Title: Gild the Lily

Author: Ursula

Rating: rating: R

Genre and/or Pairing: Neal Caffrey and Peter Burke.

Notes: Sequel to All Wrapped Up

Spoilers: Book of Hours

Warnings: Pre Slash

Word Count: 2394

Summary: Neal needs a new suit and Peter is buying

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Sequel to All Wrapped Up

Outside, where the world was not narrowed to Peter's gaze, Neal was uncomfortable. He pulled Peter's coat tighter around him. He tried his usual mega watt smile on a lovely young thing passing by. She started to respond, but then merely looked puzzled as she took in the folds of Peter's coat billowing around Neal and the trouser leg coming unrolled. She looked away as she passed by.

"Come on, we'll turn that pumpkin right into a coach, Cinderfella,"

"I look like a bad joke, Peter," Neal said and then specified, "A really bad joke like that one."

"So it's okay to look like a cartoon, but not a joke?"

"I'm Superman without his cape," Neal jabbed back, stepping around a pool of vomit and the drunk from whence it came.

"What about his tights?" Peter asked.

"What?" Neal asked.

"So if he lost his cape, would he still have his tights?" Peter asked, taking Neal's arm and guiding him away from a belligerent looking punk who was slouched under a canopy.

"I don't know. It was just a simile," Neal replied, a little irritated.

"If I was a superhero, I would refuse to wear tights," Peter said, distracting Neal.

"What would you wear?"

"A suit like yours," Peter said. "Maybe a cape though."

Neal grinned. "I would love you in a suit like mine."

"Ah, you don't love me for myself."

Without looking, Peter felt the loss of Neal as a colder space where his partner should be.

Looking back, Peter feels guilty. Guilt is a second skin for him. He can get everything right working a case, but relationships are another language to him and he feels like he misplaced his tourist guide to speaking Neal. What did he say this time?

Catching up, Neal touches him. Neal is always touching him, coming up beside him, leaning into him, over him and it drives Peter to distraction. Because he likes it too much.

"I love you because, as Elizabeth would say, you are so lovable there is no other choice."

His feet kicked out beneath him, Peter is left stranded. That is not how the game is played.

Neal reprieves him and tugs his arm. "The store is just ahead. You know I will need two suits. I can bear off the rack long enough for court, but, I will need to have something fitted for tomorrow. And some jeans for when we're not in court."

"I'm not buying you a trousseau," Peter argued, happy now that they were on terra firma.

"Ah, damn, Peter, I was hoping that you were going to finally make me an honest man."

Puckish smile. Neal gave him that one. Peter will take it though, delighted.

"Had we but world enough and time." Peter quoted.

"Let us roll all our strength and all our sweetness up into one ball and tear our pleasures with rough strife." Neal spoke those lines with such hunger and longing that Peter feels them to the bone.

"That's not fair," Peter utters in quiet protest of the way it made his heart skip a beat.

"All's fair in love and war," Neal said, sweeping through the door Peter held open for him.

OooOooO

Peter looked at his watch. Time was moving in some warped sequence. Pinching his nose does not help the headache that was Neal shopping for off the rack.

"Do you have something in an orange coverall?" Peter asked the salesman who has his hands all over Neal's ass.

The man's eyebrows rise nearly to meet his bleached blond hair. "Sir?"

"He's a philistine," Neal said, "ignore him."

"Just call me Phil for short," Peter cracked.

"You could help more," Neal said. "The blue or the charcoal?"

"Blue," Peter said. "It is flattered by your eyes."

"Don't you mean it flatters his eyes?" Blond guy asks.

Helpless wave at Neal's lapis blues. "Do they need flattering?"

"I see," Blond guy says, looking too long.

"I'll take the blue and have the charcoal tailored for me," Neal said, peering at his ass in the reflection. Blond guy is looking at Neal's ass too. Blond guy needs a swift kick to remind him that he is just a shop clerk and does not have the right to gaze on Neal.

