Chapter Text
Cloud Strife looked down at the coffee table, and up again. Anywhere but the man who sat opposite him in the armchair.
He knew that this man was dangerous. The way he held himself, the way he spoke. He was all coiled elegance in a package of unearthly beauty. Confidence and assuredness brimmed from every pore of his, and Cloud had seen enough of men like that to know what they liked.
Twisted and sadistic, they often liked to inflict a great amount of pain and pleasure in equal amounts.
But Cloud was here to do a job. Whether he liked it or not.
It was best to fall back on what he knew best, and the sooner he got started, the sooner it would be over.
‘How would you like to do it?’ he asked, and his tone came out a little brusquer than he was expecting. He was probably overcompensating for the anxiety churning inside of him.
‘Do what?’ the man asked, in a calm and measured tone.
‘Have sex,’ Cloud said. ‘Fuck. Screw. Whatever you want to call it. Here or a bedroom? Couch or the bed? I won’t do kinks unless we discuss it beforehand, and condoms and lubes are non-negotiable. I have a stash in my bag if you don’t have any.’
The man sat down on the couch, gestured for Cloud to join him.
Cloud obeyed instantly, putting his bag down at the foot of the couch. The cushions were firm and luxurious, and he sank down into them. He waited.
The man pulled out a small, silver case from the inside of his jacket, and he popped it open to reveal long, slim tubes of black cigarettes. Cloud knew these, and had seen them once or twice. Herbal cigarettes laced with a miniscule dose of mako. Not enough to cause a reaction, but enough to relax the muscles. These were the most expensive cigarettes on the market.
He held one between the index finger and middle finger of his left hand, and flicked a silver cigarette lighter. Then he inhaled gently, and quietly puffed out a stream of pale green smoke. Mako in its purest form stank of acridity, but these were filtered enough to smell a little pleasantly like freshly cut grass.
‘I don’t want to have sex with you,’ the man said, slowly, but clearly.
So what, he was here for shits and giggles? ‘You … don’t want to fuck?’
‘No.’
‘Then I’m not sure why you’ve brought me here. Last I checked, this is my profession. I fuck for a living.’
‘No,’ the man said again, setting off the alarm bells in Cloud’s head. If the client didn’t want sex, then what did he want?
Was he into the bad kind of shit? The brutal stuff that would leave him maimed or killed? Mutilated and useless?
Either way, Cloud was almost resigned to whatever that was coming.
It wasn’t as if he wanted to die. But it was a relief not to have someone waiting at home for him. There was no family, and no friends, even. His mother had died years ago and she had been the only family he had. His colleagues were acquaintances on the best of days, as he regularly kept to himself. No one would look for him if he was lost, and no one who would mourn his death.
He couldn’t lie – some days he wished that it would all end. His debt, his obligations, his life.
Perhaps this was why the man had picked him out of all the beautiful whores they had at the Butterfly House. If he died, no one would care.
The usual process at the Butterfly House when there was a VIP involved was very simple. They got dressed in their best fineries, and then marched into the room unimaginatively called the Display Room. There, in the overly perfumed salon dripping with ridiculous opulence and luxurious furniture, they were all supposed to find a seat and put themselves on display, waiting for the client of the night to pick them.
It was a pointless, stupid competition that no one really wanted to win. However winning was still better than losing, because winning meant that the chosen whore for the night would be whisked away for a night of pleasuring the single client who had the potential to shower them with generous tips that would help pay off their debt. For the losers, no such luck. They would go through dozens of clients before the sun rose, and then quietly, hopelessly counted off yet another day of being indentured to this brothel.
Cloud remembered the endless mornings where he sat up on the overly firm, uncomfortable brothel bed, every part of his body aching, sore, used and besmirched in the name of providing pleasure. He had been picked once only before by a VIP client, and he had deeply regretted it by the time the sun rose above the horizon. He had been beaten, tied-up, fucked until he could no longer say his own name.
And after that, he never hoped to be picked by a VIP client again. He would much rather have a stream of nameless, faceless alphas and betas fucking him like he was an object. It was a little easier, more predictable that way.
His existence as an omega in this omega-only brothel was a contradiction in itself.
