Fic: The Devil You Know (2/25)
Jan. 11th, 2014 07:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
citrinesunsetTitle: The Devil You Know
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Neal/Peter, Peter/Elizabeth/Neal, Neal/Elizabeth, Peter/Elizabeth, references to Neal/Kate
Rating: Explicit
Contains: Non-con, dub-con, institutionalized slavery, spanking, humiliation, dark!Peter, dark!Elizabeth, sex, rimming
Word count: 4,000 this part. About 122k total.
Summary: After being convicted of bond forgery, Neal is sentenced to four years of slavery. But he isn't prepared to be purchased by Peter Burke. Or for what Peter has in store for him.
Notes: See Chapter 1 for details.
Over the next few days, Neal saw surprisingly little of Peter.
As part of his adjustment period, Neal was allowed to sleep in. Peter would leave for work early, before Neal got up. However, Neal, who was unable to rest easily with or without the low-dose Valium Elizabeth wanted him to take, was always awake to hear Peter's alarm go off in the room below.
Peter's morning routine was reliable. After his alarm went off, Neal could hear him coming up the stairs. He'd crack open Neal's door and peek inside. Neal would shut his eyes and take shallow breaths, and if Peter realized he wasn't actually asleep, he didn't say anything. Instead, he'd quietly close the door and go downstairs.
Next, Neal could hear Elizabeth get up. Once she and Peter went down to the first floor, Neal couldn't hear much. But he suspected Peter left the house by seven-thirty.
If Peter and Elizabeth didn't care about when he got up, Neal saw no reason to let them know he was awake. He stayed in bed until nine, when he was confident that Peter was gone and Elizabeth was busy with her own work. He didn't know if it would be this way forever, or if they would want him to get up early to prepare breakfast. For now, they seemed content having the mornings to themselves.
The housework Elizabeth gave him to do didn't even come close to filling his day. But she didn't seem to mind if he looked around the house. The only room Neal wasn't allowed in was the master bedroom, so he took the opportunity to learn the layout of the rest of the house and peruse the bookshelves.
It was the first time in weeks that Neal had a chance to relax, but it wasn't much of a relief. He thought a lot.
He wondered if Kate knew what had happened to him. She knew he'd been enslaved, but did she know where he ended up? And Mozzie—was Moz keeping tabs on him? Part of him hoped they didn't know where he was.
Of course, he knew that in terms of treatment, his situation was better than it could be. He had his own room and bed. He was allowed to eat the same food Peter and Elizabeth ate. Coffee was a reward, but he only had to wash the dishes to get it. In the bathroom, there was a box marked "Neal" that contained soap, shampoo, a toothbrush, and other small necessities.
None of that made his situation feel good. And the possibility that Peter would make good on his promise of demanding sex was always there. Though, with the long days Peter spent at work, Neal began to wonder if he even had time to include Neal in his sex life.
There was no long list of rules, but Neal gradually learned their expectations. He was allowed to watch TV with them, and he was allowed to sit on the sofa, but he got the sense from Peter's demeanor that he preferred it if Neal sat on the floor. Neal thought about sitting on the sofa anyway, just to annoy him, but in the end he decided it was better to save his defiance for something more important. He swallowed his pride and sat cross-legged on the floor.
While they watched the nightly news one evening, Elizabeth tentatively ran a hand through Neal's hair, as though she were petting Satchmo. If it had been Peter, he would have moved away. But with Elizabeth, he didn't want to be hasty. He didn't expect charm and cooperation to net him any large gains with Peter, but he wasn't sure about Elizabeth.
And besides, she was the one he spent most of his time with.
Elizabeth had already let him borrow a couple art books from the living room. At least he had something to entertain himself with.
He usually went to bed early, as soon as he finished cleaning up from dinner and watching the news. He didn't fall asleep until much later, but he liked to get ready for bed while he had free use of the bathroom. If he waited, he would need to let Peter and Elizabeth use it first.
One night, after he'd been there almost a week, he couldn't sleep. He'd looked through page after page of early-twentieth century American art. He'd even done some sketching of his own, with some paper he'd collected and a pencil he'd found in one of his nightstand drawers.
According to the ancient clock radio that was beside his bed, it was twelve-thirty. He got up and quietly went downstairs to the kitchen. Satchmo was stretched out with his chin resting on the floor. His eyes followed Neal, but he didn't move.
Neal poured himself a glass of water and leaned on the kitchen island. He thought tonight could actually be a good night for the Valium, but he didn't know where they kept it. And besides, he reminded himself that it was better to be restless. If he was restless, then he could think about how he could improve his situation. He didn't want to surrender so quickly.
Satchmo perked up, and Neal heard someone coming downstairs. Before he could react, he heard Peter's voice.
"Neal? You down here?"
"In the kitchen," he said.
Peter came in. Neal realized it was the first time he'd seen Peter in his pajamas.
"I thought I heard you come downstairs. What's going on?"
Neal lifted his glass. "I was thirsty. You never said I was restricted to my room."
