A/N: Now that Guilty Pleasure is [almost] over, I think its high time I post this...I think. This fic is different because this was written not because I got a random prompt but because this shit flashed in my mind out of nowhere and screamed "WRITE ME" like my usual fics. Basically what I'm trying to say is that this wrote itself...I'm merely a vessel.
Warnings for dark themes like rape, [child] prostitution, mafia/gangs, Stockholm, dubious consent, sex with a child, child abuse, incest, Arthur being a pedophile in every sense of the word, and the author knowing nothing about how gangs like these work so I'm gonna base this on the type of government my friends' gang has (and then some). (don't ask)
Portugal will be called Salvatore (or "Sally", courtesy of UK) in this au and he calls UK "Boss"
Arthur looks up from his monitor as the door to his home office opens, Sally striding in. For a moment he was annoyed, today was supposed to be spent for his "alone time", which means he will be taking a break from work and managing the organisation and instead waste the day away in the comfort of his home with a desktop and decent internet for browsing…things.
Then Sally unceremoniously dumps a manila folder on his desk, messing his neatly stacked references sheets. Arthur knows that the other has done that on purpose to rile him up for no reason but he can't help but eye the manila folder with apparent disgust and unmasked irritation as he gives the man a level stare, silently asking for an explanation.
At the look, Sally says, "A short report on the spoils of war that we recently got after ambushing an establishment ran by the Bonnefoys, Sir."
Arthur has appeared to be listening to his report half-heartedly, chin resting on a palm, eyes half-lidded and disinterested as he nods and hums, pretending to listen as he lifts the manila folder with his fore finger and thumb on its edge, as if the thing would somehow inflict disease on him. He shoves it to the corner of his table, disgust written all over his face.
When Sally finishes, Arthur drones, "and how is it my concern? You of all people should know what to do with the spoils. It's up to you on how you split them to your men, I don't care," he sighs, "why do you think I have a fucking right-hand man, Sally?"
Sally says nothing to the rebuke and instead grabs the manila folder and flips it open. Inside shows pictures of children, mostly below twelve years of age, dirt and grime covering their faces and the rest of their bodies.
"They're spoils of war, sir."
There is the look of satisfaction that shone behind Sally's dark eyes as he watched his superior silently flip through the pictures, eyes alight as they hungrily ran through every face. He stops on one, brows furrowed and a finger reaching out to touch the image, he mutters, "Show me."
The establishment, as they call it, was located in a small town not too far away from the city. The place was disguised as an orphanage, shown to have regular visiting childless couples to not arise suspicions from the people nearby.
No one seems to have noticed a van regularly leaving and entering from morning to noon, carrying the children in and out the so-called orphanage to work for their meals and lodging.
Seeing the children obediently line up upon Sally's call doesn't surprise Arthur. These kids had been conditioned to follow orders or be beaten long before an enemy gang took over. Being taken over does not mean salvation, judge a new system of law and order. Arthur scoffs at the irony of Sally-Salvatore-being the man behind the operation.
Aside from the dirt and bruises hidden behind their clothes, Arthur was surprised to note that none of these kids were missing a limb or an eye. Noticing his surprise, Sally who is not a few steps behind him, as sign of respect, supplies, "It's not as hard for the children to gather their daily quota in the city as it was in other areas." A beat of silence, then he adds, reluctance present in his voice, "They aren't just used to beg for money in the city."
(Not to mention that its Bonnefoy. Arthur wanted to roll his eyes. Bonnefoy is too soft for his own good. That's what makes him and his entire family oh-so easy to break. He darkly chuckles, remembering the good times. Yes, they are.)
"Ah, so that's it," Arthur replies, mind already flying to different possibilities.
"Has any of them confessed who engage in the business?"
