Running on Empty - Part 1 of 8
Warnings: Slash, OT3, one incident of violent physical abuse
This was written in response to the following prompt:
"Neal as escaped sex slave (instead of escaped con man). I have plenty of ideas to go with this but really I just like this main idea in any form. Perhaps focus the story on his fugitive life: always running. Perhaps a brief snippet of when Peter catches him for the first time- sympathetic Peter who still has to do his job, chaotic good Peter who lets him go to continue the chase, dark Peter who takes advantage of him before returning him to his owner. A heist adventure where Neal and Mozzie plan his escape. An angsty piece where Neal copes with his situation because he has Kate- and only runs once something takes her away from him. Or so on."
-----
Peter turned his cell phone back on as he exited the last presentation at the Law Enforcement Cooperation Conference held at the Hilton Hotel in St. Louis. Reese Hughes had chosen Peter as the least-likely-to-be-rude East coast FBI representative he could send. But three days of dull seminars, stilted panel discussions and rubber chicken was enough to make anyone decidedly uncooperative.
He checked his messages as he caught the elevator back to his hotel room--the only enjoyable thing about this trip so far. A fair amount of luxury for the average agent, the room had two queen sized beds and a whirlpool tub. But it was the view that was worth the price of admission--the room directly overlooked Busch stadium. Peter was planning on catching a Cardinal’s baseball game there before he had to return to New York.
He saw he had missed three calls: one from his wife, one from his immediate boss, Reese Hughes, and surprisingly, one from his boss’s boss, Bancroft. “Well, this can’t be good,” he murmured. Sighing deeply, he dialed his boss. “Hi, Reese. What’s up? Bancroft left me a message, but I thought I’d check in with you first.”
“I’m glad you did. Peter, we’ve been asked to do a favor for Mayor Hanson. We need you to detour and pick up some stolen property that’s been recovered in a small town about 90 miles north of your location. You’re to bring it back with you to New York on your flight tomorrow.”
“Reese, that’s crazy. If it’s so important, it will get there faster if they just ship it overnight.”
“Well, the mayor wants it delivered personally. You see, it’s not really an ‘it.’ It’s a slave.”
Peter’s jaw dropped. “A slave?”
“Yes, a sex slave the mayor bought about six months ago. The slave escaped but was recaptured last night in Whisper Ridge, Missouri.”
“You want me to spend the night babysitting some sweet, young thing who seduces men for a living? El will have my guts for garters.”
“Well, this slave isn’t that young, definitely not sweet and not a she. His name is Neal.”
Peter was silent, his mental machinations reflected on his face. However, try as he might, no good excuse to avoid this assignment appeared from thin air, and Hughes was waiting. Shaking his head, he admitted defeat. “Alright. I guess I’m the errand boy.”
“I appreciate this, Peter. I’ll text you the information. Sheriff Wilson in Whisper Ridge is expecting you tonight.”
“I’ll call to confirm when I’ve got him. Bye, Reese.” Peter disconnected the call. He straightened his shoulders and dialed Bancroft’s number. When the man answered he said, “Peter Burke, here, Sir. Hughes has explained the assignment. Is there anything else you wanted me to know?”
“Peter, thanks for calling. I need you to understand that this is a delicate matter. The mayor wants this recovery to be discreet. Especially after those unfounded sex scandal allegations made last week. With the reelection campaign in full swing, Mayor Hanson doesn’t want any reporters to get wind of this. No headlines about how if he can’t control a slave, how will he run a city. And no tabloid speculation as to why a trained sex slave ran from the mayor’s bed.”
“I understand, Sir. I’ll bring him in under the radar.”
“Good. I’ll tell the mayor you’re doing just that. When you get back to New York, report directly to City Hall with the slave. They’ll be expecting you.”
“Will do. Goodbye, Sir.”
Shoulders drooping, Peter cast a last wistful look at the baseball stadium. He quickly packed some clothes just in case he got stranded overnight. Then he grabbed his coat and his bag and walked out the door.
The drive to Whisper Ridge was uneventful. On the way he called El and explained the change in plans. She was as flabbergasted as he had been. Just as Bancroft had predicted, they couldn’t resist speculating on why the slave had escaped. Devising more and more outrageous and elaborate explanations served to pass the time on a dull drive.
Less than two hours later he arrived in Whisper Ridge. He let the GPS guide him to the sheriff’s office. He parked the rental car and climbed the steps to the front door. As he was reaching for the door, it opened, and a slender young man in a deputy’s uniform walked right into him. Peter put up his hands to steady the man. The FBI agent tilted his head slightly as he studied the deputy’s face. “Sorry about that. I’m Peter Burke. I’m here to pick up the runaway slave.”
The man grinned. “Hey, that’s great, Mr. Burke. We’ve been expecting you. Go on in. Someone will be with you shortly.”
“Agent.”
“Sorry?” The deputy tried to slip past Peter, but Peter wasn’t budging.
“That’s ‘Agent’ Burke. Of the FBI. My office informed the sheriff who it was who was coming.”
“Oh, sure, sorry. I’m always the last to know things around here. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to run.”
“No.”
“Look, Agent, would you please move? I’m on a call here.” The deputy’s expression lost its open friendliness.
“No.” Peter tightened his grip on the man’s arms. “I’m sorry, Neal, but I have to bring you back to the mayor.”
Neal silently cursed his luck. And how had this FBI agent seen through his act? With a brilliant enough smile, men usually swallowed whatever story he chose to feed them in bed or out of bed. Shrugging his shoulders, Neal looked up at Peter’s face and summoned a wan smile. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
Peter nodded and herded the man back into the sheriff’s office. “Sheriff?” Peter called out. He heard muffled yelling from behind a door marked “No Admittance.” He dragged Neal with him as he went through the door into a room lined with three cells.
In the leftmost one was a flushed and obviously furious middle-aged man in a sheriff’s uniform. At the sight of Neal, his flush deepened to cerebral hemorrhage levels. “Get me out of here, now!” he shouted.
Suppressing a smile, Peter led Neal to the right hand cell and locked him in. Then he retrieved the keys from the desk in the outer office. He returned and released the real officer.
The man fairly exploded out of the cell and confronted Neal.
“You sneaky son of a bitch! I try to be kind to you and this is what I get? Your ass is mine, slave. You think because we’re a little town where nobody has enough money to own slaves that we don’t know what to do with them? Think again. You are in for a whipping. I’m gonna send you back to your fancy owner with the skin peeled off your back.”
Neal shuddered and backed away from the cell bars. Suddenly he was glad this FBI agent was taking him out of here.
“Sheriff Wilson?”
The sheriff spun around to look at Peter. Spittle from his outraged ranting flew through the air. “What?” he demanded.
Peter spoke calmly. “I’m Agent Peter Burke. Here to pick up the slave.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m not done with him yet. That little lying bastard locked me in my own damned cell…”
“Sheriff?”
The sheriff was shaking with anger, but his professional side was slowly coming to the fore. He struggled to regain control and finally managed to ask. “You have identification?”
“Of course.” Peter drew out his ID and held it up for the sheriff. Just seeing the badge seemed to calm the man even more.
The sheriff took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Okay. I have some paperwork for you to sign.” Casting one last baleful look at Neal, he walked out to the front office and sat at his desk.
Before Peter followed, he turned to Neal and said sternly. “If you have any sense, you’ll sit quietly until I can get you signed into my custody. Don’t cause any more trouble.” Without waiting for a response, he walked out the door.
Neal sighed and sat down as instructed. He agreed wholeheartedly with this Agent Burke. He’d wait until he was well away from the enraged sheriff before planning another escape.
While Sheriff Wilson reined in his temper, Peter read and signed the transfer of custody form. Pocketing his copy, he asked, “Where are his clothes?”
The sheriff opened a cabinet and pulled out a bag of clothes. He tossed it to Peter. “This is what he had on when we picked him up.”
Peter looked at the black turtleneck, jeans, socks and expensive leather loafers. “Do you have any slave whites for him? It’s illegal to transport him in these.”
“Yeah, I put whites on him. Brand new ones the Department of Prisons sent us a few years ago in with a shipment of orange prisoner jumpsuits. Didn’t think I’d ever need to use them, though. He must have stashed them here somewhere.”
Peter helped him look and finally located them stuffed behind the radiator. He shook out the traditional slave garb of loose, white trousers and a V-necked pullover shirt. Digging further, he found the slave sandals jammed in there as well. He brought the clothes into the cell area and passed them to Neal through the bars. “Change into these. We’re just about ready to leave. And Neal, no tricks, okay? I’m tired, and we have a long drive ahead of us.”
“Yes, Peter. I’ll be very good.” Neal nodded his head.
“I’m sure.” Peter responded dryly.
Neal smiled sweetly as he stood up. With practiced ease, he began subtle, swaying movements, as he removed the deputy uniform. He breathed heavily as he let the shirt slide down across his ass. His hand went to the button on the trousers and stole a glance at his audience.
Peter was staring fixedly at the sensual performance. The agent moistened his lips and took an involuntary step towards the cell. Suddenly, he shook his head as if to clear it and said gruffly, “Hurry up-this isn’t a strip tease club. I want to catch some dinner before we head back to St. Louis.” With that, Peter turned his back on Neal and retreated to the outer office.
Neal’s mouth dropped open, and he stopped moving. He wasn’t used to men being able to so easily ignore him when he was working a seduction. Damn. Apparently this FBI agent was too smart and too dedicated to be so easily diverted. This could make escape more challenging. And too much depended on his not being returned to the mayor.
At least he had one advantage--the agent was obviously attracted to him. And he had to admit, the attraction was mutual. The man’s arms holding him at the door had felt protective rather than restraining. If the attraction was the only weapon available, then Neal would use it to help him escape. Besides, keeping Peter off balance through seduction would make for a pleasant diversion from his troubles. Even if Neal might wish that it could be more. He shook his head at that foolish notion and quickly changed into the white uniform that marked him as a slave.
------
Twenty minutes later, following the Sheriff’s directions, Peter drove around to the small parking lot behind Minnie’s Diner. With a tight grip on Neal’s arm, Peter and his prisoner walked to the front entrance. Cheery red and white curtains and a country décor welcomed them in. They sat in a booth as far away from the door as Peter could get.
