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A Marked Man

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It had taken almost an hour of negotiation with Hughes, but in the end Peter had convinced him to let him take Neal to Chicago so they could wrap up the counterfeiting case on their own instead of handing it off to the Chicago office.

Once they got there, the case almost wrapped itself up when their idiot counterfeiters tried to pay for their tickets to Buenos Aires with their phony money and they'd been busted by Chicago P.D. All Peter and Neal had to do was collect them.

The only hiccup in the situation turned out to be that it was nearing midnight Chicago time by the time they had their idiots processed and handed over to the Federal Marshals for return to New York. And neither of them felt up to finding a red-eye back to the East Coast at that hour.

Peter called Hughes and got permission for them to stay in town for the night on the FBI's dime and then come back in the morning and do the rest of the paper work.

Peter directed the cab to a downtown hotel and Neal let out a low whistle when he saw where they were. "This is pretty upscale, Peter. You sure Hughes will approve this?"

"Uh-huh," was Peter's only answer as he paid the cab with his Bureau credit card.

Neal got out of the cab and came around to open Peter's door for him. "We could save the federal government a few bucks and share a room," he whispered as Peter climbed out.

Peter chuckled. "One step ahead of you," Peter told him with a smile.

"Want me to disappear for a few minutes while you call El?" Neal asked as they walked shoulder to shoulder to the front door.

"No," Peter said definitively. "My excuse to Hughes for one room on the expense account is that I'm not letting you out of my sight while we're out of town. I'd prefer not to lie to him." Neal nodded. Normally Peter preferred to have Neal be somewhere else when he called El to say they'd be spending the night together.

The arrangement they had still astounded Neal. Peter was free to find what he needed from other men, and Elizabeth was free to find what she needed from other women as long as they didn't keep it a secret. Peter had explained to Neal, in detail, the ways Elizabeth had threatened to emasculate him if he ever went to another woman for something he could be getting at home. Neal wasn't sure what it said that Peter hadn't felt the need to make threats about Elizabeth finding another man.

"Besides, when I called to tell her we were catching a plane, she basically said she assumed we'd be … together," Peter added as they approached the desk. Neal watched silently as Peter booked a room with two double beds for appearances sake.

They stood a respectable distance apart in the glass elevator, but as soon as they closed their room door behind them, Neal grabbed Peter by the lapels and pushed him against the nearest wall. "So, Hughes approves, Elizabeth approves… sounds like we've got all our bases covered." He leaned in and kissed Peter soundly.

Peter was flushed and panting when they broke away. "For the record, Neal – you don't have to -"

"Exactly how many times are we going to have to sleep together before you're convinced that I actually want to, and that I'm not thinking it's part of my parole?" Neal cut him off.

"Apparently at least once more?" Peter asked with a grin. It made him feel better to say it, just to have it on the record, even if it was starting to grate on Neal's nerves.

Neal grabbed Peter's crotch through his pants and squeezed. "Still think I'm being coerced?" Neal whispered into Peter's ear. He began stroking the developing erection with his thumb.

"Not so much, no," Peter gasped.

Neal squeezed again. "Lose the suit," he said bluntly as he stepped back and began stripping off his own clothes.

Peter would have happily let his clothes fall to the floor at any other time. One, because it was funny to drive Neal crazy with his abuse of his suit to the point where Neal would go and pick it up for him. And two, because they'd jumped on the first commercial flight they could find out of New York and neither of them had another set of clothes to go home in. So he hung up the suit and shirt and tossed his t-shirt and shorts and socks over the back of the chair.

When they were both naked Peter grabbed Neal and pushed him down onto the bed, crawling over him. "It occurs to me that we don't have any lube."

Neal's grin was evil. "Guess we'll have to get creative."

"I am not fucking you without lube, Neal," Peter warned. Thus far Neal hadn't shown any interest in fucking him, so he let it remain unstated that he wasn't going to be fucked without lube either.

"Who said you had to fuck me. We can still have a lot of fun without actual penetration, Peter. I'm sure you've got a few other tricks up your sleeve." He brought Peter's head down to his lips and whispered as softly as he could, "I know I do."

