Fic: The Devil You Know (6/25)
Jan. 14th, 2014 02:41 am![[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: 6300 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.
"I talked to Kate. She's interested in meeting with you."
Neal and Mozzie were sitting in the park. Neal hadn't expected to see him again so soon, and he could tell from the moment Moz showed up that he had some sort of news. And any news Mozzie could give him had to be good.
"Really? That's great!"
"Give me a day and time, and I'll pass the information along. She can meet you here."
Neal thought about it. "How about Thursday? Maybe four-thirty? Peter will still be at work, and Elizabeth has a meeting with a client."
"Four-thirty on Thursday. I'll tell Kate."
"This is great, Moz. Thank you."
"Yes, well, normally I would object to playing the intermediary in your love life, but I understand these are special circumstances. Just...be careful, okay?"
"What do you mean?"
"Just be careful."
But the plan was already formed in Neal's mind, and he felt certain nothing could interfere.
* * *
On Thursday, Neal woke up to gray skies and drizzling rain. It was hard not to see it as an omen.
Still, Neal's plan was still in effect. He could stand a little rain. Elizabeth left at three, and she would be tied up until at least six.
At three-thirty, Neal was upstairs in his room when he heard the front door open.
Full of growing dread, he went downstairs to find Peter standing in the entrance with a dripping umbrella and a thick file folder.
"You're early," Neal said, making his voice as casual as possible. "Did you come home for lunch? You know Elizabeth has meetings, right?"
"No, I already ate lunch. They're doing some maintenance in the office and it was getting distracting. I thought I'd bring my work home."
Neal swallowed, but he didn't panic. This wasn't going to interrupt his plans. He'd pulled cons back from the brink of disaster before. This was nothing.
Peter set the folder on the coffee table and took off his coat. Neal followed him into the living room.
"I was actually going to take Satchmo out pretty soon. Thought I'd take him to the park."
Peter looked at him. "Oh yeah? Have you looked outside lately?"
"So there's a little drizzle. It's no big deal."
"I'm not having you take my dog out in the rain. If Satchmo needs to go out, I'm sure he'll be happy to make do with the back yard until the weather clears up."
"Okay, fine. I wanted to get some fresh air. I don't have to take Satchmo with me."
Peter's eyes narrowed. "And you can't wait to get fresh air until after the rain stops?"
"Why should I? I told you, I don't mind a little rain."
"I think you'd better just stay in for now. I mean, there's no hurry, right?"
"No, no hurry."
Peter nodded slowly. "Good...."
Neal didn't show any reaction. He stayed calm, telling himself that this didn't change anything. Hell, Peter might have been the one who caught him, but Neal had even more experience at eluding Peter.
Peter settled down in front of the TV. He switched it on and started browsing the channels.
"Man," he said, rubbing his eyes, "I'm beat."
"You should get some rest. El won't be back until later, and I was going to make dinner."
Peter nodded at the files on the coffee table. "I need to look over this stuff before tomorrow. Big jewelry theft case."
While Peter worked and watched TV, Neal retreated into the dining room. He sat at the table to look at the newspaper, a position in which he could observe Peter.
Going out the front door was obviously impossible. So was going out the back—the back yard was boxed in.
The next best option was to climb out a second-story window. He would have to choose one in the front of the house, as there was no exit out of the back yard. The master bedroom would work. The biggest risk was the neighbors seeing him, but most of them were at work right now.
Peter's eyes were getting heavy. Neal glanced at his watch and wondered what the chances were that he'd nod off in the next fifteen minutes.
He was supposed to meet Kate in a half hour. It could take eight minutes to walk to the park, and another eight to walk back.
Neal mimicked a yawn, hoping to subliminally push Peter along.
After what felt like an eternity, Peter's eyes closed and his head drooped back. Finally. This new plan was actually working out. Neal got up and went into the laundry room. He surveyed the shelves until he found what he was looking for: some rope and a pair of gardening gloves.
He walked through the living room as quietly as he could. Satchmo was resting on the rug by the sofa and lifted his head as Neal passed by, but Peter didn't budge.
Once upstairs, Neal went into the bathroom and started the shower. As he stepped back out into the hall, he closed the door behind him. He figured he could count on Peter being asleep for at least ten minutes. If Peter heard the shower running, it would hopefully be another fifteen minutes before it would occur to him to check on Neal. The only risk was if he decided to go into the master bedroom before Neal got back.
Neal opened the bedroom door and stepped inside. He pushed the door closed behind him and got right to work setting up the rope. He opened the window, tied the end of the rope around the leg of the bed, and tossed the free end out the window so that it hung against the front of the house.
The rope wasn't ideal, but it was the best he could manage. The drop from the second floor wasn't that bad. He tested the rope to make sure the bed would hold his weight. Before going out the window, he looked out to make sure no one was around to see him. He put on the gloves. Taking a deep breath, he straddled the windowsill and climbed out. He braced his feet against the siding and tried to repel down as gracefully as he could.
It worked all right until he was a few feet off the ground. He was running out of rope, and he let go and jumped. When he landed on the hard cement, there was a sharp pain in his ankle.
For a horrible moment, he thought it was bad, that he'd broken or dislocated it. He crouched down, lifted his pant leg, and tenderly felt the bones of his ankle. It hurt, but nothing felt broken or out of place. For a second, he wondered if he needed to abandon his plan. But that thought left his mind as quickly as it came.
Gritting his teeth and ignoring the pain, he limped out the front gate and down the sidewalk.
Once he got going, the pain didn't slow him down much. The injury didn't seem as bad as it had at first. He made it to the park a few minutes before the agreed-upon meeting time, and waited, panting.
It was still raining, though it had let up to a steady drizzle. It was a cold day, and raindrops from the tree branches overhead soaked through his hair to the scalp, making him shiver.
As the minutes ticked by, Neal grew impatient. Kate was supposed to have been there five minutes ago, and she was never late. He thought Mozzie would have made it clear that time was precious. If she didn't show up soon, Neal would have to leave, but he didn't think he could bring himself to leave without seeing her.
He turned and ran a hand through his hair. He was standing by the bench where he usually sat when he came here, the one where he met Mozzie. Looking down, he saw something underneath the wooden slats of the seat. Kneeling down to investigate, he saw there was a plastic bag taped to the underside of the bench. Inside was a folded piece of paper.
Heart pounding, he took it. Through the plastic, he saw his name scrawled on the outside of the note.
Neal restrained himself from taking the note out and reading it right now. He didn't want to risk ruining it in the rain. There was one thing the note told him quite clearly, though: Kate wasn't showing up.
He didn't allow himself the time to process that. He was running out of time, and getting wet. He put the note in his pocket and hurried back home.
The rope was still hanging out of the bedroom window. That was good.
Neal took a deep breath and reached for it. All he had to do now was get back inside.
The climb up was more challenging than the climb down. His slippery shoes and sore ankle didn't help. As he finally pulled himself through the window, he lost his balance and landed on the floor with a thump. Neal cringed. He wondered what the chances were that Peter heard it.
Looking up, his heart skipped a beat when he saw the bedroom door wide open. His immediate thought was that Peter had come in, but if that were the case, Peter would have noticed the rope tied to the bed and leading out the window.
Instead, Satchmo was lying on the bedroom floor, looking at Neal inquisitively. Neal must not have closed the door all the way.
Satchmo was chewing on something. Closer inspection revealed that it was one of Elizabeth's leather pumps. Neal's eyes widened in horror when he saw it. There was no way he could keep Elizabeth from noticing that.