The perky blonde waitress approached to drop off menus and water. She gave Peter a friendly smile and then turned to Neal and inhaled sharply. No wonder. The white clothes made his brilliant blue eyes and dark hair stand out more. And the sparkling jeweled platinum collar nestled in the low V of the slave tunic commanded attention.
Not that the defenseless waitress even noticed it as smitten as she was.
Neal let his best wicked smile light up his face as he leaned towards her and looked up at her through his eyelashes.
Her pupils dilated. Her breath quickened as she stared helplessly at him.
He really hadn’t intended to try to seduce her-it was just reflex. Thinking it might unnecessarily annoy his captor, Neal broke eye contact with the flustered waitress and looked to Peter for his reaction.
The agent was frowning at him with an expression Neal couldn’t quite interpret. Impatience certainly, but maybe just a vague hint of possessiveness as well? Interesting. And possibly useful.
The waitress might not have noticed the heavy, jeweled collar, but one of the men at the counter certainly did. He and his two companions whispered to each other, their eyes wide with excitement. “That’s a slave-a sex slave.”
“You’re crazy. What the hell would a sex slave be doing in Whisper Ridge?”
“I don’t know, man. But it’s money from heaven.”
“What! You want to steal a slave? Where are we going to sell him? There ain’t no black market we can drag him to.”
“Not the slave, moron. The collar is what I’m after. Did you see it? It’s gotta be worth big bucks. And that guy with him-must be the owner. He’s probably loaded-he’ll just buy a replacement. Look, here’s what we do.” The three put their heads together planning. Shortly thereafter, they tossed a five dollar bill on the counter and left the diner.
Once the cloud of pheromones had cleared, the waitress handed Peter and Neal their menus. Peter opened his and began reading, but Neal quietly placed his on the table unopened.
“We have the best pizza this side of the Mississippi. Even won an award for it.” The waitress gestured towards a gold plaque on the wall behind them.
Peter wasted no time deciding. “Sounds good to me. Is pizza all right with you, Neal?”
“Pizza? I…uh…sure, Peter.”
“What do you like on it?”
“Um, whatever you choose is fine. But thank you for asking.”
Peter gave him a confused look, but shrugged it off. “How about the triple meat special, large, with extra cheese. Oh, and throw some green pepper on it, too.” He handed the menus to the waitress, who smiled and left. “I promised my wife I’d eat some vegetables this trip.” Peter took a sip of water and regarded Neal thoughtfully. “Are you sure you like pizza? I can order you something else.”
“No, Peter, it’s fine. I just have never tasted it. Pleasure slaves are usually not fed fattening foods. But I’m grateful that you’re letting me try it.”
Peter shook his head. “You’re thirty-three years old, and you’ve never had pizza.”
Neal grinned. “But I’m going to tonight.”
Peter chuckled at Neal’s eager anticipation. “Yes. Yes, you are.”
The pizza was every bit worthy of that award. Peter was moaning with delight by the second bite. Neal wasn’t far behind him in his enjoyment of the hot, gooey delicacy.
The two men made short work of it and finally leaned back in their chairs, sated. Neal sat in unself-conscious enjoyment, licking the pizza grease off his fingers.
Peter studied Neal closely, smiling at the look of blissful contentment on the slave’s face. “So tell me, Neal, is there anything else sex slaves don’t do?”
Neal froze. As he berated himself mentally for letting down his guard, his face hardened for an instant then shifted into a sultry, welcoming expression. “Actually, we prefer the term ‘pleasure slave,’ Peter. And there’s nothing we don’t do--if we are ordered to.”
Peter flushed slightly. After a moment, he said quietly, “Neal, I only meant that since you don’t eat pizza, what other restrictions do you have? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
Neal bowed his head. This FBI agent kept surprising him. He looked up and smiled, still maintaining the perfect, professional persona. “No offense taken, Peter. Your curiosity is perfectly understandable.”
Peter sighed. Since the pleasant dinner they’d shared had apparently come to an uncomfortable halt, Peter signaled for the check. He paid the bill and tugged an oddly silent Neal out the door and around towards the parking lot in the back of the building.
-----
Perhaps Peter was tired from the drive or distracted by his thoughts of Neal. But whatever the reason was, he failed to detect the trio of men crouched in the shadows just beyond the edge of the building. Before he could react and pull his gun, two of them had grabbed his arms. The third man dropped a pillow case over Peter’s head and stuffed a wad of it into his mouth to silence him.
The third man then moved to Neal, spun him around and pushed him up against the wall.
The man on Peter’s right seemed to be the one in charge. He twisted Peter’s arm and spoke to him. “Relax, man, we ain’t after you or your little plaything. We want the collar.”
The one holding Neal against the wall started fiddling with the collar trying to find the latch.
Neal knew the would-be thieves were doomed to disappointment. If the collar came off that easily, he would have happily turned it over to them. He hated it. But he was concerned that if they got frustrated enough, they might hurt him--or Peter. They were obviously nervous amateurs, and amateurs make foolish decisions. Speaking in a calm and respectful voice, Neal said, “That’s not going to work, Sir. It doesn’t come off.”
“It went on, didn’t it? It’ll come off. Now where’s the damn catch?” The thief had his fingers wound around the collar now, pulling and twisting.
The man on Peter’s left was struggling to hold the angry agent. He hissed, “Hurry up, Ricky, this guy’s getting hard to hang onto.”
The leader sighed, exasperated. “No names, moron.”
Ricky couldn’t find any spot where the collar would separate. “Shit! I’m going to have to cut it off.”
Peter’s struggles increased.
Ricky pulled out a pocket knife and turned Neal around to face him. “You hold still now. I don’t plan on cutting you, but you fight me, I will.”
Neal’s eyes were wide. He started shaking. “Oh, please, don’t do this. If you cut the collar, it will trigger the failsafe. It’s filled with explosives, enough to kill us all. Please, I don’t want to die!” Neal grabbed onto Ricky’s shoulders in his panic.
“You’re just making that up.” Ricky said, but his voice sounded unsure.
Neal started pleading, his voice shrill, his breathing ragged. “I’m not, I swear. My master promised me I’d die if I ever removed his collar. He said as soon as I tried to cut the collar, an alarm would sound. Then I’d have one minute of life left to regret my disobedience. Please, I don’t want to have my head blown off. And I don’t want to see your brains splattered on that wall either.” A seemingly terrified Neal glanced back at the wall and whimpered.
Moron gasped. “Wait a minute. What if he’s telling the truth? Those rich dudes are just crazy enough to do some shit like that.”
The leader, on Peter’s other side, scoffed. “That’s just a bullshit story to scare the toy. Cut it! Now!”
Ricky applied the knife to the collar and started sawing at it. Immediate a buzzing sound erupted.
Neal wailed, “Nooooo!”
Moron twisted towards the leader. “You dickwad! Fine plan you had. You’re gonna get us killed.”
Dickwad paled and announced his new plan. “Run!”
The three men tore out of the parking lot and disappeared.
Peter yanked the pillowcase off his head and pulled his gun. He scanned the area, then went to where Neal stood laughing quietly.
“Are you all right?”
Neal nodded.
“Then would you like to explain what just happened?”
The buzzing sound erupted again. Peter jumped.
Neal’s laughter increased. “I’m sorry, Peter. I couldn’t resist.” He opened his hand and offered Peter the cell phone he’d had hidden in it. “I believe this is yours. It’s set on vibrate.”
Peter slowly took the phone. He looked at it, then at Neal. “You used this to scare them off?”
“People under stress usually don’t take the time to think things through. If you put an idea in their heads, then supply even the flimsiest of evidence, they fall for it.”
“Well, I’m glad you were thinking fast. But I have one question. How did you get my cell phone?”
Neal’s laughter faded. “Oh. Well, I picked your pocket. And, I guess you’re going to need these back, too.” Neal handed over the car keys.
Anger and curiosity warred for dominance on Peter’s face. Curiosity won. “How did you learn to do that?”
“Well, I seem to have a natural talent for less than law-abiding pursuits. One of my owners decided it would be amusing to hone my skills.”
Peter shook his head in amazement.
Neal’s eyes sparkled. He was thoroughly enjoying the agent’s unwilling admiration. “So, it’s back to the sheriff’s office now?” Neal asked with a relaxed smile. “You’ll want to file a report, right?”
“No, I’m letting them go for now. We have a plane to catch and an irate mayor to appease. So it’s their lucky night. I’ll call the sheriff in the morning and see if he wants to pursue it. I imagine he’ll know who Ricky, Moron and Dickwad are.”
Neal’s face fell.
Peter registered the slave’s disappointment. “Look Neal, I want to thank you. Your quick thinking diffused a dangerous situation with no one hurt. You should be proud of yourself.”
Neal didn’t feel proud at all. So no one got hurt. But he’d just missed a golden opportunity for escape. And there were only so many of those standing between him and what the mayor had planned.
On the way to the car, Peter asked, “By the way, that stuff you were telling them about the collar exploding? That’s not true, is it?”
Neal snorted. “Of course not. No owner would risk losing such a valuable piece of property. It was just a con, Peter, an illusion. That’s what pleasure slaves are best at.”
Neal had delivered that line with a smug smile. Even he remained unaware of the almost imperceptible note of sadness in his voice.
-----
The ride back to St. Louis was blessedly uneventful. Neal and Peter spent the time in friendly conversation. At Neal’s insistence, Peter related some of the stranger FBI cases he’d been involved with.
Neal truly appreciated the stories-they gave him a reason to put aside his dark thoughts. As he relaxed, his training took over, and he instinctively became the companion Peter would appreciate most. He asked questions, laughed at Peter’s self-deprecating descriptions, and unabashedly poked fun at the agent. And through it all, Neal’s attraction to the agent quietly deepened.
At some point Peter’s participation in the conversation faltered. He squirmed in his seat and kept opening his mouth as if to ask a question, then changing his mind.
Under Neal’s gentle prodding, Peter finally admitted what was bothering him. “Neal, I’m really enjoying your company. But you’ve been trained to be a good listener and a pleasing companion, right? For you, this is just part of the job, isn’t it?”
Neal thought carefully. He realized, with considerable surprise, that no, this interlude was not ‘just part of the job.’ As unusual as it was for him, he was receiving as much enjoyment as he was providing. He hastened to reassure his escort, “Peter, just because I am trained doesn’t mean I’m pretending to take pleasure in your company.”
Peter thought for a moment. “Hmm. That’s true, but you pretty much lie for a living.”
