Fic: The Devil You Know (10/25)
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: 5900 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.
One morning, a little more than a week before Thanksgiving, Neal woke up to an unusually still house. He remembered waking earlier when Peter's alarm went off, but he'd dozed back off and now it was nearly ten.
He expected to see Elizabeth when he went downstairs. She was usually up and working on her laptop. But the whole downstairs was quiet, and the lights were off.
Neal looked for an indication that she might have gone out, even though she usually woke him if she left the house while he was still asleep. But he found her purse on the kitchen counter.
Growing concerned, he went back upstairs and paused at the door to the master bedroom. It was closed, and there was no sound from inside. After debating a moment, he knocked. When he didn't receive an immediate answer, he opened the door and peeked inside.
Elizabeth was in bed, bundled up under the covers. She lifted her head when he stepped into the room.
"Hey, Neal...." she said, her voice coarse and groggy.
"Sorry to bother you. I was surprised you weren't up. Everything okay?"
She pushed a lock of hair out of her face. "No, I feel horrible. I've got something....I have a fever and I'm freezing."
"Is there anything I can get for you? Soup?"
She swallowed and shook her head. "Not right now, thanks. My stomach was bothering me. If you could walk Satchmo later, that'd be great. And could you call Peter and ask him to bring home something for dinner? I don't want you to go through the trouble of cooking tonight. I don't think I'll be eating much."
"No problem. I'll let you rest. Let me know if you need anything."
She managed a weak smile. "Thanks."
When he got downstairs, the first thing he did was call Peter.
"Oh, she's still not doing good?" Peter said when Neal told him what was going on. "That's a shame. She said she wasn't feeling well, but I was hoping she might be better with a few more hours of sleep."
"She said to bring home some dinner for you and me. I don't think she feels like eating anything."
"All right. I'll pick up a pizza on the way home. And Neal? Look after her. Give her anything she needs."
Neal made sure to check on Elizabeth throughout the afternoon, just in case she needed him. She mostly slept, however, and Neal did his best not to bother her or make a lot of noise. He walked softly whenever he came upstairs and kept the TV on low when he was in the living room.
Later, he bundled up and took Satchmo out for a walk. It would have been a good afternoon to see Mozzie. He doubted Elizabeth would have any idea how long he was gone, and he hadn't seen Moz since he helped him make the arrangements to see Kate. But when he got to the park, there was no sign of him. In fact, there was hardly anyone at the park. The wind was cold and biting, and even Satchmo wasn't very keen to be outdoors. Neal didn't stay long before he circled back to the house. Satchmo bounded inside, and Neal shared his enthusiasm for the warm house. He rubbed his hands to bring the feeling back into his fingers.
That evening, Peter brought home a large pizza. "Meat Lover's Special!" he declared with a smile. "It's got ham, sausage, and pepperoni. El doesn't like it, but trust me; you're in for a treat."
Neal looked at the pizza suspiciously. "Yeah, I'm not usually a sausage fan...."
Still, Neal was hungry. He couldn't be that picky. He ignored Peter's smug smile when he grabbed a second piece.
Halfway through dinner, Elizabeth came downstairs, still in her pajamas. Her hair was pulled back in a rough ponytail. Making a sound of disgust, she said, "That pizza looks so unhealthy...."
"Neal likes it," Peter said, his mouth full of pizza. He swallowed and said, "How are you feeling?"
Elizabeth shook her head and sniffled. "Not good. I need to eat something, though. We have a can of chicken soup. I thought I'd heat that up."
"I'll take care of it," Neal said.
She smiled gratefully and sat down at the dinner table. Neal found the soup in the cupboard and, a few minutes later, set a hot bowl in front of her.
Elizabeth stayed downstairs for a couple hours before she went back to bed. Neal spent the rest of the evening watching TV with Peter.
At eleven, Peter turned the TV off and went upstairs to get ready for bed. While Peter was in the bathroom, Neal got into his pajamas and then waited outside the bathroom door for his turn.
After brushing his teeth and washing his face, Neal went up to his room. When he reached the doorway, he froze.
Peter was sitting on his bed, setting his alarm clock.
"What are you doing?"
Peter looked up. "I'm sleeping in here with you tonight."
Neal walked in and looked around. The closet door was open, and his clothes had been pushed to the side to make room for one of Peter's suits and a shirt. Peter's shoes were on the floor by the closet. Some socks and underwear were folded neatly on top of the dresser.
"And you're doing this because...?"
"Because El's sick. Why do you think?"
"What? You don't want to be in the same room with her? I'm sure that makes her feel great."
Peter rolled his eyes. "For your information, this was her idea. She said she doesn't want me to catch what she has. I told her I never get sick, but she insists. Honestly, she just likes being on her own when she's sick. You should see the set-up she has down there. Between the Kleenex box and the pile of magazines she's got, there's no room for me. And I don't think she wants my alarm waking her at six AM. No, I don't want to bother her. I even got all my clothes together so I won't disturb her too much." He gestured proudly at the suit hanging in the closet.
"So you decided to sleep in my room."
"Which, don't forget, is our guest room."
Neal slowly approached the bed. There had to be a way to avoid this, but it wasn't coming to him right now.
"I don't know, Peter. It's not that I don't want to share. But I toss in my sleep, and I don't know if the bed is big enough."
"I'm not worried." He finished setting the alarm and put it on the nightstand. "Look, if you have a problem sharing a bed with me, my sleeping bag is in the hall closet. You're free to use it."
Neal was not going to get kicked out of his bedroom just because Elizabeth was sick. How was that fair, after he'd made her chicken soup? He sat down on the free side of the bed. "This will be fine," he said shortly. "But you're actually on the side I like to sleep on, so if you could just..."
"This is the side I sleep on in my bed. I think you can adjust for a night or two."
Two? Peter was planning on doing this tomorrow, as well?
Peter lay down-on Neal's side of the bed, with Neal's favorite pillow-and Neal grudgingly lay down beside him. Peter had brought a book in the room, and he propped the pillows up behind his back so he could read.
"I just hope El's better in time for Thanksgiving," Peter said. "It'd be a shame if she wasn't well enough to go to her sister's."
"She's looking forward to it?" Neal asked.
"Yeah, she likes seeing her sister. And if we don't go, her parents might want to come here afterward to visit."
Peter opened his book to read, and Neal turned to face the wall. He tried to pull the covers around him, but his knees and chest were still cold.
"Hey," he said, "you mind? You're hogging the covers."
"Move closer and there'll be enough for both of us."
Neal didn't respond. He wasn't going to give Peter the satisfaction of closing the gap between them. He could deal with being cold.
He closed his eyes and steeped in his annoyance. He wasn't ready to sleep just yet, and he was used to having some time alone at night. He'd hoped to do some drawing, and he was in the mood to jerk off. He couldn't do that now.
And he really was cold. After a few minutes, he opened his eyes and turned onto his back. Ever so slowly, he inched closer to Peter, just enough so that the quilt covered his body. He saw the corner of Peter's mouth twitch with satisfaction.