Peter blinked. "No. No, I never said that. Just making sure everything's all right."
Neal knew better than to imagine Peter was checking up on him out of concern.
"If you're worried about what I'm up to," Neal said, "why keep me? I thought people bought slaves to make their lives easier."
Peter snorted contemptuously. "Oh, I have no delusions about you making my life easier. And I'm not that worried about what you get up to. I'm sure you're already plotting in that head of yours. But you're equipped with GPS, and if anything goes wrong in this house, you're the first suspect. That's the whole idea of slavery, Neal. You don't have the power, you're not a threat."
"And yet, you're getting out of bed to check up on me."
Peter didn't deny it.
Neal took advantage of Peter's silence to ask something.
"Hey, I've been thinking," he said. "Do you know if Kate's okay? I haven't had a chance to talk to her since...since my sentencing."
It hurt his pride to ask, and he wondered if he was revealing himself too much by doing so. But he had to know. Eventually, he could try to send Kate a message, but who knew when that would be? Peter hadn't even let him out of the house yet.
Peter sighed and gave him a warning look. "If she's smart, she's staying out of trouble. But you know you can't have contact."
"That's not true," Neal said. "I know some owners let their slaves maintain ties with friends. There's no law—"
"Okay, then it's our rule. Elizabeth and I have talked about this, and we honestly believe letting you have any contact now would just complicate things, and make this harder for you. But who knows? Maybe down the road, if you earn it, we can talk."
Neal glared at him. "I didn't ask to contact her. I just wanted to know if she's okay."
"Afraid I don’t have an answer for you."
Neal wondered if that was true. He'd wondered a lot if the FBI was still keeping tabs on her.
Peter reached down to scratch Satchmo's ears, and then turned to leave. "I'm getting some sleep. You should, too."
Neal nodded. After Peter left, he finished his water. Then he went back upstairs. He'd thought about staying up for a while, maybe reading the newspaper or looking at more of the books in the living room. But he knew that Peter was probably waiting to hear him on the stairs.
* * *
The following afternoon, Neal was vacuuming the living room when the doorbell rang. He cocked his head, unsure for a second if he'd actually heard it. Realizing he had, he turned off the vacuum and went to the door.
There was a delivery man carrying two boxes. Peering over the top of the smaller of the two, he said, "I've got a delivery for Elizabeth Burke."
Neal reached out for the packages. "Thanks. I'll give them to her right away."
As he was closing the door with his foot, Elizabeth came downstairs.
"Oh, good! I was hoping those would come today. Put them on the dining room table, will you?"
He did that, and then stepped away as Elizabeth inspected the packages. He didn't want to start vacuuming again and disturb her.
She opened up the boxes and, after minute, turned and addressed Neal.
"Forget the vacuuming for now. I have a new job for you. Come here."
Neal walked back to the table and looked in the open boxes.
"These," Elizabeth said, pointing to the larger box, "are programs for the gallery opening I'm helping with. And these"—she pointed to the other box—"are inserts that need to go inside the programs. I need you to do it for me. It doesn't have to be finished today, but definitely before Saturday. Okay?"
"Sure. No problem."
Elizabeth patted him on the shoulder and left him with the boxes. Neal sat down at the table, feeling like he'd been hit by a whirlwind. He didn't mind having a task to do, but he wasn't used to being ordered around. And Elizabeth was more confident about giving him orders than Peter was. Peter often waited until he did something wrong to say anything, and when he issued an order, there was always a touch of warning in his voice, like he was expecting rebellion.
Neal supposed it made sense. Peter had chased him for years. And most of Peter's exposure to slaves was probably in the form of angry, depressed criminals being dragged off to processing.
Elizabeth, on the other hand, acted like it was a given that Neal would listen to her. It would seem naïve if she weren't so confident. He imagined she worked around slaves a lot, both those who belonged to her wealthier clients and the ones who worked as servers at some of her events.
Neal looked at one of the programs. From listening to Elizabeth talk to Peter, he knew the basics of this job. An artist she knew from years ago was having an opening, and she was coordinating the reception.
Looking at the pictures of watercolors that embellished the brochure, he felt a pang of longing. He wondered when he'd go to an opening again.
He wondered if anyone would notice if he took one of the programs. He was sure they must have printed extra. He might not have been allowed to go, but he could pretend....
He set aside one of the programs, and got to work. According to the invoice inside one of the boxes, there were 150 programs. But without anything else to focus on, it didn't take Neal long to get through them.
When Elizabeth returned and saw that he was nearly finished, she said, "Wow, done already?"
"Yes, ma'am. Almost."
"I guess we need to find more things to occupy your time...."
She walked over to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. "This is great, Neal. Now I can drop those off at the gallery tomorrow." She leaned against the counter and raised the glass to her lips. She seemed to think for a moment, and then said, "I'll tell you what: if you want to help me out some more, you can come with me tomorrow. It'd be nice if you could carry the box for me."
