Title: The Inmate's New Clothes
Author: Amory Puck (pucktheplayer on LJ)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash, mentions of non-con, oral sex, foul language
Pairings: Peter/Neal
o o o
It was strange, being on this side of the barbed wire fence.
Peter scuffed his foot in the grass since he didn't have much else to do. Prison wasn't nearly as exciting as they made it look on TV. There weren't any weights to lift, the basketball court was useless since the COs hadn't left any balls out today, and there wasn't a checkers set or even a card game to be seen.
The most excitement Peter had seen in the yard today was when he'd tried to use one of the bank of toilets over near the doors and had been assaulted by an angry Latino for planting his "vanilla ass" on "the Puerto Rico pot." People thought racism was alive and well in Georgia—they should try prison sometime.
Being undercover always put a man on the edge, but playing inmate took it to a whole new level. Federal penitentiaries weren't White Collar's usual territory, either. Infiltrating board rooms and art galleries were more Peter's style. But Warden Michael Westingson was a retired Fed and a personal friend of Hughes from his Quantico days, and so here Peter was, dressed in scrubs the color of piss and shoes with velcro instead of laces, pulling a quiet undercover job so that the warden wouldn't have to admit to the governor that one of his own inmates had him beat.
Peter had to admit that it was an interesting case. 'The Emperor' was what they called the man because he had all the contacts of a king and had used them to bring together various dealers and organize their efforts to create an extremely efficient smuggling ring. The guy could get you anything from fruit cake to grade A coke if you could pay the price, all without ever showing his face. Twice the warden had been sure he'd caught the guy, but both times they had turned out to be lackeys. The only people who got to see him face to face were his fellow dealers and the guys who worked for him.
The thing that had really pushed it to the limits was when CO James Lance had been beaten to death in the stairwell one night by members of the Aryan Brotherhood. The Emperor hadn't technically taken credit for the kill, but rumor had it that he was definitely behind it. Hence the warden calling in his old buddy.
The plan was simple enough: Peter would go undercover and find out the actual identity of the Emperor and then the prison would take the investigation from there. The tricky part was figuring out which of the fifteen or so known dealers was actually the one running the scheme. They'd finally decided to set Peter up as a transfer from Riker's who was in the pen for smuggling and had a street rep for being able to get a convict whatever they liked. Pete Carson was his name, and Peter Burke was his face.
Peter's job now was easy enough, he was just supposed to wait. According to the warden, the Emperor swooped in on candidates for his little group within forty-eight hours, before the newbie had time to start up his own game. It wasn't one hundred percent clear how this invitation would be delivered, but Westingson swore it would happen.
It was nearing the end of the forty-eight hour window, however, and Peter was starting to get antsy. They'd been as thorough as possible when constructing his new identity since this guy seemed to have quite a few outside contacts, but since the mission was so hush-hush they hadn't been able to use all their resources and it was possible that his cover had been blown.
There was a loud buzzing sound that signaled the end of outdoor rec time, and Peter sighed, sticking his hand in his pockets as he glanced around one more time, trying to pick out someone, anyone, who might be the Emperor.
"Hey, Carson, move along!" one of the COs shouted.
"Sorry, boss," Peter replied as he headed toward the main building. He'd give it another day or two, and if he wasn't contacted by then, maybe they could send Jones in as well. It would be risky, having two undercover agents, but he had a feeling that Hughes wasn't going to give up on this without a fight, not with his buddy's job at stake.
Peter rubbed his forehead as they entered the indoor rec area, the florescent lights making his temples ache. God, he he missed El. And also his comfortable bed. This place was horrific, and it made him double glad that he'd chosen the right side of the law for his career.
He settled down on a bench in the far corner of the room, out of the way of the crowd in hopes that the Emperor's guys would take the chance to talk to him if he was alone. Man, he wished he was home right now, eating a good meal and talking to his wife about his day. He had visitation tomorrow, maybe he could give her a call. She knew where he was and would play along with the op for a chance to talk to him. She was such an amazing woman, so beautiful with her long brown-
"Pete Carson?"
Peter jumped at the sound, wincing a little as he took in the beefy man towering over him. He'd been so lost in his thoughts of El that he'd let this brute sneak up on him. Not exactly good street smarts there, or Fed smarts, for that matter.
