Fic: The Devil You Know (20/25)
Title: 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: 7300 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.
On Monday, Neal joined Peter at work. Peter spent most of the morning in his office, making phone calls. Neal quickly bored of looking over the stack of mortgage fraud cases Peter had given him, and he wandered down to the bullpen to look for something more interesting.
Jones was sitting at his desk, and Diana was standing beside him. They were watching something on Jones's computer.
Neal made a beeline over to them. "What are you guys watching?"
They both turned their heads toward him. They gave him brief skeptical looks, but neither told him to get back to his assigned work.
"Security footage," Jones said. "The other night, someone stole a rare diamond from a store, right in the middle of some sort of fashion show. The guy caused a diversion and used the activity as a cover to get into a back room and crack the safe."
"We got it on camera," Diana said, "but the guy was good. He was careful not to show his face."
Neal leaned in and looked at the footage. The grainy video showed a man stepping out into a hallway. He turned his head to avoid the camera, and there was a glint of metal.
"Is he wearing a collar?" Neal asked.
"Looks like it," Diana said. "We think he impersonated a slave to avoid attracting attention."
"Either that," Jones said, "or he really is a slave."
"I doubt it," Neal said, "It'd be too big of a risk."
"If he's an impostor," Diana said, "maybe we can find out where he got the collar."
"It won't be a real one," Neal said. "Look for people who bought demo collars recently."
Jones looked at him. "Demo collars?"
"Yeah. In most states, it's a misdemeanor for a free person to wear a locking slave collar. A lot of manufacturers make demo versions that don't actually lock, so they aren't restricted to using slave as models. And some stores keep them on hand because they're easy to try on. Besides, a lot of the big manufacturers sell overseas, and most European countries don't require locking collars anymore. So they make both locking and non-locking varieties to sell in different countries."
Diana grinned. "Is there anything you're not an expert on?"
"What can I say? Million-dollar industries interest me. Besides, recent life changes have made collars relevant."
Jones looked up in the direction of the elevators and nodded. "Sara Ellis is here. Peter said she'd be coming by to talk about the stolen Dali."
Neal frowned as Sara opened the glass door and strode into the office. Peter hadn't mentioned anything about this to him.
"The one taken from the Met?" Neal asked.
"Yeah," Jones said. "Interpol had a lead on it in Switzerland, but it turned out to be false. Time to go back to the drawing board."
It'd been a couple months since the theft. Time wasn't on the FBI's side-or the insurance company's. Neal hadn't known that Sterling Bosch insured the painting. It probably drove Sara crazy to have it missing for so long.
Peter must have seen Sara, too, because he emerged from his office and came down the stairs just in time to greet her.
"Sara," he said, "glad you could stop by. You said on the phone that you might have some information?"
Sara kept her face directed toward Peter, but her eyes darted in Neal's direction. "I might. It's nothing solid, but maybe combined with your intel...."
"It's worth a shot. Listen, I'm sorry, but I have to take a conference call in five minutes. Diana can start working with you in the conference room, and you can pick Neal's brain. I'll join you as soon as I can."
Now, Sara looked at Neal and smiled. "Perfect."
Diana led Sara up to the conference room. Peter started to follow them upstairs, to go to his office, but Neal put a hand on his arm to stop him.
"What is it?" Peter asked. "I've got to get on that call."
Lowering his voice, Neal said, "You can't expect me to work with Sara."
"Why not?"
"Why not? Are you serious? She hates me and would probably like to see my sentence doubled for allegedly taking that Raphael. She won't want to hear anything I have to say unless it's incriminating."
Peter rolled his eyes. "Cowboy up. If you want to come to work with me, that means dealing with people who investigated your crimes. So go up there and play nice."
Neal let his shoulders slump, and he followed Peter up the stairs. They parted ways, Peter going back to his office and Neal heading into the boardroom. Before entering, he stood up straighter and pasted a smile on his face.
Sara had set her briefcase on the table and was pulling out a large file. Diana, who was standing beside her, looked up.
"Neal, could you get some coffee?" she asked.
Sara glanced up for a second and said, "I like cream in mine. No sugar."
Neal wanted to make a comment about how they had clerks who could get coffee, but he bit his tongue. He liked Diana, and he didn't mind getting coffee for her.
He turned around and went back downstairs. He filled three mugs with coffee. He knew Diana liked a small amount of cream and sugar in hers. Next, he put a little cream in his own. Finally, he poured a large serving of cream in Sara's coffee. He watched it turn the coffee a light beige, and then poured some more. He stirred all three cups with a small, satisfied smile.
He carried the coffees upstairs slowly to avoid spilling them. Finally, he reached the boardroom and put them down on the table.
Sara looked at hers and frowned. "Is this supposed to be coffee or milk?"
Neal shrugged. "You said you wanted cream, right?"
Sara just glared at him. Neal smiled. He sat down across from her.
Sara spread out the contents of the file on the table. Neal grabbed one of the items closest to him and studied it. It was a statement from one of the security guards at the Met.
"One of the guards was on paternity leave around the time of the robbery," Sara said, "so no one spent much time questioning him about the events leading up to it. I talked to him the other day, and he remembers a couple guys spending a lot of time looking at the Dali a few weeks before the robbery. It might be a coincidence, or it could be a lead."
"Any pictures of these guys?"
Sara pulled some grainy black and white pictures from the file. "Here, from the security footage."
Diana looked at the picture. "We can run this through our databases, see if there are any hits. Mind if I go scan this?"
"Be my guest."
Neal turned his head, following Diana with his eyes while she got up and left the boardroom.
There was another copy of the photo sticking out of Sara's file. Neal reached over and grabbed it.
"These guys are playing the angles of the camera," he said, leaning back in his chair. "You can barely see their faces."
"Still, might be enough for a match."
"Even if it is, it's been a couple months," he said. "Whoever took the Dali has a long head start."
"If we find the thieves, they might be willing to tell us where the painting is."
"Was that your strategy for recovering the Raphael?"
Sara gave him a cold smile.
With a shrug, Neal said, "Of course, maybe it hasn't been sold yet. Could still be in the city."
She nodded slowly. "Is that what you'd do? Hang onto it?"
"How should I know? I was never convicted of art theft."
"Yeah, you got off easy."
"Don't know if I'd put it that way." He slipped a finger under his collar. "I could do without this thing weighing me down."
She folded her arms on the table and leaned over. "You know, someone else, I might have more sympathy. But you always find a way to take advantage and come out clean, and even though I trust Peter can handle you, I also know you've probably found a dozen different ways to still get what you want." She turned her eyes back to the array of papers spread out in front of her. "Now, any more thoughts on this case?"
Neal leaned back in his chair. He tapped his toes on the floor.
"Oh, you're not getting my help that easily."
"Funny, I was standing right there when you master told you to help me."
"Like you said, I'm not that easily controlled."
"So if I told Peter you're not cooperating, you wouldn't get in trouble?" A smile crept onto her face.
"I'm not worried," Neal said with a shrug. "Go ahead and tell him."
Before Sara could call his bluff, Diana returned.
"Thanks," Diana said, handing Sara the photo. "I don't know if we'll get a match, but it's a start. I'll talk to Peter about getting our own copy of the footage from the museum."
A minute later, Peter appeared in the doorway.
"Sorry about that," he said. "Conference call is over. Was Neal helpful?"
"I'm not sure if I'd say that," Sara said with a tight smile, "but I think the visit has been productive."
Neal rocked back in his chair while Sara relayed her information to Peter. They discussed the developments for a few minutes. Then, Sara got up and Peter and Diana walked her out. Neal stayed behind.
A few minutes later, Peter came back into the boardroom, hands on his hips. He didn't look pleased. Neal had a suspicion as to why, but looked up at Peter with an innocent expression.
"Sara told me you refused to help her. Said you were rude to her."
"Well, if she got that impression-"
"She also said that you told her I'd let you get away with it." Peter raised his eyebrows. When Neal didn't respond, he said, "Well? Do you have something to say for yourself?"
"I told you I didn't want to work with her."
Peter turned and leaned against the table. He folded his arms. "Listen," he said, his tone softening, "I know Sara doesn't care for you. Maybe she riled you up. But you have to be on your best behavior. You've been complaining for weeks that I don't give you interesting work. Well, the Met case is interesting. But if you're going to have an attitude, I won't let you help anymore. Got it?"
"Got it."
"Why don't you go cool your heels in my office for a while?"
Neal got up and obeyed. He felt like he was being sent into time-out, but at least Peter's office had stuff he could look at. And if he wanted Peter's attention, he could put his feet up on the desk.
Peter didn't follow him in, but instead went down to the bullpen. So Neal took Peter's chair and surveyed the desk.