Neal’s peel of laughter was genuine. “Yes, Peter, I lie for a living. I also sit, stand and bend over as well.”
Peter’s color rose. Stammering slightly, he said, “I meant that even if I rubbed you the wrong way, you’d still…”
Neal’s eyebrows rose, and his grin widened.
Peter struggled on. “That’s not what I meant. You’re missing my point.”
“I’m very careful to never miss a point-could be painful.” Neal batted his eyelashes at Peter.
“Neal! What I’m trying to say is…”
Neal took pity on the flustered agent. “You sure you want to keep going?”
“No. I don’t.”
“Good. Look Peter. I’m not lying to you. I like you. You’re not some pompous ass who expects me to hang on his every word. And if I had to be caught, I’m glad it was by you.”
“You’re telling me the truth?”
“Peter, you are not my owner--I don’t have to lie to you. Now, can we get past this?”
Peter glanced at Neal’s amused but sincere expression. “Alright. I’m sorry I doubted you.”
“It’s okay.” After a moment, he murmured, “Just as long as you don’t ‘rub me the wrong way.’”
Neal snickered.
Peter giggled.
They both burst out laughing.
-----
Their good mood continued until they reached the hotel in Saint Louis. Peter held on to Neal’s arm as they made their way up to his room. The stadium lights were still on across the road, and Neal was drawn to the window. “Wow, that’s quite a view for a baseball lover.”
Peter dropped his bag on the luggage rack and went to stand next to Neal. “Yeah. I was hoping to get over there to see a game. I’ve never been in that ballpark.” He continued to stare longingly out the window.
A stab of guilt cut through Neal. He turned to look at Peter. “You were going to the game tonight. You had to miss it to come get me, didn’t you?”
Peter moved away from the window and sat down heavily in the desk chair. “It’s not your fault, Neal.”
“Peter, I’m sorry. I didn’t expect my running to affect so many people.”
Peter shrugged his shoulders in response. He stretched his neck side to side and groaned.
Neal saw an opportunity to make amends. “Let me help you with that.” He moved behind Peter and started kneading his shoulders. “Your muscles are very knotted. Too much time behind the wheel.”
“Neal, stop.”
It was a half-hearted command which, Neal decided, was meant to be ignored. His talented fingers were quickly wearing down Peter’s defenses as they worked the stiff muscles, melting away the tension.
After a couple more blissful minutes, Peter managed to call a halt. He put his hands over Neal’s and said, “That’s enough. Thank you.”
Neal’s hands glided down Peter’s arms and swept across his waist. Neal breathed into Peter’s ear, “Can I help you get up?”
“No. Thank you. I can stand all on my own.” Proceeding to demonstrate, Peter stood up. His pants promptly fell in a heap around his ankles.
Neal held up in hands and looked innocent. “What can I say? Full body massage is my specialty.”
“You’re impossible.” Shaking his head, Peter pulled his pants back up.
Neal just grinned.
“Why don’t you shower first.”
“What, all by myself?”
“Neal! Go take a shower. And hurry up. I’m exhausted.” Peter opened his bag and pulled out a tee shirt. Holding it up, he said, “You want some clothes to sleep in?”
“Pleasure slaves generally sleep in the nude, Peter. But thank you for thinking of me.”
There being no good response to that, Peter just grunted and waved Neal towards the bathroom. From his bag, he pulled a pair of sweat pants to sleep in and laid them on the bed.
While Neal was showering, Peter made a quick call to El. “Hi, Hon. Just wanted to check in. I’m dead on my feet, but everything went okay-I got the slave, and we’ll be on the flight home in the morning.”
“So tell me, what is the sex slave like?” El’s voice was bubbly with excitement.
“Actually, he prefers to be called a pleasure slave.”
“Okay. And…? What does he look like? Is he irresistible? Have you been tempted at all? Come on, Hon, spill.”
Peter chuckled. “Okay. One, he’s gorgeous-wavy dark hair, blue eyes, fair skin. And he’s smart and funny as well. Two-oh, El, you wouldn’t believe how sexy he is. It’s amazing. He gave me a massage. Don’t get mad-it was just on my shoulders. But I had to make him stop. It felt so incredible I was worried that things might escalate. Which brings me to question number three-yes, he’s tempting, but he’s not you. So no, I won’t be indulging in any forbidden pleasures--or pleasure slaves--on this trip.”
“Well, good. When you get home, I’ll show you some pleasure you really can indulge in.”
“Mmm…sounds good to me. I have to drop him off at the mayor’s office and then check in with the Bureau, but I should be home early.”
“Great! I’ll make a special welcome home dinner. And don’t you let that pretty boy seduce you, Hon.”
Peter heard the shower shut off. He stood and turned towards the bathroom.
“I’ve got to hang up now, El. But don’t worry. When it comes to this pretty boy, I am in complete control.” He disconnected the call.
Neal appeared in the doorway in a halo of steam, gloriously naked, his glowing skin heated and moist.
Peter quietly groaned and murmured under his breath, “Uh huh. Complete control.” Valiantly trying not to stare, he pulled out his handcuffs, moved to the second bed and motioned to Neal to come to him.
Neal, of course, had noticed Peter’s reaction to his freshly bathed, nude body. He intended to capitalize on it. Padding gracefully towards Peter, Neal stopped within an inch of touching the agent’s chest. He inhaled deeply and tilted his head back, moaning in pleasure as if intoxicated by Peter’s scent. Leaning forward, he cast a glance at the handcuffs Peter held and looked up, smiling saucily. “If I’d known, I would have found more toys.”
Peter fought to suppress his smile. “Neal I need to know you’re going to be here when I get out of the shower and when I wake up in the morning. So, I’m afraid you’ll be spending the night restrained.” Peter slipped one cuff onto Neal’s wrist and the other he hooked to the metal bed frame. “Now, get some sleep. We have an early flight.”
Leaving his jacket on the bed, Peter stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He brushed his teeth while staring resignedly at his bloodshot eyes. His fingers, clumsy from exhaustion, made slow work of removing his clothes. He looked around the bathroom for the sweat pants he’d set out. He sighed. “Damn.” Wrapping a towel around his waist, he walked back to the bedroom to retrieve them only to find them already in use.
Neal was out of the handcuffs and dressed in Peter’s tee shirt, jacket and sweat pants. He was collecting Peter’s cell phone, wallet and keys from the dresser.
“Neal,” he said warningly as he quickly strode over to the escaping slave. With one hand he grabbed Neal’s arm while the other hand clutched the towel. “Lock picking as well as pickpocketing? I’m impressed. I guess I should be grateful you didn’t take my gun.”
Inwardly cursing Peter’s bad timing, Neal assumed a good-natured expression and reassured the agent, “Oh, I don’t like guns, Peter.”
“I’m delighted to hear that,” Peter said dryly. “Now strip. You’re coming into the bathroom with me.”
Neal visibly brightened. “Oh, so we are showering together.”
“No. I am showering. You are sitting on the toilet handcuffed to the water line. And you’ll be making noise the whole time so I know you’re still here.”
“Noise?” Neal asked as he removed his borrowed clothes.
“I don’t care what. Talk, hum, whistle, sing-whatever you want.” Peter put his phone, keys and wallet in a plastic bag and brought them into the shower stall. He cuffed a cooperative Neal to the water pipe.
Despite the disappointment of his latest foiled escape attempt, Neal was actually enjoying Peter’s predicament. “Well, I understand handcuffing me, and the noise, but Peter, if we’re not showering together, why am I naked?”
“Because if the Hilton Hotel guests are going to be treated to the sight of my sagging naked ass chasing you down the hall, they are damned sure going to see yours as well.”
Neal laughed. “Take your shower, Peter. Do you like opera? I hope so, because I will now be performing selections from Salome.”
“Of course you would choose that. The dance of the seven veils?”
“Well, maybe later. I seem to be a little short on veils right now.”
Peter snickered and got into the shower.
Neal serenaded him faithfully until the agent was done.
When Peter was dry, he put on his sweat pants. He uncuffed Neal’s right hand from the pipe. Leaving the cuff attached to Neal’s left hand, Peter led him to the bed. “Do you need to use the bathroom?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Good. Get in. And face that wall.”
Neal smiled uncertainly, but obeyed.
Peter got in behind Neal and locked the remaining cuff to his own left hand. “Now, we are going to get some sleep. And you are going to be here when I wake up. Goodnight, Neal.”
“But, Peter…”
“I said goodnight.”
Neal opened his mouth to voice another objection, but abruptly closed it when Peter pulled him close. Neal found himself with his back spooned against Peter’s chest, the agent’s cuffed arm wrapped around Neal’s waist. Deciding to make the best of it, he wriggled even closer to Peter, snuggling comfortably against the delightfully warm chest of his captor. He sighed deeply and let his thoughts drift.
They were both asleep in minutes.
-----
Neal came awake slowly in stages, luxuriating in the warmth and security of the strong arms surrounding him. He wiggled a little, rubbing against the happily erect cock poking his thigh. In response to his movements, a small hum of pleasure tickled his ear. Then soft lips nuzzled his neck pressing a line of feather-light kisses. The lips closed over his ear lobe and sucked, teeth nibbling gently.
A tingling bolt of desire shot through him heading straight for his groin. With a whispered sigh, he breathed out, “Master.” Waking in the master’s bed was highly unusual--he must have been very good last night. Neal smiled in self-congratulation and arched his neck to allow better access. His master’s hand moved down his belly, fingers teasing lightly at his navel, making him twitch with the sensation. The hand moved farther down to find his cock, eagerly awaiting attention. And froze. A moment later, it withdrew.
Neal mewled in protest. He forced himself awake and opened his eyes. The dream image of the generous master dissolved to be replaced by Peter’s face. Neal had forgotten he was handcuffed to Peter. And apparently Peter had forgotten his inhibitions.
Neal stretched languidly and rubbed his head against Peter’s shoulder. “Mmmm, very nice, Peter,” he breathed. “Don’t stop.”
But Peter had stopped. Cold.
Neal twisted and looked closer at Peter’s face. The agent’s cheeks were flushed guiltily.
“Neal. I…uh… Neal, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
In Peter’s eyes Neal could see the remnants of desire but also genuine concern. A sudden wave of longing washed through him. What was wrong with him? He was supposed to be seducing the agent, not falling for him. Realizing that Peter was tensely waiting for a response, Neal cleared his throat and said softly, “It’s fine, Peter.” He looked deep into Peter’s worried eyes. “I didn’t realize either.” As hard as he tried to school his expression, Neal couldn’t conceal the growing look of wonder on his face.
