#neal caffrey/gordon taylor | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nicedeviledhamrightthere · 5 months ago

Text

a little indulgence

Summary: Neal is having a hard time adapting to life on Cape Verde until someone from the past shows up and changes his perspective.

Words: 3.9k

Pairing: Neal Caffrey/Gordon Taylor

Warnings: some light angst & some non-explicit sex

Notes: Me going hog wild over a rare pair? Never. (Actually CLASSIC.) Expect more of this pair in the future.

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“Neal, you’re wilting.”

“I’m what?” Neal asked, draped over the chaise with a dry martini and an Agatha Christie book left behind by the previous occupants of the house. In the last few days he'd already exhausted the Louis L'Amour books, devouring them while drinking more coffee and alcohol than water. He squinted up into the sunlight at the blurred shadow that was vaguely Mozzie shaped. His eyes had always been sensitive to sunlight and the island, as beautiful as it was, made for some difficult days. The weather had so far been so warm, so sunny, so unbearably blue that he found himself lounging inside more often than out.

He needed sunglasses, prescription sunglasses, and so far he hadn’t managed to acquire them. If he’d had more time to pack he might have grabbed them but going on the run meant grabbing the bare essentials and acquiring the rest on the fly. Well, he found a guy who could get him what he needed without the hassle of an official prescription, but they were taking their sweet time to arrive. Until they did, he took cover in the shade for the harshest part of the day thus leading Mozzie to the conclusion that he was wilting, he supposed.

“Wilting. You’ve been laying around listlessly, lacking energy, hardly going outside...you know. Wasting away. Or you’ve become a vampire without my knowledge.”

“A vampire, Moz? Really? Are you twelve?”

“Well, you do spend all day inside and only venture out at night.” Mozzie shook his head and sighed, acquiescing to the moment. He waved his hands around, a gesture that made it appear he was pulling words right out of the air around his head. The sight of it made Neal smile. “Okay, maybe not a vampire, but you know what I mean. You’ve been hiding away in here when you should be out there...at least, out there on the balcony, or in the pool, maybe not out there out there...but...you’re going to get scurvy.”

“A vampire with scurvy? I’m relaxing, Moz,” Neal fired back, sipping his martini lazily. “It’s been a difficult transition, I need some time. And I thought that was what I was supposed to do in retirement.”

“Well, yes, you should relax but this…” he gestured to the messy art supplies lying around unused, the mostly blank canvasses and half finished forgeries. It was an exercise in futility, trying to get Neal to see this his way. “...doesn’t seem like you. You never lay around this much even when you’re sick. Why aren’t you painting?”

“I haven’t been inspired.”

“See? Wilting. Like a sad, neglected houseplant. Oh god, have I been neglecting you Neal?”

“First of all, I’m not a houseplant. And second of all...”

“Please,” Mozzie said, softening his tone. “Neal you’re starting to scare me. Are you so unhappy here?”

“No Moz. I’m not unhappy, I just need some time to...catch up.”

Mozzie made a soft noise of discontent, not bothering to hide his concern as he padded away in his bare feet to pour himself a drink. Neal was irritated, coming to terms with everything, and all Mozzie wanted was to have a good time with his best friend. They were retired, this was their life now. One last big score and they were out of the game. It was always the dream, so they said, but it felt a little more like a nightmare at the moment. He’d been so close to freedom, so close he could taste it, and now he was on the run again. Back where he began like the last few years didn’t mean anything.

Like his time in prison meant nothing. Like his time with the FBI meant nothing. He could never show up on Peter’s doorstep to talk again, he could never listen to June’s stories again or help Elizabeth with a tasting or play cat and mouse with Sara. None of it mattered because here he was on the run again. As beautiful as this place was, as close to paradise as it was ever going to get, it wasn’t easy to come to grips with.

Part of it was that Neal didn’t want to be out of the game yet. He wanted to be in New York with Peter and El and he wanted to help solve crimes, and he wanted to have his skills put to use.

He’d wanted that commutation so bad it hurt.

And part of him had even thought maybe he’d fly to Paris with Mozzie that summer and do a job with Gordon Taylor because why not? He would be a free man. No more anklet. Sure, there was risk involved in that, he would never get another deal from the FBI if he was caught but the temptation...it was

Well he didn’t have the anklet anymore but freedom was still only an illusion. Mozzie wanted him to be up and moving, but he wasn’t allowed to leave their villa. He could wander the grounds, he could be outside, but nowhere that wasn’t exclusively privately theirs. For now, Mozzie kept saying. So no, he had no anklet, but what exactly was the difference?

“I’m going out,” Neal said the next morning over coffee. He wasn’t asking, he was telling. What Mozzie said the day before had eaten at him all night to the point that he could hardly sleep, and Neal Caffrey was not a man who liked to lose sleep. He had to do something to regain some sense of himself. Or rather, he had to figure out who James Maine was. It was time to put some real effort into reinvention.

