Neal would have knocked but he was certain that there was no way Peter would be able to hear him over the din of noise coming from the house. He tested the handle, his eyebrow arching slightly when he found it unlocked.
"Peter!" He called as he opened the door, looking toward the wall of sound in the living room. He found Peter there, perched several steps up a ladder, drill in hand, working intently on the brick above the fireplace. Neal wound his way around the furniture that had been moved to make room for the ladder so he could get Peter's attention without yelling.
"Peter!" He called when he got close enough that he thought Peter could hear him above the sound.
He startled slightly before turning, lifting the goggles he'd used to protect his eyes. "Neal? Damn it." Peter looked at his watch, "I wanted to be done before you got here." He said a little too loudly, before realizing what he was doing and pulling the plugs out of his ears.
"What are you doing?" Neal was half-laughing as he spoke, looking around at the mess of the living and dining room.
"Re-arranging," Peter said, as he sat the drill on the ladder step. "I'm mounting the TV, here," he nodded toward the fireplace, "and putting the couch there," he pointed to the left of the bookcase, "make a kind of hallway with the couch and a table behind for some storage." Peter was smiling proudly as he spoke.
"And your dining room?" Neal asked tipping his head to the empty space that usually held the dining set.
"Oh, I sold the table; it's why I'm so late. They were supposed to be here to pick it up early, but had trouble getting the truck, which made them late and then made me late..." Peter said moving his hand in a wave-like motion. "I'm moving my office down here. I mean, I don't need a dining table with the breakfast bar and I never use the office because it's on the third floor and you know how hot it gets up there in the summer?"
"Whoa, Peter slow down. There's no way you could get that all done in one morning."
"Well," Peter shrugged, "I was only hoping to get the living room done today and the rest I'll work on as I can." He smiled winningly at Neal, "or when I can talk someone into to helping me move the heavier furniture down two flights of stairs."
"I thought I was supposed to be the conman." He smiled back ruefully.
"Well, going down couldn't be as bad as getting that stuff up there. Me an El were sore for a week after we moved in." He felt his smile fade and tried to hide it by moving toward the kitchen. "You wanna beer? I'll hook the TV up and order a pizza."
"Sure, but..." It was rare for Neal to have to struggle for words. "Are you sure you should be making all these changes?" he faltered slightly when Peter's movements slowed as he reached into the refrigerator, "I mean ...it's only been a couple of months, Peter." He tried to make his voice soft as he spoke.
"I'm not doing anything too radical." Peter's voice had lost its enthusiasm. "Just moving a few things around, getting rid of things I don't use anymore..."
He kept his back turned as he opened the bottles. "Hey, yeah, sure and I'll be glad to help, but take it slow. You've got..." He bit his lip to keep the words from coming out, but Peter's stiff shoulders told him that he had heard them nonetheless.
"I've got all the time in the world." Peter's voice sounded bitter. Peter's face was a mask when he turned to hand the bottle to Neal.
"Peter," Neal followed him as he walked back to the living room, setting the beer down without taking a drink and picking up the drill. "I'm just saying you have time. If you want to change the house do it. I just don't want you to do anything you might regret later."
"I couldn't stand it anymore." Peter said as he started up the ladder again.
"Stand what?" Neal moved to the other side of the ladder so he could see Peter's face and to keep him from turning on the drill and tuning him out.
Peter shook his head as he looked down at him from his perch. "I couldn't sit at that stupid table by myself..." he inhaled sharply, "and it just got to the point where I couldn't stand to look at it. I tried sitting at the counter, but I could feel this space behind me and then I tried sitting on the couch but I could see it just sitting there empty." He closed his eyes and looked down. "I know it sounds..."
"It doesn't, Peter. I get it. I do." Neal reached out, clasping the hand holding on to the ladder in his. "So the table's gone and we're," he emphasized the we're, "going to do some redecorating, just you know, a room at a time. We'll make it a project. I need a project."
Peter lifted his head, "We're not redecorating, we're refurbishing." Neal rolled his eyes at the correction. "Okay, refurbishing. So..." he sat down his own drink and pulled at the cuff of his shirt to start rolling it up, "installing the TV. How are you going to mount it?" Peter perked up slightly and answered, "That's the other reason I'm a little late. Had to buy a kit to mount it," he pointed to the box leaning against the wall, "and some screws for brick instead of what came with the box. It was a thing." He said as he waved the drill around.
"Well, I am your humble servant," he ignored Peter's snort, "where do you want me to start?"
"Oh, uh, open up the box and get the instructions out. You read and I'll do what you say...just this once." He added quickly, cutting off Neal's rejoinder.
"You know, I suddenly have this weird sinking feeling." Neal smiled and flashed his eyes at Peter, who just shook his head at him ruefully and turned back to the wall, flipping on his drill.
