Chapter Text
It is a universal truth that power rests in the hands of only a minority of those who seek it.
If power was plentiful, as easy to find as a blade of grass in a spring meadow, it would lose its appeal. Nobody covets what everyone has, and as power gets passed through the grasping hands of the ambitious and wealthy, it loses its influence, becomes diluted each time it gets shared.
There was something alluring about the precious few who could get and maintain power in their society, the top one percent of the top one percent, who hardly ever acknowledged the existence of others in their tier. However, on rare days, in luxurious hotels situated in thriving cities, one might be lucky enough to witness a congregation of the elite, the top echelons of society, the people who held all the power. When the situation was right, or the draw enticing enough, it was possible to gather all the power of society into one room.
These were the people with armies at their beck and call, who held no public office but could overthrow governments with a phone call, they were the people who could make or break a person with a flick of their wrist, and they were all present to see Chuuya.
Even though they kept polite conversation with their acquaintances, and rarely bothered to approach directly, Chuuya could feel their gazes lingering on him as he walked by. Their eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to the enticing curve of his ass in trousers too tight to be considered formal. Their handshakes were marked by brushing fingers, their smiles bordered on leers, hands would reach out and slide against his body as he weaved through the crowd, and Chuuya reveled in every second of it.
It was at these events, which happened too far apart and far too infrequently, where he felt just a taste of the power that these people bathed in. It was only here, when the elite lusted for his time, that Chuuya could pretend the collar around his neck was a fashion statement, pretend the guard at his back was for his protection rather than a glorified dog keeper, pretend the piercing looks from dull gray eyes belonged to another sexually charged elite and not the man who had owned Chuuya since he had been marked as Deviant.
There were two minorities who could classify as having power.
The first group was those around him, those who were born into wealthy families or climbed their way to the top of the social ladder. To them, power was a blessing. To Chuuya, and to the second group of people, power was a curse.
Due to being identified younger than most, Chuuya couldn’t remember much about his life before he was identified as being one of the minority of people born with supernatural abilities. It was a small blessing that Chuuya had never had a taste of normality. It meant he had adapted quickly to life as a Deviant, so much so that he was considered well-behaved enough to be allowed to mingle with his owner’s business clientele.
Chuuya knew that many of the Deviant lived in squalor, that they were fed only enough to keep them alive and were beaten over the slightest infractions. In contrast, he had become a nearly invaluable asset for his owner; it was amazing what a pair of spread legs could do to help broker a business deal. Since his body was what made money, Chuuya was dressed in clothes tailored to his form, was given strict regiments in regard to exercise, eating, and maintaining his appearance, and any punishments were devised to prevent permanent damage to his body.
It wasn’t the same as freedom, but it was about the best life someone like Chuuya could get, and he was grateful for it. He had to be.
A hand touched Chuuya’s shoulder and he glanced over it, acknowledging the man who had been following him around the room for the last hour (and for the better part of three years). Although Émile was officially Chuuya’s bodyguard, he was one of the rare people who treated Chuuya like an actual human being.
Right now, Émile was giving him a slightly apologetic smile as he murmured, “It’s time.”
“Did you see who he picked?” Chuuya asked, slipping into French in an attempt to prevent the conversation from being overheard.
“A woman, she has blond hair.”
A smirk danced around Chuuya’s lips and he switched back to English. “That’s really helpful, Émile.”
His guard shrugged, biting back a smile of his own. “Does it matter who he picked?”
The smirk vanished, along with Chuuya’s playful mood. It didn’t matter at all. It didn’t matter if the person was twice his age or barely legal, it didn’t matter if Chuuya was attracted to them or not, or if they even knew his name. Chuuya would leave the party, follow them to their hotel suite, and give them whatever they wanted. Perhaps, if they were gracious, he would get some sort of pleasure out of the evening but with these people, it was more likely that Chuuya would be kicked out the room an hour later and forced to pick up whatever pieces of his dignity that were tossed out with him. His body didn’t actually belong to him, and the reminder never failed to sour whatever hint of power Chuuya got from these events.