"Neal? That you? I heard a noise."
It was Peter's voice, on the stairs. Neal quickly assessed his options—he couldn't risk trying to close the door before Peter reached the top of the stairs. Better to let him think Satchmo had gotten into the bedroom on his own. Instead, Neal closed the window as quickly and quietly as possible and untied the rope from the bed. Then he shut himself in the closet.
He heard Peter come in the room.
"How'd you get in here, Satch? What do you have there?" Peter clicked his tongue. "Bad dog! You're in hot water with El."
Neal heard Peter's footsteps coming closer. He held his breath and clutched the nylon rope in his fist.
The closet door opened, and Neal came face to face with Peter.
"Hi," Neal said.
"Neal," Peter said through gritted teeth. "Want to tell me what you're doing in here?"
Neal stepped out of the closet. "Long story. What gave me away?"
"The wet footprints." Peter gestured to the rain water that had collected on the windowsill and frowned.
"I wasn't running away, if that's what you think."
"No, judging by your wet shoes, I assume you were coming in, not going out. So, the shower—that some sort of diversion?"
Neal shrugged and Peter glared at him.
"Come with me," Peter said. As an afterthought, he snatched the rope from Neal's hand and put it on the bed.
Neal limped after Peter and followed him to the bathroom. Peter went inside and turned off the shower.
Drying his hand with a towel, he said, "The water's freezing. How long did you leave it running?"
"No more than twenty-five minutes."
"Dammit, Neal! Water isn't cheap. And did you have to use up the hot water?"
"I thought it'd be more convincing. You know, if there was steam on the mirror."
"I don't care what you thought. What the hell were you doing? You met with someone."
"No."
Peter put his hands on his hips. "Oh really?"
"I mean it! I didn't see anyone."
Peter pursed his lips. "You think I'm not going to get to the bottom of this? Take off your clothes."
Neal blinked. "What?"
"You heard me. You're soaked, and I need to search you. Hand them over."
Getting caught didn't scare Neal much. He didn't have the visceral fear of being caught that kept some people from committing crimes and some criminals from taking too many risks. How many times had Mozzie accused Neal of sticking his neck out too far? He knew getting arrested and convicted was supposed to make him more careful, but it hadn't.
But now his mouth went dry. Cool sweat collected on the back of his neck. He was very aware of Kate's letter in his pocket. He wished he'd thought to stash it somewhere before Peter found him. He could have stuck it in the closet somewhere, or under the bed, and collected it later. It was too late now.
He took off his shirt slowly and handed it to Peter. As Peter inspected it, Neal's hand moved to his pocket and he prepared to remove the letter while Peter wasn't watching.
Before he could, Peter set the shirt aside and said, "Shoes and socks."
Neal winced as he took off his left shoe, and Peter's eyes narrowed.
"Did you hurt yourself? You've been limping."
"It's nothing. I jumped and landed wrong. It's not that bad."
"Hm. We'll deal with that in a minute."
Neal's feet were cold and clammy. The tile floor, though cool, felt better than his wet socks.
Then he had to take off his pants. The seconds seemed to stretch on forever while he tried to think of a last resort to keep the letter from Peter. But Peter's eyes were glued to him and he had no choice but to hand over his jeans with the bag still in the pocket.
It only took a moment for Peter to retrieve it. Holding it up, he said, "So, this is what you climbed out my bedroom window to get?"
Neal didn't answer. Peter looked at the paper and raised his eyebrows. "Looks like Kate's handwriting."
He knew what Kate's handwriting looked like?
"You'd think if Kate wanted to give you a letter, she could've found a way to deliver it that didn't require you to come up with such an elaborate plan to sneak out."
"It wasn't supposed to be elaborate. I thought I'd have the house to myself today." Neal became defensive. He didn't like the implication that Kate had messed things up. "I was going to see her, but she wasn't there. She left that. I was telling you the truth, Peter—I didn't meet with anyone."
"We'll discuss this. Right now, I need you to finish getting undressed."
Now that Peter had the letter, he must have known there wasn't much need to continue the search. But he was thorough.
Neal didn't care. Why should he? It wasn't his first strip search, and the only thing he'd cared about was Kate's letter.
He handed over his underwear and followed Peter's instructions. First, he lifted his arms over his head. Then he turned around and bent over with his legs spread. He reached back and pulled his buttocks apart.
It was difficult to keep his balance while keeping the weight off his left ankle, but thankfully, Peter didn't draw it out.
He told Neal to stand and said, "Wait here. Don't move."
Peter left the bathroom, and the sound of his footsteps went upstairs. Neal frowned at the realization that Peter was going to his bedroom. Then he wondered how literal Peter had been when he said not to move.
Deciding to risk it, Neal got a clean bath towel off a shelf and tried to dry his hair. A minute later, Peter returned, carrying Neal's pajamas.
"Here," he said, handing them to him, "put these on, and we'll take a look at your ankle."
After dressing in the pajama pants and t-shirt, Neal sat on the toilet. He winched when Peter touched his ankle, but Peter evidently came to the same conclusion Neal had, that it wasn't severe.
"Do you think you can manage the stairs?" Peter asked.
Neal nodded.
"Then let's go downstairs."
Neal took it easy going down the stairs, holding onto the railing and stepping lightly on his left foot. Had he been by himself, he wouldn’t have exercised such caution. It wasn’t a serious sprain, and though Neal was light on his feet, he’d gotten banged up before. He was just good at not showing it. Once, he'd twisted his knee while climbing down a fire escape with stolen manuscripts, and it wasn’t until he and Mozzie returned to Neal's apartment that Moz realized he was hurt.
But he wasn’t about to discourage Peter’s sympathy. Deep down, Peter wasn’t a cruel guy. What’s more, he was smart. He wasn’t going to dismiss an injury too quickly. Neal knew better than to try to fake it. But if letting Peter see his discomfort mitigated Peter’s anger, then it was worth sacrificing some pride.
He needed Kate’s letter. He couldn't afford to have Peter too pissed at him.
When they reached the first floor, Peter said, "Lie down on the sofa. I’m going to get some ice for your ankle."
"I don’t need ice."
"I don’t want to hear an argument right now. Go do it."
While Peter disappeared into the kitchen, Neal sat lengthwise on the sofa with his back against one of the arms and his legs stretched out. Peter came back after a minute, bearing an icepack.
"Here," he said, placing it on Neal’s ankle. "This should help."
Neal pulled an afghan off the back of the sofa and covered up. Once Neal had gained a semblance of comfort, Peter’s expression grew cold and hard.
"Right," he said, "now you’re going to tell me exactly what you were doing. No lies. No excuses."
"It’s like I told you. I just wanted to see Kate. We were supposed to meet but she didn’t show up. I just found the note."
"How did you plan this meeting? Kate contacted you?"
"She wanted to meet," Neal said carefully. He wasn’t going to say anything to expose Mozzie. "I set up a time. I didn’t expect to have any problem going out today."
"But then I came home."
"Then you came home, yeah."
"So, you cooked up a scheme that involved climbing out my bedroom window with a rope, driving up my water bill, and letting my dog sneak into my bedroom and destroy my wife’s things."
"Actually, I’m pretty sure Satchmo pushed the door open. I closed it—it must not have latched. You know, you might want to replace the doorknob. I don't think it latches as well as it—"
"Don’t blame the dog. Or the doorknob."
Neal's voice sobered. "Yeah, okay."
