Chapter Text
Eros is beautiful – that’s Victor’s first thought.
His second is one of bewilderment. As his eyes trail over the file he’s been given, he reads a list of basic information, skills, and “recommended uses”, but in the end, he’s drawn back to the photo, attached to the file via a paperclip. Short, dark hair and eyes like melted chocolate, it’s hard to deny how truly pretty Eros is – there’s just a slight hitch.
Eros is obviously a man.
A gorgeous man, but a man nonetheless, and Victor’s certain he asked for a woman. He makes a point of mentioning this to the Director, who sits across from him at the small meeting table, and who has been watching patiently this entire time.
Director Giacometti only smiles after Victor makes his complaint. He holds his hand out for the file, and Victor hands it over, though not without a suspicious frown.
“You specified that, yes,” he says, voice smooth and accented – Swiss, Victor wants to say, but he’s not sure. “But, taking your needs into account, I determined that Eros would be the most qualified for the job.”
That makes Victor raise an eyebrow. “You have no female Actives who could fit the bill?”
“I think you’ll find that Eros is… special,” Director Giacometti winks. He puts the file down in front of him and folds his hands on the table. “If I may… Why are you so set on a female Active? My sources tell me you like it both ways.”
Victor snorts, crossing his own arms. “They’re not wrong. But the party I’m going to, it’s… Well, let’s just say the host is a very traditional sort of man. Bringing a male guest, no matter how attractive he is, might not go over very well.”
“And you have no lady friends who will accompany you? Surely you don’t expect me to believe that, what with a handsome man like you.”
“I am not someone who keeps in contact with former flames,” Victor retorts.
“So why bring a guest at all?”
“If I don’t, people will talk,” he shrugs.
“Ah, yes,” Director Giacometti chuckles, that smile still firmly affixed to his face. It’s beginning to annoy Victor. “The great dilemma of the rich and elite: gossip.”
Victor’s frown deepens. He reaches across the table and swipes the file back into his possession, ignoring Director Giacometti’s smug look. Instead, he flips it open and peruses its contents for what must have been the fortieth time. There’s the basic information:
Name: Eros
Age: 23
Gender: M
And right underneath it, a bullet-point list, labeled “Imprints”.
- Yuji Hozumi – Professional danseur with the Tokyo Ballet Company. Trained in ballet, flamenco, ballroom, and tango, among others.
- Arata Kazehaya – Extraction specialist. Former member of the Japanese Special Forces. Skilled sniper; deadly close-combatant.
- Haruhiko Nanami – Male escort.
There are others, but Victor narrows his eyes at the third item. Across from him, Director Giacometti rests his chin in one hand and gestures with the other.
“You’ll take Haruhiko, then?”
He sounds bored, like that was the outcome he’d been expecting all along. Victor should say no, just to wipe that arrogant look off his face. He’ll say no, thank you, but he’d much rather take his business someplace where they will actually listen to his demands.
But just as he opens his mouth to say it, he catches sight of Eros’s picture again.
… He’s very beautiful.
“… Da. Haruhiko, please.”
The party goes just about as well as Victor expects.
His host is properly scandalized when he sees the gorgeous young Japanese man who walks in with Victor, practically draped over his arm like an expensive piece of jewelry. The other guests point and stare, talking in hushed whispers, while others look on in envy – whether it’s of Victor or of Eros, the Russian doesn’t know.
No, not Eros, he reminds himself, stealing a glance at the Active beside him. This is Haruhiko Nanami, a high-end male escort.
He has to admit, the Dollhouse does its job every bit as well as he’d heard. Like the other Actives he’d seen walking around, Eros was a blank state, a lifeless being that must be led around by his handler. But when he’d shown up at Victor’s hotel at the appointed time, he seemed like a completely different person.
Victor was thrown by the sultry smirk on his face, and the not-so-subtle appraising those pretty eyes did, raking over Victor’s body with interest.
