Work Text:
Today
He just needs to finish this.
He needs to pay his cell phone bill, too. And… dammit, he forgot to pick up his dry cleaning. He still needs to pack, and his dry cleaner is in Manhattan and he might just have the time to get there and back…
But he needs to finish this.
Neal stops himself, stands up straight in the third floor guest room the Burkes have converted into a makeshift studio for him, and takes a deep breath. He lets it out, slowly. And he makes a choice.
He is going to the hospital in the morning for life-saving surgery, not leaving for a business trip. What he needs to do is not worry about his errands and just chill out.
And finish this portrait of Elizabeth he’s been painting for Peter’s birthday.
Yesterday
“Tell me more about the braces.” Moz asked Regina avidly as he poured her another glass of wine.
“Oh, he had such a gap in his teeth – we used to refer to him as Jack – Jack-o-Lantern!”
“Mom!” Neal scolded, his face turning beet red. “I’m beginning to regret introducing you two.”
“I’m not,” each of them said at the same time, then shared a chuckle at Neal’s expense.
They were having lunch together at June’s before Neal headed to Brooklyn – he’d be spending the day and night before his surgery with his lovers, and even Moz couldn’t find it in himself to give him shit for it. Knowing Moz's aversion to hospitals, this was likely to be the last time Neal would see his friend before his surgery, and it was feeling too much like goodbye.
He should’ve been more appreciative that they could maintain a light mood.
“I think I might just have a photo,” Regina added.
Moz pointed at Neal’s door. “Get thee hence, woman, and fetch this thing!” Moz commanded jokingly, and she headed off down the hall to the room she’d been staying in for the last week.
Neal watched her dash off with a fond smile on his face; he hadn’t been able to convince her to move to New York yet, but she’d come with some of his mementoes in tow, including a pair of old photo albums that Neal had already pored over earlier in the week. Yes, her Alzheimer’s often made her forgetful, but it was typically about names and recent events, and usually late in the day or when she was tired.
“She’s a great lady,” Moz said, raising his wineglass. “You’re a lucky son.”
“I know it,” Neal said, sipping his sparkling water, his eyes not leaving the doorway.
“I’ll take care of her, man. Don’t worry,” Moz said in a quiet voice.
Neal’s eyes flicked to meet those of his oldest friend. “You mean it?”
“She’ll want for nothing. I swear.”
Neal would’ve had tears in his eyes except that Regina had returned with the photos and he had to prepare himself for the mocking of his life.
Today
“I’m home!” Peter says as he enters the kitchen.
Elizabeth glances up from her position at the kitchen island, wrist-deep in… something, and smiles. “You’re early!”
Peter goes to kiss her on the forehead, and frowns at the bowl. “What’s that?”
“Veggie meatloaf. For dinner.”
Peter’s frown changes course and lands on his wife. “It’s not meatloaf if there’s no meat in it, Hon.”
“Shaddup, it’s good for you,” she says good-naturedly, slopping the mixture into a loaf pan and going to rinse her hands.
“C’mon, Hon, I thought we’d have something special tonight, like those little chickens with the wild rice or something,” Peter whines.
“This is what I planned for tonight, this is what we’re having. I’m making mashed potatoes,” she points out, as if that makes it all better.
“But I mean, with tomorrow and everything,” Peter begins, but Elizabeth rounds on him, a finger pointed at his face; as she does, a bit of wet vegetarian meatloaf that hadn’t been washed away flies through the air.
“Do. Not. Say. It,” she warns.
Her eyes flash in the way that Peter knows means business, but he has no clue what’s gotten her so upset all of a sudden. “But –“ he begins, and he’s cut off.
When she speaks, it is through gritted teeth, her voice low and dangerous, “We will not be having Neal’s favorite dinner, we may not even be having dessert. And do you know why?”
“Uh…?”
“Because we will not treat this like it’s his last meal. This is not his last meal. This is Tuesday.”
Peter raises his hands in the kind of calming gesture reserved for snarling dogs and spooked horses and only just stops himself from saying, “Whoa.”
“You want me to peel those potatoes?” he says instead.
Yesterday
“Ready to go?” Moz asked, his voice painfully light.
Neal hefted a duffel onto his shoulder – packed with seven days’ worth of pajamas and robes Regina had insisted she buy him – and turned to face him. He held a sheaf of envelopes.
“What are those?” Moz asked.