Neal perked up at the mention of an outing. To a gallery, no less. He didn't know if Elizabeth honestly wanted his help or if she was trying to do something nice for him, but it didn't matter.
"I'd be happy to help," he said with a smile.
* * *
The next morning, he got up early. The Burkes hadn't given him much to choose from, but he tried to dress up as much as he could. He had a dark blue button-down shirt that looked nice enough with his khaki pants.
Peter was still eating breakfast when Neal came downstairs. He looked up as Neal came in and said, "Look who decided to join us this morning."
Neal smiled and made a beeline for the kitchen. "Can I have some cereal?" he asked, and Peter nodded.
He wasn't sure what Elizabeth had told Peter about their planned outing, so he thought it best not to say much.
But she'd obviously told him, because as Neal got a bowl out of the cupboard, Peter said, "You know what will happen if you don't behave for Elizabeth today, don't you?"
"I'll be in trouble?" Neal said, trying to keep his tone light.
"Yep. And it'll be the last time either of us takes you out for a while. So do yourself a favor and behave."
"I'm sure he'll do just fine," Elizabeth said, fondly.
Neal sat at the table and poured himself some cereal. He didn't have a big appetite, though. His whole body felt wired, just like before pulling a con. Slavery was one long series of cons. Going to the gallery was special, even if he couldn't attend the opening and reception later in the week. But it was also a chance to get out of the house. He needed to play his cards right and make the most of it.
So far, except to take out the garbage or go into the back yard, Neal had only left the house once. A few days ago, Peter took Neal with him when he took Satchmo for a walk. It had seemed like a great idea at first, but then Peter had insisted on attaching the humiliating leash to Neal's collar and holding it in one hand while he held Satchmo's leash in the other.
Neal had higher hopes for this outing.
He and Elizabeth left not long after Peter went to work. As Elizabeth drove them out of the neighborhood and then out of Brooklyn, Neal casually paid attention to the streets they passed.
In Manhattan, he soaked up the sights, relishing the opportunity to see some of his favorite parts of New York again.
They parked two blocks from the gallery. Elizabeth led the way while Neal carried the programs. He held the box up to his chin so it covered his collar. He didn't want to be seen as a slave near his old stomping grounds.
The gallery was new—it had opened a couple months before Neal's arrest, and he never got a chance to check it out. He tried to catch glimpses as Elizabeth led him inside and to the back.
The woman who met them ignored Neal. After Neal set the programs down on a table in the back room, Elizabeth turned to him and said, "I have a little business to finish up, and then we'll head on. Why don't you wait for me out there?"
Neal readily complied. Waiting for her "out there" meant he could look at some of the artwork. There were a few others in the gallery, and while Neal browsed, he subtly adjusted his shirt so that it covered up his collar.
Slaves weren't allowed to conceal their collars, but that didn't mean they had to be blatantly obvious. Anyone who looked at him head on would see the metal around his neck, but there was no reason for all the gallery patrons to know what he was.
He was immersed in a painting when Elizabeth emerged. "You ready?" she asked.
He wasn't, but he knew the question was just a formality. He didn't want to push it by asking for more time.
During the drive back, she said, "Thanks for helping me out today."
"You think Peter will trust me more now?"
"Don't worry about Peter. He's just being careful."
"He didn't seem too crazy about me going today," Neal said carefully.
Elizabeth hesitated. "He's worried that exposing you to stuff like this is a bad idea."
"What? He thinks I'm going to steal a painting?"
"Well, more like pick someone's pocket. Or meet up with someone you knew. But I'm not too worried."
He was silent, and after a moment Elizabeth continued. "It's not just about what you might do. Peter thinks that too many connections to your old life will make this whole adjustment more difficult for you."
"You don't agree?"
"I don't think we can expect you to stop caring about the things you like. And besides, what good is having a slave if you can't use their skills? I need someone who can help me select caterers and give me advice on color schemes."
Neal liked the sound of that. If he had to be a slave, he could at least perform some duties that he would have done voluntarily.
That evening, Elizabeth had him help make pork chops and mashed potatoes for dinner. While Neal peeled the potatoes, the phone rang and Elizabeth answered it. He could make out from her words that it must have been Peter.
"Okay," she said, "I'll save you some dinner."
When she hung up, she said, "Peter's going to be late tonight. He's working a tough case."
They continued cooking, but when dinner was finished, Neal said, "Will Peter mind if I eat before he gets home?"
It was a stupid thing that had just occurred to him. He vaguely remembered being told in training that he shouldn't eat before his masters.
"Peter's used to eating late. Don't worry about it."
Neal joined Elizabeth at the table. While they ate, Elizabeth told him about the upcoming reception at the gallery, and about a wedding job she'd just gotten.
It was nice to talk to her, and be talked to. While neither Elizabeth nor Peter ignored Neal outright, they usually talked to each other during meals and there was an unspoken implication that Neal would be out of line to try to participate.
After dinner, Elizabeth helped him with the dishes. Then, when they were finished and Neal was drying his hands with one of the dish towels, she rubbed his back.
