Vice Collar

by Amory Sparkly Bat

When Peter Burke of the Vice Collar division agreed to acquire the contract of slave-turned-conman Neal Caffrey, he'd really only wanted him for his knowledge of illegal slave trade. Neal, however, is determined to give the agent more bang for his buck to ensure that he'll never have to play prison slave again, eventually kindling a fire between them they didn't know existed.

21. Ch 21: Hello, Mr Cuddles

Title: Vice Collar
Author: Amory Puck (pucktheplayer on LJ)
Pairings: Peter/Neal, Peter/El, eventual Peter/Neal/El
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: slash, dub-con, non-con, slavery, graphic sex, childhood sexual abuse

Author's Notes: Okay, I am sitting here with my nose wrapped in gauze after my surgery for my deviated septum, so you must forgive me on the late chapter! Plus, since it was late... you're getting a long chapter. Yes, I know it looks like a short chapter, but that's because the one chapter wouldn't fit into one LJ post, so it is now two chapters, a total of almost 13,000 words. So, yay long chapter! ;) I actually liked writing chapter 20 and 21 because I feel like Peter and Neal make a tiny breakthrough at the end.

o o o

Chapter 21: Hello, Mr. Cuddles.

o o o

"And then ask him if he wants another drink, okay?" Neal said, and Toby nodded, a very serious look on his face, like he was writing down everything in his head. "Good boy." Neal gave the kid a pat on the back and the boy dashed through the patio door, intent on his mission.

When Neal turned back around, Ian was slowly stirring a pot full of macaroni and cheese, staring off at nothing, a little wrinkle between his eyes. Neal didn't have to be psychic to figure out what was bothering the boy. Mamma slaves were such worry warts.

"He'll learn," Neal said quietly, placing his hands on Ian's tense shoulders, massaging them gently.

Ian sort of jumped, like he hadn't even noticed Neal was there, then let out a short laugh, glancing over with a distressed look on his face. "I hope so," he said softly, his blue eyes shiny. "I don't understand why it's taking so long. He's almost five, you know. By his age I was already fully trained, on the market."

"Well, it's different for the ones trained at home," Neal said quietly, still working at Ian's tight muscles. "He's not really behind, I promise. They learn slower in situations like this, but they learn better. Pretty soon he'll be a great slave, and not because he's afraid to be anything else, like we were. He'll be a good slave because he loves his master."

Ian sighed. "I'm just afraid Master will sell him if he doesn't shape up, and he won't find a nicer home than this one." He leaned back so he was pressed up against Neal's chest and Neal wrapped his arms around the smaller boy, squeezing gently. "I've had thirteen masters, and none of them were as kind as Master Jack and Mistress Rhonda. Master doesn't even believe in whipping slaves, can you believe that?" He huffed, shaking his head. "At first living like this actually disturbed me. I'd heard how nice it was to be a whipping boy or a house slave for these little families, but all I'd even been was a fuckling for rich men. I went straight from Slave Mart's aisles to the black market when I was five, and it was all pain from there."

"I have to say, living with liberals is kind of nice," Neal admitted, and Ian turned in his arms, looking up into his eyes with interest.

"Is your master the same way?"

"Yeah, sort of," Neal said slowly. "I mean, I've only been with them a few days, but some of the things he's done are just *crazy.*"

"Like what?" Ian said, reaching up and wrapping his arms around Neal's neck, hand playing in his hair. Man, it had been a long time since he'd been touched like this. Safety petting hadn't been allowed at the prison—not that it was really allowed anywhere—but God it felt nice to have some human contact you knew wasn't going to end in pain or shame or sex. Just nice, safe touching.

"Well, for one thing, I eat at the table with them. As in, at the table. In a chair. At the same time, eating the same food." Neal shook his head in disbelief. "And my mistress gave me a towel. As in, 'here, this belongs to you.'"

"Okay," Ian said, looking a little distressed by the idea. "That's odd… Was it some kind of trick?"

"No, it wasn't. Can you believe that?" Neal said, glad to be around someone who actually understood. He was sick of people looking at him as if he was insane for reasons he didn't understand. "Oh, man, and he's been talking about giving me an *allowance.*" He began to rub small circles along Ian's back.

"An allowance of what?" the boy asked. "Food?"

Neal let out a huff of laughter. "No. Of money."

