Fic: The Devil You Know (17/25)
Feb. 14th, 2014 01:15 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: 2160 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.
In the days leading up to Christmas, Neal grew increasingly melancholy.
He used to like Christmas. He didn't have any traditions or fond childhood memories, but since coming to New York, he'd enjoyed going to the ballet and conning his way into parties during December.
But while Peter and Elizabeth talked about going up to Peter's parents' house, there was no mention of what Neal was supposed to do with his time. There was no implication that they intended to give him anything.
At this point, Neal could use a holiday. Though he loved going to work with Elizabeth and Peter, they didn't quite adjust their expectations for him at home. He still had to find time to do his chores. And now he had to study for the GED, too.
It wasn't like they even noticed most of his work. Even Elizabeth, who had high standards when it came to housework, didn't seem to notice if Neal skipped the dusting occasionally.
One afternoon, he was home alone with orders to vacuum the living room. He stood for a few minutes in front of the open closet, staring at the vacuum. The floor still looked clean. He could put this off for a few more days, and they'd never notice.
He closed the closet door and spent the afternoon drawing and reading, instead. Peter and Elizabeth got days off work. Why shouldn’t he?
When Elizabeth got home a few hours later, she barely looked at the house. She seemed too busy with Christmas parties to show much interest in what Neal got up to.
The only thing Peter bothered him about was studying for the GED. Neal saw no real purpose in it, but Peter was adamant.
"I'll tell you what," Peter said one evening, "if you pass the test, we'll give you a reward."
They were sitting in the living room after dinner, and Neal was flipping through one of his study guides.
"What?" Neal asked with a snort. "More of your hand-me-downs?"
"No...I was thinking more like your own slave account."
Neal started to turn a page and froze.
Slaves weren't allowed to have their own money, and masters were discouraged from letting them have cash. But many people saw no use in a slave who couldn't do the grocery shopping. So banks offered slave accounts—debit cards that masters could put money on. It prevented slaves from squirreling away cash, and let the master control how much money the slave had access too.
For the slave, it meant a certain amount of independence. Some masters only let their slaves use the debit cards for errands, but others gave an allowance for luxuries.
"Really? You'd trust me with that?"
"If you earn it, yes."
Neal considered that for a moment, and turned back to his book.
* * *
On Christmas, Peter and Elizabeth left early in the afternoon. Neal hadn't been invited—Peter's parents only lived an hour away, and apparently that was close enough that they didn't mind leaving Neal at home.
As they were leaving, Peter said to Neal, "Take it easy today. You deserve a holiday."
At least they were thinking of him a little. Though, Neal wouldn't have done many chores today regardless.
He couldn't spend all his time relaxing. He'd planned to bake a homemade apple pie for the Burkes as a Christmas present. He thought Elizabeth might suspect something, because she'd been the one to purchase the ingredients for him, but Neal had to work with what he had.
Mozzie showed up just after Neal put the pie in the oven. Neal had been hoping he'd come, but hadn't known if he would. He hadn't seen Mozzie in weeks.
"I have something for you," Mozzie said as Neal let him in. He handed Neal a paper bag.
Neal opened it up and took a sniff of the aroma that emanated from it. "Chicken piccata?"
"From that Italian place you always loved. I didn't know if you'd already eaten, but I thought you could appreciate it."
"I'm surprised they're open on the Christmas."
"Well, I happen to know the chef."
Neal set the bag on the dining room table. Tenderly, he said, "Thanks, Moz."
While Neal ate, Mozzie sat across from him and filled him in on everything he'd been missing.
As soon as Neal could get a word in, he took a drink of water and said, "Have you talked to Kate?"
Mozzie glanced down at his hands. "Not recently."
"I sent her a letter. I was hoping you'd know if she got it."
"I haven't heard anything. But if she hasn't responded, maybe it's a sign you should back off for a while. Focus on other things."
"Like what?" Neal snapped. "Doing housework? Studying for my GED? I have enough of that in my life."
"There must be something you can—wait, the Suit's making you get your GED?"
Neal poked at his food, embarrassed. "He thinks it'll help me. He means well."
