"At first, I wondered if a man could change.
My mind said no, but my heart demanded yes.
It was new for me, terrifying. Strange.
I've come close to giving up, I must confess.
I know you wonder why I am still here.
You think it is your intellect, your mind,
Your devious creativity, your sheer
Delight in all the beauty that you find.
It's none of these. It's all of these. It's more.
It's selflessness, it's passion, it's a grin
At ironies that only you would smile for.
How you struggle with what you could be, not what you've been.
I was scared I couldn't make you someone new.
But I learned to love anyway. I changed for you."
Neal swallowed and stared at the piece of paper. "You wrote me a sonnet?" he said in disbelief.
Peter, uncharacteristically awkward, said, "It's not very good, it was just -"
"I love it," Neal interrupted quickly.
Peter smiled. "You know, when you said you wanted us to write poems for each other, I wasn't too sure. But I guess that wasn't the most horrible thing I've ever done."
Neal refrained from rolling his eyes at that statement. Mostly because he was trying to think of how to get rid of his own poem without Peter noticing.
The noticing came before the getting rid of. Peter made a grab but of course Neal was quick with the getaway, but then Peter kept bargaining and cajoling and threatening (sweet, sexy threats, but still), until finally, much to his embarrassment, Neal had to give in.
Peter opened up the poem that Neal had written for him and read aloud.
"There once was a man named Peter,
He was way hotter than Derek Jeter.
His partner said
He was good in bed
Because he had an extremely large peter."
"Um... " Neal said.
"You rhymed Peter with... peter."
"Right. I was uh... so amused by the idea of you trying to write a love poem that I kind of forgot that I...well, poetry writing is not one of my talents. But I thought maybe we could have fun with how hard it was to write ... But then your poem was so lovely and... "
Peter burst out laughing. His glee would have been unbearable if it weren't so infectious.
Soon they were both trying to stop laughing long enough to kiss.
"I love your poem," Peter said. "I'm keeping it."
"To torment me?"
"No. Okay, that too. But mostly because I love it."
"I love yours too."
They kissed again, and Peter tried not to snicker at Neal's poem once more. Neal, meanwhile, had already decided that his next gift exchange with Peter would involve each man making a painting for the other in the style of abstract expressionism. Not that it was a competition...
(end)
AN: Written for E for fandomstocking.