Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note in any way, shape or form.

Summary: Light is a hustler in the red light district of Tokyo. He finds himself enraptured by a mysterious man who offers him escape from the shady lifestyle in exchange for helping him on a case of lust and betrayal in which they are both entangled. AU. Yaoi.

Warning: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS RAPE. The life of a hustler is not one with many benefits, unfortunately.

SANCTUARY

Chapter One

The taxi driver took his payment quickly and more or less shooed Light out of the car, eying his tight clothes with disapproval. He drove away, leaving the young man standing in front of a large building that rose up at least fifty floors into the sky. In the glare of the afternoon sun, the hotel resembled a multi-faceted kaleidoscope of stained glass, casting its gray shadow upon the other, smaller buildings encompassing it.

Megumi Hotel was no doubt famous for its strange taste in window art, and with fame came money. Lots of it, too.

The burly doorman cleared his throat as Light approached in a carefree swagger. "Are you going to be staying at this hotel, sir?" His politeness was clearly more a policy than anything.

Light put his arms on his hips and looked up once again at the colourful glass above him. He hoped the client was staying on a high floor. It'd be a nice view.

"Sir?"

He took out the piece of paper from his pocket. Daniel Harlem. 36th Floor. Room 27 A. No arguments or cuddling. "I have a friend who's staying here," he handed the man the paper.

Thick eyebrows furrowed in scrutiny, further when the man realized the meaning of the last set of words. He looked up at Light who donned an expression of nonchalance. "G-gomenasai." He handed back the paper a little too quickly, "Enjoy your stay."

"I just might," he smiled lightly and entered.

The inside of the hotel was cool, much to the relief of a perspiring Light, with cream walls and white furniture. Black and white photographs of tree branches, houses and other 'abstract' items hung in simple black frames on the far wall under a halo of dim spotlights. They sure took contemporary seriously, he mused, approaching the front desk upon which stood a strangely twisted vase.

"It's Italian," the woman behind the desk supplied, noticing his raised eyebrows at the item. Her hair was a mousey brown colour and tied back in a severe bun, and she looked at him over rectangular frames, taking in the tight clothes and posture.

"It's quite artistic," Light commented dryly. It reminded him of Teru's attempt to make a stacked cake for him on his birthday or rather the outcome of said attempt.

"Are you waiting for someone? Sir?" Her words were laced with the same stiff politeness of the doorman. Unlike him, she knew why he was here. She'd been working at Megumi for the last twenty years, since it's opening, and knew too well the preferences of some of the higher ups who stayed at the hotel.

"Oh, no, I'm just on my way up," he exchanged a fake smile with her and made his way to the elevator.

He leaned back against the cool glass wall and looked up at the whirring fan above him. It reminded him of the one back home.

Home. The word set free a tumult of emotion in his head and he closed his eyes.

What was home? The cramped apartment he shared with Teru? The awkward tension between them was becoming almost unbearable; when had things changed so much? A part of him hated Teru, for staying with him despite the abrupt end to their relationship. The other part of him didn't want to see the older man leave; he was all he had left since that day….

He shook his head and opened his eyes, concentrating on the orange light going up the set of numbers. 12, 13, 14.

"Fine, fine, sorry for looking out for you."

Teru was a hindrance, he always had been. Clingy. Jealous. Even after they had broken up.

"Damn it, Light, why are you always acting like there's nothing wrong? This isn't how you wanted it. We both know that. You never wanted it like this."

He hated to admit it but he never did want it to be this way. It just came to this.

"If you're so concerned about the rent, you should get over it and keep a job long enough to move out and leave me be."

19, 20, 21.

He closed his eyes again, trying to push away the little voice in his mind that told him he needed Teru just as much as Teru needed him.

No, that was bullshit. He didn't need anyone, never did, and never would.

"Are you alright?" A voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

He blinked and looked at the source; a boy with tousled dark hair dressed in a loose white shirt and baggy jeans, ratty sneakers peeking out from under the denim, the laces untied. His hands were in his pocket, elbows bent awkwardly, shoulder hunched forward like some sort of primate.

"Are you alright?" The boy spoke again, louder this time, the steady timbre of voice echoing around them. Light realized the boy was actually a man, probably not much older than him, with slightly androgynous features and dark circles under his eyes. His Japanese was flawless but his pale complexion and dark eyes spoke of a foreigner.

"H-hai," Light swallowed, looking at the orange light continue its way up the numbers.