“Hey, Chuuya, I didn’t mean-” Émile scrambled to backtrack, picking up on the rapid change of mood.
Chuuya shook his head. “You shouldn’t apologize to a Deviant, they’ll question your loyalties. Besides, you were only speaking the truth.” Chuuya turned, gaze immediately meeting dull gray from where it watched him across the room. “I suppose I can’t put it off any longer.”
With that, Chuuya began to weave his way through the crowd and towards the one corner of the room he had gone out of his way to avoid all evening. Even if it was the last place he wanted to be, Chuuya only slowed down to return a flirtatious comment here or there (visibly stalling would have dire consequences the next morning). Now that the person who would have unfettered access to Chuuya for the rest of the night had been chosen, the least Chuuya could give the other hopefuls was a side glance. When Chuuya reached the man who had organized the party, the man who controlled every aspect of his life, he inclined his head in a display of subservience.
“Nakahara.” The cool use of his name was an order in itself and Chuuya raised his gaze from his shoes to indicate he was paying attention. His owner waved a hand towards the woman standing next to him. “Miss Higuchi, a brand new associate of my company.”
Chuuya flicked his gaze to study the woman from underneath his eyelashes. It was a skill he had perfected: the ability to evaluate a person while masking the glance as a bold suggestive gesture. Unlike most of those who wound up on the other side of this particular stare, the woman didn’t so much as flush the palest shade of pink. Instead, she gave him a smile too cold to be sincere, the sharp look in her eye indicating that she knew exactly what Chuuya was doing.
“I trust you can provide Miss Higuchi with the finest of Lemaire hospitality?”
It wasn’t really a question considering there was only one viable answer, but Chuuya dutifully spoke the expected response, “It will be my honor, sir.”
His owner gave a curt nod and moved further into the room to continue mingling with his guests. Once he was out of earshot, Chuuya gave the woman a charming smile, hoping that she warmed up to him sooner rather than later. “Would you prefer to stay at the party a bit longer, Higuchi-sama?”
The ice on her face melted into surprise, and Chuuya wasn’t sure if he should be insulted or relieved that the woman was more interested by his word choice than the hint of color on his lips (designed to draw attention to his mouth) or the sheer shirt that did little to hide his upper body from anyone’s gaze. She tilted her head. “I was under the impression that you’ve spent your life in France.”
“I have been gratefully employed to Monsieur Lemaire for most of my life,” Chuuya admitted, “Despite being born in Japan, all of my knowledge of your country comes from the tutoring I have received.”
It always seemed to surprise others that Chuuya’s training had been exceedingly well-rounded; though his skill behind closed doors was commendable, such things as knowing how to converse with Lemaire’s clients in their native tongue or how to blend into the highest society crowds were what made Chuuya different from the whores that could be picked up on the street corner. The use of Japanese honorifics was among the most basic of his lessons.
Higuchi seemed to file that information away in her head before she turned on her heel. “My room is on the seventh floor, number twenty-two. Be there in exactly one hour.”
Despite her back being turned to him, Chuuya swept her a bow, not daring to straighten until she was completely gone from sight. When he rose, he half-turned and caught Émile’s eye. Noticing the silent plea, Émile stepped forward until he was within earshot and Chuuya murmured, “She wants me to wait for an hour.”
Émile raised an eyebrow. “That’s new.”
New was an understatement. Chuuya couldn’t say he had ever been told to wait in such a situation in his six years of work. Usually, it was all he could do to get into a hotel room before wandering hands had stripped him of his clothes. Now that his body had been effectively auctioned off to the highest bidder, Chuuya had no reason to continue mingling with the elite of society. With nothing more to dangle in front of them, no more leverage he could use to keep them at bay, they were little different from a pack of wolves and his skin crawled just thinking about staying for an additional hour.
Chuuya bit his bottom lip in thought before he murmured, “Is there any way we can go back to my room?”