Neal took a deep breath, and handed the thickest one of them over. “That’s my will.”
“Oh.” Moz recoiled a bit but accepted it.
Neal handed him another. “That’s my other will.”
“Other…?”
“A list of all my stashes and off-shore accounts, really. Do not open that unless I don’t come back, is that understood?”
“As if…!” Moz said, but neither of them was buying his incredulity, so he added a reluctant, “Fine.”
Neal handed him a half dozen more envelopes; each was hand-lettered in his neat and precise script. There was one for himself, Regina, each of the Burkes, June and, surprisingly, his father. “I was up all last night writing these,” he said in a low voice. “Promise me you’ll burn them if…”
“You can burn them yourself,” Moz pointed out, hugging the envelopes to his chest.
Neal threw his arms around Moz’s shoulders and held him close. “I love you, you know that, right?”
Moz shifted uncomfortably. “Shut the fuck up,” he said gruffly and Neal pulled away. But he could feel his friend’s arms around him for a long time after he’d gone.
Today
“So this is… um… a new recipe?” Neal asks after swallowing his first bite of veggie meatloaf.
“Yvonne swears by it,” Elizabeth says.
“It’s worthy of swearing, all right.”
“Shut up! You’re the one who said we should eat more healthfully,” she accuses.
“I – when did I say that?”
“I know the exact date and time,” El says, arching her eyebrows. “January 1, 8:00 AM, and I quote, ‘Aw man, we need to stop doing this, we need to start eating better.’” She affects a deeper voice as she speaks, and it is adorable.
“You can’t hold something said in the throes of hangover against a man,” Neal points out. “And you choose tonight to start? It’s like six months later.”
“I had it before, and it tasted really good,” she defends.
“That’s because there was meat in it, I’ll bet,” Peter says, pushing his slice aside and piling up his potatoes to hide it from his line of sight.
“Potatoes are good, though,” Neal says helpfully.
“That’s because I peeled them,” Peter says proudly.
“Yes, their degree of skinlessness really adds to their tastiness,” El says acidly.
“Thank you for noticing.”
“Ugh, this tastes like sorrow,” she mutters, and rises. “Who wants Chinese?”
Both men keep their hands on the table, and Neal raises a finger, but he can’t meet her eyes.
“Pussies,” she says, but then laughs as she throws the phone to Peter, who proceeds to order half of Happy Kitchen’s menu.
Yesterday
“What’s that?” Elizabeth said, hanging up from the conference call she’d just been on. Neal had just deposited a white, letter-sized envelope on her desk and had already turned to leave the room. Her fingertips brushed the stationery lightly.
“An advance healthcare directive,” he replied, not really meeting her eyes. “And a power of attorney. I have appointed you my proxy. You know, just in case.”
She pulled her hand carefully away from the envelope.
“I don’t think Peter is prepared to do it,” Neal further explained. “Every time I mention something about the operation, he just changes the subject.”
She looked up at him.
“I know you’ll make sure everything in there is followed. I mean, to be sure my wishes are, um, followed.”
She breathed out a puff of air through her nostrils, speechless.
“I trust you. I mean, I trust Peter too, but I know that you’ll fight for what I want. You’ll fight him for what I want. If… you know….” His voice trailed off.
She nodded, once.
“Thanks,” he said, and she turned back around to read her emails through eyes swimming with tears.
He kissed her on top of her head and hurried from the room.
Today
Neal cranks the temperature in the shower a touch higher and steps backward into the spray, letting the hot water flow down his back. He has to be at the hospital by 6:00 the next morning and wants to get a shower in before leaving; he isn’t sure when he’ll next be able to have a real shower. He reaches for El’s shampoo – he thinks it would be nice to smell like her for some reason.
As he’s rinsing out the conditioner, he feels the air displacement in the room as someone opens and closes the bathroom door. A moment later, the warm, humid air in the shower wafts away as the curtain is pulled aside and Peter steps into the tub. He pulls the curtain back into place and turns to face Neal.
“Hey,” he says with a smile.
Neal looks him up and down. “Hey?” They’ve tried this before – two or three of them at once, and this space is just not large enough, but Neal doesn’t mind right now.
“Thought you might like company,” Peter says.
Neal hands him the soap and trades places with him under the spray. Peter holds the bar loosely; this isn’t the reason he’s here, Neal thinks. The shower spray only half hits Peter, sluicing over his shoulder, the water cascading down his broad chest. Neal lays the flat of his hand atop Peter’s heart, trying to feel its beat.