Peter hadn't realized that he had started to drift after the game went into overtime, until Neal kicked his ankle forcing his eyes open. "I can leave, if you're ready for bed." Neal said, catching Peter's eyes as he blinked to clear them. "Nah, I'm just...the food and then this game going on forever," he yawned eliciting a huff from Neal, "and I got up so early."
He tried to lift himself out of his lazy sprawl, but only partially succeeded. "Looks good, Right?" He nodded to the newly mounted TV. "Yeah, it's great and I like couch here too. Good move."
They slipped into silence as the game came back on. "Another beer?" Peter fought another yawn.
"No, thanks. I've got some left."
Peter made a noncommittal sound as he angled his arm so he could rest his head against it. "Okay, that's it. I'm leaving." Neal said, pushing himself to his feet, petting Satch when he came to him.
"What?"
"You're half-asleep. I'm going home so you can go to bed."
Peter pushed against the couch cushions so he could stand, wincing as a few muscles made argument against the move. "I'm not asleep. Besides, I've gotta take Satch out. It'll wake me up. We can DVR the game and you can make us some gourmet dessert while we're out."
"A walk, uh?" Neal looked him up and down. "You look like you can barely move. What did you do? Carry that table out on your back?"
"The door, the stairs, lifting it on the truck. I think I should have stretched first."
"How about I take Satch for his walk and grab some ice cream at the corner and you find some muscle relaxers and the heating pad?"
"Heating pad?" Peter made a cross-looking face. "I think I can take my dog for a walk. I'm not that decrepit yet" He winced again when he bent to take Satch's collar and pull the leash from the basket.
"Here's a plan. We go together, take Satch on his walk and get the ice cream." Neal spread his hands magnanimously.
Peter locked the leash in place and fought hard not to let his face show the flare of pain when he straightened. "Sounds like a plan." Peter agreed.
"That way," Neal continued as though he hadn't missed a beat, "I can carry you back when you fall over."
Peter glared at him, but didn't respond as he tugged on Satch's collar and head for the door.
"That's one of the things that attracted us to the neighborhood." Peter said as he held the door open so Neal could precede him in the shop. A patron standing in line eyed Satch, but the owners where an elderly couple and they had always allowed Satch in, health regulations be damned.
"The first neighborhoods we looked at had all this cookie-cutter housing. You know the kind where each house is supposed to be different, but they're really all the same."
"I've never seen the appeal. Every house should tell a story." Neal said. "That's what I said." Peter agreed, smiling brightly.
They were silent for a moment as they looked at the list of the day's flavors.
"Let me guess? Vanilla?" Neal said, his voice showing how amusing he found himself.
Peter smirked at him, "As a matter of fact they have a French Vanilla that I rather enjoy."
"What about you, Neal? They have Rocky Road?" His eyebrows rose mockingly.
"I feel like there's a joke in there somewhere, but I'm not getting it."
They moved to the counter when the customer in front of them finished paying and scooted around Satch to leave.
"Mr. Burke!" An older gentleman greeted Peter enthusiastically, causing Neal's eyes to widen.
"So good to see you!" The man enthused.
"You to, Mr. Marcos." Peter ducked his head a little. El had always done well with the older gentleman's enthusiasm, but Peter found it a little overwhelming, so he turned his attention to Neal. "See anything you like?" He asked, then felt his brow furrow. That sounded a little like a come on.
Neal barely suppressed a laugh and Peter felt his face heat when he saw Mr. Marcos eying him suspiciously. "Why Peter, I never thought you'd ask." Neal said in a mockingly seductive manner, as he leaned into the counter to get a better look at the flavors behind the glass case. Peter was smiling at him wondering if he'd ever be able to resist a line like that if only for proprieties sake, when he looked up to find that Mr. Marcos was now scowling, a disgusted look on his face, as he watched Neal.
Peter felt anger rise in his chest. He was just getting ready to berate the man when Neal's face rose. When his eyes glimpsed the look on Mr. Marcos' face, his entire body tensed. He attempted to hide the step he took away from Peter by making his order and stepping toward the register.
Peter felt his mouth hanging open slightly. "What are you doing?"
"Um?" Neal's face was closed off and distant.
"Cancel that order." He barked at Mr. Marcos.
"Peter?" Neal's voice had a slightly pleading sound to it, but it didn't stop Peter from speaking over him. "And, I can't believe that you have a business in this neighborhood with that kind of attitude."
"Peter!" Neal stepped back into his space.
"You can't..."
"It's El, Peter."
"What?" Peter turned his attention back to Neal.
"It's not...he's upset over El, I think." Neal licked his bottom lip as he looked down and away.
"I don't discriminate against no one, Mr. Burke." Mr. Marcos argued, even though he was still flummoxed by Peter's tirade, "But your wife was such a good person. I...ah...didn't mean anything. I suppose it's none of my business besides..."
"Mr. Marcos," Peter held up his hand in a placating manner, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I just thought. You know what, never mind what I thought. I misinterpreted." He felt Neal tugging at his elbow, probably trying to stop him from tripping all over himself.