"That's me," he said gruffly, raising an eyebrow. "Who's asking?"
The man smiled, a lopsided sort of grin that was mostly covered by his ratty looking mustache. "Who I am ain't what matters. What matters is that my boss would like to extend a hand in welcome to you. He heard about your special skills and he wants to make sure to give you a big hello from us."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Peter said, not wanting to sound too eager. "The only special skill I have is on the baseball field, and my knee here kind of ruined that."
"Hey," the man said with a shrug, "play it that way if you want, Carson, though my boss ain't the kind to be fooled. But special skills or no, he'd still like a chance to welcome ya."
Peter raised an eyebrow. "What good does it do me, coming with you?"
"Oh, trust me, my boss is gonna make it very worth your while. He got his special welcome all ready for you, man. His finest, offered only to his top dogs." The man paused, eyes narrowing. "Truth is, Carson, you be coming with me whether you want to or not. I got my boys right over there," he nodded off to a group of beefy men standing a few yards away, "ready to haul your ass off. So I suggest you come willing, yeah?"
Peter held up his hands. "Okay, okay, man. No need to get rough. I know how to play the game. But know this—I ain't the type to be coerced."
"Aw, a spit fire," the man said with a laugh. "I like that. Now, come on."
Peter rose slowly, making a point to take his time in following the other man. They walked right through the rec room doors, the guard just giving them a nod. Peter tried to memorize his face to add to his quickly growing list of dirty COs in this place. Peter followed a few steps behind the other man, taking note of how many doors they passed. They turned a corner and the man came to an abrupt stop, gesturing to a door on their right.
"In there, your welcome from my boss. After you, Carson." The man pulled the door open, grinning widely.
Peter took a cautious step in, nerves on full alert. Once in the room, he grimaced at what he saw.
The room was empty except for a chair in the middle. A brunette man was on his knees in front of it, back facing Peter. His limbs were long but thin, and his narrow shoulders were hunched over. It was clear what he was there for. This was *not* the kind of welcome that Peter had expected.
"I'm not a homo," he said flatly to the man, who was grinning wickedly at him. "I'm not interested in that."
"Bullshit," the man said, laughing. "Don't play pretend. You got sixty years left on your ticket, pal. You ain't never gonna see a pussy again. Go sit the fuck down and be grateful. This is my boss extending his hand in good faith. That's his own little whore there, his personal pet. Won't even let me play with it. Just him and the ones he wants on his team. Talking to the bitch is talking to my boss. He'll carry your message on through."
Peter took a steadying breath, stomach churning. Apparently if he wanted to talk to the Emperor he'd have to at least sit with the boy. God, this was fucked up.
"Fine," he said shortly, moving toward the chair. "But how about you leave us the fuck alone?"
"I don't think so, Carson," the man replied with a laugh. "I don't leave nobody alone with that piece of ass. My boss would kill me."
Peter gritted his teeth as he dropped into the chair, looking down at the brown head bowed before him, not sure what the hell he was going to do. He was still contemplating when a small voice spoke up.
"My daddy says to tell you that as a special welcome—Oh my God, Peter?" The guy's voice went from submissive to shocked in an instant, and Peter choked as the head rose up, revealing a pale, beautiful face with big, blue eyes. No. There was no way. This was not possible. Was it? It couldn't be. Oh, shit it was.
The man on his knees was fucking Neal Caffrey.
Neal stared up at him, a shocked look on his face.
"Oh my God," Peter said, mouth hanging open. "What the hell are you—"
"Shhhh!" Neal said, eyes flickering back as he glanced over his shoulder. "You want Tyler to hear? Keep your voice down before you get me killed."
Peter eyed the man across the room for a moment then dropped his eyes back down. "What are you doing here, Caffrey?" Peter questioned as quietly as he could, trying not to move his lips as he spoke.
"What am *I* doing here? You put me here, Einstein. What are *you* doing here? Considering that you're name isn't 'Pete Carson,' I'm guessing you didn't decide to take up robbing convenience stores as a hobby?"
"I'm undercover," he replied, glancing up at Tyler again. "Though I guess that's done now."
Neal rolled his eyes. "For God's sake, Peter, you think I'm going to run and tell on you? The last thing I want to tell my daddy is that there's a Fed in our midst and I fucking know him! Now shut up. We can talk later. Right now I'm going to suck your dick."
