A/N: Written for a prompt on LiveJournal - Neal and Peter are sleeping in the same bed or room for some reason, up to you (case or whatever). Peter gets turned on watching Neal sleep. Starts to pleasure himself, and Neal wakes up because of the noises, and helps out Peter a bit.


"Tell me again why we're going to this Inconsequential Falls place."

"International Falls."

"International, whatever. Why are we here?"

Peter sighed – the sigh of one who has already explained something, many times. "I've told you, Neal. The border agents confiscated some artwork in a truck going across the border to Canada, and there's a question as to whether they're forgeries."

Neal responded with a sigh of his own. "I know that part, Peter. But why are we here?" He squinted as he stared out the windshield, watching the snow driving against the glass. "Wherever here is."

"I told you Neal. The Minneapolis office is maxed out on other cases. And this is right up your area of expertise, so it made sense for us to help out." Peter worked the controls, sending more of the windshield washer fluid spraying against the glass in what was quickly becoming a futile fight against the accumulating slush; he hoped the car rental company had filled the reservoir with all the blue juice it could hold. "I can barely see the road," he muttered. "Get the map out, see if you can figure it out."

Neal dutifully pulled out the Minnesota map, unfolded it, and refolded to get the northeast corner in view. "This says International Falls has an airport," he said pointing at the map. "See, there's a little plane symbol. Why didn't we just fly in there?"

"I can't see anything right now," Peter growled. "Not even the road. And yes, International Falls has an airport – a small one. You really want to be flying in there in this storm?"

"Considering that they closed the Duluth airport after we landed," Neal said. "No." He reached up and flipped on the map light and ran his finger along the map. "OK, I think I saw a sign for Cook back there a ways."

Peter nodded. "Yeah, there were a couple of lights."

"Peter, it's barely a dot on the map." Neal leaned closer to the paper. "The rest of the places on the way to International Falls are barely dots." He shifted the map and studied it for a moment. "Maybe we should turn around and go back to Virginia. There were real lights there. Almost civilization."

"We're not turning around."

"Peter…"

"No."

Neal sighed and turned back to the map. "OK, but just remember, I'm a city boy. I read street signs, not moss on the side of trees."

"Just tell me what's coming up."

"There's a tiny dot a little ways off the road called Gheen, then Glendale, and Orr. All of them tiny dots. Blink in this weather and you'll probably miss them entirely."

"You know, you could look at this like an adventure," Peter suggested.

Neal turned to look at Peter in the dim glow of the map light. "Adventure? More like a nightmare. Or a bad movie - Night of the Blizzard."

"Neal…"

"No, I can see it now. Two intrepid FBI agents…"

"One FBI agent and one criminal."

"Consultant."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

"Anyway, it's my movie," Neal said. "Creative license. Two intrepid FBI agents, caught in the worst blizzard in the history of the world."

"I hardly think this is the worst blizzard ever," Peter said, though he actually had little personal experience with blizzards.

Neal sighed. "It'll sell the story better," he explained. "Hey, did you know I posed as a screenwriter once? I actually helped rewrite a screenplay…"

"Was there anything illegal involved?"

Neal considered that for a moment. "Not that anyone ever found out about."

Peter shook his head. "I don't want to know…"


A gust of wind caught the car, sending it sliding on the slick road. Peter got it back under control, and gripped the steering wheel even tighter. "It can't be that far to International Falls…"

The wind picked up, whipping the fresh snow into a nearly impenetrable wall. And the temperature dropped, creating ice where there had been slush.

It was after they nearly slid off the road for the sixth time in five minutes that Peter finally gave in. "What's the next town?"

"The next tiny dot is Orr."

"OK, we're going to look for a place to stop."

"About time," Neal mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Never mind." Neal leaned forward, straining against the driving snow to look for lights.

It was probably only a few miles, but in the bad weather it seemed to take forever. Finally, he leaned toward Peter, pointing. "There."

After a moment Peter nodded, finally seeing what Neal did. "Let's hope it's a hotel."

"A nice Hilton would be good," Neal said. "Maybe a Sheraton…"

"Anything with a roof and four walls," Peter said.

The first light was from a gas station, closed for the night, but just beyond that Peter saw what he was looking for. "There – the North Country Inn."

Neal looked at him, a bit dubious. "Peter, you said a HO-tel. That is definitely a MO-tel."