Peter snaked his arm behind Neal's shoulders and pulled him even closer.
"Warm enough now?" he asked.
"I'm fine," Neal said. Peter's body was very warm.
He started to read over Peter's shoulder. The book seemed to be a biography. Neal could only see one side of the book, so he couldn't exactly read along. But he managed to get the gist of it, and it was better than staring at the ceiling.
He was in the middle of a sentence when Peter suddenly closed the book and put it aside.
Yawning, he said, "I'm beat. Time to get some sleep."
Neal wasn't ready to sleep yet, but Peter switched off the lamp. The covers rustled as Peter rearranged the pillows and got comfortable. He lay on his side and, before Neal could object, draped an arm across Neal's stomach.
Pinned to the bed, Neal didn't think he'd get to sleep for ages. He spent some time peering into the dark room, watching as his eyes adjusted enough to make out the shape of the dresser.
At some point, he dozed off. When Peter's alarm woke him up, he felt like he'd just gone to sleep.
Peter disentangled himself from Neal and turned it off. He groggily got up and made his way out into the hall, and Neal stretched out in the bed, occupying the warm space Peter had just left.
He was still awake when Peter returned to the bedroom, fresh out of the shower. He was wearing only his slippers and a towel wrapped around his waist. He carried his pajamas over his arm, and set them at the foot of the bed. Then he sat on the bed and opened his towel.
For a long moment, Neal just stared. Peter returned the gaze and started to idly stroke his dick.
"Well?" Peter finally said. "You know what I want."
With a sigh, Neal got out from under the covers. He'd just discovered a new perk of sharing a room with Peter. He got out of bed, shivering at the cold when his feet hit the floor. Wordlessly, he sank to his knees between Peter's legs.
"I thought we could work on that new trick I'm teaching you."
Peter had recently decided that it wasn't enough merely to have Neal suck his cock. No, he wanted Neal to deep-throat him. He was making Neal work on overcoming his gag reflex.
In truth, Neal didn't have much of a gag reflex to begin with. But Peter didn't have to know that.
At least this morning, Peter had to get ready for work. There wasn't much time for training. Neal took a deep breath and took the tip of Peter's cock into his mouth. He spent a minute just licking the head. Then he relaxed his jaw and throat and slowly slid more and more of it into his mouth. Peter shuddered with pleasure-Neal knew he liked the feeling of his cock sliding against Neal's tongue.
When Neal stopped, his head was low enough that Peter's pubic hair tickled his face. He hummed around Peter's cock as he tried to get used to the fullness of his mouth, and Peter's breath hitched.
Neal's lungs started to burn, and he came up for breath. As he did so, his throat tickled and he sat back, clearing his throat and letting out a weak cough.
Peter patted him on the shoulder. With a breathless laugh he said, "You're actually getting good at this. That's enough for now-let's finish."
His plan to give terrible blowjobs had obviously failed. Neal had known it was coming to this, though. Peter was wildly persistent, and Neal could only take his quiet rebellion so far. Sometimes he considered drawing out his blowjobs more, so that Peter couldn't get any relief. But sucking Peter's cock for an indefinite amount of time, until Peter gave up in frustration, was just as unappealing for Neal as it would be for Peter.
If Peter was this determined, maybe it was better to give him what he wanted. Really, from Neal's perspective, it was easier to be efficient and perfunctory. As long as no one outside the house knew about it, he found it less humiliating than tiresome.
Neal made short work of making Peter come. It was his gentle licking of the underside of the head that did it. Worked like a charm.
He sat back on his heels. Peter's face was flushed and his eyes were screwed shut. Opening them, he caught his breath and looked down at his dick. There was still a drop of come on the head.
Frowning, he said, "Can I get dressed like this?"
With a sigh, Neal leaned forward and licked it clean. It was one thing to have to swallow-it was another thing entirely to have to lick Peter clean. But it was one of Peter's ways of enjoying his dominance.
Peter mussed Neal's hair. "That's a good boy." He looked over at the clock. "I've gotta get ready. We'll have a lot more fun this weekend."
Neal didn't like the sound of that at all.
* * *
Peter spent one more night in Neal's room until Elizabeth felt well enough for him to move back in with her.
She was still sick, but the worst had passed. After a few days, she was comfortably working from home while recovering from a cough and stuffy nose.
On Friday, she came downstairs while Neal was sitting on the sofa, his head in his hands. He was supposed to be dusting.
"Neal? Everything all right?"
Neal cleared his throat and looked up. "I'm fine. Just a headache. I think it's allergies-I'm kinda congested."
Frowning, Elizabeth walked over and placed a hand on his head. "Oh, Neal, you have a fever. You must've caught what I had."
"I don't think it's that bad...."
"Yeah, mine wasn't that bad at first, either." She pointed at the stairs. "All right, up to bed."
Neal slowly stood up. His muscles ached. That couldn't be a good sign. "Peter will be disappointed," he muttered.
"Well, Peter will just have to wait until you're feeling better. I mean it, go!"
Neal trudged upstairs and got into his pajamas. It did feel good to lie down. He didn't think he could keep his head up much longer. Still, he didn't think Elizabeth's concern was completely necessary. He just needed a break. But if she wanted to send him to bed to take it easy for the rest of the day, who was he to complain?
He quickly fell asleep. The next thing he knew, Peter was hovering over him and shaking his shoulder.
"C'mon, Neal. Open up."
Peter was waving something near his mouth. Neal buried his head in the pillow and swatted at Peter.
"No, I'm off-duty...." he mumbled.
Peter sighed, exasperated.
"Are you even awake?"
Neal opened his eyes with a groan. "I am now. Why are you home?"
"What do you mean, why am I home? It's almost seven. You've been sleeping all day."
Neal blinked at the alarm clock on the nightstand. He had no idea so much time had passed. Normally, he would have regretted the wasted afternoon, but right now all he knew was that his head was killing him and he was freezing.
"Come on," Peter said. "You're burning up. I want to take your temperature."
Squinting, Neal saw that Peter had a thermometer. He slowly sat up, holding the covers up to his shoulders. He opened his mouth and Peter slid the thermometer under his tongue.
"That's a good boy," Peter said. "Keep that in until it beeps."
Neal closed his eyes. He immediately started to doze off again, only to jerk awake when the thermometer beeped a minute later. Peter removed it from his mouth.
"A hundred and one....Yep, looks like you caught whatever El had."
Neal buried himself under the covers, letting only the top of his head peek out. Peter rubbed Neal's hip under the blankets.
"Just take it easy," Peter said. "Look on the bright side-it's not so bad being sick when you're a slave. If I got sick, it'd be a mess with work."
Neal glared at him. His head hurt too much to argue. Peter excused himself and returned a minute later with a cup of water and some Tylenol, which Neal eagerly swallowed.
Realizing he had Peter's sympathy, he said, "I'm sorry about this. I hate to be an inconvenience."
He knew Peter had been planning to use the plugs on him tonight. Peter pursed his lips, barely containing his disappointment. But he just sighed and shook his head.
