#tempcrnce

This is what movies and trashy HBO shows are made of. As the door clicks behind him and the hammering of the music becomes more muted, Neal is certain that he’s watched a million scenes exactly like this. Except this time, he’s living it which, unsurprisingly, is much more exciting. 

Something else that’s exciting is having a secret. As much as Neal enjoys living lavish and bold, he also likes having something that’s his own. Something that both he and Blaine are aware of no matter where they go but nobody else is. The thrill of what’s not being said, of the double meaning of every touch and the unspoken promise of later alone-time is positively electrifying.

“Is that so?” he hums, slowly takes one step after the other until he’s crowded Blaine’s space in the small bathroom. His hands come to rest on the bathroom counter on either side of the other, face hovering just inches away. “Were you looking forward to anything in particular?”

So Neal is starting to realize that while branding Blaine had been absolutely necessary to save his life, Blaine was more than a little pissed at him for it anyway. He’d been on the quiet side ever since and Neal was still collecting the exact reasons as to why he was so upset. Don’t get him wrong, he had his own hang-ups about the whole situation but he was very certain he had never informed Blaine of those. Which meant there were things he, too, didn’t know about.

“Well, the other option was no life, so all things considered I think this is still the better one,” he offers, but realizes with one look from Blaine that joking isn’t the way to go here. So he clears his throat, shifts in his seat and folds his hands in his lap.

“You do realize there’s nothing wrong with being a sub, right?” Blaine draws in a breath and Neal holds up a finger, stopping him in his tracks and mentally making a sidenote as to why anyone ever doubted this was who Blaine was going to turn out to be. “That was a rhetorical question. I realize that you may not believe that right now but that doesn’t make it any less true. If everyone turned out to be a Dom, what would that do? Leave us with a world full of really unhappy people, that’s all. One without the other, in a grand scheme of things, wouldn’t work. Neither is better or less than the other.”

“hey.” his hand reaches out, settles against blaine’s arm to make him pause while everyone else continues filing out of the conference room. being close to closing a case is good, usually gets neal in high spirits, even if an element of danger is involved. he’s been part of enough operations to know they usually go according to plan, that there’s no reason to worry.

but today isn’t business as usual and so, he does worry.

he waits until everyone is out of earshot before he says anything else. whether or not anyone else knows, he’s not sure of but it certainly isn’t his business to alert anyone. not unless he can help it, anyway. when he finally speaks, he picks his words carefully.

“i don’t think you should be a part of this bust today.”

neal isn’t a fan of guns on a good day and while he can appreciate that his co-workers have less of an issue wielding one than he does and is aware they’re trained to use one, it just doesn’t sit right with him today. not when blaine’s been chugging coffee all day and been zoning in and out of conversations every now and again. not when he can see the tiredness behind the smile he’s got plastered on.

blaine’s biggest shortcoming is not seeing his own greatness as it is. and neal has to admit that he’s more than a little concerned that self-preservation isn’t exactly his top priority when he’s feeling as low as he clearly is today. so really, having him anywhere near a gun-wielding criminal seems irresponsible at best. 

fingers squeeze slightly against blaine’s elbow with the hope that he understands, that he doesn’t think neal is patronizing him. “let diana take down the bad guy today. please?”

Neal takes care not to make too much noise as he settles onto the couch next to Blaine, sets the mugs down on the coffee table. The lighting could be better – Neal’s flipped on a single lamp between making tea and trying to talk to Blaine – but quite frankly, it’s not his top priority. The silence rings in his ears. The TV isn’t on, despite Blaine sitting right in front of it, and he’s not in much of a talking mood either. But Neal is learning to navigate moments like this better, doesn’t feel quite as useless as he did the very first time. Not by much, but it’s a start.

So he shifts, presses a kiss to Blaine’s temple and reaches for an orange from the plate on the coffee table.