Peter reaches up and places both his hands on the sides of Neal's face, his brown eyes studying him, taking in every detail – his eyes, his nose, his mouth. He traces the curve of an eyebrow with the tip of his middle finger. “So beautiful,” he says, and he might have more to say, except Neal pulls him in close and his kiss swallows Peter’s next words.
Their arms are suddenly just around each other, and they’re chest to chest, sort of grappling in a slow dance in the tub. The slide of their wet bodies together is a near-sensory overload for Neal, the warmth of the shower making his own skin unusually sensitive. As they move, elbows and hands knock against the curtain letting cold air from the rest of the room in with them; it’s an odd juxtaposition, one that Neal's not sure he’s fond of. One thing he is fond of is the growing ache in his cock as it grows heavy with arousal. He positions himself against Peter, locks his knees so Peter can’t move, and thrusts shallowly against his hip; the underside of Neal's cock presses into Peter’s hip as Neal's thigh presses against Peter’s growing arousal. Peter groans, his kisses deepen, and Neal is practically swallowing his lover’s tongue.
“El,” Peter gasps.
“Whuh?” Neal asks.
“She will never forgive us if we finish this without her.”
Neal nods and they shut off the shower, then hastily dry off before donning robes and heading back to the bedroom.
El is waiting for them, and Neal wonders if this wasn’t something she put Peter up to. She’s in her underwear – the pink and black matching bra and panties Neal bought her from La Perla last Valentine’s – perched on the seat at her vanity, brushing her hair like some land-locked mermaid. It clings to her hand as the brush moves, then fans out over her back and shoulders like a rich, brown curtain. She turns and rises, an expectant smile on her lips.
Peter takes Neal's hand and it’s like he’s presenting him to her. Neal lets himself be shepherded; he is mesmerized by her anyway, and it adds to the illusion of the seduction. He had not hoped for anything approaching intimacy tonight, but this – this is like a dream he had once. She caresses his face when he reaches her and he bends forward to kiss her. Peter takes the hand he’s holding and turns it up, pressing his lips to the pulse point at Neal's wrist. Elizabeth is on her toes, kissing her way down his neck. Neal closes his eyes, swaying to a rhythm Peter and Elizabeth seem to be setting. Hands open his robe – whose he can’t tell – and there is a mouth on his chest. It’s stubbly, so he knows it’s Peter. Neal opens his eyes and presses his hand against the back of Peter’s head, encouraging him. Elizabeth’s trail of kisses stops at the base of Neal's throat and Peter turns his head, capturing his wife’s lips with a kiss.
Neal watches as they kiss, feeling drunk even though he hasn’t consumed any alcohol. Peter’s mouth is gentle on Elizabeth’s hungrier one; she is always this way – ravenous, it seems. She captures Peter’s bottom lip between her small white teeth and pulls gently. Peter and Neal both moan and it makes her smile.
Elizabeth and Peter turn their attention back to Neal a moment later. Soon, Neal's robe has been pushed aside and they are both on their knees, biting, sucking, kissing their way across his abs, his groin. He stumbles back, a little overwhelmed by the sensations, and they rise as if in silent agreement and take him to the bed. El helps him to lie back against the pillows – not that he needs the assistance, but she wants to do this thing for him, it’s clear, like she’s taking care of him, like she will always take care of him. She kisses him as he settles and his legs fall open. Peter is there, his hot mouth kissing Neal's inner thigh, the join between leg and groin, everywhere but where Neal wants him. Neal makes a small, mewling sound of want, flexing his thighs, and Peter huffs a laugh against him, holding Neal's thighs open and down with his hands. But he eventually does give Neal what he wants, his mouth coming down over the head of Neal's almost painfully-hard cock, and Neal almost shouts his pleasure into El’s mouth even as his tongue is plundering her mouth.
Peter’s mouth is hot and impossibly wet, and the sucking and slurping sounds he makes as he’s going down on Neal are over the line of obscene, and just as Neal is about to moan his appreciation, the dynamic shifts. Elizabeth has placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder and he pushes himself off of Neal and sits back on his heels as she also stands back. The maroon robe Peter is still wearing falls back and off his shoulders, and Neal can see how flushed his face and chest are – nearly the same color as the robe. His cock stands out hard and proud. Neal attempts to reach for it, but Elizabeth has other ideas. She shifts closer to the bed, bends over to remove her panties and then places a knee beside Neal. As gracefully as she can with two men in the bed already, she moves to straddle Neal. His breath hitches as her hips move into position, the crack of her ass sliding up and down the length of Neal's hardness. He closes his eyes and swallows.