"It has a roof," Peter pointed out, gingerly making the turn into the lot. The tires spun in the loose snow, then grabbed traction again and he pulled around the side.

Peter opened his door – and stepped out into snow that reached his knees. He looked across the top of the car to where Neal stood, scowling. "Got kind of deep."

"Kind of," Neal agreed.

Slogging through the drifts, Peter made his way to the lobby entrance – only to find the door locked. "No, come on…" He raised his fist to knock, but Neal caught his hand.

"Maybe the night bell," Neal suggested, pointing at a lit sign over a doorbell – "Ring for assistance after hours."

Peter grunted and pushed the button. Inside, they could hear the bell ringing. They waited, and Peter was about to push the button again when a light came on in the back of the lobby. A moment later they could see someone coming toward the door.

The lock clicked, and the door creaked open. "Got caught in the storm, eh?"

"You could say that," Peter replied. "The sign says you have a vacancy."

"Yup." The door swung open farther and the man turned toward the desk. "Lots o' folks gettin' caught in this blow, but I got one room left."

"One?" Peter hesitated. "You're sure that's all?"

"I'm sure, mister. Like I said, lots o' folks been stopping."

"Well… two beds?"

The man shook his head. "Sorry, all's I got is a room with one bed."

Peter looked over at Neal, who just shrugged. "Might as well take it, Peter. That car isn't moving without a lot of shoveling."

"True." Peter turned back toward the desk, pulling out his ID. "Do you have a government discount?"


Neal followed Peter into the room and closed the door on the blowing snow. "Peter, really – government discount?"

Peter shrugged. "It can't hurt to ask. I'm the one who has to justify the expense account, you know."

Neal just shook his head and set his bag down, looking around. "Ah, yes, decorated in the style of the early pioneer. Some of this furniture might be original from that time."

Peter wasn't all that thrilled with the décor himself – but he wasn't going to give Neal the satisfaction of hearing him admit it. "Look," he said, gesturing around the room. "Four walls, and a roof. No snow coming in." He stepped into the bathroom and turned the faucet on. "Even running water. What more could you ask for?"

Neal responded with a raised eyebrow as he set his bag down. "Room service, maybe a nicely chilled bottle of chardonnay – white wine would seem to go with the white weather, don't you think? Silk sheets, art on the walls…"

"Hey, there's art," Peter said. He pointed at a framed scene of fishermen pulling in a huge trout… or maybe it was a walleye.

"Peter, that's a print, not even a lithograph. That does not count as art."

"What about the stuffed moose head?"

Neal just rolled his eyes and shook his head, not deeming that worth answering.

Peter chuckled and took his jacket off. "Oh, come on, Neal. It's one night. It's an adventure."

"You keep using that word."

"Well, it got you out of your anklet, didn't it?"

"Only because it was easier than trying to do all the paperwork to get me on the airplane with it. You've got it in your bag."

"And I haven't put it back on, have I?"

Neal pointed at the whiteout outside the window. "I can definitely say I will not be running."

"See, time without the tracker. An adventure!"

"Really, Peter, sometimes you just try too hard."

Peter smiled and pulled out his cell phone, the smile turning to a frown as he looked at the display. "No service."

"What a surprise, in a storm in the middle of nowhere," Neal said lightly. He pulled out his own phone and shook his head. "I've got nothing."

"Well, I called Elizabeth from the airport in Duluth. I'm sure I'll be able to call sometime tomorrow."

"What about the people you're meeting in International Falls?"

Peter looked at his watch. "Too late to try them now," he decided. "It's after midnight. Best to just try and get some sleep and head on tomorrow."

Neal opened his bag and rummaged for his pajamas. "Wanna flip for the bed?" he asked as he started to undress.

Peter turned and looked at the lone bed. It wasn't that small, but it wasn't that big either. It would be the perfect size to share with El, but with Neal? Still, the other furniture in the room offered no solutions – a table, a couple of straight chairs, and a small dresser that doubled as a TV stand. And the floor was hardwood, not even carpeted as a cushion. "The bed's big enough," he said, sounding as though he was trying to convince himself. "We can share."

"Hey, I've spent plenty of time sharing sleeping space with strange men," Neal said. "Well, not that I'm calling you strange, Peter – but you did put me in prison with lots of men who could be called strange."