Usually, Peter kept his desk tidy. Today, there was a pile of files. Neal started to thumb through them. Peter gave him the boring cases, so he must have been handling the interesting ones on his own.
Near the top of the stack, the edge of a photo caught Neal's attention. He picked up the file and spread it open on the desk.
On top, there was a color print-out of a photograph. At a glance, Neal might not have noticed it. But he recognized the green and blue scarf the woman was wearing. Closer inspection confirmed it: the photo was of Kate.
She was walking outside a building Neal didn't recognize, holding a cellphone to her ear. The photo had been taken from across the street.
Neal's chest was pounding. He thumbed through the rest of the file. There wasn't much, but it all had to do with Kate-a list of aliases she'd used, more photos, credit card records....
At first, Neal thought the file was old. Leftover stuff from when Peter tracked Kate in order to find him. But some of the credit card transactions were from only a couple weeks ago.
Peter was tracking Kate. Or investigating her. When Neal was arrested, his lawyer assured him that the feds weren't going after Kate. But what if they'd decided to try to connect her to his crimes? Or believed she'd lead them to his stash?
Neal swallowed down bile. He felt like he could be sick. He'd trusted Peter. Now he had to find a way to warn Kate, and maybe Mozzie, too.
Looking up, Neal saw Peter coming up the stairs. Neal quickly put the file back together and stuck it back in the pile. He grabbed another file and opened it, pretending to browse through it as Peter came into the office.
"See anything good?"
Neal looked up. "This is a case about fake designer jeans. Not really my specialty."
"Oh, jeans aren't good enough for you?" Peter motioned for Neal to get out of chair.
Neal closed the file and got up. He walked around the desk, and as he sat down in the other chair, Peter walked over to the window, hands behind his back.
"You know," he said, "you're going to have to apologize to Sara the next time you see her."
Neal's eyes were focused on the desk, on the corner of Kate's file that was sticking out. It looked like all the other files, but Neal knew exactly which one it was.
"And what if I'm not sorry?"
"Then fake it."
Peter turned around, betraying that he had a small smile on his face. Rather than annoyed, he looked amused by Neal's imprudence. On an ordinary day, Neal would have taken advantage of that and played with it. But he wasn't feeling playful.
Neal propped his elbow on his knee and rested his chin on his hand.
"Everything all right?" Peter asked.
"Yeah, fine. Why wouldn’t it be?"
"You look like you're sulking. Don't tell me Sara got to you."
"I'm not sulking. I'm just tired."
Peter sat down at the desk and moved the mouse to wake up the computer. After a couple minutes of looking at something on the screen, he said, "Hey, could you go grab me the file on the McCarthy mortgage fraud case? It should be on the shelf."
"Don't you have clerks for that?"
"I have you. Now go."
With a sigh, Neal got up. He decided to take his time. It was petty, but at least it made a point.
Neal concealed himself between the shelves, out of sight of Peter's office, and busied himself browsing through the files. After ten minutes, Peter appeared.
"What are you doing?" he asked. "I sent you down here to get that file."
"I know. I'm getting it." Neal held up the file, which he'd been holding tucked under his arm.
With a frustrated growl, Peter took it.
Neal didn't follow him back to his office. Not right away. When he did go back, he found Hughes there, talking to Peter. As Neal stepped inside, he realized they were talking about him.
"We can play it by ear," Peter was saying. "Neal's been a big help, but I don't want to give him a lot of responsibility. At least not right away."
"Of course," Hughes said. "And you know your slave best. If you don't think Caffrey is up to the challenge...."
"What challenge?" Neal asked.
Peter glared at him, a clear signal to be quiet. To Hughes, he said, "It's not that. Neal is more than capable. But he needs to prove that he's reliable."
"Well, Peter, I just your judgment. Just keep it in mind."
After Hughes left, Neal said, "What were you talking about?"
"He suggested that I could take you with me in the field occasionally. To use your expertise."
Neal's mood momentarily brightened. "Sounds better than staying here, looking through old cases."
"I'm sure it does. But I gave you a chance to help with a bigger case today, and you responded by causing trouble for Sara. Like I told Reese, you need to prove you deserve the responsibility. That I can trust you to handle it."
Neal frowned. "Right, because I'm the only one who needs to prove myself."
Peter raised his eyebrows. "You're the convicted felon. Are you suggesting something?"
Neal shook his head. "Listen, I'm tired. I'd like to go home early today."
"That's great. What do you expect? You want me to take a break to drive you home? You want me to call El and have her leave her consultation to come get you? Drink some coffee. If you want to take a nap, you can put your head on the desk."
"You know, I'm not some toy you can use when it's convenient for you. Has it occurred to you that I don't have a lot of incentive to work for you right now? Or to prove myself to you?"
Peter's expression grew stony. "You're my slave. That's incentive enough. Would you rather stay home all day like you used to?"
Neal didn't answer.
"Listen," Peter said, "I don't know what's gotten into you, but I don't like this attitude. Is there a problem I need to know about?"
Neal bit his lip. "I want to ask you something," he said.
"What?"
"If Kate was in some sort of trouble, would you tell me?"
"Of course. Why? Did you hear something? Is that why you're upset?"
"No, I haven't heard anything. It's just...with that letter she sent me, I've wondered if everything is okay. There's nothing I should know about?"
"If there is, I'm not aware of it. Listen, don't worry about Kate. There are more important things for you focus on right now."
Right. Like proving himself to Peter, and Peter's boss. It was ridiculous. Neal had to behave and prove he could be trusted. But Peter had just lied to his face, and there was nothing Neal could do about it.
Peter left the office again, leaving Neal alone. He could hear him go next door to Hughes' office.
Neal couldn't take it anymore. He needed to think, and the walls of the office and the noise from the bullpen were making him claustrophobic.
He got up and hurried down the stairs. No one seemed to pay him any attention as he slipped out the door and pushed the elevator button. He looked back, and saw Peter still in Hughes' office. His back was turned, and he couldn't see Neal.
The elevator doors opened. Neal got on and immediately hit the button to close the doors before hitting the button for the lobby.
When he reached the lobby, he walked through casually and confidently. He didn't know if the security guard was supposed to stop him if he tried to leave by himself, but Neal didn't want to give the man a reason to.
Once he made it outside, he breathed a sigh of relief.
Part of Neal was aware that he could get in real trouble for this. It wasn't like he was escaping, but going AWOL was still forbidden. Peter could have Neal written up for this. Put an official citation on his record, maybe even punish him with a court-ordered spanking or an extra couple weeks added to his sentence.
But Peter wouldn't want that sort of attention, or the public acknowledgement of his inability to control Neal.
And right now, Neal didn't care what Peter did to him. He needed to get out, clear his head. The cool March air did wonders for that, and he started feeling better as soon as he was outside. It was chilly without his jacket, but he didn't care.
He didn't have a destination in mind-he just walked. It was amazing how free he felt walking down the sidewalk without someone leading him on a leash.
He didn't know if he should confront Peter about what he'd found. Would it make a difference? Perhaps he could talk to Elizabeth.
Ten minutes-and several blocks-later, he finally heard Peter calling his name. He didn't stop or slow down, but he didn't speed up or try to evade him, either.
Soon, he heard Peter's footsteps behind him. Peter grabbed his arm.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Neal stopped and turned. Peter's fingers dug into his arm; he'd probably have bruises later.
"I'm taking a walk. I'm not allowed to get some fresh air?"
Peter pursed his lips. His nostrils flared. "Come on," he said, almost growling. "We're going back."
He led Neal back to the FBI building, holding his arm the whole way. He didn't let go until they were in the elevator. Neal rubbed at his arm under the guise of straightening his sleeve.
He stole a glance at Peter. Peter's gaze was fixed on the elevator doors. His expression was cold but otherwise unreadable. Neal's recklessness had ebbed, and now he was thinking about how he'd talk his way out of this.
When they reached their floor, Peter wordlessly walked to his office. Neal understood that he was supposed to follow, and did. He could tell when he'd crossed the line, and he wasn't prepared to invoke Peter's anger any more right now.
Peter stood with his hands on his hips, facing the window. For a minute, which felt like eternity, he didn't say anything.
Neal couldn't stand the silence. When he could talk, he could charm his way out of almost anything.
"Look, I'm sorry. I just needed some fresh air, and I didn't think. I figured with the GPS tracker in my collar, it'd be easy for you to check where I was. I didn't think it was a big deal."
Peter's head whipped over his shoulder. "Oh, really? It didn't occur to you at all?"
Neal swallowed.
Peter turned around. "If you just wanted some air, why didn't you ask me?"