Peter sighed deeply and broke eye contact. Businesslike again, he said, “Neal, we have to get moving. I’m going to call room service for some breakfast.” He removed the handcuffs and got out of bed.
Neal swallowed his disappointment, chiding himself for his foolishness. He resolutely got up and headed for the bathroom while Peter called downstairs. By the time they were both dressed, Peter in his suit and Neal back in his slave whites, breakfast, including the promised pot of steaming coffee, had arrived.
“Oh, thank God. Put it over there.” Peter pointed at the table in front of the window. He pulled out his wallet and tipped the waiter. “Neal, c’mon. I ordered bagels and cream cheese and muffins. Oh, and juice.”
Neal smiled as he looked at the tiny glass of juice. “Did you promise your wife you’d eat fruit as well as vegetables on this trip?”
Peter looked up in the midst of spreading a huge mound of cream cheese on his bagel and chuckled. “Caught me.” Peter gestured with his knife. “Sit down. Have something to eat.”
Neal looked at the food with interest, but shook his head. “No, thank you, Peter. The air in the slave cages always smells of jet fuel. It’s rather nauseating, so it’s best I don’t eat anything.”
Peter set the bagel back down untasted on the plate. His voice flat, he asked, “Cages? What do you mean?”
“That’s how slaves travel-in cargo cages. They’re…unpleasant, but safe enough.” At Peter’s stunned expression, he added. “It’s standard procedure, Peter.”
Slowly Peter replied, “No. No, I don’t think so.”
Peter retrieved his return flight ticket from his bag, grabbed his cell phone and sat back down. He dialed the number for flight confirmation. After five rings, the phone was answered. “Reservations, how can I help you?”
“I want to confirm my flight for this morning. Fight 1456 to New York. My name’s Peter Burke. I will be traveling with a slave. I understand my office made arrangements for him, but I want to confirm them as well.”
After a brief delay, the woman replied, “We have your seat confirmed, Mr. Burke. And the slave will be housed in the cargo cages.”
Peter’s expression darkened. “That’s not acceptable. I want him with me in the cabin. Are there any seats free?”
She seemed surprised, but didn’t comment. “Very well, Sir. Let me check for available seats on that flight.”
“Please do. And I want him seated next to me.” A few moments passed. Peter glanced at Neal who was sitting at the table, staring at him, amazed.
“Alright, Mr. Burke. I was able to change your seat assignment to one with a vacant seat next to it. But if you want the slave to fly as a person, I’ll need a name.”
“Neal. His name is Neal.”
“Last name?”
Peter opened his mouth to speak and froze. He looked over at Neal and whispered, “Do you have a last name?”
Neal grinned. “Caffrey”
“His name is Neal Caffrey.”
“Very good, Sir. Two seats are confirmed. You can pick up your boarding passes at the counter.”
“Thank you.” Peter disconnected the call.
Neal was inordinately pleased. And surprised. “Peter, that was very kind of you. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Neal.” Then he spoiled it by saying, “Besides I want to be able to keep my eye on you at all times.”
Neal rolled his eyes and glared at Peter. What an odd combination this man was-half hard-ass FBI agent and half warm, caring man.
The expression on Peter’s face was apologetic. Apparently, he realized he’d just lost the ground gained by changing the flight arrangements. The agent let the silence reign between them for a minute. Then he tentatively asked, “Do you really travel in a cage? An actual cage?”
“Of course. Pleasure slaves are toys, Peter. If you want to bring your toys with you on vacation, you pack them. Just like swim fins or golf clubs. You don’t pay to put them in the seat next to you.”
“But aren’t you, I don’t know, part of the family? I mean, sharing meals, interacting with your owners?”
Neal chuckled. “You have a very distorted view of slave ownership, Peter. But I like it.”
“Okay, just from a financial perspective then. They paid a hell of a lot of money for you. Why wouldn’t they want to spend as much time with you as they could?”
Smiling patiently, Neal explained. “Peter, people don’t have sex all the time. Mostly they go about their lives. They go to work, they fall in love, they build relationships, they make plans. Pleasure slaves do none of those things.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and added cream to it before continuing. “Do you want to know how I spend most of my days?”
Peter nodded uncertainly.
“I wait.” Neal took a sip of coffee. “I wait until someone wants me.”
Peter’s eyes grew soft with pity.
Neal continued. “Oh, I have many ways of passing the time. For one, I paint.”
Peter looked impressed. “You’re an artist?”
Neal nodded. “Whenever my master allows me to be. Mostly I study-usually whichever subjects would be of interest or assistance to my current master. I have the equivalent of what, for a free person, would be a dozen university degrees. And sometimes, just for fun, I plot impossible crimes-you know, like stealing the Mona Lisa. But I don’t make career plans, I don’t set goals, and I don’t have dreams. My life is centered around pleasing my master.”
“It sounds horribly lonely.” Peter said quietly.
Neal closed his eyes as memories assailed him. Even with Mistress Kate, whom he’d loved, much of his life had been lived in solitude. But he still had hope. So smiling, he replied, “Not with the right master.”
“And I take it the mayor is not the right master?”
Neal shrugged his shoulders and remained silent.
“What went on there?” Peter asked.
Neal sighed quietly. “Peter, I don’t mean to be rude, but one of the qualities pleasure slaves are most known for is our absolute discretion. We pledge to safeguard our master’s privacy without exception-even after we’re sold to someone new.”
“Fair enough. So tell me, hypothetically, who would the right master be?”
Neal frowned as he stared out the window. Choosing his words carefully, he said, “I think someone who could put up with razor stubble and snoring, head colds and not being sexy every minute. Basically, someone who sees me-the real me, not just my body. And not just my illusions.” Not comfortable with how close to the truth his conversation was skimming, he turned the topic. His ever pleasant smile returned as he turned back to look at Peter. “Did you ever have people want you just for your body?”
Peter snorted. “Nope. No hoards of women have ever been clamoring for my manly physique.”
Neal’s voice turned low and breathy as he leaned forward and lightly ran one finger across Peter’s wrist. “How about hoards of men?”
Peter shivered at Neal’s touch. Voice half stern, half pleading, Peter said, “Will you behave?”
“How is a pleasure slave supposed to behave, Peter?” Neal caressed the inside of Peter’s thigh with his bare foot.
Gently moving Neal’s foot back towards the floor, Peter replied, “I don’t know, Neal. I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“You mean a walking, talking sex toy?” Neal’s smile was brittle.
“No, I mean anyone like you.” Peter’s voice was quiet and sincere.
Neal paused for a long moment staring into Peter’s eyes. He read the interest and warmth in them-what he was sensing from the agent was real. Breathing out a tiny laugh, he said, “You see, Peter, now I’m embarrassed. And that’s really rare for a pleasure slave. I’ve underestimated you.” He hesitated again. With those luminous blue eyes firmly locked on Peter’s, he continued. “I want you to know that I really do like you. And I find you very attractive. If you wanted to, we could see how far this thing goes.” A faint undercurrent of longing lay beneath the coolly rational proposition.
Silence stretched between them. Finally Peter cleared his throat and spoke softly.
“Neal, I’m sorry. I have to take you back to your owner. It’s the law.”
The light went out of Neal’s eyes as he bowed his head. Damn. He mentally slapped himself. He shouldn’t have made that offer. If his master found out…well, actually it wouldn’t matter if his master found out. Things were already as bad as possible there. But still, he hadn’t been able to resist trying. There was just something about Peter that cut through all his defenses. And his training. But nothing was going to come of it. Neal raised his head, the calm professional mask firmly in place again. Smiling he said, “I understand completely, Peter--this is your job.”
Peter’s brow furrowed. “Look, Neal, I’ll try to do something for you. I promise. Maybe I can talk to the mayor-after all, he owes me for bringing you back. I’ll get him to forgo any punishment for the escape. And I’ll see if I can get him to treat you better.”
“Thank you, that would be very kind of you, Peter,” said the perfectly polite, perfectly artificial pleasure slave.
Peter heaved a long, low sigh. Tonelessly, he ordered, “Neal, finish your coffee. We have to get going if we’re going to make the flight.”
“Of course, Peter.” Perfectly amenable, Neal nodded and did as he was told.
-----
They checked out of the hotel and made it to the airport well before the flight was scheduled to leave. There was little conversation between them. Peter kept Neal handcuffed until they were finally settled at the gate, awaiting take-off. After the cuffs were removed, Neal calmly knelt at Peter’s feet.
As the other passengers arrived, Peter and Neal received many looks, whispered comments and discreet pointing. At first, the rather staid agent obviously was flattered at all the attention. Having people think he could afford the attractive pleasure slave at his feet was stroking his ego.
Neal hid a smile as he surreptitiously watched Peter preen and sit up straighter.
Soon, however, Peter started squirming under the attention. He reached down and put his hand on Neal’s shoulder. Squeezing gently, he said, “I’m sorry, Neal, for putting you on display like this. I should have let you wear street clothes, law or no law.”
Again, Peter had surprised him with his unusual concern for a slave’s feelings. Neal’s thoughts were spinning. He hadn’t been entirely truthful with Peter when he said he didn’t have dreams. Well, more like fantasies, really. And this kind, complex man was suddenly figuring largely in them.
Kneeling in flawless position, with the warm weight of Peter’s hand on his shoulder, Neal allowed his mind to weave images of blissful servitude. Scenes of welcome and warmth. Scenes like what Peter had described-sharing meals, sharing laughter, being part of the family.
When the boarding announcement blared over the loudspeaker, Neal wrenched his thoughts back to reality. He was within hours of being returned to his real master. He needed to concentrate on escape. Or he was doomed.
Neal was quiet as they boarded and found their seats. Although the novelty of traveling as a passenger and not cargo initially raised his spirits, Neal soon fell into a brown study.
Peter seemed to sense his mood and left him alone with his thoughts. Unpleasant though they were.
Although he regretted not taking the opportunity to enjoy the time he had left with Peter, Neal was grateful that he didn’t have to make conversation or be entertaining. He could use the time to plot and scheme on how to get out of his current situation. A situation that was not of his own making. Wondering again how everything had gone so bad so quickly, he thought back to how it had started that evening just eight days ago.
