coffeethyme4me: (Default)
[personal profile] coffeethyme4me
Title: Justified
Author: [personal profile] coffeethyme4me
Pairing(s): Peter/Neal, Peter/El/Neal
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1,740
For: [profile] daria234's Five Acts prompt -- Showers, bathtubs, fountains, lakes, stuck in the rain -- wet people, basically. Bonus if one person is in a shower or bathtub with clothes on.
Beta thanks to [personal profile] elrhiarhodan for the quick turn-around and sage advice on silk ties!
Summary: Neal fucks up. He finds an interesting way to repent.




Sometimes Neal fucked up. Some times were worse than others. This week his fuck up was moderate and, depending on if you were Moz or Peter, brilliant and necessary or reckless and selfish, respectively. There was once a time when Neal would have seen it Moz’s way with no thought to the other. These days, Neal could see too easily how that kind of tunnel vision was exactly what Peter thought: selfish.

Peter had cold-shouldered him for two weeks. Neal did his work. He contributed on the new case. Everything looked all right from the outside. Unless you knew how often and how intimately Peter usually touched Neal during the course of a day. And everybody did. Peter hadn’t touched him at all, not once, since the fuck up. That was probably the worst part about this silent punishment. That and the fact that absolutely everyone *knew*. Peter and Neal had each gotten a bit of an eyelash fluttering, looking down, clearing of the throat treatment from the rest of the team – like guests at a Christmas party who knew, though no one ever said, that the hosts were fighting.

Neal struggled to know how to get them back to where they’d been. He hadn’t been over to spend the night in two weeks. He missed El. He missed reading their morning paper rather than his own.

He missed Peter’s body.

He missed Peter’s eyes softening into a smile, bemused by Neal, aroused.

He felt sure he shouldn’t try to solve things with sex – until El came into the office with lunch for the both of them and, when she dropped Neal’s off at his desk, whispered encouragingly, “He’ll never say it, but he’d really like for you to come over again.”

“But he’s mad at me.” Neal felt like a child, but it was all he could think to say.

El smiled at him. “He forgave you two days ago. He’s stubborn. He just needs you to make the first move this time.”

“He does?”

She nodded. “Come by tonight. It’ll be all right, Neal.”

“Okay.” Elizabeth Burke could always strip away all his convenient and charming conversation. She stripped him down to nothing in the kindest way possible.

“Miss you,” she said.

“Me, too.”

And then she left.



Neal dressed meticulously. He put on his very best, his favorite, black suit. He chose the softest shirt, the most expensive tie. Everything was perfect. He checked his appearance one last time in the entryway mirror, and then he left for the Burkes’ by way of the florist.

He showed up on their doorstep with thirteen long-stemmed red roses. El opened the door in one of Peter’s old t-shirts and a pair of beat-up jeans. Neal had one sliver of a moment when he thought, ‘What the hell – Peter can have sloppy seconds.’ But he breathed it back, plucked one perfect rose from the bouquet, and then handed the other twelve to El. “For the lady of the house.”

“You didn’t need to, Neal,” she admonished him, taking them anyway.

“Yes, I did.”

“All I need is to see you two make up. And this.” She leaned in and kissed him long and deep, and Neal felt the beginnings of an erection.

She pulled back and told him. “Peter’s upstairs. Go on up if you want. He’ll be out of the shower in a few. I’m installing a pond.”

“A what?” He followed her into the house.

“In the backyard.” She threw back over her shoulder, “Come see it when you two are done.” She winked.

Neal smiled. It felt like his first real smile since all this happened. He watched El’s cute derriere depart and then looked at the stairs like they were the steep side of a mountain instead. He took a deep breath and started the ascent.

He could hear the shower going in the master bath. Neal entered the bedroom and thought about sitting on the foot of the bed and waiting, but he didn’t want to be presumptuous or creepy, and he was afraid that would be both.

Then he got an idea. A very bad idea. The best kind. The most Caffrey kind, much more presumptuous and creepy than the first but also irresistible. He smiled even as he felt a little sick at what he was about to do. He felt sure, even if Peter forgave him, June might decide to murder him in his sleep for what he was about to do to her deceased husband’s best suit.

Neal kicked off his shoes and peeled off his socks. He threw the hat on the bed. And then he opened the bathroom door, walking through thick steam until he was at the shower door.

He opened it. And, as he’d hoped, Peter’s FBI instincts kicked in, and he dragged Neal in by the suit jacket, pressing him hard to the shower wall. In the next instant, Neal saw it register.

“Neal! What the hell…?” He let go of Neal’s suit like it had burned him.