"I-"
"No," Peter said, waving a hand. "Don't. You knew damn well you couldn't leave the building without permission. So, what were you doing?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"Were you trying to meet with someone? Going somewhere behind my back?"
"No, of course not." He cocked his head. "Come on, Peter, do you really think I'd take a risk like that?"
"Then what? Are you still upset I made you work with Sara? Is that it? I know you've been sulking. Don't tell me you haven't been."
Neal frowned. He had a damn good reason to be upset, but Peter just assumed it was pettiness.
"I told you-I needed some air."
Peter looked down and shook his head. "Do you have any idea how bad you made me look just now? The whole office saw that I didn't know where you were."
"I don't see why that's my fault. You never said I wasn't allowed to take a walk."
He knew he was pushing it-Peter may not have explicitly stated it, but the rule was strongly implied. But still, it wasn't his fault. And he didn't see why he should care, either. So what if Peter got embarrassed? It served him right for expecting Neal to make him look good in the first place.
Peter glared at him, and Neal started to regret his last comment. Before Neal could react, Peter was at his side and gave him two hard slaps on the ass.
For a second, Neal was frozen in shock. As he recovered, he glanced over his shoulder. He couldn't tell if anyone had seen the spanking, but they'd definitely heard it-several sets of eyes were covertly looking in the direction of the office.
"Peter," Neal said, his voice hushed, "is that really necessary? There's a glass wall...."
"Oh, so now you worry about appearances."
Neal shifted his weight on his feet. "This is cruel and unusual."
"No, it's what people expect me to do. You pushed me, Neal. Now I have to show that I have control. And if you keep pushing me, I'll take you to the interrogation room and give you a real spanking."
Neal didn't say anything. He would never live it down if Peter made good on that threat.
There was a knock on the door frame. Neal looked and saw Hughes standing at the door.
"Everything okay here?" Hughes asked. "Got things under control with your slave, now?"
"Yes, sir," Peter said. "There was a little misunderstanding about the rules. I clarified it, and Neal knows what's expected of him now."
"That's good," Hughes said with a nod. "Glad to hear the problem is taken care of."
After Hughes left, Peter turned back to Neal. He put his hands on his hips.
"See? You embarrassed me in front of my boss."
"He didn't seem to have a problem."
"That's because I dealt with the problem. And I'll deal with it some more when we get home." He paused. More softly, he added, "If you have an excuse for your behavior, tell me. It might mitigate the punishment."
Neal didn't respond. He doubted accusing Peter of stalking Kate would do much good right now.
Peter sighed and shook his head. "Fine, then." He gestured to the chair in front of the desk. "Have a seat. You're going to spend the rest of the day looking over case files where I can see you."
Neal obeyed without argument. At least they only had a few hours left before it'd be time to go home. He wasn't sure if it was better this way or not-he wouldn't have to face the rest of the office after they'd just witnessed him getting spanked, but he wouldn't be able to neutralize his embarrassment by playing it off as no big deal, either.
When Peter had to step out of the office for a minute, Jones came in and gave Neal a cup of coffee. Neal accepted it gratefully. At least the others weren't avoiding him completely. He'd come to like most of the agents, and they were nice to him. If it had occurred to him that storming out could damage that progress, he might have restrained himself.
He hoped Hughes wouldn't make him wear an evidence tag again.
He'd been too rash today. He would have to be more careful, particularly if Kate was in danger.
* * *
When they got home, Elizabeth was out. She'd called Peter a bit ago to tell him that she was held up with a client.
Peter didn't waste any time getting down to business. He let Neal get a drink and run to the bathroom, and when Neal came downstairs, he was waiting by the sofa with the paddle in his hand. The gag was sitting on the coffee table.
"You ready?" Peter asked him.
"Ready as I'll ever be." There was no point delaying it.
"Take off your clothes. I think some time naked in the corner after this will do you a lot of good."
Neal disagreed, but he didn't imagine that his opinion mattered much right now. He silently got undressed while Peter watched.
Neal placed his clothes over the back of a chair, and Peter sat on the sofa. He tapped his leg with the paddle.
"Come on. Over my knee."
Neal walked over and bent himself over Peter's lap. He braced himself for the inevitable. The first strike of the paddle was always the hardest. But this time, when it came, something felt off. Like the paddle was more flexible, somehow. Peter made a noise of disbelief and annoyance, and several seconds passed with no more strikes.
"Get up, Neal. Take a look at this."
Neal braced his hands on Peter's thigh and pushed himself to his feet. Peter was holding the paddle, which was now bent at a forty-five degree angle. He placed a finger on the end on the paddle and wiggled it back and forth.
"It broke?" Neal said. "You seriously broke the paddle?"
"I didn't break it. Your hard ass did."
"Don't blame me. I never asked to be paddled. And I could've told you that you were doing it too hard."
"Unbelievable...." Peter muttered. "I only bought this thing a few months ago."
"I guess you can't paddle me, then."
Maybe the paddle could be fixed with some duct tape around the middle, but Neal wasn't going to suggest that. He was just fine with getting Peter's hand, instead.
"I guess not."
Peter seemed to think for a minute, which made Neal nervous. What was he waiting for? Was he thinking of trying to fix the paddle? Finally, he stood up and reached for his belt buckle.
Neal's eyes widened. "What are you doing?"
"Since I can't use the paddle, I'm going to try my belt."
"That's not fair. It'll hurt more."
Neal didn't actually know that, but he assumed the belt would be worse. It couldn't be better.
"Maybe. So I'm only going to give you ten."
"Only ten? Can't we negotiate on this?"
"Okay," Peter said calmly. "I can give you fifteen, if you want. Or twenty."
Neal swallowed. "Ten is fine."
Peter nodded. "Good choice."
He pulled his belt free and folded it in half twice to create a small loop. Then he sat down and beckoned Neal back over his lap.
Neal moved more slowly this time. He'd never been hit with a belt, and he was keen to keep avoiding it.
Slowly, he draped himself across Peter's knees. He heard the belt swish through the air, and then there was a loud crack as it hit his ass. A sharp sting radiated through his flesh, and Neal sucked air through his teeth.
"That hurt," he said.
"I know," Peter said.
Neal's fears were correct-it was worse than the paddle. At least in this position, the belt wasn't as long. If Peter used the full length of the belt to whip him, it would be even worse.
But that was a small mercy. He still had nine lashes to go.
"Relax," Peter said. "If you tense up, it'll just hurt more."
Neal wasn't in the mood to take Peter's advice, and even if he was, he didn't think he could stop himself from tensing his buttocks.
Peter tsked at him and said, "Your choice."
Lashes two and three were delivered to his lower buttocks in rapid succession. Neal bit his lip to stop himself from crying out. Number four landed on his thighs and he jumped.
Peter paused for a moment. Neal shuddered with anticipation. He was about to snap at Peter to get it over with when number five landed higher up on his ass. The pain flared across both cheeks before fading to a dull burn.
Six and seven landed at the bottom of his cheeks again. The skin was already tender from the earlier lashes, and Neal hissed in pain.
Neal squeezed his eyes shut. He focused on counting the blows.
The final three were given rapidly on the crown of his ass and then, to his relief, he heard Peter set the belt aside.
"All right. Spanking's done. You can get up."
Neal stood. He wanted to rub the sting out of his ass, but he didn't want to display any more indignity than he had to.
Peter stood and said, "Your punishment isn't over yet. Wait here."
"Why? What are you going to do?"
"Just do as you're told."
As Neal obeyed, Peter walked off in the direction of the kitchen. Neal looked back and watched him disappear.
What was he doing? He'd said the spanking was over, so he couldn't be fetching a wooden spoon to finish the job.
It seemed like an eternity before Peter returned. He was holding something, but Neal couldn’t tell what it was.
Peter sat back down on the sofa. "Okay, back over my knee."
"I thought you said the spanking is over."
"I thought I told you to stop questioning my orders."
Slowly, Neal obeyed. He didn't like this....
Peter spread Neal's cheeks. Neal tensed, bracing himself. He expected to feel Peter's fingers, but instead, he felt something firm, wet, and cold pushing against his hole.
He flinched. "What is that?" Before his surprise wore off enough for him to react, Peter had the offending object lodged inside his ass.
"It's ginger, Neal."
"Why is it cold?"
"Because it's been in the refrigerator."
That was an understatement. He was freezing.
Neal had noticed several fingers of ginger stored in the vegetable bin, but had thought little of it. "I thought that was for cooking," he said. If he'd known the truth, he would have made a large batch of ginger chicken to get rid of it.
"No, it's for discipline. They call this 'figging.' You peel the ginger and-"
"I know what figging is," Neal snapped.
