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Peter had been dreading this. Elizabeth had been so patient with him; she’d stood by him through angry tirades about criminals and the justice system, through quiet tears when he’d had to use his gun, again.
When he’d first realized he had feelings for Neal, he had fought against them as hard as he possibly could. From abruptly cutting Neal out of their weekly lunch plans (but then adding him back when he realized they were one of his best methods of checking to be sure Neal was on the straight and narrow), to working out for an hour after work, trying to replace his desires with physical exhaustion. He had tried to burn the images from his mind with watching hours of hetero pornography (despite feeling dirty afterwards), or his renewed interest in riskier love making locations, in the shower, the kitchen table, up against the back door, wherever he could pin his wife and entreat her to join him.
None of it had worked.
But now, with his dreams getting more vivid by the night and sometimes not restricted to the night, he had to do it. He couldn’t keep coming up with excuses for why he’d wake up whimpering and moaning, or worse with a wet spot on the sheets from an embarrassing nocturnal emission.
What with the nightly visions of the creamy expanse of Neal’s throat peaking over his loosened tie after hours, how Neal’s sexy, firm butt cheeks would feel beneath his palms as he spread them to slide in, when Neal’s singing voice haunted his thoughts when he thought nobody but he and Peter were in the office late at night. Those were not the dreams or thoughts of a faithful husband, even if he had never laid a hand on Neal.
At least not yet.
He owed it to Elizabeth to tell her the truth. He was in love - no, lust - with Neal Caffrey. The strangest part of it was that he also was still in love with Elizabeth. Seeing her after a long day still brought warmth and comfort to his heart. Her smile over the breakfast table still made him feel that all was right in the world. He still felt passionately about her, in fact their sex life had never been better since he started having these thoughts of Neal.
It was like he couldn’t get enough of her. He was desperately trying to fill his mind with visions of her, his nose with her scent, and his hands with the feel of her soft skin; saving them for when she’d be his no longer. For when she knew.
But his love for Elizabeth, while still deep and expansive, was also safe, boring. He had told Neal that he was totally fulfilled by his life with Elizabeth, but that wasn’t entirely true. He was content with her, and happy most of the time. But he still had desires, sometimes even needs, that weren’t always fulfilled. That’s where Neal came in.
Neal on the other hand, was all excitement in a way that Peter hadn’t felt since he was an earnest and eager colt fumbling with his pants while Sandra watched and waited from the backseat of his dad’s car. He had barely been able to concentrate on her lovely tits as he sucked on a nipple for needing to check the window, to confirm they were alone. After all, Peter knew what he was doing was wrong, sneaking off with a college girl while still in high school
That feeling of transgression only made his cock harder though even as his heart stuttered at the fear of getting caught.
Peter hadn’t been with a man since nearly that many years ago. He didn’t have to be gentle or careful, with them, worry about feelings or emotions. All he needed was some lube and privacy and they could both relieve their needs. Now with Neal, now all he could think about was how Neal would taste when he wrapped his lips around his delicate, slender cock (because he can’t imagine Neal’s body as anything but).
When they hug, he’d lean into Neal or Neal wrapped a friendly arm around him, surreptitiously stealing whiffs of Neal’s spicy sweet cologne, storing it away for his fantasies later. The feline, graceful movements of Neal as he glided down the street, seemingly ignorant of the looks and attention he garnered. Yet, Peter knew Neal fed off that energy nearly as much as Peter fed off Neal’s.
Peter felt more ashamed of the dark fantasies he indulged himself in when Elizabeth was out and he and Satchmo had the place to themselves. He touches his cock to the phantom sounds of fear and arousal as Neal pleads with Peter to wait, slow down. Peter strokes his cock faster as he envisions himself thrusting into him, Neal’s body warm, wet, and inviting despite his trepidation. As often as not, when Peter finishes he looks up to see Satchmo standing in the doorway, staring accusingly at him. It only adds to the feelings of shame and degradation to be watched in those moments, yet he never closes the door.
Some evenings it’s thoughts of Neal tied up with Peter’s tie, Neal’s fancy tie bars pinching his nipples, turning to a dusky purple from their imprisonment. Peter squeezes his own nipples, picturing every detail as clearly as possible, down to the beads of pre-come wetting the head of Neal’s cock. He starts to stroke himself when he thinks of holding Neal down with his body weight, teasing his thighs, his crack with his needy cock as Neal kept pleading to be released, interspersed with soft pleas for more, until even Neal wasn’t sure which he wanted more.
These are nothing like Peter’s normal, vanilla fantasies that he’s had for years. He’d never thought of Neal this way while he was chasing him, or when he first took him as his CI. It was like the idea of dominating Neal, controlling him so that for once in his life he’d actually listen to Peter, or worse holding him down and hurting him against his will, had invaded Peter’s whole body to the point that they festered in his very soul. He could hardly look at him now for fear that Neal, preternaturally sensitive Neal, would somehow know. That he could see Peter’s feelings. That he’d know that something about Neal, made him feel wild and free.
Which is nothing but trouble for a devoted husband who liked to play by the rules.
Peter is sitting on the couch with his third glass of scotch in hand, lights off except for the lamp, when Elizabeth comes home. He knows the alcohol is a crutch, but he needed some liquid courage to face her. To tell her.
She deserves to know the truth. He tells himself, over and over. (It seems especially cruel that between every thought about what Elizabeth deserves or what he owes her, he thinks of Neal riding his cock while leaning against his desk at work, the moaned gasps that fall from his lips as Peter fucks him so hard Neal will be limping the next day.)
Elizabeth, his caring, sweet Elizabeth, she feels sorry for him, he can tell from the way she walks over to him, eyes full of concern. She sits down, asking him what’s wrong. No doubt wondering if something went horribly wrong at work. She even... she asks him if Neal is okay.
She won’t be wondering that after he tells her.
Peter is so weak that he can’t help yielding to her warm embrace, stealing the last bits of comfort he can before he shatters their world. He buries his face against her soft breasts and breathes in her soft, floral scent. She is such a good woman, a good wife.
She doesn’t deserve this.
When he sits up again, having taken as much comfort as he can rationalize, Peter begins to speak. He tells her the innocent parts first, how Neal caught his attention, how he didn’t mean to start thinking about him like that. How he couldn’t control these new feelings.
Elizabeth looks first surprised, then hurt. But he can see her justifying his words away in her mind, telling herself it’s just a byproduct of Neal’s charm, that the amount of time he spends with Neal could have caused this. She doesn’t cry yet.
It’s not until he gets to the dark parts. When a few details of some of his ugliest fantasies fall from his lips, against his will, that he sees her cry. What’s worse than her tears is watching himself lose her with every word that falls from his traitorous lips. A part of his mind coldly observes the scene, how he must be transforming into a monster before her eyes. Despite Elizabeth’s best efforts, ten years of marriage allow Peter to read her like a book. Her emotions play across her face, the deep hurt, then the fear lurking in the subtle widening of her eyes as she finds out exactly what her ‘gentle’ husband is capable of.
As Peter’s lips keep moving, against his own will, he knows, their world will never be the same.