"It's not your fault. I'll admit, I thought you might be faking when El told me you weren't feeling well. But I don't think even you could fake this fever. Just get some rest."
Neal nodded. No one with half a heart could be mad at a slave for getting sick.
When he was alone again, he shuddered and let himself indulge in some self-pity.
Elizabeth checked on him before she went to bed. She felt his forehead and gave him a sheepish smile.
Neal spent the next day in bed, cocooned under the covers and feeling thoroughly sorry for himself. At least Elizabeth made sure he was well-cared for. Neal couldn't blame her for giving him the flu, but he appreciated the extra blanket and soup she brought him.
When Thanksgiving rolled around, Neal's fever had dropped and his chills were gone, but traveling was still out of the question.
Early on Thanksgiving morning, Neal stood in the kitchen while Peter and Elizabeth got ready to leave. He was wearing an old robe of Peter’s over his pajamas.
"And if you can’t reach us on our cells," Peter said, "I’ve put El’s sister’s number on the refrigerator."
Neal crossed his arms. "You realize I’m an adult, right? I have been on my own before."
"I’m covering all my bases. And just because you’re sick, don’t think I won’t be checking your tracking data. If you’re not well enough to come with us, you’re not well enough to leave the house. So unless the house is on fire, you have no excuse."
"Don’t worry about walking Satch," Elizabeth said. "We should be home by seven. Just let him out back when he needs to go out."
Her voice was still hoarse, but she had the color back in her face and she moved with more energy than she’d had in days. Neal wished he felt that good. Even without the fever, he was bogged down by exhaustion and a headache. He coughed into his fist.
He couldn’t believe Peter still didn’t trust him. A couple days ago, he’d walked into the living room while Peter was on his cell, and overheard the tail end of a conversation.
"No," Peter had said, "I understand you’re not equipped to offer medical care, but he’s not that sick." He’d sighed. "Yeah, no, I understand. Thanks anyway."
When Peter had hung up, Neal approached cautiously and said, "What was that about?"
"That was a slave kennel. They said they won’t board sick slaves."
Neal put on his best wounded look. "A slave kennel? Seriously? It’s not my fault I’m too sick to go to Thanksgiving."
Peter had rolled his eyes. "Don't look at me like that. No one’s blaming you. I’m just not sure I want you here unattended while El and I are a couple hours away."
In the end, though, Neal had prevailed. Or rather, Peter hadn’t been able to find a reputable slave kennel that would take him when he might be contagious. Finally, Elizabeth had pointed out that it was no good having a slave they couldn’t leave home alone occasionally. Besides, he could take care of Satchmo.
Neal had no intention of betraying their trust, anyway. Not out of loyalty, but because he was too sick to feel like doing much.
"Oh," Elizabeth said, "and Neal, I hate to see have you spend your Thanksgiving like this, so I rented you that movie you wanted to see on cable. That should keep you busy for a couple hours."
He smiled at her. "Thanks, Elizabeth."
She kissed him on the cheek. "Feel better, all right? Take it easy."
Peter was filling some water bottles in the sink. Looking over his shoulder at Elizabeth, he said, "You, too, Hon. Try to get some sleep in the car."
"Oh, I will," she said. "I’ll be so glad when I’m over this...."
Neal followed them out and stood on the front porch until they drove away. Once the car turned the corner, he went back inside. He went up to his room to collect his pencils and sketch pad, but when he brought them downstairs, he set them aside and lay on the sofa.
Satchmo came over and sniffed his hand. Neal reached down and lazily scratched behind his ears.
It was a shame he couldn’t take better advantage of having the house to himself. Who knew when he’d have this much time again? His throat tickled and he tried to settle it with a soft cough, but it turned into one of the uncontrollable fits that he’d been plagued with for two days now. Satchmo got up and trotted off, and Neal’s throat was raw by the time he managed to stop coughing. Neal groaned and draped an arm over his head.
He decided to watch the movie Elizabeth had rented for him. Being sick did have a few benefits, and he knew he'd miss the special treatment he was getting.
By the time the movie ended, Neal’s eyes were heavy. He folded his arms against his chest and shifted to get comfortable, and after a few minutes he dozed off.
He woke up sometime later to the sharp, startling sound of a knock on the front door. He sat up with a grunt. His neck was stiff from being bent against the arm of the sofa, and he rubbed it as he walked to the door.
He had no idea who would be at the door on Thanksgiving. Anyone who knew Peter and Elizabeth would surely know they’d gone away for the afternoon. The dreadful idea occurred to him that Peter might have arranged for someone to come over and check up on him.
Neal peeked out the window beside the door, and his eyes widened in surprise. He immediately opened the door.
"Moz! What are you doing here?"
Mozzie held up his hands. "Neal! No names! Not until I sweep this place for recording devices!"
"There are no recording devices. Just get in here before the neighbors see you."
Mozzie stepped inside and Neal closed the door behind him.
"How can you be so sure?" Mozzie said. "Installing a hidden camera is just something a suit would do."
"If the Burkes were using a nanny cam on me, I wouldn’t get away with half as much as I do. Now, are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?"
Mozzie set down the briefcase he was carrying-the one that undoubtedly carried his equipment for detecting bugs and cameras. He took off his earmuffs and folded them into his coat pocket. "I’ve been staking this place out. I banked on the possibility that your overlords would be gone for a while."
"You were right. They’re visiting Elizabeth’s sister upstate. They shouldn’t be back until this evening."
Mozzie backed up and took a good look at Neal.
"Wow, you look terrible. What have they done to you?"
Neal rolled his eyes. "They haven’t done anything. Unless you count giving me the flu. I was supposed to go with them, but I got sick."
"Oh, then you lucked out."
Neal rubbed the back of his neck. "I don’t know, maybe. I didn't mind the idea of going, but now that you’re here, I'm glad I didn't. I didn't know when I’d see you again."
"You’re telling me. You just stopped showing up at the park. I thought they had you in chains in their basement."
"Nothing that dramatic. But I don’t get out that way much anymore. They’re monitoring me a lot more closely."
"And does that have anything to do with your meeting with Kate?"
Neal frowned.
"C’mon, man!" Mozzie said. "I’ve been dying of suspense! What happened?"
"She didn’t show."
"What do you mean?"
"She didn’t show, and I got caught trying to meet her, okay? She left me a note but didn’t stick around."
Mozzie paused, appearing to take that in. "Well, what did the note say?"
Neal shook his head. "I wish I knew. They confiscated it before I could read it."
His head was starting to hurt again. He sat down on the sofa and turned off the TV.
"Well, have you looked-"
"I've searched, Moz. I think Peter might have taken it to the office." He paused to cough. "So, you didn't know anything? Kate didn't talk to you?"
"I haven't talked to her since I set up the meeting. I tried to contact her to find out what had happened to you, but no luck."
"Why couldn't you reach her?"
"How am I supposed to know? It's not exactly a surprise, is it? It took you months to find her before you got caught. We know she's capable of disappearing if she wants to."