"If you hadn't done the crime…" Peter left the statement hanging, losing his train of thought as Neal slid his underwear off. He had just a glimpse of long, muscled thighs and a tight ass… and then Neal pulled on his pajama bottoms and the moment passed.

"I get the bathroom first," Neal said, brushing past, toothbrush in hand.

Peter stood where he was, barely breathing until he heard the bathroom door close. He leaned against the nearest wall, trying to steady himself. It didn't make sense. He was a happily – very happily – married man. He went to the gym – not on an entirely regular basis, granted, but often enough to be familiar with the locker room atmosphere. So why had seeing Neal naked shaken him so?

And how was he going to make it through the night in the same bed…


Sleep refused to come…

Peter corrected that thought - he was the one who was lying awake. And in the confined space, he couldn't even toss and turn without disturbing Neal.

And Neal seemed to be sleeping just fine.

Better than fine, Peter thought. He told himself not to look, but he couldn't help it. He rolled slightly to one side, looking over at the younger man. The snow seemed to have eased up, and hints of moonlight slipped in through the window. Neal was perfectly framed in the light, seemingly glowing in a silvery hue. He looked even younger in his sleep, and innocent…

Peter struggled to suppress the choking feeling he got at that thought. If there was one thing Neal was NOT, it was innocent. Still, so much of Neal's world depended on perceptions, and maybe the innocence was just another in a long line of those impressions.

But there was no innocence in the casual nakedness earlier, and certainly no innocence in Peter's reaction…

A reaction that was happening again, even as he fought against it. But the combination of the fleeting glimpse of nudity, and the sleeping figure now…

It was a losing battle.

Carefully, trying not to shake the bed, Peter rolled to his other side, away from Neal, and slowly slipped his hand under the waistband of his pajamas. His cock had already started to harden, and he felt it jerk at his touch.

Good grief, he felt like he was back in high school. That time he had – accidentally, of course – seen Becky Fields changing clothes after cheerleading practice…

He worked his hand slowly up and down the length of his shaft, biting his lower lip to keep quiet. It was harder to keep his body still. He wanted to move, to be able to get the pressure he needed for relief. But even that was problematic – how could he possibly get his release without waking Neal?

The bed seemed so much smaller now.

The only option he could come up with was to carefully slip out of bed and get to the bathroom. With the door closed he could…

Peter jumped as another hand joined his. His cock reacted too, hardening fully under the new touch, straining…

It took him a moment to process what was happening. "Caffrey!"

"Mmmmmmm."

The sleepy reply came from just behind his shoulder, and Peter felt Neal roll up behind him, noticed the soft breath on the back of his neck.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He tried to growl the words, but they came out as more of a plea – as in a plea for Neal not to stop. A soft groan escaped as he felt Neal's lips brush his neck.

"You weren't very subtle, Peter," Neal said, and Peter could hear the smile in his voice. "If I'm going to be awake, I might as well help."

"Help? What do you… I mean… I'm not… I'm married… I can't…" Peter finally stopped, realizing that he had no idea what he was saying. And the way Neal was working him, he was losing interest in protesting.

"Relax, Peter," Neal advised, wrapping his hand tighter around the agent's cock and stroking faster. "It doesn't mean you're gay, and it doesn't have anything to do with how much you love Elizabeth."

"But… El…"

"When I was in prison, I'd picture Kate in my mind," Neal whispered. "Whether it was my hand, my cell mate's hand… or something else…"

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Peter knew this was as close as Neal had ever come to admitting he'd been used for sex in prison, maybe even forced… but he couldn't make himself pull his thoughts together clearly enough to say or do anything. Maybe later…

The pressure in his groin was growing, as was the pleasure. He leaned back into Neal's body, feeling the younger man spoon against him, wrapping himself tight against the agent. And Peter knew he was too close to climax to form any coherent thoughts.

In fact, that was as close as he came to a clear thought as Neal's strokes pushed him over the edge. He felt his cock jerk in the familiar throes of an orgasm, and then he was shooting his cum into his hand, into Neal's hand.

His strength, and all the tension from the drive, seemed to seep from his body along with the cum, and he struggled to keep his eyes open. At that moment, it felt so good – so right – to be there, in Neal's arms, with Neal's hand on his cock.

They'd need to talk about this of course – this, and other things. Maybe tomorrow…

Sated, and safe in Neal's arms, Peter closed his eyes and slept.