Ian's mouth dropped open. "Is he insane?" the boy said with a laugh. "Slaves don't use money. What would you buy?"

Neal shrugged. "I have no idea. None at all. I mean, seriously, I was thinking about it and I honestly have zero idea of what I would buy with an allowance."

"Do you even know how to use money?" Ian asked.

"Yeah," Neal said, cheeks warming slightly, "I've, uh, used money before. It's not as hard as it seems."

Ian raised an eyebrow. "It's the coins that get me. Did you know that sometimes the bigger ones are worth less than the little ones?"

"Yeah, it's weird," Neal agreed. "It's not really about what the metal is worth anymore, though. Money just represents stock piles of gold and stuff that the government has in storage. That's why it's so easy to fake."

"Why were you using money, anyway?" Ian asked, looking curious.

Neal let his hands drop to boy's waist, cheeks reddening again. "Um, well, I'm, uh…" He paused, sure that this next part was not going to go over well. "I'm sort of a criminal slave. Or was!" he added quickly when Ian started to step back. Neal really didn't want to lose his touch stone yet. He was actually starting to feel truly relaxed for the first time in a *really* long time. "I'm reformed, I swear. Which is why this whole thing with my new master is so weird. I want to be good, but his idea of 'good' really doesn't line up with mine."

Ian frowned at him for another moment, then put his hand back in Neal's hair, stroking lightly. "It can be confusing," he said softly. "Master Jack always wants me to tell him if I don't feel good, but I don't understand what the point is. It doesn't matter how I feel, I'm still going to do my job, so why should I bother him with that? And if I *do* tell him, then he tries to take my job away, and then I feel useless. And what's the point in keeping a useless slave?"

Neal shrugged. "I don't know. It's an affection thing, I guess. I had a mistress once who was like that with me." He paused, a wave of bitterness washing over him. "Of course, in the end she didn't want me at all."

"That's what I'm afraid will happen," Ian said, looking worried. "I mean, you're old, so you must be really special for your master to want you so bad. There's nothing special about me. What happens when I get old?"

"I don't know," Neal said quietly. "Would your master put you down?"

"I'm sure he would," Ian replied, tugging lightly at Neal's curls. "I've never met a master who wouldn't."

"Mine swore he won't," Neal said in a soft voice, the words feeling strange on his lips. "Like, ever."

"What, have you got two dicks or something?" Ian replied, looking amused. Neal made a small sound as the boy pulled away, but Ian just took the pot off the stove and returned to Neal, wrapping his arms back around his neck. "Or do you have a vacuum cleaner in your throat?" Ian asked, the feathers tattooed on his face warping as he truly grinned for the first time that night.

"No, just the one dick," Neal said with a laugh. "Hell, as of right now he doesn't seem all that interested in the one I have." He sighed. "It's kind of frustrating. Like you said. Who needs a useless slave? How am I supposed to make a place for myself in his home if he doesn't even want me?"

"Oh, he wants you," Ian said, giving Neal a knowing look. "I saw the way he was looking at your body." Ian's hands dropped down as he leaned back, running his hands across Neal's pecs. "He'll fuck you eventually."

"I guess," Neal said softly, mood sobering suddenly as an image of the hat stealer flashed through his mind. God, that was such a mess. It sure would be nice to be able to talk to someone who *really* understood. "Can I tell you a confession?" he asked, searching the other boy's face.

Ian paused in his inspection of Neal's chest, meeting his eyes with a serious look. "Does it involve my master?" he asked quietly, eyes locked with Neal's.

"No," Neal replied, shaking his head. "It's got nothing to do with your master."

Ian licked his lips, gazing off at nothing for a moment, then gave a short nod. "Okay," he said quietly. "I'll keep your confession, as long as it has nothing to do with my master. But if Master Jack gets involved, I'll give your confession."

"Fair enough," Neal said. He dropped his eyes, studying Ian's black jeans. "Yesterday, Master took me to his office. When he sent me to lunch, a man he doesn't like followed me into the break room and used me." His voice cracked slightly on the last words.

"I'm guessing since you want me to keep your confession that your master doesn't know," Ian said.

"No," Neal admitted, face going red at the look on Ian's face. "I… I didn't tell him."

"That's not being a good slave, Neal," Ian said, shaking his head. On one level the words hurt, but mostly they felt good, because they felt real. Ian knew what it meant to be a slave. There would be no sappy scenes or words of comfort. Just the cold, hard truth. "You have to tell him. It's his body, and he has a right to know that someone used it. I would never lie to my master like that."