Neal reached up to fumble with Peter's scrubs, and he knocked the smaller man's hands away.
"Like hell you are!" Peter hissed. "This is disgusting. I can't believe they have you doing this. You're too smart for this."
"This is prison, Peter," Neal snapped back, reaching for his pants again. "Not a chess match. I'm small, I'm pretty—what did you think would happen? Now, seriously, my face is gonna get broken into pieces if Tyler doesn't see your cock down my throat, okay? Suck now, talk later, got it?"
"I'm trying to catch the Emperor," Peter said, ducking his head so Tyler couldn't see he was talking.
"Really?" Neal said sarcastically. "I thought you were having an undercover vacation. Look, I'm not a snitch. I have no intentions of ending up dead. Now pull out your dick, put it in my mouth, and we both get out of here in one piece. If I don't open my mouth literally, I'm going to have to renege on my offer to keep my mouth shut metaphorically. Dick. My mouth. Now."
Peter's face darkened. "I can't do that, Neal. I am so sorry you've ended up this way. I'm going to help—whoa!" He grimaced as Neal's hand yanked the front of his pants down faster than he could imagine possible, pulling out his flaccid cock and shoving the thing in his mouth.
"Dammit, Neal," Peter said, glancing warily over at Tyler as his cock began to harden. "I cannot do this! I have a wife, and even if I didn't, this is rape—"
"Shuul uuuh, Eeher."
"No, I'm not going to shut up—"
Neal pulled his head back up, looking at the man above him. "Peter," he said, voice hoarse and a little desperate. "Please. If you don't let me do this, he's going to hurt me. He's going to hurt me bad. He's going to say it was my fault. Please, Peter. Just… just let me do my job, and I swear to God, I'll help you do yours. I have no love for my so-called 'daddy,' okay? But I am scared as shit of him. So please, please, please," he glanced over his shoulder worriedly, "let me do this before Tyler decides to go howling about how I didn't do my job."
Peter swallowed hard, then licked his lips nervously. This was wrong, on so many levels. Wrong for him, wrong for El, wrong for *Neal,* goddamit. But what could he do? If he stopped this, Neal would pay for it. He could only protect him if he blew his cover, and maybe not even then. But if he let Neal do this, what kind of man did that make him?
"Please, Peter," Neal's voice was soft and his big, blue eyes were watering. "Please."
Peter closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Fine," he said roughly, guilt shooting through him. "Do it."
"Thank you," Neal whispered, ducking his head down.
Peter held back a moan as he felt lips settle around the head of his dick. El was very good at this, but she wasn't a man, she didn't know what it felt like. Neal… Neal obviously knew, because the way his tongue was working across Peter's cock, massaging along it as he sucked with hallowed cheeks… It was amazing.
Neal's mouth slipped down further, tongue still working along the shaft.
A moan escaped Peter's lips as Neal began to lightly massage his balls. Another inch and he was almost all the way down Neal's throat. He clenched his hands on his thighs to keep from thrusting as Neal made a humming sound that sort of vibrated around his cock, making it ache.
"Neal," he said with a little gasp, "I'm going to… I'm going to…"
"Mmmhm," Neal answered, not bothering to look up.
Peter groaned, letting his head fall back as he came in Neal's mouth.
He just sat there for a moment, breathing hard, his dick still in Neal's mouth, then the other man pulled back, spitting cum on the floor with a grimace. "I usually use a condom. Forgot how that tastes."
Peter didn't answer, too busy trying to avoid Neal's eye as he pulled his pants back up, cheeks burning. Had he really just done that? Had he really just put his cock in Neal Caffrey's mouth? Oh, God. Fuck Hughes' friendship. This op was going to hell.
Neal started to rise, pausing for a second to whisper, "Block A showers, twenty minutes before lockdown. Tell the guard that the Emperor's boy sent you. We'll talk there."
o o o
Peter checked his watch for the umpteenth time. Where the fuck was Neal? There was only fifteen minutes left until nighttime lockup, and Peter was eager to get some answers so he could get the hell off this job. How could everything have gone so wrong, so fast?
"Hey, Peter."
Peter looked up, eyes widening as he got a look at Neal's face. It had obviously been slammed into something, hard, because his nose was dripping blood even through the tissue paper stuffed up there and his temple had a small cut on it.
