Fic: The Devil You Know (12/25)
Feb. 2nd, 2014 02:31 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: 2800 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.
After dinner, Neal cleaned up the take-out containers. There were no dishes, which was a welcome change.
Peter and Elizabeth were speaking softly to each other at the dining room table. Neal could see the tenseness in Elizabeth's back, and the lines on Peter's forehead. He listened carefully.
"Honey?" Elizabeth asked. She raised her voice slightly, as though she intended for Neal to hear. "Do you want to show him now?"
"Yeah, let's," Peter said.
Elizabeth caught Neal's eye. "Neal, why don’t you come here? Peter and I have something we want to show you."
Neal was washing his hands. He turned off the water and reached for a towel. Peter went into the living room and returned a moment later with what looked like an evidence bag with a piece of paper inside. Neal thought it might be more FBI work, maybe another document Peter wanted him to authenticate. But as he joined them at the table, he caught sight of familiar handwriting.
It was Kate’s letter.
Elizabeth must have seen the recognition in his eyes. "We thought it was time we shared this with you. We probably waited too long, but Peter wanted to have it checked out first. And then we weren’t sure what to say."
Neal's heart was pounding. He looked at Peter. "You shared it with the FBI?"
"I had a couple of my people look at it. Don’t worry—it was all off the record."
Neal reached for the letter, but Peter pulled it back. "Before we let you have this, I want to warn you that it might not be what you were hoping for." He waited a moment to let the words sink in, and handed Neal the note.
Neal didn't know what to make of Peter's warning. Something wasn't right, but all Neal cared about was finally reading the letter. He sat at the table and opened the bag with trembling fingers. He took the letter out of the envelope.
Dear Neal,
I know you’re expecting to see me, but you won’t. I’m sorry. I wish that I hadn’t agreed to meet, but it’s too late now.
I love you. You’re my best friend, and nothing will change that. But I know that meeting now would be a mistake, and only make us both long for what we can’t have. There’s no hope for a relationship between us right now. Stay safe, and finish your sentence. Don’t forget about me, or about freedom. But for now, let the past be the past, and worry about the future when it comes. Know that I’m fine, and that you don’t need to worry about me. I hope that when you’re freed, we can talk.
With love,
Kate
Neal set the letter on the table. He stared numbly at it, unable to focus on the works on the page.
"I’m sorry," Elizabeth said. "I know it’s a disappointment. You can see why we hesitated to give it to you."
"She didn’t write this," Neal said softly.
Peter sighed. "Then who did? What do you think, that we had someone forge it?"
Neal glared at him. "I don't know. Maybe you did."
"C’mon. Be reasonable. Besides, you’re the forgery expert. Does it look like a forgery?"
It didn’t. Neal looked for any possible signs, any misshapen letters or hesitation marks. But it was Kate’s handwriting. And Peter was right—the idea it could be a forgery was too outlandish. It was something Mozzie would believe. If Mozzie had the same faith in Kate that Neal had.
"Honestly," Peter said, "she did the right thing. I know it doesn't feel that way, but it’s true."
Elizabeth squeezed his arm. "We should have given it to you sooner. We wanted to make things easier, but I guess it didn't work out that way. The last thing we wanted was for you to worry."
Neal ignored the soothing words. "You said you had some people look at it...." he said, looking at Peter.
"We didn't find any coded messages, if that's what you're wondering."
That didn't mean there wasn't one. It only meant that Peter's people hadn't been able to find it. Then again, Peter had had the note for over a month now. Plenty of time to study it.
"It isn't like she's leaving you," Elizabeth said. "Not forever."
No, not forever. He tried to imagine the future Kate proposed. They would have to deal with this. She would act like she felt guilty for abandoning him, and he would act like it wasn’t abandonment. It was easy enough to say he was okay with Kate moving on, and part of him really was. He'd told her once that he wouldn't want her to wait for him if he was enslaved. But the reality was more complicated. It was humiliating to have the people he cared about see him as a slave, but it was worse to feel disposable.
Neal didn’t speak, and Peter and Elizabeth seemed to search for something to say. Looking at the letter, Neal's eyes briefly blurred over in tears. He quickly blinked them away and bit his knuckles. He wanted to be alone.
"If you really think about it," Peter said, "this makes things easier for you. You don't have to worry about her, or what she'd think."
Neal knew what Peter meant—it'd be easier for Neal to put out if he wasn't thinking about his girlfriend. Did they really believe that was the biggest obstacle for him? Did they think he'd enjoy being a slave if he were single?