"Neal, don't you see? He's trying to domesticate you."
"I know, but what can I do about it? Besides, it's better to let him think he's succeeding. At least a little."
"Ah. Ingratiate yourself to him and reap the rewards. A fine strategy, as long as you don't let his efforts rub off on you too much."
"Don't worry, Moz—his methods aren't that effective."
Mozzie stayed for another half-hour before leaving. An hour after Mozzie left, Peter and Elizabeth returned.
Peter was carrying a large red and green gift bag, which he set on the floor by the sofa.
As Elizabeth came in, she said, "Something smells good in here!"
Smiling, Neal said, "I made an apple pie. It should be cool now."
Elizabeth squeezed his shoulders and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Thank you. I'm sure it'll be great."
As Elizabeth headed into the kitchen, Peter gently slapped Neal on the shoulder.
"Yeah," he said, "you didn't have to make anything today."
Shrugging, Neal said, "It wasn't a problem."
Peter reached into the gift bag, which Neal figured must be from the Burke family. He pulled out a dog bone with a bow on it and set it on the coffee table. Then he pulled out a small box of chocolates.
"Here." He handed it to Neal. "My parents got you a little treat."
Neal smiled. He'd never met Peters' parents, but he liked them already. He noticed Peter eyeing the chocolate box. Peter didn't strike him as the type to steal a slave's Christmas present, but Neal decided he would stash the candy in his room, anyway. No point in tempting Peter's self-control.
That evening, after dinner, Peter and Elizabeth exchanged gifts while Neal took care of the dishes. Neal didn't really have much to do, but he dragged out his chores to avoid walking through the living room until they were done. He didn't want to sit and watch them give each other presents while he got nothing, and he didn't feel like letting them see him go up to his room alone.
Besides, he already knew what they were giving each other. He'd watched Elizabeth wrap a new leather wallet and some nice aftershave for Peter the other day, and last week, Peter had dragged Neal to a jewelry store to buy a pair of earrings. Neal had helped pick them out, but he knew he wasn't getting any credit for that. Not that he minded much—he couldn't help but get swept up in the romanticism of helping Peter surprise his wife.
Satchmo was on the kitchen floor, happily gnawing on his new bone.
At least Neal had gotten a good lunch and some chocolates. He couldn't exactly complain.
He finished loading the dishes in the dishwasher, and was leaning on the counter when Elizabeth called him into the living room.
As he entered the living room, she smiled and said, "There you are! C'mon, we have something for you."
There was a giftwrapped box Neal hadn't seen before. He sat down in a vacant chair and carefully opened the taped-down flaps.
It was a shoebox. Neal opened it to reveal a pair of new boots.
"They're your size," Elizabeth said, "but if you don't like how they fit, we can exchange them."
Neal took one of the boots out of the box and examined it with a smile. It was nice, and seemed very good quality.
It was also practical, and a cynical part of him realized that this present benefitted the Burkes as much as it did him. Now that he had proper shoes, they could make him shovel snow more.
Still, it was a nice gift.
At Elizabeth's urging, he tried them on and walked around the room in them. They fit him well.
"These are great," he said. "Thanks. I wasn't expecting you guys to get me anything."
That was partly true—he was expecting something, but when he hadn't seen any sign of a present, he'd started to accept disappointment. He'd even snooped around the house, looking for hidden presents, but with no luck.
As if reading his mind, Peter said, "We wanted it to be a surprise. We kept those stashed in our room where you wouldn't find them."
"And," Elizabeth said, "we have another surprise for you. Upstairs."
Neal changed back into his other shoes and followed them. They led him up to the third floor, but instead of going into his room, they opened the door to the room next to his. The other room was a small home office, but the Burkes rarely used it. It was mostly used for storage. There was an old futon in there that Elizabeth told him was from the apartment she'd lived in before meeting Peter, and there was a treadmill that neither of them ever found time to use. Neal had gone in there a few times, but had quickly lost interest. He used the treadmill occasionally, but he preferred to walk or run outside when they let him. It was better than staring at a blank wall while he ran.
Tonight, there was something new. Standing in front of the window was a full-size wooden easel. There were a couple canvases leaning against the wall, along with some paints and brushes.
