![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kathierif_ficTitle: Remember
Fandom: White Collar
Pairing: Peter/Neal, Peter/Neal/Elizabeth implied
Rating: FRT-13
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: It’s the anniversary of Kate’s death. Neal remembers.
A/N: For kink_bingo, prompt shaving/depilation. 1515 words.
Neal, Peter thought while staring down from his office, looked tired today, as if he hadn’t slept enough the night before.
The thought triggered a series of other thoughts, not all of them favorable. A part of him tried to remember if there was anything Neal could have stolen or done the last night that Peter needed to be aware of, but there wasn’t anything that immediately sprang to mind.
He’d probably just worked on his art, Peter thought as he picked up another file report, and had forgotten the time. He knew how Neal was when he was elbows-deep in a project. There wasn’t a lot that could distract him – unless it was Peter or Mozzie knocking on his door or calling.
Peter smiled and tried to focus back on his report. He wasn’t getting paid by the FBI to think about Neal – not anymore, at least.
“Hey.”
Neal stuck his head into the office. He was holding up a file, and Peter waved him in and leaned back in his chair.
“I found the pattern you had me looking for,” Neal said with a grin and handed the file over before sitting down opposite Peter. “Does that mean I can go early today?”
Peter gave him a thoughtful look. Something about Neal was different today – his grin was a little too wide, too bright, to be real. There were no dark circles under his eyes, not yet, but Peter saw that it was only a matter of time before they would appear.
What he saw was several days’ worth of stubble covering Neal’s cheeks and chin. It was a soft dark shadow against his skin, and Peter’s eyes followed the line of darkness across Neal’s left cheek to his upper lip.
The stubble, Peter thought, only made Neal look younger and more vulnerable.
He didn’t know what Neal had done the night before. He knew it was his business to know as much as possible, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be aware. At least not when it wasn’t anything illegal.
What he knew was that he felt responsible for Neal and for his well-being. What he felt for Neal went far beyond anything rational and beyond what the call of duty required of him, and they all knew and acknowledged it – he did, El did, and Neal did, too.
None of them would act on these feelings, not while Peter was legally responsible for Neal, but that didn’t make these confusing feelings go away, especially not when Neal looked like this.
Neal not looking like his usual, impeccable self made Peter want to reach out and hug him until everything was okay again, no matter what was wrong, but he knew that this wasn’t the right time and place for such a display of forbidden affections.
Neal raised his eyebrows, as if he could pick up some of Peter’s thoughts, and Peter grinned as he closed his files and stacked them neatly on the edge of his desk.
These could wait until the next day without any problems. Neal had been investigating cold cases, Peter’s paperwork wasn’t anything particularly urgent, either – he could take off the rest of the day and make sure Neal was okay and not involved in anything illegal.
“Come on, let’s go,” he said and grabbed his briefcase.
Neal looked surprised, but he didn’t protest and got up to get his coat and that ridiculous hat he loved so much.
“Where are we going?” he asked as they left the building.
“Home,” Peter replied easily. “Come on.”
El wasn’t there yet, but Satchmo greeted them with a happily wagging tail and Neal spent the next five minutes petting him and scratching his ears and belly.
Finally, he straightened from his crouch and turned to face Peter, his face carefully blank.
“You don’t want to talk about it,” Peter guessed carefully.
“Not particularly, no,” Neal replied.
“All right, then.” Peter shrugged. “Do you want a drink? Something to eat? A shower?” He gave Neal a pointed glance, indicating that the answer to at least two of these questions better should be a yes.
Neal sighed. His shoulders slumped in defeat. “Yeah, sounds good,” he muttered.
Peter nodded. “You know where the bathroom is,” he said. “Take your time.”
Neal looked doubtful, but he turned on his heel and climbed the stairs without a single word of protest, which, Peter thought as he watched him, was never a good sign.
When the water began to run, Peter allowed himself a small smile and checked the fridge. There were leftovers, together with a bottle of wine El had picked.
When he felt that enough time had passed and Neal still hadn’t returned downstairs, he went to investigate.
Neal was standing in the bathroom, wrapped in Peter’s robe, his hair wet and slicked back carelessly. He was staring at Peter’s shaving kit without moving a single muscle.
“Neal?” Peter asked softly.
Neal’s throat worked as he swallowed thickly. “She always offered to help me shave. It fascinated her. I don’t know why,” he said quietly.
Peter opened his mouth to ask, but there was no need. There was only one woman who had enough influence on Neal to make him stop like this.
Kate.
Kate, who had died…exactly two years ago.
Peter felt his shoulders relax. He hadn’t even realized how tense not knowing what Neal was up to made him feel, and finding out almost made him laugh out loud.
Instead, he smiled softly and tugged Neal slightly until he was sitting down on the edge of the tub.
“She would always miss a few spots,” Neal said, his voice filled with gentle amusement. “I never pointed it out.”
Peter smiled and reached for his razor and the shaving cream. He didn’t say anything as he carefully applied a foaming layer of the cream to Neal’s face.