This was written in response to the following prompt:
"Neal as escaped sex slave (instead of escaped con man). I have plenty of ideas to go with this but really I just like this main idea in any form. Perhaps focus the story on his fugitive life: always running. Perhaps a brief snippet of when Peter catches him for the first time- sympathetic Peter who still has to do his job, chaotic good Peter who lets him go to continue the chase, dark Peter who takes advantage of him before returning him to his owner. A heist adventure where Neal and Mozzie plan his escape. An angsty piece where Neal copes with his situation because he has Kate- and only runs once something takes her away from him. Or so on."
-----
Peter turned his cell phone back on as he exited the last presentation at the Law Enforcement Cooperation Conference held at the Hilton Hotel in St. Louis. Reese Hughes had chosen Peter as the least-likely-to-be-rude East coast FBI representative he could send. But three days of dull seminars, stilted panel discussions and rubber chicken was enough to make anyone decidedly uncooperative.
He checked his messages as he caught the elevator back to his hotel room--the only enjoyable thing about this trip so far. A fair amount of luxury for the average agent, the room had two queen sized beds and a whirlpool tub. But it was the view that was worth the price of admission--the room directly overlooked Busch stadium. Peter was planning on catching a Cardinal’s baseball game there before he had to return to New York.
He saw he had missed three calls: one from his wife, one from his immediate boss, Reese Hughes, and surprisingly, one from his boss’s boss, Bancroft. “Well, this can’t be good,” he murmured. Sighing deeply, he dialed his boss. “Hi, Reese. What’s up? Bancroft left me a message, but I thought I’d check in with you first.”
“I’m glad you did. Peter, we’ve been asked to do a favor for Mayor Hanson. We need you to detour and pick up some stolen property that’s been recovered in a small town about 90 miles north of your location. You’re to bring it back with you to New York on your flight tomorrow.”
“Reese, that’s crazy. If it’s so important, it will get there faster if they just ship it overnight.”
“Well, the mayor wants it delivered personally. You see, it’s not really an ‘it.’ It’s a slave.”
Peter’s jaw dropped. “A slave?”
“Yes, a sex slave the mayor bought about six months ago. The slave escaped but was recaptured last night in Whisper Ridge, Missouri.”
“You want me to spend the night babysitting some sweet, young thing who seduces men for a living? El will have my guts for garters.”
“Well, this slave isn’t that young, definitely not sweet and not a she. His name is Neal.”
Peter was silent, his mental machinations reflected on his face. However, try as he might, no good excuse to avoid this assignment appeared from thin air, and Hughes was waiting. Shaking his head, he admitted defeat. “Alright. I guess I’m the errand boy.”
“I appreciate this, Peter. I’ll text you the information. Sheriff Wilson in Whisper Ridge is expecting you tonight.”
“I’ll call to confirm when I’ve got him. Bye, Reese.” Peter disconnected the call. He straightened his shoulders and dialed Bancroft’s number. When the man answered he said, “Peter Burke, here, Sir. Hughes has explained the assignment. Is there anything else you wanted me to know?”
“Peter, thanks for calling. I need you to understand that this is a delicate matter. The mayor wants this recovery to be discreet. Especially after those unfounded sex scandal allegations made last week. With the reelection campaign in full swing, Mayor Hanson doesn’t want any reporters to get wind of this. No headlines about how if he can’t control a slave, how will he run a city. And no tabloid speculation as to why a trained sex slave ran from the mayor’s bed.”
“I understand, Sir. I’ll bring him in under the radar.”
“Good. I’ll tell the mayor you’re doing just that. When you get back to New York, report directly to City Hall with the slave. They’ll be expecting you.”
“Will do. Goodbye, Sir.”
Shoulders drooping, Peter cast a last wistful look at the baseball stadium. He quickly packed some clothes just in case he got stranded overnight. Then he grabbed his coat and his bag and walked out the door.
The drive to Whisper Ridge was uneventful. On the way he called El and explained the change in plans. She was as flabbergasted as he had been. Just as Bancroft had predicted, they couldn’t resist speculating on why the slave had escaped. Devising more and more outrageous and elaborate explanations served to pass the time on a dull drive.
Less than two hours later he arrived in Whisper Ridge. He let the GPS guide him to the sheriff’s office. He parked the rental car and climbed the steps to the front door. As he was reaching for the door, it opened, and a slender young man in a deputy’s uniform walked right into him. Peter put up his hands to steady the man. The FBI agent tilted his head slightly as he studied the deputy’s face. “Sorry about that. I’m Peter Burke. I’m here to pick up the runaway slave.”
The man grinned. “Hey, that’s great, Mr. Burke. We’ve been expecting you. Go on in. Someone will be with you shortly.”
“Agent.”
“Sorry?” The deputy tried to slip past Peter, but Peter wasn’t budging.
“That’s ‘Agent’ Burke. Of the FBI. My office informed the sheriff who it was who was coming.”
“Oh, sure, sorry. I’m always the last to know things around here. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to run.”
“No.”
“Look, Agent, would you please move? I’m on a call here.” The deputy’s expression lost its open friendliness.
“No.” Peter tightened his grip on the man’s arms. “I’m sorry, Neal, but I have to bring you back to the mayor.”
Neal silently cursed his luck. And how had this FBI agent seen through his act? With a brilliant enough smile, men usually swallowed whatever story he chose to feed them in bed or out of bed. Shrugging his shoulders, Neal looked up at Peter’s face and summoned a wan smile. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
Peter nodded and herded the man back into the sheriff’s office. “Sheriff?” Peter called out. He heard muffled yelling from behind a door marked “No Admittance.” He dragged Neal with him as he went through the door into a room lined with three cells.
In the leftmost one was a flushed and obviously furious middle-aged man in a sheriff’s uniform. At the sight of Neal, his flush deepened to cerebral hemorrhage levels. “Get me out of here, now!” he shouted.
Suppressing a smile, Peter led Neal to the right hand cell and locked him in. Then he retrieved the keys from the desk in the outer office. He returned and released the real officer.
The man fairly exploded out of the cell and confronted Neal.
“You sneaky son of a bitch! I try to be kind to you and this is what I get? Your ass is mine, slave. You think because we’re a little town where nobody has enough money to own slaves that we don’t know what to do with them? Think again. You are in for a whipping. I’m gonna send you back to your fancy owner with the skin peeled off your back.”
Neal shuddered and backed away from the cell bars. Suddenly he was glad this FBI agent was taking him out of here.
“Sheriff Wilson?”
The sheriff spun around to look at Peter. Spittle from his outraged ranting flew through the air. “What?” he demanded.
Peter spoke calmly. “I’m Agent Peter Burke. Here to pick up the slave.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m not done with him yet. That little lying bastard locked me in my own damned cell…”
“Sheriff?”
The sheriff was shaking with anger, but his professional side was slowly coming to the fore. He struggled to regain control and finally managed to ask. “You have identification?”
“Of course.” Peter drew out his ID and held it up for the sheriff. Just seeing the badge seemed to calm the man even more.
The sheriff took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Okay. I have some paperwork for you to sign.” Casting one last baleful look at Neal, he walked out to the front office and sat at his desk.
Before Peter followed, he turned to Neal and said sternly. “If you have any sense, you’ll sit quietly until I can get you signed into my custody. Don’t cause any more trouble.” Without waiting for a response, he walked out the door.
Neal sighed and sat down as instructed. He agreed wholeheartedly with this Agent Burke. He’d wait until he was well away from the enraged sheriff before planning another escape.
While Sheriff Wilson reined in his temper, Peter read and signed the transfer of custody form. Pocketing his copy, he asked, “Where are his clothes?”
The sheriff opened a cabinet and pulled out a bag of clothes. He tossed it to Peter. “This is what he had on when we picked him up.”
Peter looked at the black turtleneck, jeans, socks and expensive leather loafers. “Do you have any slave whites for him? It’s illegal to transport him in these.”
“Yeah, I put whites on him. Brand new ones the Department of Prisons sent us a few years ago in with a shipment of orange prisoner jumpsuits. Didn’t think I’d ever need to use them, though. He must have stashed them here somewhere.”
Peter helped him look and finally located them stuffed behind the radiator. He shook out the traditional slave garb of loose, white trousers and a V-necked pullover shirt. Digging further, he found the slave sandals jammed in there as well. He brought the clothes into the cell area and passed them to Neal through the bars. “Change into these. We’re just about ready to leave. And Neal, no tricks, okay? I’m tired, and we have a long drive ahead of us.”
“Yes, Peter. I’ll be very good.” Neal nodded his head.
“I’m sure.” Peter responded dryly.
Neal smiled sweetly as he stood up. With practiced ease, he began subtle, swaying movements, as he removed the deputy uniform. He breathed heavily as he let the shirt slide down across his ass. His hand went to the button on the trousers and stole a glance at his audience.
Peter was staring fixedly at the sensual performance. The agent moistened his lips and took an involuntary step towards the cell. Suddenly, he shook his head as if to clear it and said gruffly, “Hurry up-this isn’t a strip tease club. I want to catch some dinner before we head back to St. Louis.” With that, Peter turned his back on Neal and retreated to the outer office.
Neal’s mouth dropped open, and he stopped moving. He wasn’t used to men being able to so easily ignore him when he was working a seduction. Damn. Apparently this FBI agent was too smart and too dedicated to be so easily diverted. This could make escape more challenging. And too much depended on his not being returned to the mayor.
At least he had one advantage--the agent was obviously attracted to him. And he had to admit, the attraction was mutual. The man’s arms holding him at the door had felt protective rather than restraining. If the attraction was the only weapon available, then Neal would use it to help him escape. Besides, keeping Peter off balance through seduction would make for a pleasant diversion from his troubles. Even if Neal might wish that it could be more. He shook his head at that foolish notion and quickly changed into the white uniform that marked him as a slave.
------
Twenty minutes later, following the Sheriff’s directions, Peter drove around to the small parking lot behind Minnie’s Diner. With a tight grip on Neal’s arm, Peter and his prisoner walked to the front entrance. Cheery red and white curtains and a country décor welcomed them in. They sat in a booth as far away from the door as Peter could get.
The perky blonde waitress approached to drop off menus and water. She gave Peter a friendly smile and then turned to Neal and inhaled sharply. No wonder. The white clothes made his brilliant blue eyes and dark hair stand out more. And the sparkling jeweled platinum collar nestled in the low V of the slave tunic commanded attention.
