Fic: Natural - WhiCo Big Bang

[katikat]

Title: Natural
Pairing: Peter/El, Neal/Kate implied, could be considered pre-slash
Characters: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, OMC, Elizabeth Burke
Rating: 18+
Word Count: ~10.500
Spoilers: S1 finale
Warnings: D/s, domestic discipline
Summary: "Tell me, Mr. Caffrey, have you ever thought about the nature of dominance and submission?"
Author's Note: Written shortly after the S1 finale, so it could be considered slightly AU. Beta'd by yami_tai.



This wonderful art is by the amazing chosenfire28, you can leave feedback for her here: Link.

It was their first case after Kate's death.

Outwardly, everything was as it used to be: Neal's anklet was back - Neal accepted it willingly this time, choosing it over the false freedom the OPR offered him - and they were working again, the FBI's best White Collar team. But on the inside...

On the inside, Neal was a mess and it was killing Peter to see him like that, pale and haggard with his emotions all over the map. Neal couldn't sleep and he refused to take the sleeping pills the department psychologist prescribed him because when he did fall asleep, when sheer exhaustion dragged him under, nightmares haunted him. He barely ate anything and there were moments when he just... spaced out. Peter was so worried about him that the whole situation was taking its toll on him too, making him feel drained and helpless. If Neal had been a regular agent, Peter would have ordered him to take some time off, but with Neal it was different - the OPR and Fowler were still breathing down their collective neck, ready to pounce and take Neal away under the slightest pretense.

So they went back to work and Peter was grateful for any remotely interesting cases that would take both his and Neal's minds off their problems. Which was why he didn't even complain about the fact that the White Collar division of the FBI wasn't there to solve petty robberies - even if the mayor's wife was one of the victims.

It was one of those high class charity events at a small, but highly eclectic, museum downtown that the average Joe would only read about in the social columns of their newspapers, an auction of rare items for this or that wing of some hospital in need. But instead of raising money someone snuck in and stole all the guests' purses, watches, bracelets and even some necklaces, all gold and platinum and sparkling diamonds and sapphires. It seemed that everybody had lost something before finally the alarm was raised.

It took Peter and his team almost an hour to take down all the statements because every one of the guests felt the need to impress on them just how valuable and irreplaceable their items were. Within twenty minutes, Peter had a raging headache and had to restrain himself from snapping at some corpulent old hag with perfume so strong it made him sneeze again and again. It also didn't help that Neal, instead of giving them pointers or tossing out funny remarks that would have made all of them smile, just stood there, looking lost.

And that was the moment they met Joshua Raintree...

"Name," Peter barked, not even looking up from the sheet.

"Joshua Raintree," came the answer, amused and not at all affronted by Peter's irritation.

"Raintree, Raintree, Raintree..." Peter was mumbling under his breath as he ran his finger down the list. Ah, there it was. Lawyer. Of course, the one thing that would make Peter's day just about perfect! "And what did you lose, Mr. Raintree?"

"Nothing."

That caught Peter's attention. He raised his head and looked at the man. Dark-skinned with a shaved head and face more distinctive than handsome. He was tall, taller than Peter even, and the perfectly cut and undoubtedly expensive grey suit dressed a strong, muscular body.

"Nothing?" Peter echoed in disbelief.

"Nothing," Raintree repeated and his eyes sparkling with humor. The man was obviously enjoying himself.

"Well, Mr. Raintree, then you must be the only one here," Peter said, waving his hand to encompass all the people mingling in the museum's lobby.

Raintree hid his hands in his pockets and shrugged carelessly. "Obviously, Agent..."

"Burke. Agent Peter Burke," Peter said, then narrowed his eyes. "Care to explain this miracle?"

Raintree smiled at him and was about to respond when his eyes slid past Peter towards Neal who had stepped closer, drawn by their conversation. At once, Raintree's smile turned from amused to predatory and before Peter realized it, he was stepping slightly in front of Neal, frowning at the other man - the way Raintree looked at his partner rubbed Peter up the wrong way.

Raintree noticed, of course, and his grin became sharper and challenging. Turning his eyes back to Neal, he said, "I take good care of my property."

Twisting the list with names tight in his fist, Peter decided that he didn't like the man. At all.

*-*-*-*

"Come here, Neal," Joshua says, beckoning Neal closer, and Neal obeys.

The room's dark, the lamp on the bedside table the only source of light, a warm, golden pool that keeps the darkest shadows at bay. The bed itself is large, a sturdy piece of honey brown oak with soft bed sheets, and the carpet under Neal's feet is thick as grass, tickling the soles of his feet as he steps closer.

Joshua's sitting on the edge of the bed, his dark skin gleaming. His chest visible through his half unbuttoned shirt, his sleeves are rolled up and he has dark slacks on. His feet are bare and planted firmly on the floor. He sits there calmly, letting Neal come to him - the message is obvious: it's up to you, you're calling the shots here.

Neal stops in front of Joshua and looks down into his dark brown eyes. His breath hitches in his chest. There's a pent up tension coiled under Neal's breastbone, bottled up feelings that he doesn't know how to let out. His emotions are dragging him down, drowning him and he can feel himself shake, his hands tremble and the danger of falling apart is more real than ever. He wants to scream and cry, and simply let go, just for a moment, but he doesn't know how.

"Strip, Neal," Joshua orders calmly, looking Neal in the eyes.

Again, Neal obeys without hesitation - he's only in his boxers, so he pushes them down, letting them slide down to his ankles, and steps out of them. He stands there naked, naked in front of Joshua - the tracker the only thing covering his bare skin - but he feels no shame. Joshua watches him but there's nothing sexual in his eyes. He's gauging Neal's state of mind, noticing every detail, every tense muscle, every little shudder.

Joshua lifts the towel that is lying on the mattress next to him and setting it aside, he reveals an assortment of tools. "These are the instruments you'll choose from," he says, his voice calm and considerate. He touches each one of them and explains: "Various tools can cause various degrees of pain. For a soft spanking, I usually use my hand or a riding crop. Medium hard, there's a ruler or a belt, some tops even use a bushy birch rod. For a hard spanking though, I've had good experience with paddles, canes or floggers."

Neal swallows as he eyes the tools, sleek and polished, leather and wood. When he imagines them on his skin, bringing him promised release, he shudders.

