Title: Chained - CHAPTER ONE
Word Count: 3,267 Originally posted on my TUMBLR
Characters/Pairings: Bruce/Jason, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, OCs
Rating/Warnings: Explicit. PG-13 for this chapter for now(Adult themes). The rating will go up to Explicit in chapter 2. This is an AU fic.
Notes/Summary: AU. The famed prince of Gotham, Bruce Wayne, is given a card referring him to a high end Club by a friend. Thinking it would be a nice change in pace for his one track life, he takes the bait, but it's a whole other story when he actually gets there…

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The darkness of the limo did nothing to keep his attention from the card between his fingertips. Though he couldn't see it, it was still pressing against his hands, burning itself into his mind. It was like a heavy weight he couldn't drop and the thick, smooth paper glinted with what little light it caught from the moon filtered by black tinted windows. It was deathly quiet. The engine was off, his butler never asking questions, and the billionaire sat paralyzed in thought. His eyes were fixed straight ahead at nothingness as he slowly twirled the card in his fingers by the sharp corners, then finally taking in a deep breath that shattered the silence in the vehicle. Leather squeaked underneath his weight as he shifted and leaned forward, arms on his knees, the card flat between two fingers, and he addressed the driver:

"I'll call."

They were simple orders but they held a resolve of steel. He pushed the heavy door of the limo open on his own, a rush of crisp hair hitting his entire body with a chill that sent a small shiver down his spine.

It was time to get away from it all. It was time to let go, relax, and clear his mind.

The huge building loomed over him, beckoning him forward, yet he did not move even as the sound of the car driving away slowly faded into the distance. He lifted the card in his hand, eyes flicking down to meet it as it glared back at him. This could be what he'd been searching for.

The click of his expensive shoes against the pavement was the only thing that told him he was already walking. It was like his body was numb, possessed even, pushing forward without a conscious demand to do so. His fingers slid around the cold metal of the handle to the glass doors, a single receptionist in the brightly lit lobby staring back at him when he entered. She flashed him a perfect customer service smile as he padded across the lavish rug in the center of the marble floors. It was such a brilliant design, this lobby, with its expensive arm chairs, low hanging crystal chandelier, and delicately framed paintings. Very comfortable, very warm. He already felt welcome.

"Bruce Wayne."

The fact that she knew his name didn't surprise him. Everyone in the city knew who he was, but it didn't make him feel any less like a stranger within these walls.

"We've been expecting you," she said kindly as he slid the card over the perfectly sculpted counter. She checked it, but she already knew it was real, and her fingers worked quickly to type in the number printed on the glossy paper. She handed it back to him, but not without an additional card as well. This one was plastic, a single black stripe down the length, but otherwise completely blank. She flicked her gaze to the elevator, then back to him. "Please enjoy your stay."

His gaze lingered on her just a moment longer, searching for more instruction, but again his feet had already started on their own, pulling him towards the reflective, silver elevator doors. He pressed the button and waited.

It seemed like an eternity before the doors finally opened quietly, revealing… a simple empty space. He hadn't known what he was expecting or why it surprised him that it was just an elevator, but he pursed his lips and stepped inside, the doors closing behind him. He turned around, looking at the floor numbers, not knowing which to push.

Until he saw the card reader, that is.

He pulled the blank card up and swiped it, a gentle 'ding' sounding, and the force of gravity pulling at his body to let him know he was going up. He didn't know what floor he was going to, but he was guessing it wasn't on the list of buttons in front of him and he'd just take a stab in the dark and say it was the top floor of the 50 story building. He clasped his hands in front of him, both cards still secure within his grasp until the familiar 'ding' rang again and the doors behind him opened. For a moment he was confused, turning away from the doors he'd used to get into the elevator to step out of the ones opening at his back.

"Ah, Mr. Wayne! I trust you had no troubles finding the place?" A suited, heavy set man stepped forward to greet him, though did not extend his hand, a humble form of respect that indicated their gap in status.

"None at all," he assured, eyes taking in the lavish, dimly lit hallway. He was escorted to a set of double doors and the portly man opened it for him, gesturing inside and Bruce did not hesitate. He couldn't deny that he was feeling a bit of an adrenaline rush now, still holding firmly to the cards within his hand, as if they were some sort of lifeline to keep him grounded while his mind was clouded by his uncertainties.