"Neal, what happened?" he asked worriedly, moving toward him.
"Daddy got a little rough," the man replied, grimacing. "Apparently Tyler didn't think you had a good enough time today."
"Bastard," Peter said, fists clenching at his sides.
"Look, I'm really sorry about today, Peter," Neal said, shaking his head. "I know you didn't want to do that, but I had to…"
"It's okay, Neal," Peter said tiredly. "I understand. But tell me one thing?"
Neal shrugged. "Sure."
"Why are you doing this? Letting some drug lord or whatever do this to you?"
Neal's eyes narrowed at that. "You know, Peter, it's not like I had a lot of choice. When I first came here, I was everybody's meat. I'm serious. Take a look at my infirmary records. Every day somebody new would rape me. I couldn't take it anymore." His voice shook slightly. "I had to do *something*. Better to be the Emperor's bitch than fair game for all."
Peter ran a hand through his hair, feeling sick. "God, I really am sorry, Neal."
The man shrugged. "Not your fault."
"But you're willing to help me catch the Emperor?" Peter questioned. "Even though he's your safety net?"
"If you're willing to do something for me in return," Neal replied. "Look, our agendas match. You want to catch the people who make this place Contraband City, and I want to be safe. I help you with your problem, you help me with mine."
Peter raised an eyebrow. "And how would this work?"
"I'll help you stop the smuggling and you have me transferred out of this joint, to the Supermax facility. I get my own cell, do my own thing."
"I don't know if I can do that, Neal," Peter said with a frown. "This whole operation is really under the wire. I could get you your own cell here—"
"No," Neal interrupted. "It wouldn't matter. If I stay here after the Emperor finds his downfall, I'm dead meat. I want to be transferred."
Peter sighed. "And if I get you transferred, you'll tell me who the Emperor is."
Neal nodded. "Something like that."
"You know you'd have to testify in court, Neal," Peter said. "And since you're a criminal, it may not hold much weight.
"That won't be a problem," Neal said confidently, "because I'm going to get the Emperor to tell you who he is himself."
Peter's brows rose. "And how are you going to do that?"
"I have a plan," Neal said, voice serious. "But I want everything in writing. If you arrest the Emperor, I get transferred to my own cell at the Supermax facility. My name is kept confidential in the records. You never mention me at all."
Peter bit his lip. It wasn't going to be easy, but Hughes had to really care about this warden guy to have started this to begin with. He had a feeling he could work it. "Okay," he said slowly. "You've got yourself a deal. What do we need to do?"
"I'll arrange everything," Neal said. "The Emperor's crew will meet up tomorrow during free time in the kitchen, the back pantry. All you need to do is show up." He paused, a little dramatically in Peter's opinion. "Oh yeah. And tell everybody that your name is Pete Carson and you're the Emperor."
o o o
Peter took a steadying breath as he stared at the entrance to the kitchen, fiddling with the badge hidden under the waistband of his pants. Neal was safely off in solitary, awaiting transport if all things went well.
A big 'if' in Peter's opinion.
Neal had offered no further information on the plan, just stating that Peter needed to show up and try to claim the Emperor's title. He swore that it would be enough to make the man fold like a house of cards. The idea was absurd in Peter's opinion and he was more than a little worried that it would get the shit beat out of him, despite the gaggle of Feds waiting just down the hall to come to his rescue.
But hey, it was this or nothing since Neal had absolutely, one hundred percent refused to turn on the Emperor, stating that if anyone suspected him of anything other than being hauled away for being the Emperor's pet, he'd be a dead man. Which, considering what inmates thought of snitches, was probably true.
Peter shoved down his nerves and took a step forward, making his way into the kitchen. He wound through a maze of inmates chopping and washing and peeling, heading toward the large pantry in the back. It was a little after the time Neal had told him that the group would meet, so hopefully everyone would be there.
It seemed Peter's wish had been granted, because when he entered the room there were half a dozen men of varying ethnicities sitting around a couple of card tables that had been pushed together.
"Well, well, look who finally showed," a white man with a shaved head and a swastika on his arm said, chewing loudly on his tobacco. "The new guy."
"Hey, what you making us wait for, papi?" a Latino man snapped. "A special meeting gets called just for you's and you wait this long to show, muneca? Not cool, brother."