"You're new at this, Neal," Joshua continues in a soft voice. "I would suggest we start slow, there's no need to rush. This is not a competition, there's no record to break. This is for you and we'll go as slow or as fast as you're comfortable with. If you agree, I'll start with my hand tonight. Twenty strokes or until you use your safeword. Alright?"

Neal licks his lips - he'll do it, he's really going do it. He nods, the unbearable tension almost making him bounce on his toes.

"Good," Joshua says, covering the tools again. "Lie down over my knees, Neal," he orders.

Taking a deep breath, Neal climbs up on the bed on Joshua's right side, then lowers himself over Joshua's thighs. His ass is in the air and he props himself up on his elbows. He has never done this before but he trusts Joshua. He can feel Joshua's strong body under his, he can feel the warmth it radiates. It makes him feel safe for the first time in a very long time.

Joshua touches his upper back and makes him stretch out his arms and lie down with his right cheek pressed to the cool sheet. "You remember your safeword?" Joshua asks, rubbing his back gently.

Neal nods. "Airplane," he whispers.

"Good. Now relax," Joshua says, laying a hand firmly on Neal's back, holding him tightly in place.

The first stroke falls and Neal's breath hitches at the burning, stinging feeling. Then another and another. Joshua sets a steady rhythm, laying the strokes all over his buttocks, making sure he delivers them with equal strength.

It hurts. It hurts so much Neal squirms but Joshua holds him firmly, keeps him motionless. A groan passes over his lips, then again. His ass burns, it hurts so much. His breath wheezes in his throat and hitches again. He grunts and moans and his eyes start to sting. The pressure in his chest is building, growing stronger and stealing his breath...

And then the first tears fall, the pressure mounts and then bursts out of him in a scream. He screams himself hoarse and he sobs and cries like his heart's breaking all over again. His shoulders are shuddering as he finally lets go.

The spanking stops, the agreed on twenty strokes delivered, and Joshua's there, lifting him up, gathering him in his arms. And Neal sits in his lap, screaming like back then, at the airport, his eyes are squeezed shut and tears stream down his cheeks. He's sobbing, barely able to draw in breath and Joshua's hugging him tight whispering comforting words.

"That's it. That's it, Neal, let it out. Let it all out. Shh, it's okay now..."

*-*-*-*

"I didn't think you would come," Raintree said when Neal stepped up to his table.

The bar was dark and cozy, a setting for intimate conversations rather than getting drunk and letting some steam off. Soft jazz was filling the air from hidden speakers and the booths - all polished wood and red leather - gave the patrons a feeling of privacy. Although the main room was almost full, the acoustics made it sound as if Neal and Raintree were the only people there.

Neal shuffled his feet. He couldn't remember the last time someone made him feel so... out of sorts. "I didn't think I would either," he admitted.

Raintree smiled at his honesty. "Would you sit down?" he motioned at the seat opposite him.

Neal slid into the booth and made himself comfortable, his knees brushing the other man's. He could feel Raintree's look, heavy and scrutinizing. It made him feel like he was sitting there bare - naked in body and soul. He cleared his throat. "We caught the thief," he said for want of a better conversation opener.

Raising an eyebrow in surprise, Raintree saluted him with his wine glass. "That was fast. Impressive work."

Neal felt his lips curling up at the corners slightly. It surprised him. He couldn't remember the last time he felt the urge to smile. "One of the guests did it. Well, that is the thief disguised himself as one of the guests. He snuck in with a forged invitation. He planned to be gone before anyone noticed anything. But no one did for a very long time and he got greedy, thought he would take just one more thing and then leave. When the security guards locked down the museum, he hid the booty and pretended that he was robbed too. We suspected that the stolen items were still hidden somewhere in the museum, so we staked it out and caught him when he came back to pick up his loot after we let everybody go..." Neal fell silent when he realized that he was babbling. God, what was wrong with him?

Raintree smiled. "Truly impressive," he said and from the tone of his voice, he meant it.

Neal felt his cheeks heat up and he lowered his eyes. This man... Only one other person had ever had this effect on him - Peter... Jerking his head up, Neal looked at Raintree with a startled expression on his face.

Still smiling, Raintree lifted an eyebrow. "What?"

Neal shook his head. "Nothing." But Raintree kept looking at him, just looking - and he reminded Neal so much of Peter in that moment, it was eerie. Again, the compulsion to spill out everything overcame him. "You remind me of someone, I just realized that," he admitted in the end.

Raintree grinned, looking at Neal over the rim of his wine glass. "Of your Agent Burke?" he asked, his look warm and teasing.

Neal's eyes widened. "How..."

Raintree shrugged. "I can feel the connection between the two of you. He's very dominant, very protective of you but also stern, he demands that you follow his rules. You tend to misbehave, try his patience. You push the boundaries he set to force him to prove that he's there for you. Am I wrong?"

Swallowing, Neal lowered his eyes again uncertainly. Was he...? Did he really do that? Did he really feel the need to be reassured that Peter would catch him if he fell?

"I see," Raintree said when Neal remained silent, a terribly confused look on his face. Leaning closer, Raintree asked, "Tell me, Mr. Caffrey, have you ever thought about the nature of dominance and submission?"

*-*-*-*

He's back in Joshua's bedroom again.

This time the standing lamp next to a leather armchair is on, illuminating only the chair itself, the coffee table and the foot of the bed. Everything else is hidden in shadows. Not a sliver of light even from the golden glow of the street lamps outside - reaches in through the heavily curtained windows.

The tension's back in his chest, squeezing air out of his lungs, making him vibrate with nervous energy with no outlet, no release. He feels like an overdrawn string, threatening to snap. Despair has him tight in its grip again and dark thoughts are chasing one another in his mind. Why am I not dead? Why didn't I die with her? Over and over again.

He's standing straight, arms hanging loose by his sides, feet slightly spread. He's not moving, not without permission, the way Joshua taught him. He's naked but for the tracker with its green light blinking merrily on his ankle. Though his body's held still, his eyes slide to the side, to the coffee table and the assorted items there. A riding crop, a belt and a paddle. The choices are limited this time, but the question is clear: How intense do you want it be? What will he choose? Will he be allowed to choose?

The first time, when Joshua spanked him with his hand, he achieved release - but now, just a couple of days later, it's all back and bottled up inside him again, the spanking itself a distant memory when darkness clouds his mind and grief steals his breath. He needs more, a more lasting reminder, something that he would feel for days every time his clothes touch his red hot skin.