The brothel was run by a madam who held tight reins over the administration of the business. As an indentured worker there to pay off his debt, he was given room and board. Even though it was a tiny room with nothing more than a bed and a bathroom and a tiny kitchenette, he had been well-taken care of. Everything was clean and well-maintained. The food was nutritious, if bland, and he was provided with whatever amenities and clothing he needed.
There were always a steady supply of inhibitors prescribed for his use in order to suppress his heats, and contraception was compulsory and well-regulated. He may have no love for what he had to do, but at least he knew he was doing it in a safe environment where his physical well-being was taken care of.
But when he had to do his job, however, it was an entirely different story. He may have been treated like a living, breathing human while not working, but the reality was there was a certain kind of clientele that came for omega whores. Many of them who had a perverted fascination over the existence that was this rare secondary gender. They were considered weaker, feebler, a relic of the past now that the world’s population had begun to stabilize.
No longer needed, and only valued in certain places, omegas were a dying breed.
He hadn’t many options when he had incurred his debt – whoring turned out to be the only choice. Even though he hated doing it, there was a part of him that had already made peace with this fact.
Which brought him to this night. He had been perched casually on a piano stool in the Display Room at the Butterfly House when he and his fellow workers had been told to assemble. He didn’t have enough seniority, nor the popularity to claim center stage in the room.
That was reserved for the lush couches artfully arranged on the gaudy carpet. There was a grand piano on the far, back corner of the room. A couple were cunning enough to drape themselves seductively against the piano, but Cloud always picked this spot.
The stool was simple enough, partially hidden. No one who wanted to be picked would sit in this spot. But it was perfect for him. He took a seat, crossed his ankles, and tried not to fidget. While they waited, he listened idly to the conversation.
‘Who is it this time?’ Someone asked.
‘Shhh! Not so loud,’ another whore said. ‘It’s a big one this time. It’s Shinra’s consigliere.’
‘Holy shit. Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I saw him in the foyer earlier.’
‘The Silver Demon? He doesn’t sleep with whores. He has more than enough men and women throwing themselves at him.’
‘Shit, I’ve heard about him. He’s a vicious lover. My cousin said she slept with him once, and he nearly split her in half.’
‘Well, what’s he doing here if he doesn’t sleep with whores?’
‘Don’t know.’ A shrug. ‘Maybe he’s trying to make a snuff film.’ Unkind laughter, threaded with a real trepidation and nervousness.
‘I hope he doesn’t pick me,’ came from one of the newly-joined omegas, so wet behind the ears that he was still considered in training.
Cloud shrunk further into himself. No good would come of servicing the consigliere of the Shinra syndicate. He better keep his head down.
‘Places, omegas!’ the madam called sweetly, and all of them in the Display Room froze in a pose of their choice, baring their beautiful bodies dressed up in various finery. Flirtatious smiles and dead-on stares, seductiveness oozing out of every pore.
Cloud stared at a spot at the wall, a faint, practiced smile on his face. Indifference. Distance. Devoid of any sexiness despite his bared arms and legs.
He didn’t even turn his head when he heard the man walking into the room. The clack of expensive leather shoes on marble tiles, a blur of black and white as the man walked in. Cloud didn’t want to see, didn’t want to care. Definitely did not want to make eye contact.
He just wanted this to be done so he could begin conducting business for the night. And the sooner he did, the sooner he would be done and he would be one day closer to that precious sweetness of freedom.
Then the man stopped directly in front of him, and Cloud was forced to look up.
Shit, he thought. Fuck.
He noticed the suit first. Black and white pinstripes, a pocket handkerchief of deep satin green. That tie perfectly knotted in a windsor pattern. That suit was clearly tailored as it molded itself to the man’s muscular frame.
Then the face. Sharp and aristocratic and aquiline, almost, with the coldest green eyes he had ever seen in his life. Dispassionate, indifferent, yet brimming with a certain unfathomable emotion.
And then the most overwhelmingly thing of all – the man’s scent. Powerful, masculine. The surface odor of expensive cologne, spicy and musky and vibrant was unable to mask that under-layer of pure masculinity and power. It was fiercely, and undeniably alpha.
Cloud’s heart began throbbing in response to fear. He had no choice but to look up.
The man was looking down, straight at him. His gaze was green, cold and unflinching. Cool fingers brushed against his chin, forcing him to tilt his face upwards even further.