"It's nice to have some time together, isn't it? We haven't had a chance to get to know each other much."
Neal turned around, and Elizabeth moved her hand to his cheek. She waited for a moment, as if to gauge his reaction, and then kissed his lips.
Neal had been half expecting this, and though his heart started pounding at her touch, it wasn't entirely bad.
Elizabeth was a beautiful woman, and Neal could almost ignore the circumstances. He thought briefly about trying to refuse anyway, more to defend his dignity than because he didn't want to be with her.
But he wanted to encourage her generosity. And when sleeping with his masters might be his only opportunity for sex over the next four years, wanting Elizabeth was convenient. He knew he'd never want Peter.
He smiled and kissed Elizabeth back. He put a hand on her hip and felt her lean against it.
"Let's go upstairs," she said. "I think we have a little time before Peter gets home."
He followed her up to the master bedroom. He stood in the doorway while she walked in and turned on a bedside lamp, casting the room in soft light.
Neal looked around. He hadn't seen their bedroom yet. Like the rest of the house, it was neat but not formal. Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed and slipped off her shoes.
"Come on in," she said, patting the bed beside her.
Neal joined her on the bed. Looking around some more, he noticed a few books about slave training sitting on the nightstand. He tried to guess who slept on that side of the bed, and whose books they were.
Elizabeth slowly unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it open to expose his chest. She ran a warm hand over his abs and he shivered slightly.
"Gorgeous," she said quietly, with a smile.
Neal kissed her. He was willing to let her take the lead, but it felt natural to be an active participant.
As he helped Elizabeth out of her top, he idly wondered what Peter would think if he came home and found them like this. Yes, Peter had implied this was part of Neal's duties. But Neal wasn't too quick to assume that Peter would actually be okay with it in practice. The last thing he wanted was to be punished by a jealous husband.
But he knew that bringing this up now would kill the mood and probably sour Elizabeth on him. And he reminded himself, again, that Elizabeth was the one he had to spend most of his afternoons with.
Elizabeth wiggled out of her jeans and slipped her panties off. She lay back, and Neal knelt between her legs. She was naked except for a lacy black bra, and her chest rose and fell in anticipation.
"How's your mouth?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye.
"I haven't had any complaints."
She smiled. "Show me."
He bent down and kissed the inside of her thighs. Then he gently ran his tongue across her clit.
Elizabeth ran her hand through his hair. He felt her nails against his scalp.
Judging by her soft moans, Elizabeth wasn't difficult to please. Her breathing quickened and she gently rocked against his tongue.
She didn't offer instruction, so he tried to keep doing whatever got a reaction. After going down on her for a few minutes, she sighed contentedly and pulled away.
Neal sat up. "Y-you're done? Did you--?"
She reached out to cup his cheek in her hand. "It was wonderful. You were great."
Elizabeth pulled him close, and he lay down with his head against her stomach. He closed his eyes and took a deep, strained breath.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly, petting his hair.
"Yeah," he said. "You're great, too."
"I'm glad you think so." She nudged his still-clothed groin with her foot. "Maybe later, I can show you some of my skills."
He smiled, but he'd been overcome with a sudden, aching feeling of loss. He missed Kate.
Neal could hear the front door open downstairs. Peter's voice called out, "El? I'm home."
Neal tensed. Elizabeth sat up and yelled, "I'm upstairs. Just a second."
She squirmed out from under Neal and said, "Hand me those clothes on the chair, will you?"
He looked at the chair in the corner and saw a tank top and a pair of cotton boxers. While he got up and retrieved them, Elizabeth took off her bra and tossed it aside. She took the clothes from Neal and quickly pulled them on before giving him a peck on the cheek.
"We'll do this again soon. I promise."
With that, she left the room and went downstairs. Neal looked around and, after a second of deliberation, straightened the quilt on the bed before quietly hurrying from the room.
He went straight to the bathroom. He rinsed his mouth, and then looked at his sorry state in the mirror. His shirt was in disarray, and his dick was uncomfortably hard against the fly of his pants. He undid his belt and pants and pulled his erection out. Leaning against the cool tile wall, he quickly jerked off into a tissue, picturing Elizabeth. He closed his eyes and listened to the pounding of his heart.
After he washed up, he went upstairs. He had little desire to see Peter or watch the news with him and Elizabeth tonight. It wasn't like he couldn't face them right now—he was a conman, for crying out loud—but he wasn't in the mood to try.
As it turned out, Peter and Elizabeth weren't in the mood to stay up, either. He heard them come up to bed earlier than usual. A few minutes later, he heard soft laughter and creaking wood.
They were making love.
Neal listened with rapt, uncomfortable interest.
Now it occurred to him that Elizabeth had wanted him for foreplay. No wonder she'd been quick to stop him, when she was looking forward to Peter coming home.
Neal knew it would be stupid to be offended over it. Besides, it was best for everyone that Elizabeth and Peter were so smitten. Even if Neal would have preferred not to hear it from his bedroom.