"Oh," Peter said brightly, "then you know what to expect. The good thing about ginger is it's supposed to hurt without doing any damage."
Neal squirmed. The shocking coldness was starting to wear off, but it was replaced by a far more ominous warmth.
"I think I changed my mind. I'll take more of the belt."
"You already took it. This is phase two." Peter twisted the ginger, sending a wave of warmth through Neal's ass. "Relax. You're doing a good job. You're a natural at having things in your ass."
Neal squirmed. The ginger was really starting to heat up. "Then why are you wasting your time hurting it?"
"No. You're not getting out of this by convincing me to fuck you. We're not going to reward bad behavior."
Neal's face grew almost as hot as his ass. He wasn't sure which was worse-that he'd actually offered sex, or that Peter thought sex counted as a reward.
"Peter, this is ridiculous. You need to stop getting ideas from those slave training books."
"It's for your own good."
Neal could debate that all night. The ginger really did burn. He'd heard that the juices in ginger created a burning sensation when rubbed on sensitive body parts, and that some people enjoyed it. Neal didn't think he was one of them.
At first, it wasn't so bad. The warmth that spread through his ass was tolerable. But after a couple minutes, he was consumed by a fierce burn. He bit his lip and didn't voice his discomfort, but tears sprang to his eyes.
He hadn't gotten a proper look at the ginger when Peter brought it in. It'd been mostly concealed in Peter's hand. But his ass stretched around it. He felt full.
"How long?" Neal asked.
"A few more minutes."
Peter teased Neal's ass with the ginger. He twisted it and worked it in and out like it was one of the plugs. Each movement caused a new wave of fire.
At last, Peter removed the ginger. The burn remained, and Neal hoped it would subside quickly.
Peter gave him a light slap on the ass. "Come on. Up you go."
With another instruction to stay, Peter went to the kitchen to dispose of the ginger. When he came back, he said, "All right. Time for the corner."
But before Neal could head toward the corner, Peter picked up the gag. Neal had almost forgotten about that.
"Open."
Neal clenched his jaw.
"Would you rather get a few more with the belt, and then go in the corner?"
"Can't I stand in the corner without the gag?"
"No. You haven't said one word today except to sulk or make excuses, so you can wear the gag for a while. Now open."
Neal really didn't want to get any more of the belt, so he reluctantly obeyed. Peter slipped the ball in his mouth and buckled the straps behind his head. He put a hand on Neal's back and guided him into the corner by the window. Neal was grateful that the curtains were closed, at least.
"Now stay," Peter said. "I'll be around the house, and I'll let you know when you can move."
He heard Peter walk away, and then up the stairs. There was nothing preventing Neal from moving, but he didn't trust Peter not to come back immediately just to test him.
But he trusted that he wasn't being viewed at the moment. He reached back and rubbed his sore ass. It was hard to differentiate the pain from the ginger from the pain from the belt, but he thought he could feel a welt under the curve of one of his cheeks.
He never thought he'd appreciate the paddle.
It'd been a long day, and Neal closed his eyes. He jumped when he felt something cold against his thigh. Looking down, he saw Satchmo. Satchmo pressed his nose to Neal's leg again and then looked up, panting.
Neal scratched him behind the ear.
He was still petting Satchmo a few minutes later when there was the sound of a key in the front door. Satchmo ran off to greet Elizabeth.
Neal didn't turn around at first. He heard Elizabeth come inside and say hi to Satchmo. Peter yelled down that he was upstairs.
Elizabeth didn't seem to notice Neal until she stepped into the living room.
"Oh! Hey, Neal. You get in trouble while I was out?"
Neal looked over his shoulder. She smiled sympathetically when she saw the gag, and continued her way into the kitchen.
He couldn’t hear Peter coming downstairs yet, so Neal stepped away from the corner. He undid the buckle on the gag and removed it. He flexed his jaw as he followed Elizabeth into the kitchen.
A knife and cutting board were still on the counter, along with a small pile of peeled ginger skin.
"So," Elizabeth asked when she saw him, "you going to tell me what happened?"
He was glad she didn't ask if he was allowed to be out of the corner.
"There was a misunderstanding at work. I wanted to get some fresh air, and I didn't ask for permission before I went out."
"Ah. I can see why Peter wouldn't like that."
"He spanked me with his belt. I think I have welts now...."
"Why did he use the belt?"
Elizabeth grabbed a couple glasses and started to fill them with tap water.
"He was going to use the paddle, but he broke it."
Elizabeth frowned. She handed Neal one of the glasses of water, which he took gratefully. He could use it after being gagged.
"The paddle broke?"
"I think he was using it a little hard, if you want my opinion."
Elizabeth was starting to look concerned. As Peter came into the kitchen, she said, "Honey, Neal says you broke the paddle trying to spank him?"
Peter stopped still and blinked. He was carrying the broken paddle, and he set it on the counter. "I wouldn't exactly put it that way. I just gave him one swat with it and the thing snapped in half."
"So you used your belt? Isn't that a little harsh?"
"I only gave him a third of what he would've gotten with the paddle. And he deserved more-did he tell you what he did today?"
"You mean the part where he took a little stroll? Yeah, he mentioned that."
"He went almost six blocks before I caught up."
Elizabeth eyed Neal. The concern started to leave her expression. "From the way Neal told it, I thought maybe he'd just stepped out the front door."
"When I got down there, I couldn't even see him. He's lucky I didn't call Slave Control to apprehend him."
Elizabeth leaned over and gave Peter a peck on the lips.
"Mm. Well, you were the only one who could catch him before, so I don't see why you need to delegate now."
Peter hummed softly and smiled. He wrapped his arms around Elizabeth's waist.
Getting sympathy hadn't worked, but at least Elizabeth was calming Peter's nerves. That was something.
Peter looked over at Neal, narrowed his eyes, and said, "Why aren't you in the corner?"
"I thought since Elizabeth was home, it was okay to move. Do you want me to go back?"
"Have you learned your lesson?"
"Sure, I've learned something."
Peter sighed. "That'll have to be good enough. Go on, get dressed."
Neal hurried into the living room before Peter could change his mind, or remark on the fact that Neal had also removed his gag without permission.
He dressed quickly, wincing when he pulled his pants up over his sore ass. The paddle had never left marks, but he knew the belt had left a welt or two. He wasn't sure he wanted to sit down right away.
When he returned to the kitchen, Peter was showing Elizabeth the paddle.
"I can't believe it," he was saying, "we've only had Neal six months and the paddle's already worn out!"
"Honey, I think the paddle is just poor-quality. It's not even real leather-it feels all plastic-y, like a cheap belt. And what's underneath, cardboard? When you replace it, you should try to go to Laurent's. They sell a lot of high-quality things."
Peter huffed. "Yeah, and 'high-quality' means 'expensive.'"
"What?" Neal asked. "I'm not worth the cost?"
Peter had set the paddle down, and Neal picked it up. He was curious to inspect it more closely. Elizabeth was right-it was cheaply made. In addition to the break in the middle, some of the stitching was coming out.
"Oh," Peter said, "I'm sure you are. And in this case, that's not something to be proud of."
Holding up the paddle, Neal said, "You're not hanging onto this, right?"
"I can't see how it's of any use."
Neal opened one of the kitchen drawers and dug out a box cutter. Laying the paddle flat on the counter, he cut open the covering. It was glued to the insert, but Neal was able to pull it loose to reveal an oval made of stiff cardboard. It was broken across the middle.
He wondered how higher-quality paddles were made.
Peter didn't pay much attention to him for the rest of the evening. Neal assumed it was his way of showing that he was still unhappy.
He didn't speak to him at all until Neal announced that he was going upstairs to his room.
"Don't forget to set your alarm before you go to bed," Peter said. "You're coming to work with me again tomorrow."
Neal froze on his way to the stairs. He'd taken it for granted that he was staying home. For one thing, he rarely went to work with one of the Burkes two days in a row. They alternated, and some days he stayed home. More importantly, he hadn't expected Peter to want to take him back so soon. He expected to be on house arrest for a few days.
Turning around, Neal said, "I thought you were worried about me embarrassing you."
"That's exactly why I'm bringing you. I'm going to show everyone that I'm not too embarrassed to bring you to work. And you're going to show everyone that you can be good."
Apparently, Neal's embarrassment from being spanked in Peter's office was immaterial. Yet, Neal saw some wisdom in what Peter was saying. He, too, could show that he wasn't embarrassed or shaken. Even if he was.
"Then I guess I'll get up bright and early," Neal said.
"That's what I like to hear."
Chapter 21
This entry was originally posted at http://citrinesunset.dreamwidth.org/116925.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
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: 7300 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.
