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Neal heaved a sigh and thrust his hands into the pockets of his chinos. Could things get any worse?
The day had started with the Burkes hustling and bustling through the house. Neal wasn't a morning person, and usually indulged in some quality alone time while the Burkes got ready to face the day. Luckily, they didn't expect their slave to prepare breakfast, only insisted on him being present while they ate, so Neal normally started his day by snuggling in bed all by himself, luxuriating in the high thread count sheets. Sometimes, El wanted to share the morning shower with him, expecting Neal to wash her hair and scrubbing her back. Other times, Peter took Neal with him when he walked Satchmo. But more often than not, the Burkes left their slave alone in the mornings.
So when they dragged him out of bed at six and ordered him to take a shower and then make breakfast, Neal was confused--and anything but amused. He grudgingly obeyed, of course, though he was so busy trying to figure out what was going on that he almost burned the scrambled eggs. Why was Peter hauling suitcases down the stairs? What was El doing with the dreaded black canvas bag? The one with all of Neal's slave gear in it?
Breakfast was a rushed affair, and afterwards Neal was ordered to clean up while Peter went to load the car and El followed Neal into the kitchen to quickly make some sandwiches.
"Elizabeth?" Neal asked hesitantly as he watched her pack everything into a cooler, and add some water bottles and apples.
"Just in case we get hungry, sweetie."
Neal frowned in confusion. He usually either spent the day with El at work or Peter took him to the FBI. They didn't trust him to stay home alone, considered him a flight risk, and also didn't dare to leave him with a slave sitter for the same reason. The FBI, however, provided a slave care center where agents could leave their slaves while they were working. Neal hated spending his days there with a passion, for the simple fact that it was boring as hell. He much preferred to accompany El to work where he got to be creative and help her organize events.
But no matter with whom he spent the day, they never packed food or beverages.
Before he could voice his confusion, Peter stood in front of him and attached the leash to Neal's collar. Neal instinctively pulled away, just like he always did, but Peter had the leash wrapped tightly around his fist. "No shenanigans today, Neal," he said sternly. "Now come on."
Neal opened his mouth to argue that he'd feel better if he knew what the hell was going on, but thought better of it once he realized that Peter was dragging him toward the back of the car. The hatch of the SUV was open, and Neal saw the suitcases and his slave bag stowed on the backseat instead of the trunk. This didn't bode well for him. At all.
Normally, Neal managed to finagle his way into the passenger seat or at least the backseat when he accompanied Peter or El to work. It wasn't really legal for slaves to ride in a car like a free person, but Peter was an FBI agent and his badge bought him some liberties. El's office was only a ten minute drive away from home and so the chances of getting caught were slim to none. The fact that Peter insisted on Neal getting into his slave cage in the back could only mean one thing: they would cross a stateline, where they would have to pass slave checkpoints.
"Where are we going, Peter?" Neal asked hesitantly, allowing his master to put the safety harness on him. Neal hated the slave version of a seatbelt, but knew it was a necessary safety measure. He took a deep breath, expanding his chest in a sneaky attempt to keep the harness loose, but Peter calmly grabbed Neal's upper arm, turned the slave around and slapped Neal's ass hard. Neal yelped softly in pain, and the air rushed out of his lungs. A second later, Peter cinched the harness tightly around Neal's torso.
"You'll see." He helped Neal climb into the cage and attached the harness to the rings in the wall. "Are you going to behave or do I have to cuff you?" It wouldn't be the first time that Neal had managed to wiggle out of the harness thanks to his nimble fingers.
"I'll behave," Neal replied meekly. He was getting worried. Maybe the Burkes were finally fed up with him. He really shouldn't be surprised, since he had once again tried to sneak off just the night before. It wasn't that he wanted to run away. Not really, anyway. But Mozzie was in town, had made contact with him, and so Neal had tried to sneak out to meet his friend.
His ruse of taking Satchmo for a late night walk was pretty stupid, of course. He knew it wouldn't hold, but he had still tried to sell it when Peter had caught him half a block away from home. The fact that Neal had managed to sneak out of their bed without waking either of the Burkes and then to turn off the alarm even though he didn't know the combination, didn't endear him to Peter either. His angelic, "I was just trying to help," had fallen on deaf ears. Instead, Peter had hauled him back home, given him a short but painful spanking and then chained him to the bed for the rest of the night.
