AN: This is slash/gay fiction. Do not read if you do not like.

Peter/Neal, Peter/Elizabeth, Neal/Elizabeth, Peter/Neal/Elizabeth

Chapter 1: Admit It

He had a job he loved, the perfect house, a perfect wife, and a great dog. What more could he possibly ask for?

Peter Burke, FBI Agent of the White Collar Crime Unit in NYC, asked himself this as he looked across the office at his consultant, the ex-con Neal Caffrey. Neal was talking with Diane about a case they'd been working on for nearly six months now with hardly any leads. Peter could see the frustration on his partner's face as he held the file to his lips, reading the information on the computer screen as fast as Diane could pull it up.

It was the middle of June and the building's AC unit had given out a couple days ago. It had wordlessly instituted casual dress. He himself was wearing a Giants t-shirt over his slacks, his button-up and jacket on the chair behind him. But it wasn't his dress that caught his attention. It wasn't even Diane's ever dipping v-neck, no, El was the only woman he had eyes for now.

It was Neal.

Ever well-dressed even when casual, Neal was wearing a white button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the collar and first three buttons undone showing the white undershirt he wore beneath. Plain black slacks neatly pressed as always but what set him apart from the other FBI workers was that he was barefoot. He claimed that as long as his feet were cool, the rest of him would be as well. Still, his dark brown hair was damp with sweat and he looked flushed.

Peter watched a single bead of sweat worked its way from Neal's temple down the slope of his jaw and over his throat, falling out of sight below the collar of Neal's shirt. He imagined himself walking over and following the same path with his tongue, ripping that damned shirt off to get to the other man's toned chest. Shoving every paper off the nearest desk so he could lay Neal down on it, working him out of those black slacks…

"Peter!"

Peter jumped and looked up to see Neal's startlingly blue eyes looked at him with concern.

"I've been calling your name for five minutes. Diane may have a lead down at the harbor, let's go check it out."

"Okay, let's go."

Neal nodded and stepped to his desk quickly and nimbly, sitting down to slide his shoes on. Peter shook his head at how quietly the man moved, still amazed despite how long they'd known each other. He'd never known a human being could move that fluidly.

Beneath the desk, he pinched the inside of his thigh until the pain made his tell-tale erection falter and fade away. Then he grabbed his shirt and jacket, heading after Neal who was already at the elevator, punching the button to call it to them.

His affection for Neal Caffrey hadn't been a sudden realization. In fact, it had probably started when he was still chasing "James Bonds." The intelligence and sophistication of the crimes had appealed to him and then that startling photo from the bank security camera of the young man with devilish good looks. From there, he'd only gotten more attached. He spent long nights poring over the files while El begged him to come to bed, imagining how he'd feel confronting Caffrey, catching him, making sure he was convicted…he was a man obsessed.

When Neal had escaped, he'd felt the rush all over again as if not a day had passed, let alone nearly four years. Seeing Neal again, even pining over Kate, brought a rush of giddy emotions he couldn't even begin to define. He felt like a schoolgirl talking hesitantly to her crush. When Neal had lifted the security fiber from his jacket, his heart had been pounding fit to burst. He was surprised Neal didn't notice but then again, Neal was still in love with Kate then.

Then Neal's offer to help with the Dutchman case had struck him out of the blue. Competing with Kate for Neal's attention, he lied to himself and said that he was only interested in keeping Neal on the straight and narrow. Truth was, he was damn jealous of the harpy and some sick twisted part of his soul was glad she was gone from his life. Then came Alex, and Sara, and then blissfully, Neal decided to remain single for a little while. Peter allowed himself to hope that maybe, just maybe, he could fill that blank space in Neal's life.

He knew he was lost when the physical attraction had slowly melded with the emotional attachment he had for the young con artist. Seeing him struggle and triumph and being by his side the whole way, helping him find the truth and satisfaction that justice could bring over revenge, being the one person that Neal trusted…he could spend the rest of his life doing this with Neal.

"You are certainly lost in your own world today."

Peter blinked the sound of Neal's voice, looking up to see that the elevator had reached the ground floor and Neal was holding it open for him.

"Yeah, thinking about El. She asked me what I wanted for my birthday this morning. She always goes all out."