Peter stared at Neal with a gaze that would make the most suave conman nervous. Even Satchmo was making himself scarce.
"Look, I just needed to talk to her. That's all. Kate was supposed to take all my things that the state didn't auction off. No one could tell me if she claimed any of it. I just wanted to know my property is safe."
It wasn’t untrue. He didn’t know what had happened to his things, and he would’ve asked Kate about that. But he wasn’t as concerned as he tried to make himself sound. No decent thief kept many valuables in his home, and he already knew Mozzie had some of his suits.
"That's reasonable," Peter said, "but it's something you should have talked to me about. I could have tried to find out for you. That's your problem, Neal—you haven't learned to trust my judgment or give up control. And now the only thing you're getting from me today is a punishment." Peter looked at his watch. "It's almost five. Here's what we're going to do: you're going to think about the mess you've gotten yourself into, and I'm going to keep an eye on you while I work. When El gets home, I'm going to tell her what you did."
Peter briefly went upstairs and came down with the rope and El's ruined shoe. He placed them on the dining room table as though he was collecting evidence of Neal's misadventures. Then he sat in a chair in the living room and reached for his files. Neal gave it a few minutes before trying to speak again.
"Listen," he said, "the thing is, I never actually read Kate's letter. Could I just see it for a minute?"
Peter didn't look up from the file he was reading. "Neal, I don’t think this is the time to be asking me for anything."
Neal pulled the afghan up to his chin and sank into the sofa.
The next hour was the most agonizing time Neal had spent in recent memory. All he could do was sit there, silently, while Peter exuded an angry aura and simultaneously guarded and ignored him.
When Elizabeth finally came home, Neal didn't even get a chance to tell her his side of things.
Peter got up and kissed her, and then then she noticed Neal.
"What's going on?" she asked.
Before Neal could say anything, Peter said, "Neal is in big trouble."
Neal had hoped for some sympathy from El. He tried to give her an apologetic look. But she barely looked at him. Instead, she gave him a quick, questioning look before following Peter into the kitchen, where Neal could hear them speaking in hushed tones.
At one point, Elizabeth raised her voice and said, "Is that my shoe?!"
Neal stifled a groan. He tried to make out what was being said, but they were purposely keeping their voices low. At first he wondered why they didn’t just go upstairs, but every few minutes, Peter would peek around the corner, as though making sure Neal was still on the sofa.
The third time he did it, Neal smiled and waved. Peter looked unimpressed.
The icepack on Neal’s ankle was melting, and his ankle was numb from the cold. He took it off and dropped it on the floor. He experimentally flexed his ankle. It still hurt a little to move it, but he didn’t think he’d have any trouble walking.
After fifteen minutes, Peter and Elizabeth returned. Now, Elizabeth’s expression was almost as angry as Peter’s, but with more overt disappointment. She took the chair Peter had vacated, and Peter stood in front of the sofa with his hands on his hips.
Neal sat up and put his feet on the floor. The afghan was still draped over his body.
"Do you understand what you did wrong today?" Peter asked. "Why we need to punish you?"
Neal shrugged numbly. "Sure."
"Tell me."
Neal looked up at him. "What do you want me to say?"
"If you can’t tell me, then I’ll tell you."
Neal couldn’t help himself. "Should I be taking notes?"
Peter’s eyes narrowed. "If it prevents this from happening in the future, be my guest. We’re not mad because you wanted to see Kate. We don't think it's a good idea for you to see her, but we understand. But there are rules, and wanting to see your girlfriend is not an excuse to break them. You went behind our backs, and you pulled a ridiculous stunt. You're lucky it didn't result in more damage than it did."
Neal looked at Elizabeth. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your shoe. I didn’t know Satchmo would do that."
"I’m not even that upset about the shoe," Elizabeth said sadly. "Accidents happen. It’s how it happened that bothers me."
"Again, let’s not blame Satchmo," Peter said. "He’s a dog. We know he’s going to be tempted to give in to his instincts. That’s why we close our bedroom door. You, on the other hand, should be able to use better judgment. You could have gotten hurt climbing out the window. Did you even think about that?"
"I’m not an idiot. I wouldn’t have climbed out if I didn’t know I could make it."
Elizabeth gestured to his ankle. "But you did hurt yourself. What if it’d been worse? What if Peter had to take you to the hospital?"
Neal didn’t have an answer for that. Elizabeth continued.
"And did you even consider what would happen if someone saw you? One of the neighbors could have called the police."
"Right," Peter said. "They wouldn't have been able to charge you with anything, but if the police apprehend you for any reason, it will go on your record. That means it would count against you if there are any future problems. If El and I were inclined to sell you, potential buyers would know about it. Your insurance would go up."
Oh, God forbid they had to pay higher premiums on him. The idea of having a record was sobering, however. One would think that it couldn’t get much worse than being enslaved. But cons who got in trouble while they were enslaved could be punished by the court, and they even fewer privileges.
"And have you considered how it could affect Peter’s career?" Elizabeth said. "If it looks like he can’t watch his own slave, do you think people are going to take him seriously?"
Peter took a deep breath. "And they might not be wrong. I am accountable for your behavior." He shook his head. "I think I’m partly to blame here. Maybe I should have been firmer with you from the start, enforced the boundaries a little more. I didn’t want to crack down on you before you’d broken the rules, but I don’t think I did you any favors by being so soft."
Peter thought he’d been soft? Neal didn’t want to learn what strict was like. But he suspected he was about to find out.
"And Kate," Peter said. "She’s not blameless in this."
Neal’s gaze shot up. "She didn’t do anything wrong. She cares about me. Is that a crime?"
"I’m sure she does care for you, but she didn’t show it very well by putting you in this position. And yes, conspiring with a slave to disobey his masters can be a misdemeanor."
"So I wouldn’t be charged with anything, but she could be?" Neal's nostrils flared. "But you said it yourself—you expect me to use good judgment. Which is it? Am I accountable for my actions, or is it you and Kate?"
Peter hesitated. "Legally? Both. There are rules you need to follow, but it's our responsibility to make you follow them. And Kate shouldn't be helping you stray. Don't defend her—she should have known better. I'm half-tempted to file a report."
Neal's eyes widened in alarm. "No, Peter, you can't. It’s not fair."
"No one said your life is going to be fair." Peter snapped.
Neal swallowed. "Kate didn’t do anything wrong. Meeting was my idea. She trusts me to know what I’m doing." He hoped they wouldn’t ask him how he established contact with her. "If someone has to be punished, it should be me. I can take responsibility for my own actions. Just leave her out of it, please."
Peter nodded slowly. "I’m glad you're willing to take responsibility. Maybe there's hope for you yet." He looked at Neal's ankle. "How are you feeling? If you need to postpone your punishment until tomorrow, we can."
"I'm fine," Neal said. His voice had lost its passion. He just wanted the night to be over.
"Good. Then I think we should get it over with." Turning to Elizabeth he said, "I'll be right back."
Peter went upstairs. Neal pressed his forehead against the heel of his hand. Elizabeth watched him with a sad expression, but didn't speak.
Looked up at Elizabeth, he said, "I just wanted to see her. That's all."
"I know. I wish you'd talked to us. Maybe we could have discussed it with you."
"I already asked Peter about Kate. I just wanted to know how she was, and I didn't even find out that."
"That's because Peter didn't have an answer for you. You need to give us a chance, here."
"So I should have kept asking?" He scoffed. "I don't think that would have gone over well."
What did she expect of him? If he relied on their support, he'd never win. And no matter how much trouble he was in, it was still easier to beg forgiveness than permission.