Peter lowered himself so that his weight rested on Neal, their cocks brushing against each other. "Actually, this is the one time I can be sure you don't have a trick up your sleeve. He turned his head and lowered his mouth over Neal's bicep, worrying the skin over the muscle with his teeth until he was sure he'd raised a slight bruise. Neal was bucking against him as Peter sucked. When Peter pulled back, Neal looked over at his arm.

Neal giggled. "You gave me a hickey! Are we like sixteen or something?"

"Nah, but now I know at least one thing you have up your sleeve," Peter answered.

Neal rolled his eyes at the bad pun and then began dragging his fingers up and down Peter's back, from his ass to his neck. "So… no lube. What do you want to do then?" he asked coyly.

Neal's nails scraped gently against his spine and Peter shivered, grinding first his hips and then his chest into Neal as the convulsion rippled through him. It took him a second to realize that Neal was the one making the little gasping noises and not him.

"Do that again," Neal ordered.

"Do what?" Peter asked, not sure what he'd done to make Neal whimper like that.

"Your hips, do that again," Neal said, arching his own back to meet Peter's thrust. Their cocks slid against each other, slickened by their sweat.

Pretty soon they had a rhythm and the question was answered. Neal continued to graze Peter's spine with his fingernails and Peter thrust against Neal, their cocks trapped between their bellies and the other's cock.

It had been a long a day and they knew they needed to find a reasonably early flight home in the morning so they could wrap up the counterfeiting case, so they didn't bother with teasing or dragging it out. At some point Neal's legs came up around Peter's thighs so that Peter's cock dragged against both his cock and down his balls. As Peter sped up, Neal's hands slid down to cup Peter's ass and encourage him.

After a few minutes, Neal threw his head back and bit his lip. One day, Peter thought, he'd get Neal to not hold back whatever sounds he was trying not to make. One day, but not today. He suspected that would require a conversation that would eventually lead to a discussion about how Neal had learned not to make a damn sound while jerking off in prison. Not a conversation he wanted to have while they were actually in bed.

Peter could feel each of Neal's fingers pressing into his ass as Neal jerked under him in his orgasm. He wondered if those bruises would fade before Elizabeth would see them. Some perverse part of his brain kind of liked the idea that Elizabeth would see evidence of what she'd already given her official blessing to. He tossed his head back and grunted as he came. "Oh, god," he whispered as he collapsed fully against Neal. He could hear Neal panting into his ear even as he tried to catch his own breath.

Peter turned his head and gave Neal a long kiss. "Creative enough for you?"

Neal gave him his most charming smile, "Worked for me."

Peter shifted a little and noticed that they really needed to clean up before falling asleep. "We need a washcloth."

"Well, clearly, I'm not getting up to get it," Neal stated with a smug grin.

"Oh? And why is that, wise guy?" Peter asked.

"Because you're still laying on me. And well, if you're going to have to move anyway…" Neal smiled a full-wattage smile and let the thought hang.

Peter sighed – Neal seemed to cause him to do that a lot – and hauled himself off his partner. "Fine. You turn back the bed. I'll get a towel." Peter went into the bathroom, assuming Neal would do his part.

He stood in front of the mirror, twisting to see eight little marks right on the roundest parts of his ass. He shook his head. He better not have problems sitting on the plane tomorrow or he'd make Neal's life miserable all the way back to New York. He ran the warm water tap, soaked a washcloth and washed himself off. He rinsed the cloth and brought it back out to Neal. "Here."

Neal was standing at the side of the bed. He caught the cloth Peter tossed him and made quick work of cleaning himself up before lobbing the cloth back into the bathroom and sliding under the sheets.

Peter was there waiting for him. Neal showed him his arm. "You left a mark," he observed, looking very pleased with that fact.

"You left eight," Peter countered, reaching over to turn off the light.

"I did not," Neal said with an exasperated roll of his eyes.

Peter halted before switching off the lamp. He pushed the blankets back, showing Neal his ass. "You did so."

Neal laughed. "Whoops. If it helps, I don't remember doing that. I could kiss them better?" he suggested.

Peter turned off the light and turned on his side, one arm across Neal's stomach. "Maybe in the morning."

"Maybe in the morning," Neal repeated quietly to himself. He liked the sound of that.