“it’s a cliche, but it will get better,” he offers quietly after a moment. “it always does.”

fingers move to peel the orange, piling what he’s taken off onto the table in front of him. it’s true. it does always get better eventually. but that doesn’t mean it makes the lows any less painful, makes neal feel any less helpless in his attempts to make his boyfriend feel better even though he knows he can’t. not really, anyway. 

“if you want to, i’ll accompany you to ms pillsbury tomorrow,” he suggests, breaks the orange apart and hands the first piece to blaine. “i haven’t caught up to her waiting-room reading-material in a while.” 

spotify meme: 62 - time and music // a new brain

Songs of surviving. The tsunami coming ashore and your surprise when you open your eyes and you’re still there alive. And you’re still wanting more. You’re grateful for time and music.

He’s snuck in through a backdoor that he’d found usually unlocked back when he’d operated under his cover as a substitute professor. He has only made it as far as the back row, lest the click of his cane give him away. As much as he appreciates the aesthetic, he really hates how much less sneaky it makes him. Still, he’ll take the cane for a few weeks as he continues to heal over the alternative every day.

There had been a time in his life when he might not have cared this much. Don’t get him wrong – he’s never had a death wish or been careless with his life, but adventure used to be the pain priority. Living hard, not long, was where it had been at. As long as he made the most of the days he had and experienced everything he possibly could, he’d been willing to take risks that may not have been the most reasonable.

But times have changed and so have Neal’s priorities. While adventure still calls out to him and he doesn’t always manage to deny its temptation, it’s not everything to him now. When he’d been sat on a dirty floor somewhere on a foreign island with a bullet-hole in his thigh and a target on his forehead wherever he went, his first thought hadn’t been about how the thrill of it all had been worth it. No, all he’d been able to think about was what he’d be missing out on if this was his end.  The people he’d been hurting, the stories he’d leave unfinished. He was no longer unattached and had bigger things to concern himself with than his own selfish pleasure.

Dying there would have meant an entirely unsatisfying end to his story and so many upset people in his wake. June, Mozzie, Peter, Elizabeth, Ellen, Sara, Blaine. Before, he’d only had himself to worry about. Only himself to answer to if he made a wrong decision. Now, he felt the responsibility of being attached, of having a family. It cost him some freedom, but it also brought a sense of comfort he’d never experienced before.

So as he sits there now, cane carefully resting against the seat next to him and listens to the piano melody carrying through the room, he doesn’t feel robbed of a great tale to add to the Neal Caffrey Storybook. He doesn’t feel the itch to look for what thrill may be waiting around the next corner. He just feels glad to be back home in one piece and to be among the people he has to admit he loves. There is plenty of explaining and mending to do, but as it turns out now, he has time. 

Eyes follow the way Blaine’s fingers dance over the keys, head swaying with it and a smile silently pulls at Neal’s lips. What a shame it would have been to never experience that again. He’s grateful. Grateful for time. Time and music.

Well, the fact that Blaine hasn’t been able to sit still for a single second ever since Neal opened the door and that he looks on the edge of hysterics would be a first reason as to why Neal doesn’t believe everything is great. Sure, he does consider himself sensitive to human emotion, but even if he was far more callous than he is, it wouldn’t be hard to pinpoint that something was off.

It’s just the why that Neal isn’t sure of. But he wouldn’t be Neal if he wasn’t determined to find out.

So he exhales slowly, then clears his throat. “Blaine.” He raises from the chair he’d been sat in and takes the few steps towards the kitchen where Blaine has taken to washing up the single water glass in the sink. Add that to the list of reasons why something is clearly not absolutely great. “Put that down. Look at me.”

Neal waits patiently until Blaine does as he’s told and turns around towards him. Once he does, he allows the silence to stretch a little longer because this is the first time since Blaine got here that he isn’t fidgeting. Since he doesn’t want to unnecessarily provoke that, though, he knows when the silence and unbroken gaze will become to much and speaks before reaching that point.