Neal has found a beautiful Burberry coat. It's not what he is used to, but it will do. He twirls as he passes a mirror. Peter's smile is soft. He knew if he could see a picture of his expression that it would match perfectly his indulgence of Elizabeth. He knows and he can't really fight it. He's not really trying.

Neal is careful now of the traffic. He slides into the cab that comes to his beckon. Peter's gaze is wary as he scans the street around them. He's not looking for rogue cab drivers with intentions on Neal's wardrobe. He's not a witness to the crime for which Neal has been subpoenaed to testify. He's here as a guard, duty he had demanded and Hughes had granted without much argument. Neal seems to have no clue how grim the threat is to him.

Peter would caution him, but the DA is concerned that Neal would snap under the pressure if he really understood.

Oddly, the DA is wrong. Neal plays his role and plays it beautifully, but he's no coward. In fact, Peter finds him flying straight into candle flames. It's a full time job catching him before he is singed.

OooOooO

Because Peter was not a witness, he can stay in the court room. There is nothing for him to do but watch Neal. He should be bored, but he isn't. There's something thrilling at seeing Neal strut toward the stand and every stitch on his body is something that Peter has purchased for him except his shoes. Elizabeth bought those for Neal's birthday, spending too much and getting such an extravagant hug that Peter should really have been jealous. He wasn't though. He admires them together. They are a perfect matched set, but Peter feels confident that he too has his role, the book between the gilded ends that gives reason and purpose to beauty.

Neal crosses his legs and the ankle monitor is showing. Peter stirs uncomfortably and points with the tip of his finger at the left leg. Neal was watching him and uncrosses the monitor discreetly out of sight.

Giaraldi's attorney is well known for defending mobsters. His appearance in a trial is as good as a confession, but he still has an appalling ability to free his clients.

It helps Joe Esposito that witnesses disappear or can't remember what they saw or recant even if it means going to jail.

Esposito will be surprised. There's that side to Neal that is unbreakable. There's that part of him that rises to a cause.

Peter suspects that he captured Neal not only because Peter was clever, but because Neal was attracted to what Peter represented. Neal does understand right and wrong. It's the law he fails to get.

Lauren told Peter that Neal once told her that he loved Peter's certainty, that if Peter was the law that things would work better because Peter had justice in his heart not just a book of rules. Lauren smiled and said, "He has a crush on you."

Peter shrugged it off with a comment about Neal conning Lauren, but he believed it. Even before he met Neal in person, there seemed to be a link between them that grew stronger with each near miss and every scrap of information that Peter sniffed out. Peter was half hard when he handcuffed Neal; it disturbed him and loaded him with guilt, but it was true. Made him wonder if he needed help. He was so relieved to find that only happened with Neal. Other felons might be a triumph to catch but didn't garner that totally unacceptable response.

"Mr. Caffrey, is it not true that you are a convicted felon?"

"I am," Neal said.

"And what were you sent to prison for?"

"Forging bonds," Neal said, with a swift glance at Peter.

"And escaping before your sentence was up?"

"I was not tried for any such crime," Neal said.

Which was part of the arrangement as well. No charges, but they could still be filed.

"Did you not make a deal for yourself as an informant to avoid serving additional time for credit card fraud, stealing a car, and escaping?"

Neal looked offended. Offended looked cute on him. Neal said, "I am hardly an informant. I consult."

"What do you consult on?"

"Art, history, various topics," Neal said.

"And your qualifications?"

"Graduated from Cooper Union, Masters from Columbia, won a scholarship to Byrdcliffe." Neal said.

And it was all true. None of it forged. Neal had been a meteorite until the scholarship. Something happened that not even Peter knew at the workshop and the first rumors of forged paintings rumbled from that time on. Neal would not tell him and Peter would not ask, least Neal tell him something that he would need to report to Hughes.

Watching Neal, Peter felt his heart sink. He realized that he would risk almost anything to keep Neal out of prison. His life depended on the charming, the irresponsible, and the morally ambiguous conman.