But he saw a chance to save a bit of his dignity. He didn't like being this vulnerable. Taking a deep breath, Neal forced a small smile. "Maybe you’re right. I guess I should focus on the present. At least she's okay." Holding up the letter, he said, "Can I keep this?"
"Of course," Peter said. "It's yours."
"Peter and I were going to watch a movie," Elizabeth said, "if you'd like to join us."
"Thanks, but I'm getting tired. Would it be okay if I went upstairs now?"
Elizabeth's smile faltered but she said, "Sure. Get some rest."
Neal gratefully got up and took his letter upstairs. His first instinct was to close his door, but that particular part of his punishment was still in effect.
However, he'd learned that having his bedroom door open wasn't all bad. He had the third floor to himself most of the time, and what he sacrificed in privacy, he almost made up for in his improved ability to hear someone coming up the stairs.
In any case, it wasn't as humiliating as having to leave the bathroom door open. Peter didn't make a point to gawk at him, but Neal still wasn't used to showering and using the toilet without privacy.
Neal sat on his bed, turned on the bedside lamp, and studied Kate's note. He still wanted to believe there was some sort of hidden message in it. Something Peter missed.
He was still studying it in vain a couple hours later, when he heard footsteps on the stairs. He quickly stashed it in the nightstand and lay down, pretending to have been resting.
He lifted his head when Elizabeth appeared in the doorway. She had already changed into her pajamas. She gave him a sympathetic smile and came into the room.
"I just wanted to say goodnight," she said. "And make sure you weren't too upset. I know you were hoping for...more. With the letter."
"It's okay."
Uninvited, she came over and sat on the edge of the bed. She put a hand on his hip. "Peter's right, you know. She didn't say she was leaving you."
Neal propped himself up on his elbow. "If Peter was in my position, would you write what she did?"
Elizabeth frowned. Her hesitation told him everything he needed to know.
"If it were Peter," she finally said, "I'd do whatever I could to stick by him. But that doesn't mean anything about you and Kate. And—well, if it does, then maybe it's better to know now, and not in four years."
Perhaps. He was starting to worry that Kate had been a pleasant delusion, like the passport. Could it be she intended for him to forget about her?
No, Neal didn't believe that. He couldn't see it as abandonment. Perhaps she thought it was what he wanted. He had told her it was okay to move on.
Elizabeth kissed his temple and said goodnight. As she got up to leave, she hesitated and looked as though she wanted to say something more. Perhaps invite him to join them. But whatever it was, she changed her mind and left.
Neal got under the covers and hugged his pillow. It was a long time before he slept.
* * *
When Neal was in the mood for reminding himself of how unfortunate he was (and he was in that mood a lot, lately), he estimated how much "work" he would do over the next few years.
Elizabeth enjoyed having him eat her out at least once a week, but that didn't feel so much like a job, even if it really was.
With Peter, of course, it was different. Neal saw it as a job, so Peter treated it like one, and that made it feel even more like a chore. A self-perpetuating cycle.
Peter liked to be sucked off one or two times a week. That could easily average four-hundred blow jobs before Neal was freed. On the other hand, he was satisfied with getting his ass eaten no more than once a month, which might amount to a considerably smaller forty-five-ish. The downside was that Peter was especially firm with Neal during those times, as though he anticipated that Neal might protest about rimming him. Peter almost seemed to find catharsis in Neal's dislike of the duty.
And eventually, he would make good on his threat to fuck Neal in the ass, and Neal could only guess what that would add to his schedule. With luck, it would replace some of the blowjobs and rimjobs, rather than add to them. Peter's libido couldn’t be that strong.
Neal was thinking of this while he knelt on the hard porcelain of the bathtub, facing Peter's ass. Peter was furiously jerking himself off. He had one hand braced against the wall of the shower and leaned forward with his head bowed, allowing the water to flow down his back and onto Neal's head. The water soaked Neal's hair. He blinked, trying to clear his eyes.
"C'mon, Neal," Peter said with a groan. "I brought you in here for a reason." He inched his feet as far apart as he could in the tub, and pushed his ass out until his cheeks were just an inch from Neal's nose.
Neal wondered how much hot water was left. A cold shower would kill Peter's arousal quickly enough.
"Will I get to go to another museum?" Neal asked.
"No," Peter said, "you don't get a reward every time you do what you're supposed to. Now come on—I want to feel your tongue."