Neal wanted to point out how that was different. That was before he'd been enslaved. They may not have had a chance to work through their issues, but there would be time for that. Kate wouldn't leave him now. But before he could say that, Mozzie continued.
"So...you were caught. Was the Suit angry?"
Neal shrugged. "It could've been worse."
He wasn't going to go into details. He certainly wasn't going to tell Mozzie about Peter's method of discipline.
Mozzie studied him with an uncomfortably serious look on his face. "You know, if things do get bad, say the word and I'll get you out of here." He touched his own neck. "With or without the collar."
Neal managed a small smile. "Thanks. I've still got the passport and money you gave me. I'm keeping them safe, until the time is right."
Just the other day, he'd moved the bag to a new hiding place he'd found in the laundry room. He didn't want to keep it with the Christmas decorations as it got closer to December.
"So, escape is still a plan?"
"It never hasn't been a plan," Neal said firmly. He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince Mozzie or himself.
"Because there are other options we could consider. If the Suit and his wife could be persuaded to sell you, and we made sure the right buyer came along...."
"Forget it. They're not willing to sell. Peter acts like it's his duty to own me."
"Maybe you just haven't been...bad enough."
Neal raised his eyebrows. "If I'm bad enough for them to sell me, they'll smell a con from a mile away. Besides, Peter swore he'd sell me to the government before he'd let a private buyer take me. No, it won't work."
"Okay," Mozzie said, throwing up his hands in defeat. He sat in a chair across from Neal. He sat down lightly, as though he didn't want to leave any signs of his presence in the house. Not even an indented chair cushion.
For a minute, there was no sound in the room except for Neal's intermittent coughing. Mozzie was still studying Neal like he had x-ray vision, and looked like he was on the verge of saying something.
"What?" Neal asked. It came out more irritably than he'd intended, and he almost apologized. He didn't want Mozzie to think his company was unwelcome. It wasn't his fault that Neal was sick an uncomfortable.
Mozzie just ignored Neal's impatience. "You don't need to...pretend about what's going on here, you know. I am aware that you were sold for what the government euphemistically refers to as 'companionship.' And this place is spotless even though you've been sick for what, probably a few days now? You obviously aren't here because they're bad housekeepers. It doesn't exactly take a genius to figure it out."
"What do you want me to say? That they make me have sex with them?"
"I just want to know how you're holding up. I mean, is it weird? Do they make you dress like a French maid?"
Neal wrinkled his nose. "What? No. Where would you even get that idea?"
"Your master's idea of variety is deciding which Brooks Brothers suit to put on in morning. I thought his dull exterior might mask hidden depravity."
Neal raised his eyebrows. "And maid costumes were the most depraved thing you could think of?"
"I can't give him too much credit for imagination. He is a suit."
"Well," Neal said, his voice icy, "I'm sorry my slavery isn't exciting enough for you."
"That's not what I meant," Mozzie said. "I just don't get the secrecy. Did you think I'd look down on you?"
"Of course not," Neal said, even though he wasn't that confident. "I just didn't want you to worry. And the fewer people who know about all this, the better."
Mozzie leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees. "Any one of us could find ourselves in your position. We conmen need to stick together. Besides, it could be worse. Pleasure slaves have a certain...prestige. Remember Benjy Velasquez, who made the counterfeit diamonds? He did two years, and his master bought him suits. Bespoke."
But Mozzie wasn't in his position. And if Neal were petty, he might point out that Mozzie was unlikely to ever find himself in this particular situation. The inspectors who classed slaves prior to auction were notoriously vain, and most companion slaves were under forty and fit an aesthetic that Neal happened to meet.
Half the time, Neal didn't know how to feel about his situation. Mozzie was right-there was some prestige in it. At the very least, it meant that the people at the processing center thought he had a nice body. But the idea of exchanging sex for luxuries made him uncomfortable. Sure, he knew that it was just what most pleasure slaves did. And if he was honest, he'd done it already with Peter and Elizabeth.
Coughing, he said, "I don't think the Burkes fit into that demographic of slave owners." Another thought occurred to him. Staring at the floor, he said, "And that's not all there is to it. Adler gave his slaves everything they could want, and they hated him. They were about the only people who were happy when he disappeared. And I-I was naive. I'd never known anyone who owned slaves before, and I didn't realize how much you can tell about someone from what their slaves think of them."
Mozzie nodded solemnly.
"I mean," Neal continued, "I'm not saying I like it here. But it's not terrible. They're not as nice as they think they are, but I think they try. I'm not stupid-I know how important that is." He looked at his hand and picked at his fingernails.
"That sounds like the beginnings of Stockholm Syndrome."
Before Neal could argue, the phone rang. Neal got up and held up a hand, motioning, needlessly, for Mozzie to be quiet. Getting up so quickly made his head hurt, but he ignored it and walked over the phone.
The caller ID showed Peter's cell phone number.
Neal picked up the phone and cleared his throat. "Hey, Peter."
"Neal. How's it going?"
He glanced at Mozzie, who was listening intently. "Everything's fine...are you at Elizabeth's sister's house?"
"Oh, yeah, we got here a bit ago."
"Let me guess: you can't check my collar because you have a bad Wi-Fi connection, so you're calling to check up on me."
Peter chuckled. "Nice try, but no. Your data shows up just fine. I just wanted to check in. See how you're doing."
"Uh-huh."
"All right," Peter said with a resigned sigh. "I needed a break from El's dad. Every year this happens-El ends up helping her sister with dinner, and I get stuck with her parents. Next year, you're coming with us, sick or not."
"Well, I'm glad to hear I've been missed."
"So, how are you feeling?"
"My head hurts and I can't stop coughing. But I'm better than yesterday."
"Good...good," he said cheerfully. "You'll be back to work in no time."
Peter dragged out the conversation for three more agonizing minutes, all while Mozzie made increasingly frustrated and incredulous gestures. Peter was obviously serious about needing a break from Elizabeth's family.
Neal finally put on a coughing fit in order to get Peter off the phone. The ruse worked a little too well, and as he put the cordless phone back on the base, he found he couldn't stop coughing.
Mozzie waited until he stopped, and then said, "Seriously? You can't even get a break from him when he's out of town?"
Neal sniffled and wiped his eyes. He felt another tickle in this throat, but it passed. "At least he didn't stick me in a slave kennel."
Mozzie looked horrified. He stood up and started rambling about inhumane treatment. Neal half-listened as he closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. He felt warm, like he had a touch of a fever again.
When Mozzie noticed, he stopped mid-rant. "You look tired. You want me to go?"
Neal opened his eyes. "No, I just need to sit down. Stay a while? They won't be home for hours."
He hoped Mozzie would say yes. He didn't know when there'd be another chance for him to visit.
"In that case, don't mind if I do."
He sat back down in the chair he'd vacated. This time, he leaned back, making himself at home. Neal lay on the sofa and himself in the afghan.
"All right," Neal said. "So, tell me what I've been missing."
"Things have been quiet lately. Oh, but I did get ahold of a very nice sixteenth-century manuscript...."
Neal closed his eyes and listened.
