Chapter Text
Sora scrunched his toes and dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand as he waited for Xehanort to turn his back. A moment was all he needed. One quick distraction and the unnerving chill that clawed its way underneath Sora’s skin would be gone. But until then, Sora was a slave to it—completely helpless against the tiny tremors that assaulted his nerve endings.
“Xehanort, is that you?”
There! The diversion he needed. As if time wasn’t already slowed to a crawl, he painstakingly watched as the white-haired man by his side rolled his eyes and sighed before putting on a fake grin and turning towards the voice calling to him.
Sora paid no attention to the conversation. It didn’t matter, only that his Master’s back was turned. He mercifully slid as many fingers as would fit underneath the heavy leather collar around his neck and massaged the skin there. No matter how well-made and expensive the things Xehanort dressed him in, a fancy collar he wasn't used to always itched after an entire day of wearing one. The sheer black nylon encasing the rest of his body kept the leather body harness from itching at least, though it still pulled in a couple of places he wished it wouldn’t. But his attire wasn’t up to him. Little in his life was.
With the offending itch taken care of, his hands returned to his sides with lightning speed. Slaves weren’t supposed to touch their collars—ever—lest it be seen as a sign of disrespect towards their owners. Luckily, none of the eyes on him in the grand hall seemed too concerned about it. The countless businessmen of fortune and influence were too busy sipping expensive wine and talking illegal business to waste their time outing a slave for bad behavior.
Still, Xehanort insisted Sora stand by his side at these events as one of his most prized possessions. One he loved to flaunt in front of his rich business partners. It wasn’t uncommon to hold a slave in such high regard, but Xehanort was known to be a little more protective of him than most.
An arm snaked around Sora’s waist and turned him towards an extremely tall man with the same white hair and yellow eyes. “Sora,” Xehanort said, “this is my brother, Ansem. Say hello.”
Sora straightened his back and folded his hands in front of him, the rings of the leather cuffs around his wrists clinking together faintly. He bowed deeply. “Hello, Sir Ansem, a pleasure to meet you.” Sora stayed there until Xehanort gave him permission to stand upright again with a snap of his fingers.
All things considered, Sora deemed himself lucky to call Xehanort his Master. As far as the monsters that owned other humans went, there were far worse Sora could have belonged to. Horror stories plagued his thoughts every day of young men and women being sold to sadists who went through slaves by the dozens, using and discarding them like they were nothing more than soiled rags, then buying up brand new ones to defile anew. Sora had seen a few first-hand back when he was still in training, and that fear drove straight into his chest and stayed there, reminding him what could happen if he didn’t keep Xehanort pleased.
Crossing his arms, Ansem studied him from head to toe, and Sora tried his best not to squirm under his lecherous gaze. A silk gloved hand extended to grip Sora’s jaw and tilt his head up. “This is the one you stole from Xemnas in the auction, isn’t it?”
Xehanort scowled but allowed Ansem to continue his inspection. Normally, someone else laying a hand on Sora without permission would send Xehanort into a rage, but there was something holding him back this time. Sora cast a questioning glance to his Master, who only grit his teeth harder. “I won him fair and square.”
“Of course you did,” Ansem said, condescending. “Gotta admit though, you’ve done a good job with him. Teach him any tricks?”
“It’s been three years, what do you think?”
Ansem smirked, a dark air seeping into the space between them. “You’ll have to show me sometime.”
“Anyway,” Xehanort said, dodging the request, “are you here for business or pleasure?”
The conversation continued and Sora silently let out his breath, thankful that he wasn’t the topic anymore.
Days like this were even more stressful than the others. At ‘home' (Xehanort’s estate) he at least had downtime—plenty of moments to rest and catch his breath. Here, he was on display. A trophy for Xehanort to flaunt. Glossy and groomed to a perfect shine, dressed in leather and lacing meant to entice. To tease what Xehanort possessed that they didn’t. And Sora accepted his place—to stand by his Master’s side and be ogled and desired by those who wished to have him. Make them green with envy over Xehanort and his perfect, obedient slave.
After Ansem walked away, a finger under Sora’s chin brought his eyes to meet familiar yellow ones. Xehanort studied his face with concern, a frustrated scowl wrinkling his lips and brow. “That fucking asshole. Did he damage you?”
Sora shook his head slightly, careful to not let his chin break contact with Xehanort’s finger. “No, Master, I’m not hurt.”