If Neal thought Peter was acting strange, he didn’t show it. He was still lost in his memories of Kate, the woman he’d wanted to spend the rest of his life with; the woman for who he had managed to break out of prison.
He closed his eyes when Peter dragged the razor carefully along his cheek, followed by a warm thumb to test the smoothness of his skin.
Peter turned around to clean the razor in the sink, but Neal didn’t move a single inch. If not for the moving of his chest, he could have been a marble statue; a piece of art dressed in Peter’s old robe.
Peter took his time shaving Neal. Swipe after swipe of the blade cleaned Neal’s skin of hair and foam, and Peter fell into a quiet rhythm, quickly adapting to shaving someone else.
He was almost finished with one side when Neal stirred.
“Are you…” he started, “…are you trying to replace her?”
Peter carefully shaved Neal’s upper lip before he answered.
“Kate was someone really special for you,” he said, his voice quiet and even. He rinsed the blade and pressed it against Neal’s skin again.
“You did some really insane things because you were so much in love with her.”
Another part of skin was revealed under Peter’s careful hands and the sharp razor.
“Neal, nobody can ever replace Kate for you.”
He was almost finished now.
“But you shouldn’t let her death get to you to the point where you don’t take proper care of yourself.”
He was finished now and cleaned the razor under running water before wetting the edge of a towel and wiping it over Neal’s face.
“You shouldn’t forget her,” he said gently. “But your life will go on, even without her.”
Neal looked up. For a second, he looked as if he wanted to make a subtle acerbic comment about what Peter had just said, but then, he reached up and simply touched his face.
His fingertips barely brushed against the small patch of stubble right at the edge of his jaw that Peter had left there intentionally.
Every sarcastic comment was forgotten as Neal traced the uneven edges of that small patch of hair for a second, probably remembering Kate and their time together, or possibly thinking about the brushstroke of some famous painter he’d always wanted to copy, who knew with Neal Caffrey, but then, he looked up at Peter with wide, thankful eyes.
And then, there it was, the right time and place.
Neal’s arms closed around Peter’s body, warm and tight and alive, and Peter brought his own arms up and rested his hands at the small of Neal’s back, feeling the muscles twitch and tense and relax under his touch.
“Thank you, Peter,” Neal murmured.
Peter pressed his lips against slick, wet hair.
Neal Caffrey might be a lot of things.
Conman, artist, criminal – but in the end, he was only a man; a man with strong emotions and memories like everybody else.
He was a man under Peter’s care and protection, a man Peter respected and cared for and loved.
There was really one thing to say.
“You’re welcome.”
~end.
Fandom: White Collar
Pairing: Peter/Neal, Peter/Neal/Elizabeth implied
Rating: FRT-13
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: It’s the anniversary of Kate’s death. Neal remembers.
A/N: For kink_bingo, prompt shaving/depilation. 1515 words.
Neal, Peter thought while staring down from his office, looked tired today, as if he hadn’t slept enough the night before.
The thought triggered a series of other thoughts, not all of them favorable. A part of him tried to remember if there was anything Neal could have stolen or done the last night that Peter needed to be aware of, but there wasn’t anything that immediately sprang to mind.
He’d probably just worked on his art, Peter thought as he picked up another file report, and had forgotten the time. He knew how Neal was when he was elbows-deep in a project. There wasn’t a lot that could distract him – unless it was Peter or Mozzie knocking on his door or calling.
Peter smiled and tried to focus back on his report. He wasn’t getting paid by the FBI to think about Neal – not anymore, at least.
“Hey.”
Neal stuck his head into the office. He was holding up a file, and Peter waved him in and leaned back in his chair.
“I found the pattern you had me looking for,” Neal said with a grin and handed the file over before sitting down opposite Peter. “Does that mean I can go early today?”
Peter gave him a thoughtful look. Something about Neal was different today – his grin was a little too wide, too bright, to be real. There were no dark circles under his eyes, not yet, but Peter saw that it was only a matter of time before they would appear.
What he saw was several days’ worth of stubble covering Neal’s cheeks and chin. It was a soft dark shadow against his skin, and Peter’s eyes followed the line of darkness across Neal’s left cheek to his upper lip.
The stubble, Peter thought, only made Neal look younger and more vulnerable.
He didn’t know what Neal had done the night before. He knew it was his business to know as much as possible, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be aware. At least not when it wasn’t anything illegal.
What he knew was that he felt responsible for Neal and for his well-being. What he felt for Neal went far beyond anything rational and beyond what the call of duty required of him, and they all knew and acknowledged it – he did, El did, and Neal did, too.
None of them would act on these feelings, not while Peter was legally responsible for Neal, but that didn’t make these confusing feelings go away, especially not when Neal looked like this.
Neal not looking like his usual, impeccable self made Peter want to reach out and hug him until everything was okay again, no matter what was wrong, but he knew that this wasn’t the right time and place for such a display of forbidden affections.
Neal raised his eyebrows, as if he could pick up some of Peter’s thoughts, and Peter grinned as he closed his files and stacked them neatly on the edge of his desk.
