Trapped, Part II - (White Collar, anyone, staying in on a cold night)
That done, he washed his face, hoping it would clear his mind. It failed, but he hadn’t really believed that it would help, in any case.
Neal decided to forgo redressing and returned to bed - a little confused and still caught in a haze of desire.
He sighed as he collapsed back against the fluffy pillows, wrapping the blankets about him to ward off the New York winter chill.
If only it were desire alone, then perhaps he would be able to forget it . . . to brush off his dream with ease - even if it was rather embarrassing, for a man of his age - but it wasn’t.
Every moment he spent with Peter deepened the respect he had had for the man almost as long as he had been chased by him. That respect . . . it grew into something deeper, day by day, something Neal refused to acknowledge, even now that Kate was- especially now. He knew he could never tell Peter why he had truly wanted to stay, even if he had already explained that he had actually wanted to remain here - anklet and all.