzie will still be around; harder to find, no doubt, but there, in the background if they need him.
Scott's eyes are a little too bright, his smiles a little too wide and his gestures a little too enthusiastic. Peter sees the grimace on Neal's face when they shake hands, and wonders if it's because Scott is gripping too hard or not enough. There's nothing more untrustworthy than a weak handshake. Shortly after the introduction they were after all along, Scott checks his watch and makes an excuse to slip out the front door after a cursory 'thank you' to June.
Before he can think about it, Peter reaches for his phone to call Diana and have her start an inquiry into one Scott McIntire, so that there will be a stack of files waiting for him to dig into in the morning. For once he is grateful for Neal's habit of lifting his wallet or whatever else he may have in his pocket because his phone is gone, replaced by a single folded tissue. Peter appreciates the rescue and makes a show of blowing his nose instead of blowing their cover.
Now that their target has left, Peter looks around the room to find that most everyone else is gone as well, and his glass is finally empty. Neal takes his leave of the rest of the party and drags Peter with him upstairs, where a pair of jeans and a t-shirt is waiting for him. He wonders how he missed it the first time, but then realizes that El must have snuck up at some point and left them for him to find.
The door clicks shut behind Neal, and he's once again at Peter's side. This time, though, Neal's hands are in his pockets, even though he is standing closer than he normally would. "Thank you," he says quietly. Peter can hear the sincerity in his tone, but more importantly, he can read it in Neal's body. Neal is rock-still, eyes wide and focused.
They're standing toe to toe, and Peter's not sure exactly why, but instead of saying "you're welcome" out loud, he leans forward a few inches and kisses Neal, mouthing the words against his lips. Something unclenches in Peter's stomach, and all at once, every spot where Neal touched him tonight comes back to life, as though it's all happening now. The kiss is little more than the gentle slide and press of lips, and when Peter pulls away he can't tell exactly how long it lasted. What he does know is that Neal's eyelashes are fluttering and his breathing is faster, matching Peter’s own.
Another beat later, Neal's eyes open. "Peter," he whispers, the word sounding strange and perfect spilling out of his mouth in such a low tone. Peter's arms feel like lead, immobile, or else he'd do something, like pull Neal close and kiss him again despite the fact that he knows exactly how bad an idea it would be. Perhaps knowing what's going to happen if they don't move, Neal breaks first and takes a step back, retreating to the kitchen area and pulling out another bottle of wine. Peter turns just in time to see that there are now a few bottles of beer in the fridge, his favorite brand. He's about to comment when there's a knock on the door and El comes in, blissfully unaware of the fact that she's either rescued them both from doing something stupid or broken something between them irrevocably.
"Ready to go, Peter?" She asks, not waiting for an answer. She crosses the room to say goodnight to Neal, kissing him on the cheek before grabbing the jeans that Peter didn't have a chance to change into and taking his arm, steering him out the door.
He wonders just how much she knows, but decides not to ask. At least not yet; they can talk about it later, if ever.
Part 2