Title: Here In Your Arms (no one can see us)
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: PG
Length: ~950 words
Note: Set after 5.13. This can stand alone or be read as part 2 of the Roommates series. It re-frames/retcons the events in part 3, Confessions of an Ideological Bodyguard (and makes that work not-gen). Also written for kendermaus's Neal prompt, "I'm being serious here!" With a million thanks to mergatrude for beta and title.
Summary: Starting a secret relationship requires a misdirection or two.

Here In Your Arms (no one can see us)

Peter's arm was a dead weight around Neal's waist, his breath humid on the back of Neal's neck. He was sweaty and hot, but Neal didn't care because he was sweaty too, spent and aching in the best way, his heart gradually slowing back to normal. He'd been waiting four years or maybe longer to have Peter's naked body pressed against his. How long had Peter been waiting?

A small gust of cool air came between them as Peter got up on one elbow to nuzzle Neal's ear. He bit the lobe with unexpected delicacy and let it slip free. "Hey."

Neal rolled onto his back. Peter's bangs were plastered to his forehead, his face ruddy, but it was the curve of his lips that caught Neal's gaze—sensual, fond, happy. "Hey," said Neal. "So, that happened."

Peter laughed, a low chuckle, and Neal grinned at him. They should have done this years ago. There'd been reasons not to, but this here was proof that none of those reasons mattered. This mattered. He put his hand on Peter's hip and stretched lazily, reveling in the solid reality of their bodies, so much hard muscle and masculine skin, and when Peter's gaze darkened, Neal tugged him down for a long, luxurious kiss.

Peter pulled back first, apparently in favor of gazing at Neal's flushed face and no-doubt swollen lips. Given the warmth in Peter's eyes, Neal wasn't concerned about not looking his best, but he moved up so he was half-sitting, the better to talk. There were questions he hadn't had time to ask before he and Peter had got carried away.

"How long has Elizabeth been hatching this scheme to get me into bed with you, anyway?"

"A while. Does it matter?"

"Just wondering how long I've been missing out for no reason."

"There have been plenty of reasons," said Peter. "There still are. You know we shouldn't be doing this."

Neal shot him a glance, but Peter didn't look too worried. "And yet."

"Hey, I held off as long as I could. If you hadn't made the first move—"

"At Elizabeth's suggestion." Neal adjusted the sheet for decency. "Regrets?"

Peter leaned across and kissed him tenderly. "You know how I feel about you."

Concern edged into Neal's satisfaction, taking some of the shine off the scene. "That's not an answer."

"Well, I don't know what to tell you," said Peter. "As far as the Bureau goes, of course I have regrets. We're going to have to lie and sneak around, and you know that doesn't sit right with me." He wiped a sweat trail from his temple and took Neal's hand, pressing it to his own chest. His voice was quiet with sincerity. "But I wouldn't undo the last hour, not for anything."

Neal blew out a breath and moved back into Peter's arms, relieved as hell. Peter's body was a comfort as well as a turn-on. Neal belonged here, in his bed. "Prove it."

Peter's hand slid to his ass, urging him closer, and Neal groaned with pleasure. They didn't talk again for a long while.


*


"I'm going to have to tell Moz," said Neal, later that evening over spaghetti Bolognese and some chianti appropriated with permission from Elizabeth's wine collection. They were sitting side by side at the dining table, their knees pressed together, Peter wearing pajamas, and Neal in a pair of Peter's old sweatpants and one of his t-shirts, which were about three sizes too big. Neal was warm and serene and exhilarated, all at once. His body hummed with satisfaction and weariness.

Peter almost choked on his food at Neal's words. "No. The little guy does not need to know about any of this."

"He's my friend. Besides, if I spend as much time here as I'm planning to, he's going to want to know what's up," said Neal. "And then he'll investigate. Either I tell him, or one of these days he'll walk in on us, probably at the worst possible time."

That prospect was obviously as unattractive to Peter as it was to Neal, but Peter held his ground. "Mozzie wouldn't just walk into a federal agent's house. He knows I'd arrest him on the spot."

"You would not."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Who else do you want to tell—June, Alex, maybe someone from OPR? Why don't you hire a skywriter?"

"I'm being serious here," said Neal. "Either we tell Moz or we find some way to snow him, and my track record at conning him is patchy. He knows me too well."

"You can con him if you have to." Peter sat back and drank some wine, a familiar look in his eye as if he were trying to unravel a particularly tricky case. When he put his glass down again, a smile was playing at the corners of his mouth.

"What?"

"Maybe you don't have to." Peter picked up his fork and started eating, looking pleased with himself. "Maybe we can get someone else to con him for us."

Neal frowned. The only other person who knew about this development was—oh. "Elizabeth. Could she pull it off?"

"Without breaking a sweat."

Neal considered the matter. In some ways he'd rather come clean to Mozzie—for friendship's sake and so that he and Peter would have an off-books ally if anything went wrong. On the other hand, telling Moz would inevitably lead to weeks of doom-mongering and naysaying. Who needed that? This would be neater, safer and less annoying. Neal chimed his glass against Peter's and grinned. "Let's do it."


END