Title: Heard and Answered
Fandom: White Collar
Pairing: Neal/Clinton
Rating: R
Length: 980 words
Warnings: None
Notes: Sequel to Rainbow Connection, but can stand alone. Thanks to mergatrude for beta. <3
Summary: "You know, it's not too late for you to go as a cowboy." Neal and Clinton go to a costume party.


"I'm having second thoughts about this." Clinton spoke almost without moving his lips.

Neal drew neat black strokes along Clinton's lashline and stuck the eyelashes in place. "You can open your eyes now."

"No, I can't." Clinton wrinkled his nose, and Neal wanted to kiss him to distract him from his nerves, but that would mess up his makeup and they'd have to start again.

Or not. "You know, it's not too late for you to go as a cowboy."

Clinton sighed through his nose and blinked cautiously. "How about I disguise myself as a federal agent?"

"It is a costume party." Neal took the wig off its styrofoam stand.

"Mozzie's costume party. You sure he won't mind me showing up?" It wasn't the first time Clinton had asked; Neal would lay odds it wouldn't be the last.

"He said I could bring a date, and I guarantee he'd prefer you in drag to carrying an FBI badge." Neal hid a grin. He couldn't wait to see Mozzie face when he realized who was on Neal's arm. This was the perfect opportunity to tell him what was going on with Clinton. Mozzie might hiss a few outraged recriminations, but Neal didn't think he'd make a big scene in front of his other friends, and he'd appreciate Clinton's attempt to fit in.

Clinton looked like he was trying very hard not to bite his lip. He grabbed Neal's arm. "Seriously. Do I look okay?"

Neal stretched the wig into place before he answered. There was nothing to pin it to, so he used a little gum to secure it. He tweaked the curls, arranging them for maximum effect, then sat back and surveyed his work. Clinton wouldn't win any beauty pageants, but the wig softened his jawline and his mouth was lush. "Good enough to eat," said Neal with a leer. "You look great."

"You better not just be saying that." Clinton swallowed and turned to the mirror, wincing at his own reflection. His white teeth dug into his glossy lower lip as he regarded himself. Doubt, discomfort, and then bravado crossed his face. Finally he blew out a long breath and held out his hand. "Earrings."

Neal lifted the synthetic tresses aside to drop a kiss on his bare shoulder, then took out the velvet case he'd borrowed from June. Rubies glowed the exact shade of Clinton's nail polish. "Earrings."


*


It was really Mozzie's outgoing alter ego Jacqueline's party. In her silver-sequined gown and rainbow platform boots, she was nearly as tall as Neal. She rolled her eyes when they arrived. "A cowboy, Neal?"

Neal knew he wasn't rugged enough to pull off a wild west costume and he was too clean-shaven. He looked like a third-grader at Halloween. But that was deliberate; he figured if he looked slightly ridiculous, it would put Clinton at ease.

"And this is—" Jacqueline froze, mid-inquiry. Her eyes widened.

Clinton gripped Neal's arm like a vice, and Neal's amused anticipation of the big reveal was abruptly overridden by concern that whatever Jacqueline said next would be hurtful, that would make Clinton flinch or pull away or decide this was a bad idea after all.

"I knew it!" The tone was borderline hysterical, more Mozzie than Jacqueline.

Neal raised his eyebrows. No way had Mozzie figured it out before now.

Mozzie—it was definitely Mozzie now—made a complicated gesture. "Not this exactly. I knew—" He drew Neal aside, scowling, and lowered his voice. "I knew you were hiding something, someone I'd disapprove of. A fed, Neal? Really? Here?!"

"Really." Neal forced his shoulders to relax under his leather vest and tried to look bored.

Jacqueline's bodice heaved. "We'll discuss this later."

"Do we have to?" murmured Neal.

"Apparently we do!" Mozzie shifted back into Jacqueline's mannerisms as he turned to Clinton. "Hillary, I presume? Nice earrings."


*


Later that evening, back at Clinton's place, Neal used his lips and teeth to strip the ruby clips from Clinton's ears. Clinton shivered as the second earring pulled free; his jaw clenched, and his fingers tangled in the holster at Neal's waist. Neal put the jewels safely on the dresser, settled his Stetson back on and backed Clinton to the bed. They were still in their costumes, though Clinton had left most of his lipstick on a series of plastic cups, and the eyeliner under his left eye was smudged. Those small signs of disarray brought out a feeling in Neal he couldn't decipher, sweet and hot and insistent. "Enjoy the party?"

"It was, uh, colorful. They seem like nice people. But you know it's not really my scene, right?" Clinton sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and pried off his pumps.

Neal straddled his lap, pushed him horizontal and leaned forward to peel off Clinton's eyelashes. "Me neither. But hey, you pulled it off. I spent all evening wanting to run my hands up your thighs under your dress. For what it's worth."

Clinton flicked Neal's Stetson onto the floor and dragged him down. The soft shiny fabric strained around his biceps, and as Neal bent his head and kissed him, the sweet feeling thickened into endearments he wasn't ready to utter. He rolled them onto their sides and unzipped Clinton's dress instead, and soon they were both naked, and Clinton's scarlet nails were digging into Neal's shoulders as they fucked.

It brought a lump to Neal's throat, an extra twist of heat to his arousal, and finally he decoded the emotion curled in his chest: it was intimacy. Coming home from a party together. Not having to put on a show or look good. He closed his eyes as he came.

Clinton had taken a risk tonight, dressing up for Neal, for the party. Sometime soon, Neal would pay him back in kind. Soon, but not just yet.


END