"Neal?" Joshua says, his voice questioning. He must've been calling Neal's name for a while now.

Neal looks up - he didn't even hear Joshua enter. Joshua stands there, in front of him, in his dark slacks and a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, his feet bare. He touches Neal's chin and looks him deep in the eyes, measuring his need. Then he nods. "What do you need?"

Neal swallows. "The belt," he whispers.

Joshua narrows his eyes slightly, but Neal won't back down. They talked about it at the beginning, about what damage each of the tools can cause - Joshua was very adamant that Neal knew everything, and he made Neal look all of them up and read about them. And Neal is positive that that's what he needs right now.

And Joshua sees that. He nods and gestures at the bed. "Prepare yourself. Stoop over and grip the foot of the bed tight with your hands. Spread your feet a little." He takes the belt in his hand, looping it around his palm to make the range shorter.

Neal obeys. He steps closer to the bed, leans over and spreading his feet a foot apart, he grips the footboard so tight his knuckles turn white. He breathes in deeply and he can almost taste the upcoming release.

"Relax," Joshua says, his voice as calm as ever.

This time, when the first stroke lands, he screams.

*-*-*-*

Neal sipped the wine the waitress brought him and mulled over what Mr. Raintree - no, Joshua, he asked Neal to call him Joshua - told him.

Dominance and submission. Was that really what he needed? To submit to someone? To let someone take away the worry and the pain, all that was pent up deep inside him? Did he really crave guidance and stability so much? Did he really need someone to master his "poor impulse control" as his friends called it?

And then there was Kate... Just thinking of her, of the way she died made him tremble and his heart hammer against his ribs. The pain and sorrow and grief... Just for a moment, back there at the airport, he managed to let go, let those emotions out - but when they pulled Kate's body out of the wreckage, everything shut down inside of him. Since then, nothing. It seemed as if he had even forgotten how to cry, how to grieve. His emotions kept twisting and boiling, seething just below the surface but they never found a way out. And sometimes - he was afraid to admit it even to himself, but he suspected Peter had already guessed - it felt as if he was about to lose it.

Neal sipped his wine and watched his hands tremble. He saw that Joshua noticed too.

"I'm a convicted felon, I carry a tracker on my ankle that gives me a two mile radius and my girlfriend was murdered a couple of weeks ago, she died in an explosion," Neal said with a brutal honesty.

He looked up to gauge Joshua's reaction but the man was just watching him calmly - he didn't judge, he didn't react at all. Joshua just waited for Neal to speak his mind, so Neal did. "I saw the whole thing," he continued in a whisper. "I should have been on the plane with her, but Peter held me back. He asked me not to go - he didn't order, he just asked - and I..." Neal shook his head.

"And you were tempted," Joshua picked up when Neal couldn't find the words. "Maybe you even decided to stay. You loved your girlfriend but you decided to leave her anyway and stay with Peter just because he asked. And now she's dead and you feel guilty because if you hadn’t hung back, you would have died with her. Or maybe you could've somehow stopped it." He shrugged. "Irrational but understandable." He sipped his wine and weighed Neal with his eyes. "But there's more, isn't there?"

Neal's breath hitched.

"You put Peter's wishes above everything else, even above something you considered your greatest desire, and it's confusing you. You don't understand your own reactions, the reasoning behind it." Joshua leaned closer and his voice became soft. "Neal, it's natural for a sub to want to follow his dom's wishes."

Eyes widening, Neal shook his head. "No, it's not like... Peter and me, we are not... He's married. Peter has a wife, there's nothing between us."

Joshua smiled. "Well, I seriously doubt that what you feel for each other is strictly platonic, but dominance and submission are not about sex, not always anyway. Psychology plays a big part in it, too. Some people are natural tops, some are born submissive - and you, Neal, are definitely the latter."

Neal kept silent, feeling embarrassed and upset, and somehow... tingly all over, his own emotions were at war. Deep down, he heard the ring of truth in Joshua's words, but that part of himself was hidden under layers and layers of bluster and subterfuge, buried so deep that Neal wasn't sure he hadn't imagined the silent voice that whispered ‘He's right, Joshua's right’ in the back of his mind.

Seeing Neal's inner struggle, Joshua sighed. "Neal, why do you think I became so interested in you the moment I saw you in the museum? I'm dominant, a top if you want to call it like that. And I recognized the sub in you at first sight - a hurting, lost sub at that. A good dominant feels the need to help a suffering submissive, we respond to that. You've already chosen your top, the person whose orders you follow, but if you are sure that there's no chance for you and Peter..."

Neal interrupted him resolutely, "I am sure."

Joshua nodded. "Then I can help you."

Neal blinked. "You?"

Nodding again, Joshua said, "Yes. I invited you and you came. Obviously, you're searching for something you felt I can provide."

Neal was silent, his thoughts racing, stumbling over each other and running in circles. It was too much at once, just too much. He did sense the truth behind Joshua's words. He was sure, absolutely certain that if Joshua ordered him to accompany him, to come with him right this minute, Neal would comply and that scared him. It shook him deeply because he had never experienced anything like that. Not with anyone but... He shied away from that thought. Neal could feel the already cracked foundation of his life quaking.

Joshua set his empty glass aside and touched Neal's hand lightly. "Look. I know it's too much information at once. I opened completely new possibilities for you. Why don't you just think about it for a while, alright? Whatever you decide, I will respect that. Why don't you try to read up on this subject, find out more? If you aren't comfortable with the idea of a sexual relationship with me, then it doesn't have to be sexual." He looked Neal deep in the eyes. "But whatever your decision is, seek out help, Neal," he said softly. "If not with me, then with Peter or with someone else. I can feel you're on the edge - and I don't want to see you fall over."

Neal lowered his eyes and nodded.

A few days later, he almost got Peter killed in a shoot-out with a suspect because he couldn't keep his damn thoughts on track. That evening, he picked up the phone and punched in the number Joshua had given him. "I need help," Neal whispered when the other man answered, his voice breaking as he slid down the wall of his studio and huddled on the floor. "Please, help me, Joshua."

*-*-*-*

"You know what I told you would happen if you ever failed to follow a direct order during one of our sessions, Neal," Joshua says, his voice calm as ever but also strict and firm. He watches Neal with dark eyes, unsurprised by his untypical disobedience.