"He ain't yo brother," the Nazi wannabe replied with a derisive laugh. "But I can sees how you might get confused since you got five hundred of them all livin' in a cardboard box outside of May-hee-co."
"Fuck you, Landers," a black man said, showing his teeth. "You shut your Klan ass up befo' I put a cap in it."
"I'm sorry, but Africa be a long distance phone call and they don't allow those in here, boy. Maybe if you write me a letter, I'll get it in a few months."
"All of you shut the fuck up," snapped an Asian man wearing a red bandana. "This ain't your turf, okay?"
"Ain't yours, neither," the black man replied, looking pissed. "You feel me, Yui?"
"Okay, okay," Peter said, holding up a hand. God, the tension in this room was crazy. It felt like it was going to explode into chaos any second. "Can we get down to business here?"
"Yeah, sorry about them," a man wearing mascara said in a very effiminent voice. "There's a reason we don't all meet up together often. We don't exactly run in the same circles outside this lovely hideaway."
The black man snorted. "You wish you could meet up with us more often, faggot, we just ain't into your cheap ho ass."
"So, fish, welcome to the Committee." The Aryan man waved a hand carelessly. "The place where it all gets done. So tell us, what are you bringing to the table, big fellow?"
Peter took a deep breath as he settled into an empty chair, leaning forward slightly. God, this was crazy. He was supposed to tell this group of whack jobs that he was the Emperor? Because Neal Caffrey had told him to? It was official. He'd lost his mind.
"You may have heard rumors about a man called the Emperor?" The group nodded. Peter took another deep breath, every muscle in his body clenching as he stared at the men. God, he hopes this didn't get him shanked. "Well, gentlemen, the Emperor is me."
There was a long silence where nobody moved or spoke or even breathes, then suddenly the whole place erupted in chaos, empty cigarette boxes and poker chips being launched his way. He was pretty sure he got a good bit of spit on his face, too.
The black guy stood abruptly, his eyes flashing. "What the hell did you just say?" he growled, looking ready to kill.
Peter forced himself to hold fast, balling his hands into fists. "I said, I'm the Emperor," he replied, trying to make it sound like he believed it.
"Bullshit," the black man spat. "You ain't the motherfucking Emperor, white boy."
"Oh, really?" Peter said evenly, though his heart was pounding crazily in his chest. "And how would you know?"
"Because I'm the fucking Emperor," he snapped, flashing his teeth and pounding a fist on his chest as he looked around at the other guys with something close to glee on his face. "It's me, boys! I be the Emperor!"
"Like hell it is!" the Aryan guy shouted, standing up and shoving the black guy hard enough to make him stumble. "Your nigga ass ain't worthy of the title. I'm the goddamn Emperor, and you better bow down to me or get yo slave tail back to Africa, boy!" He looked around the room, hissing at the other men. "See, ain't nobody else backing up your claim, fucker."
Peter had to jump out of the way as one of the card tables was suddenly thrown against the wall by the Latino man, who looked ready to kill. "You're both lying sons of bitches! I'm the Emperor, muneca! Nobody gets coke into this hole without my say so!" He pointed a finger in their general direction. "Don't you dare believe these bastards! It's been me all along!"
"Oh yeah?" the Aryan snarled. "Well nobody gets smack in without my say so, and we all know you were just doin' my biddin' with the coke, boy. Get yo ass back to Taco Land, fool."
"You're all liars!" the Asian guy said as he stood, waving his fist threateningly at the other men. "Who pays off the guards? Me! Who got that snitch transferred to the yard so we could off his ass? Me! I'm the Emperor. You're a bunch of wannabes!"
"Excuse me?" the guy in makeup said, standing with his hand on his hips. "You are all fools. Who's in charge of the ass in this place? I am! Without my boys, you idiots would have no place to stick it! I'm the Emperor, and you're fools. I run the bitches and I run this place."
Peter just stood there in disbelief, mouth hanging open. When Neal had said the Emperor would fold like a house of cards, he hadn't expected it to be an actual house. The Emperor was supposed to be a one card deal!
"Please," the black guy growled, spitting in the pimp's direction. "You know you all answer to me. I send my boy, and you bend over backward to do whatever the fuck I want, you bitches."
Okay, so it had to be the black guy, right? He'd mentioned his boy, anyway.