It was a risk. If Lemaire learned Chuuya had spent an hour in his room when he could be sweet-talking clients into being more amenable to whatever horrible deal Lemaire would swoop in and offer them, Chuuya’s punishment would be harsh. Images of being locked in a space the size of a closet, or of being starved for days, or of being handed over to some of Lemaire’s cruelest employees, flashed through Chuuya’s mind. Émile’s dubious expression seemed to indicate he was considering the same consequences, and Chuuya almost retracted his request before he felt someone boldly slide behind him, pressing their body flush against Chuuya’s back. He held deathly still, eyes dropping to the floor to keep Émile from seeing the spark of embarrassment in his eyes until they were alone again.
“I know I’ll be in trouble if he finds out, but I can’t play this up for an hour,” Chuuya rushed to say, his voice so soft he wasn’t sure Émile could hear it, “they’ll just get their hopes up and be cruel if they ever do get their hands on me. Please, Émile.”
The moments before Émile gave in with a soft sigh seemed to tick on forever, but when the guard walked past Chuuya without another comment, Chuuya followed so closely behind that he was almost on Émile’s heel. He didn’t even bother telling himself that he wasn’t running away. The atmosphere in the room had begun to press on Chuuya harshly, starving him of air to an extent that he didn’t even realize until he let out a rattled gasp the moment they stepped into the corridor.
“Are you alright?” Émile asked.
Chuuya clenched his hands into fists at his side. He wasn’t new to this anymore, this had been the reality of his existence for six years now (not to mention the years of training that went beforehand). It wasn’t supposed to affect him this much; showing weakness only gave people an excuse to treat him with more cruelty.
He focused on his breath, forcing his body to calm down in increments before he replied, “I have to be.”
Exactly one hour after being introduced to Higuchi, Chuuya was knocking on the door to the designated hotel room. The corridor of the seventh floor was deserted, implying all of its occupants to be at the party or fast asleep. The door opened immediately, and Higuchi stepped aside to let Chuuya and Émile enter the suite.
“Do you follow him everywhere?” She asked, walking past Chuuya as if he wasn’t present, her eyes fixed on Émile.
Used to being treated as a room fixture, Chuuya took the time to examine his surroundings for some hint as to what kind of person Higuchi was. Since they were in a hotel suite, he expected to be faced with little in the way of hints, but he was intrigued to note that there wasn’t a single personal item in sight. There were no coats hanging in the open closet to his right, the flat surfaces were all clear of the debris that occasionally was emptied from pockets or purses. If he didn’t know better, Chuuya would say that this room didn’t have an occupant at all.
As he studied the suite, he only vaguely listened to Émile explain, “As Nakahara’s guard, it is my job to ensure he doesn’t attempt to run away or cause harm to our business associates.”
“Is that a problem Mr. Lemaire has been having?” Higuchi asked.
“No, ma’am. In my years in the position, there has never been so much as a single incident, but it is more of a precaution than anything else.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t do to let a Deviant wander around on his own.” She mused.
Chuuya kept his face carefully blank at her callous comment. Precisely because he was well-behaved, Émile’s presence was more for Chuuya’s protection than that of anyone else. Lemaire had put a lot of time and money into cultivating Chuuya into the most famous courtesan in recent history and with that notoriety came danger. There was the threat of people trying to keep him to themselves, of greedy clients who sought to damage Chuuya in an attempt to negotiate Lemaire into finally putting Chuuya up for sale and, in such situations, Chuuya was essentially helpless. If he so much as rose his hands in defense, it was grounds for his arrest, and Lemaire wanted to avoid that even more than Chuuya himself did.
“Well, if you’re going to be waiting, would you like something to drink?” Higuchi continued, still ignoring Chuuya’s presence. “The hotel sent up a bottle of wine.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m not allowed to drink on the job.”
She hummed in acknowledgment. “Then at least allow me to get you some water. I feel bad having you sit out here by yourself while I get all the entertainment.”
Émile nodded. “If you wouldn’t mind, I would appreciate that.”