"I know," Neal said, voice coming out a little hoarse. "But I'm afraid if I tell him, then he won't want me ever. Like you said, I'm pretty but I'm not exactly a puppy. I'm old for a fuckling, almost too old. And I'm not mint goods, either, which he knows. I've had a lot of masters—more than you have by far—and I've been a prison slave."

Ian winced. "Not a pleasant lifestyle, I've heard."

"No, it's not," Neal said, aware he sounded a little miserable. "He knows about all that… I'm afraid that being used by this man at his own workplace will be the final straw, you know? The thing that makes him realize that I'm not worth all this trouble. Because I'm really not worth all this trouble, Ian."

"You think I'm worth the trouble Master put into me?" Ian said with a short laugh. He reached down and took Neal's hand, lifting it to his face, touching his fingertips to the feathers inked onto his cheek. "I know what it's like to be the used goods nobody wants, Neal. I came from a rescue. I was scheduled to be euthanized, and Master took me out of the goodness of his heart." He sounded shaky. "I still don't know why. I was so fucked up…

"The last Master I had would choke me, every time he fucked me, until I blacked out, and every time Master Jack used me, I would start to cry or whimper or shake, even though he never hurt me. I'd been sent to the rescue because my Master thought I had brain damage from all the choking, and that's what they told Master Jack. I thought maybe I did, too, because no matter what I did, I couldn't stop myself from whimpering or shaking or whatever. I expected to be sent back to the rescue within a week, or put down in the bathtub or something." Ian swallowed hard.

"But he kept me, and every time he touched me he would whisper in my ear that he wasn't there to hurt me. It was two years before I could offer myself to him with a smile, and sometimes I still feel like I'm choking and start to shake, and he'll just wrap his arms around me and hold me until I stop. Maybe you can hide what happened to you by keeping secrets and telling confessions to slaves who don't serve your master, but the things that happened to me are literally carved into my body. I am covered with scars, but he kept me anyway. He treated me well, and I didn't deserve it, shaking and crying like a little child when he fucked me. That isn't good service, but I couldn't make myself stop no matter how hard I tried. Master Jack is just a good man, and a good master.

"If your master is good like you say, he'll treat you well even though you're a liar and a slave confessor and you don't deserve anything but a whipping. If not, then you aren't really missing out, are you?" Ian paused, looking up at Neal seriously. "There's no decision for you to make here, Neal," he said softly. "You have to tell him. He's your master and it's his body, not yours. You don't get to decide what he knows about his body."

Neal swallowed hard. "You're right," he said quietly. "I know you're right. I'm just… I'm afraid, you know?"

Ian shrugged, then wrapped his arms back around Neal's neck. "I understand, but right now, you're a liar and a whore, Neal, because only whores let men use them then don't tell their masters. Tell him, and you'll be just a slave again. Maybe not the best slave, maybe not the newest slave, but a loyal slave. An obedient slave, who loves his master. Lucky for us, it seems like that's what matters to masters like ours."

Neal made a small sound, burying his face in Ian's hair, and they just stood there in each other's arms, swaying every so slightly, warm body to warm body—

The patio door slammed open, making both Neal and Ian jump, and Toby practically ran in, dragging an amused looking Peter behind him. Or he looked amused until he saw Neal and Ian, anyway, then his face went bright red, eyes going wide as he stared at them like they'd each grown two heads.

Neal's brow furrowed in confusion. What was he—?

"Am I interrupting something here?"

Oh, shit.

This night just got better and better, didn't it?

o o o

Peter stared in disbelief at the two slaves intertwined in the middle of the room, his face feeling like it was on fire. Talk about a bad time to walk in. Damn. He knew he'd written down that it was okay for Neal to date anyone who wasn't a felon, but getting it on in the kitchen with a slave he'd just met? Not what Peter had been expecting. And here Peter had thought Neal had just really wanted to get back and help finish making dinner.

Man, was he a sucker.

Neal and Ian sort of jumped apart, looking as embarrassed as Peter felt. Or Neal looked embarrassed, anyway. Ian didn't really seem to care, but then it wasn't *his* master who had walked in on them necking. The mere idea made Peter frown.