Neal breathes in sharply and nods reluctantly. Yes, he knows. He remembers the penalties Joshua set for various degrees of defiance at the beginning of their relationship. And he also remembered it when he decided to refuse to follow a simple order and push the boundaries.

When Joshua ordered him to kneel, a simple thing that he had done many times during their sessions already, something in him balked. He didn't use his safeword - he didn't panic, he wasn't scared, nothing like that - he just needed to know. He needed to know if Joshua would keep true to his word, if the rules he set would still apply, if discipline would really follow disobedience... If Joshua would be there should Neal falter, if he would catch Neal should he fall.

"Go and lie down on the bed, now!" Joshua orders and this time there's no softness in his voice. Neal disobeyed and a punishment will follow.

Neal flinches slightly - he disappointed his dominant! - and hurries to fulfill the order. The mattress is soft, the sheet cool to the touch. There are no pillows or covers on the bed, it's prepared for their session. Neal lies down on his stomach, head turned away from Joshua. His heart is hammering in his chest and it's hard for him to breath. The knowledge that he broke the rules weighs heavy on his mind.

The mattress dips as Joshua sits down. There's a jingle of chain as he sets the shackles down. "Hands above the head," Joshua orders.

Neal breathes heavily through his nose and moves his arms up. Joshua takes them in his warm hands and Neal shivers, goosebumps covering his skin. Leather cuffs slide over his hands to rest on his wrists and when Joshua jerks the handcuffs together and ties them firmly to a loop in the sturdy headrest by a heavy chain, Neal feels something shift in his mind, his emotions and thoughts going click-click-click, pieces falling into place.

Then Joshua moves to his legs. "Spread them," he commands and when Neal follows his order, Joshua slips leather cuffs over his feet and tightens them around his ankles, carefully avoiding the tracker on Neal's left leg. When they're in place, Joshua attaches a spreader bar to the loops, drawing Neal's legs further and further apart. When he finally stops, Neal's hips ache slightly from his distended position.

But Joshua's not finished yet. To ensure that Neal doesn't move at all during his punishment, he hooks on chains to his ankle cuffs and attaches them to the bedposts at the foot of the bed. Only then is he content.

Neal tries to move, but he can't. He's spread out and tied down so tight that he can barely wiggle. His eyes are open wide but unseeing because he can feel himself slide further into a headspace he didn't know was hidden in his mind. It's a strange place, dark but safe where he's owned and dominated, where he gives up control fully to someone else, where he finds shelter and freedom in simply following orders without thinking.

Until now, it has been him who called the shots - and he still is, his safeword hammered into him by Joshua himself - he could have just gotten up and walked away at any given moment. But now he's bound tight, tied down and at Joshua's mercy. He took a leap of faith that Joshua wouldn't hurt him, that his... that Joshua - he can't think of him as his master, that title is firmly linked to Peter in this headspace of his - would take care of him and do what was needed.

Joshua returns to the bed - Neal didn't even notice he’d left! - and says, "Ten lashes with a riding crop, was it?" he asks, testing Neal.

"Yes," Neal rasps.

"Good boy," Joshua commends his honesty. "Relax - and count out loud for me."

The crops whistles through the air and lands with deadly accuracy on Neal's buttocks, stinging and hurting and forcing Neal to clench his eyes shout and groan out loud, making him jerk uselessly in his bonds. He bites his lip to stifle any further sound.

"Neal!" Joshua warns sternly when Neal remains silent, having forgotten to count in the shock of the first stroke. "That's the second offence today and additional five lashes!"

Neal swallows, breathing even harder now. "One," he croaks out.

The crop whistles and another stroke falls to where his buttocks meet his upper thighs, eliciting a painful moan from Neal. "T-two."

And the crop whistles again...

*-*-*-*

Peter looked up when the door clicked and Neal entered the studio. With a worried frown Peter watched Neal shuffle inside, breathing heavily and leaning against the door. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his face.

"I see you've been to Joshua's again," Peter said sharply, getting up from the couch.

Neal jerked around, then gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes shut, a painful groan managing to escape him nonetheless though and for a moment, he just hung in there, holding the doorjamb so tight his knuckles turned white.

Seeing his reaction, the pain etched in Neal's face, Peter clenched his hands into fists, the need to pummel something - or better yet, someone - to the ground almost overwhelming. He knew who was responsible for putting that expression on Neal's face and he was determined to put an end to it.

Peter still followed Neal's tracker diligently, pulling his map every day, sometimes even twice a day to learn where he was going, what he was doing. He wasn't afraid that Neal would run anymore - Neal accepted his tracker willingly, after all - but the fact that Kate was out of the picture now didn't make the situation any easier. No, it complicated things even further because now, Peter could see Neal floundering with no steady ground under his feet, with no positive goal in his life - and as much as Peter disliked Kate, she used to be the sun and the moon and the stars of Neal's universe, she gave him hope - where there was none anymore.

And then there was Joshua Raintree...

The tracker data revealed to Peter that Neal visited Raintree regularly, at least once a week and usually on Friday evening or over the weekend. It worried Peter - there was something... ominous about that guy - but he couldn't deny that Raintree seemed to be helping Neal cope somehow; on Monday morning, Neal usually looked better, rested even, as if his nightmares had ceased long enough for him to grab a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. By the work week's end though, Neal's tension, that nervous energy that made him all wild-eyed and shaky, returned and Neal was back at Raintree's the moment they were done for the week like an addict seeking a fix.

Peter didn't like Neal's relationship with Raintree - whatever the nature of it was - but he would have let it go, grateful for anything that made Neal's demons rest, if it weren't for Haversham's call.

When Peter picked up his phone, Haversham didn't even say hello, just blurted out quickly, "Next time Neal goes to that Raintree guy? Wait for him at his apartment." Then he hung up. And because Peter realized just how worried Haversham had to have been to actually call him, Peter decided to follow his advice.

And now he stood there, watching Neal teeter in the doorway. Neal was white as snow and he was watching Peter with wide, terrified eyes. Peter decided that maybe barking out orders wouldn't be the wisest approach right now because Neal looked like Peter could knock him over with a feather.

"Come in, Neal, and close the door," Peter said in a much gentler, calmer voice.

After a moment hesitation, Neal obeyed. Peter noticed how slow and deliberate his movements were, how carefully he turned around. Neal was sweating profusely now, brows furrowed in discomfort.

Peter decided to cut to the chase. "Where are you hurt?" he asked, walking around the couch to stand right in front of Neal.