Neal looked at it, speechless, and then looked over his shoulder.
"You guys seriously got this for me?"
"No," Peter said dryly, "we felt like taking up painting. Of course it's for you."
He walked over to the easel and touched it. He normally liked to pick out his own supplies, but he was too pleased to think about that now. He'd been starting to accept that he might not paint again for a long time.
"We put it in here because we thought you might like to paint by the window," Elizabeth said. "This room faces north, so you'll have the sun. But you can take it downstairs if you'd rather paint down there. Just be careful with the paint, and make sure you don't leave things down there."
"This is perfect," he said. It would be like a studio. There was an old desk against the wall—maybe he could use it for storing supplies. And this room was right next door to his bedroom, so he could easily paint at night if he wanted.
Looking at Peter, Neal said, "I can't believe you actually got this without me knowing."
"Oh, come on. You can't be surprised—you've been hinting about wanting paints for ages."
"Yeah, and you kept telling me paints are expensive."
Elizabeth smiled. "Well, we decided you deserved it."
"But Neal," Peter said in a warning tone, "don't expect us to buy you more paints and canvases whenever you want. They are expensive. It's going to have to be a special treat."
"Oh, honey," Elizabeth said, "just let him enjoy his present. He's got plenty to work with for now."
"And if I get my GED, I'll have an allowance, right? I can buy my own supplies."
Peter shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"
Neal was already thinking about what he wanted to do for his first project. He didn't have a whole lot of free time, between going to work with Peter and Elizabeth, doing his chores, and studying, but the unoccupied time he did have was often dull and unstimulating. Painting had always helped him relax and stimulated his mind.
Rubbing his back, Elizabeth said, "If you want to look at your new things, you can. You don't have to do any more work tonight. I can finish cleaning up downstairs."
"Thank you. Do you think I could keep my art supplies in here?"
"Sure," Peter said. "We don't use this room much."
Neal spent the rest of the evening setting up his new "studio." It wasn't much, but it would do. Neal had always been good at working in whatever conditions he found himself in.
Chapter 18
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: 2160 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.
In the days leading up to Christmas, Neal grew increasingly melancholy.
He used to like Christmas. He didn't have any traditions or fond childhood memories, but since coming to New York, he'd enjoyed going to the ballet and conning his way into parties during December.
But while Peter and Elizabeth talked about going up to Peter's parents' house, there was no mention of what Neal was supposed to do with his time. There was no implication that they intended to give him anything.
At this point, Neal could use a holiday. Though he loved going to work with Elizabeth and Peter, they didn't quite adjust their expectations for him at home. He still had to find time to do his chores. And now he had to study for the GED, too.
It wasn't like they even noticed most of his work. Even Elizabeth, who had high standards when it came to housework, didn't seem to notice if Neal skipped the dusting occasionally.
One afternoon, he was home alone with orders to vacuum the living room. He stood for a few minutes in front of the open closet, staring at the vacuum. The floor still looked clean. He could put this off for a few more days, and they'd never notice.
He closed the closet door and spent the afternoon drawing and reading, instead. Peter and Elizabeth got days off work. Why shouldn’t he?
When Elizabeth got home a few hours later, she barely looked at the house. She seemed too busy with Christmas parties to show much interest in what Neal got up to.
The only thing Peter bothered him about was studying for the GED. Neal saw no real purpose in it, but Peter was adamant.
"I'll tell you what," Peter said one evening, "if you pass the test, we'll give you a reward."
They were sitting in the living room after dinner, and Neal was flipping through one of his study guides.
"What?" Neal asked with a snort. "More of your hand-me-downs?"
"No...I was thinking more like your own slave account."
Neal started to turn a page and froze.
Slaves weren't allowed to have their own money, and masters were discouraged from letting them have cash. But many people saw no use in a slave who couldn't do the grocery shopping. So banks offered slave accounts—debit cards that masters could put money on. It prevented slaves from squirreling away cash, and let the master control how much money the slave had access too.
For the slave, it meant a certain amount of independence. Some masters only let their slaves use the debit cards for errands, but others gave an allowance for luxuries.