“Wonderful, I have a pitcher in the fridge.”
Even though Higuchi didn’t so much as glance at Chuuya, it was immediately clear that an order had been given. He moved without hesitation, quickly finding the pitcher of water (since it was the only thing in the fridge) and carrying it over to the table where Higuchi had motioned Émile into a seat. Chuuya didn’t meet the guard’s gaze as he poured water into a waiting glass, aware that Émile was probably trying to apologize by sight alone. His apology would do Chuuya no good, with this turn of events Chuuya had finally gotten the woman’s measure—she was going to go out of her way to assert her power over Chuuya, to remind him just how low his place was in society, as if it was something that Chuuya needed to be reminded about.
He placed the pitcher on the table and turned to Higuchi, who was standing at the other end, an empty wine glass in her hand. She raised an eyebrow at him and Chuuya picked up the bottle of wine that had been aerating on the table and poured it into her glass. She took a drink, eyes fixed on Chuuya’s as she lifted the glass and lowered it before she crooked her finger at him.
Chuuya placed the bottle back down and stepped towards her, eyes widening in surprise when her hand shot out to grip the front of his shirt and twist it. With a surprising display of strength, he was tugged forward, and his mouth opened in a soft gasp, only to be covered by her own and for the sip of wine to slide down his throat.
With a sharp tug on his bottom lip, Higuchi pulled back and muttered, “Sit down and wait for me to finish my drink.”
It was only thanks to years of experience that Chuuya didn’t react to the sudden change in mood and merely gave a nod of understanding. He waited for the tight grip on his shirt to vanish before he slid down to sit on the backs of his heels, knees digging into the hardwood of the floor. Higuchi gave a soft hum of approval at the fact that he didn’t presume to take a seat in one of the chairs before she dropped down to sit across from Émile.
She began to question Émile, asking him things like how long he had been working for Lemaire and how often they traveled outside of France. It was an idle conversation, nothing more than small talk, and Chuuya wanted to let it lull him into a sense of comfort. He wanted to believe the rest of his night would continue at the same easy pace with which Higuchi conversed. Her voice was softer with Émile, likely because she saw him as more of an equal rather than a piece of property. She smiled and chuckled and coaxed Émile until he seemed more willing to open up to her than he had been with any of the people Chuuya had been auctioned off to in the past.
Despite his instincts telling Chuuya that he needed to stay alert, he felt his body relaxing and he quietly shifted his stance so he was seated completely on the floor. There was a weightlessness creeping over him that couldn’t be attributed to the few drops of alcohol he had been forced to swallow, and the collar around his neck would have immediately shocked him if his ability had begun to activate. Blinking eyelids that were becoming a bit too heavy, Chuuya frowned as he noticed Émile’s posture deteriorating: it wasn’t like the man to be anything less than proper around outsiders.
It was the crash of Émile’s glass landing on the floor that indicated trouble, and Chuuya’s eyes flew open, the rush of adrenaline pushing past his growing fatigue as Émile slumped out of his chair and dropped to the floor like dead weight.
Chuuya opened his mouth to cry out to his only friend and caught himself at the last moment. Turning his attention to Higuchi, he tried for the calmest voice possible as he asked, “May I check to see if he’s alright?”
She hadn’t reacted to Émile’s crash at all, and Chuuya watched in increasing horror as her eyes rolled up and she collapsed in the same manner. Swearing under his breath, Chuuya crawled across the floor to where she lay, fingers trembling as he searched for a pulse. If someone came upon this scene, Chuuya would be executed with no questions asked. Not even Lemaire’s considerable influence would be able to save him. When he found a steady heartbeat, Chuuya scrambled to Émile and let out a soft sigh of relief when he confirmed the guard was also still alive.
The relief was short-lived. While being a Deviant locked in a hotel room with two unconscious people was better than being a Deviant locked in a hotel room with two dead people, Chuuya was still screwed. He couldn’t go more than ten feet away from Émile without his tracking chip setting off alarms, which meant that he couldn’t go get help without alerting Lemaire to the fact that something was wrong.