“Victor Nikiforov?” he asks, practically purrs. His voice is soft with an accent, Victor notes dimly.
He nods. “And you are Haruhiko.”
“Just call me Haru,” he says, stepping forward to loop his arm through Victor’s. He peers up at him through his long eyelashes. “Or maybe there’s something else you’d like to call me, Mr. Nikiforov?”
The question is posed very suggestively; Victor feels his lips twitch upwards in a smile. It’s been a while since he’s been with someone so bold.
“Let’s just start with Haru,” he answers. “And you may simply call me Victor.” Then, he wraps his arm around Haru’s waist, tugging him closer as he bends to whisper in the man’s ear. “But we’ll see how the night turns out, hm?”
Haru blinks, then giggles, then presses his body against Victor even more.
All throughout the party, Haru doesn’t leave his side. He talks and laughs when he’s supposed to, politely listens to the people Victor points out that are important, and flirts shamelessly with Victor all the while. At one point, he even cops a feel, but when Victor’s incredulous eyes turn to him, all Haru does is lick his lips and smile.
Victor could have been fooled into thinking Haru is just another date, a random person he picked up in a bar or a club. Of course, the $10,000 he’s shelled out remind him otherwise. Haru is a hired companion, and on top of that, he’s not even real.
Damn if he doesn’t feel like it, though.
At the end of the night, Victor bids his blue-in-the-face host a delighted adieu, and whisks Haru away, back to his hotel. Haru watches him expectantly, almost predatorily, as Victor leads him up to his room.
As soon as the door clicks behind them, Haru grabs Victor and pins him up against the back of it, his lips on his client’s. Victor lets out a startled gasp, but his shock lasts only a moment before his head clear, and he pushes back against the smaller man, fighting for dominance of the kiss just as passionately.
Haru breaks the kiss, laughing, as Victor pushes him roughly onto the bed, and Victor moves to attack his neck, laving it with his tongue and teeth. Haru tilts his hips up and begins grinding against Victor – they both moan at the friction.
“Mm – fuck!” groans Haru. “God, I couldn’t believe it when I saw you… My clients are never as handsome as you are, aah…”
Victor nips at his jaw lightly before pulling back, fingers unbuttoning his shirt as fast as humanly possible. Haru watches him, licking his lips. When Victor tosses his shirt aside, Haru lets out another wanton moan at the sight of his bare torso, and pulls him in for another heated kiss.
“And what – nn – what are your clients usually like?” Victor manages to ask, panting against Haru’s mouth.
Haru’s hands go to his pants, pulling at the belt buckle insistently. “Fat, balding, and with tiny dicks.”
Victor actually laughs, but obediently tugs down his pants and his underwear in one smooth motion, letting his erect cock spring free. He feels a surge of pride as Haru freezes, his brown eyes glued to his manhood.
“I’ve been told that my hair is thinning,” Victor says lightly. “But two out of three isn’t bad, da?”
“Fuck…” Haru whispers, in the tone one might worship a deity with. “Get that thing inside me, now.”
“Patience, zvyozdochka,” Victor murmurs back, tossing the pet name out casually. Haru seems to like it when he speaks in his native tongue, if the dilation of his pupils is any indication. “You’re not even naked yet.”
“Ah…” Haru glances down at his body, then back up at Victor, something like coyness flashing in his eyes. “Did you want a show?”
Victor smiles. “Perhaps another time,” he hears himself say, and is surprised to discover that he’s actually considering it. “For now, just take them off, quickly, and lie on your stomach.”
Haru scrambles to obey him, quickly shedding the tight, yet clearly expensive suit he’d been wearing, the fabric falling carelessly to the floor. Victor is pleased to find out that Haru foregoes underwear.
As the Japanese man lies on his stomach and sticks his ass out invitingly, though, Victor finds himself pleased for another reason entirely.
“A plug?” he asks aloud, fingers softly touching the blue plastic plug, which is nestled between the cheeks of Haru’s firm, plump butt.