Chapter 11
This entry was originally posted at http://citrinesunset.dreamwidth.org/114161.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: 5900 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.
One morning, a little more than a week before Thanksgiving, Neal woke up to an unusually still house. He remembered waking earlier when Peter's alarm went off, but he'd dozed back off and now it was nearly ten.
He expected to see Elizabeth when he went downstairs. She was usually up and working on her laptop. But the whole downstairs was quiet, and the lights were off.
Neal looked for an indication that she might have gone out, even though she usually woke him if she left the house while he was still asleep. But he found her purse on the kitchen counter.
Growing concerned, he went back upstairs and paused at the door to the master bedroom. It was closed, and there was no sound from inside. After debating a moment, he knocked. When he didn't receive an immediate answer, he opened the door and peeked inside.
Elizabeth was in bed, bundled up under the covers. She lifted her head when he stepped into the room.
"Hey, Neal...." she said, her voice coarse and groggy.
"Sorry to bother you. I was surprised you weren't up. Everything okay?"
She pushed a lock of hair out of her face. "No, I feel horrible. I've got something....I have a fever and I'm freezing."
"Is there anything I can get for you? Soup?"
She swallowed and shook her head. "Not right now, thanks. My stomach was bothering me. If you could walk Satchmo later, that'd be great. And could you call Peter and ask him to bring home something for dinner? I don't want you to go through the trouble of cooking tonight. I don't think I'll be eating much."
"No problem. I'll let you rest. Let me know if you need anything."
She managed a weak smile. "Thanks."
When he got downstairs, the first thing he did was call Peter.
"Oh, she's still not doing good?" Peter said when Neal told him what was going on. "That's a shame. She said she wasn't feeling well, but I was hoping she might be better with a few more hours of sleep."
"She said to bring home some dinner for you and me. I don't think she feels like eating anything."
"All right. I'll pick up a pizza on the way home. And Neal? Look after her. Give her anything she needs."
Neal made sure to check on Elizabeth throughout the afternoon, just in case she needed him. She mostly slept, however, and Neal did his best not to bother her or make a lot of noise. He walked softly whenever he came upstairs and kept the TV on low when he was in the living room.
Later, he bundled up and took Satchmo out for a walk. It would have been a good afternoon to see Mozzie. He doubted Elizabeth would have any idea how long he was gone, and he hadn't seen Moz since he helped him make the arrangements to see Kate. But when he got to the park, there was no sign of him. In fact, there was hardly anyone at the park. The wind was cold and biting, and even Satchmo wasn't very keen to be outdoors. Neal didn't stay long before he circled back to the house. Satchmo bounded inside, and Neal shared his enthusiasm for the warm house. He rubbed his hands to bring the feeling back into his fingers.
That evening, Peter brought home a large pizza. "Meat Lover's Special!" he declared with a smile. "It's got ham, sausage, and pepperoni. El doesn't like it, but trust me; you're in for a treat."
Neal looked at the pizza suspiciously. "Yeah, I'm not usually a sausage fan...."
Still, Neal was hungry. He couldn't be that picky. He ignored Peter's smug smile when he grabbed a second piece.
Halfway through dinner, Elizabeth came downstairs, still in her pajamas. Her hair was pulled back in a rough ponytail. Making a sound of disgust, she said, "That pizza looks so unhealthy...."
"Neal likes it," Peter said, his mouth full of pizza. He swallowed and said, "How are you feeling?"
Elizabeth shook her head and sniffled. "Not good. I need to eat something, though. We have a can of chicken soup. I thought I'd heat that up."
"I'll take care of it," Neal said.
She smiled gratefully and sat down at the dinner table. Neal found the soup in the cupboard and, a few minutes later, set a hot bowl in front of her.
Elizabeth stayed downstairs for a couple hours before she went back to bed. Neal spent the rest of the evening watching TV with Peter.
At eleven, Peter turned the TV off and went upstairs to get ready for bed. While Peter was in the bathroom, Neal got into his pajamas and then waited outside the bathroom door for his turn.
After brushing his teeth and washing his face, Neal went up to his room. When he reached the doorway, he froze.
Peter was sitting on his bed, setting his alarm clock.
"What are you doing?"
Peter looked up. "I'm sleeping in here with you tonight."
Neal walked in and looked around. The closet door was open, and his clothes had been pushed to the side to make room for one of Peter's suits and a shirt. Peter's shoes were on the floor by the closet. Some socks and underwear were folded neatly on top of the dresser.
"And you're doing this because...?"
"Because El's sick. Why do you think?"
"What? You don't want to be in the same room with her? I'm sure that makes her feel great."
Peter rolled his eyes. "For your information, this was her idea. She said she doesn't want me to catch what she has. I told her I never get sick, but she insists. Honestly, she just likes being on her own when she's sick. You should see the set-up she has down there. Between the Kleenex box and the pile of magazines she's got, there's no room for me. And I don't think she wants my alarm waking her at six AM. No, I don't want to bother her. I even got all my clothes together so I won't disturb her too much." He gestured proudly at the suit hanging in the closet.
"So you decided to sleep in my room."
"Which, don't forget, is our guest room."
Neal slowly approached the bed. There had to be a way to avoid this, but it wasn't coming to him right now.
"I don't know, Peter. It's not that I don't want to share. But I toss in my sleep, and I don't know if the bed is big enough."
"I'm not worried." He finished setting the alarm and put it on the nightstand. "Look, if you have a problem sharing a bed with me, my sleeping bag is in the hall closet. You're free to use it."
Neal was not going to get kicked out of his bedroom just because Elizabeth was sick. How was that fair, after he'd made her chicken soup? He sat down on the free side of the bed. "This will be fine," he said shortly. "But you're actually on the side I like to sleep on, so if you could just..."
"This is the side I sleep on in my bed. I think you can adjust for a night or two."
Two? Peter was planning on doing this tomorrow, as well?
Peter lay down-on Neal's side of the bed, with Neal's favorite pillow-and Neal grudgingly lay down beside him. Peter had brought a book in the room, and he propped the pillows up behind his back so he could read.
"I just hope El's better in time for Thanksgiving," Peter said. "It'd be a shame if she wasn't well enough to go to her sister's."
"She's looking forward to it?" Neal asked.
"Yeah, she likes seeing her sister. And if we don't go, her parents might want to come here afterward to visit."
Peter opened his book to read, and Neal turned to face the wall. He tried to pull the covers around him, but his knees and chest were still cold.
"Hey," he said, "you mind? You're hogging the covers."
"Move closer and there'll be enough for both of us."
Neal didn't respond. He wasn't going to give Peter the satisfaction of closing the gap between them. He could deal with being cold.
He closed his eyes and steeped in his annoyance. He wasn't ready to sleep just yet, and he was used to having some time alone at night. He'd hoped to do some drawing, and he was in the mood to jerk off. He couldn't do that now.
And he really was cold. After a few minutes, he opened his eyes and turned onto his back. Ever so slowly, he inched closer to Peter, just enough so that the quilt covered his body. He saw the corner of Peter's mouth twitch with satisfaction.