Since the first time Peter made him do this, Neal had had the dubious fortune of learning what one of Peter's slave training books had to say about rimming.
Ass worship can be an excellent way of encouraging submission and humility in a slave. Regardless of whether they are inclined to enjoy it, many slaves find the act extremely intimate. It can help defiant slaves learn their place, and can be a soothing, affirming ritual for those slaves who appreciate their owners.
Since reading that, Neal's opinion of the act had lowered considerably. It didn't make him feel submissive or soothe him. And he didn't like the idea of Peter trying to manipulate him through sex.
"Neal," Peter said, "I thought we had an agreement."
He'd known it was only a matter of time before Peter played that card. Neal was loath to accept it, but Peter had him in a bind. Peter's patience had all but run out.
At least he'd shown some restraint and held off on the sex for a few days after giving Neal Kate's letter. Neal supposed that he and Elizabeth intended to be kind. Or maybe they didn't want him to think they'd only given him the letter in an effort to control him.
With a small sigh, he leaned forward and touched Peter's hole with his tongue. Peter shivered with pleasure, and the muscles in his ass tightened.
"That's what I'm talking about," Peter said with a breathy chuckle.
There was no benefit to prolonging things. Neal moved his tongue in a circle and gently licked at the tensed asshole.
Neal was good at many things, and this, evidently, was no exception. Maybe if he had to stop resisting, he would find a way to take advantage of the effect he had on Peter. Perhaps Peter would be more pliant if he was kept well-sated.
After a few minutes, Peter shuddered and gasped. Realizing it was over, Neal stopped without waiting for permission. He sat back on his heels and watched Peter's come wash down the drain.
As they were drying off, Neal asked, "Have I proved my usefulness?"
Peter's face was obscured by the towel he was drying his hair with. His dick swung between his legs—it was returning to a flaccid state, now. Lowering his towel, Peter revealed a small smile.
"You're making a good start. I knew you just needed a little motivation."
"Yeah," Neal said with a scoff.
Peter turned to him and narrowed his eyes. "Don't sulk."
Neal crossed his arms and studied the tile floor.
"Look," Peter said, "I know the past week has been a disappointment. But what can you do? You've just gotta move on and accept the way things are right now."
Neal looked up. "And what? Just forget about Kate?"
"I'm not saying forget about her. Just wait and see how you feel in four years."
Neal shrugged. "I can't blame her, you know. She deserves better than a guy enslaved for almost half a decade."
Peter pulled on a pair of boxers. Neal didn't have any clean clothes to change into—he hadn't gotten a chance to grab any when Peter ordered him into the shower. But the bathroom was still warm, and the mirror was fogged up from steam.
"Hey, keep your chin up." Peter smiled. "I know something that'll cheer you up—El and I are going to try something new with you. If you stay on your best behavior, we'll give you a little reward every couple weeks. We figure a little positive motivation won't hurt."
"Great," Neal said, not even trying to sound enthusiastic.
* * *
The next day, Peter and Elizabeth introduced what they called the "Reward Jar." It was a large glass jar that had been covered in bright green masking tape, obscuring the contents.
"There are slips of paper inside," Elizabeth said. "Each one has a reward written on it. Every two weeks, if you've been good, we'll let you pull one out. We'll also let you pull one out if you do something special."
She smiled and looked at him expectantly. But if they'd hoped to make him happy, they hadn't succeeded. He could already see the potential for disappointment.
Neal picked the jar up off the dining room table and examined it. "Do I get to choose which reward I want?"
Peter took the jar from him and put it back down. "No. Whatever you pull out, you get. This way, you can't blame us if it's not what you were hoping for, and we won't have to disappoint you by vetoing any crazy ideas you have."
"But I can blame you—you're the one who chose the rewards...."
He hoped this wasn't going to be the only way he'd get a reward from now on. But he didn't dare ask.
The next afternoon, when Elizabeth left the house, Neal took the jar off the kitchen counter and emptied the contents onto the dining room table. He turned each card right-side up and read them.
Some of the rewards were predictably unimpressive, and he suspected they were ideas they got from a slave training book. There was "Allowed to sleep in master bedroom" (in their bed, hopefully, and not on the floor), and "Allowed to sit on living room furniture" (big deal. He did that anyway when Peter wasn't around).
But there were a few that appealed to his interests. There was "A glass of wine," "Extra coffee," and "A new book."
When he was finished, he quickly put the cards back in the jar. He arranged them so that the most appealing ones were on top.
Chapter 13
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: 2800 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.