Neal's eyes roamed around the room, looking everywhere but directly at Peter. "I'm not..." he began uncertainly, but Peter would have none of it.

"Cut the crap!" he barked and Neal jumped again, flinching slightly. "Either you tell me or you take off your clothes and show me. There's no third option, Neal!"

Neal breathed in sharply and tried to take a step back, but Peter reached out and grabbed him by the wrist before he could move. He froze when Neal hissed quietly. Pulling Neal's hand closer, he undid the cufflink on his silk shirt and pushed both the jacket sleeve and the shirt sleeve up slightly. The breath caught in his throat when he saw the reddened skin on Neal's wrist.

"Peter..." Neal whispered, trying to pull his hand away.

"Take off your clothes, Neal," Peter said quietly, his eyes still fastened on Neal's wrist.

Neal's eyes widened and his breathing became uneven. "Peter..."

Peter glared at him, suddenly angry. "Strip! Now!" he ordered sharply.

In that moment, something happened. Neal's head snapped up, his eyes glazed over and his breathing evened out. It seemed like all the tension that had been coiled inside him until then, simply drained out of him after Peter's order. He stopped resisting and when Peter let go of his hand, he started taking off his clothes.

Peter had no idea what was going on, Neal's reactions confused him. And what confused him even more was that Neal didn't just strip to his pants or boxers as Peter would have thought, he took off all his clothes, letting them drop on the floor carelessly where usually he would have went to great lengths to fold them and set them aside. Before Peter got a grip on himself and told him to stop, Neal took off even his socks and then just stood there, completely unashamed of his own nakedness, arms hanging loosely by his side, eyes lowered.

What the fuck?! Peter thought bemused. But then he noticed the reddened skin on Neal's wrists and ankles and...

"Turn around!" Peter ordered because he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Neal turned and Peter almost reeled with shock.

Neal's buttocks and upper and inner thighs were covered with red welts, there were even a few of them on his upper back, laid one next to the other in an almost perfect horizontal pattern. Peter didn't need to touch the skin to know it would be burning hot.

"Neal..." Peter whispered in shock. "Did... Did Raintree do that to you?"

"Yes," Neal answered simply, still turned away, his posture relaxed and shoulders loose.

"Why?"

"I disobeyed a direct order during our session," Neal said truthfully.

Peter jerked his eyes up from the reddened skin and looked at the back of Neal's head in disbelief. "Session? You let him do it to you? You let the man beat you?" Peter couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"He didn't beat me. He administered a punishment that we both agreed on," Neal answered, his voice calm and steady.

"Punishment?" Peter yelped. "What could merit... this?" He waved his hand at Neal's back.

"I refused to kneel when ordered."

Peter drew in a sharp breath. He stepped closer to Neal, grabbed him by his arm and turned him around sharply. Neal didn't expect it and stumbled and Peter had to steady him. "Neal, do you even realize what you are saying? You're making it sound like... like something normal!"

Neal blinked at him and the calm look disappeared from his eyes. To Peter it seemed as if he was waking up. Suddenly, he was starting to tense again, the muscles under Peter's hand became taut with tension. Neal paled, then flushed, as if he only now realized that he was standing naked in front of Peter. Peter let him go and Neal immediately bent over to retrieve his clothing with a silent grunt of pain.

"Neal, give me one reason why I shouldn't just march over there and arrest Raintree for battery, maybe even sexual assault!"

Neal held the bunch of clothing in front of him to hide his nakedness and fixed an imploring look at Peter. "Because everything that happened between me and Joshua was consensual - and there was no sex involved!"

Peter gaped again. "Consensual? What, you now let people beat the crap out of you for kicks or what?" he demanded, his voice getting louder. He was becoming angry again - at Neal, at Joshua, at himself for not noticing anything.

Sighing, Neal tried to explain, "It's not just some random beating, Peter. Dominance and submission follows strict rules. If I used my safeword, Joshua would have stopped immediately. And I knew exactly what penalty awaited me when I decided to disobey."

"Dominance? Submission?" Peter repeated weakly. "You mean BDSM? Leather scene with whips and chains?"

"Whips and chains yes, leather no. It's not always bad porn, you know," Neal said. "I knew you wouldn't understand, that's why I didn't tell you."

"You're right, I don't understand!" Peter snapped. "Why would you let someone do something like that to you?! Are you getting off on the pain or something?"

A distressed look appeared on Neal's face. "It's not about sex, I told you," he insisted. "It helps me... cope," he admitted quietly.

"Cope?" Peter echoed.

Neal wrung his clothes in his hands, not paying attention to the wrinkles he was leaving on his expensive outfit. "With what happened, with the pain and... and the grief and everything else," he tried to explain, his voice turning desperate then he laughed harshly. "Maybe you hadn't noticed but I haven't been managing all that well!"

Of course Peter noticed, how could he not? "And letting this Raintree guy beat you helps?"

"No, letting him take control, setting simple rules and making sure I follow them, helps," Neal corrected softly then he looked away, cheeks flushing slightly.

Rules... Realization hit Peter like a blow. This wasn't anything new, this need of Neal's to be kept in line. He remembered all the times Neal had come to him when he overstepped his boundaries in the past year, seeking reassurance. Why hadn't he realized it before? How could he have missed something like that?

"Why didn't you come to me if you needed help?" Peter asked. Irrationally, he felt as if he had failed Neal somehow.

Neal sighed. "I... I needed something, I don't know, more than just a stern reprimand? All that’s happened, K-Kate's death," he stumbled over the words, "it hurt so much and I just couldn't get the emotions out. I felt like I was suffocating. It was driving me crazy, Peter," he whispered, looking at Peter with so much raw pain in his eyes that Peter's heart ached. "I felt so guilty and angry and hurt..." He shook his head. "And why didn't I come to you?" Neal looked at Peter sadly. "I didn't think you would be able to give me what I needed. Was I wrong?" he asked softly.

Peter looked away and Neal nodded. Peter knew that Neal wasn't wrong. He didn't understand this... need for punishment. He couldn't imagine raising a hand - or a belt or something else - against Neal. How could he hurt Neal physically on top of everything that he was going through? Peter couldn't wrap his mind around that.

But he could do his best - for Neal. "So, what does this Raintree guy do that allegedly helps you so much?"

"He forces me to let go when I can't do it on my own," Neal explained. "He gives me the permission to fall apart and I know I can because he'll put me back together after everything's over." He shook his head. "I don't know how else to explain it."