The bed jostles as Peter gets up, giving them more room. Neal straightens his legs out and Elizabeth leans forward, small hands on Neal's chest as she kisses him. He reaches up with both hands and palms her breasts. She presses forward against him and he can feel the pert nipples hardened and pressing against his touch. He moves his hands just enough to catch a nipple between each thumb and forefinger, rolling them through the thin satin of her bra. She moans his name and he increases the pressure. She arches away from him and reaches to deftly unclasp the bra with her right hand. Once freed, her breasts hang heavy before him. He strains up so he can suckle; she leans forward to make it easier for him.
Peter, meanwhile, has come to sit on the bed beside Neal's head. He leans forward and steals a kiss from Neal as Elizabeth balances herself above, takes his cock in one hand and eases it to her entrance. Neal stills as she settles back, too distracted by the sensation of her hot, tight pussy enveloping him. He groans, arches his back and clutches at the sheets, Peter chuckling as he moves away from Neal, then threads the fingers of his right hand into El’s hair and pulls her in for a kiss with him. Neal gazes up at them both through half-lidded eyes, fascinated by Peter’s jaw as it works, the slight trembling in the flesh of El’s breasts and thighs as she holds her position steady.
Peter pulls away from her as she becomes fully seated against Neal, moaning as he fills and stretches her, and then she begins to undulate her hips. She rests her hands on Neal's chest again and begins to fuck herself down on him. He grasps her waist with both hands to steady her as he pumps his hips to thrust up into her as she comes down. Out of the corner of his eye, Neal can see Peter jacking himself, his thumb rubbing punishingly on the head of his cock.
Neal rises up on his elbows, twists toward Peter, intent on having that cock in his mouth, but Peter eases him onto his back with a gentle hand and a kiss on his temple.
“But –“ Neal begins to protest.
“This is for you – it’s all about you tonight, baby,” Peter rumbles into his ear with a laugh. “Besides, do you know what seeing you two together does for me?”
“Tell me,” Neal begs.
“That big cock of yours sinking deep in that hot, wet pussy – I get hard just thinking of it.”
“Yeah?” Peter rarely talks dirty, but Neal finds he likes it.
“Fuck my wife,” Peter whispers. “Make her come, make her scream.”
“Make me scream,” El agrees, a grin on her flushed face as she rubs a finger over her clit, and Neal snaps his hips up, fucking into her as hard as he can at this angle. She cries out in appreciation, then grinds her pussy down on top of him, twisting her hips as she rubs her swollen clit against him. Each thrust he makes brings her closer, and she tells him, chanting, “Soclose, soclose, soclosesoclosesoclose!” over and over, her entire body trembling. Finally, her neck stretches back as she comes with a high-pitched, almost keening sound, and she’s clenching, clenching Neal so tightly he can’t help it, he’s coming and coming, emptying everything he has, everything he is into her.
At last, she relaxes slightly, pulls off of Neal and falls to the bed beside him. A moment later, Neal feels the sensation of something hot hitting his chest and stomach, and he realizes Peter has come as well, moaning Neal's name and El’s in succession.
Peter joins them on the bed, draping himself along Neal's other side, both of them nuzzling against his neck, arms across his chest possessively. They are such a tangle of sweaty limbs that Neal has trouble discerning whose is whose. He sighs as his breathing returns to normal and is struck with a sudden need to say what he is feeling.
“Have I told you both how very much I love you?” he asks, his voice thick with emotion as he is suddenly overcome.
“Every single day,” El says as she kisses him gently. “Hon.”
Neal blinks and looks at her.
“Mmm, Hon,” Peter rumbles in agreement and begins to nibble lightly at Neal's earlobe. “I like the sound of that.”
Neal closes his eyes and thinks, but does not say, because it is the worst kind of cliché, but given his circumstances, weirdly apropos: if tomorrow is his last day on earth, he really thinks he would die a happy man. He finds it hard to feel guilty about this and as he drifts off to sleep, the word is on his lips:
“Hon.”
----
Thank you for your time.