‘Your name?’ That voice, buttery and smooth, deep and seductive, jolted him back to his senses.
‘My name is Cloud,’ he breathed quietly.
The man looked at him for a little while longer. Cloud held his breath.
‘Him,’ the man finally said.
Goddamnit, Cloud thought.
The madam came up to them. ‘Very good choice, sir.’
‘How much?’ the man asked.
The madam flipped open her fan and hid her mouth behind it. ‘We can discuss the details of his price, sir. Would you be wanting him for the night, or more?’
‘No.’
‘No, sir?’ the madam asked, a little confused.
‘How much did he cost your brothel?’ the man asked, his gaze never once leaving Cloud’s.
Cloud blinked in confusion.
But he did what he was told. He wasn’t privy to their ensuing conversation, and was instead instructed to pack up all his belongings into a bag while they worked out the details. He would be servicing the client in a location of his choosing, and all Cloud had to do was get ready. He was then ushered into a chauffeured luxury car with black-out windows and asked to wait. When the man finally joined him inside the car, they did not exchange a single word.
Cloud did not dare to ask. And certainly he did not dare to hope. Hope was for fools. And he had been a fool once, stupid enough to have lost his freedom in order to pay back the debt he had incurred.
He looked out the tinted windows and watched the car travel down the lit-up streets of Midgar’s Sector 4 and into Sector 1 to a luxury apartment that stretched into the sky. It was not nearly as tall as Shinra Tower, but it was equally beautiful, if not more so.
The man got out of the car, and Cloud followed him into an apartment. He was so nervous that he barely paid attention to his surroundings. The last session with a VIP hadn’t ended well, and he was nervous about what this man would ask him to do.
Or what he would do to Cloud.
But he was only asked to sit on a couch in the living room. ‘Would you like something to drink?’ the man asked.
That startled Cloud. He had been in the business long enough to hear every request under the sun. But no one, no one had ever asked him if he wanted refreshments.
There was something very wrong here.
He braced himself. ‘If you don’t want to fuck me, then what do you want with me?’
He watched as the man inhaled carefully from his cigarette, and exhaled slowly. Then he opened up plain folder and pulled out some papers.
‘Do you recognize this?’
He tossed down a thick sheaf of documents. Cloud had seen them once, and only once before. The day he had been forced to sign. His gaze slid over those words that he never really understood then, but had a carnal understanding of now. Those words that stated that he would work at the Butterfly House in exchange for his debt to the Shinra Corporation to be cleared.
With trembling fingers he flipped to the last page, where in that deep blue ink, he had signed his own name, and subsequently relinquished his freedom.
There, in his childish, terrified handwriting, was his full name.
‘This is my contract,’ Cloud whispered. He had been told that he would see it again when he finally repaid his debt. It would take the whole of ten years. He had told himself that it wasn’t going to be his whole life. That was then, when he had still been optimistic enough. Perhaps foolishly so.
But two years had been enough to destroy what was left of his pathetic delusions. These days he felt like life had beaten him down into the dirt, and that he was nothing. His body moved automatically, his gaze glazed over with cynicism.
Only eight more years, he thought to himself, and neatly dropped the pages so he could no longer see the last sheet. He did not need to be reminded that he had sold himself, and it had been single-handedly the most foolish decision of his life.
Back then, he hadn’t known that this would destroy his worth as an omega, as a man, and as a human being. He knew that now, but it was far too late.
He folded his hands and rested them on his knees. ‘What about it?’
The man picked up the document. Those long, elegant fingers, wiry with strength generated from those graceful wrists got hold of either side of the bundle. Then with a quick twist and the flash of his watch in the darkened room, he tore the document in half, cleanly and decisively down the middle.
‘I’ve paid off your debt. You’re a free man, Cloud.’
Cloud did not understand. He felt like he was stuck in a never-ending loop of confusion and bafflement. He did not understand the words that came out of the man’s mouth. He only heard a strange roaring in his ears that wouldn't quiet down no matter how many deep breaths he took.
In the end he managed to choke out a single word. ‘Why?’
The man looked down at him, his aristocratic profile glacial and cold in the poorly lit shadows of the room. ‘I am simply repaying the favor. Once upon a time, you saved me.’