Peter snaked his arm behind Neal's shoulders and pulled him even closer.
"Warm enough now?" he asked.
"I'm fine," Neal said. Peter's body was very warm.
He started to read over Peter's shoulder. The book seemed to be a biography. Neal could only see one side of the book, so he couldn't exactly read along. But he managed to get the gist of it, and it was better than staring at the ceiling.
He was in the middle of a sentence when Peter suddenly closed the book and put it aside.
Yawning, he said, "I'm beat. Time to get some sleep."
Neal wasn't ready to sleep yet, but Peter switched off the lamp. The covers rustled as Peter rearranged the pillows and got comfortable. He lay on his side and, before Neal could object, draped an arm across Neal's stomach.
Pinned to the bed, Neal didn't think he'd get to sleep for ages. He spent some time peering into the dark room, watching as his eyes adjusted enough to make out the shape of the dresser.
At some point, he dozed off. When Peter's alarm woke him up, he felt like he'd just gone to sleep.
Peter disentangled himself from Neal and turned it off. He groggily got up and made his way out into the hall, and Neal stretched out in the bed, occupying the warm space Peter had just left.
He was still awake when Peter returned to the bedroom, fresh out of the shower. He was wearing only his slippers and a towel wrapped around his waist. He carried his pajamas over his arm, and set them at the foot of the bed. Then he sat on the bed and opened his towel.
For a long moment, Neal just stared. Peter returned the gaze and started to idly stroke his dick.
"Well?" Peter finally said. "You know what I want."
With a sigh, Neal got out from under the covers. He'd just discovered a new perk of sharing a room with Peter. He got out of bed, shivering at the cold when his feet hit the floor. Wordlessly, he sank to his knees between Peter's legs.
"I thought we could work on that new trick I'm teaching you."
Peter had recently decided that it wasn't enough merely to have Neal suck his cock. No, he wanted Neal to deep-throat him. He was making Neal work on overcoming his gag reflex.
In truth, Neal didn't have much of a gag reflex to begin with. But Peter didn't have to know that.
At least this morning, Peter had to get ready for work. There wasn't much time for training. Neal took a deep breath and took the tip of Peter's cock into his mouth. He spent a minute just licking the head. Then he relaxed his jaw and throat and slowly slid more and more of it into his mouth. Peter shuddered with pleasure-Neal knew he liked the feeling of his cock sliding against Neal's tongue.
When Neal stopped, his head was low enough that Peter's pubic hair tickled his face. He hummed around Peter's cock as he tried to get used to the fullness of his mouth, and Peter's breath hitched.
Neal's lungs started to burn, and he came up for breath. As he did so, his throat tickled and he sat back, clearing his throat and letting out a weak cough.
Peter patted him on the shoulder. With a breathless laugh he said, "You're actually getting good at this. That's enough for now-let's finish."
His plan to give terrible blowjobs had obviously failed. Neal had known it was coming to this, though. Peter was wildly persistent, and Neal could only take his quiet rebellion so far. Sometimes he considered drawing out his blowjobs more, so that Peter couldn't get any relief. But sucking Peter's cock for an indefinite amount of time, until Peter gave up in frustration, was just as unappealing for Neal as it would be for Peter.
If Peter was this determined, maybe it was better to give him what he wanted. Really, from Neal's perspective, it was easier to be efficient and perfunctory. As long as no one outside the house knew about it, he found it less humiliating than tiresome.
Neal made short work of making Peter come. It was his gentle licking of the underside of the head that did it. Worked like a charm.
He sat back on his heels. Peter's face was flushed and his eyes were screwed shut. Opening them, he caught his breath and looked down at his dick. There was still a drop of come on the head.
Frowning, he said, "Can I get dressed like this?"
With a sigh, Neal leaned forward and licked it clean. It was one thing to have to swallow-it was another thing entirely to have to lick Peter clean. But it was one of Peter's ways of enjoying his dominance.
Peter mussed Neal's hair. "That's a good boy." He looked over at the clock. "I've gotta get ready. We'll have a lot more fun this weekend."
Neal didn't like the sound of that at all.
* * *
Peter spent one more night in Neal's room until Elizabeth felt well enough for him to move back in with her.
She was still sick, but the worst had passed. After a few days, she was comfortably working from home while recovering from a cough and stuffy nose.
On Friday, she came downstairs while Neal was sitting on the sofa, his head in his hands. He was supposed to be dusting.
"Neal? Everything all right?"
Neal cleared his throat and looked up. "I'm fine. Just a headache. I think it's allergies-I'm kinda congested."
Frowning, Elizabeth walked over and placed a hand on his head. "Oh, Neal, you have a fever. You must've caught what I had."
"I don't think it's that bad...."
"Yeah, mine wasn't that bad at first, either." She pointed at the stairs. "All right, up to bed."
Neal slowly stood up. His muscles ached. That couldn't be a good sign. "Peter will be disappointed," he muttered.
"Well, Peter will just have to wait until you're feeling better. I mean it, go!"
Neal trudged upstairs and got into his pajamas. It did feel good to lie down. He didn't think he could keep his head up much longer. Still, he didn't think Elizabeth's concern was completely necessary. He just needed a break. But if she wanted to send him to bed to take it easy for the rest of the day, who was he to complain?
He quickly fell asleep. The next thing he knew, Peter was hovering over him and shaking his shoulder.
"C'mon, Neal. Open up."
Peter was waving something near his mouth. Neal buried his head in the pillow and swatted at Peter.
"No, I'm off-duty...." he mumbled.
Peter sighed, exasperated.
"Are you even awake?"
Neal opened his eyes with a groan. "I am now. Why are you home?"
"What do you mean, why am I home? It's almost seven. You've been sleeping all day."
Neal blinked at the alarm clock on the nightstand. He had no idea so much time had passed. Normally, he would have regretted the wasted afternoon, but right now all he knew was that his head was killing him and he was freezing.
"Come on," Peter said. "You're burning up. I want to take your temperature."
Squinting, Neal saw that Peter had a thermometer. He slowly sat up, holding the covers up to his shoulders. He opened his mouth and Peter slid the thermometer under his tongue.
"That's a good boy," Peter said. "Keep that in until it beeps."
Neal closed his eyes. He immediately started to doze off again, only to jerk awake when the thermometer beeped a minute later. Peter removed it from his mouth.
"A hundred and one....Yep, looks like you caught whatever El had."
Neal buried himself under the covers, letting only the top of his head peek out. Peter rubbed Neal's hip under the blankets.
"Just take it easy," Peter said. "Look on the bright side-it's not so bad being sick when you're a slave. If I got sick, it'd be a mess with work."
Neal glared at him. His head hurt too much to argue. Peter excused himself and returned a minute later with a cup of water and some Tylenol, which Neal eagerly swallowed.
Realizing he had Peter's sympathy, he said, "I'm sorry about this. I hate to be an inconvenience."
He knew Peter had been planning to use the plugs on him tonight. Peter pursed his lips, barely containing his disappointment. But he just sighed and shook his head.