"Well, yeah, she's an event planner, Peter." Neal quipped with a quirky grin.

"Yeah, but haven't you ever wanted your birthday to pass unnoticed?"

"Mm, every year."

Peter looked up in surprise. "Really?"

Neal shrugged. "Birthdays weren't exactly a happy time for me growing up. Besides, I don't like the idea of growing older. Honestly, never thought I'd live this long. But we were talking about you and El."

"Yes, she wants to throw me a birthday party and invite all our friends and coworkers. You know what I want? A quiet dinner at home with her, me, and Satchmo."

A flicker of hurt at being excluded passed through Neal's eyes but Peter didn't see it, his eyes on the traffic they were about to cross.

"Why don't you tell her that? I'm sure she'd rather you be happy."

"She seems to be having so much fun planning it that I don't want to spoil it for her."

Neal suddenly laughed, catching him by surprise. "What?"

"You two…" Neal chuckled, shaking his head. "You just want to do and do for each other, no matter how it makes you feel personally. It's adorable, like Gift of the Magi."

"Gift of the…?"

Neal sighed as they reached Peter's car, sliding into the passenger seat. "Don't tell me you don't know the story of Gift of the Magi. Husband sells his watch to buy hair clips for his wife for Christmas, wife cuts off her hair and sells it to buy a new strap for his watch?"

He stopped at the blank look on Peter's face. "It's the principle!"

Peter shook his head, starting the car, pumping up the AC. "Where are we going again?"

"Harbor, North Side." Neal had let his head fall back against the seat, breathing in deep as the cold air made his moist skin prickle with goose bumps. Peter pointedly stared ahead, forcing himself to focus on the traffic.

And most certainly not on the tiny noises of pleasure Neal was making at finally being able to cool off.

He was pretty sure what scared him most was how at ease El had always seemed with this side of him. He loved her, fully and completely in every way a man could love a woman, but every now and then he had a sudden lust for a man's touch. And she had accepted it as only she could. It was another reason he was certain he had married the right woman.

"It's a part of you, Peter, and I want every part of you," she had said when he came to her, ashamed that he had broken down and bought a gay porn DVD. They'd ended up watching it together and she loved how hot and horny it made him. For their sixth anniversary, she had offered to bring a male friend of hers over for a threesome. He had been grateful but firmly declined.

"The man with whom I would share you would have to be someone very special, someone I completely trust."

And when he'd confessed how he felt about Neal, she had only smiled.

"Maybe he's the man you're willing to share me with."

Then idea had been too hauntingly perfect to entertain for long. After all, Neal had shown nothing but friendly affection for himself and Elizabeth and no inclinations towards homosexual tendencies. Quite the opposite, in fact, he seemed perfectly capable of willingly seducing anything female that fell for his pretty smile. It wasn't fair.

"What's bothering you, Peter?" The concern in Neal's voice surprised him and prompted an honest response.

"You,"

This time he did see the hurt flash across Neal's face before it was carefully guarded again.

"Me? Why?"

"No, it's not…" Peter tried to salvage the sudden mess he'd made. "It's not you, exactly, that's not what I meant."

"You just said I'm bothering you, Peter,"

Peter glanced over at Neal and was suddenly floored by the way the light reflected off his eyes, gleaming against his pale skin…

"Peter!"

Peter had to slam on brakes to stop from ramming into the car in front of them and let go of the wheel once they were motionless, rubbing his forehead.

"Maybe I should drive,"

"No, no," Peter shook his head, moving forward with the traffic once again. "I'm fine."

"I'm not so sure," Neal slowly relaxed back against his seat, still watching him out of the corner of his eye. Peter stared resolutely forward.

"I'm just worried about you, Neal,"

"Worried?" That got his attention. "Why? I haven't even contemplated anything worse than speeding in months."

"I know," Peter frowned as they pulled off the highway, heading towards the harbor.

Neal waited patiently for more but when Peter didn't volunteer any new information, he turned his head out towards the window, watching the buildings flash by.

