"Peter?" Neal's voice holds a slight quaver as his wrists tug uselessly against the firm leather restraints that bind him to the bed. His head turns to the side as if trying to locate Peter in the room, his efforts thwarted by the black silk blindfold that covers his eyes. "Peter - where'd you go?"
Peter remains silent, unable to suppress the smile of affectionate amusement that passes his lips. It's just that it's so rare to see and hear Neal anything but perfectly controlled, his mask of confident indifference always firmly in place. To see him like this - helpless, uncertain, even the slightest bit nervous - it's strangely intoxicating.
"Peter? Peter!"
Peter takes his time across the room, careful to keep silent as he examines their stock of toys and tools in the drawer where they keep them, trying to decide what to do next.
"Peter, please..."
There's an edge of genuine fear to Neal's voice now, and Peter turns abruptly, frowning with concern. He doesn't like the way Neal's futile efforts to free himself have become frantic, clumsy with panic. Peter crosses the room quickly to sit down on the edge of the bed at Neal's side - further alarmed when Neal flinches away from the contact with a sharp gasp of alarm.
"Hey - hey, easy," Peter soothes him, his voice low and gentle. "Come on, Neal, it's just me."
"Peter..."
Neal's voice is a hoarse whisper, and he still strains against his bonds, his hands grasping at nothing - reaching for Peter, he realizes. Peter swiftly reaches up to unbuckle the cuffs around Neal's wrists. Neal jerks away, but then stops struggling when Peter runs a soothing hand down his arm.
"Easy," he repeats softly. "You're okay. It's just me, Neal..."
Neal is still trembling violently as his freed arms fall to the bed, and he blinks into the dim light of the room, disoriented, when Peter carefully removes the blindfold. When Neal's eyes come into focus on Peter, he nearly collapses, his head falling to rest against Peter's chest, his shaking hands clutching Peter's arm, his waist, and holding on for dear life.
"Peter," he whispers. "I thought you'd... I wasn't sure you were... were still here..."
"What?" Peter is horrified by the thought. "Neal - hey, come on, babe. Look at me."
But Neal won't.
He's already fallen apart in front of Peter, and Peter doesn't think any coaxing or threats could get Neal to look him in the eye right now - so he doesn't try to force it. He just wraps one strong arm around his shoulders, holding him close, his free hand running through Neal's disheveled hair in silent reassurance.
"You're all right," he murmurs softly. "I'm right here, Neal. You're all right."
He wonders briefly at what dark past experience might have brought about such a panicked reaction - but he quickly banishes those questions, as he's not sure he wants to know the answers.
"Just - just don't leave me," Neal whispers against Peter's chest, the words barely over a breath.
Peter hears them, and his breath catches in his throat. He swallows hard, regains his composure, and holds Neal tighter.
"Never," he promises softly. "I'll never leave you, Neal."