"According to Peter, you're a good conman. I'm sure you're used to using words to get what you want. The only difference here is that you need to be honest."
"You realize telling a conman to be honest is like telling Satchmo not to want to chew on shoes, right?" He glanced at the stairs to make sure Peter wasn't coming back. "Did Peter tell you Kate left me a letter?"
Elizabeth tensed. "He did."
"Did he tell you I haven't even read it? I need to see it. I don't even have to keep it. Just read it."
She bit her lip. "Peter's concerned there could be a coded message in it. He doesn't want to risk showing it to you yet."
Before Neal could respond, Peter came downstairs. He was carrying a black leather paddle, the kind they sold in slave supply stores. Neal felt like groaning when he saw it.
He'd never been paddled before. He wondered if it was better or worse than the switches the guards at the processing center used on him. The bad thing about the switch was that it left welts, and he always seemed to earn new welts as soon as the old ones had healed.
Peter walked over to the sofa and motioned for Neal to get up. Neal did so with a slightly-exaggerated sigh, and Peter took his place on the sofa. He set the paddle at his side.
"How long have you had that thing?" Neal asked.
"Long enough. I think it might get more use from now on." He patted his lap. "Take off your pants and get over my knee."
Neal looked at Elizabeth for a reprieve, but saw little sympathy. Instead, she said, "Go on, Neal. It'll be better to get it over with."
He realized there was no way out of it. He'd practically asked Peter to punish him—he couldn't try to sweet-talk his way out of this one. Not without making Peter question his decision to let Neal take full responsibility for what happened. Slowly, he took off his pajama bottoms and cast them aside. He was very aware of his near-nudity, even more so than during the strip search.
He draped himself over Peter's legs and rested the upper half of his body on the sofa. He buried his face in a throw pillow and bit his lip when Peter reached under his hips and adjusted his cock and balls.
"Just making you comfortable," Peter said. "You're going to be in this position for a while." He put a firm hand on Neal's back.
The air in the room was cool against his bare ass. He braced himself for the paddle, but instead, Peter's hand delivered the first blow. The sound of Peter's hand hitting his bare skin cracked like a whip and Neal winced. Several more rapid blows followed, creating a growing sting and ache in Neal's bottom. Peter alternated sides, giving each of Neal's cheeks equal attention. Then he slowly moved downward, assaulting Neal's tender thighs and the spot where they joined his ass.
Neal tried not to squirm, but he couldn't help it. Peter's response was to loop his arm around Neal's waist and hold him down firmly. With his other hand, he continued the onslaught on his thighs, which now stung as much as his backside did.
By the time the blows finally stopped, Neal had almost forgotten about the paddle. But the next thing he felt was the cool leather against his sore skin. There were holes punched in the paddle, and the edges were rough. Unable to help himself, he groaned into the pillow he was holding onto.
He gasped at the first blow. It was so much worse than Peter's hand! He didn't know if it was worse than the switch, but at least when the guards switched him, there were only a few blows. They never put him over their knees, and they were never as thorough as Peter was.
"Ow! Peter! You don't have to do it so hard!"
"Hard? You think that's hard? I'm not even using half my strength. Do you want me to show you what 'hard' feels like?"
"No! No, that's not necessary."
Peter kept paddling him. "Maybe I should have done the whole spanking with the paddle, instead of using my hand first."
Using his hand first was supposed to be merciful? It felt more like he'd been tenderized.
It felt like the paddling went on forever. Finally, Peter stopped and set the paddle aside. He placed his hand on Neal's bottom.
"There," he said, sounding satisfied. "I don't think we'll be having any more trouble for a while. Will we?"
Neal buried his head into the pillow and mumbled out, "No."
Peter gently patted his ass, making him twitch. "All right, it's all over. You can get up."
Neal stood slowly. Elizabeth handed him his pajama bottoms, and he quickly pulled them back on. After Peter got up, Neal returned to the sofa. Before going into the kitchen, Elizabeth gave him a quick hug.
They didn't make him cook dinner that night. Instead, Elizabeth called in for a pizza. When it was time to eat, she put a pillow on Neal's chair for him. He was too exhausted to be embarrassed.
Dinner was quiet. Peter and Elizabeth barely even spoke to each other, and Neal didn't have it in him to pretend that everything was back to normal. Maybe from Peter's point of view, the paddling brought resolution. But for Neal, the facts remained the same: he hadn't seen Kate, and now Peter wouldn't even let him have her letter.
Neal only picked at his food. When he'd finished, he said, "Do I need to do anything before I go to bed?"
Peter shook his head. "No. Any dishes can wait until tomorrow. I still want you to rest your ankle."
"Then if you don't mind, I'll go upstairs."
Of course, just because Neal was exhausted didn't mean he could sleep. He lay awake in bed for hours. He listened as Peter and Elizabeth went to bed downstairs.
In the dark silence, dangerous thoughts occurred to him. He thought about leaving. He could do it—he had the passport and money. He had the code for the alarm system. He could sneak out and they wouldn't notice for hours.
But where would he go? He didn't have any way of taking off his collar, so Peter would be able to locate him as soon as he discovered him missing. Perhaps Mozzie could figure out a way to cut the collar off or at least disable the GPS. Or maybe Mozzie could sneak him out of the country in the next few hours. The collar wouldn't matter as much if Neal was out of U.S. jurisdiction. But Neal couldn't bring himself to risk Mozzie by leading a GPS trail to him.
He could go to a hospital, maybe. If they thought he was hurt, and that the collar needed to be removed in order to treat him, they'd take it off. He'd have to contend with the guards, but it was an opportunity, wasn't it?
Thinking about it, he got a pleasant tingling sensation in his gut, like he did before pulling a heist. He'd missed that feeling. His legs twitched as though they had a mind of their own, and wanted to lead Neal out of the house and to freedom.
But then the events of that afternoon brought him crashing back down to reality. Neal hated to admit it, but Peter had been right—he'd been careless. He couldn't let his situation make him desperate. If he ran now, the chances of being caught were too big.
Resigned, he burrowed under the blanket and closed his eyes.
He eventually found sleep, but it was light and fitful. He was awake in the morning when Peter, as usual, came upstairs and cracked open his door.
This morning, instead of pretending to be asleep, Neal lifted his head and looked at him.
He wasn't sure why he did it. Right now, Peter was the last person he wanted to see. But Peter had been so mad at him, and Neal didn't want to wait all day to find out if his feelings had softened overnight. The sooner they cleared the air, the better.
"Hey," Peter said softly. He hesitated, and then stepped into the room. He came over to the bed and pulled down Neal's blanket. Then he reached for the waistband of Neal's pants.
Neal jerked. "What are you doing?"
"Just checking the damage." He tugged the pants down to Neal's thighs and rubbed Neal's ass with surprising tenderness.
Neal put his head back on the pillow.
"You can barely tell you were punished," Peter said with a small smile. "I knew there wouldn't be too many marks. You're not too sore, are you?"
"Not anymore," Neal said.
"That's good. I know I'm probably not your favorite person right now. But at least with a spanking, it's over soon. You know what I mean? The punishment's over, and we can all move on. You might not appreciate it, but I take good care of my property. That means disciplining you when you need it."
"So you're not angry?"
"No, I'm not angry. But don't think I'm going to forget about this, either."
Neal tried to muster up a charming smile. "Wouldn't expect any less from you."
Peter pulled his pants back up and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Good."
Chapter 7
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: 6300 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.