Peter sighed and let his head hang. Just looking at Neal's beaten skin made him want to lock Raintree up and throw away the key - or outright strangle him - and Neal's explanation didn't change anything about the way he felt. But there was no denying that Raintree was giving Neal something he himself couldn't.

"You'll keep going to him no matter what I say, won't you?" Peter said resignedly.

But Neal surprised him. "No. If you tell me to stop, I will," he said.

Peter looked up, startled. There was so much sadness and misery in Neal's posture, but also determination to follow Peter's lead - and it tugged at Peter's heart, that there was someone who had so much faith in him...

"Okay, well. Look, what if we made a deal?" Peter suggested. "I can't let you continue this," he waved a hand again, "in good conscience, if I'm not one hundred percent sure that it's safe - I would be a lousy friend if I did, wouldn't I? So, the next time you go to one of these... sessions, you take me with you."

Neal's eyes widened.

Seeing Neal's shocked expression, Peter hurried to explain, "I just need to make sure it's safe. I promise you that whatever happens, it will stay between us - provided it's nothing illegal. I won't judge and I won't interfere as long as you are not in any danger. What do you say?"

"Peter, are you... I mean, are you sure?" Neal asked uncertainly.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. "Well, no," he admitted, "but you are my friend Neal and I don't want to see you hurt if I can stop it."

Neal just watched him with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Okay, then!" Peter said when he couldn't take the silence anymore. "Now tell me that you have some ointment or something here. After you shower, I'll take care of your back."

"No need," Neal said. "Joshua already..."

"Neal," Peter said with exasperation. "You sweated through your clothes! Whatever he put on the welts is long gone. Now listen to me and go take a shower. Then I'll put you in bed and take care of your back - provided you have a salve here somewhere." He really hoped Neal did - because if he didn't, with these... activities of his, then they would have to have a talk about responsibility or the lack of it.

Neal gave him a small smile. "Yeah, it's in the bathroom."

"So what are you waiting for?"

Peter watched Neal turn and head for the bathroom. His heart still clenched when he saw the red welts on Neal's pale skin and mumbled to himself: "Peter, I hope you know what you're doing here!"

*-*-*-*

"Are you sure about this, Neal?" Joshua asks with an intent expression on his face. "This is your call, your decision. If you do not want Agent Burke here, I will make him leave. This is about what you need, don't let anyone pressure you into anything."

Joshua was surprised when Neal called him and asked if he could bring Peter with him to one of their sessions. Joshua didn't try to discourage Neal, but he also made it clear that Neal's decision worried him.

Neal glances from Joshua to Peter - who looks angry, even affronted by Joshua's suggestion that he might be manipulating Neal. Neal has to admit - at least to himself - that he isn't completely okay with Peter bearing witness to his disciplining. He feels embarrassed, he can feel the hot flush of his cheeks, and he isn't sure if he can let go completely under Peter's scrutiny. And if Peter looks differently at him after the session's over...

But Peter is honest in his desire to try to understand what it is that Neal needs and Neal can't deny him that.

And so he looks back at Joshua and nods. "I'm sure, Joshua," he says, voice as firm as he can manage.

Joshua stares him in the eyes a moment longer, then nods. "All right, Neal. But this is about me and you, Agent Burke's here just to observe. He won't interfere in any way," Joshua glares sternly at Peter who's sitting in an armchair in a shadowed corner of the room, "with our session. Is that clear?" He waits until Peter nods glumly, then he turns back to Neal. "You know your safeword, Neal. Use it and we stop immediately." When Neal nods, Joshua undoes his cufflinks to roll up the sleeves of his shirt and orders, "Strip."

And with that order, everything changes. The room, even Peter, everything retreats, the outside world isn't his to worry about anymore, and it's just him and Joshua and the deep seated hurt in his chest that's been making his hands tremble and his heart race painfully for days now.

He takes off his clothes, everything, until he stands there naked. His muscles are coiled and his chest so tight he almost can't breathe. This time, he’s waited too long and it feels like he's teetering on the edge. There are emotions swirling in him, like Alka-Seltzer pent up in a bottle, bubbling up with no outlet, tearing him apart from the inside out. And he needs... He needs...

It's the belt again this time. His emotions are just too raw and he knows that he'll need to remember tomorrow that everything is okay, that he was here today and it's okay again.

Neal assumes the position, bent forward, legs slightly spread, hands gripping the footboard tight, even before Joshua orders him to. There's no place in his head for anything but the need to be free of this burden. His breath is hitching with sobs that just won't come and...

The first stroke catches him by surprise and he cries out in pain. It hurts so much, but the burning, painful sensation is pushing out the darkness, it's making the demons go quiet. One after the other, the strokes fall, more than ever before, and there's sweat dripping from his forehead and his lower lip is bitten raw before the first sob bursts out of him. But then it's as if the cork was popped on a champagne bottle.

The lashing stops but he barely notices, he's crying so hard, his sobs so harsh that he can't draw in breath. His knees buckle and then he's sitting on the ground, screaming incoherently, all the hurt rushing out of him in one huge tidal wave.

And then there are arms around him - not Joshua's, it's not Joshua but Peter! - and they are hugging him and rocking him. He clings to Peter tight, sobbing into his shirt.

Peter's whispering, "It's okay, I've got you. I've got you. Shh..." and Neal confesses everything, everything that's been locked up inside of him for weeks now.

"She's dead, Peter! She's dead because of me! She died!" he's sobbing. "I should've been with her. I should've been on the plane with her! I wanted to go, but then you came and I couldn't! How could I have loved her and not go? I loved her so much but I couldn't leave you! How could I have loved her but want to stay with you? What kind of a person am I, Peter?"

Peter hugs him and strokes his hair and promises him that everything will be alright now.

And Neal believes him.

*-*-*-*

Raintree opened the door after only one knock. He smiled at Peter as if he had expected it to be him, paying him a visit at 10 pm. His words confirmed Peter's suspicion. "Come in, Agent Burke. I thought you might come back."

Peter closed the door and followed Raintree into the living room. He was so... Peter didn't even know how he felt. Angry. Confused. Hurt. Determined...?

"Something to drink?" Raintree asked pointing at the bar, the counter's polished wood gleaming even in the low light.

"Beer, if you have any," Peter said, stepping closer to the window that offered a beautiful view of New York in the darkness of night, the city lit up and teeming with life still.

