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While they're on a stakeout, Elizabeth calls and, out of the blue, asks to talk to Neal. Peter watches Neal's face as he nods, nods, mm-hmm's and nods and then hands the phone back.
"I've gotta run sweetheart," she says before she hangs up abruptly.
Peter stares at the flashing '1:49' on the phone's face. "What was that about?" he asks as he fiddles with the inbox, deleting old messages in an attempt to keep his hands occupied.
"She told me to tell you to bring me home for dinner tomorrow."
Peter glances up. Neal's face is a picture of studied calm, one he knows well. Something is up, but he refuses to show fear. "If you embarrass me," he starts.
"I wouldn't dream of it."
*
Tomorrow is Saturday and they haven't got work on Sunday, so when Elizabeth plies him with wine, he doesn't think anything of it. Neal doesn't know how not to be charming, and the third glass loosens Peter's tongue, so together, Peter and Neal tell competing, complimentary tales of the cat-and-mousing they used to do. She knows some of the stories, halves, anyway, but performing them as a duet sends her into fits of laughter.
Peter thinks, this should be harder. He thinks, she's never liked my other partners this much. As he refills both their glasses and opens another bottle, he thinks, I shouldn't like the way he makes her smile, but Christ I do.
After dessert, his mouth still tart and rich in the back corners with berries and creamy custard, he heads upstairs to the bathroom. He steadies himself on the hand towel bar as he empties his bladder and laughter filters up the stairs and through the cracked door. Then it's quiet and after he washes his hands, he takes his time drying them. He takes a minute to splash his wine-flushed face with cold water. He takes a moment because he knows if he does, he'll return to find them talking low and quiet, conspiratorially close.
Those moments always give him a rush of something powerfully hot, a little to the left of jealousy. Possessiveness squared. Peter's a proud philistine but while he has always loved that is wife is galaxies cooler than himself, he sometimes envies the way her exquisite taste impresses Caffrey.
The door creaks open and he finds El standing in the threshold, toying with the third button on her blouse. "I told him Satchmo needs a walk," she says. "Can you be fast?"
He responds with a grunt and chases her into the bedroom, and inside of a minute, her skirt's around her waist, his slacks are around his ankles, and he is buried balls deep in his wife. She's so wet. So wet and knowing that at least of little of that isn't his attention but the blue-eyed, felonious charm of one Neal Caffrey, that helps him hurry. Not that he needs much help.
Her hands are every right place, and the slick, hot thrust of her hips against his, the scrape of her nails and her noises - urgent, encouraging, then full-throated and incoherent, knocked out of her with each deep thrust - they drive him up, up, then as she starts that sweet, familiar twist and shudder, he's over the edge and pinning her to the bed as he spills, spills some more and laughs through the last of it.
They should have thrown back the down comforter at least, he thinks as rational thought returns. There's a trip to the dry cleaners. His heart's still pounding and he's just barely started to go soft when he hears it.
Not Satchmo's scratching - a familiar sound when they get too loud - but a slow, steady *rap rap rap* of knuckles on wood. He hasn't caught his breath yet. His mouth's still too dry to spit out words, but El's hand covers his mouth anyway. Obedient, he shuts it, and when she nudges him off he rolls to flop beside her on the bed, pants around his ankles, slick below the waist from their lovemaking and still breathing hard. He sweats, she glows, just like the cliche, and then she speaks. Hand clamping tighter over his mouth, she says, "Yes?"
Their bedroom door creaks open and then there's Caffrey, eyes dark, nostrils flared. After a deliberate squeeze, she takes her hand from his mouth and sits up on her elbows. Her skirt's north of her waist and if Peter sat up, he'd see her tight hips, the neatly trimmed triangle of close cropped hair above bare lips, and between them, the thick, white flow of come slowly leaking out of her.
Peter watches Neal survey the scene, first El's nakedness, then his own, then his face. He gives Neal nothing because he's too busy watching the gears grind in Neal's head. He doesn't bother looking at El because he knows she's watching him watch Caffrey. She's getting off on springing this on him and he doesn't want to affect what, if anything, happens next.
He wants to observe.
"You want something," she says to Neal. It's not a question. Then she slowly slides a foot up the bed, bending her knee then splaying it outward till it rests against Peter's sweaty thigh.
Neal sucks in a breath and looks to back at Peter, plainly nervous. Peter gets to watch as Neal blushes, and that's not a sight he ever expected to see. He realizes Neal is waiting. He realizes that although Elizabeth's invitation is caveman-plain, Neal won't respond without his say so. That thought, the thought of Caffrey that well trained, it gives him the courage to offer a single, decisive nod.
Neal unfolds his arms. He sets his hat on the dresser then shrugs off his suit jacket and sets it over the hat and Elizabeth's overflowing jewelery box. After he puts one knee on the foot of the bed he checks Peter again, but Peter just props his hand behind his head and watches. He'll see Elizabeth's face soon enough, but right now, he knows she's watching him watch Neal like a hawk.
Neal slips off one of Elizabeth's pumps, then the other, kisses the hollow of her ankle, then the back of her knee and he spreads her legs wider, gently setting the one closest to Peter over his leg, hand brushing Peter's knee as he lets go. Then, with those exquisitely skilled hands, he traces the most intimate curves between her legs, first the plump swell of her outer lips, then the darker pink ruffle inside.
Peter sits up to get a better look as Neal spreads her with the same care he gives dark age manuscripts. Then, after one last lingering glance at Peter, Neal bends down and laps at the white trickle once, twice, then he opens wide and penetrates her with his tongue, burying his face as far as it can go between her thighs.
Elizabeth's hand tightens on Peter's arm and he bends down too, kissing her mouth and fumbling with the last few buttons on her blouse. He hears a wet smack, then more sloppy noises. He hears Neal swallow. Neal's swallowing and licking and Peter lifts his head in time to see Neal sucking on two of his fingers. He meets Peter's eyes and holds his gaze as he fingers El again, thumbing her clit as he laps at her hipbone, her stomach, then his fingers again as he scoops out the last glistening traces.
She's quivering, hips lifting to chase his fingers as they withdraw and both the Burkes watch intently as Neal sits back on his heels and cleans his hand with thorough care. His face is shiny wet from his nose to his chin, and there's an obvious smear of Peter's come along his jaw. Peter's softening dick reverses course and starts to surge again and he's just about to reach for Neal when Elizabeth asks, "Why are you still wearing so many clothes?"
"Why are you?" Neal asks, wiping his hand on her leg before loosening his tie.
"You heard her," Peter says with a voice so rough and low he hardly recognizes it. "I don't want to see you wearing anything but your tracker."
Something flares in Neal's eyes, then he's got the knot undone and he starts on his cuffs. He licks his lips then says, "Next time they cut it, I want you to be the one who puts it back on."
"Deal."
"And right now, I want to fuck your wife."
Peter should feel possessive or jealous, but doesn't. Instead, he kicks off his shoes and slacks, then sits back against the headboard as El grabs a condom from the nightstand drawer. She sets it on the pillow between them then she undoes her bra as Neal races to unbutton his shirt. As Peter strokes himself slowly, all he feels is like he's luckiest man in the whole damn world .