Haru tilts his head back to grin at him. “It saves time,” he says flippantly. “Though, if I’d known how big you are, I’d have used my larger one…”
“Flatterer,” Victor quips. He leans over Haru, the heat of their bodies together almost scorching, to dig into the bedside table and pull out a packet of lube and a condom. Haru eyes them warily.
“You don’t need the condom,” he says. “I’m clean.”
Victor pauses, raising an eyebrow as he smirks. “And how do you know I am?”
“You must be,” he shrugs. “All my clients are.”
“Well…” Victor glances at the condom, then at Haru – or more accurately, Haru’s ass, which looks more inviting by the minute. He tosses the condom to the floor. “Suit yourself.”
Haru practically beams as Victor opens the lube and spreads it onto his cock, then mewls as the Russian tugs out the plug and throws it aside to get lost in the bedsheets. Seconds later, Victor is lining his cock up with Haru’s hole, and then he’s pushing in, stretching Haru out and making him scream.
The rest passes by in a blur, as far as Victor’s concerned. He remembers his bruising grip on Haru’s waist, the way he pants and moans like a two-bit whore, begging for more, Victor, God, harder, fuck me harder. He remembers how tight and hot Haru is around him, how every thrust in is like sliding into a silken cage of pleasure. He remembers his own voice, rough and more Russian than English, switching between praising and demeaning. Haru is called both an angel and a slut, a vision and a dirty whore, often within the same three sentences. He seems to love it, so Victor keeps doing it.
By the time they’ve finished, the sun is already rising. Victor’s climaxed twice, and Haru an astonishing four. They lay in the hotel bed, fighting to catch their breaths, and for a while, neither of them speaks. Eventually, though, Haru does speak up.
“That was… Wow.” His voice is hoarse from screaming.
Victor glances at him, only to find Haru staring right back. He offers him a smile.
“Indeed, it was. I’m glad to see you’re worth every penny.”
Haru lets out a tired chuckle. “Now who’s the flatterer?”
Victor reaches out and smooths back Haru’s hair, then presses a kiss to his sweat-slicked brow. Haru hums contentedly.
“But really, Victor… That was incredible,” Haru says, almost shyly, taking Victor by surprise. He looks down into Haru’s eyes, and finds something… different. There’s no heady gleams of confidence, nor any trace of the sultry vixen Victor’s just spent the entire night fucking. Now, Haru’s eyes seem almost… innocent? Or perhaps insecure?
He can’t dwell on it, really, because Haru is still talking.
“I’ve never been with anyone so… Can I see you again?” he asks, teeth worrying at his bottom lip.
Victor stares at him. “You want to see me again?” he repeats dumbly.
Amazingly, that causes Haru to flush, his cheeks turning dark red, just like they were not so long ago. But instead of being caused by arousal, it’s clear that he’s blushing from embarrassment.
Victor thinks it’s… kind of adorable.
“I-If you don’t want to, that’s fine,” Haru mumbles under his breath, averting his eyes from Victor with a pout on his swollen lips.
That snaps Victor out of his daze. He leans in and kisses Haru softly, easing the pout away. When he pulls back, Haru looks pleasantly dazed.
“I’d love to see you again, Haru,” says Victor. His eyes glance over to the clock – it reads five till eight. “I’ll call.”
Haru smiles, his eyes lighting up. “Great! Oh, um, you don’t have my personal number, hold on…”
Victor watches as he dives to scoop his jacket off the floor, rooting through its pockets for his cell phone. Just as he pulls it out – it’s black, Victor notes, with silvery stones decorating the case – a knock comes at the door.
Haru pauses, sending Victor a confused look. “Who is that?”
Victor shrugs, pretending not to know. “Probably housekeeping. Hold on.”
