For the umpteenth time that day, Peter wonders how Neal can be so calm in this situation.

Peter himself is a nervous wreck; his hands shaking as he stares at the surveillance tape they're playing on his laptop.

"Alright . . . play it at half speed," Neal says hurriedly as he sits down next to Peter. And as always, Peter's heart inexplicably beats a little faster because Neal is so close to him, their thighs touching. Neal leans forward over the laptop. Mentally reminding himself not to look into Caffrey's stupid, brilliant, perfect green eyes because he'll lose his focus, Peter bends over the video, watching closely.

Peter obligingly rewinds the video and plays it slowly. The man in the video emerges onto the street and Peter exclaims, "That's gotta be Tulane. Come on, turn around. . . ."

A woman in the video walks past Tulane and, slowly, the masked man turns. "Gotcha!" Peter whispers triumphantly. "I guess he never did go to Madrid."

Neal scoffs. "I knew his plane tickets were fakes."

"No, you didn't," Peter smirks back, glancing at him. Neal just grins.

Peter sighs and shakes his head. "Guy steals $3.2 million in diamonds, and we get him because he can't resist a pretty face." Neal looks up at him.

"It happens to the best of us," he says seriously, then flashes that brilliant smile. "How do you think you caught me?"

Still grinning and ignoring Peter's disbelieving stare, Neal stands up and struts over to the kitchen. He'll deal with Peter later.

---

And three . . . two . . . one—

"Caffrey!"

Neal smiles to himself. Right on cue.

Peter bursts into the kitchen, mouth moving silently like an angry goldfish. Now that he's here, he has no idea what he was planning to say.

After a moment, words finally burst out. "And—and what the fuck was that supposed to mean?"

"What? That thing I said? To be honest, Peter, I think you're pretty cute." Neal tosses this off casually, as if it's obvious. But inside he's praying to God that he looks a lot cooler than he feels, because although Peter can't see it, his heart is pounding faster than ever.

Peter can't breathe. "Like . . . like I'd be caught dead with someone like you," he spits out, but the half-hearted words don't exactly work the way they were supposed to. There's a pain in his chest that he can't identify, and he realizes that he's suddenly very, very tired. He closes his eyes, only briefly, but when they open Neal is standing right in front of him, laughing quietly.

"Sometimes the best of us get caught, Peter . . . I should know." His words are softer than ever as he pins Peter's wrists to the counter behind them, closing the space between their lips.

The kiss lasts for maybe a minute, but in that minute Peter's entire world seems to explode. He can barely register any sensation; all he knows is that Neal's lips are on his, and that his quick-witted and oh-so-talented tongue is now sliding into Peter's mouth—

Gasping, Peter jerks away. Shocked, barely able to register any of this, he glances over at Neal, who's pale and panting. He's never seen Neal like this: his face is blank, simply watching Peter for any reaction.

Peter clears his throat, but he voice still sounds hoarse. "So. You . . . wow."

Neal laughs at his flustered speech, and Peter notices for the first time how incredible Neal's laugh is. "Ever since I met you . . . well. Let's just say I've wanted to do that for a long time." He flashes Peter a bitter smile and turns to go. Suddenly, Peter's brain starts working again, telling him not to let Caffrey leave, for fuck's sake. He catches Neal by the arm.

"Wait."

A thousand more words race through Peter's head, but he can't exactly get his mouth to work. So he simply smiles, leaning in to kiss Neal again. It's not so bad getting caught, after all.