Chapter Text
The lights are low where Vegas sits in a booth along the back wall of the bar. The music is a soft backdrop to the din of voices scattered across the establishment. Vegas sips at his drink as he lets his eyes roam across the room absently. The day had been exceedingly frustrating and he’s in desperate need of some entertainment. His face twists in distaste when he thinks about his usual fare; simpering pets and overly pliable bedmates. It’s all so dull, this elevated life they lead. He sighs. Maybe he should go to a manufacturing center to see if he’ll have better luck with a new toy.
Two men approach and seat themselves in a nearby booth. They are talking animatedly in hushed tones and Vegas can’t help but rub at his temples in annoyance. He really isn’t in the mood for such energetic twittering. He’s about to get up and leave when he catches a very familiar name. Vegas pauses to listen more carefully.
“Did you see Kinn’s new pet today? I honestly can’t believe it.”
“How could I have missed it with all the fuss he made? Who knew Kinn’s tastes were so… alternative?” The words are filled with obvious judgment and disgust.
It’s not surprising for Kinn to have a new pet, he practically goes through a new one every other week. It appears that there’s something different about this one though. It piques Vegas’ interest enough for him to subtly angle himself towards the men, allowing him to better hear the conversation.
“Right? Taking that mongrel as a pet. Completely unheard of. Who would want that filth around them?”
Vegas’ mouth curves up into a smirk. Oh, this is interesting. What exactly are you doing, Kinn? It appears as if the evening wasn’t a total loss afterall. He downs the rest of his drink and rises to his feet. This is sure to cause a stir in Eos and he wants to make sure he’s in a position to capitalize on it. Guess he will be paying his dear cousin a visit.
**
The next morning Vegas makes his way over to Kinn’s quarters and presses the call button. A moment later the door slides open to reveal Kinn’s less than enthused face. “Good morning, Kinn” Vegas greets with false cheer. “I trust business has been well?”
“You know exactly how business has been.” Kinn deadpans. “If that’s what you are here about, I’m sure we can discuss it at our next meeting.”
“What, I can’t drop by to see how my dear cousin is doing? Especially with all these rumors circulating around right now, tarnishing your perfect image . I can only imagine how hard that must be for you.” Vegas doesn’t even try to keep the sneer out of his voice. There’s no point, they both know exactly why he’s here. Kinn normally wouldn’t give him the time of day, but what Vegas is counting on, is Kinn’s overwhelming propensity for wanting to parade his new toys in front of Vegas’ face.
Kinn looks like he’s fighting an internal battle with himself before finally deciding to step clear of the doorway. “Won’t you come in?”
“Would love to.” Vegas smiles at him genially and steps into the entranceway. Vegas glances around curiously. Kinn’s rooms are bright and sterile, loudly displaying the wealth and status Kinn holds. Vegas settles onto a couch in the sitting room and crosses his legs, letting himself fall into an air of relaxed disinterest.
Kinn follows him into the room but lingers at the entrance. He touches a device at his wrist before speaking into it. “Tem, I want you to bring my pet to the sitting room. Make sure he’s reminded of what happens when he doesn’t behave.”
**
A knock pulls him from the work that is currently taking over his every waking moment. Vegas looks up in annoyance as Ken steps into his office and stands nervously at the door. “What is it? I asked not to be disturbed.” Vegas turns back to his work dismissively.
“I’m sorry for the interruption, sir. There’s been an intruder on your floors. I was told to inform you and ask what should be done with him.”
Vegas looks up, cocking an eyebrow at this information. “An intruder? How did he get past our security systems?”
“He disguised himself as a maintenance worker to gain access to the building, sir. Then he overpowered one of the Furniture and used their biometrics to gain access to the upper level living quarters. We found Pol restrained and gagged in one of the supply rooms on your level. It took multiple guards to take down the intruder once we discovered his location. It appears that he is a mongrel from outside of Tanagura.”
Vegas hums, finding himself intrigued. A mongrel. The image of Kinn’s unruly pet flashes in his mind’s eye and Vegas smiles to himself. The underground smuggling issues Vegas has been dealing with can wait. This man certainly put forth a lot of effort to get here after all, Vegas had better give him a warm welcome.