Wishing he had some headphones, he tried to sleep.
Chapter 3
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Neal/Peter, Peter/Elizabeth/Neal, Neal/Elizabeth, Peter/Elizabeth, references to Neal/Kate
Rating: Explicit
Contains: Non-con, dub-con, institutionalized slavery, spanking, humiliation, dark!Peter, dark!Elizabeth, sex, rimming
Word count: 4,000 this part. About 122k total.
Summary: After being convicted of bond forgery, Neal is sentenced to four years of slavery. But he isn't prepared to be purchased by Peter Burke. Or for what Peter has in store for him.
Notes: See Chapter 1 for details.
Over the next few days, Neal saw surprisingly little of Peter.
As part of his adjustment period, Neal was allowed to sleep in. Peter would leave for work early, before Neal got up. However, Neal, who was unable to rest easily with or without the low-dose Valium Elizabeth wanted him to take, was always awake to hear Peter's alarm go off in the room below.
Peter's morning routine was reliable. After his alarm went off, Neal could hear him coming up the stairs. He'd crack open Neal's door and peek inside. Neal would shut his eyes and take shallow breaths, and if Peter realized he wasn't actually asleep, he didn't say anything. Instead, he'd quietly close the door and go downstairs.
Next, Neal could hear Elizabeth get up. Once she and Peter went down to the first floor, Neal couldn't hear much. But he suspected Peter left the house by seven-thirty.
If Peter and Elizabeth didn't care about when he got up, Neal saw no reason to let them know he was awake. He stayed in bed until nine, when he was confident that Peter was gone and Elizabeth was busy with her own work. He didn't know if it would be this way forever, or if they would want him to get up early to prepare breakfast. For now, they seemed content having the mornings to themselves.
The housework Elizabeth gave him to do didn't even come close to filling his day. But she didn't seem to mind if he looked around the house. The only room Neal wasn't allowed in was the master bedroom, so he took the opportunity to learn the layout of the rest of the house and peruse the bookshelves.
It was the first time in weeks that Neal had a chance to relax, but it wasn't much of a relief. He thought a lot.
He wondered if Kate knew what had happened to him. She knew he'd been enslaved, but did she know where he ended up? And Mozzie—was Moz keeping tabs on him? Part of him hoped they didn't know where he was.
Of course, he knew that in terms of treatment, his situation was better than it could be. He had his own room and bed. He was allowed to eat the same food Peter and Elizabeth ate. Coffee was a reward, but he only had to wash the dishes to get it. In the bathroom, there was a box marked "Neal" that contained soap, shampoo, a toothbrush, and other small necessities.
None of that made his situation feel good. And the possibility that Peter would make good on his promise of demanding sex was always there. Though, with the long days Peter spent at work, Neal began to wonder if he even had time to include Neal in his sex life.
There was no long list of rules, but Neal gradually learned their expectations. He was allowed to watch TV with them, and he was allowed to sit on the sofa, but he got the sense from Peter's demeanor that he preferred it if Neal sat on the floor. Neal thought about sitting on the sofa anyway, just to annoy him, but in the end he decided it was better to save his defiance for something more important. He swallowed his pride and sat cross-legged on the floor.
While they watched the nightly news one evening, Elizabeth tentatively ran a hand through Neal's hair, as though she were petting Satchmo. If it had been Peter, he would have moved away. But with Elizabeth, he didn't want to be hasty. He didn't expect charm and cooperation to net him any large gains with Peter, but he wasn't sure about Elizabeth.
And besides, she was the one he spent most of his time with.
Elizabeth had already let him borrow a couple art books from the living room. At least he had something to entertain himself with.
He usually went to bed early, as soon as he finished cleaning up from dinner and watching the news. He didn't fall asleep until much later, but he liked to get ready for bed while he had free use of the bathroom. If he waited, he would need to let Peter and Elizabeth use it first.
One night, after he'd been there almost a week, he couldn't sleep. He'd looked through page after page of early-twentieth century American art. He'd even done some sketching of his own, with some paper he'd collected and a pencil he'd found in one of his nightstand drawers.
According to the ancient clock radio that was beside his bed, it was twelve-thirty. He got up and quietly went downstairs to the kitchen. Satchmo was stretched out with his chin resting on the floor. His eyes followed Neal, but he didn't move.
Neal poured himself a glass of water and leaned on the kitchen island. He thought tonight could actually be a good night for the Valium, but he didn't know where they kept it. And besides, he reminded himself that it was better to be restless. If he was restless, then he could think about how he could improve his situation. He didn't want to surrender so quickly.
Satchmo perked up, and Neal heard someone coming downstairs. Before he could react, he heard Peter's voice.
"Neal? You down here?"
"In the kitchen," he said.
Peter came in. Neal realized it was the first time he'd seen Peter in his pajamas.
"I thought I heard you come downstairs. What's going on?"
Neal lifted his glass. "I was thirsty. You never said I was restricted to my room."
Peter blinked. "No. No, I never said that. Just making sure everything's all right."