After dinner, Neal cleaned up the take-out containers. There were no dishes, which was a welcome change.
Peter and Elizabeth were speaking softly to each other at the dining room table. Neal could see the tenseness in Elizabeth's back, and the lines on Peter's forehead. He listened carefully.
"Honey?" Elizabeth asked. She raised her voice slightly, as though she intended for Neal to hear. "Do you want to show him now?"
"Yeah, let's," Peter said.
Elizabeth caught Neal's eye. "Neal, why don’t you come here? Peter and I have something we want to show you."
Neal was washing his hands. He turned off the water and reached for a towel. Peter went into the living room and returned a moment later with what looked like an evidence bag with a piece of paper inside. Neal thought it might be more FBI work, maybe another document Peter wanted him to authenticate. But as he joined them at the table, he caught sight of familiar handwriting.
It was Kate’s letter.
Elizabeth must have seen the recognition in his eyes. "We thought it was time we shared this with you. We probably waited too long, but Peter wanted to have it checked out first. And then we weren’t sure what to say."
Neal's heart was pounding. He looked at Peter. "You shared it with the FBI?"
"I had a couple of my people look at it. Don’t worry—it was all off the record."
Neal reached for the letter, but Peter pulled it back. "Before we let you have this, I want to warn you that it might not be what you were hoping for." He waited a moment to let the words sink in, and handed Neal the note.
Neal didn't know what to make of Peter's warning. Something wasn't right, but all Neal cared about was finally reading the letter. He sat at the table and opened the bag with trembling fingers. He took the letter out of the envelope.
Dear Neal,
I know you’re expecting to see me, but you won’t. I’m sorry. I wish that I hadn’t agreed to meet, but it’s too late now.
I love you. You’re my best friend, and nothing will change that. But I know that meeting now would be a mistake, and only make us both long for what we can’t have. There’s no hope for a relationship between us right now. Stay safe, and finish your sentence. Don’t forget about me, or about freedom. But for now, let the past be the past, and worry about the future when it comes. Know that I’m fine, and that you don’t need to worry about me. I hope that when you’re freed, we can talk.
With love,
Kate
Neal set the letter on the table. He stared numbly at it, unable to focus on the works on the page.
"I’m sorry," Elizabeth said. "I know it’s a disappointment. You can see why we hesitated to give it to you."
"She didn’t write this," Neal said softly.
Peter sighed. "Then who did? What do you think, that we had someone forge it?"
Neal glared at him. "I don't know. Maybe you did."
"C’mon. Be reasonable. Besides, you’re the forgery expert. Does it look like a forgery?"
It didn’t. Neal looked for any possible signs, any misshapen letters or hesitation marks. But it was Kate’s handwriting. And Peter was right—the idea it could be a forgery was too outlandish. It was something Mozzie would believe. If Mozzie had the same faith in Kate that Neal had.
"Honestly," Peter said, "she did the right thing. I know it doesn't feel that way, but it’s true."
Elizabeth squeezed his arm. "We should have given it to you sooner. We wanted to make things easier, but I guess it didn't work out that way. The last thing we wanted was for you to worry."
Neal ignored the soothing words. "You said you had some people look at it...." he said, looking at Peter.
"We didn't find any coded messages, if that's what you're wondering."
That didn't mean there wasn't one. It only meant that Peter's people hadn't been able to find it. Then again, Peter had had the note for over a month now. Plenty of time to study it.
"It isn't like she's leaving you," Elizabeth said. "Not forever."
No, not forever. He tried to imagine the future Kate proposed. They would have to deal with this. She would act like she felt guilty for abandoning him, and he would act like it wasn’t abandonment. It was easy enough to say he was okay with Kate moving on, and part of him really was. He'd told her once that he wouldn't want her to wait for him if he was enslaved. But the reality was more complicated. It was humiliating to have the people he cared about see him as a slave, but it was worse to feel disposable.
Neal didn’t speak, and Peter and Elizabeth seemed to search for something to say. Looking at the letter, Neal's eyes briefly blurred over in tears. He quickly blinked them away and bit his knuckles. He wanted to be alone.
"If you really think about it," Peter said, "this makes things easier for you. You don't have to worry about her, or what she'd think."
Neal knew what Peter meant—it'd be easier for Neal to put out if he wasn't thinking about his girlfriend. Did they really believe that was the biggest obstacle for him? Did they think he'd enjoy being a slave if he were single?