With every passing moment, Peter felt worse as the silence grew between them, knowing that he'd hurt Neal and not knowing how to fix it. How come he could interrogate a prisoner flawlessly but he couldn't talk to his own partner without causing some sort of havoc? He wanted to tell Neal desperately but he had no idea how to even begin.

"Just be honest with him. Tell him how you feel and then let him breathe."

They pulled into the harbor and Peter parked the car, taking a deep breath.

"Neal…"

"I'm going to check the inside. Stay close."

Just like that, Neal left the file on the seat and jogged towards the warehouse at the address Diane had given them. Peter got out and closed the door behind him.

"Neal!" he hissed even as Neal reached the side of the building. Neal glanced back and pointed to his ear then mimed talking. Peter nodded, drawing his gun from his side holster and moving around to the other side. He saw Neal open the door and slip inside before he himself disappeared around the corner. He moved quickly, now hearing the voices that Neal had indicated. They were raised, arguing, one male and one female.

Suddenly, there was a gunshot and Peter felt his heart leap into his throat as his stomach hit his knees. Neal.

He burst through the side door, immediately seeing a body on the floor, thanking whatever God decided to smile on him that day that it was a blond male in his late twenties in a pile of blood, not a dark-haired, blue eyed beauty.

Neal was across the room from him, motioning for him to stay back as he spoke to a sobbing young woman holding a gun but she wasn't paying him any mind.

"We were just trying to get out ahead, just enough to take care of ourselves. We said $50,000, then we'd be out. But that came and went."

"I know how it feels," Neal said softly, soothingly, as he moved closer to her. He was reaching for her but the gun was in the hand opposite him. "The adrenaline, the thrill…it's addictive."

But she wouldn't look away from the body. "He wouldn't quit…he said, if I didn't help him…he pulled a gun on me…"

"It's over now…just let it go. It's all over now…"

She turned, finally, and looked at him, then turned and looked at Peter. Peter felt his heart sink as he recognized the look in her eyes. She raised the gun to her head.

"No…"

The gunshot echoed against the steel rafters, reverberating in the air and Peter ran forward as she fell, kneeling to check her pulse from habit then turned to Neal.

Neal was frozen, his eyes wide, stunned. His face, neck, and chest were bathed in gleaming red blood. As Peter drew closer, he could see Neal was shaking.

"Neal, it's okay."

"Peter," Neal breathed, not looking to either side as Peter laid a hand on his shoulder. Blood dripped from his hair, his hands, running down his neck. The white shirt was ruined. "Get it off."

Less than an hour later, the FBI was salvaging the crime scene, carting off the two bodies and Peter turned as Diane drove up.

"How's Neal?"

"In shock. He didn't say a word on the way but June promised to keep a close eye on him."

Peter nodded. "These were definitely our art thieves. We found every piece they hadn't fenced yet and a book keeping track of where each piece went." He sighed. "I can't believe how long it took us to find them. They were amateurs, bad amateurs."

"Why does the best swordsman fear the beginner?"

Peter blinked. "What?"

"Because he hasn't learned the rules yet." Diane finished with a smile.

"You sound like Mozzie."

Behind them, the doors closed on the two corpses and the ambulance began its solemn drive back to the morgue. Peter followed it with a look, his mouth set in a grim line.

"We should've caught them before this happened."

He turned, looking back to the warehouse then back to her. "Diane, you're in charge. Finish up here. I'm going to check on Neal."

"You got it, Boss."

The hot water had long since given over to cold but Neal just couldn't bring himself to get out of the shower yet. He poured more shower gel onto the cloth and soaped up again, making sure to get under his fingernails and in the tiny crevices of skin just one more time. He ran his hands through his hair, scrubbing his scalp until it hurt. Then he just stood under the water and let it rinse everything away.

He forced himself out of the shower and dried off, wrapping the towel around his waist before combing his hair back. He ran a hand over his face, looking at himself in the foggy mirror. Part of him thought he should call Peter to make sure the case had wrapped up okay but he knew he would ask how he was feeling, if he was okay…and frankly, Neal didn't even know where to begin.