Wasn't Ian just a little young for Neal? Did the fact that your average masters these days were total pedophiles it suddenly make it okay for Neal, too? Of course, it was obvious that this Ian kid was a total slut, no matter how old he was, with his stupid tattoo on his overly pretty face.

Peter scowled deeply, feeling unusually put off by the whole situation. In the kitchen? Really? With him right there? Have a little class! His eyes dropped to Ian, and his scowl turned into more of a baring of teeth. Little blonde hussy, with his angel feather face. Is this what he did, swoop in from the heavens to steal away other men's unusually attractive slaves with their unusually sexy clothes and unusually pink lips?

Okay, whoa, he needed to slow down. This whole line of thought was crazy. What business was it of his, anyway? It wasn't like Neal was his boyfriend, or even his sex slave, not really. I mean, yeah, he was the slave part, obviously, but not the sex part. Who was Peter to act like he'd just walked in on his wife banging Brad Pitt? Neal was free to be with whoever he liked. Even feathery frolic boy. Right?

"Master," Neal said, his face flushed—of course his face was flushed, he'd been making out with the Ken doll!—and his eyes wide. "It's not what it looks like."

Ian's brow furrowed, and he looked over at Neal with confusion. "What's not what it looks like?"

Someone obviously wasn't happy that Neal wasn't shouting his love from the rooftops.

"Master, we were just—"

Peter held up a hand, forcing a smile onto his face. "Hey, I don't need any of the dirty details, Mr. Cuddles. What you two lovebirds do on your free time means nothing to me." He paused, then added a little vindictively. "I admit, I thought you were a little classier than this, but if you want to get it on in a stranger's kitchen, that's your business."

Neal's mouth dropped open, hands going on his hips, and Ian just looked more confused than ever, like he had no idea what was going on. Obviously he was a blonde in the truest sense of the word.

"Oh, fuck you, Master," Neal snapped back, and Ian made a small sound of shock, actually stumbling backward. "Mr. Cuddles? Seriously? And don't talk to me about class, Mr. Wears-Suspenders-and-a-Belt-at-the-Same-T

ime! Talk about redundant."

"Neal," Ian hissed, reaching out and grabbing the slave's arm. "Shut up!"

Peter's eyes narrowed. "Oh, you stay out of this, Marilyn."

"Oh, that was a good one, Master," Neal said, rolling his eyes. "You know, except for the fact that he's probably never seen a movie in his life that wasn't put out by Pixar or Disney, so your reference was pointless. Cute, but pointless."

"Neal," Ian said in a warning voice, "shut your mouth, now."

"Who are you to order my slave around?" Peter asked, scowling. "Aren't you supposed to be the one following orders?"

"I'll be glad to follow any order you give me, Master Burke," Ian replied tightly, looking very stressed.

"Fine," Peter snapped. "Then go jump off a cliff." Let's see how he liked that one.

Ian bit his lip, glancing nervously between Peter and Neal. "I-I'm sorry, Master Burke," he said finally. "But I can't follow an order that would get me killed unless it was given to me by my own master."

"Some slave you are," Peter said sarcastically, and Neal made a sound of annoyance.

"Why the hell are you picking on him? I thought you were all about helping slaves or whatever," Neal snapped.

"Okay, that's enough, Neal," Ian said, voice suddenly commanding. He picked up a spatula off the counter and grabbed Neal by the front of the shirt, yanking him forward at the same time he kicked one of his legs, sending Neal tumbling down into the floor. Before Peter even had time to react, Ian raised his arm and slapped Neal as hard as he could across the face with the spatula which, from the sound of pain Neal made, was pretty damn hard. "You will be respectful in my master's house," he said in a harsh voice. "Or you will get out of his home. Do you understand me, Neal?"

Peter started forward, ready to grab that fucking spatula and show Ian just how it felt, but Neal held up a hand in his direction, making him pause. For a moment Neal just knelt there, making no attempt to stand, then he carefully slid his hands behind his back and adjusted himself until he was kneeling in one of his "proper" positions.

"Yes, Ian," Neal said quietly, slowly lifting his head to look at the other slave. "I apologize, to both our masters and to you. My behavior was disrespectful and inappropriate. I am shamed." The words had an almost ritualistic feel to them.

Ian took a step back, then dropped to his knees as well, catching Neal's face in his hands. "You don't have to apologize to me," Ian said softly. "But please be respectful of my master's house in the future. No shame on you."

