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It happens twice. The night of Kate’s memorial, of course, and again two nights later when Peter tries to drop him off at the curb in front of June’s. Peter doesn’t even stop the engine, and Neal can’t let him go. Not like this.
Neal can handle the silence at work; he can tell himself that Peter just wants to keep the rumors from starting. But he can’t pretend it never happened.
He knows Peter feels guilty; he knows Peter is trying to do the right thing. But he also knows that Peter wants him, and that Peter won’t be hard to convince.
He isn’t.
***
Seeing them on his body afterward makes it feel more real. Peter is long gone, the scent of him disappearing from the sheets with every minute that passes. With the silence between them, Neal needs something to tell him he’s not just dreaming all of this.
Oh, the look on Peter’s face when Neal begged for it. Neal hadn’t dared mark Peter the same way, hadn’t dared answer Peter’s possessiveness with violence of his own. But he would still have this, when Peter’s guilt won’t let them have more.
Some of the scratches on his back are deep enough to bleed, but Neal doesn’t bandage them before he falls into bed. It can only be better, to have blood on the sheets.
Peter would understand the need for evidence.
***
The relief makes Neal careless.
Mozzie falls silent for just a moment when Neal reaches for the butter, his shirt cuff sliding up to frame the ring of bruises around his wrist. Neal freezes, waiting for Mozzie to ask the obvious question. Neal doesn’t know how to answer it.
After a moment, Mozzie just clears his throat and continues, and Neal lets out the breath he was holding.
***
Every time Peter turns from the screen, his eyes go to Neal. They roam down the unmarked line of his neck above the collar, and below, where Neal is still wearing the marks of Peter's teeth. Peter's gaze lingers on the second button of Neal's shirt, right above the mark he'd worried into place so zealously the night before. Then Peter looks away, only to glance back again a few minutes later.
Neal lets his fingers come to rest on that spot, rubbing soft circles into the bruise, and watches Peter's eyes darken. It's guilt as much as desire, but Neal can ignore the first if he tries.
He isn't surprised when Peter turns away from him for the rest of the briefing, drawing it out long enough to regain control.
***
The storm hasn’t let up, and traffic is terrible. The windshield wipers barely make a dent in the wall of water sweeping down the glass, smearing the red taillights of the cab in front of them.
Peter has both hands clenched tightly around the wheel; his jaw just as tightly clenched shut. The silence between them is terrible, but Neal knows that the words Peter wants to say are worse.
“I’ve been thinking about the Veridian lender case,” Neal starts, pretending he can’t feel the tension in the air. “The mortgages on those vacation properties –“
“Don’t do this, Neal.” Peter’s eyes cut to him, his fingers flexing around the steering wheel. “Don’t make it harder than it has to be.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re the one who called it complicated –“
“I want to stop this.” Peter's eyes close briefly, but he doesn’t look at Neal. “I don't want to be doing any of this. I don't want to be cheating on my wife –“
Neal swallows hard. “Peter –“
“- and fucking a man who's grieving too hard to know what he's doing –“
“Peter – “
“You used to be my friend!” The confusion and betrayal in Peter's voice hurts, it hurts, and at least it feels like something but Neal is tired of hurting.
“I love you.” The words tumble out. It's a terrible time to say them, blurted so bluntly into the tension between them, and any power they might have had over Peter is ruined, now.
It shuts off Peter's tirade. For a moment, there's silence in the car broken only by the faint whirring of the windshield wipers. Then Peter sighs. “What about Kate?” His voice is as tired as Neal feels.
“Kate's dead.” Neal's voice isn't much better.
“And that's all it takes?” Peter shakes his head once, violently. “I don't believe it. Not from you.”
“I - need –“
They stop for a red light, and Peter lets his face fall forward, forehead resting against the steering wheel. His back is hunched, tight, and Neal has never seen him look so hopeless.
A car behind them honks, and it still takes Peter a moment to lift his face and get the car moving.
“Don't lie to me, Neal.” It's a plea, full of guilt and something Neal thinks he could slice himself open on.
“I won't.” The words are simple, the tone easy and promising, and Neal has no idea if he’s lying or not. “I love you. That's why I didn't say goodbye, it's why I had to leave –“
“Because you love me.” Peter eases them past a line of stopped traffic, water sluicing around the wheels as they turn. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “Neal. I don't love you.”
Neal doesn’t look, either, but sometimes he thinks he can read the lines of Peter’s shoulders in his sleep. “Yes, you do.”
“If I loved you, I wouldn't be with you like this. I wouldn't be hiding this from Elizabeth. I wouldn't be trying to own you.” Peter pounds a fist against the steering wheel, and Neal startles. “I - I hurt you, and I liked it. No, I loved it, and I wouldn't be doing that if I loved you –“
“You would. You would because I want you to, and you’d do anything for the people you love.” As he says it, Neal realizes that it’s true. And he is suddenly, completely terrified in a way that even this train wreck of a conversation hadn’t managed. Because if Peter is doing this for him, because Neal wants it – then this is all Neal’s doing. And Neal ruins everything he touches. “Stop the car.”
“Neal –“
Neal clutches the door. “Pull over. I’m going to be sick.”
They barely get over, horns blaring behind them as Peter pulls the car across lanes of traffic. They haven’t fully stopped when Neal shoves the door open and empties his stomach in the street. He catches sight of Peter flipping off another driver out the window and waving them past. Another bout of retching hits him, but there’s nothing left to come up. At least the rain washes it away quickly.
Peter hands him a handkerchief when he’s done, the sour taste still filling his mouth. “Neal. I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re right. You’re right.” Neal takes a deep breath, fighting for a more appropriate expression for a conversation like this. Rain is coming in the passenger door, leaving dark specks on his slacks, but the fresh air feels good. “You don’t want to be doing this, and I – I’m taking advantage of you –“
“Stop it,” Peter snaps, and the words choke up inside Neal’s throat. “Look at me.”
Neal does, slowly, and Peter is much too close, his hand resting on the arm of the passenger seat.
“You do everything I tell you now,” Peter says gently, his anger somewhere else for the moment. “Diana thinks you’re terrified of being sent back to prison. Are you?”
Neal shakes his head. He tries to think about it, but prison is too far away. He can’t keep it in his mind. It’s just him, and Kate, and what it’s like when he’s alone in the loft and can’t believe that Peter will ever come back.
“But you’re scared of something.“
Neal doesn’t nod, but he drops his eyes. He can’t look Peter in the face. He knows this is humiliating, even if he can’t feel it yet. He should have been able to prevent this conversation from ever happening, and now he can’t even hide.
“We’re going to get Fowler, you know,” Peter says, frustration sliding under his voice. “He’s going to pay for what he did to Kate, and I know it won’t make up for anything, but we’re going to make sure that he can never do that to anyone else –“
His eyes widen, with that sudden intake of breath that says he understands, and Neal can’t stand to see it on his face. Neal doesn’t even think; he pushes the door fully open and he’s out, running down the sidewalk before Peter can react.