"It's not your fault. I'll admit, I thought you might be faking when El told me you weren't feeling well. But I don't think even you could fake this fever. Just get some rest."
Neal nodded. No one with half a heart could be mad at a slave for getting sick.
When he was alone again, he shuddered and let himself indulge in some self-pity.
Elizabeth checked on him before she went to bed. She felt his forehead and gave him a sheepish smile.
Neal spent the next day in bed, cocooned under the covers and feeling thoroughly sorry for himself. At least Elizabeth made sure he was well-cared for. Neal couldn't blame her for giving him the flu, but he appreciated the extra blanket and soup she brought him.
When Thanksgiving rolled around, Neal's fever had dropped and his chills were gone, but traveling was still out of the question.
Early on Thanksgiving morning, Neal stood in the kitchen while Peter and Elizabeth got ready to leave. He was wearing an old robe of Peter’s over his pajamas.
"And if you can’t reach us on our cells," Peter said, "I’ve put El’s sister’s number on the refrigerator."
Neal crossed his arms. "You realize I’m an adult, right? I have been on my own before."
"I’m covering all my bases. And just because you’re sick, don’t think I won’t be checking your tracking data. If you’re not well enough to come with us, you’re not well enough to leave the house. So unless the house is on fire, you have no excuse."
"Don’t worry about walking Satch," Elizabeth said. "We should be home by seven. Just let him out back when he needs to go out."
Her voice was still hoarse, but she had the color back in her face and she moved with more energy than she’d had in days. Neal wished he felt that good. Even without the fever, he was bogged down by exhaustion and a headache. He coughed into his fist.
He couldn’t believe Peter still didn’t trust him. A couple days ago, he’d walked into the living room while Peter was on his cell, and overheard the tail end of a conversation.
"No," Peter had said, "I understand you’re not equipped to offer medical care, but he’s not that sick." He’d sighed. "Yeah, no, I understand. Thanks anyway."
When Peter had hung up, Neal approached cautiously and said, "What was that about?"
"That was a slave kennel. They said they won’t board sick slaves."
Neal put on his best wounded look. "A slave kennel? Seriously? It’s not my fault I’m too sick to go to Thanksgiving."
Peter had rolled his eyes. "Don't look at me like that. No one’s blaming you. I’m just not sure I want you here unattended while El and I are a couple hours away."
In the end, though, Neal had prevailed. Or rather, Peter hadn’t been able to find a reputable slave kennel that would take him when he might be contagious. Finally, Elizabeth had pointed out that it was no good having a slave they couldn’t leave home alone occasionally. Besides, he could take care of Satchmo.
Neal had no intention of betraying their trust, anyway. Not out of loyalty, but because he was too sick to feel like doing much.
"Oh," Elizabeth said, "and Neal, I hate to see have you spend your Thanksgiving like this, so I rented you that movie you wanted to see on cable. That should keep you busy for a couple hours."
He smiled at her. "Thanks, Elizabeth."
She kissed him on the cheek. "Feel better, all right? Take it easy."
Peter was filling some water bottles in the sink. Looking over his shoulder at Elizabeth, he said, "You, too, Hon. Try to get some sleep in the car."
"Oh, I will," she said. "I’ll be so glad when I’m over this...."
Neal followed them out and stood on the front porch until they drove away. Once the car turned the corner, he went back inside. He went up to his room to collect his pencils and sketch pad, but when he brought them downstairs, he set them aside and lay on the sofa.
Satchmo came over and sniffed his hand. Neal reached down and lazily scratched behind his ears.
It was a shame he couldn’t take better advantage of having the house to himself. Who knew when he’d have this much time again? His throat tickled and he tried to settle it with a soft cough, but it turned into one of the uncontrollable fits that he’d been plagued with for two days now. Satchmo got up and trotted off, and Neal’s throat was raw by the time he managed to stop coughing. Neal groaned and draped an arm over his head.
He decided to watch the movie Elizabeth had rented for him. Being sick did have a few benefits, and he knew he'd miss the special treatment he was getting.
By the time the movie ended, Neal’s eyes were heavy. He folded his arms against his chest and shifted to get comfortable, and after a few minutes he dozed off.
He woke up sometime later to the sharp, startling sound of a knock on the front door. He sat up with a grunt. His neck was stiff from being bent against the arm of the sofa, and he rubbed it as he walked to the door.
He had no idea who would be at the door on Thanksgiving. Anyone who knew Peter and Elizabeth would surely know they’d gone away for the afternoon. The dreadful idea occurred to him that Peter might have arranged for someone to come over and check up on him.
Neal peeked out the window beside the door, and his eyes widened in surprise. He immediately opened the door.
"Moz! What are you doing here?"
Mozzie held up his hands. "Neal! No names! Not until I sweep this place for recording devices!"
"There are no recording devices. Just get in here before the neighbors see you."
Mozzie stepped inside and Neal closed the door behind him.
"How can you be so sure?" Mozzie said. "Installing a hidden camera is just something a suit would do."
"If the Burkes were using a nanny cam on me, I wouldn’t get away with half as much as I do. Now, are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?"
Mozzie set down the briefcase he was carrying-the one that undoubtedly carried his equipment for detecting bugs and cameras. He took off his earmuffs and folded them into his coat pocket. "I’ve been staking this place out. I banked on the possibility that your overlords would be gone for a while."
"You were right. They’re visiting Elizabeth’s sister upstate. They shouldn’t be back until this evening."
Mozzie backed up and took a good look at Neal.
"Wow, you look terrible. What have they done to you?"
Neal rolled his eyes. "They haven’t done anything. Unless you count giving me the flu. I was supposed to go with them, but I got sick."
"Oh, then you lucked out."
Neal rubbed the back of his neck. "I don’t know, maybe. I didn't mind the idea of going, but now that you’re here, I'm glad I didn't. I didn't know when I’d see you again."
"You’re telling me. You just stopped showing up at the park. I thought they had you in chains in their basement."
"Nothing that dramatic. But I don’t get out that way much anymore. They’re monitoring me a lot more closely."
"And does that have anything to do with your meeting with Kate?"
Neal frowned.
"C’mon, man!" Mozzie said. "I’ve been dying of suspense! What happened?"
"She didn’t show."
"What do you mean?"
"She didn’t show, and I got caught trying to meet her, okay? She left me a note but didn’t stick around."
Mozzie paused, appearing to take that in. "Well, what did the note say?"
Neal shook his head. "I wish I knew. They confiscated it before I could read it."
His head was starting to hurt again. He sat down on the sofa and turned off the TV.
"Well, have you looked-"
"I've searched, Moz. I think Peter might have taken it to the office." He paused to cough. "So, you didn't know anything? Kate didn't talk to you?"
"I haven't talked to her since I set up the meeting. I tried to contact her to find out what had happened to you, but no luck."
"Why couldn't you reach her?"
"How am I supposed to know? It's not exactly a surprise, is it? It took you months to find her before you got caught. We know she's capable of disappearing if she wants to."