What the hell was he supposed to do?
The sound of the hotel room door unlocking was sharp in the silence of the room. Chuuya struggled to his feet, trying to will his body to cooperate as it moved more sluggishly than the situation called for. Mind racing to come up with some way to convince others of his innocence, Chuuya whirled around as the door closed again, one hand reaching out to grip the edge of the nearest chair to keep his balance. He felt his heart stop as he met the gaze of a total stranger.
A single brown eye was fixed on Chuuya as the man pulled his hand away from where he had locked the door behind himself. “Well, it looks like you have quite the problem on your hands.”
“I didn’t do it,” Chuuya said, aware that no one would believe him since he couldn’t provide so much as an idea of who might have actually been responsible.
“I know,” the man said, his voice even.
It took a few seconds for the words to push past the panic in Chuuya’s mind, and he tried to squash the flicker of hope that they gave him. “You believe me?”
“Of course I do. After all, I’m the one that drugged them.”
The man took a measured step forward and Chuuya stumbled a step backward, his instincts now screaming at him to avoid contact. There was something about the man that wasn’t quite right. Even if Chuuya ignored the two people currently unconscious on the floor, or the fact that this person had broken into a locked hotel room, or his admission to drugging the others, something about the air around the stranger still would have set Chuuya on edge.
Perhaps it was the litany of bandages that peeked from underneath the man’s sleeves, wrapped up his neck, and covered his right eye. They were so numerous that Chuuya had to believe they were hiding scars of some kind. The type of person who was marked in such an abundance was also the type that Chuuya wanted to stay far away from.
Perhaps it was the way the man was sauntering into the room, his gaze fixed on Chuuya even though his attention seemed to extend beyond the hotel suite. He seemed to be documenting every minuscule motion Chuuya made while also listening to each noise that came from the corridor or filtered through the open balcony doors.
If Chuuya had to pick what made him the most comfortable, it was the fact that he was completely defenseless. The backs of his knees were pressed against the edge of the table, and he had nowhere to run to. There was no way a Deviant could get past the hotel security without being attached to a guest, which meant that this man was either under orders or, more likely considering the lack of a collar, he was a normal person here of his own volition. Chuuya had never been allowed to learn how to defend himself, he hadn’t even received training on how to manage his powers like many others did. If worst came to worst, he could try and use his ability, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to fight through the pain of the shock collar long enough to make it to safety.
“I appreciate how hard you’re thinking about how to get out of this situation in one piece,” the man mused, now just out of arm’s reach, “it’s promising that you’re a survivalist, but I’m going to need you to take a seat in one of those chairs.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m giving you an order.”
Chuuya scowled, the stress of the situation briefly overriding his training in obedience. “I don’t belong to you.”
A smirk spread across the man’s lips. “I was worried they would have beaten you into complete compliance by now, I appreciate the bite. I’m going to take your collar off. Sit down.” This time, there was a thinly veiled threat in the man’s words, his brown eye harsh as he stared Chuuya down.
After a moment, Chuuya did as he was told. Considering how badly his body was trembling, and how it felt like his legs were seconds away from collapsing from underneath him, he might as well just sit.
“Who are you?” He asked.
Chuuya didn’t get a reply. The man simply stepped forward so he was looming over him and grabbed a handful of Chuuya’s hair. Chuuya let out a hiss of pain at the sharp tug on his locks, moving with the pull in an attempt to lessen the strain on his scalp. There was a slight chuckle above him before Chuuya heard the sound of metal scraping metal and seconds later his collar was tumbling into his lap.
The sudden release of the pressure against his throat felt strange, almost uncomfortable, after a lifetime with it in place.
“There will be guards here in seconds, you know,” Chuuya muttered at the stranger: the opening of his collar would have set off alarms, “you won’t be able to get away with kidnapping me.”