So maybe the Burkes were going to take him to a Slave Center to sell him. That would also explain having to ride in the cage; owners couldn't show up at a Center with their slave riding shotgun, after all.
"I'm sorry, Peter," Neal said softly.
Peter frowned in confusion and looked at his wife, who had come around the car to give Neal a bottle of water.
"Sorry about what, sweetie?" El asked.
Neal looked from El to Peter and back, not sure how much to reveal. He finally settled for a contrite, "For being so much trouble sometimes."
"Oh, sweetie, you're no trouble!" El leaned forward to press a quick kiss to Neal's forehead.
"El," Peter said warningly, and gave her a meaningful look.
Neal hated it when they had these silent conversations; he always felt left out and unsure what was going on. Normally, when the Burkes held a conversation through looks, Neal ended up with a spanked ass.
"We talked about this," Peter continued, slamming the hatch close and walking to the driver's side.
Neal's worry skyrocketed, especially when he saw the unhappy look El sent her husband.
They left New York State and clearly headed south. Neal was relieved for the simple fact that they must have passed several Slave Centers by the time they crossed the stateline, so the Burkes were apparently not going to sell him, after all.
During their first stop, El made sure that Neal had a little snack and got to stretch his legs. Neal was still confused what was going on, but knew better than to ask; Peter was in one of his moods and wasn't going to tell him anyway.
El, at least, seemed to sense that Neal was still nervous, and decided to sit in the back for the rest of the trip. She kept Neal entertained, chatting about art and her work. Much to Neal's delight, she also snuck a couple of treats into his cage, and he honed his conman skills by opening the foil wrappers as noiselessly as possible.
Peter still heard the rustling and gave both El and Neal a stern look in the rearview mirror.
"It's just a chocolate bar, hon."
"You know the rules, El." Chocolate was a treat, a reward to be earned.
"We're talking about a chocolate bar, Peter, not Belgium chocolates."
Neal added a kicked puppy dog look for good measure, pouting just the tiniest bit, and leaned his head against the cage so it was right next to El's. Two pairs of bright blue eyes looked at Peter, who caved like a wet paper bag.
"Okay, but only one!"
"Yes, Peter," Neal agreed sweetly, holding up the one bar he had just unwrapped. It wouldn't do to tell Peter that he had already eaten another chocolate bar, after all.
El smiled indulgently and winked at Neal.
After their second stop, Neal was even allowed to draw. El had packed some paper and pencils. It wasn't much, but it kept him distracted, for which Neal was grateful. He hated car rides, especially long ones.
The way the Burkes were treating him, especially with El sneakily spoiling him, Neal was by now convinced that, instead of selling him, they were about to give him some kind of reward. His birthday was only a few days away, and they were clearly heading toward DC. Maybe they would take him to the Smithsonian--Neal could easily spend an entire week there, running from one building to the next, just exploring the different exhibits.
Neal was drawing some of DC's sights to get in the right mood for his birthday surprise when he suddenly realized that Peter was, in fact, heading for Alexandria. He frowned, put pad and pencil down and gazed out of the window. They were driving through a residential area, so it was obvious that they weren't heading toward a hotel.
"Elizabeth, what--"
"And here we are!" Peter announced, just as Neal was about to ask his mistress what was going on.
Neal looked at the house Peter had parked in front of. It had definitely seen better days, and could use a fresh coat of paint, but the front yard looked cared for, and the bright yellow Charger in the driveway was definitely an eyecatcher.
El smiled at Neal and gave him an encouraging wink, then got out of the car. Peter followed suit, and immediately went to open the hatch. He freed Neal from the harness, snapped the leash back on and helped his slave out of the cage.
"Best behavior, Neal!" Peter said warningly, and then tugged on the leash, forcing his slave to follow him through the front yard and up to the porch.
And so Neal stood on the front porch, heaving a sigh and thrusting his hands into the pockets of his chinos. He wanted to explore DC, go to museums and visit art galleries and maybe go to the opera. He was the slave of an FBI agent, Peter would be able to armwrestle the powers that be into allowing a slave into these places. But instead, he stood on some creaky front porch of some crappy home. The name on the mailbox had informed Neal that a "Gibbs" was living there, but Neal didn't know any Gibbses and, as far as he remembered, the Burkes didn't know anyone by that name either.
El knocked on the door and then beamed at Peter. "Are you sure it's okay that we didn't bring anything?"