"Just the girls," Arthur's nose crinkles at this. He gives the boys a look that they didn't even react to, "What a waste, I bet the boys could've brought them extra income,"
Sally's deadpan had gotten worse, "Of course you would say that, Boss," he comments in disgust that made the rest of Arthur's men flinch. Not that Arthur can blame them. Anyone who dared to overstep the bounds gets shot in the head on the spot, no warnings. The method never failed him before in keeping his men in line and his policies followed to a tee, so Arthur sees no problem in doing it every time just to remind his men that he's still the Boss. Except for Sally, of course. Heh.
Arthur continues to look at the children's faces closely, examining their eyes, the way the crinkle in the light or the way their faces twitch when they almost feel the warmth of his skin so close to theirs. A dark haired girl can't help but avert her brown eyes, his gaze too unbearable as it was almost…intimate. Arthur smiles at her and her face reddens.
After the blushing girl, it seems that the rest of them had grown bold, smiling at Arthur suggestively and twirling their hair shyly. Just the girls though, Arthur remarked silently to himself, somewhat disappointed that the boys weren't as bold.
It wasn't like the children doesn't want to gather his attention, because then he may take one of them home and be exempted from labor. They could spend all day doing nothing and sleep in a soft big bed with three full meals a day and all they must do is satisfy him in any way he wants. For children like them who had been exposed to such life as this, they wouldn't mind opening their legs just to get by.
(Well, except for the boys, again.)
Seeing the little girls show their consent to whatever Arthur may want them for, he can't help but smile and talk to each one of them, kissing the back of their little hands afterwards that makes them giggle. Salvatore just stood still in his spot, the desire to roll his eyes is strong but he does not fall to temptation. He's the boss' right-hand man and he cannot afford a distraction, after all.
Sally along with the rest of the men were sure that their boss would probably go for any of the girls-with how eager they seem to be to open their legs for him, but to their surprise, Arthur stops at a little boy that had appeared to be like he rolled all over a puddle of mud before they assembled with how dirty he is.
Arthur does not seem to mind as he gently touches the boy's shoulder, making the little thing flinch and apprehend Arthur with wary bright eyes.
"Hello, I'm Arthur," He tells the boy, voice low but welcoming. Warm and open.
The boy doesn't say anything and instead spits at Arthur's face, a menacing scowl etched on that dirty little face.
Salvatore knows how much of a germaphobic freak his Boss is, so he knows it took a lot of feat for his Boss to hold his ground and continue smiling nicely at the little boy, the frothy mucus still stuck to his cheek, slowly running down. He laughed, amused and mussed the boy's wet, greasy hair. "I have a feeling we'll get along well,"
"…Alfred," one the kids in the line says.
"Alfred," Arthur says, his voice in love as he lets the child's name roll on his tongue.
Salvatore would soon tell his men and co-workers that it was love at first sight.
It took a lot of effort from the children to drag the Boss' kid into a bath. Salvatore silently muses that with strength like that, the kid had potential and that maybe he can take the kid under his wing to train after the Boss got tired of him.
It took a few hours before the kids present the boy-his name is Alfred, the Boss reminds Salvatore-to the Boss again, now clean and properly groomed. His clothes are clean though not the kind that passes the Boss' standard, but getting him an entire wardrobe in accord to the Boss' tastes would not be a problem. The Boss was probably looking forward to the shopping already, thinking of clothes that would suit his little boy best-and how nice they would look dangling on his limbs when he try to undress him later tonight, but a feisty kid like that, Salvatore thinks that the Boss will have to spend a lot of time sweetening up the kid first before he convinces him to willingly open his legs for him.
One of the things the Boss hated was taking unwilling children, after all. Doesn't matter if they're pretty or what, if they said no, he'll back off, no questions asked.
Doesn't mean he's not below persuading them to change their minds of course.
It was no surprise to see the boy-Alfred, Salvatore reminds himself lest the Boss tell him again-scoot as far away as possible from where the Boss sat in the back of the car. The Boss appeared hurt and if it were anyone else, it wouldn't have been hard to believe that he truly was but Salvatore grew up with this man and he knows that the Boss is one cold son of a bitch and a very good actor.
Little Alfred definitely has no idea what kind of person he just caught the interest of, not that Salvatore can blame the kid for, after all, no one has truly seen the Boss' face and known that he is the man behind the group that controls the third of the city and lived to tell the tale.