"Do you not in fact accompany Peter Burke as some sort of expert on criminal behavior?"

"You could describe what I do in that way," Neal said.

"And how do you describe it?"

"He's Batman, I'm Robin, we solve crimes," Neal replied nonchalantly.

"Your honor, can you direct the witness to not engage in such disorderly responses?"

"You asked him to describe his work; Mr. Caffrey did, if in colorful terms."

The judge was a friendly looking black woman. She seemed amused by Neal.

"Did you not in fact make a deal with the FBI to avoid prosecution for escaping from prison?"

"Yes," Neal said.

"Would you not in fact make any claim, indemnify anyone to stay out of prison?"

"No," Neal said. "I would not."

"Come now, Mr. Caffrey, do we need to review your record?"

"Defense is badgering the witness," the prosecutor said.

"Mr. Esposito, we have established that Mr. Caffrey has a felony on his record, albeit one not affiliated with any violence or organized crime. Do you have any questions relating to the crime that the witness attests to?"

"Alleged crime," Esposito wedged in.

"None for now," Esposito said, "I am asking for a recess to research points of law brought by this witness."

"Granted," the judge said, looking at her watch.

This was an arraignment, testing the waters so there was no jury as yet. The court was quickly dismissed and Neal free to return to Peter's side.

Jan Jassup, the prosecutor, beckoned Neal and Peter, attending his protégé as Peter was coming to think of his former albatross. Jassup was a Nordic beanpole, topped with hair so blond that it looked white. He had blue eyes, but they were a lighter shade that displayed his sharply intelligent gaze. He had a thin blade of a face all angles of sharp nose, protruding chin, and high cheekbones.

"Mr. Caffrey, sit," pointing to a chair in the attorney meeting room.

Neal glanced at Peter who nodded to him. Neal flopped in the chair.

"We spoke about your testimony at length."

Neal's puppy eager expression was endlessly endearing.

Jassup hesitated. He might be impatient but Neal was disarming.

"Please be serious on the stand," Jassup lectured.

"The judge said it was okay," Neal replied. "What did you want me to say? Peter and I are partners. We work together. And I would look so adorable in tights and a little mask."

"Mr. Caffrey."

Peter could have told the man that he may as well surrender. Neal was a quick learner, but you could not get him to stop being what he was and Peter really didn't want to try anymore. He liked the lip even when he corrected it. He loved the way Neal preened beneath praise. He even had learned to love the way Neal could not stop playing Robin Hood.

The prosecutor had given up. He said, "Just one more thing. Mr. Burke, get him to wear this, all of the time when he is in public."

This was a flak jacket. It was a good idea. Peter said, "I will. Here, Neal, let me help you adjust this."

"No," Neal said, standing up after Peter fetched the jacket for him to put on. "No, I just started to feel human again even if the suit is off the rack. That atrocity will ruin the cut of my suit."

"A bullet is not your kind of accessory either," Peter said.

Jassup's phone was ringing. He looked at the phone and said, "Take care of it, Burke. I'll see you both tomorrow."

The door shut behind the prosecutor, leaving a tableau of one frustrated FBI agent, one flak jacket, one sulking ex con.

Crossing his arms, Neal said, "I won't wear it. You're my protection, my Superman. That's all I need."

"I thought I was your Batman and you were my Robin," Peter teased gently. Honey, not vinegar.

"All my super heroes rolled into one and I am still not wearing the jacket."

Thinking, Peter absently undid the Velcro fastenings and took a step toward his partner. Neal stepped back, unfolding his arms to fend Peter off.

"Are you going to make me sit on you and strap this on you?"

That made Neal look somewhat interested. He said, "Maybe."

It sounded dangerous, remembering that hard on Neal sparked when Peter handcuffed him.

Neal was smiling.

"What would it take to get you to wear this?" Peter asked.

Neal started to shake his head then a cunning expression alerted in his eyes and the smile grew larger and brighter until Peter felt like Little Red Riding Hood, confronted by the big bad wolf.