A suave man, nearly as tall as Bruce, appeared through another set of ornate double doors dressed in a fine, flawlessly tailored pinstriped black suit, looking rather excited to see him. In an instant, Bruce was able to spot the designer watch with inset diamonds, silk interior lining of his suit jacket, diamond wrist cuffs, and black snakeskin shoes.

"You must be Devons," Bruce observed.

"Please, call me James." A charming smile. "I never thought I would have the honor to say that the Bruce Wayne was a client of mine. I'm pleased you've chosen to do business with us."

"The recommendation from Mannings was very persuasive."

"He is one of our most valued clients, Mr. Wayne. I am sure you will find something to your liking here." They began to move into the next room, a lounge or sorts that one might expect to find in a five star hotel or an ultra lounge. The huge room was lit by soft candles on the tables and wall lamps shining soft, golden rays towards the ceiling, but the small amount of light was not enough to conceal the plush couches and tables, each divided into very private sections. Some contained patrons drinking and laughing, and others were empty. Music filled the air, a club beat of some sort that set the mood for a party, but was quiet enough to have conversation and intimacy. The farthest corner of the room had glass walls overlooking the glimmering lights of Gotham City. His eyes delayed there for a brief moment, fixated on the twinkling of his city. It was mesmerizing, really, and the room itself was gorgeous, he had to admit. His friend had not been exaggerating in his stories.

"This is our Liquid Lounge. Most clients prefer to spend their time here, enjoying a full selection of drinks from our bar and our widely stocked kitchen and service area for any… cravings you may have." Devons flashed him a sly look, a confident smile on his face as Bruce snapped his attention back to the owner. "All you have to do is notify your caretaker. Of course, there are other rooms if you wish to have complete privacy, but I assure you everyone here is under contract. Now," He said, turning to him abruptly, staring deep into Bruce's icy gaze. "Any questions? If not, we have taken the liberty of selecting our finest product for you to choose from and I can have them brought in as soon as you are ready."

Bruce was a little overwhelmed to say the least, but he was sure he would get the hang of everything with time. From what he remembered from his friend's recommendation, he would be given a 'sample' of the product before entering into any legally binding contracts with the company. Was the trial period a few hours? The entire night? He couldn't remember him specifying, but he was ready to put the reference from Mannings to the test.

"Bring them in," Bruce said, slipping one hand into his pocket and fingering the plastic card anxiously as he waited. Devons snapped his fingers and a door next to the bar opened, a line of women escorted out to stand in front of the owner. They were all dressed in costly fabrics, their bodies covered, but nothing left to the imagination. Their curves were accentuated with every dress a different design, and each girl had on a different color that brought out their eyes or their subtle blush. All of them were stunning.

Devons began to take him down the line of women, but looked at Bruce as he spoke. "These are some of our top selling hosts, not a single person has been dissatisfied with them. From a simple conversation to your most intimate desires, any of them can make each night as unforgettable as the last." He glanced at a blonde woman that held Bruce's gaze for a long moment and grinned knowingly.

She smiled seductively at Bruce, a hand on her hip as she extended a gloved hand to him. He took it into his, kissing her knuckles softly.

A jolting, sharp movement behind the woman caught his attention. His eyes focused into the distance on a boy who had plopped himself roughly down onto a table top, a leg on either side of a rich looking man who sat in the plush cushions looking up at him. His suit was disheveled and messy, unbuttoned, with his shirt untucked and tie loosened. It seemed so out of place here, yet somehow so fitting and exotic for the cocky and confident aura of his nature. A devilish smirk transformed his face as he leaned over to whisper something into his ear, black and white bangs sweeping the sides of his temples as he tilted his head to breathe down his client's neck. Even as the owner continued to talk, Bruce could not hear him, eyes stuck in a trance, glued to the man on the table.

As if he felt him watching, dark blue eyes locked with his and the boy froze momentarily until his smirk widened and he slid with an unexpected grace into the lap he'd been straddling, angling his face to lick at the ear next to his snide smile. Bruce's pulse quickened. He could feel it against the soft fabric of his suit, in his fingertips against the plastic card that he hadn't realized he was gripping so hard. All the while, those eyes never left him, half-lidded with a mischievous haze, even as he pushed the suit from the man's shoulders and rocked his hips, arching his body into the other.

