After Mozzie and Mr. Jeffries had said their farewells and departed for the night, Neal and Peter were left alone once again.
"So..." Neal started, sliding his hands under Peter's tuxedo jacket, "You think my hats are stupid?"
"Oh, come on, Neal, that was just to help sell the fight!" Peter objected, his hands raised in a show of protest.
"Uh-huh," Neal said, sounding unconvinced, but moving closer to slip the jacket off Peter's shoulders. "And you hate it when I take my 'glossy smile' and go do 'who knows what' with 'God knows who'?"
"Well, your smile is very glossy," Peter replied matter-of-factly as he reached up to fiddle with the buttons on Neal's dress shirt.
"And the rest?" Neal asked with a pointed look, hands still resting on Peter's chest.
"You gotta admit, you have been a little hard to reach lately," Peter pointed out. "It seems like every time I turn around, you've disappeared."
"And of course that would be a cause for worry," Neal said sarcastically, stepping back a few paces, "Since I'm 'just a con, it's who I am, and it's all I'll ever be'?"
Peter felt a rush of guilt as he saw clearly in Neal's expression the hurt beneath the bravado. He stepped forward and placed his hands gently on the sides of Neal's face to be sure and keep eye contact when he said, "Of course not, Neal. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said it. I have never, ever thought that about you, not even when I was staying late at the office every night to catch you."
Neal's face remained sullen for a few moments before morphing into a slight grin, and he leaned forward to give Peter a light kiss on the lips.
"Besides," said Peter after a minute, "I think you're focusing on the the wrong portion of the evening."
"Mmm, and what part should I be focusing on?" asked Neal, keeping one hand around Peter's neck and using the other to undo his top button.
"Well," replied Peter thoughtfully, flashing Neal a hundred watt grin, "How about the part where we were the best goddamn Newman and Redford the Bureau's ever seen?
Neal couldn't help but smile at that, reminiscing as he continued to make his way down the buttons of Peter's shirt, "God, I had such a crush on Paul Newman in that movie."
"You weren't even alive when The Sting came out!" Peter protested.
"Ah yes, but my dad, aside from being a bastard, was also a film buff, and The Sting was a lesson in appreciating the classics," Neal replied, adding mischievously after a moment, "Mind you, I think the part of the film I was appreciating wasn't exactly what he had in mind."
"You surprise me, Neal," Peter said dryly, "I would've thought for sure you'd have spent the entire film taking meticulous notes on how to pull a wire con."
"Oh, what, those piercing blue eyes didn't make ten year old you melt into a puddle?" Neal asked skeptically.
"Nah, I much preferred Redford," Peter countered with a twinkle in his eye.
"Really?" Neal asked knowingly, running his hand in a little circle under Peter's shirt, "I wonder why."
"Don't get smug," Peter warned with an admonishing wag of his index finger, "You are no Robert Redford."
"You said I was Cary Grant once," Neal reminded him with a teasing smile, "I feel like that's just as good."
Peter rolled his eyes, but was prevented from delivering a witty retort by the buzzing of his phone. Curious, he fished it out of his pocket, pressed a few buttons, then showed it to Neal with a sudden laugh, saying, "Look what El's sent us."
When Neal tilted his head a little to look at it, he laughed aloud as he saw their so-called prom picture displayed on the screen, then read aloud the words printed below it: "Hope you two adorable boys had a night to remember. Love, El."
Neal leaned forward to lay his head in the crook of Peter's neck and said companionably, "We are rather adorable, aren't we?"
"I prefer dashing," Peter objected lightly, but wound his arms around Neal anyway.
They stayed like that for a while, both enjoying a few moments of calm after the non-stop adrenaline rush of the past twenty-four hours.
Finally, Neal yawned, extracted himself enough to grab the front of Peter's shirt with both hands, and asked a bit sleepily, "Well, Newman, the sting has been stung. Shall we old con men retire to bed?"
Peter leaned down to give him a lingering kiss, then noted with a little smile, "I don't remember that part of the movie."
"It's the alternate ending," Neal replied, wrapping his arms around Peter's neck, "The second Newman and Redford come out of that alley, they head straight to a posh hotel room with their winnings for three days of nothing but sex, caviar, and champagne."
"You and I have to work in the morning," Peter reminded him, a bit reluctantly, "And, besides, I hate caviar...and champagne, come to think of it."
"Well, then," Neal said with a little sigh of mock dejection, "I guess we'll have to settle for one out of three," before letting out a yelp of surprise when Peter picked him up suddenly and manoeuvred them both toward the bedroom, with harsh words, underlying trust issues, and work in the morning all clearly forgotten, at least for the night.