"I talked to Kate. She's interested in meeting with you."
Neal and Mozzie were sitting in the park. Neal hadn't expected to see him again so soon, and he could tell from the moment Moz showed up that he had some sort of news. And any news Mozzie could give him had to be good.
"Really? That's great!"
"Give me a day and time, and I'll pass the information along. She can meet you here."
Neal thought about it. "How about Thursday? Maybe four-thirty? Peter will still be at work, and Elizabeth has a meeting with a client."
"Four-thirty on Thursday. I'll tell Kate."
"This is great, Moz. Thank you."
"Yes, well, normally I would object to playing the intermediary in your love life, but I understand these are special circumstances. Just...be careful, okay?"
"What do you mean?"
"Just be careful."
But the plan was already formed in Neal's mind, and he felt certain nothing could interfere.
On Thursday, Neal woke up to gray skies and drizzling rain. It was hard not to see it as an omen.
Still, Neal's plan was still in effect. He could stand a little rain. Elizabeth left at three, and she would be tied up until at least six.
At three-thirty, Neal was upstairs in his room when he heard the front door open.
Full of growing dread, he went downstairs to find Peter standing in the entrance with a dripping umbrella and a thick file folder.
"You're early," Neal said, making his voice as casual as possible. "Did you come home for lunch? You know Elizabeth has meetings, right?"
"No, I already ate lunch. They're doing some maintenance in the office and it was getting distracting. I thought I'd bring my work home."
Neal swallowed, but he didn't panic. This wasn't going to interrupt his plans. He'd pulled cons back from the brink of disaster before. This was nothing.
Peter set the folder on the coffee table and took off his coat. Neal followed him into the living room.
"I was actually going to take Satchmo out pretty soon. Thought I'd take him to the park."
Peter looked at him. "Oh yeah? Have you looked outside lately?"
"So there's a little drizzle. It's no big deal."
"I'm not having you take my dog out in the rain. If Satchmo needs to go out, I'm sure he'll be happy to make do with the back yard until the weather clears up."
"Okay, fine. I wanted to get some fresh air. I don't have to take Satchmo with me."
Peter's eyes narrowed. "And you can't wait to get fresh air until after the rain stops?"
"Why should I? I told you, I don't mind a little rain."
"I think you'd better just stay in for now. I mean, there's no hurry, right?"
"No, no hurry."
Peter nodded slowly. "Good...."
Neal didn't show any reaction. He stayed calm, telling himself that this didn't change anything. Hell, Peter might have been the one who caught him, but Neal had even more experience at eluding Peter.
Peter settled down in front of the TV. He switched it on and started browsing the channels.
"Man," he said, rubbing his eyes, "I'm beat."
"You should get some rest. El won't be back until later, and I was going to make dinner."
Peter nodded at the files on the coffee table. "I need to look over this stuff before tomorrow. Big jewelry theft case."
While Peter worked and watched TV, Neal retreated into the dining room. He sat at the table to look at the newspaper, a position in which he could observe Peter.
Going out the front door was obviously impossible. So was going out the back—the back yard was boxed in.
The next best option was to climb out a second-story window. He would have to choose one in the front of the house, as there was no exit out of the back yard. The master bedroom would work. The biggest risk was the neighbors seeing him, but most of them were at work right now.
Peter's eyes were getting heavy. Neal glanced at his watch and wondered what the chances were that he'd nod off in the next fifteen minutes.
He was supposed to meet Kate in a half hour. It could take eight minutes to walk to the park, and another eight to walk back.
Neal mimicked a yawn, hoping to subliminally push Peter along.
After what felt like an eternity, Peter's eyes closed and his head drooped back. Finally. This new plan was actually working out. Neal got up and went into the laundry room. He surveyed the shelves until he found what he was looking for: some rope and a pair of gardening gloves.
He walked through the living room as quietly as he could. Satchmo was resting on the rug by the sofa and lifted his head as Neal passed by, but Peter didn't budge.
Once upstairs, Neal went into the bathroom and started the shower. As he stepped back out into the hall, he closed the door behind him. He figured he could count on Peter being asleep for at least ten minutes. If Peter heard the shower running, it would hopefully be another fifteen minutes before it would occur to him to check on Neal. The only risk was if he decided to go into the master bedroom before Neal got back.
Neal opened the bedroom door and stepped inside. He pushed the door closed behind him and got right to work setting up the rope. He opened the window, tied the end of the rope around the leg of the bed, and tossed the free end out the window so that it hung against the front of the house.
The rope wasn't ideal, but it was the best he could manage. The drop from the second floor wasn't that bad. He tested the rope to make sure the bed would hold his weight. Before going out the window, he looked out to make sure no one was around to see him. He put on the gloves. Taking a deep breath, he straddled the windowsill and climbed out. He braced his feet against the siding and tried to repel down as gracefully as he could.
It worked all right until he was a few feet off the ground. He was running out of rope, and he let go and jumped. When he landed on the hard cement, there was a sharp pain in his ankle.
For a horrible moment, he thought it was bad, that he'd broken or dislocated it. He crouched down, lifted his pant leg, and tenderly felt the bones of his ankle. It hurt, but nothing felt broken or out of place. For a second, he wondered if he needed to abandon his plan. But that thought left his mind as quickly as it came.
Gritting his teeth and ignoring the pain, he limped out the front gate and down the sidewalk.
Once he got going, the pain didn't slow him down much. The injury didn't seem as bad as it had at first. He made it to the park a few minutes before the agreed-upon meeting time, and waited, panting.
It was still raining, though it had let up to a steady drizzle. It was a cold day, and raindrops from the tree branches overhead soaked through his hair to the scalp, making him shiver.
As the minutes ticked by, Neal grew impatient. Kate was supposed to have been there five minutes ago, and she was never late. He thought Mozzie would have made it clear that time was precious. If she didn't show up soon, Neal would have to leave, but he didn't think he could bring himself to leave without seeing her.
He turned and ran a hand through his hair. He was standing by the bench where he usually sat when he came here, the one where he met Mozzie. Looking down, he saw something underneath the wooden slats of the seat. Kneeling down to investigate, he saw there was a plastic bag taped to the underside of the bench. Inside was a folded piece of paper.
Heart pounding, he took it. Through the plastic, he saw his name scrawled on the outside of the note.
Neal restrained himself from taking the note out and reading it right now. He didn't want to risk ruining it in the rain. There was one thing the note told him quite clearly, though: Kate wasn't showing up.
He didn't allow himself the time to process that. He was running out of time, and getting wet. He put the note in his pocket and hurried back home.
The rope was still hanging out of the bedroom window. That was good.
Neal took a deep breath and reached for it. All he had to do now was get back inside.
The climb up was more challenging than the climb down. His slippery shoes and sore ankle didn't help. As he finally pulled himself through the window, he lost his balance and landed on the floor with a thump. Neal cringed. He wondered what the chances were that Peter heard it.
Looking up, his heart skipped a beat when he saw the bedroom door wide open. His immediate thought was that Peter had come in, but if that were the case, Peter would have noticed the rope tied to the bed and leading out the window.
Instead, Satchmo was lying on the bedroom floor, looking at Neal inquisitively. Neal must not have closed the door all the way.
Satchmo was chewing on something. Closer inspection revealed that it was one of Elizabeth's leather pumps. Neal's eyes widened in horror when he saw it. There was no way he could keep Elizabeth from noticing that.
"Neal? That you? I heard a noise."
