Hi Guys! Some long ass notes to start with!
First off, this is a new fandom for me. So my excuses for any blatant non-canon mistakes. Also, this story takes place at an unspecified time. Either sometime after Ricki returned to Iason, before tragedy. Or in the AU of your choice where they were saved from Dhana-Ban and are together after.
Secondly, un-beta'd so all mistakes are mine.
Thirdly, this was initially going to be PWP. And as usual, plot worked it's way in. Just a bit. Mostly character development, because seriously? A fandom with legit D/s relationships? Castrates? Androids? Such complex characters and relationships... Couldn't help myself.
Fourth, Angst warning for this first part. Sorry, Katze ain't doing so good. Warning for mention of previous rape and self-esteem issues. And because of sexual content later, rated M. Take heed, I write for adults.
And finally, I'm really sorry POV keeps sliding around. These guys won't behave and everyone wants to share their bit. In no particular order. If my Beta did this fandom, she would be having a fit. I still did my best to make it clear who thinks what though.
That's more than enough blabbing, let her rip!
He couldn't do it.
He would't do it.
Katze stared again at the seemingly unassuming stack of clothing, if it could even be called that, carefully placed on his desk. His insides clenched and panic clawed at his control.
"No."
Katze was quite proud that his voice remained void of the turmoil he felt. He worked to school his features into some semblance of placidity, wondering if he was successful.
Iason was unnaturally perceptive after all.
Wether he realized the extent of the havoc his demand was creating in his employee or not, Iason remained unmoved.
" You will." His rich voice brooked no discussion and long hair swept the air in a graceful arc as he spun towards the door. "Now come."
And just like that, he walked out of Katze's darkened room. Expecting total obedience, the arrogant fucker.
Katze hesitated for a full ten seconds. What if he simply didn't follow? For a mad moment, Katze basked in imagined resistance. He could deal with the pain of Iason punishing him. The tall redhead had no illusions, he would pay dearly if he refused to be manipulated. Long fingers lightly traced the stiff tissue marring his left cheek.
The problem was that Iason was right. Katze's keen mind could see how the solution the Blondie proposed impeccably solved the problem. It was brilliant, logically.
It was too fucking bad that Katze's own dark demons didn't care for logic.
He was so screwed.
With a small desolate sigh, Katze turned to follow his master.
"Do not forget the disguise." Iason's voice resonated down the hallway.
Fucking omniscient Blondie.
Katze allowed himself to cringe at the slinky feel of silk caressing his palm as he trudged unusually heavily down the carpeted corridor.
...
The ride in the aircar to Iason's penthouse was deathly quiet.
Not that Iason particularly minded. Humans and their pathetic need to fill the silence with meaningless chatter were tiring. Iason had always appreciated his ex-furniture's habit of only speaking when he had something significant to say.
He rested easily on the soft seat, internally pondering the enigma that was Katze.
As the shifting lights of Midas colored the interior of the car in alternating streaks of artificial hues, Iason shifted a side gaze to the slim mongrel currently perched as far as he could from him on the seat.
Katze was normally very rational; today's resistance was unexpected. Obviously he could see the merits of Iason's plan, the Blondie had seen the flash of understanding in those strange eyes when he had outlined it. Almost immediately after, such a tumult of emotions had swirled in those depths that even Iason hadn't been capable of deciphering them all. Sadness, anger, shame, a hint of annoyance with wry amusement, maybe even hatred.
Long-lashed lids had swept down, preventing further indescretion.
The dealer had followed him though, and was now staring sullenly out the window. Almost motionless. Katze's control was impressive for a human.
But his lounging pose was too contracted, as though he was subconsciously trying to take up less space. Every muscle was coiled tight, base instinct to fight or flee activated. His fingers twitched minutely, and a pink tongue flicked out to wet pale parted lips.
With a sigh, Iason gestured graciously. "Light one of those disgusting inventions, if you must."
Katze's eyes studied the patrician profile beside him for a moment. The Blondie hated the smell of smoke, could never understand how both of his mongrels were addicted. Never before had he encouraged Katze to indulge, especially not in the closed confines of the car!
So... he hadn't been successful at hiding his emotions from Iason then.
Fuck.
No use pretending any longer, it seemed.
Opening the window fully, no need to aggravate the Blondie any more than necessary, the unhappy dealer relaxed minutely as he set the comforting smoke to his lips.
Both occupants of the car pretended not to notice how his hands shook so that he had to try twice before lighting it and finally inhaling the fragrant poison.
Warm summer wind whipping through the cab, the rest of the ride continued in tense silence.
...
Katze had wordlessly allowed himself to be led into Iason's opulent bathroom. Nodding at Cal, he had politely declined a bath and now stood stiffly under a scalding spray of water. Katze always made a point to be kind to Furniture, aknowledging their presence and answering them directly.
A kind of tacit nod to his prior status.
As steam curled around him, Katze allowed tense shoulders to droop.
Fuck but he hated himself. It was always there, had been there for so long the wound wasn't even acutely painful anymore. Just a bitter truth embedded at his core. His self-worth had been annihilated years ago during his training as Furniture.
Katze was proud of his work, of all he had gained in his years rebuilding the Ceres black market. He was respected, admired and feared.
But he had long given up hope of one day being actually proud of himself.