Neal knew better than to imagine Peter was checking up on him out of concern.
"If you're worried about what I'm up to," Neal said, "why keep me? I thought people bought slaves to make their lives easier."
Peter snorted contemptuously. "Oh, I have no delusions about you making my life easier. And I'm not that worried about what you get up to. I'm sure you're already plotting in that head of yours. But you're equipped with GPS, and if anything goes wrong in this house, you're the first suspect. That's the whole idea of slavery, Neal. You don't have the power, you're not a threat."
"And yet, you're getting out of bed to check up on me."
Peter didn't deny it.
Neal took advantage of Peter's silence to ask something.
"Hey, I've been thinking," he said. "Do you know if Kate's okay? I haven't had a chance to talk to her since...since my sentencing."
It hurt his pride to ask, and he wondered if he was revealing himself too much by doing so. But he had to know. Eventually, he could try to send Kate a message, but who knew when that would be? Peter hadn't even let him out of the house yet.
Peter sighed and gave him a warning look. "If she's smart, she's staying out of trouble. But you know you can't have contact."
"That's not true," Neal said. "I know some owners let their slaves maintain ties with friends. There's no law—"
"Okay, then it's our rule. Elizabeth and I have talked about this, and we honestly believe letting you have any contact now would just complicate things, and make this harder for you. But who knows? Maybe down the road, if you earn it, we can talk."
Neal glared at him. "I didn't ask to contact her. I just wanted to know if she's okay."
"Afraid I don’t have an answer for you."
Neal wondered if that was true. He'd wondered a lot if the FBI was still keeping tabs on her.
Peter reached down to scratch Satchmo's ears, and then turned to leave. "I'm getting some sleep. You should, too."
Neal nodded. After Peter left, he finished his water. Then he went back upstairs. He'd thought about staying up for a while, maybe reading the newspaper or looking at more of the books in the living room. But he knew that Peter was probably waiting to hear him on the stairs.
The following afternoon, Neal was vacuuming the living room when the doorbell rang. He cocked his head, unsure for a second if he'd actually heard it. Realizing he had, he turned off the vacuum and went to the door.
There was a delivery man carrying two boxes. Peering over the top of the smaller of the two, he said, "I've got a delivery for Elizabeth Burke."
Neal reached out for the packages. "Thanks. I'll give them to her right away."
As he was closing the door with his foot, Elizabeth came downstairs.
"Oh, good! I was hoping those would come today. Put them on the dining room table, will you?"
He did that, and then stepped away as Elizabeth inspected the packages. He didn't want to start vacuuming again and disturb her.
She opened up the boxes and, after minute, turned and addressed Neal.
"Forget the vacuuming for now. I have a new job for you. Come here."
Neal walked back to the table and looked in the open boxes.
"These," Elizabeth said, pointing to the larger box, "are programs for the gallery opening I'm helping with. And these"—she pointed to the other box—"are inserts that need to go inside the programs. I need you to do it for me. It doesn't have to be finished today, but definitely before Saturday. Okay?"
"Sure. No problem."
Elizabeth patted him on the shoulder and left him with the boxes. Neal sat down at the table, feeling like he'd been hit by a whirlwind. He didn't mind having a task to do, but he wasn't used to being ordered around. And Elizabeth was more confident about giving him orders than Peter was. Peter often waited until he did something wrong to say anything, and when he issued an order, there was always a touch of warning in his voice, like he was expecting rebellion.
Neal supposed it made sense. Peter had chased him for years. And most of Peter's exposure to slaves was probably in the form of angry, depressed criminals being dragged off to processing.
Elizabeth, on the other hand, acted like it was a given that Neal would listen to her. It would seem naïve if she weren't so confident. He imagined she worked around slaves a lot, both those who belonged to her wealthier clients and the ones who worked as servers at some of her events.
Neal looked at one of the programs. From listening to Elizabeth talk to Peter, he knew the basics of this job. An artist she knew from years ago was having an opening, and she was coordinating the reception.
Looking at the pictures of watercolors that embellished the brochure, he felt a pang of longing. He wondered when he'd go to an opening again.
He wondered if anyone would notice if he took one of the programs. He was sure they must have printed extra. He might not have been allowed to go, but he could pretend....
He set aside one of the programs, and got to work. According to the invoice inside one of the boxes, there were 150 programs. But without anything else to focus on, it didn't take Neal long to get through them.
When Elizabeth returned and saw that he was nearly finished, she said, "Wow, done already?"
"Yes, ma'am. Almost."
"I guess we need to find more things to occupy your time...."
She walked over to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. "This is great, Neal. Now I can drop those off at the gallery tomorrow." She leaned against the counter and raised the glass to her lips. She seemed to think for a moment, and then said, "I'll tell you what: if you want to help me out some more, you can come with me tomorrow. It'd be nice if you could carry the box for me."
Neal perked up at the mention of an outing. To a gallery, no less. He didn't know if Elizabeth honestly wanted his help or if she was trying to do something nice for him, but it didn't matter.