He gets up, more than aware of Haru’s eyes on him, and walks to the door, uncaring about his lack of clothes. He opens the door, and on the other side is a tall Japanese woman, with long brown hair and a slender build. A large duffel bag hangs off one of her shoulders. She doesn’t react to Victor’s nakedness, and instead asks a simple question.
“You are done?”
Victor nods and steps aside.
Haru tenses visibly at the sight of the woman, his eyes filling with confusion. He looks at Victor.
“Who is that? Victor?”
The woman steps further into the room and gives Haru a comforting smile.
“Hello, Eros. Would you like a treatment?”
Almost immediately, the concern fades from Haru’s face – everything fades. His shoulders slump, his eyes dim, and he answers in a dull voice.
“Yes. I like my treatments.”
The woman lays the duffel bag on the bed, and pulls a set of clothes from it – a grey t-shirt, sweatpants, and a pair of sneakers. Haru – no, Eros moves automatically, getting up from the bed with little more than a moment’s pause as he feels the ache in his lower half. The woman regards him curiously before he begins to move again, grabbing the clothes and pulling them on. Victor watches with amusement as his come slides down the Active’s thigh, and the Active doesn’t even react.
It’s silent as Eros dresses, and the woman collects his clothes and phone, and even the blue plastic plug. She tosses them all in the duffel bag without batting an eye, and when that’s done, so is Eros.
The woman turns to Victor and smiles pleasantly. “We’ll be leaving now. Director Giacometti hopes you are satisfied?”
Victor nods, giving Eros a curious once-over. The Active just stares blankly at the floor. “… Very. I may call again.”
She nods, too, then turns to Eros. “Come,” she says gently, and Eros immediately follows her. They disappear out the door, and Victor is left to stand thoughtfully by himself, in a room that suddenly seems too big for one person.
He thinks of that vulnerable expression in Haru’s eyes, right at the end, and then the way those eyes turned lifeless and cold the moment he became Eros again.
Victor rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably, and vows not to think of it again.
A week later, Victor is back at his home in St. Petersburg, and a package arrives at his door.
His dog, Makkachin, sniffs the slim packet curiously, and he gives him a humoring pat on the head before inspecting it for himself. There’s no return address, just Victor’s name and the address of his apartment.
It’s too slim to be anything dangerous, he reasons internally, so he rips it open… only to find a CD inside.
It’s just an ordinary CD, but it’s the label that catches Victor’s eye.
‘The Real Haruhiko Nanami,’ it reads.
Minutes of staring later, Victor gets out his laptop and puts the CD in the driver. He bounces his leg anxiously as the CD loads, and then a video pops up on the screen. The frame which lies under the triangular play button is an image of Eros, but he’s different. His hair is messy and tousled, and he’s wearing blue-rimmed glasses.
Nervous for some unfathomable reason, Victor hits play.
“Um… Hello,” the onscreen Eros says, shifting in his seat. “M-My name is Yuuri Katsuki. I…”
He’s clearly hesitating, but then a voice off-screen coaxes in a soothing tone – Victor recognizes the voice. It’s Director Giacometti.
“Go on,” he says. “It’s alright. We need this recorded so we know we have your consent, Mr. Katsuki.”
Eros – Yuuri Katsuki, Victor’s head replaces – nods, taking in a shaky breath. Victor leans in.
“My name is Yuuri Katsuki, and I hereby consent to give the Dollhouse use of my body for five years. My consent includes any and all activities that fall under the Client’s wishes, so long as I am not seriously injured…”
“Does that include sexual activities?” asks the Director.
Yuuri’s eyes go wide for a fraction of a second before he blinks, hard, and swallows. “Any and all,” he repeats, staring down. Victor leans in even further – the video quality isn’t great, but it looks like Yuuri is about to cry.
“… Alright,” comes Giacometti’s voice. It’s oddly somber. “That’ll do.”
The video cuts out. Victor is staring at a blank screen. Slowly, he leans back in his chair and takes a deep breath. Something heavy settles in his gut, and he’s not sure what it is.
He thinks it might be guilt.