But he saw a chance to save a bit of his dignity. He didn't like being this vulnerable. Taking a deep breath, Neal forced a small smile. "Maybe you’re right. I guess I should focus on the present. At least she's okay." Holding up the letter, he said, "Can I keep this?"
"Of course," Peter said. "It's yours."
"Peter and I were going to watch a movie," Elizabeth said, "if you'd like to join us."
"Thanks, but I'm getting tired. Would it be okay if I went upstairs now?"
Elizabeth's smile faltered but she said, "Sure. Get some rest."
Neal gratefully got up and took his letter upstairs. His first instinct was to close his door, but that particular part of his punishment was still in effect.
However, he'd learned that having his bedroom door open wasn't all bad. He had the third floor to himself most of the time, and what he sacrificed in privacy, he almost made up for in his improved ability to hear someone coming up the stairs.
In any case, it wasn't as humiliating as having to leave the bathroom door open. Peter didn't make a point to gawk at him, but Neal still wasn't used to showering and using the toilet without privacy.
Neal sat on his bed, turned on the bedside lamp, and studied Kate's note. He still wanted to believe there was some sort of hidden message in it. Something Peter missed.
He was still studying it in vain a couple hours later, when he heard footsteps on the stairs. He quickly stashed it in the nightstand and lay down, pretending to have been resting.
He lifted his head when Elizabeth appeared in the doorway. She had already changed into her pajamas. She gave him a sympathetic smile and came into the room.
"I just wanted to say goodnight," she said. "And make sure you weren't too upset. I know you were hoping for...more. With the letter."
"It's okay."
Uninvited, she came over and sat on the edge of the bed. She put a hand on his hip. "Peter's right, you know. She didn't say she was leaving you."
Neal propped himself up on his elbow. "If Peter was in my position, would you write what she did?"
Elizabeth frowned. Her hesitation told him everything he needed to know.
"If it were Peter," she finally said, "I'd do whatever I could to stick by him. But that doesn't mean anything about you and Kate. And—well, if it does, then maybe it's better to know now, and not in four years."
Perhaps. He was starting to worry that Kate had been a pleasant delusion, like the passport. Could it be she intended for him to forget about her?
No, Neal didn't believe that. He couldn't see it as abandonment. Perhaps she thought it was what he wanted. He had told her it was okay to move on.
Elizabeth kissed his temple and said goodnight. As she got up to leave, she hesitated and looked as though she wanted to say something more. Perhaps invite him to join them. But whatever it was, she changed her mind and left.
Neal got under the covers and hugged his pillow. It was a long time before he slept.
When Neal was in the mood for reminding himself of how unfortunate he was (and he was in that mood a lot, lately), he estimated how much "work" he would do over the next few years.
Elizabeth enjoyed having him eat her out at least once a week, but that didn't feel so much like a job, even if it really was.
With Peter, of course, it was different. Neal saw it as a job, so Peter treated it like one, and that made it feel even more like a chore. A self-perpetuating cycle.
Peter liked to be sucked off one or two times a week. That could easily average four-hundred blow jobs before Neal was freed. On the other hand, he was satisfied with getting his ass eaten no more than once a month, which might amount to a considerably smaller forty-five-ish. The downside was that Peter was especially firm with Neal during those times, as though he anticipated that Neal might protest about rimming him. Peter almost seemed to find catharsis in Neal's dislike of the duty.
And eventually, he would make good on his threat to fuck Neal in the ass, and Neal could only guess what that would add to his schedule. With luck, it would replace some of the blowjobs and rimjobs, rather than add to them. Peter's libido couldn’t be that strong.
Neal was thinking of this while he knelt on the hard porcelain of the bathtub, facing Peter's ass. Peter was furiously jerking himself off. He had one hand braced against the wall of the shower and leaned forward with his head bowed, allowing the water to flow down his back and onto Neal's head. The water soaked Neal's hair. He blinked, trying to clear his eyes.
"C'mon, Neal," Peter said with a groan. "I brought you in here for a reason." He inched his feet as far apart as he could in the tub, and pushed his ass out until his cheeks were just an inch from Neal's nose.
Neal wondered how much hot water was left. A cold shower would kill Peter's arousal quickly enough.
"Will I get to go to another museum?" Neal asked.
"No," Peter said, "you don't get a reward every time you do what you're supposed to. Now come on—I want to feel your tongue."
Since the first time Peter made him do this, Neal had had the dubious fortune of learning what one of Peter's slave training books had to say about rimming.