Those in the ranks below who got to see him were hand-picked by Salvatore himself, too untrusting of his own people to secure the safety of the Boss. If you want something to be done right, do it yourself, as how the Boss would always tell him.
Salvatore willed himself not to flinch when he felt small hands grasp his shirt, tiny fists clenching the expensive cloth of his suit jacket. He watches his Boss stare at him, eyes burning with jealousy. He gives a blank stare in return, as if I'm like you, he wanted to tell him.
They bring Alfred to one of Arthur's penthouses scattered across the city, posing as a company with the topmost floor being heavily guarded and serving as a safe house.
Though they're more like his special place to bring his children to, so they can have the view of the city below them and space for them to run around and play whenever he's not around to occupy their time.
The Boss loved his children like that.
Until he would either grew bored with them or they grow old enough to grow hairs in places they used to be smooth in and develop breasts (for females) or deep voices (for males), that is.
Salvatore had been told that Alfred is eight years old, so it will take some time before then, unless of course, the boy turns out to be a bore and the Boss decides to hand him over to Salvatore too soon and let him "do whatever he wanted with him".
By that Salvatore would take the kid in, teach him things and make him useful to the organisation.
When he and the Boss strolled into the building, the Boss gets greetings and some coos from the employees at the sight of Alfred being carried by Salvatore since the boy refused to let go of Salvatore's jacket like his life depends on it. He pointedly ignores the looks of jealousy being shot at him by the Boss.
Questions like "is he the Boss' son? He's so adorable!"
By "Boss", they meant the company's CEO, not as in a mob boss like how Salvatore would always choose to address the man despite the continued insistence to be called by his first name.
(Salvatore was raised by the Boss' father to serve the family, and after his death was expected to be given to the next in line as a form of inheritance and so Salvatore has always found it wrong to call the man who owned his being anything else but.)
Prior to the Boss' orders, the penthouse was prepared for Alfred's arrival.
The moment they enter the door, Salvatore drops the chid without ceremony on the cold marble floor, surprising the child and in turn letting go of Salvatore's suit jacket. He gets a look of reprimand from the Boss when the boy squeaks in pain but he managed to make the boy let go of him so he ignores the look.
He immediately backs away to walk behind the Boss again, since he's no longer carrying the boy, and to make sure that the boy won't manage to cling to him again. It's troublesome.
It must've finally sunk in to the child that he was finally alone with the Boss (though Salvatore was just right behind him, keeping watch of the door as was his usual job) because he started crying and backing away from the Boss' smile.
Understandable. He pities the boy. Or maybe not. He can't really tell.
His tears seemed to have pulled at the Boss' heartstrings, as the man went down on his knees to level with the boy's eyes and coo, "It's alright, I won't do anything."
At this point Salvatore block out the rest as what he does when he's forced to stay with the Boss and his children. He doesn't like putting up with the cries and coos.
(The boy was fed enough to satisfy his hunger. It seems that the children back at the fake orphanage were all underfed, just enough to make them function for a day or so. The jutting bones on Alfred's chest made the Boss frown and fed the boy some soup. He can't overwhelm the boy's shrunken stomach with anything heavier for now.
After that he brings the boy to their large bed, cover him with the thick blankets and rest his head on soft pillows before ordering Sally to accompany him for today.
He's got shopping to do.)
The Boss has spent days fussing over his new child, buying him clothes to clothe him with and toys to entertain him on days he would be gone as well as snacks like candies and chocolates children like him would definitely salivate over and maybe willingly roll on their backs like obedient puppies and open their legs wide to let the Boss fuck them already-
But the child didn't. He wears the clothes because if he didn't then he would be as bare as a newborn babe and that could've been worse if so. What if he provokes the man and attack him finally? Heeding less to his cries of "no"s and "don't"s?