“Were you going to fuck the intruder to death?” Neal couldn’t help but ask. “I mean, I’ve often thought that it should be registered as a back-up weapon,” he glanced at Peter’s heavy cock, “but it’s not even up yet. I suppose you could have started whipping them with it--”

“What are you *doing*, Neal?” Peter asked, beautiful there in the fall of water.

Neal braved it and wrapped his arms around a very slick, very hot, very naked and soaking wet Peter Burke. “I’m sorry. And I’ve missed you,” he breathed, the water sluicing over his clothed body, quickly drenching everything – his hair, down into his dress shirt, into his slacks, everything starting to stick to him and weigh him down.

“You’re ruining your suit!” Peter balked. “MY favorite suit!”

Neal reached between their bodies and found Peter’s cock. “A necessary casualty whose destruction seems entirely justified under the circumstances.”

Peter grabbed his wrists and slammed him against the shower wall. “You’re crazy,” he told him. “You’re a beautiful, crazy, reckless…” And then Peter grabbed him by the wet tie, yanked him in, and kissed him, their wet lips opening, their breath hot as the steam, tongues touching. Peter ripped his wet shirt open and he thumbed Neal’s nipples hard. Neal gasped into Peter’s mouth.

“I loved this suit, you jackass,” Peter growled as he worked on Neal’s belt.

“Do you forgive me?” Neal struggled out of the suit jacket, letting it drop to the shower floor.

“For which?” Peter asked, ripping Neal’s wet pants down, exposing his rosy cock.

“For everything.”

“It’s not about forgiveness, Neal,” Peter told him. He gathered him up in his arms, kissed the corner of his mouth, his ear. “I want you to understand what you did so that it doesn’t happen again. I want you to know that we’re partners. We’re partners, Neal. I’m your *partner*. Can you understand that?” His lips kissed warm against Neal’s temple. Peter took Neal’s face in his hands then and pulled back enough to look into his eyes. “Neal?”

Neal nodded. “I understand,” he said. And maybe, for the first time, he did.

“Good,” Peter said. Then he grabbed the bottle of lube they kept there, spun Neal around, and pinned him to the shower wall. “Good,” Peter breathed. His oiled fingers slipped into the crack of Neal’s ass, into Neal’s hole.

Neal gasped and arched, his whole body having missed Peter. Peter didn’t take his time – neither of them wanted him to. He inserted himself and began to rock. His hands went back to Neal’s chest, touching his nipples, plucking them. He fucked Neal’s ass, neither slow nor fast. They hit the rhythm they’d both missed and stayed there, relishing the feel of their bodies sliding wet against each other, their moans echoing off the tile.

But when the ache was too good, the friction too much, Peter fucked into Neal harder, jerking back on his hips, getting ready. Neal opened his mouth and closed his eyes. He slipped his hand down to his own cock and stroked it off.

He came breathless, and his ass milked it out of Peter’s cock until he, too, was coming, whispering, “Missed you. Missed this. Missed being inside you…coming in you… Neal…” And all Neal could do was whine.



Neal had donned one of the t-shirts and pairs of jeans he’d left here for something like this very occasion. Peter chose a pair of grey sweats, and if he hadn’t said, with the excitement only a devoted husband could feel about such things, “Wanna see my wife’s pond?” Neal would have wanted to worship Peter’s perfect chest and stomach for the next hour before he made his way to Peter’s cock with his mouth. But Peter looked really cute like this: enthusiastic about weekend house beautification projects. So Neal nodded and said, “Always,” even though he couldn’t drag his gaze away from Peter’s body.

Peter took his hand and led him down the stairs and out into the back yard. It was dark except for a twisting line of little lamps along a new path, and at the end, El with her hands on her hips looking down into a glistening pool changing color every now and then from a light at its bottom. Neal thought it was hopelessly cheesy and awful. It was also romantic and precious, because it was his lovers, and they both looked so proud and happy with it.

Peter wrapped his arms around El from behind and they swayed. “It’s perfect, hon.”

“Is it?” El was looking at Neal.

“Absolutely,” he said.

“Liar.”

“No, it is. I love it.”

Peter held out his hand to Neal to join them. Neal pressed his body against his partner’s wife. She was soft and wonderful and everything he and Peter were not. Peter’s hand stroked through his wet hair. Neal held Peter’s hard bicep and enjoyed the ready jump of muscle in his palm. El’s breasts pressed to his chest.

“I’m going to rim you for an hour before I let you have your husband’s big cock,” he whispered in her ear.

“Oh, I’ve missed your dirty mouth, sweetheart,” she told him.

The light changed and they were all cast in deep indigo. Peter’s hand tightened in his hair. Somewhere on the bedroom floor was a long-stemmed red rose, no longer needed.


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May 2012

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