Roughly sweeping tense hands down his abdomen, he squeezed punishingly around his mutilated flesh. A sudden sob shook him, quickly suppressed.
Fuck no. He wasn't going to indulge in self-pity now.
Straightening, Katze washed himself with efficient control.
It was all Iason's fault, he thought. Ruthlessly opening deep wounds, ripping years of blanketing numbness from the ache of having his manhood destroyed, all with one nonchalant demand.
Enjoying the sharp sting of suds in his eyes, Katze fervently wished he could hate his boss. Except he was right, as usual, and Katze couldn't pretend not to know it.
Iason was selflessly putting himself in danger to destroy those offworld gangsters. Their crude attempt at seizing control of Pet traffic was pitiful. But too many of their attempts at hijacking transports had worked recently, as had their plan to hike prices by creating rarity. They had cost money, and ressources and were sufficiently bothersome that Jupiter wanted them gone.
Their gang leader, though, was a paranoid power-crazed lunatic. Unapproachable, never leaving his shielded ship headquarters.
The fact that he had grown brazen enough to invite Jupiter's Chosen to a private Pet party would be the end of him. There was the minor detail that no security at all would be allowed. The gall of the man, to think Iason would be stupid enough to attend under such ridiculous demands! And he was even more stupid if he thought the android was defenseless without a gaggle of guards.
Still, the First One going in by himself, and unarmed too, was tempting trouble. Limbs were itchy to grow back, not to mention the delays that would need to be allowed for recovery.
Stepping from the shower, Katze squared his shoulders. Cal bowed low, handing him a towel with averted eyes.
Katze shook the damp fringe from his eyes as he rubbed himself dry. He shouldn't be this upset that Iason wanted him to play the role of his Pet and attend the party with him.
Knotting the sash of the thick white robe too tightly, Katze sat on the stool Cal respectfully pulled out. He tried to breathe deeply, smiling softly at the tight bar of restriction around his lower ribs. Good. Being seated made the minor discomfort worse.
The red head lost himself in thought as Cal began brushing the knots from his hair.
Playing at being Iason's Pet.
Katze's stomach roiled at the thought. He should have laughed at the irony, but the hurt cut too deep. Years of unrequited love, of carefully contained yearning slowly stagnating to hopeless muck. Carefully erected walls smashed in one breathless second. As if Iason would ever care, would ever look on him with desire.
Proof of this was in the fact that his Master had brought him the garments of a female Pet. Further belittling his already broken plaything in a cruel parody of his deepest unnamed desires.
Closing his eyes briefly, Katze kept his face blank as Cal tugged at his hair, deftly wrapping strands around the heated iron. Nausea made him dizzy, and he swallowed thickly against bile that burned his throat at the thought of the evening to come.
Letting go of one perfectly bouncy curl, Cal started on another.
The Furniture gazed furtively at the white face in the mirror before him. Katze was soooo upset right then, his sharp features a blank mask that made Cal's heart twinge in sympathy.
Hands working busily to create lush waves in the dealer's soft hair, Cal ached for him. Katze's lips thinned and his jaw clenched, a light sheen appearing on his forehead. So much violent emotion that he swallowed down stubbornly.
"He... He's not doing it on purpose, you know." Cal spoke softly, hesitantly, with all the courtesy his position had imbued into his tone.
Katze's eyes flashed open, amber pits of heated hurt who's gaze the Furniture couldn't hold. A moment passed, the soft sizzle of auburn strands being heated into submission the only sound.
"Defending your Master, Cal?" Katze eventually responded with a sardonic twist of his lips.
The boy behind him blushed but his shoulders hunched stubbornly. "They don't know. The others. What it's like... What they do to us." Small fingers clutched at his tunic front for a second, the gesture surprisingly vulgar. Large blue eyes finally rose and held Katze's defiantly.
"To always be broken, not even allowed to enjoy pleasure like others. Even the lowliest mongrel in the slums is entitled to sexual release! And now... Master Iason wants you to pretend to be the absolute opposite...a pampered Pet."
Cal shuddered, going back to the work of impeccably coiffing the red head. "I don't think I could."
Katze's shoulders jerked in a sharp spasm and he coughed. How he wished for a cigarette then, to mask the bitter taste of self hatred. He didn't answer the servant. What use would it be to admit that he didn't think he could either?
The scarred man stoically remained in his seat, waiting patiently for Cal's gentle hands to finish their job.
In a bold move, small fingers squeezed Katze's shoulder hard, offering fleeting comfort before the door swished shut behind the Furniture.
Cal paused briefly, wincing at the harsh sound of retching as Katze vomited violently behind the privacy of the closed door. The servant was surprised to feel himself wanting to cry, since Katze clearly couldn't. With a sigh, he headed to the kitchen to see about preparing drinks.
There was comfort in knowing one's place, knowing what was expected.
Katze had made a new place for himself after he was pulled from his role as Furniture. Years of work. And now Iason was cruelly unrooting him again, even if it was for a night of pretending. Cal promised to take extra care brewing the dealer's favorite coffee the next time he came.
If there was a next time, Cal's mind whispered doubtfully.
Poor Katze... It gets better, hang in there baby!
Also, this story is looking to be a two-parter. Except for minor fiddling around, part one is done. So I should be posting pretty regularly.