Ass worship can be an excellent way of encouraging submission and humility in a slave. Regardless of whether they are inclined to enjoy it, many slaves find the act extremely intimate. It can help defiant slaves learn their place, and can be a soothing, affirming ritual for those slaves who appreciate their owners.
Since reading that, Neal's opinion of the act had lowered considerably. It didn't make him feel submissive or soothe him. And he didn't like the idea of Peter trying to manipulate him through sex.
"Neal," Peter said, "I thought we had an agreement."
He'd known it was only a matter of time before Peter played that card. Neal was loath to accept it, but Peter had him in a bind. Peter's patience had all but run out.
At least he'd shown some restraint and held off on the sex for a few days after giving Neal Kate's letter. Neal supposed that he and Elizabeth intended to be kind. Or maybe they didn't want him to think they'd only given him the letter in an effort to control him.
With a small sigh, he leaned forward and touched Peter's hole with his tongue. Peter shivered with pleasure, and the muscles in his ass tightened.
"That's what I'm talking about," Peter said with a breathy chuckle.
There was no benefit to prolonging things. Neal moved his tongue in a circle and gently licked at the tensed asshole.
Neal was good at many things, and this, evidently, was no exception. Maybe if he had to stop resisting, he would find a way to take advantage of the effect he had on Peter. Perhaps Peter would be more pliant if he was kept well-sated.
After a few minutes, Peter shuddered and gasped. Realizing it was over, Neal stopped without waiting for permission. He sat back on his heels and watched Peter's come wash down the drain.
As they were drying off, Neal asked, "Have I proved my usefulness?"
Peter's face was obscured by the towel he was drying his hair with. His dick swung between his legs—it was returning to a flaccid state, now. Lowering his towel, Peter revealed a small smile.
"You're making a good start. I knew you just needed a little motivation."
"Yeah," Neal said with a scoff.
Peter turned to him and narrowed his eyes. "Don't sulk."
Neal crossed his arms and studied the tile floor.
"Look," Peter said, "I know the past week has been a disappointment. But what can you do? You've just gotta move on and accept the way things are right now."
Neal looked up. "And what? Just forget about Kate?"
"I'm not saying forget about her. Just wait and see how you feel in four years."
Neal shrugged. "I can't blame her, you know. She deserves better than a guy enslaved for almost half a decade."
Peter pulled on a pair of boxers. Neal didn't have any clean clothes to change into—he hadn't gotten a chance to grab any when Peter ordered him into the shower. But the bathroom was still warm, and the mirror was fogged up from steam.
"Hey, keep your chin up." Peter smiled. "I know something that'll cheer you up—El and I are going to try something new with you. If you stay on your best behavior, we'll give you a little reward every couple weeks. We figure a little positive motivation won't hurt."
"Great," Neal said, not even trying to sound enthusiastic.
The next day, Peter and Elizabeth introduced what they called the "Reward Jar." It was a large glass jar that had been covered in bright green masking tape, obscuring the contents.
"There are slips of paper inside," Elizabeth said. "Each one has a reward written on it. Every two weeks, if you've been good, we'll let you pull one out. We'll also let you pull one out if you do something special."
She smiled and looked at him expectantly. But if they'd hoped to make him happy, they hadn't succeeded. He could already see the potential for disappointment.
Neal picked the jar up off the dining room table and examined it. "Do I get to choose which reward I want?"
Peter took the jar from him and put it back down. "No. Whatever you pull out, you get. This way, you can't blame us if it's not what you were hoping for, and we won't have to disappoint you by vetoing any crazy ideas you have."
"But I can blame you—you're the one who chose the rewards...."
He hoped this wasn't going to be the only way he'd get a reward from now on. But he didn't dare ask.
The next afternoon, when Elizabeth left the house, Neal took the jar off the kitchen counter and emptied the contents onto the dining room table. He turned each card right-side up and read them.
Some of the rewards were predictably unimpressive, and he suspected they were ideas they got from a slave training book. There was "Allowed to sleep in master bedroom" (in their bed, hopefully, and not on the floor), and "Allowed to sit on living room furniture" (big deal. He did that anyway when Peter wasn't around).
But there were a few that appealed to his interests. There was "A glass of wine," "Extra coffee," and "A new book."
When he was finished, he quickly put the cards back in the jar. He arranged them so that the most appealing ones were on top.
Chapter 13
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The Devil You Know 12
Date: 2014-02-02 10:28 pm (UTC)Re: The Devil You Know 12
Date: 2014-02-03 03:52 am (UTC)