"Positive. You know how he is." Peter shrugged, then grinned. "Besides, we brought Neal."
El laughed out loud at that, while Neal's eyes widened in slight panic. What the hell was that supposed to mean?!
"Don't worry, sweetie," El said reassuringly, giving Neal's arm a squeeze. "Peter just meant you'll be entertainment enough. All we want to do is show you off."
Neal narrowed his eyes at that. For some reason, he didn't quite believe that statement, but before he could open his mouth to comment, the front door flew open and a tall man smiled in obvious delight at them.
"Master Peter!" he exclaimed, shaking Peter's hand enthusiastically. "And Mistress Elizabeth! It's so good to see you again!"
El threw herself around the man's neck and gave him a very affectionate squeeze. "Tony! So good to see you, too. I missed your smile." She stepped back just in time for Neal to see the bright grin Tony graced her with. It was all white teeth and sparkling eyes, and absolutely infectious.
Neal watched Tony curiously. The man was clearly a slave; he was only wearing a pair of very tight, faded jeans that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Neal--and everyone else, for that matter--had a perfect view of Tony's very nice and impressive package, and Neal was convinced that the rear view would be just as impressive. The only other thing Tony wore was a simple but elegant collar, made of dark brown leather. The tag hanging from the ring in front looked like a military dog tag.
Neal realized with a start that Tony was eyeing him just as curiously. No, not eyeing him. Tony was sizing him up. Neal frowned at that and pulled himself up to his full height, raising his chin slightly in defiance.
Tony only chuckled. "Why don't you come in?" He stepped to the side and waved them inside. "A beer for you, Master Peter?"
"That would be great. Do you still have that microbrew?"
"Absolutely." Tony waved them toward the living room and closed the front door behind them. "Mistress Elizabeth, a glass of wine?"
"Depends on what kind of wine," Neal interrupted, causing everyone to raise surprised eyebrows.
"Neal," Peter growled warningly, tugging at the leash, but Neal didn't care. He had just spent about six hours on the road, including the stops, and instead of getting ready to spend the rest of the day at the Smithsonian, he was standing in a stuffy living room that looked straight out of a 70's nightmare.
"I'm just saying," Neal replied with a shrug. "Who knows what kind of wine they have here." He didn't even try to keep the sneer out of his voice.
"I'd suggest the Chardonnay," Tony said mildly, adressing El. "It's still a bit early for a red wine, I think, but if you'd rather have a glass of Barolo, just let me know."
"Chardonnay is fine, thank you, Tony."
"Chardonnay?" Neal wrinkled his nose. He also thought it was still a bit early for a Barolo--it was barely mid-afternoon, after all--but he could really use some alcohol by now. The stronger, the better, but he doubted they'd offer him hard liquor. A Barolo would have to do.
"So, two beers for the masters, one glass of Chardonnay for the mistress, and two glasses of water for the slaves," Tony summed up lightly, giving Neal a meaningful look. Then he smiled at the Burkes. "My master will be up in a minute. Please, make yourselves comfortable."
Neal doubted the lumpy couch could be even the least bit comfortable, but Peter solved the problem by matter-of-factly pushing Neal to the floor instead. Neal sulked for a long moment, wondering if his pants would get dirty, and looked around for a pillow to snatch. The damn hardwood floors were hard.
While Neal was sulking in the living room, Tony took two bottles of beer out of the fridge and then opened the bottle of white wine for El. He looked up when he heard Gibbs walking up the basement stairs.
"They here?"
"Yeah." Tony smiled at the sawdust clinging to his master's jeans and hoodie. "You might want to take a quick shower, Master mine," he suggested with a wink.
"Was planning on it. They're early." Gibbs leaned in to steal a quick kiss from his slave, then nodded in the direction of the living room. "So?"
Tony just chuckled and shook his head. "You're gonna have your hands full with that one, Jethro. And you thought taming me was difficult."
Gibbs raised both eyebrows, then risked a quick glance into the living room. Peter hadn't exaggerated; his new slave was stunningly pretty. But he also looked defiant and sulky, and from the way both Burkes were doting on him, it was obvious that the slave was spoiled. Hands full, indeed.
Gibbs rotated his shoulders to ease the tension in his back and neck, and then smirked. "Bring it on," he muttered under his breath.
He loved challenges.
THE END