A moment later, Raintree stepped closer and handed him a cold one. For himself, Raintree poured scotch. Peter nodded his thanks and took the bottle without opening it.

"He fell asleep the minute his head hit the pillow," Peter said gazing at the bright lights outside. "He didn't wake up even when I was spreading salve on the welts. I haven't seen him so... calm and restful since long before Kate died," he admitted quietly.

"And that disturbs you," Raintree said, sipping his drink. It was a statement, not a question.

"That he can sleep again? No. The how it happened? I would be lying if I said it didn’t bother me," Peter replied honestly.

Raintree sighed. "Agent Burke..."

Peter interrupted him, "I think under these circumstances, you can call me Peter."

Raintree smiled. "All right, Peter. What you've seen here today was extreme - if Neal hadn't cracked when he did, I would have put an end to it. A good dom knows his sub's limits. Usually he comes to me before it gets too bad. This time he held out two weeks, longer than ever before." He looked at Peter. "And I suspect it had something do with you. Am I right?"

Peter glanced at Raintree, then turned back to the window. "After the last time he was here, we had a talk. And I made it pretty clear that I wasn't thrilled about what he was doing." Peter sighed and added softly, "I didn't think it would lead to this. Yes, I wanted him to never do it again, never let anybody hurt him like that but..." He shook his head. "Today at work, he was shaking so hard! He had this wild look in his eyes - it scared me seeing him like that." Peter looked at the other man. "It was me who insisted on coming to you."

Raintree nodded and said gently. "Peter, I don't know if you realize it but Neal considers you his dom or his top, if you prefer. He tries hard to follow your rules and not to disappoint you."

Peter blew out a frustrated breath. "But I'm not his... whatever!" He waved a hand.

Looking at him intently, Raintree said slowly, "You could be."

"What?" Peter exclaimed. "No!"

"Peter," Raintree said soothingly, "didn't you see how he responded to you? With a few words and a touch you made him talk, really talk. I was trying to get him to open up to you about how he feels because that's the source of his nightmares: his conflicting emotions for you and for Kate."

Peter twisted the cap off his beer and took a long gulp. When he lowered the bottle again, he sighed. "I didn't know it was this bad, that his feelings were so... twisted and broken. I have seen him cry so hard only once: at the airport, when Kate died. Since then nothing. I knew that he wasn't well, but I hoped he was getting better."

"You can help him get better," Raintree said persuasively.

Peter snorted. "Yeah, by getting him a good psychologist."

Raintree shook his head. "He said that you already tried that. The department psychologist. A grief councilor. And it didn't work out."

"It might if he keeps at it," Peter said stubbornly.

Raintree sighed. "Neal isn't good at being honest with strangers and I think you know that, Peter," he said seriously. "He puts on a mask over a mask over a mask. But this, this here," he waved his hand towards the bedroom, "this goes right to the core. And he needs that. He needs someone to take away his escape routes and force him to set aside the masks. He's been sweet-talking people for so long that he doesn't know how to stop."

"I don't know if I can do that, take a... a belt to him," Peter said - but he wasn't saying no anymore, he realized.

Raintree noticed too and seized upon it. "Dominance and submission isn't just about paddles and belts, it's about rules. Look, if I were Neal's real dom - which I'm not - it wouldn't even have to come to such a harsh form of discipline. You could watch out for his tells and catch them early on, before it gets so bad."

"Yeah? And what would I do?" Peter asked sarcastically, but underneath his harsh tone, there was a note of genuine interest. If he could save Neal such pain, wouldn't he do it? Couldn't he bend his world view just a little?

"There are various possibilities. You could give him a time out." Seeing Peter's confused look, Raintree explained, "You could order him to kneel in a corner for a period of time set in advance. If that isn't enough, you could cuff his hands and feet to enforce the fact that he has no choice but to kneel there."

"And that would accomplish what exactly?"

Raintree paused, obviously thinking about how to explain it properly. "Dominance and submission, it's all about the state of mind. It can be a part of people's everyday life, but it can also be limited to sessions."

"Like yours with Neal," Peter guessed.

"Exactly. For the sub, his dom is a 'safe place', with him the sub can let go because he trusts the dom to take care of him. The trust between the sub and his dom can develop to a point where the sub is able to enter a completely different headspace. In that place he knows that as long as he's following the dom's orders, everything will be okay."

Peter thought about it and remembered what happened in Neal's apartment, when he ordered Neal to strip, the way Neal complied immediately, tension draining out of him.

Raintree continued, "The sub knows that in that moment, he doesn't have to worry about anything, he can do things that he wouldn't do at any other time. Neal's so tightly wound day in, day out that he doesn't even know how to let go anymore. During a session - even if it involves just kneeling in a corner, bound or not - you basically give him permission to vent his emotions."

Peter frowned. "He doesn't need my permission."

"No, he doesn't," Raintree agreed, "but he doesn't see it that way. He looks to you for guidance, that's what he needs. Not all the subs are same - the same goes for doms, of course - and it's up to their doms to acknowledge their needs and handle them accordingly. Their relationship is based on giving and taking, really. The dom gives his sub protection and safety, and the sub fulfills the dom's need to protect and shelter." Raintree smiled. "And don't tell me it doesn't apply to you. I've seen the way you look at him, how you behave around him - you would tear anyone a new one for even looking at him the wrong way."

Clearing his throat, Peter had to fight a blush. "Okay, I get your point. But even if - and that's a big if," Peter stressed, "I gave in and decided to do it, I wouldn't even know where to begin. What to do!"

"I would teach you everything you needed to know, what to expect, how to read Neal's tells and how to handle them, how to administer discipline and how to recognize Neal's limits. But, Peter," Raintree said, his voice serious, "you have to think it through thoroughly before you agree to this. If you decide to do it, you can't just walk away from it. Once Neal starts depending on you, you can't just decide you have had enough and leave. You can't do that to him. As much as I commend your willingness to consider this, be sure, absolutely sure, of your decision before you say yes."

Peter got that part. If he chose to do it, he would be all in. He wouldn't just offer something and then take it away. But there was still one thing that made him uncomfortable - well, more uncomfortable than the rest.

"What is it?" Raintree asked, sensing his reluctance to ask.