**
It’s quiet when Vegas enters the dimly lit basement. The intruder has been stripped down to his undergarments and chained to the post at the center of the room. The man’s body is slumped forward in his bindings, his head hanging in such a way that his face is obscured by the man’s dark bangs. He’s roughly Vegas’ height, body lean and lightly muscled in a way that tells him the man is used to physical labor.
Even as Vegas approaches, the man gives no indication that he’s aware of Vegas’ presence. He stops a pace away before reaching out with a gloved hand to grip the man’s chin. Vegas uses it to lift the captive’s head until he can take a good look at him. He’s surprised to note that the mongrel’s eyes are open and staring pointedly back at him. One would expect to see fear reflected in those eyes, maybe shame, or defeat. He’d failed his mission, afterall. What Vegas is greeted with instead, is pure defiance. It burns bright and vicious behind the mongrel’s eyes.
Vegas uses his grip to tilt the mongrel’s head from one side to the other, the man never flinching away from the cold assessment. There’s blood spilling over his cheek from a cut under one eye and swelling at the corner of the man’s mouth. He lets his gaze travel lazily down the long lines of the man’s body. His skin glimmers with the sheen of sweat and he’s undeniably dirty and unkempt. Vegas should feel repulsed, and yet. He turns his attention back to the mongrel’s face. “You are surprisingly pretty for a slum rat with no pedigree.”
Anger and disdain flash across the man’s face as his mouth pulls into a sneer. “And what makes you believe that I care at all what you think of me?”
Vegas huffs out a surprised laugh at the display, so much spit and fire in this one. His mind drifts back to Kinn’s mongrel pet, of how Kinn touches him, uses him. He couldn’t understand the appeal before, couldn’t understand why Kinn would debase himself for one of these creatures. Why he would let himself become sullied by the filth on their skin. They are Korn’s chosen after all, the elite of the Elite. It was beneath them, degrading. Now though, as Vegas observes the mongrel in front of him, he can admit to himself that he sees the appeal.
Vegas wonders, briefly, what it would take to douse those flames. To break this creature’s spirit and tame him. Curious, Vegas runs his gloved hand down the man’s throat and over his collar bone to brush gently over a peaked nipple. It’s this that elicits the first real reaction from the mongrel as he flinches violently from the touch. Interesting.
“Don’t touch me.” The man spits, voice dripping with venom.
Vegas tilts his head and his expression morphs into one of mock sympathy. “Oh pet, don’t you understand?” His hand trails deliberately back up the bare chest to wrap lightly around the mongrel’s throat. He presses into the man’s skin, relishing the jackrabbit pulse he can feel under his fingertips. Vegas leans in close, brushing his lips over the man’s ear. “I can do whatever I want to you.” He can feel the bob of the man’s throat as he swallows hard at the words. When Vegas leans back, he takes vicious satisfaction at the thread of trepidation that has woven into the mongrel’s eyes.
Vegas pats his cheek condescendingly. “We are going to have so much fun, you and I.” With that, he turns and leaves the man to contemplate the reality of his situation.
**
Pete takes a shuddering breath as he’s once again left alone. He knew that attempting to rescue Porsche was going to be little more than a suicide mission. He hadn’t even known where in the tower to begin looking for him. Even so, when he discovered that Porsche was still alive, he had to at least try. Porsche would have done the same for him.
Pete had been prepared for questioning and torture, had been prepared to die. What he failed to prepare for, was the possibility of being played with beforehand. How could he have possibly known? The way that Elite looked at him, as if Pete was a puzzle he could solve if he only picked away at it long enough. Then there was the way the man touched him… Possessive and controlled. He shivers at the memory of soft breaths at his ear and clothed fingers trailing over skin. What has he gotten himself into?
**
Vegas isn't able to return to see his new pet until the following evening. He'd spent the last day in good spirits though, thoughts returning often to the intriguingly willful creature. Head filled with ideas on what the best way to break in his new pet might be. He'd even been able to place a rush order on something truly exciting. He can't wait to see his pet's response.