"Really? You'd trust me with that?"
"If you earn it, yes."
Neal considered that for a moment, and turned back to his book.
On Christmas, Peter and Elizabeth left early in the afternoon. Neal hadn't been invited—Peter's parents only lived an hour away, and apparently that was close enough that they didn't mind leaving Neal at home.
As they were leaving, Peter said to Neal, "Take it easy today. You deserve a holiday."
At least they were thinking of him a little. Though, Neal wouldn't have done many chores today regardless.
He couldn't spend all his time relaxing. He'd planned to bake a homemade apple pie for the Burkes as a Christmas present. He thought Elizabeth might suspect something, because she'd been the one to purchase the ingredients for him, but Neal had to work with what he had.
Mozzie showed up just after Neal put the pie in the oven. Neal had been hoping he'd come, but hadn't known if he would. He hadn't seen Mozzie in weeks.
"I have something for you," Mozzie said as Neal let him in. He handed Neal a paper bag.
Neal opened it up and took a sniff of the aroma that emanated from it. "Chicken piccata?"
"From that Italian place you always loved. I didn't know if you'd already eaten, but I thought you could appreciate it."
"I'm surprised they're open on the Christmas."
"Well, I happen to know the chef."
Neal set the bag on the dining room table. Tenderly, he said, "Thanks, Moz."
While Neal ate, Mozzie sat across from him and filled him in on everything he'd been missing.
As soon as Neal could get a word in, he took a drink of water and said, "Have you talked to Kate?"
Mozzie glanced down at his hands. "Not recently."
"I sent her a letter. I was hoping you'd know if she got it."
"I haven't heard anything. But if she hasn't responded, maybe it's a sign you should back off for a while. Focus on other things."
"Like what?" Neal snapped. "Doing housework? Studying for my GED? I have enough of that in my life."
"There must be something you can—wait, the Suit's making you get your GED?"
Neal poked at his food, embarrassed. "He thinks it'll help me. He means well."
"Neal, don't you see? He's trying to domesticate you."
"I know, but what can I do about it? Besides, it's better to let him think he's succeeding. At least a little."
"Ah. Ingratiate yourself to him and reap the rewards. A fine strategy, as long as you don't let his efforts rub off on you too much."
"Don't worry, Moz—his methods aren't that effective."
Mozzie stayed for another half-hour before leaving. An hour after Mozzie left, Peter and Elizabeth returned.
Peter was carrying a large red and green gift bag, which he set on the floor by the sofa.
As Elizabeth came in, she said, "Something smells good in here!"
Smiling, Neal said, "I made an apple pie. It should be cool now."
Elizabeth squeezed his shoulders and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Thank you. I'm sure it'll be great."
As Elizabeth headed into the kitchen, Peter gently slapped Neal on the shoulder.
"Yeah," he said, "you didn't have to make anything today."
Shrugging, Neal said, "It wasn't a problem."
Peter reached into the gift bag, which Neal figured must be from the Burke family. He pulled out a dog bone with a bow on it and set it on the coffee table. Then he pulled out a small box of chocolates.
"Here." He handed it to Neal. "My parents got you a little treat."
Neal smiled. He'd never met Peters' parents, but he liked them already. He noticed Peter eyeing the chocolate box. Peter didn't strike him as the type to steal a slave's Christmas present, but Neal decided he would stash the candy in his room, anyway. No point in tempting Peter's self-control.
That evening, after dinner, Peter and Elizabeth exchanged gifts while Neal took care of the dishes. Neal didn't really have much to do, but he dragged out his chores to avoid walking through the living room until they were done. He didn't want to sit and watch them give each other presents while he got nothing, and he didn't feel like letting them see him go up to his room alone.
Besides, he already knew what they were giving each other. He'd watched Elizabeth wrap a new leather wallet and some nice aftershave for Peter the other day, and last week, Peter had dragged Neal to a jewelry store to buy a pair of earrings. Neal had helped pick them out, but he knew he wasn't getting any credit for that. Not that he minded much—he couldn't help but get swept up in the romanticism of helping Peter surprise his wife.