Not that the defenseless waitress even noticed it as smitten as she was.
Neal let his best wicked smile light up his face as he leaned towards her and looked up at her through his eyelashes.
Her pupils dilated. Her breath quickened as she stared helplessly at him.
He really hadn’t intended to try to seduce her-it was just reflex. Thinking it might unnecessarily annoy his captor, Neal broke eye contact with the flustered waitress and looked to Peter for his reaction.
The agent was frowning at him with an expression Neal couldn’t quite interpret. Impatience certainly, but maybe just a vague hint of possessiveness as well? Interesting. And possibly useful.
The waitress might not have noticed the heavy, jeweled collar, but one of the men at the counter certainly did. He and his two companions whispered to each other, their eyes wide with excitement. “That’s a slave-a sex slave.”
“You’re crazy. What the hell would a sex slave be doing in Whisper Ridge?”
“I don’t know, man. But it’s money from heaven.”
“What! You want to steal a slave? Where are we going to sell him? There ain’t no black market we can drag him to.”
“Not the slave, moron. The collar is what I’m after. Did you see it? It’s gotta be worth big bucks. And that guy with him-must be the owner. He’s probably loaded-he’ll just buy a replacement. Look, here’s what we do.” The three put their heads together planning. Shortly thereafter, they tossed a five dollar bill on the counter and left the diner.
Once the cloud of pheromones had cleared, the waitress handed Peter and Neal their menus. Peter opened his and began reading, but Neal quietly placed his on the table unopened.
“We have the best pizza this side of the Mississippi. Even won an award for it.” The waitress gestured towards a gold plaque on the wall behind them.
Peter wasted no time deciding. “Sounds good to me. Is pizza all right with you, Neal?”
“Pizza? I…uh…sure, Peter.”
“What do you like on it?”
“Um, whatever you choose is fine. But thank you for asking.”
Peter gave him a confused look, but shrugged it off. “How about the triple meat special, large, with extra cheese. Oh, and throw some green pepper on it, too.” He handed the menus to the waitress, who smiled and left. “I promised my wife I’d eat some vegetables this trip.” Peter took a sip of water and regarded Neal thoughtfully. “Are you sure you like pizza? I can order you something else.”
“No, Peter, it’s fine. I just have never tasted it. Pleasure slaves are usually not fed fattening foods. But I’m grateful that you’re letting me try it.”
Peter shook his head. “You’re thirty-three years old, and you’ve never had pizza.”
Neal grinned. “But I’m going to tonight.”
Peter chuckled at Neal’s eager anticipation. “Yes. Yes, you are.”
The pizza was every bit worthy of that award. Peter was moaning with delight by the second bite. Neal wasn’t far behind him in his enjoyment of the hot, gooey delicacy.
The two men made short work of it and finally leaned back in their chairs, sated. Neal sat in unself-conscious enjoyment, licking the pizza grease off his fingers.
Peter studied Neal closely, smiling at the look of blissful contentment on the slave’s face. “So tell me, Neal, is there anything else sex slaves don’t do?”
Neal froze. As he berated himself mentally for letting down his guard, his face hardened for an instant then shifted into a sultry, welcoming expression. “Actually, we prefer the term ‘pleasure slave,’ Peter. And there’s nothing we don’t do--if we are ordered to.”
Peter flushed slightly. After a moment, he said quietly, “Neal, I only meant that since you don’t eat pizza, what other restrictions do you have? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
Neal bowed his head. This FBI agent kept surprising him. He looked up and smiled, still maintaining the perfect, professional persona. “No offense taken, Peter. Your curiosity is perfectly understandable.”
Peter sighed. Since the pleasant dinner they’d shared had apparently come to an uncomfortable halt, Peter signaled for the check. He paid the bill and tugged an oddly silent Neal out the door and around towards the parking lot in the back of the building.
-----
Perhaps Peter was tired from the drive or distracted by his thoughts of Neal. But whatever the reason was, he failed to detect the trio of men crouched in the shadows just beyond the edge of the building. Before he could react and pull his gun, two of them had grabbed his arms. The third man dropped a pillow case over Peter’s head and stuffed a wad of it into his mouth to silence him.
The third man then moved to Neal, spun him around and pushed him up against the wall.
The man on Peter’s right seemed to be the one in charge. He twisted Peter’s arm and spoke to him. “Relax, man, we ain’t after you or your little plaything. We want the collar.”
The one holding Neal against the wall started fiddling with the collar trying to find the latch.
Neal knew the would-be thieves were doomed to disappointment. If the collar came off that easily, he would have happily turned it over to them. He hated it. But he was concerned that if they got frustrated enough, they might hurt him--or Peter. They were obviously nervous amateurs, and amateurs make foolish decisions. Speaking in a calm and respectful voice, Neal said, “That’s not going to work, Sir. It doesn’t come off.”
“It went on, didn’t it? It’ll come off. Now where’s the damn catch?” The thief had his fingers wound around the collar now, pulling and twisting.
The man on Peter’s left was struggling to hold the angry agent. He hissed, “Hurry up, Ricky, this guy’s getting hard to hang onto.”
The leader sighed, exasperated. “No names, moron.”
Ricky couldn’t find any spot where the collar would separate. “Shit! I’m going to have to cut it off.”
Peter’s struggles increased.
Ricky pulled out a pocket knife and turned Neal around to face him. “You hold still now. I don’t plan on cutting you, but you fight me, I will.”
Neal’s eyes were wide. He started shaking. “Oh, please, don’t do this. If you cut the collar, it will trigger the failsafe. It’s filled with explosives, enough to kill us all. Please, I don’t want to die!” Neal grabbed onto Ricky’s shoulders in his panic.
“You’re just making that up.” Ricky said, but his voice sounded unsure.
Neal started pleading, his voice shrill, his breathing ragged. “I’m not, I swear. My master promised me I’d die if I ever removed his collar. He said as soon as I tried to cut the collar, an alarm would sound. Then I’d have one minute of life left to regret my disobedience. Please, I don’t want to have my head blown off. And I don’t want to see your brains splattered on that wall either.” A seemingly terrified Neal glanced back at the wall and whimpered.
Moron gasped. “Wait a minute. What if he’s telling the truth? Those rich dudes are just crazy enough to do some shit like that.”
The leader, on Peter’s other side, scoffed. “That’s just a bullshit story to scare the toy. Cut it! Now!”
Ricky applied the knife to the collar and started sawing at it. Immediate a buzzing sound erupted.
Neal wailed, “Nooooo!”
Moron twisted towards the leader. “You dickwad! Fine plan you had. You’re gonna get us killed.”
Dickwad paled and announced his new plan. “Run!”
The three men tore out of the parking lot and disappeared.
Peter yanked the pillowcase off his head and pulled his gun. He scanned the area, then went to where Neal stood laughing quietly.
“Are you all right?”
Neal nodded.
“Then would you like to explain what just happened?”
The buzzing sound erupted again. Peter jumped.
Neal’s laughter increased. “I’m sorry, Peter. I couldn’t resist.” He opened his hand and offered Peter the cell phone he’d had hidden in it. “I believe this is yours. It’s set on vibrate.”
Peter slowly took the phone. He looked at it, then at Neal. “You used this to scare them off?”
“People under stress usually don’t take the time to think things through. If you put an idea in their heads, then supply even the flimsiest of evidence, they fall for it.”
“Well, I’m glad you were thinking fast. But I have one question. How did you get my cell phone?”
Neal’s laughter faded. “Oh. Well, I picked your pocket. And, I guess you’re going to need these back, too.” Neal handed over the car keys.
Anger and curiosity warred for dominance on Peter’s face. Curiosity won. “How did you learn to do that?”
“Well, I seem to have a natural talent for less than law-abiding pursuits. One of my owners decided it would be amusing to hone my skills.”
Peter shook his head in amazement.
Neal’s eyes sparkled. He was thoroughly enjoying the agent’s unwilling admiration. “So, it’s back to the sheriff’s office now?” Neal asked with a relaxed smile. “You’ll want to file a report, right?”
“No, I’m letting them go for now. We have a plane to catch and an irate mayor to appease. So it’s their lucky night. I’ll call the sheriff in the morning and see if he wants to pursue it. I imagine he’ll know who Ricky, Moron and Dickwad are.”
Neal’s face fell.
Peter registered the slave’s disappointment. “Look Neal, I want to thank you. Your quick thinking diffused a dangerous situation with no one hurt. You should be proud of yourself.”
Neal didn’t feel proud at all. So no one got hurt. But he’d just missed a golden opportunity for escape. And there were only so many of those standing between him and what the mayor had planned.
On the way to the car, Peter asked, “By the way, that stuff you were telling them about the collar exploding? That’s not true, is it?”
Neal snorted. “Of course not. No owner would risk losing such a valuable piece of property. It was just a con, Peter, an illusion. That’s what pleasure slaves are best at.”
Neal had delivered that line with a smug smile. Even he remained unaware of the almost imperceptible note of sadness in his voice.
-----
The ride back to St. Louis was blessedly uneventful. Neal and Peter spent the time in friendly conversation. At Neal’s insistence, Peter related some of the stranger FBI cases he’d been involved with.
Neal truly appreciated the stories-they gave him a reason to put aside his dark thoughts. As he relaxed, his training took over, and he instinctively became the companion Peter would appreciate most. He asked questions, laughed at Peter’s self-deprecating descriptions, and unabashedly poked fun at the agent. And through it all, Neal’s attraction to the agent quietly deepened.
At some point Peter’s participation in the conversation faltered. He squirmed in his seat and kept opening his mouth as if to ask a question, then changing his mind.
Under Neal’s gentle prodding, Peter finally admitted what was bothering him. “Neal, I’m really enjoying your company. But you’ve been trained to be a good listener and a pleasing companion, right? For you, this is just part of the job, isn’t it?”
Neal thought carefully. He realized, with considerable surprise, that no, this interlude was not ‘just part of the job.’ As unusual as it was for him, he was receiving as much enjoyment as he was providing. He hastened to reassure his escort, “Peter, just because I am trained doesn’t mean I’m pretending to take pleasure in your company.”
Peter thought for a moment. “Hmm. That’s true, but you pretty much lie for a living.”
