Neal thinks about what it would be like with Peter. Going down on him under his desk at work, with Peter desperately trying to keep a straight face in case someone walks by. Peter slamming him into the wall or the bookshelves of June's apartment, the two of them biting at each other, clawing each other's clothes off. Peter gripping his hips and holding him down and whispering, dirty in his ear, "I own you."
And he thinks about Elizabeth sometimes too. Sometimes in his fantasy, she wants to make Peter jealous, but more and more, Neal thinks about Elizabeth wanting him for himself, for his charms, for all they have in common - which is, to be honest for once, more than what either of them have in common with Peter. Neal imagines dancing with her, El letting his hands wander her body. He imagines lifting her onto their dining room table, imagines her hand grabbing his hair to pull him down onto her. Then wine glasses spilling, crashing around them as they thrust and pant, as he makes El come again and again and again shouting his name.
They are not really like this, Neal finds out. He never gets to have them apart: only together. And they are attentive to him, generous even, and it's a bit vanilla but it's still good. They're both good, gorgeous, skillful, and surprisingly spontaneous, and Neal should thrilled and grateful; he knows this. But when the three of them lie there in bed afterward, limbs tangled together, even though the Burkes embrace him, try to make him feel wanted, it is obvious: Neal is their guest. Whatever he may feel - and they do try to acknowledge what he feels - does not compare, does not compete, is not even in the same category as the bond between Peter and Elizabeth. And more and more, he is aware of this, not just in bed but in those thousand little things that make them a family and Neal something else: when they communicate with their secret looks that Neal can't decipher; when their easy comfort lets them walk into the bathroom while the other is using it; when El feels free to take a sip from Peter's coffee; when Peter apologizes to El for ignoring her to watch the game but doesn't think to apologize to Neal; when they thank him for walking the dog, as if it were a special favor; when El is stressed and Peter knows without aksing to rub that one spot on her neck, her moan his only thanks.
More and more, it becomes clear to Neal: he has never felt more alone than when he is with the two of them. Close - so close - to all that love, close enough to touch it, to caress it, to feel its warmth literally surround him, but still to have no part of it. Not really.
Not like them.
Neal wants them. He wants each one of them.
But he doesn't have any way to explain why that's not the same as wanting them both.
AN: Written for comment_fic on livejournal, prompt was Peter/Neal/Elizabeth, 'he doesn't really want a threesome, but he can't let them know that'