These could wait until the next day without any problems. Neal had been investigating cold cases, Peter’s paperwork wasn’t anything particularly urgent, either – he could take off the rest of the day and make sure Neal was okay and not involved in anything illegal.
“Come on, let’s go,” he said and grabbed his briefcase.
Neal looked surprised, but he didn’t protest and got up to get his coat and that ridiculous hat he loved so much.
“Where are we going?” he asked as they left the building.
“Home,” Peter replied easily. “Come on.”
El wasn’t there yet, but Satchmo greeted them with a happily wagging tail and Neal spent the next five minutes petting him and scratching his ears and belly.
Finally, he straightened from his crouch and turned to face Peter, his face carefully blank.
“You don’t want to talk about it,” Peter guessed carefully.
“Not particularly, no,” Neal replied.
“All right, then.” Peter shrugged. “Do you want a drink? Something to eat? A shower?” He gave Neal a pointed glance, indicating that the answer to at least two of these questions better should be a yes.
Neal sighed. His shoulders slumped in defeat. “Yeah, sounds good,” he muttered.
Peter nodded. “You know where the bathroom is,” he said. “Take your time.”
Neal looked doubtful, but he turned on his heel and climbed the stairs without a single word of protest, which, Peter thought as he watched him, was never a good sign.
When the water began to run, Peter allowed himself a small smile and checked the fridge. There were leftovers, together with a bottle of wine El had picked.
When he felt that enough time had passed and Neal still hadn’t returned downstairs, he went to investigate.
Neal was standing in the bathroom, wrapped in Peter’s robe, his hair wet and slicked back carelessly. He was staring at Peter’s shaving kit without moving a single muscle.
“Neal?” Peter asked softly.
Neal’s throat worked as he swallowed thickly. “She always offered to help me shave. It fascinated her. I don’t know why,” he said quietly.
Peter opened his mouth to ask, but there was no need. There was only one woman who had enough influence on Neal to make him stop like this.
Kate.
Kate, who had died…exactly two years ago.
Peter felt his shoulders relax. He hadn’t even realized how tense not knowing what Neal was up to made him feel, and finding out almost made him laugh out loud.
Instead, he smiled softly and tugged Neal slightly until he was sitting down on the edge of the tub.
“She would always miss a few spots,” Neal said, his voice filled with gentle amusement. “I never pointed it out.”
Peter smiled and reached for his razor and the shaving cream. He didn’t say anything as he carefully applied a foaming layer of the cream to Neal’s face.
If Neal thought Peter was acting strange, he didn’t show it. He was still lost in his memories of Kate, the woman he’d wanted to spend the rest of his life with; the woman for who he had managed to break out of prison.
He closed his eyes when Peter dragged the razor carefully along his cheek, followed by a warm thumb to test the smoothness of his skin.
Peter turned around to clean the razor in the sink, but Neal didn’t move a single inch. If not for the moving of his chest, he could have been a marble statue; a piece of art dressed in Peter’s old robe.
Peter took his time shaving Neal. Swipe after swipe of the blade cleaned Neal’s skin of hair and foam, and Peter fell into a quiet rhythm, quickly adapting to shaving someone else.
He was almost finished with one side when Neal stirred.
“Are you…” he started, “…are you trying to replace her?”
Peter carefully shaved Neal’s upper lip before he answered.
“Kate was someone really special for you,” he said, his voice quiet and even. He rinsed the blade and pressed it against Neal’s skin again.
“You did some really insane things because you were so much in love with her.”
Another part of skin was revealed under Peter’s careful hands and the sharp razor.
“Neal, nobody can ever replace Kate for you.”
He was almost finished now.
“But you shouldn’t let her death get to you to the point where you don’t take proper care of yourself.”
He was finished now and cleaned the razor under running water before wetting the edge of a towel and wiping it over Neal’s face.
“You shouldn’t forget her,” he said gently. “But your life will go on, even without her.”
Neal looked up. For a second, he looked as if he wanted to make a subtle acerbic comment about what Peter had just said, but then, he reached up and simply touched his face.
His fingertips barely brushed against the small patch of stubble right at the edge of his jaw that Peter had left there intentionally.
Every sarcastic comment was forgotten as Neal traced the uneven edges of that small patch of hair for a second, probably remembering Kate and their time together, or possibly thinking about the brushstroke of some famous painter he’d always wanted to copy, who knew with Neal Caffrey, but then, he looked up at Peter with wide, thankful eyes.
And then, there it was, the right time and place.
Neal’s arms closed around Peter’s body, warm and tight and alive, and Peter brought his own arms up and rested his hands at the small of Neal’s back, feeling the muscles twitch and tense and relax under his touch.
“Thank you, Peter,” Neal murmured.
Peter pressed his lips against slick, wet hair.
Neal Caffrey might be a lot of things.
Conman, artist, criminal – but in the end, he was only a man; a man with strong emotions and memories like everybody else.
He was a man under Peter’s care and protection, a man Peter respected and cared for and loved.
There was really one thing to say.
“You’re welcome.”
~end.