Neal took a deep breath and let it out slowly, covering his mouth with his hands folded and closing his eyes. The scene played over in his mind. The young girl arguing with her boyfriend, him pulling a gun, her fighting him, shooting him, shooting herself, the burst of blood…Neal fought back the tears, shaking. He had to keep moving, keep running, because if he slowed down, it would all catch up to him and he'd fall. So he shook his head, swallowed the lump in his throat, and walked down the hall back to his bedroom.

Where there was someone waiting for him.

"Peter!" Neal yelped, surprised. He clutched at the towel, the only thing he was wearing. "What are you doing here?"

Peter turned then blinked at his apparel, or lack thereof. "You're in a towel."

"I was taking a shower," Neal defended incredulously. He waited then his gaze narrowed, watching Peter. He wasn't 100% but he was pretty sure Peter was checking him out. He followed the FBI agent's gaze as it traveled down his body and was surprised at how flattered it made him feel.

"Peter."

Peter looked back up to meet his gaze guiltily and Neal smiled, reiterating. "Why are you here?"

"I came to check on you. Diane said you looked like crap."

"I feel like crap."

His initial thought was to move past Peter to his closet and get dressed but that long look had gotten his attention, distracted him. He slipped past Peter to lean against the counter by the sink, folding his arms over his chest. It had become a con, let Peter see a little of how he was feeling to gauge Peter's reaction…and see if he could catch him with that lusty look again.

"I keep playing what happened in my head." Neal started shakily. "I keep thinking, what if we'd gotten there sooner? Worked harder, figured it out faster, months ago, when we first started investigating…they'd still be alive."

True enough and he did feel like crap. He took a shaky breath, letting Peter see his red-rimmed eyes. The change in Peter was instantaneous. He was no longer distant and cautious due to Neal's lack of clothing; he was immediately at Neal's side, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"It wasn't your fault, Neal. You can't blame yourself."

"I can." Neal countered, looking up at him. "I'm the one who's done this before. I've made those decisions, with Kate, stealing to get a better life for us both. I couldn't stop and I ended up in prison. What if that had been me? What if that had been Kate?"

"But it wasn't. And you did stop. You walked away; you said it yourself this morning. You haven't done anything worse than speed in months."

"You forced me to stop."

"I gave you the opportunity. Just like you gave that girl the opportunity to put down the gun and come with us. She chose not to take it. That isn't your fault."

Neal found himself seeing Peter differently in that moment. Peter would never be able to mingle with the devilishly good-looking but he had a home-grown beauty that was attractive in its own simplistic way. He was suddenly aware of the intensity of the space between them, the angle left by their positions to one another. He felt the roughness of Peter's calloused hand in his hair, sliding up from his shoulder, supportive and yet strangely erotic.

"Peter,"

A new scene was playing in his mind, crowding out the death of the nameless art thief. Himself as he reached up, pulling Peter down to his lips, Peter kissing him, hard and intense, as he worked Peter's jacket and shirt off, Peter lifting him onto the counter, the towel falling away, the coarse feel of Peter's discount suit on the inside of his thigh as he wrapped his legs around Peter's waist…

"I should probably put some clothes on,"

Peter blinked, the silence broken. For a moment, he'd thought he'd seen something in the way Neal was looking at him.

"That's a good idea,"

Neal grinned before nodding, disappearing into his closet and Peter let out a sigh he didn't know he'd been holding.

"Neal?"

"Yeah?" Neal called from inside the closet. Peter walked to the door, turned, and leaned against the wall.

"Can I tell you something?"

Neal looked up from buttoning his pants, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was flushed and more than a little aroused. He immediately began taking off the pants he'd chosen, switching to a pair with a looser fit.

"Sure, Peter," he answered seriously, passing up a button-up for a black cotton shirt. Then he decided it was too form-fitting, not to mention hot and it was 90 degrees already outside. He switched back to a blue button up, leaving it partially unbuttoned.

"Neal, I…I really…"

Tell him how you feel…

Peter stopped short as Neal came out dressed in loose khaki slacks and a light-blue shirt that off-set his eyes, still-wet tousled hair clinging to his neck in places.

"I really like you." He forced out.

Neal smiled, a cheeky grin and instantly, Peter knew Neal didn't get what he meant.

"Aw, I like you too, Peter. I'm glad we're friends."

"Yeah, friends," Peter uttered, resigned. "Me too."