The Aryan guy snorted. "See? Now you know he's fucking lying! My bitch is the one running messages to you all, and you're the ones who do my biddin'."
Hold up… Peter took a careful step back, a very disturbing idea blooming in his admittedly suspicious mind. So the aryan had a bitch, too, huh?
"Your bitch?" the pimp dude said, laughing. "None of you have any bitches. I'm the bitch king. I am the Emperor!"
"Who killed that nosy CO?" the Aryan guy growled. "I did! Everybody knows that was an Emperor takedown!"
Bingo! Peter started to give the signal to bust in, then the black man shoved the Aryan into the wall furiously.
"You only did it because I fuckin' ordered you to," he snarled, and Peter hesitated.
"No, I ordered that hit!" the Asian guy said, his face red with fury.
"Bullshit on all of you," the pimp said, putting a hand up in the air. "I called that hit."
"A bunch of liars!" the Latino guy shouted. No fucking juevos at all, taking claim for another man's work! I cut down that fucking guard. It was my call!"
It was like federal Christmas. They had every one of these guys confessing conspiracy to commit murder.
"Is that enough?" Peter said quietly into the transmitter lodged in the leather wrist band they'd given him.
"Oh yeah," Hughes replied in his ear. "We're coming in now."
The door to the pantry slammed open, and a SWAT team moved in, shouting and waving guns around. "GET ON THE FLOOR! GET ON THE FUCKING FLOOR!" One of the SWAT guys grabbed Peter, hustling him out of the pantry and through the kitchen, straight down the hall to the room where Hughes had set up operations..
"Nice work," Hughes said in lieu of a greeting as Peter walked in, a smile on his face. "I think we found the Emperor."
"Yeah, all five of them," Peter said, frowning as he went back over the scene in his mind.
"Crazy, isn't it?" Hughes said. "No wonder we couldn't catch him—he was everybody. Didn't see that one coming. I wonder if Caffrey has any idea that everybody was claiming to be his boss." He frowned. "Did we ever find out which one was keeping Caffrey?"
Peter hesitated, suspicion tickling at the back of his neck, but finally he said, "The Aryan, I think."
"Okay, we'll make sure sexual assault goes on his charges," Hughes said, accepting the answer at face value. And Peter was pretty sure the Aryan was Neal's 'daddy'… He just wasn't sure the guy was Neal's *only* daddy.
"I just think it's fucking hilarious that they all claimed to the Emperor," Jones said, laughing. "Oh man, it was classic. Everybody wanted to claim the myth."
"Classic," Peter said, nodding. "Yeah, it was definitely classic." He stripped off his wire, dropping it on the table. "Hey, I've had enough of this block. I'm gonna head out, okay?"
"Sure thing," Hughes said, patting him on the back. "Good job on this one, Peter. We couldn't have done it without you."
Or without a certain brunette conman with the ability to weave lies like a spider spun webs.
o o o
"I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out," Neal said in a dull voice as Peter stepped into his cell. He was sitting on his new bunk, his back to Peter, with his arms wrapped around his legs. He looked so small and frail, sitting like that. Much too small and frail for an Emperor, right? Right?
Peter slid the cell shut behind him, moving to lean against the wall across from Neal's bunk. Neal continued to stare off at nothing, not even moving his head to acknowledge Peter's presence.
"Hughes thinks it was just a big flummox, a bunch of guys all tying to claim some magical title that wasn't even real," Peter said in a low voice. "He thinks that your guy just happened to be one of many, and we lucked out and got them all. But I was there, Caffrey. I saw the looks on their faces up close, smelled the sweat rolling off their bodies and the testosterone in the air. This wasn't about a bunch of guys trying to pick up the same unclaimed title. Every one of them thought they were the Emperor, the real Emperor."
Neal finally turned to face him, the little cut on his temple still red and angry looking, and let out a hoarse laugh. "Tell people what they want to hear, and it's amazing what they'll believe," he said softly, shaking his head. He let out a whoosh of air and licked his lips nervously, eyes dropping to Peter's feet.. "So… am I going back?"
Peter sighed, rubbing his forehead tiredly. "Tell me this one thing, Neal. Why did you do it?"