"Mr. Wayne…" Bruce jolted away from the scene, returning his attention to the owner who followed his previous line of sight. "Perhaps you'd like our selection of males? I apologize. We were," he searched for the words, "unaware of your other preference."

Bruce tensed his jaw, clearing his mind and regaining his careful composure, turning to face James Devons with narrowed eyes.

"That won't be necessary."

A moment of panic seemed to flicker over the owner's face, but he covered it immediately and clasped his hands together against his lips. "Mr. Wayne, please… I'm sure there is something we can—"

"Who is he?" He asked, cutting him off. James swallowed, hesitating as if he was trying to contain the information. He didn't look pleased, and that only piqued Bruce's interest more. The owner waved the women off with a hasty gesture, turning to look at the product in question and hardening his gaze.

"His name is Jason." He hesitated for a moment, gathering his thoughts, and then continued. "He is our top selling host here by quite an extraordinary margin. However," his tone turned dark and foreboding. "I have to be very forward with you in letting you know he also has the highest return rate."

Bruce wet his lips. "What does that mean?"

"It means he has," he paused again, this time to choose his words carefully. "…obedience issues."

Bruce let his eyes wander back to Jason, tumbling his name through his mind over and over again to commit it to memory. This "Jason" had obedience issues, did he? That was something he hadn't expected to hear from a club of such high standards, considering it was invite only and the prices were staggering.

"And the satisfaction rate?" Bruce inquired, before he realized the words were leaving his mouth. He couldn't tear his gaze from him. There was something so captivating and alluring about him that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He had never felt so drawn to something—or someone—without even speaking to them first. He'd seen more beautiful women and men in the world than he could care to count, in fact he'd seen many of them in this very room just moments ago, and yet this boy aroused his senses with nothing more than simple eye contact.

"All feedback was astronomical from all clients."

"…Until the 'disobedience.'" It was hardly a question. He wasn't stupid, but he couldn't imagine a bit of defiance being enough for a return in most cases.

"Yes, sir. We do have many more satisfactory products, Mr. Wayne. I assure you that none of the other hosts you've seen have been returned."

"No."

His curt reply silenced James for a moment and his expression turned bitter, almost disgusted as he looked at Jason. Bruce, however, was blissfully unaware, his gaze still locked on his goal.

"Very well, then. I will have him brought to you so that you may make the final decision. His current session, however, is scheduled for the entire evening; You will not be able to use your trial with him tonight."

This was not what Bruce wanted to hear, but he couldn't be surprised with Jason being their number one seller. He pursed his lips unhappily and set his jaw. He felt so… anxious. He couldn't quite understand his impatience, and it floored him as well.

"Until then, please enjoy a drink at the bar as you wait."

The next ten minutes of his life were the longest he'd ever experienced. Waiting proved to be painful, and the more he looked at his watch, the more restless he became, especially when he saw Jason bid his client farewell and departed down the landing steps to exit into a "staff only" door. That's when his pulse skyrocketed. Why was he so nervous all of a sudden? It wasn't as if he'd signed his soul away to the devil, but for once he felt truly excited for something, and yet he was also wary of the fact he may be let down. His standards were impossibly high, top rated host or not. Most of the time, Bruce was forced to pretend like he cared and faked a charming smile to put on a show. Something about the mysteriousness behind Jason's return rate intrigued him because, he wasn't stupid, he knew there had to be something more here than what was being said. Not to mention, why would Jason not be discharged if he was causing so many problems?

The cold liquid of his drink hit his tongue, refreshing him, and the burn of the alcohol that soon followed set fire to the back of his throat and esophagus as it went down. The warm sensation in his stomach calmed his nerves and eased his muscles.

That's when Jason appeared from the doorway with James Devons, looking nicely pressed. It didn't suit him like the mussed look earlier had. Bruce stood, leaving the rest of his drink on the bar counter and straightened. All the tension from earlier seemed to melt away as he assumed his confident demeanor, even as Jason walked towards him like a predator stalking its prey. It was as if he was watching a sleek panther with a gaze that could kill on sight… but no one could intimidate Bruce Wayne.