On Monday, Neal joined Peter at work. Peter spent most of the morning in his office, making phone calls. Neal quickly bored of looking over the stack of mortgage fraud cases Peter had given him, and he wandered down to the bullpen to look for something more interesting.
Jones was sitting at his desk, and Diana was standing beside him. They were watching something on Jones's computer.
Neal made a beeline over to them. "What are you guys watching?"
They both turned their heads toward him. They gave him brief skeptical looks, but neither told him to get back to his assigned work.
"Security footage," Jones said. "The other night, someone stole a rare diamond from a store, right in the middle of some sort of fashion show. The guy caused a diversion and used the activity as a cover to get into a back room and crack the safe."
"We got it on camera," Diana said, "but the guy was good. He was careful not to show his face."
Neal leaned in and looked at the footage. The grainy video showed a man stepping out into a hallway. He turned his head to avoid the camera, and there was a glint of metal.
"Is he wearing a collar?" Neal asked.
"Looks like it," Diana said. "We think he impersonated a slave to avoid attracting attention."
"Either that," Jones said, "or he really is a slave."
"I doubt it," Neal said, "It'd be too big of a risk."
"If he's an impostor," Diana said, "maybe we can find out where he got the collar."
"It won't be a real one," Neal said. "Look for people who bought demo collars recently."
Jones looked at him. "Demo collars?"
"Yeah. In most states, it's a misdemeanor for a free person to wear a locking slave collar. A lot of manufacturers make demo versions that don't actually lock, so they aren't restricted to using slave as models. And some stores keep them on hand because they're easy to try on. Besides, a lot of the big manufacturers sell overseas, and most European countries don't require locking collars anymore. So they make both locking and non-locking varieties to sell in different countries."
Diana grinned. "Is there anything you're not an expert on?"
"What can I say? Million-dollar industries interest me. Besides, recent life changes have made collars relevant."
Jones looked up in the direction of the elevators and nodded. "Sara Ellis is here. Peter said she'd be coming by to talk about the stolen Dali."
Neal frowned as Sara opened the glass door and strode into the office. Peter hadn't mentioned anything about this to him.
"The one taken from the Met?" Neal asked.
"Yeah," Jones said. "Interpol had a lead on it in Switzerland, but it turned out to be false. Time to go back to the drawing board."
It'd been a couple months since the theft. Time wasn't on the FBI's side-or the insurance company's. Neal hadn't known that Sterling Bosch insured the painting. It probably drove Sara crazy to have it missing for so long.
Peter must have seen Sara, too, because he emerged from his office and came down the stairs just in time to greet her.
"Sara," he said, "glad you could stop by. You said on the phone that you might have some information?"
Sara kept her face directed toward Peter, but her eyes darted in Neal's direction. "I might. It's nothing solid, but maybe combined with your intel...."
"It's worth a shot. Listen, I'm sorry, but I have to take a conference call in five minutes. Diana can start working with you in the conference room, and you can pick Neal's brain. I'll join you as soon as I can."
Now, Sara looked at Neal and smiled. "Perfect."
Diana led Sara up to the conference room. Peter started to follow them upstairs, to go to his office, but Neal put a hand on his arm to stop him.
"What is it?" Peter asked. "I've got to get on that call."
Lowering his voice, Neal said, "You can't expect me to work with Sara."
"Why not?"
"Why not? Are you serious? She hates me and would probably like to see my sentence doubled for allegedly taking that Raphael. She won't want to hear anything I have to say unless it's incriminating."
Peter rolled his eyes. "Cowboy up. If you want to come to work with me, that means dealing with people who investigated your crimes. So go up there and play nice."
Neal let his shoulders slump, and he followed Peter up the stairs. They parted ways, Peter going back to his office and Neal heading into the boardroom. Before entering, he stood up straighter and pasted a smile on his face.
Sara had set her briefcase on the table and was pulling out a large file. Diana, who was standing beside her, looked up.
"Neal, could you get some coffee?" she asked.
Sara glanced up for a second and said, "I like cream in mine. No sugar."
Neal wanted to make a comment about how they had clerks who could get coffee, but he bit his tongue. He liked Diana, and he didn't mind getting coffee for her.
He turned around and went back downstairs. He filled three mugs with coffee. He knew Diana liked a small amount of cream and sugar in hers. Next, he put a little cream in his own. Finally, he poured a large serving of cream in Sara's coffee. He watched it turn the coffee a light beige, and then poured some more. He stirred all three cups with a small, satisfied smile.
He carried the coffees upstairs slowly to avoid spilling them. Finally, he reached the boardroom and put them down on the table.
Sara looked at hers and frowned. "Is this supposed to be coffee or milk?"
Neal shrugged. "You said you wanted cream, right?"
Sara just glared at him. Neal smiled. He sat down across from her.
Sara spread out the contents of the file on the table. Neal grabbed one of the items closest to him and studied it. It was a statement from one of the security guards at the Met.
"One of the guards was on paternity leave around the time of the robbery," Sara said, "so no one spent much time questioning him about the events leading up to it. I talked to him the other day, and he remembers a couple guys spending a lot of time looking at the Dali a few weeks before the robbery. It might be a coincidence, or it could be a lead."
"Any pictures of these guys?"
Sara pulled some grainy black and white pictures from the file. "Here, from the security footage."
Diana looked at the picture. "We can run this through our databases, see if there are any hits. Mind if I go scan this?"
"Be my guest."
Neal turned his head, following Diana with his eyes while she got up and left the boardroom.
There was another copy of the photo sticking out of Sara's file. Neal reached over and grabbed it.
"These guys are playing the angles of the camera," he said, leaning back in his chair. "You can barely see their faces."
"Still, might be enough for a match."
"Even if it is, it's been a couple months," he said. "Whoever took the Dali has a long head start."
"If we find the thieves, they might be willing to tell us where the painting is."
"Was that your strategy for recovering the Raphael?"
Sara gave him a cold smile.
With a shrug, Neal said, "Of course, maybe it hasn't been sold yet. Could still be in the city."
She nodded slowly. "Is that what you'd do? Hang onto it?"
"How should I know? I was never convicted of art theft."
"Yeah, you got off easy."
"Don't know if I'd put it that way." He slipped a finger under his collar. "I could do without this thing weighing me down."
She folded her arms on the table and leaned over. "You know, someone else, I might have more sympathy. But you always find a way to take advantage and come out clean, and even though I trust Peter can handle you, I also know you've probably found a dozen different ways to still get what you want." She turned her eyes back to the array of papers spread out in front of her. "Now, any more thoughts on this case?"
Neal leaned back in his chair. He tapped his toes on the floor.
"Oh, you're not getting my help that easily."
"Funny, I was standing right there when you master told you to help me."
"Like you said, I'm not that easily controlled."
"So if I told Peter you're not cooperating, you wouldn't get in trouble?" A smile crept onto her face.
"I'm not worried," Neal said with a shrug. "Go ahead and tell him."
Before Sara could call his bluff, Diana returned.
"Thanks," Diana said, handing Sara the photo. "I don't know if we'll get a match, but it's a start. I'll talk to Peter about getting our own copy of the footage from the museum."
A minute later, Peter appeared in the doorway.
"Sorry about that," he said. "Conference call is over. Was Neal helpful?"
"I'm not sure if I'd say that," Sara said with a tight smile, "but I think the visit has been productive."
Neal rocked back in his chair while Sara relayed her information to Peter. They discussed the developments for a few minutes. Then, Sara got up and Peter and Diana walked her out. Neal stayed behind.
A few minutes later, Peter came back into the boardroom, hands on his hips. He didn't look pleased. Neal had a suspicion as to why, but looked up at Peter with an innocent expression.
"Sara told me you refused to help her. Said you were rude to her."
"Well, if she got that impression-"
"She also said that you told her I'd let you get away with it." Peter raised his eyebrows. When Neal didn't respond, he said, "Well? Do you have something to say for yourself?"
"I told you I didn't want to work with her."
Peter turned and leaned against the table. He folded his arms. "Listen," he said, his tone softening, "I know Sara doesn't care for you. Maybe she riled you up. But you have to be on your best behavior. You've been complaining for weeks that I don't give you interesting work. Well, the Met case is interesting. But if you're going to have an attitude, I won't let you help anymore. Got it?"
"Got it."
"Why don't you go cool your heels in my office for a while?"
Neal got up and obeyed. He felt like he was being sent into time-out, but at least Peter's office had stuff he could look at. And if he wanted Peter's attention, he could put his feet up on the desk.
Peter didn't follow him in, but instead went down to the bullpen. So Neal took Peter's chair and surveyed the desk.