He steps into the basement with a tray of food and water in hand. The mongrel is seated on the ground with one knee drawn up while his head rests against the pillar. If it wasn't for the sharp eyes following his every movement, Vegas would say the man looked perfectly aloof.
“I thought you might be hungry.” He says as he places the tray down on the table set against the wall.
“So nice of you to care about my well being.” The mongrel quips back sarcastically.
Vegas glances over his shoulder at the prisoner. “Are you always this mouthy?”
The mongrel’s face lights up in a false, saccharine smile as he rolls his head along the pillar to face Vegas. “Only when I’m being held prisoner by stuck up Elites like you.”
Vegas offers a vaguely amused hum as he steps behind the pillar. “I do have a name, you know. It's Vegas and you'll do well to remember it." He releases the lock binding the man's chained hands together behind the post. There’s a distinct click as the chains detach then rattle to the floor. Vegas is fully expecting the attack when he circles back around the pillar. The mongrel kicks out in an attempt to sweep his feet out from under him before rolling away into a crouch. He’s on his feet the next instant, placing all his energy into an aggressive offensive attack.
The mongrel is quick and obviously skilled in hand to hand combat. He's smart too, wrapping the chains that still hang from his cuffed wrists around his knuckles in order to maximize the impact of his blows. If Vegas were any normal man, he admits the mongrel might have given him a hard time.
Unfortunately for him, Vegas has been engineered to be far stronger and faster than the average human. The other man throws a well timed punch that Vegas is only barely able to side-step before grabbing the man at the wrist. He twists the arm up behind the mongrel’s back, using the bruising hold to rotate their bodies until his captive is pressed flush between the pillar and his body. The man is panting harshly from the exertion and Vegas can practically taste the anger and frustration pouring off him in waves.
Vegas pointedly lifts the man’s wrist higher until he hears a small grunt of pain at the unnatural angle. “It’s cute you think you could ever overpower me, pet.”
“I’m not a pet,” the mongrel says with contempt.
“You will be whatever I want you to be. It appears you don’t quite understand the precarious situation you’ve found yourself in. You broke into Eos, into my quarters. It is well within my rights to kill you.”
“Then kill me.” The man says simply, as if the idea doesn’t bother him, as if he knew that would be a likely outcome and he was ready to face the consequences.
Vegas takes the opportunity their position provides to nose along the mongrel’s neck, relishing the way the other man freezes under his touch. “I wonder, just what was so important to you that you were willing to risk your own life?”
The mongrel huffs and pointedly looks away. “Oh? Not going to tell me?” Vegas drops his voice, low with feigned ignorance. “It wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with a certain golden skinned mongrel from Ceres, would it?”
The words are barely out of his mouth before the man begins to thrash violently against his hold. “What did you do to him? Where is Porsche? I swear, if you've done anything to hurt him I'll-”
Vegas chuckles darkly. “You'll do what, exactly? Perhaps you should be more worried about your own situation, pet.”
**
A sudden knock at the door interrupts Pete's retort. With the Elite's attention pulled away, it sits heavy on his tongue. Pete desperately wants answers. Wants to know what happened, if Porsche is still alive, is he also being kept in a room like this one? He feels the pressure of frustrated helplessness bubbling up inside him. He wants to kick and scream and rend until someone tells him what happened to his friend.
A young man peeks hesitantly into the room. “What is it, Ken?” Vagas asks, irritation lacing his voice.
“Your order, sir. You told me to let you know immediately when it arrived.”
Pete can see a grin spread across Vegas’ face out of the corner of his eye. Something about the look of pure glee in the Elite's eyes makes his blood run cold.
Without warning he's being spun around, wrists held tight in unyielding hands as they are lifted and the chains become latched onto a new anchor point above his head. Pete watches Vegas warily as he steps away to retrieve a small package from Ken before dismissing him with the wave of his hand.
Vegas turns and walks slowly towards Pete, opening the packaging as he goes. Once he’s standing directly in front of him, Vegas pulls out an innocuous looking silver ring and holds it up for Pete to see. “Do you know what this is, pet?”