"Well," Peter began, then took a gulp of beer to give himself courage. "Even if I agreed to all that," he waved the bottle around, "I don't think I could be... I mean... If Neal needed a... sexual partner, then I don't think... Not that there's something wrong with it," he hurried to add, "but I'm happily married. I don't think I could become what Neal needed if he needed, you know, that."

Raintree smiled. "You could and it would be easy, believe me," he said, but when Peter started to protest, he raised his hand in a placating gesture. "But I understand what you're saying, and I can assure you, not every dom and sub have a sexual relationship. Neal and I don't," he pointed out.

"But you... discipline him," Peter stumbled over the word but at least he managed say it this time, so he gave himself points for that, "in your bedroom."

Nodding, Raintree explained, "My bedroom is plainer, with fewer distracting details. And also the bed is much more comfortable for the administration of discipline than my couch."

"So, you're not lovers?" Peter asked, glancing at Raintree, then looking out of the window again.

"Neal and I? No. I wouldn't mind taking our relationship to the next level - he's a beautiful man, inside and out, even if he's a little troubled right now - but Neal's not interested in me that way." Then he added, "He might be interested in having a sexual relationship with you one day, I can't be sure because I didn't ask, but right now, both his head and his heart are full of Kate. You should discuss this with Neal - if you decide to become his dom, that is. You mustn't risk misunderstanding each other's intentions, that would only hurt both of you and undermine what you want to achieve."

Peter nodded, grimacing slightly. Emotions and, God forbid, sex, his favorite conversational topics. Raintree kept silent, having said what he needed to. Peter understood that the ball was in his court now, so to speak.

Sighing, Peter said, "I'll think about it. I can't promise anything right now. I still have misgivings about the whole thing and I need to talk this over with my wife first - it's not something I would hide from her. It would change my relationship with Neal and it would have an impact on her too. If I do it, it’s only with her consent."

Raintree nodded. "That's understandable." He walked over to the bar, picked up his wallet and pulled out his business card. "This is my number," Raintree said and handed the embossed black and white card to Peter. "Call me, whatever your decision is."

Peter took the card and looked at it. "And if I decide not to do it?" he asked quietly.

"Then I'll offer Neal a permanent relationship - and I hope he'll accept," Raintree said and looked Peter hard in the eyes. "If you refuse him as your sub, I will take him if he'll have me, and I will not give him back without a fight, not again."

Peter held his eyes a moment longer and believed every word Raintree said. Shortly after, he said his good-byes. He had a lot to think about.

*-*-*-*

A week later, Neal almost walked in front of a bullet because his mind wasn't on the job. After they handled the resulting mess, Peter - tight-lipped and white with anger and fear - pushed Neal into the passenger seat of his car and slammed the door shut so hard the Taurus rocked from side to side. Then he pulled out his cell phone and the business card he was given and punched in the number with shaking fingers.

"Raintree!" he barked when the other man picked up. "Fine. I'll do it. When can we start?"

*-*-*-*

Epilogue:

It's been five months, three weeks and five days since Kate was killed and Neal still grieves for her deeply - but the terrible, soul crushing weight's gone. Peter doesn't allow it to grow anymore, cutting it out every time it rears its ugly head. Peter can read his tells so instinctively these days, that he catches on long before Neal himself realizes he's slip-sliding again.

That's why he's kneeling in the corner right now with his face to the wall and a black scarf over his eyes. He has only his t-shirt and his boxers on, hands bound tight behind his back with leather cuffs, chained to the padded manacles on his ankles, the tracker moved carefully aside so it doesn't chaff or pinch. There's a foamy pad beneath his knees, as he'll be kneeling there for an hour - sixty minutes of nothing to worry about, of someone else carrying his burdens.

His restrains are firm but not too tight and Peter checks on him regularly to make sure he's alright. He doesn't talk to Neal, this is Neal's time-out and he's deep in his sub headspace, but with a steady touch on his shoulder or on his head, Peter lets him know, that he's there. I'm here, shhh, I'm here, relax, his touches say.

There's a TV playing in the background, a game of some sorts, but Neal doesn't care. His thoughts wander and he feels himself relax, one muscle at a time, feels himself letting go. He doesn't try to gauge how much time's gone by or how much time there's left, Peter will come when his hour's over so he doesn't have to worry about that. He doesn't have to worry about anything.

His thoughts stray from one subject to another, in this place nothing can touch him. Peter won't allow it.

Mozzie still doesn't understand this arrangement between Peter and Neal. But then, he doesn't understand anything but total and complete freedom - and he can't wrap his mind around the fact that for Neal, freedom means submitting to Peter.

There's a pleasant buzz in his chest and the languid feeling that accompanies complete relaxation in his muscles when finally Peter crouches next to him and says softly, "Your hour's up, Neal."

Slowly, carefully, Peter unlinks the chain biding Neal's hands and feet together, the chain that snaps "Stay!" at him, when he's too wired to kneel still, then unlocks the cuffs - first on his ankles, then on his wrists. He helps Neal move his arms forward because his shoulders ache - but it's a good ache, there to remind him that he's owned. Next comes the blindfold and Neal blinks rapidly to clear his sight. And the collar? The collar is the last thing undone.

It's a pretty piece, butter soft leather that hugs Neal's skin. It was Joshua's idea, a simple tool to move Neal in and out of his headspace fast. When it's on, Peter's at the wheel. When it's off, they're equals again. No head games, simple rules.

"Okay?" Peter asks as he helps Neal to stand. There are pins and needles in Neal's legs, but Peter steadies him when he wobbles.

Neal turns to him and grins. "Perfect!"

Peter grins back and ruffles his hair. How much have these few short months changed them both? Peter maybe didn't plan on being an ex-con's dom but he took to it like a duck to water. He once admitted to Neal that doing this, being Neal's top and seeing to his needs, quieted down something in his heart too - he could now make sure that Neal stayed out of trouble, mostly that is. Joshua called him a natural dom.

They still invite Joshua to oversee their sessions from time to time, usually when they plan to try out something new. He usually gives them pointers about how to do things, but he never tries to interfere - it's their relationship now, Peter's and his.

"All done?" a voice calls out, followed by Elizabeth poking her head out of the kitchen door, ponytail swinging. Seeing the collar off, she continues cheerfully, "Great! Neal, go get dressed and wash your hands. Peter, set the table. Dinner's in ten!"

Peter and Neal look at each other and grin, hurrying to comply. Dom and sub they might be, but Elizabeth's still the boss.

And Neal's happy with that.

The End