Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me.
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Neal likes bright things—bright jewelry, bright people. He likes shiny and expensive and the thought that he has something that no one else ever will. Most people wouldn't put Peter in that class, but Peter? Peter is the brightest of all.
Officially they started working together almost seven years ago, when Neal invited himself into one of Peter's jobs and wouldn't take no for an answer, but Neal can barely remember a time when they didn't have each other's backs. There's no doubt that was a lonelier time for him. Maybe a lonely time for Peter, too; he could have protested so much harder when Neal had said winningly, "You're brilliant and you pick interesting jobs; I want in. Also, that homeless man outside the bookstore where you're set up is a cop, so you'd better keep an eye on him."
Peter had scowled and said, "I knew that, Caffrey, I don't need advice on how to work a job from some wet-behind-the-ears kid."
Neal slow-blinked at him, then drew his hand from behind his back. "This wet-behind-the-ears kid just took your wallet, mastermind. And anyway, if you know who I am, I'm doing something right." Peter growled and snatched his wallet back, but he couldn't hide the amusement in his eyes—and it's probably fitting that that's how their partnership started. Neal is too clever for his own good, certainly too clever for Peter's, and Peter never seems to be able to choose between aggravation and amusement when dealing with him.
People look at Neal and they see someone with too much pretty to have adequate brains, and the moment when he gets to prove them wrong is sharply satisfying, a rush every time. People look at Peter and just pass right over him, dismissing him as average, uninteresting. Until Peter makes his move, until his plan comes together, until those fools realize that the boring man who just recently started working at the museum where they acquired a new exhibit is actually ten times smarter than all of them combined.
It probably shouldn't turn Neal on as much as it does, but hey. What can you do? Neal likes bright, and they don't come much brighter than Peter.
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"You never listen to me," Peter hisses into Neal's mouth, biting him savagely and tearing at his clothes. Something inside Neal shrieks at such cavalier treatment of his suit, his beautiful suit; he manages to swallow down his protest, but Peter, who reads him better than anyone else can, rolls his eyes. "Stop thinking about your goddamn clothes," Peter growls, and tosses Neal's tie somewhere across the room.
"If you're just going to lecture me, I'll think about whatever I want to," Neal informs him, but brings his hands up and has Peter's shirt off in ten seconds flat. Another perk to being a criminal—quick, clever hands. Neither Peter nor Neal have had any reason to complain.
"Oh yeah?" Peter says, "how about you think about this: next time I tell you to grab one set of papers, one, you don't strip down the guy's entire office while you're at it!" He punctuates his words with small shove after shove, until the backs of Neal's legs hit the bed and there's nowhere to go but down on his back, Peter straddling him, looking pissed-off and all kinds of gorgeous.
Neal licks his lips and tries for indignation. "I wasn't going to get caught. Give me some credit, Peter. And how could I resist, he had that necklace right there in his office! That safe was a joke, I could have opened it in my sleep. When I was ten."
"That is so unbelievably not the point, I don't even know where to start," Peter grinds out, and tightens his hands around Neal's wrists when Neal tries to move from under him. "I need to know that when we come up with a plan, you'll stick to the plan. Don't get creative."
Neal grins up at him. "But you love it when I get creative," he says innocently, and flutters his eyelashes a little. Peter stares down at him and shakes his head, but his lips twitch a bit. Neal can see the remnants of real tension in the line of his shoulders, though, and he says softly, "Peter, you worry too much."
Peter says roughly, "No, Neal, I worry just enough. I'm worrying for two people here, because god knows you don't have enough sense to worry about anything."
"Not true," Neal says easily, "right now I'm incredibly worried that you aren't going to do anything with what I currently feel pressing into my stomach, and that would be an unbelievable waste."
Peter releases Neal's wrists and laughs a little breathlessly, like he can't believe Neal's audacity, even after all these years. Neal knows he loves it, though. "You're incorrigible," Peter says, and there's no mistaking the fondness in his voice. He strokes Neal's hair away from his forehead and continues, "If you ever do something stupid and get yourself arrested, I will be highly displeased."
"Yeah?" Neal says archly, turning his head slightly to scrape his teeth down Peter's wrist, sucking a kiss over the vein. "What'll you do to me?"
"All kinds of things," Peter murmurs, eyes going dark. "Most of them will have to wait until you're out again, but I'm sure I can punish you properly while you're still in prison. I've got connections."
Neal shudders out a breath and yanks Peter's head down to kiss him hard, teeth clacking together. "Get these—get your pants off," he mumbles against Peter's mouth, undoing his belt in a flash.
Peter pulls back and grins, says, "What, you don't think I can still reach you in prison?"
"I know you can," Neal says impatiently, throwing Peter's boxers down on the floor, "that's what's so hot. Christ, just fuck me already, fuck me, Peter, come on."
"I don't know, that kind of sounds like rewarding bad behavior," Peter says hoarsely, eyes raking over Neal's form, heating him all over.
Neal makes a desperate noise low in his throat, tells him frantically, "I'll listen, I'll listen to you; I'll wear a goddamn leash if you want, just touch me, please."
It seems even Peter has his breaking point.
When Neal thinks about him and Peter together, for years to come, he thinks about this part of it, of course—Peter is a contradiction in bed, all power and force when thrusting into Neal and tightening his hands on Neal's hips, but he kisses Neal so achingly sweet, so tenderly that it makes Neal's throat tighten up with how much he loves him—but he also thinks about what comes after, the two of them just lying together in comfortable silence. They have no shortage of words at their disposal, used to fooling with clever misdirection and guided half-truths, but with each other their words are almost unnecessary. Neal would be happy just lying in the curve of Peter's arm for the rest of his life, and he counts himself lucky that he gets to have the rest of it—the world is a ripe fruit waiting to be plucked, theirs for the taking. They'll have it. Together.
Neal laughs suddenly, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Peter's mouth. "I'd have been a sorry conman without you, you know; best thing I ever did, approaching you like that," he says amusedly, feeling the truth of it.
"Stalking me, you mean," Peter grumbles, but it's half-hearted at best, and he looks at Neal and smiles slyly. "Want to know a secret?" he asks. "I'd had you followed for two months before you came to me. Heard there was some hotshot talented kid on the rise, and I wanted to see what you were made of."
Neal props his head up on one hand and grins at Peter, leaning in until their lips are almost touching. "Want to know a secret?" he breathes against Peter's mouth. "I already knew that. You may be one of the best conmen in the world, darling, but the people you hire? Not so much."
Peter bites Neal's mouth. "Sneaky little bastard," he murmurs, and Neal hums out a laugh.
"Yours, though," he points out, and Peter strokes a possessive hand down his back.
"Mine," Peter agrees, and Neal drops his head onto Peter's chest. Time to sleep—tomorrow's a new day, more people to fool and pretty bright things to liberate, and Peter's going to be there with him every step of the way.
Neal can't image a life he'd rather have.
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