"I'd be happy to help," he said with a smile.
The next morning, he got up early. The Burkes hadn't given him much to choose from, but he tried to dress up as much as he could. He had a dark blue button-down shirt that looked nice enough with his khaki pants.
Peter was still eating breakfast when Neal came downstairs. He looked up as Neal came in and said, "Look who decided to join us this morning."
Neal smiled and made a beeline for the kitchen. "Can I have some cereal?" he asked, and Peter nodded.
He wasn't sure what Elizabeth had told Peter about their planned outing, so he thought it best not to say much.
But she'd obviously told him, because as Neal got a bowl out of the cupboard, Peter said, "You know what will happen if you don't behave for Elizabeth today, don't you?"
"I'll be in trouble?" Neal said, trying to keep his tone light.
"Yep. And it'll be the last time either of us takes you out for a while. So do yourself a favor and behave."
"I'm sure he'll do just fine," Elizabeth said, fondly.
Neal sat at the table and poured himself some cereal. He didn't have a big appetite, though. His whole body felt wired, just like before pulling a con. Slavery was one long series of cons. Going to the gallery was special, even if he couldn't attend the opening and reception later in the week. But it was also a chance to get out of the house. He needed to play his cards right and make the most of it.
So far, except to take out the garbage or go into the back yard, Neal had only left the house once. A few days ago, Peter took Neal with him when he took Satchmo for a walk. It had seemed like a great idea at first, but then Peter had insisted on attaching the humiliating leash to Neal's collar and holding it in one hand while he held Satchmo's leash in the other.
Neal had higher hopes for this outing.
He and Elizabeth left not long after Peter went to work. As Elizabeth drove them out of the neighborhood and then out of Brooklyn, Neal casually paid attention to the streets they passed.
In Manhattan, he soaked up the sights, relishing the opportunity to see some of his favorite parts of New York again.
They parked two blocks from the gallery. Elizabeth led the way while Neal carried the programs. He held the box up to his chin so it covered his collar. He didn't want to be seen as a slave near his old stomping grounds.
The gallery was new—it had opened a couple months before Neal's arrest, and he never got a chance to check it out. He tried to catch glimpses as Elizabeth led him inside and to the back.
The woman who met them ignored Neal. After Neal set the programs down on a table in the back room, Elizabeth turned to him and said, "I have a little business to finish up, and then we'll head on. Why don't you wait for me out there?"
Neal readily complied. Waiting for her "out there" meant he could look at some of the artwork. There were a few others in the gallery, and while Neal browsed, he subtly adjusted his shirt so that it covered up his collar.
Slaves weren't allowed to conceal their collars, but that didn't mean they had to be blatantly obvious. Anyone who looked at him head on would see the metal around his neck, but there was no reason for all the gallery patrons to know what he was.
He was immersed in a painting when Elizabeth emerged. "You ready?" she asked.
He wasn't, but he knew the question was just a formality. He didn't want to push it by asking for more time.
During the drive back, she said, "Thanks for helping me out today."
"You think Peter will trust me more now?"
"Don't worry about Peter. He's just being careful."
"He didn't seem too crazy about me going today," Neal said carefully.
Elizabeth hesitated. "He's worried that exposing you to stuff like this is a bad idea."
"What? He thinks I'm going to steal a painting?"
"Well, more like pick someone's pocket. Or meet up with someone you knew. But I'm not too worried."
He was silent, and after a moment Elizabeth continued. "It's not just about what you might do. Peter thinks that too many connections to your old life will make this whole adjustment more difficult for you."
"You don't agree?"
"I don't think we can expect you to stop caring about the things you like. And besides, what good is having a slave if you can't use their skills? I need someone who can help me select caterers and give me advice on color schemes."
Neal liked the sound of that. If he had to be a slave, he could at least perform some duties that he would have done voluntarily.
That evening, Elizabeth had him help make pork chops and mashed potatoes for dinner. While Neal peeled the potatoes, the phone rang and Elizabeth answered it. He could make out from her words that it must have been Peter.
"Okay," she said, "I'll save you some dinner."
When she hung up, she said, "Peter's going to be late tonight. He's working a tough case."
They continued cooking, but when dinner was finished, Neal said, "Will Peter mind if I eat before he gets home?"
It was a stupid thing that had just occurred to him. He vaguely remembered being told in training that he shouldn't eat before his masters.
"Peter's used to eating late. Don't worry about it."
Neal joined Elizabeth at the table. While they ate, Elizabeth told him about the upcoming reception at the gallery, and about a wedding job she'd just gotten.
It was nice to talk to her, and be talked to. While neither Elizabeth nor Peter ignored Neal outright, they usually talked to each other during meals and there was an unspoken implication that Neal would be out of line to try to participate.
After dinner, Elizabeth helped him with the dishes. Then, when they were finished and Neal was drying his hands with one of the dish towels, she rubbed his back.
"It's nice to have some time together, isn't it? We haven't had a chance to get to know each other much."