Usually, Peter kept his desk tidy. Today, there was a pile of files. Neal started to thumb through them. Peter gave him the boring cases, so he must have been handling the interesting ones on his own.
Near the top of the stack, the edge of a photo caught Neal's attention. He picked up the file and spread it open on the desk.
On top, there was a color print-out of a photograph. At a glance, Neal might not have noticed it. But he recognized the green and blue scarf the woman was wearing. Closer inspection confirmed it: the photo was of Kate.
She was walking outside a building Neal didn't recognize, holding a cellphone to her ear. The photo had been taken from across the street.
Neal's chest was pounding. He thumbed through the rest of the file. There wasn't much, but it all had to do with Kate-a list of aliases she'd used, more photos, credit card records....
At first, Neal thought the file was old. Leftover stuff from when Peter tracked Kate in order to find him. But some of the credit card transactions were from only a couple weeks ago.
Peter was tracking Kate. Or investigating her. When Neal was arrested, his lawyer assured him that the feds weren't going after Kate. But what if they'd decided to try to connect her to his crimes? Or believed she'd lead them to his stash?
Neal swallowed down bile. He felt like he could be sick. He'd trusted Peter. Now he had to find a way to warn Kate, and maybe Mozzie, too.
Looking up, Neal saw Peter coming up the stairs. Neal quickly put the file back together and stuck it back in the pile. He grabbed another file and opened it, pretending to browse through it as Peter came into the office.
"See anything good?"
Neal looked up. "This is a case about fake designer jeans. Not really my specialty."
"Oh, jeans aren't good enough for you?" Peter motioned for Neal to get out of chair.
Neal closed the file and got up. He walked around the desk, and as he sat down in the other chair, Peter walked over to the window, hands behind his back.
"You know," he said, "you're going to have to apologize to Sara the next time you see her."
Neal's eyes were focused on the desk, on the corner of Kate's file that was sticking out. It looked like all the other files, but Neal knew exactly which one it was.
"And what if I'm not sorry?"
"Then fake it."
Peter turned around, betraying that he had a small smile on his face. Rather than annoyed, he looked amused by Neal's imprudence. On an ordinary day, Neal would have taken advantage of that and played with it. But he wasn't feeling playful.
Neal propped his elbow on his knee and rested his chin on his hand.
"Everything all right?" Peter asked.
"Yeah, fine. Why wouldn’t it be?"
"You look like you're sulking. Don't tell me Sara got to you."
"I'm not sulking. I'm just tired."
Peter sat down at the desk and moved the mouse to wake up the computer. After a couple minutes of looking at something on the screen, he said, "Hey, could you go grab me the file on the McCarthy mortgage fraud case? It should be on the shelf."
"Don't you have clerks for that?"
"I have you. Now go."
With a sigh, Neal got up. He decided to take his time. It was petty, but at least it made a point.
Neal concealed himself between the shelves, out of sight of Peter's office, and busied himself browsing through the files. After ten minutes, Peter appeared.
"What are you doing?" he asked. "I sent you down here to get that file."
"I know. I'm getting it." Neal held up the file, which he'd been holding tucked under his arm.
With a frustrated growl, Peter took it.
Neal didn't follow him back to his office. Not right away. When he did go back, he found Hughes there, talking to Peter. As Neal stepped inside, he realized they were talking about him.
"We can play it by ear," Peter was saying. "Neal's been a big help, but I don't want to give him a lot of responsibility. At least not right away."
"Of course," Hughes said. "And you know your slave best. If you don't think Caffrey is up to the challenge...."
"What challenge?" Neal asked.
Peter glared at him, a clear signal to be quiet. To Hughes, he said, "It's not that. Neal is more than capable. But he needs to prove that he's reliable."
"Well, Peter, I just your judgment. Just keep it in mind."
After Hughes left, Neal said, "What were you talking about?"
"He suggested that I could take you with me in the field occasionally. To use your expertise."
Neal's mood momentarily brightened. "Sounds better than staying here, looking through old cases."
"I'm sure it does. But I gave you a chance to help with a bigger case today, and you responded by causing trouble for Sara. Like I told Reese, you need to prove you deserve the responsibility. That I can trust you to handle it."
Neal frowned. "Right, because I'm the only one who needs to prove myself."
Peter raised his eyebrows. "You're the convicted felon. Are you suggesting something?"
Neal shook his head. "Listen, I'm tired. I'd like to go home early today."
"That's great. What do you expect? You want me to take a break to drive you home? You want me to call El and have her leave her consultation to come get you? Drink some coffee. If you want to take a nap, you can put your head on the desk."
"You know, I'm not some toy you can use when it's convenient for you. Has it occurred to you that I don't have a lot of incentive to work for you right now? Or to prove myself to you?"
Peter's expression grew stony. "You're my slave. That's incentive enough. Would you rather stay home all day like you used to?"
Neal didn't answer.
"Listen," Peter said, "I don't know what's gotten into you, but I don't like this attitude. Is there a problem I need to know about?"
Neal bit his lip. "I want to ask you something," he said.
"What?"
"If Kate was in some sort of trouble, would you tell me?"
"Of course. Why? Did you hear something? Is that why you're upset?"
"No, I haven't heard anything. It's just...with that letter she sent me, I've wondered if everything is okay. There's nothing I should know about?"
"If there is, I'm not aware of it. Listen, don't worry about Kate. There are more important things for you focus on right now."
Right. Like proving himself to Peter, and Peter's boss. It was ridiculous. Neal had to behave and prove he could be trusted. But Peter had just lied to his face, and there was nothing Neal could do about it.
Peter left the office again, leaving Neal alone. He could hear him go next door to Hughes' office.
Neal couldn't take it anymore. He needed to think, and the walls of the office and the noise from the bullpen were making him claustrophobic.
He got up and hurried down the stairs. No one seemed to pay him any attention as he slipped out the door and pushed the elevator button. He looked back, and saw Peter still in Hughes' office. His back was turned, and he couldn't see Neal.
The elevator doors opened. Neal got on and immediately hit the button to close the doors before hitting the button for the lobby.
When he reached the lobby, he walked through casually and confidently. He didn't know if the security guard was supposed to stop him if he tried to leave by himself, but Neal didn't want to give the man a reason to.
Once he made it outside, he breathed a sigh of relief.
Part of Neal was aware that he could get in real trouble for this. It wasn't like he was escaping, but going AWOL was still forbidden. Peter could have Neal written up for this. Put an official citation on his record, maybe even punish him with a court-ordered spanking or an extra couple weeks added to his sentence.
But Peter wouldn't want that sort of attention, or the public acknowledgement of his inability to control Neal.
And right now, Neal didn't care what Peter did to him. He needed to get out, clear his head. The cool March air did wonders for that, and he started feeling better as soon as he was outside. It was chilly without his jacket, but he didn't care.
He didn't have a destination in mind-he just walked. It was amazing how free he felt walking down the sidewalk without someone leading him on a leash.
He didn't know if he should confront Peter about what he'd found. Would it make a difference? Perhaps he could talk to Elizabeth.
Ten minutes-and several blocks-later, he finally heard Peter calling his name. He didn't stop or slow down, but he didn't speed up or try to evade him, either.
Soon, he heard Peter's footsteps behind him. Peter grabbed his arm.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Neal stopped and turned. Peter's fingers dug into his arm; he'd probably have bruises later.
"I'm taking a walk. I'm not allowed to get some fresh air?"
Peter pursed his lips. His nostrils flared. "Come on," he said, almost growling. "We're going back."
He led Neal back to the FBI building, holding his arm the whole way. He didn't let go until they were in the elevator. Neal rubbed at his arm under the guise of straightening his sleeve.
He stole a glance at Peter. Peter's gaze was fixed on the elevator doors. His expression was cold but otherwise unreadable. Neal's recklessness had ebbed, and now he was thinking about how he'd talk his way out of this.
When they reached their floor, Peter wordlessly walked to his office. Neal understood that he was supposed to follow, and did. He could tell when he'd crossed the line, and he wasn't prepared to invoke Peter's anger any more right now.
Peter stood with his hands on his hips, facing the window. For a minute, which felt like eternity, he didn't say anything.
Neal couldn't stand the silence. When he could talk, he could charm his way out of almost anything.
"Look, I'm sorry. I just needed some fresh air, and I didn't think. I figured with the GPS tracker in my collar, it'd be easy for you to check where I was. I didn't think it was a big deal."
Peter's head whipped over his shoulder. "Oh, really? It didn't occur to you at all?"
Neal swallowed.
Peter turned around. "If you just wanted some air, why didn't you ask me?"