"What?"

"I will put it on and wear it in exchange for a kiss," Neal said.

"No, absolutely no," Peter said. "Are-you-out-of-your-fucking-mind-no!"

Neal stepped out of the corner and started to stroll for the door. "Fine."

Holding up his hand, palm outward, Peter weakly said, "Wait."

Neal turned back around. He controlled the smirk just barely.

"One kiss? No uh groping or hands going where they don't belong?"

"Peter, you really are no fun."

"Neal."

"All right, no groping on my part anyway and your virginal boxers are safe with me, but I want a real kiss. With tongue and on my mouth not my cheek, forehead or other maiden aunt location."

"And you will wear the flak jacket at all times unless we are in our hotel room?" Peter said.

"Okay," Neal said, stepping nearer.

"Flak jacket first and kiss back at our hotel room," Peter said.

"Promise?"

"You have my word and you know that's good," Peter said resignedly.

"I do know that, Peter," Neal said and his expression was so sweet that Peter could have kissed him anyway, not needing a devil's bargain to do it.

OooOooO

"I look chubby," Neal said, glancing at his reflection as they waited for a cab.

"The more of you to love," Peter deadpanned, avoiding the mock punch aimed at his arm easily.

"It better be worth it," Neal said.

"Not that being that much safer is worth it."

"The jacket won't stop them from putting a bullet in my brilliant brain and pretty face," Neal said.

That twisted in his Peter's gut. He said, "Most shooters go for the big target, chest not head." Peter could not resist a dig despite how worried he was. "Although with that swollen head of yours..."

"Peter, I do not have a huge ego. I just know what I have," Neal said. "Hey, a cab at last. Come on, Peter."

The cab veered toward them and Neal took an eager step toward it. Peter followed, something wrong nagging at him. Someone was in the passenger seat; the door was opening, metal extruding. His hand on Neal's arm and jerking him to the side, gun firing, Neal's grunt of pain, the astounded look in his eyes as he realized that he had been shot.

Peter held onto Neal, keeping him on his feet as he fired back. There was movement from all sides and Peter felt terror for the two of them.

"FBI!" one of the newcomers shouted.

Hands pulled both Peter and Neal to the ground, covering them both in best bodyguard fashion.

Next to Peter, Neal complained, "It feels like someone kicked me in the chest. It still hurt, Peter."

"And my new suit you bought me is ruined."

There were more guns shots, sirens, and chaos, but eventually Peter's colleagues let them rise, Neal shaking, holding his hand over the blast site in his flak jacket, and mourning the bullet hole in his suit.

"You can get more clothes, Neal, your heart is irreplaceable."

"Agent Lawrence," a stodgy man introduced himself. "Organized Crime. You and Mr. Caffrey are under my watch."

"Thank you," Peter said, although he was peeved that they didn't think he could protect Neal on his own.

"The prosecutor was concerned about Mr. Caffrey after his testimony. Esposito made a bunch of calls during the break after Mr. Caffrey testified the first time. We're moving you both to a safe house."

"That's good," Peter said. He was still holding onto Neal's arm and Neal was making no move to step away. He had helped Neal up and could not seem to loosen his grip on that wiry and precious arm.

"Vans over here," Lawrence said. "Are you sure that Caffrey is all right?"

"I guess I'm okay," Neal said.

"Because you're still hanging onto him."

"Oh, yeah," Peter said, reluctantly letting go.

"It better be a nice safe house!" Neal said. "and I need good coffee not that dredge they serve at your office."

"He likes Italian Roast," Peter explained.

"Marley, have the house stocked with Italian Roast coffee and pick up the suitcases from the hotel."

"I have a suit ordered," Neal said. "It's at Plato's."

"Marley, add that to your list," Lawrence directed.

Marley looked young enough to be still in high school. He was the obvious probie of the team from his bristling blond crew cut to his plain black tie, his academy graduation tie tack sparkling with his pride in the midst of all that polyester. "Yes, sir," Marley said, slinking off for his errands.

