He wakes up, groggy, eyes barely open and there’s a hand on his thigh and fingers inside him, slow and lazy and he shakes with it, every scrape and kiss on his ear because it’s Peter, it’s finally him.
Unsurprisingly, it’s not that simple.
For one thing, their fights get even worse. Neal is more reckless than ever, Peter is more protective. El flits from one to the other, worried and madly in love and they settle down for her because she’s held back for the two of them for so long and they’ve used her in their terrible games, abused her, almost, and she deserves to have them both lie on either side of her in their bed, in the bed Neal bought them as a gift, as a joke, as a prize.
They try for her sake. They hold hands and Neal stays home and watches tv when he wants to go out, when he wants to steal and lie and he’s twitchy and Peter’s hands moves to his knee and holds him down and all the air disappears, straight out of his lungs.
Neal thought he knew what love was, that unqualified despair Peter’s made him feel his whole life, but this, this absolute terror, this fear of losing them. This is so much worse.
They fuck in a car, El absent and Peter begs for her forgiveness absently as Neal’s fingers scrabble against the door while Peter’s fingers disappear inside him.
He makes Neal strip, broad daylight and un-tinted windows and makes him turn over, shameless brother of his and only unzips, cheap suit against Neal’s wide expanse of back and fucks him slow, the way Neal hates it, the way that makes Neal sob, open and hopeless against his own palms.
El raises an eyebrow at them when they get home, shamefaced and they pay for it, and he loves his wife, he loves her so much, almost more, when she ties Neal to their bed and lowers herself on to his face and takes advantage of his talented, filthy mouth.
She makes Peter go down on his brother while she jerks off her husband, honour and cherish indeed, whispering in his ear about all the things she’s done with Neal and all the things she’ll do next.
Neal takes her to a dinner while Peter works.
They come home three hours late and they’re flushed and laughing and El’s underwear is apparently in the car and Peter stretches her on the bed and checks her, definite fingering, but Neal’s cock hasn’t been inside her. He looks across the room at his brother who’s leaning against a wall, wide eyed, while his wife laughs, drunk and semi-helpless and Neal blushes when Peter glares at him.
El falls asleep.
Peter puts Neal on his knees and doesn’t let himself fuck his brother’s face and doesn’t come for an hour and Neal is panting helplessly when he pushes him away, Neal’s hands clenched tight on his thighs because he knows better than to touch himself, he knows Peter better. He’s spent too much time buried in sheets, begging for something, anything, while Peter smirks at him, lightest touch on stomach and knees.
Peter’s a sadistic asshole, in many, many ways.
He uses one of El’s dildos on Neal, for a very long time.
Neal comes eventually. But his face is streaked and blotchy and his eyes are desperate and mad and for once, his outside looks like what’s within.
They have a fight at work and Peter shoves him against a wall and screams at him, nose to nose and Neal is white with rage and there’s screaming and at some point Neal says that he can’t keep doing this, we can’t keep doing this and it’s as if a light goes out in Peter and he slumps back and Neal realises what he’s said and he falls to his knees and crawls to where Peter’s slumped and puts his arms around Peter’s knees and buries his face in his brother’s thigh and says he didn’t mean it, he’ll never mean it until Peter stops shaking and drifts down and they hold on, tighter than ever.
They’re clingier after that and El notices and looks perpetually worried. Peter kisses them both whenever he leaves the house, even though he’ll see Neal in twenty minutes, quicker if they’re going together.
She feels calmer when Neal starts lying down in Peter’s arms when they’re watching tv. He’s always been comfortable with El but this is new. It’s like Neal’s giving in and every time Neal’s head lands on Peter’s shoulder or he takes Peter’s hand and kisses him lazily, not a prelude to anything, Peter looks at him like he can’t quite believe it.
Neal cooks them dinner one night and starts to get up, saying something about giving them a special night alone and Peter grabs him around his waist and pulls him into his lap and Neal flushes and El points out that we now includes Neal.
It’s not the Burkes and Neal Caffrey anymore. It’s we, it’s them and Neal looks tense, ready to bolt and Peter grabs his shoulder and squeezes it and tells his brother that he’ll never let him go.
They fuck wildly that night and El lies besides Neal and kisses him lazily while Peter’s hand skid across the sheets with how hard he’s pressing into Neal and Neal is not kissing back as much as groaning into her mouth and Peter is telling him, informing him, that he’s never going to leave, and if he tries Peter will kill him, Peter will bring him back and tie him to this bed and El can have him as her own personal plaything because he’ll never leave this house again, he’ll be their own personal whore, beautiful for their private use.
So that no one can look at him or touch him again.
Neal comes screaming, without being touched and when the haze clears and when Peter looks up at his wife, her eyebrows are disappearing into her hair but she’s smirking, knowingly and he feels abashed and shoves his face into Neal’s neck.
El buys it for him and he slips it over Neal’s ring finger one night in bed, post mad fucking, pre-sleep and Neal turns pale and makes a sound like a protest but El kisses him and says you’re welcome and his wife is really the most brilliant person in the world, Neal Caffrey or no Neal Caffrey.