“Where are you going?”

“I want to see the town.”

“Neal I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You said it yourself, Moz, I’m wilting like a neglected houseplant. I need to get out.”

“Need I remind you that you are on the run from the US government? There’s probably a bounty on your head.”

“I should hope so. If not I’d be insulted.”

“Be careful,” Mozzie said, quietly acquiescing. Neal’s eyes sparked for the first time since they arrived and Mozzie didn’t want to kill that intensity. After all, he’d brought this on himself hadn’t he? Neal looked alive, he had a purpose, and Mozzie couldn’t put too much stock in trying to talk him out of danger. That had never been in the cards. “Don’t go drawing attention to yourself Mr. Maine. Not until the heat dies down. I might be tempted to go after that reward if they come for you.”

“I hope you get it. No one could deserve it more. But you said it yourself...I’ve been wilting. Time to come back to life.”

“I’m rarely wrong.”

“Rarely.”

It was quite a walk from their villa to the town, longer than he’d thought. He’d been hidden away so long now that it had taken on an odd quality in his memory, the trip from the airstrip to their home. Dreamlike almost, and filtered through a layer of tears. He walked slowly along the winding road, stopping every so often to look out at the ocean in all its glory. This ocean was quiet and calm, all bright colors and gentle waves. Nothing like his raging Atlantic and her glorious storms that threw waves at the shore like weapons.

It was early, the sun was barely kissing the sky awake with her perfect juicy colors reflected in the sable sand below. He breathed the briny sea air deep into his lungs and felt it in his bones, crafting James Maine from the salt, from the sound of the sea birds hunting for breakfast, from the colors splashed over the horizon. Reinventing himself. Neal could live at the villa with Mozzie, but only James Maine could enter the town.

He managed to wind his way through town without eyes on him. Whatever the FBI was doing to search for him hadn’t reached this island yet, and he was flooded with relief at that. He found a haberdasher who dealt in handmade goods and ordered himself a hat – a hat for Mr. Maine. He could order any number of custom items, from handmade shirts and pants to ties and even a cape, should Mr. Maine have use for one. Was he a cape guy? Could he be a cape guy? He decided that Mr. Maine lived in white and khaki, tan and beige with a pop of color. An island man. A classic Florida retiree uniform for a young con man. He thought of Michael Caine in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels and for the first time he thought – yes, he could do this. He could make this life work for him.

(x)

“Dobbs is having a party,” Mozzie said as Neal emerged from the pool sliding his sunglasses onto his wet face. They slipped down his nose briefly but he pushed them back up and they stayed put. They had arrived by post the day before and he finally found himself able to leave the dimly lit villa when the sun was overhead. No more squinting, and the resulting sunlight headache would remain at bay– it was the small things.

“A party huh? Sounds fun.”

Watching Neal exit the pool, Mozzie huffed. His grace was both sickening and astounding, Mozzie had never had so much intimate control over his own body. Every muscle seemed at Neal’s very beck and call, every movement crafted by an artist. That Neal should choose him for what amounted to a life partner when he could have his pick of pretty much anyone on the planet had never been lost on him. He liked to think he brought plenty of the table himself, it wasn’t all about being chiseled by the gods. “I think you should stay here.”

“I want to go.”

“It’s too soon for you to go into a place like that. The town is one thing, but that party will be crawling with criminals. The seediest shadow people the island can cough up. People who would turn you in in a heartbeat.”

“I’ll be careful. I’ll pay close attention to my surroundings, promise. I need to go.”

“This party is where Dobbs pays everyone off, okay? It’s how we stay safe. So the guests...they’re all criminals.”

“Same as us, Moz.”

“True, but what I mean is...they’ll sell you downriver in a heartbeat and they’re probably all carrying weapons. You need to be careful.”

In spite of Mozzie’s best advice and misgivings, Neal was adamant that he needed to attend the party. He promised he would keep a low profile, that he would avoid introducing himself or making a scene, that he would be a casual observer and nothing more. That wasn’t exactly in his nature, and people rarely allowed him that luxury, but he went in with the best of intentions. Mozzie couldn’t fault him for trying.

He’d always been good at reinventing himself, great at it even, but he’d never been good at blending in. At not being the center of attention was almost impossible. Some might point out his good looks, and of course Mozzie wouldn’t disagree on that front, but he would argue it was something that came from inside of him. Something magnetic that couldn’t be tamped down. Neal was made of charisma, and his eyes were made of bright blue flame, people simply couldn’t help being drawn in.

You either loved him or you hated him, but regardless which it was, your feelings were powerful. Mozzie sometimes thought he was the only one who saw the sadness there. Maybe that was why Neal kept him around, he was the only one who saw through all of the godlike gifts, all of that furious chemistry and magnetism to the damaged foundation and the tender heart.