Sitting next to Peter in the van, Neal started to undo the flak jacket.

"When we are at the safe house," Peter reminded, putting his hand over Neal's still vibrating fingers.

"I just wanted to see how badly I'm bruised. It feels like I have something broken," Neal said.

"It always feels like that," Peter explained.

"First time you get shot at?" Lawrence asked, amused.

"No, but I don't intend to make a habit off it," Neal said. "Being a criminal was safer."

"We'll protect you."

"Seems like Peter did a good job of that," Neal defended.

"We'll just provide a little help, okay?" Lawrence said.

Peter thought he liked Lawrence. The agent seemed to have the right touch with Neal.

OooOooO

"Is there any surveillance in this room?" Peter asked as Lawrence showed them the comfortable room with two double beds.

"Just on the outside hallway and windows," Lawrence said. "Do you want video in here?"

"No, just wanted to know in case I want to scratch something," Peter said.

"That's vulgar, Peter! Elizabeth would be shocked," Neal interjected.

"You know nothing of married life. They get used to it," Peter said, controlling an urge to rub the arm El socked when he burped in her presence.

"Shouldn't have to get used to it. Marriage should not kill romance," Neal argued.

"Remind me to keep the boy away from my wife. Like I need some guy talking like she does," Lawrence said. He added, "Let me know if you need anything. I already am having a new jacket sent in for Mr. Caffrey.

"Alone at last," Peter said after Lawrence shut the door.

Neal was peeling off the flak jacket, tossing it on the bed. He took off his vest and shirt which were undamaged. The red of the bruise was spreading outward from the deep center where the bullet would have pierced his heart. Neal touched the mark with fascination. "I would have been dead."

And that shook Peter to his core. He stepped behind Neal and said, "You would have been. So now do you understand why you have to wear the jacket?"

"Yes," Neal said, turning suddenly right into Peter's arms. "But I still want my kiss."

"A bargain is a bargain," Peter agreed as if this was of scarce import, just a teasing little charade between them.

"Don't cheat me," Neal breathed, eyes closing, leaning close.

"I won't," Peter said, bringing Neal nearer yet. His hand cupped Neal's lovely soft hair. The other hand did not know where to settle, moving restlessly over Neal's back.

His traitor hand finding Neal's round ass to its liking, Peter indulged himself.

Neal's lips were sweet with vanilla flavored lip gloss, probably the only thing vanilla about him. The lips were soft, tender, and yielding. His tongue was a wild thing that Peter's own must capture. Neal's sigh as Peter gave into the kiss teased him, startled what he had to concede was a moan from him. Breathless, Peter knew the kiss must end and willed his lungs to bide their time because it seemed that he did not want the air so much as he wanted Neal's lips, his tongue, and so much more.

Reeling from lack of oxygen and blood rushing everywhere but his head, Peter let go and gazed upon Neal, half naked, hair wild although Peter did not recall gripping it, lips scarlet, eyes flashing. Neal undone.

His kiss did that. That casually ventured agreement and it was the first taste of the apple, so sweet, so addictive that the hunger would never stop until it was consumed.

Neal must know that he had, as always, reached too far. That he was tap dancing on a tight rope. That Peter wanted to throw him down on the bed and strip down every last thread of his elegance to leave him naked and still more grace-clad in gorgeous raiment of his silken skin, perfect sculpture of bone, and contradiction of muscled glory.

Neal drew a deep and shaky breath. He reached for his shirt and said, "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Peter tried to control his racing heart, his burgeoning erection, the need that raged through every molecule of him. He turned away in lie profane and agreed, "Don't know why I made such a big deal of it."

But Neal knew. Peter knew.

And the silence in the room only made the sound of blood raging molten all the more obvious.

Sometimes a kiss was not just a kiss.

Sometimes it's an explosion that will not be contained.

Detonation.

The end