It had started out innocently enough. Peter had made some crack about Neal and handcuffs, and Elizabeth had elbowed the FBI agent and smirked, and peter had blushed a little bit, and Neal had stared.
Neal didn't really know how it had gotten from there to the bedroom, but it had still been just a joke at that point. Peter's handcuffs, and Elizabeth not knowing quite how tight to make them, and Neal kneeling on the bed to do it for her.
Elizabeth smiling, and giving Neal a kiss on the cheek. Neal holding the key to the handcuffs, and not giving it back. Lots of Elizabeth smiling. Then there had been hands... just teasing, tickling peter while he couldn't shake them off. Peter laughing. Elizabeth laughing. Elizabeth smiling. And then the tickling had become tracing, and the tracing had become stroking.
It was when Neal's hands had traced over peter's hips, and found the pants straining against a hard-on, that he had tried to leave. Elizabeth's hands on his forearms. Elizabeth's hands putting his hands back on peter's body. Elizabeth's lips against his. Peter's body beneath his hands.
Peter's hips arching involuntarily. A smile forming on his own face. His hands running up peter's chest, his palms on the sweaty fabric of peter's t-shirt, and then sliding around peter's neck. Elizabeth pushing him towards peter when he hesitated. Peter's heavy breathing against his own mouth. Peter's earlobe between his teeth. Elizabeth's hands on his hips. Elizabeth's hands in other places. His hands on peter's chest. His hands in other places.
Waking up in their bed. His head nestled in the curve of peter's neck. A hand tracing circles on his naked back. Murmuring of whispers, a quiet, happy chuckle. The hand stilling right between his shoulder blades, a gentle kiss against his forehead. Peter's cologne and Elizabeth's perfume. Spice and flowers, clean sweat and fabric softener.
Opening his eyes, gentle morning light. Peter's untanned chest, the smooth curve of Elizabeth's shoulders. Creamy yellow sheets. Purple wallpaper. Peter and Elizabeth. Trying to leave. A small hand on one arm, a larger one on there other. Being drawn back down. The sheets being pulled up over all three of them. Closing his eyes. Arms and hands, touching, not knowing whose.
Warmth. Affection. Maybe even love.
Fear.
But hands. His fingers curling over peter's chest. Head being guided back to the cradle of peter's collarbone. Arm around his waist. Hand against his back. Lips against his head. Feet tangling. Clean, cool sheets. Warm bodies.
Love.
Fear.
Yes.
But also love.
And warmth.
So much warmth.
So much love.
He doesn't understand.
But he's tried to leave twice, and he's not going to try again.
Not with the fingers combing through his hair. Not with the hand gently rubbing up and down his arm. Not... who is he kidding?
Not ever.
Maybe he never could.