Satchmo was on the kitchen floor, happily gnawing on his new bone.
At least Neal had gotten a good lunch and some chocolates. He couldn't exactly complain.
He finished loading the dishes in the dishwasher, and was leaning on the counter when Elizabeth called him into the living room.
As he entered the living room, she smiled and said, "There you are! C'mon, we have something for you."
There was a giftwrapped box Neal hadn't seen before. He sat down in a vacant chair and carefully opened the taped-down flaps.
It was a shoebox. Neal opened it to reveal a pair of new boots.
"They're your size," Elizabeth said, "but if you don't like how they fit, we can exchange them."
Neal took one of the boots out of the box and examined it with a smile. It was nice, and seemed very good quality.
It was also practical, and a cynical part of him realized that this present benefitted the Burkes as much as it did him. Now that he had proper shoes, they could make him shovel snow more.
Still, it was a nice gift.
At Elizabeth's urging, he tried them on and walked around the room in them. They fit him well.
"These are great," he said. "Thanks. I wasn't expecting you guys to get me anything."
That was partly true—he was expecting something, but when he hadn't seen any sign of a present, he'd started to accept disappointment. He'd even snooped around the house, looking for hidden presents, but with no luck.
As if reading his mind, Peter said, "We wanted it to be a surprise. We kept those stashed in our room where you wouldn't find them."
"And," Elizabeth said, "we have another surprise for you. Upstairs."
Neal changed back into his other shoes and followed them. They led him up to the third floor, but instead of going into his room, they opened the door to the room next to his. The other room was a small home office, but the Burkes rarely used it. It was mostly used for storage. There was an old futon in there that Elizabeth told him was from the apartment she'd lived in before meeting Peter, and there was a treadmill that neither of them ever found time to use. Neal had gone in there a few times, but had quickly lost interest. He used the treadmill occasionally, but he preferred to walk or run outside when they let him. It was better than staring at a blank wall while he ran.
Tonight, there was something new. Standing in front of the window was a full-size wooden easel. There were a couple canvases leaning against the wall, along with some paints and brushes.
Neal looked at it, speechless, and then looked over his shoulder.
"You guys seriously got this for me?"
"No," Peter said dryly, "we felt like taking up painting. Of course it's for you."
He walked over to the easel and touched it. He normally liked to pick out his own supplies, but he was too pleased to think about that now. He'd been starting to accept that he might not paint again for a long time.
"We put it in here because we thought you might like to paint by the window," Elizabeth said. "This room faces north, so you'll have the sun. But you can take it downstairs if you'd rather paint down there. Just be careful with the paint, and make sure you don't leave things down there."
"This is perfect," he said. It would be like a studio. There was an old desk against the wall—maybe he could use it for storing supplies. And this room was right next door to his bedroom, so he could easily paint at night if he wanted.
Looking at Peter, Neal said, "I can't believe you actually got this without me knowing."
"Oh, come on. You can't be surprised—you've been hinting about wanting paints for ages."
"Yeah, and you kept telling me paints are expensive."
Elizabeth smiled. "Well, we decided you deserved it."
"But Neal," Peter said in a warning tone, "don't expect us to buy you more paints and canvases whenever you want. They are expensive. It's going to have to be a special treat."
"Oh, honey," Elizabeth said, "just let him enjoy his present. He's got plenty to work with for now."
"And if I get my GED, I'll have an allowance, right? I can buy my own supplies."
Peter shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"
Neal was already thinking about what he wanted to do for his first project. He didn't have a whole lot of free time, between going to work with Peter and Elizabeth, doing his chores, and studying, but the unoccupied time he did have was often dull and unstimulating. Painting had always helped him relax and stimulated his mind.
Rubbing his back, Elizabeth said, "If you want to look at your new things, you can. You don't have to do any more work tonight. I can finish cleaning up downstairs."
"Thank you. Do you think I could keep my art supplies in here?"
"Sure," Peter said. "We don't use this room much."
Neal spent the rest of the evening setting up his new "studio." It wasn't much, but it would do. Neal had always been good at working in whatever conditions he found himself in.
Chapter 18