Xehanort scoffed. “That prick thinks that just because he’s older, whatever's mine is rightfully his. Always has.” The back of his silk gloved fingers slid against the skin of Sora’s cheek, gentle and eerily affectionate. “You did so good, exactly as I asked.” He brushed a brunette lock from Sora’s forehead and slid his fingers into his hair, palming the back of his head. Sora shuddered from the touch. As much as he resented every second of servitude, receiving his Master’s praise stirred the one thing inside him that still brought him some semblance of joy—the innate satisfaction of knowing he had been good. It was the only happiness he knew in this life, and he chose to embrace it.
“Thank you, Master.”
Xehanort smiled then with a soft hum. “I think you deserve a reward. Come.” He released his grip and walked past Sora who turned quickly, wary to keep up, an optimistic tingle in his chest.
Xehanort was nothing if not consistent. Calculated. Everything he did had a rhythm—a predictable dance by which he ran his company, his household, and those who worked for him, slave or otherwise. The terms he used were no different. And ‘reward’ was among the better ones, Sora had learned. What Xehanort considered a reward varied. It could be anything from a nice meal to a day of pampering, but it was always something done specifically to make Sora happy.
The marbled hallways they traversed were decidedly less crowded than the grand ballroom they had been socializing in. Still, there were armed attendants at every door along the way, and Sora tried to push out of his mind the kinds of debauched activities, trading and business deals happening behind each one. He didn’t know any of the details, but he had been around Xehanort long enough to know that nothing about them was any semblance of ethical.
They finally reached two ornate doors that automatically slid open to reveal an elevator. Once inside, Xehanort instructed the attendant to take them to a subfloor—B2—and as the doors slid shut again, a dread took root in Sora’s stomach. There was something familiar about this. About that floor, maybe?
The descent took seconds but felt like an eternity. What did Xehanort want to ‘reward’ him with? If it was anything from this place, fostered in the seedy underbelly of the world, Sora certainly didn’t want it. But would he dare reject something given to him by his Master? That would be the greatest of insults; not for turning down a gift, but for daring to think he had a choice.
The elevator stopped, the doors slid open, and all of the blood in Sora’s body left his face, pooled in his stomach, and threatened to push every bit of bile from it. He knew this room.
This was the room where Xehanort had purchased him.
The room where he had been bound and stretched and on display, hundreds of potential buyers touching him and poking at him like a piece of fresh meat for days on end, looking at him like he was nothing more than a doll, discussing his stats—height, weight, muscle mass, genital length and size—to see if he was a good fit for their personal devices, dungeons, and hell holes. Negotiating his price as if he was a used vehicle, ready to be ridden.
And now it was no different. The room was filled with row after row of fresh sex slaves. Bound like animals yet displayed like works of art—seen as no more than merchandise for the ultra-wealthy. Playthings for those who would dare to own another human for their own amusement. For their own sick pleasure. Or worse.
Sora stood frozen in place, unable to move, unwilling to subject himself to the sights and sounds of auctions being held, sales being made, innocents like him being bought and sold like cattle. That is until Xehanort, already a few steps into the room, turned and met him with a scowl when realizing Sora wasn’t at his side.
Cold reminders of the pain that came with disobeying jolted Sora’s feet forward. Xehanort caught him by the jaw and pulled him close enough to feel his breath, to see the golden specs in his eyes mixed with the sickening yellow. “You weren’t being disobedient, were you?”
“No, Master,” Sora forced out, swallowing hard and holding his breath against the fear of retribution.
Mercifully, Xehanort grinned. “Good.” His thumb dragged slowly over Sora’s bottom lip. “Then let’s pick you out something nice.” It was said as plainly as if they were picking out an outfit, as if the room before them wasn’t a showcase of people for sale.
Sora’s heart pounded as they walked through row after row of men and women shined up and on display. Most of them were naked, some scantily clad, dressed in a way to show off their most marketable assets. Some were in chains, other ropes, a few held up in vertical stockades. One seller kept theirs behind glass like exquisite dolls in collector’s boxes. Stat cards were set beside each one, displaying a range of information including age, origin, level of training, special skills, and whether or not they were untouched.
“See anything you like?” Xehanort asked, placing a cold hand on Sora’s shoulder. “You can have any one you want.”
The notion of having a slave turned Sora’s stomach. He didn’t even know if a slave could own another slave. He didn’t have possessions; he didn’t own anything. Not even his own life. This was just another plaything for Xehanort to use. Just like he was.
What would Sora even do with one? His life consisted of ensuring Xehanort’s fleeting satisfaction—pleasing him at night, resting and training during the day. Dressing up and sitting on display during parties—disgusting displays of power and wealth with Sora as the centerpiece; the jewel of his collection. Being the Master’s favored sex slave made most regard Sora with fear, jealously, or hatred. Touching him was to risk facing the Master’s wrath, so most just kept their distance. This didn’t afford Sora many friends in the household.
