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minoanmissThis story continues to eat my brain.
Ten weeks later, the last reported sightings of Neal Caffrey were in a San Francisco gallery now missing a life-size glass sculpture. Meanwhile, Peter Burke collapses facedown into a Jersey City motel bed. The sheets are scratchy but he's absolutely not safe to drive anymore, after seventeen hours of chasing that weaselly little forger Peppens all the way to Atlantic City, catching him, booking him, and then trying to get home. Really, Peter should've just stayed there for the night, but it could be worse. He could've hit the wall in Newark.
Turning onto his side, thinking hazy indignant thoughts on how Peppens isn't half the artist Caffrey is, Peter falls asleep.
He wakes up to sleek warmth all down his back and strong arms around him, and sighs happily, and starts to doze off again before memory hits him like a splash of cold water. He rolls as fast as he can onto the man beside him, scrambling to pin him while trying his best not to feel him, as he snaps, "Caffrey."
"Hi," Neal replies, smile bright enough to shine in the dimness. Clutching one fine-boned wrist, Peter reaches up for the lamp switch, and winces at the flood of light as Neal makes a little dismayed noise.
"How the hell did you know I was here?" Peter demands, grabbing Neal's other wrist and pinning them both onto the pillow. Neal just smiles, and breathes under him, and a tee and briefs are not nearly enough armor for this. "I didn't even know I'd be here."
Neal shrugs, rolling his elegant shoulders, his dark hair in feathery curls on the pillow. "I wanted to see you," he says, openly, like it's the plain truth. Like it's any kind of truth.
Ten weeks later, the last reported sightings of Neal Caffrey were in a San Francisco gallery now missing a life-size glass sculpture. Meanwhile, Peter Burke collapses facedown into a Jersey City motel bed. The sheets are scratchy but he's absolutely not safe to drive anymore, after seventeen hours of chasing that weaselly little forger Peppens all the way to Atlantic City, catching him, booking him, and then trying to get home. Really, Peter should've just stayed there for the night, but it could be worse. He could've hit the wall in Newark.
Turning onto his side, thinking hazy indignant thoughts on how Peppens isn't half the artist Caffrey is, Peter falls asleep.
He wakes up to sleek warmth all down his back and strong arms around him, and sighs happily, and starts to doze off again before memory hits him like a splash of cold water. He rolls as fast as he can onto the man beside him, scrambling to pin him while trying his best not to feel him, as he snaps, "Caffrey."
"Hi," Neal replies, smile bright enough to shine in the dimness. Clutching one fine-boned wrist, Peter reaches up for the lamp switch, and winces at the flood of light as Neal makes a little dismayed noise.
"How the hell did you know I was here?" Peter demands, grabbing Neal's other wrist and pinning them both onto the pillow. Neal just smiles, and breathes under him, and a tee and briefs are not nearly enough armor for this. "I didn't even know I'd be here."
Neal shrugs, rolling his elegant shoulders, his dark hair in feathery curls on the pillow. "I wanted to see you," he says, openly, like it's the plain truth. Like it's any kind of truth.
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Date: 2021-09-02 05:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-09-02 01:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-09-02 01:38 pm (UTC)