It was Peter's voice, on the stairs. Neal quickly assessed his options—he couldn't risk trying to close the door before Peter reached the top of the stairs. Better to let him think Satchmo had gotten into the bedroom on his own. Instead, Neal closed the window as quickly and quietly as possible and untied the rope from the bed. Then he shut himself in the closet.
He heard Peter come in the room.
"How'd you get in here, Satch? What do you have there?" Peter clicked his tongue. "Bad dog! You're in hot water with El."
Neal heard Peter's footsteps coming closer. He held his breath and clutched the nylon rope in his fist.
The closet door opened, and Neal came face to face with Peter.
"Hi," Neal said.
"Neal," Peter said through gritted teeth. "Want to tell me what you're doing in here?"
Neal stepped out of the closet. "Long story. What gave me away?"
"The wet footprints." Peter gestured to the rain water that had collected on the windowsill and frowned.
"I wasn't running away, if that's what you think."
"No, judging by your wet shoes, I assume you were coming in, not going out. So, the shower—that some sort of diversion?"
Neal shrugged and Peter glared at him.
"Come with me," Peter said. As an afterthought, he snatched the rope from Neal's hand and put it on the bed.
Neal limped after Peter and followed him to the bathroom. Peter went inside and turned off the shower.
Drying his hand with a towel, he said, "The water's freezing. How long did you leave it running?"
"No more than twenty-five minutes."
"Dammit, Neal! Water isn't cheap. And did you have to use up the hot water?"
"I thought it'd be more convincing. You know, if there was steam on the mirror."
"I don't care what you thought. What the hell were you doing? You met with someone."
"No."
Peter put his hands on his hips. "Oh really?"
"I mean it! I didn't see anyone."
Peter pursed his lips. "You think I'm not going to get to the bottom of this? Take off your clothes."
Neal blinked. "What?"
"You heard me. You're soaked, and I need to search you. Hand them over."
Getting caught didn't scare Neal much. He didn't have the visceral fear of being caught that kept some people from committing crimes and some criminals from taking too many risks. How many times had Mozzie accused Neal of sticking his neck out too far? He knew getting arrested and convicted was supposed to make him more careful, but it hadn't.
But now his mouth went dry. Cool sweat collected on the back of his neck. He was very aware of Kate's letter in his pocket. He wished he'd thought to stash it somewhere before Peter found him. He could have stuck it in the closet somewhere, or under the bed, and collected it later. It was too late now.
He took off his shirt slowly and handed it to Peter. As Peter inspected it, Neal's hand moved to his pocket and he prepared to remove the letter while Peter wasn't watching.
Before he could, Peter set the shirt aside and said, "Shoes and socks."
Neal winced as he took off his left shoe, and Peter's eyes narrowed.
"Did you hurt yourself? You've been limping."
"It's nothing. I jumped and landed wrong. It's not that bad."
"Hm. We'll deal with that in a minute."
Neal's feet were cold and clammy. The tile floor, though cool, felt better than his wet socks.
Then he had to take off his pants. The seconds seemed to stretch on forever while he tried to think of a last resort to keep the letter from Peter. But Peter's eyes were glued to him and he had no choice but to hand over his jeans with the bag still in the pocket.
It only took a moment for Peter to retrieve it. Holding it up, he said, "So, this is what you climbed out my bedroom window to get?"
Neal didn't answer. Peter looked at the paper and raised his eyebrows. "Looks like Kate's handwriting."
He knew what Kate's handwriting looked like?
"You'd think if Kate wanted to give you a letter, she could've found a way to deliver it that didn't require you to come up with such an elaborate plan to sneak out."
"It wasn't supposed to be elaborate. I thought I'd have the house to myself today." Neal became defensive. He didn't like the implication that Kate had messed things up. "I was going to see her, but she wasn't there. She left that. I was telling you the truth, Peter—I didn't meet with anyone."
"We'll discuss this. Right now, I need you to finish getting undressed."
Now that Peter had the letter, he must have known there wasn't much need to continue the search. But he was thorough.
Neal didn't care. Why should he? It wasn't his first strip search, and the only thing he'd cared about was Kate's letter.
He handed over his underwear and followed Peter's instructions. First, he lifted his arms over his head. Then he turned around and bent over with his legs spread. He reached back and pulled his buttocks apart.
It was difficult to keep his balance while keeping the weight off his left ankle, but thankfully, Peter didn't draw it out.
He told Neal to stand and said, "Wait here. Don't move."
Peter left the bathroom, and the sound of his footsteps went upstairs. Neal frowned at the realization that Peter was going to his bedroom. Then he wondered how literal Peter had been when he said not to move.
Deciding to risk it, Neal got a clean bath towel off a shelf and tried to dry his hair. A minute later, Peter returned, carrying Neal's pajamas.
"Here," he said, handing them to him, "put these on, and we'll take a look at your ankle."
After dressing in the pajama pants and t-shirt, Neal sat on the toilet. He winched when Peter touched his ankle, but Peter evidently came to the same conclusion Neal had, that it wasn't severe.
"Do you think you can manage the stairs?" Peter asked.
Neal nodded.
"Then let's go downstairs."
Neal took it easy going down the stairs, holding onto the railing and stepping lightly on his left foot. Had he been by himself, he wouldn’t have exercised such caution. It wasn’t a serious sprain, and though Neal was light on his feet, he’d gotten banged up before. He was just good at not showing it. Once, he'd twisted his knee while climbing down a fire escape with stolen manuscripts, and it wasn’t until he and Mozzie returned to Neal's apartment that Moz realized he was hurt.
But he wasn’t about to discourage Peter’s sympathy. Deep down, Peter wasn’t a cruel guy. What’s more, he was smart. He wasn’t going to dismiss an injury too quickly. Neal knew better than to try to fake it. But if letting Peter see his discomfort mitigated Peter’s anger, then it was worth sacrificing some pride.
He needed Kate’s letter. He couldn't afford to have Peter too pissed at him.
When they reached the first floor, Peter said, "Lie down on the sofa. I’m going to get some ice for your ankle."
"I don’t need ice."
"I don’t want to hear an argument right now. Go do it."
While Peter disappeared into the kitchen, Neal sat lengthwise on the sofa with his back against one of the arms and his legs stretched out. Peter came back after a minute, bearing an icepack.
"Here," he said, placing it on Neal’s ankle. "This should help."
Neal pulled an afghan off the back of the sofa and covered up. Once Neal had gained a semblance of comfort, Peter’s expression grew cold and hard.
"Right," he said, "now you’re going to tell me exactly what you were doing. No lies. No excuses."
"It’s like I told you. I just wanted to see Kate. We were supposed to meet but she didn’t show up. I just found the note."
"How did you plan this meeting? Kate contacted you?"
"She wanted to meet," Neal said carefully. He wasn’t going to say anything to expose Mozzie. "I set up a time. I didn’t expect to have any problem going out today."
"But then I came home."
"Then you came home, yeah."
"So, you cooked up a scheme that involved climbing out my bedroom window with a rope, driving up my water bill, and letting my dog sneak into my bedroom and destroy my wife’s things."
"Actually, I’m pretty sure Satchmo pushed the door open. I closed it—it must not have latched. You know, you might want to replace the doorknob. I don't think it latches as well as it—"
"Don’t blame the dog. Or the doorknob."
Neal's voice sobered. "Yeah, okay."
Peter stared at Neal with a gaze that would make the most suave conman nervous. Even Satchmo was making himself scarce.