This was apparently the cue to rise, because they both climbed to their feet, looking much more uncomfortable now than they had when Peter first walked in, as if this was the naughty bit.

They stood awkwardly for a moment, Neal rubbing at his cheek and Ian toying with the spatula, then Ian opened his arms and Neal stepped forward, embracing him.

Peter's brow furrowed a little as he watched them together, wrapped in each other's arms. It wasn't so different from what he'd walked in on—wasn't different at all, in fact—but there was something about it, about the way they held each other, so relaxed and assured, that was… perfect. Like being in each other's arms was the ultimate satisfaction. But not in a sexual way. More like they were two pieces in the same puzzle that fit together, not because they knew each other and not because they liked each other, but because it was simply what they *were.* They were two puzzle pieces that fit together. Simple as that.

It was… weird. Honestly, Peter didn't really know what to think about it.

He didn't have too long to think about it either, since the next thing Peter knew, he was being thrown hard into the wall by a furious looking Jack, a whimpering Toby following along behind him.

What the hell?

"Master," he cried, tear running down his face, "I didn't—"

Peter let out a grunt of pain as Jack slammed him hard against the wall again, flashing his teeth at Peter. "Ian, put Toby to bed," Jack said shortly, not breaking eye contact with Peter.

Ian pulled away from Neal, looking back and forth between Toby and Jack, his eyes wide. "Master, what—"

"Take Toby and put him to bed, Ian!" Jack shouted, glaring at the boy.

Ian began to nod madly, reaching down and scooping a now crying Toby up in his arms. "Yes, Master, of course, Master."

"Jack, what the hell is going on?" Rhonda cried out as she entered the kitchen, El right on her heels. Apparently someone had finally made it home, just in time for the big fireworks. Too bad Peter had no idea why they were going off.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" Jack spat at Peter, his eyes blazing. "Did you think he wouldn't tell me? I'm his master, Peter! He tells me everything!"

"What?" Peter said, totally confused. "Jack, I have no idea what you're talking about!"

"Don't give me that shit," Jack snapped, grabbing Peter by the shirt and slamming him back against the wall again. "I don't care what kind of kinky crap you have going with your new little pet, Burke. Make him dance around all night with that fucking butt plug up his ass if you want. Hell, you can dress him up in drag and call him Tina Turner for all I care, though, honestly, I'm tired of seeing the poor boy wince every time he bends at the waist. But don't you fucking dare touch *my* slave. He's four years old, Burke, and even if he was twenty, he's not a goddamn fuckling like your little whore. Nobody except Tyler is ever gonna touch him, and sure as hell not your filthy, fat hands when he's a baby! Vice Collar, indeed. You're the one who oughta be behind bars."

"What?" Peter said, shocked. "I never touched him! Jack, I would never! That's disgusting! Even the idea makes me want to puke!"

"Peter would never!" El cut in, grabbing at the back of Jack's shirt and trying to yank him back. "Ever!"

"You think so?" Jack snapped. "Because my baby boy slave just came and told me that he and Master Burke here had a nice little talk about touching in weird places and private parts. Poor kid thought it was *funny.*"

Oh, God. Peter squeezed his eyes shut, a pained look coming over his face. Shit, shit, shit.

"See? He did it!"

"Master Calloway, I swear, my master wouldn't!" Neal's voice was strained. "He doesn't believe in that."

"Says the boy with the butt plug up his ass," Jack snapped.

"What the hell are you talking about?" El snapped. "That's disgusting! Why the hell would you think he has a… God, I can't even say it!"

"A butt plug?" Jack snapped. "Gee, I dunno, because every time he bends over he looks like he's got the shits and he walks like every step is a thousand miles. I know what it looks like when a boy's wearing a butt plug. Just because I don't get it on with little kids doesn't mean I'm an idiot!"

"He's not wearing a," El winced, "butt plug, okay? You don't know what the hell you're talking about! Now let my husband go before I call the police! He is *not* wearing a butt plug!"

"Yeah," Peter put in, though it was kind of hard to talk pressed up against the wall by Jack's big arms, "who's the pervert now? Tell him, Neal!" Peter looked in Neal's direction, eyes widening slightly at the embarrassed look on his face. His cheeks were on fire, and Peter could practically see the sweat dripping down his face.

"A-actually," Neal said in a tiny voice, face somehow managing to go even redder, "I sort of am wearing a butt plug."