“They’ll be here in four minutes and twenty seconds, give or take.” Was the dry response as the man dragged Chuuya’s chair around and climbed into Chuuya’s lap without so much as a please or thank you. “And I’m not kidnapping you.” He gripped the edge of Chuuya’s right sleeve and tore it open with a harsh yank. “I’m extracting you.”
“Extracting?” Chuuya repeated, acutely aware that he couldn’t move due to the weight of the man on his lap. Strong thighs were firmly keeping Chuuya’s lower-body still and, for some reason, he couldn’t activate his ability to free himself from the weight at all. His upper body felt just as heavy, and Chuuya’s eyes flicked to the side, taking in the wine bottle. The feeling of the alcohol sliding down his throat pushed to the forefront of his mind and he swore under his breath again. “You drugged me too.”
“Technically Higuchi drugged you,” the man muttered, his hands running carefully up from Chuuya’s elbow and towards his shoulder. They were surprisingly gentle as he pressed and pulled at various sections of skin before he came to a stop and said, “Chuuya, I need you to keep still.”
“How do you know her name?” Chuuya asked. “Wait. How do you know my name?”
The man chuckled. “Your reputation precedes you. How well do you handle pain?”
“What? What do you- fuck!” A sharp pain flared from Chuuya’s arm, cutting him off in mid-sentence. He looked down to see a dagger sticking into his skin and Chuuya’s stomach lurched. “What are you doing?”
The knife was pushed further into his body and Chuuya’s eyes squeezed shut as he tried not to vomit from the pain.
“Getting your tracking chip out.” The man’s voice was much too casual considering the small hole he was carving into Chuuya’s flesh. “And I need you to stop squirming or this will take longer.”
Chuuya could think of half-a-dozen things he wanted to say in response, but letting loose a litany of insults at the man holding a dagger to his body went against every one of his self-preservation instincts. So, he let his head drop to rest against the back of the chair and he focused on his breathing. Whatever drug that was working through his system was now a blessing as it helped Chuuya sit as still as possible until something tight was being tied around his arm and the weight on his lap suddenly vanished.
A hand wrapped around his wrist and pulled Chuuya to his feet. Eyes flying open so he could balance himself, Chuuya moved with the momentum largely because he didn’t know what else to do. It was only when he realized that he was being pulled towards the balcony that Chuuya really considered his options.
He didn’t fucking have any.
Even if he somehow subdued the man and waited for the authorities to find them, Chuuya would still be punished to set an example. On the other hand, he wasn’t idiotic enough to go off with a total stranger, particularly not one who oozed danger so much as this one did.
When they were standing on the balcony of the suite, the man glanced over the railing at the street below and said, “You need to jump.”
“The hell I do,” Chuuya replied. “I’m not jumping to my death.”
“If I wanted you dead, I would have killed you already.”
Chuuya scowled, he had gone along so far but this was where he drew the line. “I don’t care, I’m not jumping.”
The man considered Chuuya for several seconds, the casual feeling vanishing from his demeanor. In its place was a cold emptiness that made Chuuya think of the Deviants he had seen on their way to work camps or to their execution. It was in the span of a few breaths that Chuuya realized he was dealing with a man who had nothing to lose, who had absolutely no fear of death, and Chuuya tried not to let the sudden onset of fear show on his face.
The man’s shoulders lifted in a shrug and the emptiness was replaced with an easy-going smile. “I suppose it is asking a bit much for you to jump from the seventh floor of a hotel on the word of a man you just met.”
That was it? All Chuuya had to do was put his foot down and the whole bizarre situation would come to a halt? An answering smile began to spread on his lips before the man moved in a burst of speed. Something small glinted in the man’s hand and Chuuya didn’t register it as a medical needle until it was sinking into his neck and lighting his veins on fire.
Chuuya stumbled backward, unable to panic properly as the sedative pulled him away from reality.
“You! You…” Chuuya’s lips wouldn’t work the way he wanted them too, and his vision rapidly filled with black as the man’s smile vanished like a switch had been flipped.
The last thing he saw was the man pulling a phone from his pocket before Chuuya plummeted into unconsciousness.