Neal’s peel of laughter was genuine. “Yes, Peter, I lie for a living. I also sit, stand and bend over as well.”
Peter’s color rose. Stammering slightly, he said, “I meant that even if I rubbed you the wrong way, you’d still…”
Neal’s eyebrows rose, and his grin widened.
Peter struggled on. “That’s not what I meant. You’re missing my point.”
“I’m very careful to never miss a point-could be painful.” Neal batted his eyelashes at Peter.
“Neal! What I’m trying to say is…”
Neal took pity on the flustered agent. “You sure you want to keep going?”
“No. I don’t.”
“Good. Look Peter. I’m not lying to you. I like you. You’re not some pompous ass who expects me to hang on his every word. And if I had to be caught, I’m glad it was by you.”
“You’re telling me the truth?”
“Peter, you are not my owner--I don’t have to lie to you. Now, can we get past this?”
Peter glanced at Neal’s amused but sincere expression. “Alright. I’m sorry I doubted you.”
“It’s okay.” After a moment, he murmured, “Just as long as you don’t ‘rub me the wrong way.’”
Neal snickered.
Peter giggled.
They both burst out laughing.
-----
Their good mood continued until they reached the hotel in Saint Louis. Peter held on to Neal’s arm as they made their way up to his room. The stadium lights were still on across the road, and Neal was drawn to the window. “Wow, that’s quite a view for a baseball lover.”
Peter dropped his bag on the luggage rack and went to stand next to Neal. “Yeah. I was hoping to get over there to see a game. I’ve never been in that ballpark.” He continued to stare longingly out the window.
A stab of guilt cut through Neal. He turned to look at Peter. “You were going to the game tonight. You had to miss it to come get me, didn’t you?”
Peter moved away from the window and sat down heavily in the desk chair. “It’s not your fault, Neal.”
“Peter, I’m sorry. I didn’t expect my running to affect so many people.”
Peter shrugged his shoulders in response. He stretched his neck side to side and groaned.
Neal saw an opportunity to make amends. “Let me help you with that.” He moved behind Peter and started kneading his shoulders. “Your muscles are very knotted. Too much time behind the wheel.”
“Neal, stop.”
It was a half-hearted command which, Neal decided, was meant to be ignored. His talented fingers were quickly wearing down Peter’s defenses as they worked the stiff muscles, melting away the tension.
After a couple more blissful minutes, Peter managed to call a halt. He put his hands over Neal’s and said, “That’s enough. Thank you.”
Neal’s hands glided down Peter’s arms and swept across his waist. Neal breathed into Peter’s ear, “Can I help you get up?”
“No. Thank you. I can stand all on my own.” Proceeding to demonstrate, Peter stood up. His pants promptly fell in a heap around his ankles.
Neal held up in hands and looked innocent. “What can I say? Full body massage is my specialty.”
“You’re impossible.” Shaking his head, Peter pulled his pants back up.
Neal just grinned.
“Why don’t you shower first.”
“What, all by myself?”
“Neal! Go take a shower. And hurry up. I’m exhausted.” Peter opened his bag and pulled out a tee shirt. Holding it up, he said, “You want some clothes to sleep in?”
“Pleasure slaves generally sleep in the nude, Peter. But thank you for thinking of me.”
There being no good response to that, Peter just grunted and waved Neal towards the bathroom. From his bag, he pulled a pair of sweat pants to sleep in and laid them on the bed.
While Neal was showering, Peter made a quick call to El. “Hi, Hon. Just wanted to check in. I’m dead on my feet, but everything went okay-I got the slave, and we’ll be on the flight home in the morning.”
“So tell me, what is the sex slave like?” El’s voice was bubbly with excitement.
“Actually, he prefers to be called a pleasure slave.”
“Okay. And…? What does he look like? Is he irresistible? Have you been tempted at all? Come on, Hon, spill.”
Peter chuckled. “Okay. One, he’s gorgeous-wavy dark hair, blue eyes, fair skin. And he’s smart and funny as well. Two-oh, El, you wouldn’t believe how sexy he is. It’s amazing. He gave me a massage. Don’t get mad-it was just on my shoulders. But I had to make him stop. It felt so incredible I was worried that things might escalate. Which brings me to question number three-yes, he’s tempting, but he’s not you. So no, I won’t be indulging in any forbidden pleasures--or pleasure slaves--on this trip.”
“Well, good. When you get home, I’ll show you some pleasure you really can indulge in.”
“Mmm…sounds good to me. I have to drop him off at the mayor’s office and then check in with the Bureau, but I should be home early.”
“Great! I’ll make a special welcome home dinner. And don’t you let that pretty boy seduce you, Hon.”
Peter heard the shower shut off. He stood and turned towards the bathroom.
“I’ve got to hang up now, El. But don’t worry. When it comes to this pretty boy, I am in complete control.” He disconnected the call.
Neal appeared in the doorway in a halo of steam, gloriously naked, his glowing skin heated and moist.
Peter quietly groaned and murmured under his breath, “Uh huh. Complete control.” Valiantly trying not to stare, he pulled out his handcuffs, moved to the second bed and motioned to Neal to come to him.
Neal, of course, had noticed Peter’s reaction to his freshly bathed, nude body. He intended to capitalize on it. Padding gracefully towards Peter, Neal stopped within an inch of touching the agent’s chest. He inhaled deeply and tilted his head back, moaning in pleasure as if intoxicated by Peter’s scent. Leaning forward, he cast a glance at the handcuffs Peter held and looked up, smiling saucily. “If I’d known, I would have found more toys.”
Peter fought to suppress his smile. “Neal I need to know you’re going to be here when I get out of the shower and when I wake up in the morning. So, I’m afraid you’ll be spending the night restrained.” Peter slipped one cuff onto Neal’s wrist and the other he hooked to the metal bed frame. “Now, get some sleep. We have an early flight.”
Leaving his jacket on the bed, Peter stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He brushed his teeth while staring resignedly at his bloodshot eyes. His fingers, clumsy from exhaustion, made slow work of removing his clothes. He looked around the bathroom for the sweat pants he’d set out. He sighed. “Damn.” Wrapping a towel around his waist, he walked back to the bedroom to retrieve them only to find them already in use.
Neal was out of the handcuffs and dressed in Peter’s tee shirt, jacket and sweat pants. He was collecting Peter’s cell phone, wallet and keys from the dresser.
“Neal,” he said warningly as he quickly strode over to the escaping slave. With one hand he grabbed Neal’s arm while the other hand clutched the towel. “Lock picking as well as pickpocketing? I’m impressed. I guess I should be grateful you didn’t take my gun.”
Inwardly cursing Peter’s bad timing, Neal assumed a good-natured expression and reassured the agent, “Oh, I don’t like guns, Peter.”
“I’m delighted to hear that,” Peter said dryly. “Now strip. You’re coming into the bathroom with me.”
Neal visibly brightened. “Oh, so we are showering together.”
“No. I am showering. You are sitting on the toilet handcuffed to the water line. And you’ll be making noise the whole time so I know you’re still here.”
“Noise?” Neal asked as he removed his borrowed clothes.
“I don’t care what. Talk, hum, whistle, sing-whatever you want.” Peter put his phone, keys and wallet in a plastic bag and brought them into the shower stall. He cuffed a cooperative Neal to the water pipe.
Despite the disappointment of his latest foiled escape attempt, Neal was actually enjoying Peter’s predicament. “Well, I understand handcuffing me, and the noise, but Peter, if we’re not showering together, why am I naked?”
“Because if the Hilton Hotel guests are going to be treated to the sight of my sagging naked ass chasing you down the hall, they are damned sure going to see yours as well.”
Neal laughed. “Take your shower, Peter. Do you like opera? I hope so, because I will now be performing selections from Salome.”
“Of course you would choose that. The dance of the seven veils?”
“Well, maybe later. I seem to be a little short on veils right now.”
Peter snickered and got into the shower.
Neal serenaded him faithfully until the agent was done.
When Peter was dry, he put on his sweat pants. He uncuffed Neal’s right hand from the pipe. Leaving the cuff attached to Neal’s left hand, Peter led him to the bed. “Do you need to use the bathroom?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Good. Get in. And face that wall.”
Neal smiled uncertainly, but obeyed.
Peter got in behind Neal and locked the remaining cuff to his own left hand. “Now, we are going to get some sleep. And you are going to be here when I wake up. Goodnight, Neal.”
“But, Peter…”
“I said goodnight.”
Neal opened his mouth to voice another objection, but abruptly closed it when Peter pulled him close. Neal found himself with his back spooned against Peter’s chest, the agent’s cuffed arm wrapped around Neal’s waist. Deciding to make the best of it, he wriggled even closer to Peter, snuggling comfortably against the delightfully warm chest of his captor. He sighed deeply and let his thoughts drift.
They were both asleep in minutes.
-----
Neal came awake slowly in stages, luxuriating in the warmth and security of the strong arms surrounding him. He wiggled a little, rubbing against the happily erect cock poking his thigh. In response to his movements, a small hum of pleasure tickled his ear. Then soft lips nuzzled his neck pressing a line of feather-light kisses. The lips closed over his ear lobe and sucked, teeth nibbling gently.
A tingling bolt of desire shot through him heading straight for his groin. With a whispered sigh, he breathed out, “Master.” Waking in the master’s bed was highly unusual--he must have been very good last night. Neal smiled in self-congratulation and arched his neck to allow better access. His master’s hand moved down his belly, fingers teasing lightly at his navel, making him twitch with the sensation. The hand moved farther down to find his cock, eagerly awaiting attention. And froze. A moment later, it withdrew.
Neal mewled in protest. He forced himself awake and opened his eyes. The dream image of the generous master dissolved to be replaced by Peter’s face. Neal had forgotten he was handcuffed to Peter. And apparently Peter had forgotten his inhibitions.
Neal stretched languidly and rubbed his head against Peter’s shoulder. “Mmmm, very nice, Peter,” he breathed. “Don’t stop.”
But Peter had stopped. Cold.
Neal twisted and looked closer at Peter’s face. The agent’s cheeks were flushed guiltily.
“Neal. I…uh… Neal, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
In Peter’s eyes Neal could see the remnants of desire but also genuine concern. A sudden wave of longing washed through him. What was wrong with him? He was supposed to be seducing the agent, not falling for him. Realizing that Peter was tensely waiting for a response, Neal cleared his throat and said softly, “It’s fine, Peter.” He looked deep into Peter’s worried eyes. “I didn’t realize either.” As hard as he tried to school his expression, Neal couldn’t conceal the growing look of wonder on his face.