"Look, I just needed to talk to her. That's all. Kate was supposed to take all my things that the state didn't auction off. No one could tell me if she claimed any of it. I just wanted to know my property is safe."
It wasn’t untrue. He didn’t know what had happened to his things, and he would’ve asked Kate about that. But he wasn’t as concerned as he tried to make himself sound. No decent thief kept many valuables in his home, and he already knew Mozzie had some of his suits.
"That's reasonable," Peter said, "but it's something you should have talked to me about. I could have tried to find out for you. That's your problem, Neal—you haven't learned to trust my judgment or give up control. And now the only thing you're getting from me today is a punishment." Peter looked at his watch. "It's almost five. Here's what we're going to do: you're going to think about the mess you've gotten yourself into, and I'm going to keep an eye on you while I work. When El gets home, I'm going to tell her what you did."
Peter briefly went upstairs and came down with the rope and El's ruined shoe. He placed them on the dining room table as though he was collecting evidence of Neal's misadventures. Then he sat in a chair in the living room and reached for his files. Neal gave it a few minutes before trying to speak again.
"Listen," he said, "the thing is, I never actually read Kate's letter. Could I just see it for a minute?"
Peter didn't look up from the file he was reading. "Neal, I don’t think this is the time to be asking me for anything."
Neal pulled the afghan up to his chin and sank into the sofa.
The next hour was the most agonizing time Neal had spent in recent memory. All he could do was sit there, silently, while Peter exuded an angry aura and simultaneously guarded and ignored him.
When Elizabeth finally came home, Neal didn't even get a chance to tell her his side of things.
Peter got up and kissed her, and then then she noticed Neal.
"What's going on?" she asked.
Before Neal could say anything, Peter said, "Neal is in big trouble."
Neal had hoped for some sympathy from El. He tried to give her an apologetic look. But she barely looked at him. Instead, she gave him a quick, questioning look before following Peter into the kitchen, where Neal could hear them speaking in hushed tones.
At one point, Elizabeth raised her voice and said, "Is that my shoe?!"
Neal stifled a groan. He tried to make out what was being said, but they were purposely keeping their voices low. At first he wondered why they didn’t just go upstairs, but every few minutes, Peter would peek around the corner, as though making sure Neal was still on the sofa.
The third time he did it, Neal smiled and waved. Peter looked unimpressed.
The icepack on Neal’s ankle was melting, and his ankle was numb from the cold. He took it off and dropped it on the floor. He experimentally flexed his ankle. It still hurt a little to move it, but he didn’t think he’d have any trouble walking.
After fifteen minutes, Peter and Elizabeth returned. Now, Elizabeth’s expression was almost as angry as Peter’s, but with more overt disappointment. She took the chair Peter had vacated, and Peter stood in front of the sofa with his hands on his hips.
Neal sat up and put his feet on the floor. The afghan was still draped over his body.
"Do you understand what you did wrong today?" Peter asked. "Why we need to punish you?"
Neal shrugged numbly. "Sure."
"Tell me."
Neal looked up at him. "What do you want me to say?"
"If you can’t tell me, then I’ll tell you."
Neal couldn’t help himself. "Should I be taking notes?"
Peter’s eyes narrowed. "If it prevents this from happening in the future, be my guest. We’re not mad because you wanted to see Kate. We don't think it's a good idea for you to see her, but we understand. But there are rules, and wanting to see your girlfriend is not an excuse to break them. You went behind our backs, and you pulled a ridiculous stunt. You're lucky it didn't result in more damage than it did."
Neal looked at Elizabeth. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your shoe. I didn’t know Satchmo would do that."
"I’m not even that upset about the shoe," Elizabeth said sadly. "Accidents happen. It’s how it happened that bothers me."
"Again, let’s not blame Satchmo," Peter said. "He’s a dog. We know he’s going to be tempted to give in to his instincts. That’s why we close our bedroom door. You, on the other hand, should be able to use better judgment. You could have gotten hurt climbing out the window. Did you even think about that?"
"I’m not an idiot. I wouldn’t have climbed out if I didn’t know I could make it."
Elizabeth gestured to his ankle. "But you did hurt yourself. What if it’d been worse? What if Peter had to take you to the hospital?"
Neal didn’t have an answer for that. Elizabeth continued.
"And did you even consider what would happen if someone saw you? One of the neighbors could have called the police."
"Right," Peter said. "They wouldn't have been able to charge you with anything, but if the police apprehend you for any reason, it will go on your record. That means it would count against you if there are any future problems. If El and I were inclined to sell you, potential buyers would know about it. Your insurance would go up."
Oh, God forbid they had to pay higher premiums on him. The idea of having a record was sobering, however. One would think that it couldn’t get much worse than being enslaved. But cons who got in trouble while they were enslaved could be punished by the court, and they even fewer privileges.
"And have you considered how it could affect Peter’s career?" Elizabeth said. "If it looks like he can’t watch his own slave, do you think people are going to take him seriously?"
Peter took a deep breath. "And they might not be wrong. I am accountable for your behavior." He shook his head. "I think I’m partly to blame here. Maybe I should have been firmer with you from the start, enforced the boundaries a little more. I didn’t want to crack down on you before you’d broken the rules, but I don’t think I did you any favors by being so soft."
Peter thought he’d been soft? Neal didn’t want to learn what strict was like. But he suspected he was about to find out.
"And Kate," Peter said. "She’s not blameless in this."
Neal’s gaze shot up. "She didn’t do anything wrong. She cares about me. Is that a crime?"
"I’m sure she does care for you, but she didn’t show it very well by putting you in this position. And yes, conspiring with a slave to disobey his masters can be a misdemeanor."
"So I wouldn’t be charged with anything, but she could be?" Neal's nostrils flared. "But you said it yourself—you expect me to use good judgment. Which is it? Am I accountable for my actions, or is it you and Kate?"
Peter hesitated. "Legally? Both. There are rules you need to follow, but it's our responsibility to make you follow them. And Kate shouldn't be helping you stray. Don't defend her—she should have known better. I'm half-tempted to file a report."
Neal's eyes widened in alarm. "No, Peter, you can't. It’s not fair."
"No one said your life is going to be fair." Peter snapped.
Neal swallowed. "Kate didn’t do anything wrong. Meeting was my idea. She trusts me to know what I’m doing." He hoped they wouldn’t ask him how he established contact with her. "If someone has to be punished, it should be me. I can take responsibility for my own actions. Just leave her out of it, please."
Peter nodded slowly. "I’m glad you're willing to take responsibility. Maybe there's hope for you yet." He looked at Neal's ankle. "How are you feeling? If you need to postpone your punishment until tomorrow, we can."
"I'm fine," Neal said. His voice had lost its passion. He just wanted the night to be over.
"Good. Then I think we should get it over with." Turning to Elizabeth he said, "I'll be right back."
Peter went upstairs. Neal pressed his forehead against the heel of his hand. Elizabeth watched him with a sad expression, but didn't speak.
Looked up at Elizabeth, he said, "I just wanted to see her. That's all."
"I know. I wish you'd talked to us. Maybe we could have discussed it with you."
"I already asked Peter about Kate. I just wanted to know how she was, and I didn't even find out that."
"That's because Peter didn't have an answer for you. You need to give us a chance, here."
"So I should have kept asking?" He scoffed. "I don't think that would have gone over well."
What did she expect of him? If he relied on their support, he'd never win. And no matter how much trouble he was in, it was still easier to beg forgiveness than permission.
"According to Peter, you're a good conman. I'm sure you're used to using words to get what you want. The only difference here is that you need to be honest."