“Gin,” Neal said at the bar with an easy smile. “Whatever you make best. And make it strong.”

“Rough day?”

“Just looking for a good time.”

Before the bar tender could reply, he felt someone enter his periphery, stopping short in his blind spot. It was evening and the twinkle lights cast a shimmery dancing glow over the open patio, but it was the shadows he felt most compelled by. They seemed to have a life of their own. The man behind him gave off an intoxicating scent of verbena and lemons underscored cinnamon. Spicy and citrusy and warm. “Don’t...turn around…” came a voice attached to the man pressed a little too close. Neal felt the skin prickle on the back of his neck. He knew that voice. It had played over a million times in his head since the last time they saw one another. The only thing he could think was that damn it all, Mozzie was right. His first night out and he’d already been made. “Meet at your place in twenty minutes.”

It had all of the makings of a trap, but what was he going to do? Say no? He could never say no to that voice. That much had been proven not long ago. He took his drink, sipped it once for the bar tender so he knew it met with his approval, and made a beeline for Mozzie who was mingling with a group of caterers. Probably gathering intel for something Neal wouldn’t ask about. It didn’t matter, that was Mozzie business. He had Neal business to attend to.

“Hey Moz, I’ve got a bit of a headache and the gin isn’t helping. I think I’m going to go home and lay down.”

“A headache?” Mozzie asked, suspicious. Neal got headaches frequently, his eyes were overly sensitive and almost always led to trouble but he seemed fine. He hadn’t complained all day. Granted, he almost never said a word, but Mozzie liked to think he knew Neal well enough to see through the facade. He’d seen nothing of the sort.

“Yeah. I’ll be okay, I just need to sleep it off. Have fun Moz. If you see Dobbs, tell him thanks for a great party.”

He knew how long it would take to get back to their place, and he’d be cutting it close to make it in twenty minutes on foot but he couldn’t chance it any other way. He cut through alleyways and managed to get down to the beach for a straight shot. Walking briskly along the water line, he felt peaceful, leaving his quickened footprints in the sand only long enough for the waves to hungrily reclaim them for the sea. Whatever this rendezvous was, he no longer felt any foreboding, only excitement.

Gordon Taylor wouldn’t turn him in. He didn’t need any reward money. Would he be upset enough about Neal’s time with the FBI to hand him over the way Neal had nearly done with him? He didn’t think so, but if he did...well Neal honestly couldn’t think of anything more justified. He would go down for that.

He took off his loafers and walked barefoot in the sand, relishing the feel of the waves lapping at his feet. If he was going to back to prison tonight, he would enjoy this last breath of freedom, the feel of water on his skin and sand between his toes. It was worth it, all of it. He’d had fun. Even if he’d been wilting, he’d enjoyed doing it.

“You came,” Gordon said, lounging with his feet dangling in the pool with a feline grin. Beside him was a bottle of beer and his shoes, so neatly cast aside. He looked every bit like he owned the place. There was no one else in sight. Neal stopped short, just at the edge of the gate, and couldn’t help smiling. Gordon was every bit as gorgeous as he remembered, even in the low glimmering light cast by their few security lights. Neal didn’t want them, Mozzie insisted.

“I do live here.”

“So I gather. Nice place. No extradition, incredible view, a new name...I take it the commutation didn’t go as you’d hoped.”

“Not even close.” He couldn’t mask the hurt in his voice, and Gordon picked up on it immediately. He pivoted away from the humor and landed right in a heaping puddle of sincerity.

“Well I’m truly sorry about that. I would have liked to get a chance to work with you.”

“Who says you can’t now?”

“Too much risk. For both of us. But that doesn’t mean we can’t still have ourselves some fun.”

Neal knew where this was headed, and he also knew he hadn’t had enough gin to get there. Not that Gordon didn’t do everything in the world for him, that the sight of him didn’t ignite every cell in his body with desire, but the island had done something to his inhibition and worse, his confidence. He was still crushed by the freedom dangled and stolen. Kramer would never see it as theft, but that was exactly what it was. So Neal padded in his sandy bare feet toward the outdoor bar and popped open a bottle of champagne. Mozzie might be upset later, but he thought the trip to forgiveness was worth it.

“Cheers,” Neal said, handing Gordon a flute of bubbly. “To new beginnings.”

“Is that what this is?” Gordon asked, setting the glass down beside his empty beer. “Looks to me like it’s still more of an ending.”

“What’s the difference?”

“You know very well what the difference is, Caffrey. Don’t try to play games with me. I’ve been around long enough to know how bad it hurts to try your hardest and still lose.”

“Gordon Taylor doesn’t lose.”

“Don’t be so sure of that.”