That's what the look in his eyes said whenever Salvatore spares him a glance over the Boss' shoulders when he goes down on his knees and talks lowly to the child when he comes over to check only to find the treats he left were where he put them, untouched. Same goes with the toys. As if touching them would mean that the Boss has reasons to touch the child now without the child's consent when those are merely courting gifts.
Salvatore would rather lie but that's what they really are.
The Boss was fucked in the head like that, romanticising disgusting things like his sexual and romantic fascination for children. There had been a time when the Boss used to be like any other men who goes for people their age, actually feel sexually attracted to them and fuck them and love them, but that was a long time ago.
Before that Bonnefoy took it all.
So now he prefers the little ones, with their young faces that give the illusion of innocence because everyone knows children are made of pure and innocent things that save people from the darkness.
(But they aren't as pure anymore after the Boss had his way with them now, was it?)
Salvatore knows that there is no such thing as innocence no matter the age though. He knows this very well, but he doesn't need to say it aloud and break his Boss' heart.
(Salvatore had been a child once, and the thoughts that ran in his head were the images of his aggressors dead. Bodies torn and mangled by his little hands, their eyes poked out of their sockets and their guts on his hands-)
No matter the circumstances may be, Salvatore stands by his account that the Boss' love for these little ones are true, fucked up they may be.
He truly, really, loved them.
The boy-Alfred, has the strange fixation to run and reach out for Salvatore whenever he's in the room with the Boss.
Much to the Boss' dismay.
"How did you make him like you?" He asked one time, as he watched the boy's terrified cries shudder to a slowing halt as Salvatore gently bounces him on his arms, a hand slowly stroking his shaking back. Poor child scared himself over nothing.
"It's because I'm not a pedophile," Salvatore tells him evenly and the Boss' nose scrunches rather endearingly at that.
"Oy, I'm your superior." Says he but there is no hostility in his voice.
"Apologies. Boss, will you please turn off the television." Salvatore says in mock respect, but means the request. He can feel the boy slacking in his hold, his breathing evening. He must've started falling asleep. He glances at a clock mounted on a wall by the television, where the screaming and screeching noises come from. It's too loud that he feared the noises would rouse the child from his rest.
The smile plastered on the Boss' face appeared faker than usual as he bows mockingly in return, "Of course, anything for my lovely subordinate," and approaches the television.
His brows furrow and his mouth quirks strangely when spares the screen a glance then his hand moves towards the volume control instead of the power button. He cranks the volume lower instead of shutting it down.
"I don't see the charm of these…monster films," He remarks after a few moments of frowning and watching at it with strange fascination, though he appeared more confused than amused. His eyes are squinting at the screen as he watches a fanged man inflict gashes on a priest, blood squirting exaggeratedly from the wound on his neck unto a screeching maiden.
"It must be the age," To be honest, Salvatore doesn't get it himself. They're ridiculous. Then again, turning to look at the sleeping child, his head tucked on Salvatore's neck, children like Alfred doesn't know any better.
He turns his head back to the Boss and sees the television flicker off in time. The Boss was shaking his head, chuckling to himself. He seemed amused when he remarks with a, "Maybe."
The Boss' eyes go to the clock mounted on the wall, his head turning left and right again at the time. "It's late," He tells Salvatore, a hand gesturing towards the boy's bedroom.
Salvatore was about to hand the boy over, but was surprised when the Boss shakes his head and motions again towards the bedroom. Shrugging, he follows. The Boss' orders were absolute, after all.
E/N: okay at first I've been snorting to myself because I think I'm so witty for choosing "seduction of the innocent" as title for this little garbage as reference to that book written by this one dude with the same title that has this part in his book that basically says batman and robin are gay and batman is gross for enganging with an 8-year old. See. I thought I was funny.
But really tho...the title was fitting if you think about it...(well if I manage to finish this too, then you'll start seeing the connection)...wait was I saying again
sorry again for the short...thingy. Real life, yanno? It's been cruel to me these past few weeks. My head won't stop hurting and my eyes has been more sensitive to light than usual and I regularly get heat strokes...not to mention I forget to eat so...
wait why am I saying that