Before Devons could even speak, Jason was taking control of the reins. "Well, if it isn't Bruce Wayne," he said, though the inflections of his voice made it clear that Jason was unimpressed and sarcastic. "I'm so honored. You know… You look a lot older in person."

"Jason," the owner warned. "I apologize, Mr. Wayne."

"No need," Bruce assured, a small smile pulling at his lips as his eyes landed directly on the host. "I see through his transparent intimidation tactics." He didn't miss the flicker of anger in Jason's eyes, though the boy continued to smirk up at him confidently.

Jason was indeed a feisty one. Bruce was already beginning to understand the issues some may have with him, particularly when insults were thrown the first meeting, but he also understood how the enticing flame behind those eyes made it so easy to stick around. It was absolutely exhilarating. This boy was like a puzzle to figure out, a jumbled story that didn't make sense unless someone looked beyond the words to see a bigger meaning. He just had no idea what that bigger picture could be.

Jason stepped closer to him, looking him up and down, as if he was tearing him apart with each glance. Bruce had never felt so vulnerable, and that just made him more uncomfortable with the realization that this boy could already achieve this. Why was he so nervous? Never in his life had he asked himself that questions so many times in one evening. The host looked up at him through thick lashes, a smug smirk on his face. He reached up and slung his arms around Bruce's neck, tangling his fingers in the soft hair at the back of Bruce's head. Their eyes locked, and Bruce could feel his heart pounding in his chest, struggling to keep his face neutral and retain the power. Jason's intoxicating smell wafted through his senses, his body positively melting into the other. Their close proximity only allowed Bruce to appreciate his true beauty more. Fiery and wild, Bruce could already tell that Jason was not a beast that could easily be tamed. So why did he work here? At such a degrading host club?

He leaned in close, whispering into his ear.

"So why me, Mr. Wayne?" He didn't miss the snide tone attached to his name. Bruce said nothing, staying impossibly still, even as his hands ached to touch the body still pressed against his own. He forced himself to keep his breathing steady, and when the billionaire still said nothing, Jason pulled away just enough to look at his expression… or lack thereof. Bruce stared at him with impossible control, looking entirely unamused. Jason pushed his hips into Bruce's and leaned into him, an explosion of electricity crackling through his nerves at the friction, until their lips were nearly touching and Bruce could feel the heat and moisture of his breath.

"Kind of boring aren't you?"

"Jason," his owner warned again. "Please remember the etiquette and terms of your service here."

There was something behind those words that caught Bruce's attention. It sounded like a threat, and Bruce tucked that into the back of his mind for later mulling. The host in question turned, released Bruce, and glared at his owner in one fluid motion, his lips pressed into a thin line, as if he was biting his tongue. The former warmth of the boy against him was suddenly a cold void and he wanted nothing more than to pull him back into his needy body.

"Well, boss. I'm going to have to decline this one," Jason said, looking over his shoulder to sneer at Bruce. "Not interested."

Bruce was absolutely shocked. For a moment, neither of them could speak as Jason sauntered off with a dismissive wave to get back to his client, pulling the door open to the host's quarters from which he came to finish his break in peace.

James quickly turned to Bruce in a panic.

"My sincerest apologies, sir."

"I see now why he's been returned so much."

James was terrified. Leave it to Jason to completely ruin his chances at having Gotham's richest man on his list of clients. He didn't even want to speak, not knowing what could set Bruce off. Everything he had worked so hard for felt as if it was crashing around him. His anger with Jason was steadily climbing and reaching levels bordering rage. He hadn't even known he could be more angry with the boy, but this was the final straw.

"I'll take him."

"What?" The owner asked in disbelief, eyes impossibly wide. His body felt like his blood had been replaced with cement, impossibly heavy and unable to move even an inch in any direction as he gaped at Bruce.

"You heard me."

Now it was James Devons' turn to be shocked.

Author's Notes: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think. I enjoy this story a lot, and I'm glad I'm reposting these stories from my tumblr, because it's reigniting all my passions for my stories. I have two chapters already written for this, and will be posting chapter 2 in just a few days. Love me some BruJay.