Neal wanted to point out how that was different. That was before he'd been enslaved. They may not have had a chance to work through their issues, but there would be time for that. Kate wouldn't leave him now. But before he could say that, Mozzie continued.
"So...you were caught. Was the Suit angry?"
Neal shrugged. "It could've been worse."
He wasn't going to go into details. He certainly wasn't going to tell Mozzie about Peter's method of discipline.
Mozzie studied him with an uncomfortably serious look on his face. "You know, if things do get bad, say the word and I'll get you out of here." He touched his own neck. "With or without the collar."
Neal managed a small smile. "Thanks. I've still got the passport and money you gave me. I'm keeping them safe, until the time is right."
Just the other day, he'd moved the bag to a new hiding place he'd found in the laundry room. He didn't want to keep it with the Christmas decorations as it got closer to December.
"So, escape is still a plan?"
"It never hasn't been a plan," Neal said firmly. He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince Mozzie or himself.
"Because there are other options we could consider. If the Suit and his wife could be persuaded to sell you, and we made sure the right buyer came along...."
"Forget it. They're not willing to sell. Peter acts like it's his duty to own me."
"Maybe you just haven't been...bad enough."
Neal raised his eyebrows. "If I'm bad enough for them to sell me, they'll smell a con from a mile away. Besides, Peter swore he'd sell me to the government before he'd let a private buyer take me. No, it won't work."
"Okay," Mozzie said, throwing up his hands in defeat. He sat in a chair across from Neal. He sat down lightly, as though he didn't want to leave any signs of his presence in the house. Not even an indented chair cushion.
For a minute, there was no sound in the room except for Neal's intermittent coughing. Mozzie was still studying Neal like he had x-ray vision, and looked like he was on the verge of saying something.
"What?" Neal asked. It came out more irritably than he'd intended, and he almost apologized. He didn't want Mozzie to think his company was unwelcome. It wasn't his fault that Neal was sick an uncomfortable.
Mozzie just ignored Neal's impatience. "You don't need to...pretend about what's going on here, you know. I am aware that you were sold for what the government euphemistically refers to as 'companionship.' And this place is spotless even though you've been sick for what, probably a few days now? You obviously aren't here because they're bad housekeepers. It doesn't exactly take a genius to figure it out."
"What do you want me to say? That they make me have sex with them?"
"I just want to know how you're holding up. I mean, is it weird? Do they make you dress like a French maid?"
Neal wrinkled his nose. "What? No. Where would you even get that idea?"
"Your master's idea of variety is deciding which Brooks Brothers suit to put on in morning. I thought his dull exterior might mask hidden depravity."
Neal raised his eyebrows. "And maid costumes were the most depraved thing you could think of?"
"I can't give him too much credit for imagination. He is a suit."
"Well," Neal said, his voice icy, "I'm sorry my slavery isn't exciting enough for you."
"That's not what I meant," Mozzie said. "I just don't get the secrecy. Did you think I'd look down on you?"
"Of course not," Neal said, even though he wasn't that confident. "I just didn't want you to worry. And the fewer people who know about all this, the better."
Mozzie leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees. "Any one of us could find ourselves in your position. We conmen need to stick together. Besides, it could be worse. Pleasure slaves have a certain...prestige. Remember Benjy Velasquez, who made the counterfeit diamonds? He did two years, and his master bought him suits. Bespoke."
But Mozzie wasn't in his position. And if Neal were petty, he might point out that Mozzie was unlikely to ever find himself in this particular situation. The inspectors who classed slaves prior to auction were notoriously vain, and most companion slaves were under forty and fit an aesthetic that Neal happened to meet.
Half the time, Neal didn't know how to feel about his situation. Mozzie was right-there was some prestige in it. At the very least, it meant that the people at the processing center thought he had a nice body. But the idea of exchanging sex for luxuries made him uncomfortable. Sure, he knew that it was just what most pleasure slaves did. And if he was honest, he'd done it already with Peter and Elizabeth.
Coughing, he said, "I don't think the Burkes fit into that demographic of slave owners." Another thought occurred to him. Staring at the floor, he said, "And that's not all there is to it. Adler gave his slaves everything they could want, and they hated him. They were about the only people who were happy when he disappeared. And I-I was naive. I'd never known anyone who owned slaves before, and I didn't realize how much you can tell about someone from what their slaves think of them."
Mozzie nodded solemnly.
"I mean," Neal continued, "I'm not saying I like it here. But it's not terrible. They're not as nice as they think they are, but I think they try. I'm not stupid-I know how important that is." He looked at his hand and picked at his fingernails.
"That sounds like the beginnings of Stockholm Syndrome."
Before Neal could argue, the phone rang. Neal got up and held up a hand, motioning, needlessly, for Mozzie to be quiet. Getting up so quickly made his head hurt, but he ignored it and walked over the phone.
The caller ID showed Peter's cell phone number.
Neal picked up the phone and cleared his throat. "Hey, Peter."
"Neal. How's it going?"
He glanced at Mozzie, who was listening intently. "Everything's fine...are you at Elizabeth's sister's house?"
"Oh, yeah, we got here a bit ago."
"Let me guess: you can't check my collar because you have a bad Wi-Fi connection, so you're calling to check up on me."
Peter chuckled. "Nice try, but no. Your data shows up just fine. I just wanted to check in. See how you're doing."
"Uh-huh."
"All right," Peter said with a resigned sigh. "I needed a break from El's dad. Every year this happens-El ends up helping her sister with dinner, and I get stuck with her parents. Next year, you're coming with us, sick or not."
"Well, I'm glad to hear I've been missed."
"So, how are you feeling?"
"My head hurts and I can't stop coughing. But I'm better than yesterday."
"Good...good," he said cheerfully. "You'll be back to work in no time."
Peter dragged out the conversation for three more agonizing minutes, all while Mozzie made increasingly frustrated and incredulous gestures. Peter was obviously serious about needing a break from Elizabeth's family.
Neal finally put on a coughing fit in order to get Peter off the phone. The ruse worked a little too well, and as he put the cordless phone back on the base, he found he couldn't stop coughing.
Mozzie waited until he stopped, and then said, "Seriously? You can't even get a break from him when he's out of town?"
Neal sniffled and wiped his eyes. He felt another tickle in this throat, but it passed. "At least he didn't stick me in a slave kennel."
Mozzie looked horrified. He stood up and started rambling about inhumane treatment. Neal half-listened as he closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. He felt warm, like he had a touch of a fever again.
When Mozzie noticed, he stopped mid-rant. "You look tired. You want me to go?"
Neal opened his eyes. "No, I just need to sit down. Stay a while? They won't be home for hours."
He hoped Mozzie would say yes. He didn't know when there'd be another chance for him to visit.
"In that case, don't mind if I do."
He sat back down in the chair he'd vacated. This time, he leaned back, making himself at home. Neal lay on the sofa and himself in the afghan.
"All right," Neal said. "So, tell me what I've been missing."
"Things have been quiet lately. Oh, but I did get ahold of a very nice sixteenth-century manuscript...."
Neal closed his eyes and listened.
Chapter 11
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