"Peter, it's alright. It's alright Mr. Marcos and just for the record, we're friends and that's all."
"You don't have to explain to anyone what we are." Peter said incredulously, though most of the steam from his tirade was now gone.
Neal opened his eyes wide as he looked up at Peter, begging him to shut up. "Why don't we go home and I'll make us something for dessert instead?"
Peter felt his shoulder's sag even as Satch tugged on the lead. "Yeah, let's do that." He said, shooting Mr. Marcos as apologetic look as he followed Neal out the door.
Neal was walking fast, a few steps ahead of him. Peter grimaced as he upped his pace to catch up with him, even though it was killing his back.
"Okay, so I may have overreacted in there?"
Neal exhaled heavily, "You think? Peter, you nearly took the guy's head off."
"Well, Gee, I'm sorry for trying to stand up for you."
"For me?" Neal sped up as they rounded the corner to Peter's street.
"You're really going to tell me you felt like you had to defend my honor."
"Your honor, no, but the way he was looking at you."
"And how was he looking at me?"
"Like I don't know, I think he thought we were flirting and I guess I thought he didn't like it because you're...uh."
"I'm uh... a man, you mean. Are you sure you're not angry because he thought you were flirting with me?"
"No!" He ran a few steps, calling for Satch to keep up. "That has nothing to do with it."
"Really? And are you telling me that if he had thought a woman was flirting with you you'd have gone off on him like that?"
"Yes or well no, because I wouldn't be flirting with anyone, but yes because you're my friend and no one is allowed to treat you like that for any reason."
Neal slowed, but Peter couldn't tell if it was because they were getting close to the house or if he too, was running out of steam. He turned to look at Peter, an unreadable look on his face. "And that's the only reason you got upset."
"Of course." Peter knew he sounded bewildered. It wasn't the first time trying to be noble had blown up in his face, but it was the first time that Neal had reacted so negatively towards him about it.
He followed Neal up the steps, still processing. "So, you're more angry at me for standing up for you than at that guy thinking I'm your sugar daddy?"
Neal halted at the top of the stairs and looked down at him. "Sugar daddy, Peter? Really?"
Peter was grasping, "I uh..."
"You're not rich enough for the sugar and not old enough for the daddy. I don't think any-one's going to mistake you for my sugar daddy."
"What?" Peter had lost the thread of the conversation somehow.
Neal just crossed his arms lifting a brow expectantly. "They could so!" Peter argued, continuing up the stairs, forcing Neal to step aside so he could unlock the door.
Neal's body shook with suppressed laughter, "You think?"
Peter looked over his shoulder as he entered the house, turning to release Satch's collar and giving his flank a hardy pat to encourage him toward the kitchen, when he seemed confused by the new placement of the couch.
"Well, yes! First of all, I'm not in your league looks-wise, the first mark of a sugar daddy. Secondly, I'm a good, 10 maybe 15 years older than you, at least I think I am, but since I'm pretty certain that the birthday I have for you is false, I can't be sure and although I'm not wealthy by any stretch of the imagination, I do have a nice house and a good job..." Peter felt like his arguments where solid, but the look on Neal's face made it clear he didn't agree.
He took Satch's snack out of the cabinet and tossed it on the floor. "Well, your theory is sound, but unfortunately the foundations of your hypothesis are false. First, you are in my league," Peter felt his brow raising in doubt, "What? You're a good looking guy...you know, for your age." Neal smiled broadly at Peter's indignant huff, "And, you just couldn't be a sugar daddy."
Peter looked Neal up and down. His custom-cut suit and Peter decided that the term 'air of sophistication' must have been created for men like him. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I'd have to sell my soul to some corporation before I could afford to keep you up."
A thoughtful look passed across Neal's face. "That's not what I meant. That type of relationship either implies or sometime explicitly entails an exchange of goods -affection, for money and not only are you not the type of man to enter into that type of relationship. You care too much about people to use money to win them over." Neal shrugged, "It's just not in you."
"I think there's a compliment in there somewhere?"
"It's in there." Neal agreed as he came to lean against the bar. Peter looked at him, leaning there, smiling cheekily at him. His face was relaxed now that his anger was gone and his eyes where shining with their usual mischief. He didn't care what Neal said he was totally out of Peter's league or would be, if Peter was attracted to men.
"Oreos and milk?" Peter offered, somewhat embarrassed.
Neal laugh was light and he bit his bottom lip before responding, "Do you know you can pair Oreos with Banyuls?"
"No, I didn't know that and even if I did, I'm afraid I'm fresh out." Peter opened his hands in a grand manner as though presenting the kitchen.
"Well, next time I'll bring the Banyuls, you bring the Oreos."
"Sounds like a date." Peter said lightly as he turned to find the glasses for the milk and the cookies in the pantry, never seeing the quick flash of emotion that crossed Neal's face before he answered lightly, "Sounds like a plan."