Pete looks it over. It’s larger than a ring for your finger but not quite big enough to be a bracelet. He shakes his head slowly. “This,” the Elite continues, “is a pet ring. They are used for pet identification. It has a chip inside that contains their registration number, controls access privileges, spending allowance, and of course has a GPS tracking system. Sometimes they are jewelry, like a necklace or earrings. This one though, this one is special. I had it designed just for you. Aren’t you grateful?”
Pete scoffs. “Why would I be grateful to you for anything?”
His captor smiles sharply. “Don’t you want to know what makes it special?”
Before the mongrel can answer, Vegas uses his other hand to yank down Pete’s flimsy undergarments, letting them pool by his feet.
“What are you–” Pete jolts as Vegas palms his cock. The ring slides easily over his soft length before cinching snugly, but not uncomfortably, around the base. Pete can feel where it rests against his skin, the cool metal quickly warming to the heat of his body. “What the fuck is that. Get it off!” Pete pulls against his restraints.
Vegas only watches him, intense and unwavering as he places a similar looking silver ring on his finger. “Let's try an experiment, shall we?”
Pete’s whole body seizes as pleasure like he's never known washes over him. It lights him up from inside like liquid fire in his veins. He can scarcely breathe from the sheer intensity of it. It lasts both an instant and an eternity and is over much too soon for his body to fully process what exactly it was feeling. His body feels weak and shaky at the sudden intense exertion. Pete sags forward, held up only by the restraints at his wrists as he takes in deep lungfuls of air. Absently, he notices his own spend peppering the floor at his feet. He must have come at some point but doesn’t actually remember doing so.
His attention is drawn away when a hand reaches out to lift his chin until he’s looking directly at his captor. “Beautiful…” Vegas breathes out softly, interest and awe clear on his face.
Vegas’ regard is like a splash of cold water that shakes him from his post orgasm haze. Pete wrenches his face out of his captor’s grasp. “What the hell did you just do to me?”
Vegas tilts his head to the side and tuts. “Now pet, is that any way to thank me?” His eyes flick down to where Pete’s spent cock lies flaccid and exposed. “It appears to me like you thoroughly enjoyed yourself. You should be grateful.” He leans in close to whisper conspiratorially at Pete’s ear. “That’s not the only thing it can do, after all.”
The words are barely out of the man's mouth when Pete feels as if he's being electrocuted. It travels under his skin and through his veins. It’s a pain worse than he’s ever felt before. A scream is ripped from his throat before his body locks up completely. When it finally stops, he’s left shaking and covered in a heavy layer of sweat. Pete’s eyes are closed but he can feel the suffocating weight of Vegas’ attention on him, can just imagine the look of smug satisfaction he must be sporting on his face. He startles a little when a gloved hand strokes slowly over his shoulder and down his chest. He’s too weak to protest as deft fingers circle a nipple and a sliver of pleasure pulses through him. Pete’s eyes snap open and he lets out an unintentional gasp when the nipple is pinched cruelly before being circled again. It somehow makes the sensation more intense, sharper. It lights him up in ways he never would have expected and he shudders with the conflicting sensations. Much to his horror, he finds himself getting hard again. He doesn't want it, doesn't want this, but it's as if his body is completely outside of his control.
Pete hates how he is just standing here and taking it, hates how weak he feels from the sudden onslaught of pain and pleasure. Pete closes his eyes tightly and takes a long, deep breath trying to regain some of his previous composure. The hand that has been stroking his chest moves upwards to cup his cheek. The thumb ghosts over his bottom lip before pushing inside his mouth to rest on his tongue. It’s only there a moment before Pete is biting down viciously. The sweet taste of copper blooms on his tongue before Vegas withdraws his hand and slaps him. The force of the blow sends his entire body to the side before the restraints catch and jerk him back. The pain is grounding, it reminds Pete that he’s still here, still fighting. Pete glares at the man. If this Elite thinks that he will just roll over and accept this, he is in for some disappointment.