If Jack hadn't been about to choke him to death, Peter's mouth probably would have dropped open in disbelief. Luckily, El's dropped open enough to cover both of them.

"You're what?" she said, sounding shocked and appalled.

Jack snorted. "Time to face reality, Elizabeth. Your hubby's a perv. Go ahead, call the police. Then he can explain to his boss why he was trying to fondle my toddler!"

"Master Calloway, he didn't know," Neal said in a desperate voice. "I-I didn't know what you'd want to do with me, so I put it in just in case, so I didn't get hurt if you wanted to fuck me."

"Bullshit," Jack snapped back. "Stop trying to cover for your master, boy. From the second you got here, he made it clear that you weren't the offering of the night. Not that I take those kinds of favors from my gift slaves, mind you. I'm really more of a kitchen duty sort of man. Banging other men's slaves to make myself feel like I have a big cock isn't necessary. I do have a big cock! But I can't blame you for expecting everybody to be a kinky sonofabitch when babysitter Burke here is who you answer to."

"I didn't know what he wanted from me!" Neal protested, reaching out and grabbing at Jack's arm. "Please, believe me. I have no fucking clue what he wants from me at all half the time! Hell, I took it up the ass in his office yesterday and lied about it to him because I was afraid he would be angry."

Wait, what the hell? Took it up the ass in his office? Peter squeezed his eyes shut, a wave of pain rushing through him. He knew something was wrong. He *knew* Neal had been lying. But why the hell had he lied? Was he really still that scared of Peter?

" He's never even *touched* me," Neal continued, voice thick, "even though I want him to, because he's so saintly. Or maybe because I'm so not saintly. I don't know why. But he would never do that to a kid! Please, let him go, Master Calloway. This is all my fault."

"It's your fault he asked my boy slave about his private parts?" Jack growled back, making Neal pale. "I don't think so."

"I was asking about *you*, asshole!" Peter said, sick of this. He used his shoulder to pry one of Jack's arms up, then grabbed the other man and shoved him as hard as he could, making them both stumble. Jack tipped backward, wrapping his arms around Peter as he fell, dragging him down to the ground with him.

"What the hell do you mean, asking about me?" Jack snapped, using all his strength to roll himself on top of Peter. Peter returned in kind, rolling on top of him.

"I mean, I was asking him if *you* touched him down there, you perverted fuck!"

Jack's mouth dropped open, face red with anger, and he rolled Peter around again, pinning him down. "What do I look like, a fucking pedophile? He's four years old!"

Peter grunted, using his weight to shift himself back on top. Thank God for his high school wrestling coach. "This from the same man who sat right across from me tonight telling me how the poor kid with the feathers on his face whimpered every time you 'used him' for two fucking years? Used him, huh? Where I come from, we call that rape!"

Jack was back on top again. "He's a sex slave, Burke," he snapped. "And whether you knew Bootylicious over there had a dildo up his ass or not, it's obvious you have plenty of X rated thoughts about him. I saw the tent in your pants when you were checking out his abs."

"Oh my God, this is so embarrassing," Rhonda whined out of nowhere.

"Yeah, well, Bootylicious over there isn't a fucking kid like Feathers is!" Peter snapped back, rolling himself on top once more. Man, he was sweating like a pig. "He's a grown man! Boy! Whatever! Point is, he's not a crying, whimpering child! Why shouldn't I think you were doing sick things with Toby, too?"

"Please tell me that my husband did not just call Neal 'Bootylicious.'" El sounded pained.

"Not a whimpering, crying child, maybe," Jack snapped back and, oh yeah, he was on top again. Damn, if they didn't quit doing this, Peter was gonna get dizzy. "But just as broken and scared as Ian was back when I got him! Maybe he don't have it tattooed on his fucking face, but he's as fucked up as my boy, any day! God, do you give the poor boy any relief? Does he have any other slaves to interact with at all, or do you just starve him, keeping him cut off from his own kind so you can watch him angst? I saw him hanging off my boy like a goddamn lifeline, and I saw how scared he was when you came in and freaked out! Are you so jealous you won't even allow him to touch other slaves? And then you won't touch him, either? Does he ever get touched by anybody at all?"

Jack shook his head, a sadness rolling across his face for a moment before it was back to pissed.