“You don’t lie to me.” It’s not a request, not a suggestion, just a simple fact. And a kind of ironic one, coming from him – Neal realizes that. As someone who made a living off of lying, maybe he doesn’t have any business telling others not to do it. But Blaine isn’t him and that’s a good thing. Blaine doesn’t con his way through life – he’s just a genuinely good person who gets where he needs to that way. The only downfall is that occasionally, he forgets that he’s allowed to care about himself as much as he cares about other people. And that is exactly where Neal comes in.

“If you don’t want to talk about something, you can tell me that and I’m not going to make you.” After all, Neal knows about the value of privacy. “But you don’t lie to me, especially about your well-being. Are we clear?”

So maybe Neal had overestimated his charm a little. Usually, he’s better at this. His whole thing is that he’s able to get just about anyone to like him. Always knowing just what to say and when to throw in a smile to get on people’s good side is where he excels. But apparently, he’s met one of the extremely few people who are immune to his abilities – and it just so happens to be Blaine’s dad. No matter how hard Neal had tried to make him laugh, to tell relatable stories that could be a point of bonding or to talk up his son to convince Mr. Anderson that Neal was a decent guy, none of it had shown the desired effect.

To be fair, Neal can’t exactly blame him. The age difference is certainly present. If Neal was a father, he’s not sure he’d be too thrilled about it either. Especially since learning he’s older than Blaine’s older brother, he gets the reservations his family may have. Add to that the fact that Neal’s past career hasn’t been of the most legal type and he’s not exactly anyone’s favorite son-in-law on paper. But Neal’s never lived convincing people on paper. It’s the fact that he can’t sway them in person that bothers him.

So suffice to say that their collective mood isn’t great now that they’re back at Neal’s place. Blaine’s words cause Neal a sharp intake of breath. The idea of anyone, no matter who, laying a finger on Blaine makes the hair at the back of his neck stand up. He’s not sure what’s worse -- not having a father at all or having one who might just do that when aggravated enough. Blaine’s done nothing wrong. All he’s done is be his kind, open-minded, positive self. Even when Neal has been a lying criminal who certainly didn’t deserve his forgiveness. Maybe Blaine’s heart is just too big for both their good.

A long pause, Neal absently picking at a nail before he finally looks up at Blaine.

“If this is too much -- I get that, Blaine. I wouldn’t blame you.”

Neal honestly has no idea whose brilliant idea it was to leave Blaine and him alone in the van. You’d think the FBI is smarter than that. But, with them having collected enough evidence to pin the guy down, Peter and Diana have left to make the arrest and Jones is busy locking down the street and calling in crime scene techs to secure the stolen artifacts. 

Which leaves Neal, freshly returned from his brief undercover stint, and Blaine to look after themselves. Not that he’s complaining of course. In fact, Neal finds himself very comfortably where he’s leaning against the make-shift desk, Blaine pressed against his front. This is why this job is so much fun: it gets the blood pumping in so many different ways.

Blaine’s voice is low in his ear and Neal can’t help but grin. Jeans are a rarity for him as it is but this case called for a more lowkey look – all jeans and leather jackets and gelled hair – so perhaps that adds to the excitement of the moment. His own hands settle against Blaine’s waist, pull him impossibly closer as he turns his head a bit to speak.

“Actually,” he starts, voice low and sultry as he reaches a hand between their bodies, “– they gave me a fake gun.”

He pulls the aforementioned item from his waistband and holds it up with a grin some (with a more vulgar vocabulary than Neal would ever dare use) may refer to as shit-eating. Laughing at Blaine’s eyeroll, he drops the gun onto the metal desk next to himself. Hey, he asked. Blaine shoves against his chest and Neal uses the moment to grab his hips again and bring them back chest to chest – which is exactly when the door flies open and Jones barges in.

Blaine steps back as if caught with his hand literally in the cookie jar (in this case, perhaps the pants of his father’s CI?) while Neal remains where he is, grin and all. 

“Well, someone’s gotta take the wire off me. You wanna help me out, Jones?”