It's all about the eyes. Eyes make you worry about what the hands are doing and then you're not paying attention to the rest of the body.
Neal rubs shaving cream all over Peter's jaw and neck, and Peter lets him, a bit uncomfortable with the pampering at having Neal focus so intensely on his face. He stares like an artist at the foamy circles he swirls, knowing it will make Peter roll his eyes at how seriously Neal is taking it.
When he puts the blade to Peter's skin, he has mischeif in his eyes and he quirks an eyebrow at Peter. It makes him tense just slightly; he trusts Neal, but he hates that look, the look that usually means Neal is about to amuse himself by doing something that Peter will hate (i.e., something fun). But this time it's the look itself that's his way of tormenting Peter, the look and the way he bites the slightest edge of his lower lip as he runs the razor across Peter's skin, and he keeps his eyes on Peter's eyes and he knows by the pupils without even looking down that Peter is enjoying this.
He gently wipes Peter's skin with a hot washcloth then, and Peter relaxes into it, and Neal wants nothing more than to push Peter back into a chair and force him to just rest and be comforted, but they don't do that, not yet, not just the two of them without El.
So he splashes Peter's harsh aftershave on his face, knowing it will sting, grinning to make Peter think he enjoys this part, and he does - he enjoys that he gets a scowl from Peter that almost - but not quite - breaks into a smirk.
He kisses a line from Peter's cheek to Peter's throat then, smooth from his careful work, and Peter's hands rest on Neal's hips and Neal feels the twitch in Peter's fingers, feels that pesky self-control stop the man from grabbing Neal's hips like they're handles.
"You look presentable, now that I've cleaned you up," Neal concludes and steps back. He's willing to be the coy one, if it turns Peter into the bold one.
Peter smiles. He knows exactly what Neal is doing, and Neal knows he knows. "You look far too put together," Peter says and moves to Neal, his hands tugging at Neal's freshly ironed shirt, mussing Neal's hair as he nibbles at his ear. "Time for me to get you a little dirty," he adds, and now it's his turn to use a look to make Neal nervous, to make Neal swallow in anticipation.
The thing they have is new; to their bodies, it's new. But sometimes, when they treat it like a battle, it seems familiar, like what they've been doing all along.
Neal hands Peter the razor. Peter grins.