Peter sighed deeply and broke eye contact. Businesslike again, he said, “Neal, we have to get moving. I’m going to call room service for some breakfast.” He removed the handcuffs and got out of bed.
Neal swallowed his disappointment, chiding himself for his foolishness. He resolutely got up and headed for the bathroom while Peter called downstairs. By the time they were both dressed, Peter in his suit and Neal back in his slave whites, breakfast, including the promised pot of steaming coffee, had arrived.
“Oh, thank God. Put it over there.” Peter pointed at the table in front of the window. He pulled out his wallet and tipped the waiter. “Neal, c’mon. I ordered bagels and cream cheese and muffins. Oh, and juice.”
Neal smiled as he looked at the tiny glass of juice. “Did you promise your wife you’d eat fruit as well as vegetables on this trip?”
Peter looked up in the midst of spreading a huge mound of cream cheese on his bagel and chuckled. “Caught me.” Peter gestured with his knife. “Sit down. Have something to eat.”
Neal looked at the food with interest, but shook his head. “No, thank you, Peter. The air in the slave cages always smells of jet fuel. It’s rather nauseating, so it’s best I don’t eat anything.”
Peter set the bagel back down untasted on the plate. His voice flat, he asked, “Cages? What do you mean?”
“That’s how slaves travel-in cargo cages. They’re…unpleasant, but safe enough.” At Peter’s stunned expression, he added. “It’s standard procedure, Peter.”
Slowly Peter replied, “No. No, I don’t think so.”
Peter retrieved his return flight ticket from his bag, grabbed his cell phone and sat back down. He dialed the number for flight confirmation. After five rings, the phone was answered. “Reservations, how can I help you?”
“I want to confirm my flight for this morning. Fight 1456 to New York. My name’s Peter Burke. I will be traveling with a slave. I understand my office made arrangements for him, but I want to confirm them as well.”
After a brief delay, the woman replied, “We have your seat confirmed, Mr. Burke. And the slave will be housed in the cargo cages.”
Peter’s expression darkened. “That’s not acceptable. I want him with me in the cabin. Are there any seats free?”
She seemed surprised, but didn’t comment. “Very well, Sir. Let me check for available seats on that flight.”
“Please do. And I want him seated next to me.” A few moments passed. Peter glanced at Neal who was sitting at the table, staring at him, amazed.
“Alright, Mr. Burke. I was able to change your seat assignment to one with a vacant seat next to it. But if you want the slave to fly as a person, I’ll need a name.”
“Neal. His name is Neal.”
“Last name?”
Peter opened his mouth to speak and froze. He looked over at Neal and whispered, “Do you have a last name?”
Neal grinned. “Caffrey”
“His name is Neal Caffrey.”
“Very good, Sir. Two seats are confirmed. You can pick up your boarding passes at the counter.”
“Thank you.” Peter disconnected the call.
Neal was inordinately pleased. And surprised. “Peter, that was very kind of you. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Neal.” Then he spoiled it by saying, “Besides I want to be able to keep my eye on you at all times.”
Neal rolled his eyes and glared at Peter. What an odd combination this man was-half hard-ass FBI agent and half warm, caring man.
The expression on Peter’s face was apologetic. Apparently, he realized he’d just lost the ground gained by changing the flight arrangements. The agent let the silence reign between them for a minute. Then he tentatively asked, “Do you really travel in a cage? An actual cage?”
“Of course. Pleasure slaves are toys, Peter. If you want to bring your toys with you on vacation, you pack them. Just like swim fins or golf clubs. You don’t pay to put them in the seat next to you.”
“But aren’t you, I don’t know, part of the family? I mean, sharing meals, interacting with your owners?”
Neal chuckled. “You have a very distorted view of slave ownership, Peter. But I like it.”
“Okay, just from a financial perspective then. They paid a hell of a lot of money for you. Why wouldn’t they want to spend as much time with you as they could?”
Smiling patiently, Neal explained. “Peter, people don’t have sex all the time. Mostly they go about their lives. They go to work, they fall in love, they build relationships, they make plans. Pleasure slaves do none of those things.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and added cream to it before continuing. “Do you want to know how I spend most of my days?”
Peter nodded uncertainly.
“I wait.” Neal took a sip of coffee. “I wait until someone wants me.”
Peter’s eyes grew soft with pity.
Neal continued. “Oh, I have many ways of passing the time. For one, I paint.”
Peter looked impressed. “You’re an artist?”
Neal nodded. “Whenever my master allows me to be. Mostly I study-usually whichever subjects would be of interest or assistance to my current master. I have the equivalent of what, for a free person, would be a dozen university degrees. And sometimes, just for fun, I plot impossible crimes-you know, like stealing the Mona Lisa. But I don’t make career plans, I don’t set goals, and I don’t have dreams. My life is centered around pleasing my master.”
“It sounds horribly lonely.” Peter said quietly.
Neal closed his eyes as memories assailed him. Even with Mistress Kate, whom he’d loved, much of his life had been lived in solitude. But he still had hope. So smiling, he replied, “Not with the right master.”
“And I take it the mayor is not the right master?”
Neal shrugged his shoulders and remained silent.
“What went on there?” Peter asked.
Neal sighed quietly. “Peter, I don’t mean to be rude, but one of the qualities pleasure slaves are most known for is our absolute discretion. We pledge to safeguard our master’s privacy without exception-even after we’re sold to someone new.”
“Fair enough. So tell me, hypothetically, who would the right master be?”
Neal frowned as he stared out the window. Choosing his words carefully, he said, “I think someone who could put up with razor stubble and snoring, head colds and not being sexy every minute. Basically, someone who sees me-the real me, not just my body. And not just my illusions.” Not comfortable with how close to the truth his conversation was skimming, he turned the topic. His ever pleasant smile returned as he turned back to look at Peter. “Did you ever have people want you just for your body?”
Peter snorted. “Nope. No hoards of women have ever been clamoring for my manly physique.”
Neal’s voice turned low and breathy as he leaned forward and lightly ran one finger across Peter’s wrist. “How about hoards of men?”
Peter shivered at Neal’s touch. Voice half stern, half pleading, Peter said, “Will you behave?”
“How is a pleasure slave supposed to behave, Peter?” Neal caressed the inside of Peter’s thigh with his bare foot.
Gently moving Neal’s foot back towards the floor, Peter replied, “I don’t know, Neal. I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“You mean a walking, talking sex toy?” Neal’s smile was brittle.
“No, I mean anyone like you.” Peter’s voice was quiet and sincere.
Neal paused for a long moment staring into Peter’s eyes. He read the interest and warmth in them-what he was sensing from the agent was real. Breathing out a tiny laugh, he said, “You see, Peter, now I’m embarrassed. And that’s really rare for a pleasure slave. I’ve underestimated you.” He hesitated again. With those luminous blue eyes firmly locked on Peter’s, he continued. “I want you to know that I really do like you. And I find you very attractive. If you wanted to, we could see how far this thing goes.” A faint undercurrent of longing lay beneath the coolly rational proposition.
Silence stretched between them. Finally Peter cleared his throat and spoke softly.
“Neal, I’m sorry. I have to take you back to your owner. It’s the law.”
The light went out of Neal’s eyes as he bowed his head. Damn. He mentally slapped himself. He shouldn’t have made that offer. If his master found out…well, actually it wouldn’t matter if his master found out. Things were already as bad as possible there. But still, he hadn’t been able to resist trying. There was just something about Peter that cut through all his defenses. And his training. But nothing was going to come of it. Neal raised his head, the calm professional mask firmly in place again. Smiling he said, “I understand completely, Peter--this is your job.”
Peter’s brow furrowed. “Look, Neal, I’ll try to do something for you. I promise. Maybe I can talk to the mayor-after all, he owes me for bringing you back. I’ll get him to forgo any punishment for the escape. And I’ll see if I can get him to treat you better.”
“Thank you, that would be very kind of you, Peter,” said the perfectly polite, perfectly artificial pleasure slave.
Peter heaved a long, low sigh. Tonelessly, he ordered, “Neal, finish your coffee. We have to get going if we’re going to make the flight.”
“Of course, Peter.” Perfectly amenable, Neal nodded and did as he was told.
-----
They checked out of the hotel and made it to the airport well before the flight was scheduled to leave. There was little conversation between them. Peter kept Neal handcuffed until they were finally settled at the gate, awaiting take-off. After the cuffs were removed, Neal calmly knelt at Peter’s feet.
As the other passengers arrived, Peter and Neal received many looks, whispered comments and discreet pointing. At first, the rather staid agent obviously was flattered at all the attention. Having people think he could afford the attractive pleasure slave at his feet was stroking his ego.
Neal hid a smile as he surreptitiously watched Peter preen and sit up straighter.
Soon, however, Peter started squirming under the attention. He reached down and put his hand on Neal’s shoulder. Squeezing gently, he said, “I’m sorry, Neal, for putting you on display like this. I should have let you wear street clothes, law or no law.”
Again, Peter had surprised him with his unusual concern for a slave’s feelings. Neal’s thoughts were spinning. He hadn’t been entirely truthful with Peter when he said he didn’t have dreams. Well, more like fantasies, really. And this kind, complex man was suddenly figuring largely in them.
Kneeling in flawless position, with the warm weight of Peter’s hand on his shoulder, Neal allowed his mind to weave images of blissful servitude. Scenes of welcome and warmth. Scenes like what Peter had described-sharing meals, sharing laughter, being part of the family.
When the boarding announcement blared over the loudspeaker, Neal wrenched his thoughts back to reality. He was within hours of being returned to his real master. He needed to concentrate on escape. Or he was doomed.
Neal was quiet as they boarded and found their seats. Although the novelty of traveling as a passenger and not cargo initially raised his spirits, Neal soon fell into a brown study.
Peter seemed to sense his mood and left him alone with his thoughts. Unpleasant though they were.
Although he regretted not taking the opportunity to enjoy the time he had left with Peter, Neal was grateful that he didn’t have to make conversation or be entertaining. He could use the time to plot and scheme on how to get out of his current situation. A situation that was not of his own making. Wondering again how everything had gone so bad so quickly, he thought back to how it had started that evening just eight days ago.