"You realize telling a conman to be honest is like telling Satchmo not to want to chew on shoes, right?" He glanced at the stairs to make sure Peter wasn't coming back. "Did Peter tell you Kate left me a letter?"
Elizabeth tensed. "He did."
"Did he tell you I haven't even read it? I need to see it. I don't even have to keep it. Just read it."
She bit her lip. "Peter's concerned there could be a coded message in it. He doesn't want to risk showing it to you yet."
Before Neal could respond, Peter came downstairs. He was carrying a black leather paddle, the kind they sold in slave supply stores. Neal felt like groaning when he saw it.
He'd never been paddled before. He wondered if it was better or worse than the switches the guards at the processing center used on him. The bad thing about the switch was that it left welts, and he always seemed to earn new welts as soon as the old ones had healed.
Peter walked over to the sofa and motioned for Neal to get up. Neal did so with a slightly-exaggerated sigh, and Peter took his place on the sofa. He set the paddle at his side.
"How long have you had that thing?" Neal asked.
"Long enough. I think it might get more use from now on." He patted his lap. "Take off your pants and get over my knee."
Neal looked at Elizabeth for a reprieve, but saw little sympathy. Instead, she said, "Go on, Neal. It'll be better to get it over with."
He realized there was no way out of it. He'd practically asked Peter to punish him—he couldn't try to sweet-talk his way out of this one. Not without making Peter question his decision to let Neal take full responsibility for what happened. Slowly, he took off his pajama bottoms and cast them aside. He was very aware of his near-nudity, even more so than during the strip search.
He draped himself over Peter's legs and rested the upper half of his body on the sofa. He buried his face in a throw pillow and bit his lip when Peter reached under his hips and adjusted his cock and balls.
"Just making you comfortable," Peter said. "You're going to be in this position for a while." He put a firm hand on Neal's back.
The air in the room was cool against his bare ass. He braced himself for the paddle, but instead, Peter's hand delivered the first blow. The sound of Peter's hand hitting his bare skin cracked like a whip and Neal winced. Several more rapid blows followed, creating a growing sting and ache in Neal's bottom. Peter alternated sides, giving each of Neal's cheeks equal attention. Then he slowly moved downward, assaulting Neal's tender thighs and the spot where they joined his ass.
Neal tried not to squirm, but he couldn't help it. Peter's response was to loop his arm around Neal's waist and hold him down firmly. With his other hand, he continued the onslaught on his thighs, which now stung as much as his backside did.
By the time the blows finally stopped, Neal had almost forgotten about the paddle. But the next thing he felt was the cool leather against his sore skin. There were holes punched in the paddle, and the edges were rough. Unable to help himself, he groaned into the pillow he was holding onto.
He gasped at the first blow. It was so much worse than Peter's hand! He didn't know if it was worse than the switch, but at least when the guards switched him, there were only a few blows. They never put him over their knees, and they were never as thorough as Peter was.
"Ow! Peter! You don't have to do it so hard!"
"Hard? You think that's hard? I'm not even using half my strength. Do you want me to show you what 'hard' feels like?"
"No! No, that's not necessary."
Peter kept paddling him. "Maybe I should have done the whole spanking with the paddle, instead of using my hand first."
Using his hand first was supposed to be merciful? It felt more like he'd been tenderized.
It felt like the paddling went on forever. Finally, Peter stopped and set the paddle aside. He placed his hand on Neal's bottom.
"There," he said, sounding satisfied. "I don't think we'll be having any more trouble for a while. Will we?"
Neal buried his head into the pillow and mumbled out, "No."
Peter gently patted his ass, making him twitch. "All right, it's all over. You can get up."
Neal stood slowly. Elizabeth handed him his pajama bottoms, and he quickly pulled them back on. After Peter got up, Neal returned to the sofa. Before going into the kitchen, Elizabeth gave him a quick hug.
They didn't make him cook dinner that night. Instead, Elizabeth called in for a pizza. When it was time to eat, she put a pillow on Neal's chair for him. He was too exhausted to be embarrassed.
Dinner was quiet. Peter and Elizabeth barely even spoke to each other, and Neal didn't have it in him to pretend that everything was back to normal. Maybe from Peter's point of view, the paddling brought resolution. But for Neal, the facts remained the same: he hadn't seen Kate, and now Peter wouldn't even let him have her letter.
Neal only picked at his food. When he'd finished, he said, "Do I need to do anything before I go to bed?"
Peter shook his head. "No. Any dishes can wait until tomorrow. I still want you to rest your ankle."
"Then if you don't mind, I'll go upstairs."
Of course, just because Neal was exhausted didn't mean he could sleep. He lay awake in bed for hours. He listened as Peter and Elizabeth went to bed downstairs.
In the dark silence, dangerous thoughts occurred to him. He thought about leaving. He could do it—he had the passport and money. He had the code for the alarm system. He could sneak out and they wouldn't notice for hours.
But where would he go? He didn't have any way of taking off his collar, so Peter would be able to locate him as soon as he discovered him missing. Perhaps Mozzie could figure out a way to cut the collar off or at least disable the GPS. Or maybe Mozzie could sneak him out of the country in the next few hours. The collar wouldn't matter as much if Neal was out of U.S. jurisdiction. But Neal couldn't bring himself to risk Mozzie by leading a GPS trail to him.
He could go to a hospital, maybe. If they thought he was hurt, and that the collar needed to be removed in order to treat him, they'd take it off. He'd have to contend with the guards, but it was an opportunity, wasn't it?
Thinking about it, he got a pleasant tingling sensation in his gut, like he did before pulling a heist. He'd missed that feeling. His legs twitched as though they had a mind of their own, and wanted to lead Neal out of the house and to freedom.
But then the events of that afternoon brought him crashing back down to reality. Neal hated to admit it, but Peter had been right—he'd been careless. He couldn't let his situation make him desperate. If he ran now, the chances of being caught were too big.
Resigned, he burrowed under the blanket and closed his eyes.
He eventually found sleep, but it was light and fitful. He was awake in the morning when Peter, as usual, came upstairs and cracked open his door.
This morning, instead of pretending to be asleep, Neal lifted his head and looked at him.
He wasn't sure why he did it. Right now, Peter was the last person he wanted to see. But Peter had been so mad at him, and Neal didn't want to wait all day to find out if his feelings had softened overnight. The sooner they cleared the air, the better.
"Hey," Peter said softly. He hesitated, and then stepped into the room. He came over to the bed and pulled down Neal's blanket. Then he reached for the waistband of Neal's pants.
Neal jerked. "What are you doing?"
"Just checking the damage." He tugged the pants down to Neal's thighs and rubbed Neal's ass with surprising tenderness.
Neal put his head back on the pillow.
"You can barely tell you were punished," Peter said with a small smile. "I knew there wouldn't be too many marks. You're not too sore, are you?"
"Not anymore," Neal said.
"That's good. I know I'm probably not your favorite person right now. But at least with a spanking, it's over soon. You know what I mean? The punishment's over, and we can all move on. You might not appreciate it, but I take good care of my property. That means disciplining you when you need it."
"So you're not angry?"
"No, I'm not angry. But don't think I'm going to forget about this, either."
Neal tried to muster up a charming smile. "Wouldn't expect any less from you."
Peter pulled his pants back up and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Good."
Chapter 7
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The Devil You Know
Date: 2014-01-15 07:26 am (UTC)The Devil You Know
Date: 2014-01-15 07:28 am (UTC)