"No wonder he goes off on you and acts like a disrespectful shit, even in another man's house!" Jack shouted, smacking the tile by Peter's head for emphasis. "He's starving for attention, and you just lock him up and give him zip. Another man used him, and he was so afraid you'd be angry someone touched him that he didn't even tell you! Some master you are! You want to talk about rape? You're raping his fucking heart! If you won't love him, at least give him permission to visit other slaves in the neighborhood and get attention from somebody! Slaves need attention, Burke, just like any living thing!"

Peter stared up at the man's angry face, grimacing a little as sweat from Jack's forehead dripped onto his own. What the fuck?

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said finally, heart pounding in his chest.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Oh, fuck you—"

"No, really, I have no idea what you're talking about," Peter interrupted, breath still coming fast. "What do you mean, allow him to touch other slaves? We don't have any other slaves! And I don't touch him because it's *wrong.* It's wrong to force someone to do that!"

The other man's brow furrowed. "What, to fuck you? He's a sex slave, Peter. It's what they do. But shit, even if you don't want to bang him, you can at least hold him. He seems like a good enough boy, when he's not desperate for attention and willing to take it any way he can get it. Why would you cut him off like that? You wouldn't do that to… shit, what's your dog's weird name?"

"Satchmo," Peter said. "But Neal's not a dog."

Jack snorted. "You know, Burke, I never took you as one who would think so little of his slaves. I'd put both my boys before a set of paws with a waggy tail any day. Your boy isn't even on level with your dog? What do you think he is, a goddamn suitcase?"

"What? No!" Peter pushed himself up on his elbows, and Jack sat up, wiping at his sweaty brow with the back of his hand. "I meant, he's a human being, not a dog! You don't go around feeling people up without their permission."

"So, what, he's supposed to come ask you?" Jack snapped back. "Oh, Master," he said in a girly voice, batting his lashes. "Will you come give me a hug, pleeease?" He snorted, shaking his head. "Not gonna happen. You have to read their body language, Burke. Look at him, standing over there looking scared as shit. You think he'd be so scared if you'd go wrap your arm around him? Give him a little squeeze that says everything's okay? I bet not. But if you're not willing to do it, at least let him spend time with his own kind. You have a homeowner's association, right? Let him go work for the HOA a couple of hours a week, spend some time with other slaves in the neighborhood. Slaves are social creatures. They need somebody to spend time with. If you won't take care of him, let go of the jealousy let someone else do it for you. Didn't you see how bad he needed Ian tonight?"

Peter glanced over at Neal, who was sort of hovering off to the side, looking distinctly terrified, his eyes flitting back and forth between Peter and the floor. "I… You mean slaves… They like spending time together?" The words seemed dumb once he said them—why wouldn't they like spending time together?—but the truth was that it had never even crossed his mind.

"Of course they do," Jack said, rolling his eyes. "They got their own culture, you know. Weird as shit, but there you go. The old ones teach the young ones, they help each other out, even gossip a little, from what I hear."

"I told him that if he wants to date someone, he can," Peter said, wiping his own brow on the hem of his t-shirt.

"Date someone? What the hell? Is *that* what you thought was going down in the kitchen?" Jack shook his head, looking more amused than upset now. "They were just hugging, man. Slaves do it all the time, when we're not looking, obviously. Or when they think we're not looking. They understand each other. I mean, do you understand how their minds work? 'Cause I sure as hell don't. But they understand each other, so why not let them have some time together? What's it hurt? Hell, I've found it makes them better slaves. A little compassion goes a long way."

Peter looked over at Neal again. His eyes were now firmly affixed to the tile.

"Master?"

Jack glanced up at the timid voice, smiling at Ian, who was hovering in the doorway, looking frightened. "Hey, it's okay," Jack said in a soothing voice. "Come here, boy." He held out an arm and Ian moved over, kneeling down so the man could give him a hug. "Sorry I yelled. Master Peter and I had a little… miscommunication."

To say the least.

Ian licked his lips nervously. "Yeah, Toby said. Master, I don't think Master Burke did anything. Toby didn't know what he was talking about." He paused, eyes dropping to the floor and shoulders tensing. "But… I can explain it to him, Master. If you want." His voice came out soft, barely more than a whisper. It was obvious this was *not* what he wanted to be saying. "Most slaves at least know by his age what that means."

"No, no, definitely not," Jack said with a chuckle, ruffling the kid's hair. "He can have that talk at the same time Tyler does, which will hopefully not be for another thirty years or so."