"I had to Peter," Neal said, voice strained, and when he looked up there was desperation in his eyes. "I wasn't lying when I told you about my infirmary record. From the day I got there, I was everybody's piece of ass. Everybody's." He shuddered slightly. "I couldn't take it, but the only other choice I had was being somebody's personal piece of ass, which basically means a slave." He leaned forward, tears shining in his eyes. "You have no idea what it's like, Peter, to be some filthy fucker's little slave bitch. So… so I decided to run a con."
"Because a con is the obvious solution to everything," Peter said flatly, making Neal sort of shrink down.
"I didn't mean for it to turn into anything big," he said in a pleading voice, "I just wanted to be safe. So I went to every big name in the pen and told them all I'd use my smarts to help them become the number one guy around. Everybody would know I was their bitch, but that in reality they needed to stay away and let me lay low so I could keep the warden off their scent. I'd be their public face, and we'd only meet in absolute secret."
"Clever," Peter admitted, though he found the idea a little frightening. This wasn't museum heists and bond forgeries; those guys were hardcore killers. "Dangerous, though. You were playing with fire, Caffrey."
"I know," Neal said, laughing unhappily as he picked nervously at his fingernails. "Trust me, I know. But it was worth it. See, I made sure that I was the only one they trusted, the only one they could trust to pass on messages, so they wouldn't figure out that I had made the same offer to five other guys. For the first time, I was safe. They couldn't fuck me because they couldn't be seen with me, and everybody else was too afraid to mess with the Emperor's boy." His voice grew strained. "Peter, I swear, I wasn't trying to become a crime boss or anything. I was just tired of being raped every single fucking day!" A tear ran down Neal's cheek and he brushed it away angrily, face wrinkling up.
"So you're saying that Officer Lance died to protect your ass," Peter said coldly, less than impressed with the water works. A man was dead because of the Emperor.
"Why do you think I came to you?" Neal said, looking up sharply. "I didn't whisper that in anybody's ear, okay? I liked Officer Lance. He was nice to me. Bubba just did it on his own, then everybody took credit for it." He sighed, shaking his head. "That was when I knew that it had gone too far, and that if I kept it up these guys would start to believe they were untouchable and more people would die. I couldn't be a part of it, not anymore. So I came to you."
Peter let out a short laugh. "Came to me? I came to you, Caffrey. In fact, I remember it as a rather uncomfortable encounter. You know, where you basically forced me to let you suck my cock?"
"Oh please," Neal said, making a face. "Do you think that was really the first time I'd seen you? I knew you were there the second you arrived. Saw you walk off the damn prison bus. I set it up, Peter. I set it all up. Do you think those five guys have regular get togethers? They they enjoy bowling and slumber parties? I convinced every one of them that it was time to arrange a meeting and make themselves known to the other big names in the prison so they could get the proper respect. Then I slipped it in Bubba's head that you would make a good lackey, and had his muscle man haul you in with me."
"To give me a blow job," Peter said flatly, glaring at the other man.
Neal sighed. "No, to tip you off on the plan! The blow job was just an excuse to talk to you without it being suspicious. And thanks *very* much for the big frown you were wearing the whole time." He reached up, wincing as he touched the cut on his temple. "'Daddy' really did give me a beat down." He met Peter's eyes, a serious look on his face. "I swear to you, I was going to tip you off whether the Feds agreed to ship me out or not. You can ask any of the guys. The meeting was arranged before I met with you. I'm not a killer, Peter. I'm really not."
"Yeah, I know that, Neal," Peter said tiredly. "Which is the one reason I'm going to make sure that any mentions of a certain 'bitch' or 'boy' or whatever they call you get hidden deep in the paperwork. But if you ever, *ever* try to con me again, I swear I will come down on you with the full force of the law. You should have told me your plan." He huffed. "Not that you'll ever get the chance. This is definitely farewell, Caffrey, and I look forward to never seeing your tricky ass again."
"So… I get to stay here?" Neal, asked sounding hopeful. As if Peter would really send him back to be raped every day.
"Yeah," Peter said flatly. "You get to stay here, Your Highness." He moved to the door, waving at the CO in the control booth. The latch opened with a clank, and Peter slid the cell door open. He paused, looking back at Neal, shaking his head. "You are *such* a con man, you know that? I mean, the *Emperor*? Don't think I missed the literary reference there."
Neal flashed him a smile. "What can I say? I really dig me some invisible clothes."
The End!