"I-"
"No," Peter said, waving a hand. "Don't. You knew damn well you couldn't leave the building without permission. So, what were you doing?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"Were you trying to meet with someone? Going somewhere behind my back?"
"No, of course not." He cocked his head. "Come on, Peter, do you really think I'd take a risk like that?"
"Then what? Are you still upset I made you work with Sara? Is that it? I know you've been sulking. Don't tell me you haven't been."
Neal frowned. He had a damn good reason to be upset, but Peter just assumed it was pettiness.
"I told you-I needed some air."
Peter looked down and shook his head. "Do you have any idea how bad you made me look just now? The whole office saw that I didn't know where you were."
"I don't see why that's my fault. You never said I wasn't allowed to take a walk."
He knew he was pushing it-Peter may not have explicitly stated it, but the rule was strongly implied. But still, it wasn't his fault. And he didn't see why he should care, either. So what if Peter got embarrassed? It served him right for expecting Neal to make him look good in the first place.
Peter glared at him, and Neal started to regret his last comment. Before Neal could react, Peter was at his side and gave him two hard slaps on the ass.
For a second, Neal was frozen in shock. As he recovered, he glanced over his shoulder. He couldn't tell if anyone had seen the spanking, but they'd definitely heard it-several sets of eyes were covertly looking in the direction of the office.
"Peter," Neal said, his voice hushed, "is that really necessary? There's a glass wall...."
"Oh, so now you worry about appearances."
Neal shifted his weight on his feet. "This is cruel and unusual."
"No, it's what people expect me to do. You pushed me, Neal. Now I have to show that I have control. And if you keep pushing me, I'll take you to the interrogation room and give you a real spanking."
Neal didn't say anything. He would never live it down if Peter made good on that threat.
There was a knock on the door frame. Neal looked and saw Hughes standing at the door.
"Everything okay here?" Hughes asked. "Got things under control with your slave, now?"
"Yes, sir," Peter said. "There was a little misunderstanding about the rules. I clarified it, and Neal knows what's expected of him now."
"That's good," Hughes said with a nod. "Glad to hear the problem is taken care of."
After Hughes left, Peter turned back to Neal. He put his hands on his hips.
"See? You embarrassed me in front of my boss."
"He didn't seem to have a problem."
"That's because I dealt with the problem. And I'll deal with it some more when we get home." He paused. More softly, he added, "If you have an excuse for your behavior, tell me. It might mitigate the punishment."
Neal didn't respond. He doubted accusing Peter of stalking Kate would do much good right now.
Peter sighed and shook his head. "Fine, then." He gestured to the chair in front of the desk. "Have a seat. You're going to spend the rest of the day looking over case files where I can see you."
Neal obeyed without argument. At least they only had a few hours left before it'd be time to go home. He wasn't sure if it was better this way or not-he wouldn't have to face the rest of the office after they'd just witnessed him getting spanked, but he wouldn't be able to neutralize his embarrassment by playing it off as no big deal, either.
When Peter had to step out of the office for a minute, Jones came in and gave Neal a cup of coffee. Neal accepted it gratefully. At least the others weren't avoiding him completely. He'd come to like most of the agents, and they were nice to him. If it had occurred to him that storming out could damage that progress, he might have restrained himself.
He hoped Hughes wouldn't make him wear an evidence tag again.
He'd been too rash today. He would have to be more careful, particularly if Kate was in danger.
* * *
When they got home, Elizabeth was out. She'd called Peter a bit ago to tell him that she was held up with a client.
Peter didn't waste any time getting down to business. He let Neal get a drink and run to the bathroom, and when Neal came downstairs, he was waiting by the sofa with the paddle in his hand. The gag was sitting on the coffee table.
"You ready?" Peter asked him.
"Ready as I'll ever be." There was no point delaying it.
"Take off your clothes. I think some time naked in the corner after this will do you a lot of good."
Neal disagreed, but he didn't imagine that his opinion mattered much right now. He silently got undressed while Peter watched.
Neal placed his clothes over the back of a chair, and Peter sat on the sofa. He tapped his leg with the paddle.
"Come on. Over my knee."
Neal walked over and bent himself over Peter's lap. He braced himself for the inevitable. The first strike of the paddle was always the hardest. But this time, when it came, something felt off. Like the paddle was more flexible, somehow. Peter made a noise of disbelief and annoyance, and several seconds passed with no more strikes.
"Get up, Neal. Take a look at this."
Neal braced his hands on Peter's thigh and pushed himself to his feet. Peter was holding the paddle, which was now bent at a forty-five degree angle. He placed a finger on the end on the paddle and wiggled it back and forth.
"It broke?" Neal said. "You seriously broke the paddle?"
"I didn't break it. Your hard ass did."
"Don't blame me. I never asked to be paddled. And I could've told you that you were doing it too hard."
"Unbelievable...." Peter muttered. "I only bought this thing a few months ago."
"I guess you can't paddle me, then."
Maybe the paddle could be fixed with some duct tape around the middle, but Neal wasn't going to suggest that. He was just fine with getting Peter's hand, instead.
"I guess not."
Peter seemed to think for a minute, which made Neal nervous. What was he waiting for? Was he thinking of trying to fix the paddle? Finally, he stood up and reached for his belt buckle.
Neal's eyes widened. "What are you doing?"
"Since I can't use the paddle, I'm going to try my belt."
"That's not fair. It'll hurt more."
Neal didn't actually know that, but he assumed the belt would be worse. It couldn't be better.
"Maybe. So I'm only going to give you ten."
"Only ten? Can't we negotiate on this?"
"Okay," Peter said calmly. "I can give you fifteen, if you want. Or twenty."
Neal swallowed. "Ten is fine."
Peter nodded. "Good choice."
He pulled his belt free and folded it in half twice to create a small loop. Then he sat down and beckoned Neal back over his lap.
Neal moved more slowly this time. He'd never been hit with a belt, and he was keen to keep avoiding it.
Slowly, he draped himself across Peter's knees. He heard the belt swish through the air, and then there was a loud crack as it hit his ass. A sharp sting radiated through his flesh, and Neal sucked air through his teeth.
"That hurt," he said.
"I know," Peter said.
Neal's fears were correct-it was worse than the paddle. At least in this position, the belt wasn't as long. If Peter used the full length of the belt to whip him, it would be even worse.
But that was a small mercy. He still had nine lashes to go.
"Relax," Peter said. "If you tense up, it'll just hurt more."
Neal wasn't in the mood to take Peter's advice, and even if he was, he didn't think he could stop himself from tensing his buttocks.
Peter tsked at him and said, "Your choice."
Lashes two and three were delivered to his lower buttocks in rapid succession. Neal bit his lip to stop himself from crying out. Number four landed on his thighs and he jumped.
Peter paused for a moment. Neal shuddered with anticipation. He was about to snap at Peter to get it over with when number five landed higher up on his ass. The pain flared across both cheeks before fading to a dull burn.
Six and seven landed at the bottom of his cheeks again. The skin was already tender from the earlier lashes, and Neal hissed in pain.
Neal squeezed his eyes shut. He focused on counting the blows.
The final three were given rapidly on the crown of his ass and then, to his relief, he heard Peter set the belt aside.
"All right. Spanking's done. You can get up."
Neal stood. He wanted to rub the sting out of his ass, but he didn't want to display any more indignity than he had to.
Peter stood and said, "Your punishment isn't over yet. Wait here."
"Why? What are you going to do?"
"Just do as you're told."
As Neal obeyed, Peter walked off in the direction of the kitchen. Neal looked back and watched him disappear.
What was he doing? He'd said the spanking was over, so he couldn't be fetching a wooden spoon to finish the job.
It seemed like an eternity before Peter returned. He was holding something, but Neal couldn’t tell what it was.
Peter sat back down on the sofa. "Okay, back over my knee."
"I thought you said the spanking is over."
"I thought I told you to stop questioning my orders."
Slowly, Neal obeyed. He didn't like this....
Peter spread Neal's cheeks. Neal tensed, bracing himself. He expected to feel Peter's fingers, but instead, he felt something firm, wet, and cold pushing against his hole.
He flinched. "What is that?" Before his surprise wore off enough for him to react, Peter had the offending object lodged inside his ass.
"It's ginger, Neal."
"Why is it cold?"
"Because it's been in the refrigerator."
That was an understatement. He was freezing.
Neal had noticed several fingers of ginger stored in the vegetable bin, but had thought little of it. "I thought that was for cooking," he said. If he'd known the truth, he would have made a large batch of ginger chicken to get rid of it.
"No, it's for discipline. They call this 'figging.' You peel the ginger and-"
"I know what figging is," Neal snapped.