Ian looked up, giving him a shaky smile. "I suppose we can hope, Master."

"Yeah, I'd rather my kid not co-star on '16 and Pregnant,'" Jack said dryly, and Ian laughed this time.

"Yeah, me neither, Master. I'm thinking all boy's school, sir."

"Oh, I am so with you there, baby," Jack said, leaning over and giving him a kiss on the forehead. "Now, my little miracle worker, do you think there is any way of salvaging the dinner you worked so hard on all day? You know I love your cooking."

Ian blushed. "I'll have to warm up the side dishes, but I left the roast in the oven, Master. I can have it ready in ten minutes, fifteen tops."

"Okay, go work your wonders," Jack said, and Ian stood, immediately retreating to the stove. Peter didn't miss the small little squeeze he gave Neal's hand as he walked by, however.

Jack stood up, offering his hand to Peter. "Truce?"

"Truce," Peter agreed, wincing as he climbed to his feet. "Man, I am way too old for wrestling matches."

"You're both too old," El replied, looking irritated. "Will someone please tell me what's wrong with simple *talking*? Is there something in your man genes that prevents it? I really don't get it."

"It's a boy's club secret," Jack replied dryly, smirking when his wife glared at him. "What?"

"You just assaulted our *guest*, Jack," she said through gritted teeth.

The man shrugged. "Hey, I thought he was assaulting my slave, okay? But hey, we're good, right man?"

"Yeah, we're good," Peter said, rubbing his sore arm.

"So… anybody up for dinner?" Jack asked.

"Well, I could use a glass of wine, that's for sure," Rhonda muttered, and El laughed.

"I second that motion," she said.

"Well, come on, ladies, and I'll pour you a glass," Jack said, beckoning them toward the living room.

"I'll be there in a second," Peter said when the man looked at him, glancing pointedly over at Neal. Jack gave a short nod and followed the women out of the room.

Neal was still staring hard at the tile, like it held the answer to the universe or something. His shoulders were hunched, arms wrapped protectively around himself, which made his biceps bulge in a very enticing way. Not that Peter was thinking about that or anything.

Peter took a deep breath as he walked toward him, gently putting a hand on his slave's arm. "Hey," he said quietly.

Neal swallowed hard, rolling his eyes up to look at Peter. "I'm sorry I lied to you, Master," he said softly, and Peter sighed, a flash of pain washing over him as Neal's desperate words rang through his head.

"Let's not talk about that right now, okay?" he said quietly. "Neal… was Jack right?"

Neal frowned, looking confused, the embarrassed. "You mean about the butt plug thing? Yeah, he was right."

Peter winced. "No, not about the… ugh. I meant, was he right about the whole… touching thing? Do you… do you want me to touch you? Because it seems like, a lot of the time, when I try, you flinch away."

"I know," Neal said, cheeks going red. "I don't mean to, I swear I don't, Master." He locked his bright blue eyes with Peter's. "I'm just not used to being touched in ways that don't hurt, you know? Not… not anymore."

"But you do want me to touch you?" Peter asked, not quite sure what Neal was saying.

"Yes," Neal said, then he frowned. "No. But, yes. I don't want to be touched, because it's hard to remember what it's like to be touched in a good way. But I do want to be touched, I just don't really know how to do it without being afraid anymore." He made a face. "God, that sounded ridiculous. I'm being ridiculous. I really am Mr. Cuddles. Shit, I'm sorry, Master." He straightened up, his hundred watt smile flashed into place, and he was Neal Caffrey, king of the con once again. "Just another night that I've managed to turn into a mess." His voice had gone carefree and teasing, as if nothing had happened at all. Man, he was good. "Talk about a track record, huh? And here you thought the fun was gonna end when you caught me—ump!"

Peter wrapped his arms tightly around the slave, pulling him close to his chest. At first Neal was stiff against him, but after a moment his body relaxed and Peter felt Neal bury his face in his neck. They just stood there for a couple of minutes, then Neal's arms slowly wrapped around Peter's waist, fingers tracing along the waist of his jeans and up along his back. Peter gave a sad smile as he felt wet droplets begin to run down his neck, and he pulled the slave tighter against him, rubbing his back in what he hoped was a soothing way.

"Shhh, it's okay, Neal," he whispered. "We're going to be alright. I promise, we're going to be alright."