Neal turned around, and Elizabeth moved her hand to his cheek. She waited for a moment, as if to gauge his reaction, and then kissed his lips.
Neal had been half expecting this, and though his heart started pounding at her touch, it wasn't entirely bad.
Elizabeth was a beautiful woman, and Neal could almost ignore the circumstances. He thought briefly about trying to refuse anyway, more to defend his dignity than because he didn't want to be with her.
But he wanted to encourage her generosity. And when sleeping with his masters might be his only opportunity for sex over the next four years, wanting Elizabeth was convenient. He knew he'd never want Peter.
He smiled and kissed Elizabeth back. He put a hand on her hip and felt her lean against it.
"Let's go upstairs," she said. "I think we have a little time before Peter gets home."
He followed her up to the master bedroom. He stood in the doorway while she walked in and turned on a bedside lamp, casting the room in soft light.
Neal looked around. He hadn't seen their bedroom yet. Like the rest of the house, it was neat but not formal. Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed and slipped off her shoes.
"Come on in," she said, patting the bed beside her.
Neal joined her on the bed. Looking around some more, he noticed a few books about slave training sitting on the nightstand. He tried to guess who slept on that side of the bed, and whose books they were.
Elizabeth slowly unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it open to expose his chest. She ran a warm hand over his abs and he shivered slightly.
"Gorgeous," she said quietly, with a smile.
Neal kissed her. He was willing to let her take the lead, but it felt natural to be an active participant.
As he helped Elizabeth out of her top, he idly wondered what Peter would think if he came home and found them like this. Yes, Peter had implied this was part of Neal's duties. But Neal wasn't too quick to assume that Peter would actually be okay with it in practice. The last thing he wanted was to be punished by a jealous husband.
But he knew that bringing this up now would kill the mood and probably sour Elizabeth on him. And he reminded himself, again, that Elizabeth was the one he had to spend most of his afternoons with.
Elizabeth wiggled out of her jeans and slipped her panties off. She lay back, and Neal knelt between her legs. She was naked except for a lacy black bra, and her chest rose and fell in anticipation.
"How's your mouth?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye.
"I haven't had any complaints."
She smiled. "Show me."
He bent down and kissed the inside of her thighs. Then he gently ran his tongue across her clit.
Elizabeth ran her hand through his hair. He felt her nails against his scalp.
Judging by her soft moans, Elizabeth wasn't difficult to please. Her breathing quickened and she gently rocked against his tongue.
She didn't offer instruction, so he tried to keep doing whatever got a reaction. After going down on her for a few minutes, she sighed contentedly and pulled away.
Neal sat up. "Y-you're done? Did you--?"
She reached out to cup his cheek in her hand. "It was wonderful. You were great."
Elizabeth pulled him close, and he lay down with his head against her stomach. He closed his eyes and took a deep, strained breath.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly, petting his hair.
"Yeah," he said. "You're great, too."
"I'm glad you think so." She nudged his still-clothed groin with her foot. "Maybe later, I can show you some of my skills."
He smiled, but he'd been overcome with a sudden, aching feeling of loss. He missed Kate.
Neal could hear the front door open downstairs. Peter's voice called out, "El? I'm home."
Neal tensed. Elizabeth sat up and yelled, "I'm upstairs. Just a second."
She squirmed out from under Neal and said, "Hand me those clothes on the chair, will you?"
He looked at the chair in the corner and saw a tank top and a pair of cotton boxers. While he got up and retrieved them, Elizabeth took off her bra and tossed it aside. She took the clothes from Neal and quickly pulled them on before giving him a peck on the cheek.
"We'll do this again soon. I promise."
With that, she left the room and went downstairs. Neal looked around and, after a second of deliberation, straightened the quilt on the bed before quietly hurrying from the room.
He went straight to the bathroom. He rinsed his mouth, and then looked at his sorry state in the mirror. His shirt was in disarray, and his dick was uncomfortably hard against the fly of his pants. He undid his belt and pants and pulled his erection out. Leaning against the cool tile wall, he quickly jerked off into a tissue, picturing Elizabeth. He closed his eyes and listened to the pounding of his heart.
After he washed up, he went upstairs. He had little desire to see Peter or watch the news with him and Elizabeth tonight. It wasn't like he couldn't face them right now—he was a conman, for crying out loud—but he wasn't in the mood to try.
As it turned out, Peter and Elizabeth weren't in the mood to stay up, either. He heard them come up to bed earlier than usual. A few minutes later, he heard soft laughter and creaking wood.
They were making love.
Neal listened with rapt, uncomfortable interest.
Now it occurred to him that Elizabeth had wanted him for foreplay. No wonder she'd been quick to stop him, when she was looking forward to Peter coming home.
Neal knew it would be stupid to be offended over it. Besides, it was best for everyone that Elizabeth and Peter were so smitten. Even if Neal would have preferred not to hear it from his bedroom.
Wishing he had some headphones, he tried to sleep.
Chapter 3