"Oh," Peter said brightly, "then you know what to expect. The good thing about ginger is it's supposed to hurt without doing any damage."
Neal squirmed. The shocking coldness was starting to wear off, but it was replaced by a far more ominous warmth.
"I think I changed my mind. I'll take more of the belt."
"You already took it. This is phase two." Peter twisted the ginger, sending a wave of warmth through Neal's ass. "Relax. You're doing a good job. You're a natural at having things in your ass."
Neal squirmed. The ginger was really starting to heat up. "Then why are you wasting your time hurting it?"
"No. You're not getting out of this by convincing me to fuck you. We're not going to reward bad behavior."
Neal's face grew almost as hot as his ass. He wasn't sure which was worse-that he'd actually offered sex, or that Peter thought sex counted as a reward.
"Peter, this is ridiculous. You need to stop getting ideas from those slave training books."
"It's for your own good."
Neal could debate that all night. The ginger really did burn. He'd heard that the juices in ginger created a burning sensation when rubbed on sensitive body parts, and that some people enjoyed it. Neal didn't think he was one of them.
At first, it wasn't so bad. The warmth that spread through his ass was tolerable. But after a couple minutes, he was consumed by a fierce burn. He bit his lip and didn't voice his discomfort, but tears sprang to his eyes.
He hadn't gotten a proper look at the ginger when Peter brought it in. It'd been mostly concealed in Peter's hand. But his ass stretched around it. He felt full.
"How long?" Neal asked.
"A few more minutes."
Peter teased Neal's ass with the ginger. He twisted it and worked it in and out like it was one of the plugs. Each movement caused a new wave of fire.
At last, Peter removed the ginger. The burn remained, and Neal hoped it would subside quickly.
Peter gave him a light slap on the ass. "Come on. Up you go."
With another instruction to stay, Peter went to the kitchen to dispose of the ginger. When he came back, he said, "All right. Time for the corner."
But before Neal could head toward the corner, Peter picked up the gag. Neal had almost forgotten about that.
"Open."
Neal clenched his jaw.
"Would you rather get a few more with the belt, and then go in the corner?"
"Can't I stand in the corner without the gag?"
"No. You haven't said one word today except to sulk or make excuses, so you can wear the gag for a while. Now open."
Neal really didn't want to get any more of the belt, so he reluctantly obeyed. Peter slipped the ball in his mouth and buckled the straps behind his head. He put a hand on Neal's back and guided him into the corner by the window. Neal was grateful that the curtains were closed, at least.
"Now stay," Peter said. "I'll be around the house, and I'll let you know when you can move."
He heard Peter walk away, and then up the stairs. There was nothing preventing Neal from moving, but he didn't trust Peter not to come back immediately just to test him.
But he trusted that he wasn't being viewed at the moment. He reached back and rubbed his sore ass. It was hard to differentiate the pain from the ginger from the pain from the belt, but he thought he could feel a welt under the curve of one of his cheeks.
He never thought he'd appreciate the paddle.
It'd been a long day, and Neal closed his eyes. He jumped when he felt something cold against his thigh. Looking down, he saw Satchmo. Satchmo pressed his nose to Neal's leg again and then looked up, panting.
Neal scratched him behind the ear.
He was still petting Satchmo a few minutes later when there was the sound of a key in the front door. Satchmo ran off to greet Elizabeth.
Neal didn't turn around at first. He heard Elizabeth come inside and say hi to Satchmo. Peter yelled down that he was upstairs.
Elizabeth didn't seem to notice Neal until she stepped into the living room.
"Oh! Hey, Neal. You get in trouble while I was out?"
Neal looked over his shoulder. She smiled sympathetically when she saw the gag, and continued her way into the kitchen.
He couldn’t hear Peter coming downstairs yet, so Neal stepped away from the corner. He undid the buckle on the gag and removed it. He flexed his jaw as he followed Elizabeth into the kitchen.
A knife and cutting board were still on the counter, along with a small pile of peeled ginger skin.
"So," Elizabeth asked when she saw him, "you going to tell me what happened?"
He was glad she didn't ask if he was allowed to be out of the corner.
"There was a misunderstanding at work. I wanted to get some fresh air, and I didn't ask for permission before I went out."
"Ah. I can see why Peter wouldn't like that."
"He spanked me with his belt. I think I have welts now...."
"Why did he use the belt?"
Elizabeth grabbed a couple glasses and started to fill them with tap water.
"He was going to use the paddle, but he broke it."
Elizabeth frowned. She handed Neal one of the glasses of water, which he took gratefully. He could use it after being gagged.
"The paddle broke?"
"I think he was using it a little hard, if you want my opinion."
Elizabeth was starting to look concerned. As Peter came into the kitchen, she said, "Honey, Neal says you broke the paddle trying to spank him?"
Peter stopped still and blinked. He was carrying the broken paddle, and he set it on the counter. "I wouldn't exactly put it that way. I just gave him one swat with it and the thing snapped in half."
"So you used your belt? Isn't that a little harsh?"
"I only gave him a third of what he would've gotten with the paddle. And he deserved more-did he tell you what he did today?"
"You mean the part where he took a little stroll? Yeah, he mentioned that."
"He went almost six blocks before I caught up."
Elizabeth eyed Neal. The concern started to leave her expression. "From the way Neal told it, I thought maybe he'd just stepped out the front door."
"When I got down there, I couldn't even see him. He's lucky I didn't call Slave Control to apprehend him."
Elizabeth leaned over and gave Peter a peck on the lips.
"Mm. Well, you were the only one who could catch him before, so I don't see why you need to delegate now."
Peter hummed softly and smiled. He wrapped his arms around Elizabeth's waist.
Getting sympathy hadn't worked, but at least Elizabeth was calming Peter's nerves. That was something.
Peter looked over at Neal, narrowed his eyes, and said, "Why aren't you in the corner?"
"I thought since Elizabeth was home, it was okay to move. Do you want me to go back?"
"Have you learned your lesson?"
"Sure, I've learned something."
Peter sighed. "That'll have to be good enough. Go on, get dressed."
Neal hurried into the living room before Peter could change his mind, or remark on the fact that Neal had also removed his gag without permission.
He dressed quickly, wincing when he pulled his pants up over his sore ass. The paddle had never left marks, but he knew the belt had left a welt or two. He wasn't sure he wanted to sit down right away.
When he returned to the kitchen, Peter was showing Elizabeth the paddle.
"I can't believe it," he was saying, "we've only had Neal six months and the paddle's already worn out!"
"Honey, I think the paddle is just poor-quality. It's not even real leather-it feels all plastic-y, like a cheap belt. And what's underneath, cardboard? When you replace it, you should try to go to Laurent's. They sell a lot of high-quality things."
Peter huffed. "Yeah, and 'high-quality' means 'expensive.'"
"What?" Neal asked. "I'm not worth the cost?"
Peter had set the paddle down, and Neal picked it up. He was curious to inspect it more closely. Elizabeth was right-it was cheaply made. In addition to the break in the middle, some of the stitching was coming out.
"Oh," Peter said, "I'm sure you are. And in this case, that's not something to be proud of."
Holding up the paddle, Neal said, "You're not hanging onto this, right?"
"I can't see how it's of any use."
Neal opened one of the kitchen drawers and dug out a box cutter. Laying the paddle flat on the counter, he cut open the covering. It was glued to the insert, but Neal was able to pull it loose to reveal an oval made of stiff cardboard. It was broken across the middle.
He wondered how higher-quality paddles were made.
Peter didn't pay much attention to him for the rest of the evening. Neal assumed it was his way of showing that he was still unhappy.
He didn't speak to him at all until Neal announced that he was going upstairs to his room.
"Don't forget to set your alarm before you go to bed," Peter said. "You're coming to work with me again tomorrow."
Neal froze on his way to the stairs. He'd taken it for granted that he was staying home. For one thing, he rarely went to work with one of the Burkes two days in a row. They alternated, and some days he stayed home. More importantly, he hadn't expected Peter to want to take him back so soon. He expected to be on house arrest for a few days.
Turning around, Neal said, "I thought you were worried about me embarrassing you."
"That's exactly why I'm bringing you. I'm going to show everyone that I'm not too embarrassed to bring you to work. And you're going to show everyone that you can be good."
Apparently, Neal's embarrassment from being spanked in Peter's office was immaterial. Yet, Neal saw some wisdom in what Peter was saying. He, too, could show that he wasn't embarrassed or shaken. Even if he was.
"Then I guess I'll get up bright and early," Neal said.
"That's what I like to hear."
Chapter 21
This entry was originally posted at http://citrinesunset.dreamwidth.org/116925.html. Please comment there using OpenID.