Neal stared down into his own glass, the bubbles popping and sending bright sparks up his nose. He didn’t feel much like drinking it either. Instead, he pivoted and turned the attention on Gordon.

“What are you doing here anyway?”

“I have a few contacts that live on the island. Dobbs always invites me to his parties. I don’t usually turn up, they’re a bit dull for my taste, but I’m glad I did tonight.”

“Me too,” Neal replied, finally relaxing. He’d been pretending to be relaxed the entire time they were on the island, but this was the first time he actually felt it. With a smile, he set his hat down on the table beside his drink and began undressing before jumping into the pool. One graceful dive, and Gordon followed after without needing an invitation. When they found their naked bodies meeting in the middle of the warm water, Gordon slipped his arms around Neal’s waist and kissed chlorine soaked lips. Neal shivered and smiled, forehead to forehead, knowing that whatever questions he might still have liked to ask would no longer be a good use of his time.

Instead, he kissed Gordon back, bobbing effortlessly in the water. His skin was flush with goosebumps though the water was warm, and he lost himself in the night sky reflected in Gordon’s dark eyes. It was easy to enjoy, having Gordon’s attention entirely on him in a way that felt almost like magic. The only other person on the island who knew him from the life he’d left, who knew who and what he was, who actually saw him. He wasn’t used to being seen.

“Shall we take this inside?” Gordon asked. “Perhaps away from the floodlights?” Neal had been more than happy to be wherever Gordon wanted, and if he wanted to move inside then they would leave a trail of chlorine puddles behind them as they slipped naked from the pool up to Neal’s bed.

There was a reason the house had only tile floors.

From there it was even easier. They fell into the bed and had sex in Neal’s warm sheets, sweaty and smiling, a tangle of limbs and deep guttural sounds. And when they finished, when they were a mess of twitching muscles and deep, heavy breathing, Gordon turned and pressed his forehead tenderly to Neal’s temple.

“Would you mind telling me who it is I’ve just had the pleasure of sharing a bed with?”

“James Maine,” Neal replied cautiously, afraid to sink back into someone else. He’d always preferred being Neal Caffrey, and this was something he wanted to keep just for Neal. The fracturing of his personalities had always been carefully maintained and he was blurring lines right now that shouldn’t be blurred. Gordon smiled and traced one finger along the delicate ridge of Neal’s collar bone, down his sternum.

“Good to make your acquaintance, James. May I call on you again?”

“So formal.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Yes. You may. But you have to call me Neal.” He couldn’t share, not this. It meant too much. The feel of Gordon Taylor was almost like his anklet, securing him to his place, giving him back some semblance of his own life. This couldn’t belong to James Maine.

“Good.” Gordon slipped out of the bed and got himself dressed quickly while Neal took his time. The pool rippled in the breeze and both of them thought again of jumping in, being naked beneath the great starry sky and her infinite depths. Neal wondered if she could keep a secret. “I like Neal better anyway.”

Gordon brushed past Mozzie on his way out with a wink and a nod, not stopping for chit chat this time though he liked Mozzie very much. He didn’t often stay the night, it wasn’t quite his thing. That would kill some of the mystery – imagine someone knowing that he snored or had morning breath? No, he left before any of that. Always leave them wanting more.

Mozzie could do nothing but sigh as he watched Gordon leave, because of course Gordon Taylor had shown up and of course he’d ended up at their place with Neal. Very likely in Neal’s bed. He wasn’t a fool. Neal loved beautiful things and this was no exception.

“Headache, huh?”

“Did I say that?” He grinned and knew that he shouldn’t argue. The headache bit wasn’t far off, he’d had one since they landed but for the first time...he was free and clear. The ruse wouldn’t hold up. And he didn’t want to lie to Moz, he wanted Moz to share his joy.

“Yes. You did. I don’t have to tell you how dangerous what you’re doing is…”

“It’s fine Moz. It’s Gordon Taylor.”

“Yeah...well…”

“You’re just jealous.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

Mozzie huffed indignantly and drank not only Neal’s still full flute of lukewarm champagne, but Gordon’s too. Neal considered it a small miracle that he didn’t complain about letting it go to waste, instead he just grabbed what remained of the bottle in one hand and conceded to Neal’s argument.

“Fine. A little. Not that I want to...you know...but it’s Gordon Taylor. Are you happy now?”

Neal grinned a little too wide and even if Mozzie couldn’t exactly see the full extent of it in the dark, he knew it was infuriating. He thought perhaps they both felt the same – whether they wanted to take him to bed or live his life, it didn’t matter much. They both felt it. “Yep. Very happy.”

“Go to bed, Neal.” Mozzie paused, a smirk softening his own features. “Alone.”

“Nite Moz.”

#white collar #neal caffrey #mozzie #gordon taylor #neal caffrey/gordon taylor #neal caffrey x gordon taylor

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