Warnings for the Cape Verde!verse of the series (start of S04)! I wanted to write island!Smut, maybe. Inspired by Mother Mother's The Sticks, I am so excited for their new album I can't even.

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Terra Incognita

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He likes being called New York.

It reminds him of a bow strung taut aiming for his heart. (A military man in perfect whites caught out, ready to die for his lies.) It reminds him of a cocked gun pointing level at his head.

And Neal has never been sentimental (okay, that too is a lie just as well, but everything that follows is not), yet it reminds him of backup, rescue and a man he is forced to leave behind, still.

"James Maine, you say you've got no secrets."

"None worthy to tell, Maya, none at all."

This is an archipelago of ten islands or so.

The air smells like the deep sea, green and blue in the ways his eyes aren't, and there are always grains of sand on the cuffs of his thin dress shirts, catching against the tender skin of his wrists. The winds aren't blowing his way but his luck is changing, and for someone who has always had the Gods on his side, this feels too different for it to be right.

The sun hot against his back, Neal is itching to run.

He isn't looking for that game of cat and mouse, not anymore.

But for once, he is stranded for good.

And he doesn't expect Peter to do anymore than what he has already done. Even the phone call has everything rushing back at him, like the tides coming in to wash the beaches into a clean slate.

But there is Peter walking through the door, like he has every right to be here, in bright and beautiful Cape Verde. Given what he's given up for Neal, in retrospective, Neal really shouldn't be surprised. He still is, nonetheless.

Peter's arms come at him, wrapping around his back and pulling him close. And he is wrecked (for someone who has known how to run for a better part of his life, he suddenly feels weak at the knees, he doesn't want to let go.)

000

"I have no jurisdiction here, Neal."

His lashes brush his cheeks, and it isn't fair, the way no one looks at the two of them like they are out of place.

(Your tongue is for articulating no to me but you already know I don't need mine's to tell you yes.

You're the unknown, my unexplored, baby. And oh, do I want to make you mine's.)

There is tension in the way he grips his arms, like he wants to reel him in closer yet, or push him another continent away, and it's just the way they are. He smiles in the face of his final thread of hesitance.

He wraps his hand around his wrist, and finally, there is nothing left to tell.

No more negotiation for once in their lives.

"Then there's nothing to worry about, Peter."

000

His hands map him in the dark.

Blunt nails combing sharp white lines into the dip of his arched spine, fingertips gripping harder against the flesh to hold him close and still, and closer still.

(And he isn't searching for him anymore, frantic nerves and unease gripping him by the throat, he's found him on an unexplored island with his toes buried in the sand.)

Peter has Neal splayed against the sheets, white looking grey without the sun. And while his eyes are hooded, hot with heat, he is still smirking lazily up at him, pretty and wicked from the moment he has him back in his proximity.

And now that he has him, their distance is zero and he has him caught by the mouth.

He drags all the breath from between his lips, sucks all his ready-made lies from the flat of his tongue. Leaving him defenceless and wanting, but this works both ways. Peter's kisses taste like an amateur's blend of alcohol and papayas, sweet and bitter and all things Neal imagines to be familiar even when it isn't.

There are no handcuffs keeping him still, not that they have ever done their job at that, no muzzles for him to stare down with nervous energy, no need for him to charm his way out of another situation gone bad.

Because this is as bad as it goes, only they don't know the worst has yet to come.

Neal doesn't ask him to take him, not explicitly anyway, and while Neal has always wanted many things, he isn't sure he is allowed to ask Peter for something this far fetched. Peter understands nonetheless, there is a way his neck tilts back, a subtle shift in the way he licks his lips that tells Peter just what Neal needs.

Peter drags a hand down his chest, pushing back his thin island shirt with barely a half formed sigh as he takes in the sight. He rubs the pad of his thumb along the ridge of Neal's hips, feeling the bone beneath the skin.

The waves crashes against the shores, the air tastes like being kissed by the sea.

Neal falls apart in his hands, near silent as he allows the other to put him back together, however he wants. It's an offer no one has ever taken him up on, it's an offer Peter makes on an accord of his own.

Neal doesn't tell him anything, Peter does it regardless.

"So, what's James Maine's story?"

"He is quite the character, Peter, you might even like him. He almost doesn't get the girl."

"…Isn't that quite the unexpected ending to your book?"

"Wouldn't you know?"

"Oh, I would, Neal. I do."

He likes being called New York, here in Cape Verde, by a girl he knows he can't keep.

It reminds him of where he comes from. It reminds him of Peter, a two miles radius and a place at his side.

XXX Kuro

I loved island!Neal, he was quite the feast for the eyes.