Maybe he could pick himself a friend...
Sora immediately shook away such naive thoughts and focused. The faster he picked one the faster they could both get out of here. He was about to point to a random exhibit when something caught his eye. A glimmer of silver from across the room. A head of hair in a specific shade so rare he had never seen it before. Curious, Sora made his way over to a muscular man bound intricately within a steel frame. He was kneeling, resting on his heels with knees spread shoulder-width apart. Heavy leather cuffs held his wrists out level with his head, elbows bent, biceps oiled up along with the rest of his naked body—hard and chiseled like that of a god, and freely on display before Sora’s eyes.
Though his head was bowed, Sora could see the collar that encircled his neck was fancier than even the one he himself wore, studded with emeralds in a gaudy display of prestige. Glancing down at the plaque displaying his information, Sora found he was one of the most expensive slaves in the room. Obedient, subservient, and apparently expertly trained in both giving and receiving any type of sexual pleasure his master commanded of him.
“Riku,” Sora read the name on the card aloud, and when he looked back up the most stunning green eyes he had ever seen stared back at him. Their intensity was a little frightening at first, causing Sora to shift his weight back, even though there was no way the man could get free. The emotion directed at him flickered between disgust and dread, until those eyes glanced down for a brief moment to Sora’s own collar. Instantly, the man softened, realization dawning, and he met Sora’s gaze again with a deeper understanding. A connection—one slave to another.
Sora’s heart fell, and he suddenly wanted to know everything there was to know about Riku. His favorite color. What his favorite food was. Had his hair always been that beautiful? His hopes. His dreams...not that any of that mattered anymore. For either of them.
“You have exquisite taste,” Xehanort said, coming up behind Sora to study Riku, who looked at Sora in confusion.
“I- I’m just doing as you asked, Master,” Sora said quickly, not wanting Riku to get the wrong impression.
Xehanort made a sound of amusement and placed his hands on Sora’s shoulders from behind. “Do you want him?” he whispered into Sora’s ear. The chill that went down Sora’s spine felt strange against the heat rising in his chest.
“I...” he started, but Riku watched him so intently that Sora felt his cheeks heat up under his gaze. Riku didn’t say a word but shifted a little in his confines, looking away long enough for Sora to sneak a guilty glimpse at his body, lingering near his tapered waist, strong hips, and strong thighs. The power he must have when he—
“It’s okay,” Xehanort said, sliding his hands down to rest on Sora’s hips, “no need to say it. Your body has answered for you.”
Fear struck Sora for a moment, not sure if showing desire for someone other than his Master would get him into trouble. But the kiss to his shoulder then was tender, and though it made his skin crawl, it meant Xehanort was pleased. Sora let out a silent sigh of relief but was devastated to see that Riku refused to make eye contact with him again.
Xehanort placed a second kiss near the hinge of Sora’s jaw, his breath hot and wet against Sora's skin. “I look forward to watching you play with your new toy,” Xehanort said, running his fingertips up Sora’s arms. “Just remember what’s mine.”
“Of course, Master.” Sora struggled to keep his voice steady as he answered, adjusting his hips without even thinking about it, and he could feel Xehanort’s satisfied smirk.
“Good boy.”
Sora chanced one more look at Riku before Xehanort stepped between them and snapped his fingers at a nearby attendant, who rushed quickly to his side. “I’ll have this one. Have him sent to my estate,” Xehanort said, nodding in Riku’s direction. The man bowed his head in acknowledgment, took the card with Riku’s information and scurried away.
“Now, come,” Xehanort coaxed, tugging up on the black leather harness tucked between Sora legs. “Let’s get you home and prepped. It’s been a busy day.”
Sora sucked in a breath and tried his best not to curl in on himself in an attempt to disappear. “Y-yes, Master...”
As he obediently followed Xehanort back through the halls, Sora kept his head bowed against the dark thoughts that invaded him. Too real memories of the taste as Xehanort’s eyes bore down on him from above; the sound of skin slapping hard against skin as his back slid against silk sheets; the feel of a cock he didn’t want driving into him, filling him up, no choice but to grin and bear it.
But he swallowed them all. He accepted his place. This dark, cold hell from which there was no escape. It didn't matter that Sora was tired, or hungry, or that his legs hurt from standing all day. He still had a lot of work to do to please Xehanort when they got home. And there was still the car ride to get there.
Sora’s night was far from over.