25, 26, 27, 28.

The man nodded once and continued to stare at him in a manner that made him feel…uncomfortable would be a good word. That was saying something; for someone whose job consisted of looking presentable for the very sake of being looked at, Light felt very awkward. Suddenly, he found himself wishing he'd worn looser jeans or maybe buttoned up his shirt at least past his chest. There was something about the other man's stare that transcended merely looking – he was being analyzed, like something under a microscope.

29, 30.

He was glaring back now, brown eyes narrowed. It's almost as if the other was mocking him, knowing what he was doing here and making a joke out of it.

How could he? They had barely traded more than a few words.

"Is that your natural hair colour?" The man asked.

Light blinked, taken aback by the sudden question. He quickly regained his composure and looked back at the orange light. He'd just ignore the 'freak'.

31.

"I see." The man said blankly as the doors slid open and they simultaneously stepped out of the elevator.

A Caucasian man dressed in head to toe in black pushed himself off the wall in the hallway and took a hesitant step forward. His blue eyes flickered from Light to the other man, then back to Light.

"Daniel-kun, how are you?" Light put on his 'professional' smile, not showing too many teeth. He saw out of the corner of his eyes the 'freak' raise one thin eyebrow at the gesture before walking or rather shuffling away.

"Oh, uh, fine," the man fumbled with his words and glanced behind him at the retreating figure of the 'freak'.

They stood like that, in front of the elevator, in the hall with deep red walls. Light was starting to get a bit annoyed after a minute or so had passed; Daniel Harlem, despite the name, was nothing like the stud he had pictured. He was short with a slight belly and he was in need of a shave, and looked back at the door through which the 'freak' had disappeared many times. Light never had much choice in clients but he was beginning to ponder the possible shut-down of the other man's brain.

"Daniel-kun?" Light sighed. He wasn't sure if he should initiate anything considering the instructions on the note but they hadn't exactly gotten anywhere let alone a bedroom. "Shall we?"

"Pardon?" The man blinked in surprise at being addressed. "We?"

"Yes, it takes two people most often than not," he quipped before he could retract the words. He bit his tongue. One wrong move and a client could get angry, and if a client was angry, John…well John would just be John and it wasn't a comforting thought.

Daniel looked at Light for a few seconds and realization dawned on him in the form of a gasp followed by a nervous chuckle. "I think you've made a mistake."

"What do you mean mistake?" He was getting angry now. Clients never blew him off; on the rare occasion, when he was feeling highly rebellious, he'd skip an appointment but never the other way around. He took the note out his pocket and practically shoved it into the other man's hands.

"I was supposed to meet you here and let you in," Daniel seemed to be speaking more to himself than Light.

"That's the initial step, yes."

"But, I - go to the room."

"Alright." Light complied. Maybe this was some sort of role playing. It wouldn't be the first time. Only a few weeks ago he had to follow through with the rape-fantasy of a teenager whose dad made enough money for him to spend it without the man ever suspecting. He had to take the next day off to get the gashes patched up by the House doctor.

He approached the white door, with the brass 27 A, resisting the temptation to look back. He hated acting so vulnerable, playing into the hands of paying customers. But he'd learned to swallow his pride, to suffocate it to the point that he'd explode at Teru for every little thing. And Teru being the meek, submissive devotee, never once complained, simply taking it with a quick nod and a sad glance.

He gritted his teeth. Thoughts of the man never heightened his performance and the show was only beginning.

He waited for Daniel Harlem to ease up behind him and pull him into some sort of an embrace. It never came. He sighed and turned the knob of the door, and was surprised to find it locked. He frowned, peering in the peep hole only to find it blocked. Maybe this was also part of the foreplay. He poised his hand over the door to knock but there was a clicking noise and the door slowly opened.

"I see you've met my bodyguard," the 'freak' said blandly.

Light had been in the business long enough to know what to expect. Bloody foreplay. Kink. Bondage. So when the 'freak' had clasped the manacle around his left wrist, he held out his left obediently. He was surprised when the other man donned the other end of the chain on his own wrist before pushing him onto the bed. He 'fell' with practiced grace, face forward, so he was on his back, ready for the customer.

The mattress dipped further when the 'freak' sat down beside him in a crouch-like manner. "I have no intentions of having intercourse with you."

Light sat up slowly, the chain links clinking, and faced the man. "My name is Light," he offered. Breaking the ice with an exchange of names and a few words often coaxed the nervous ones.

"I know who you are," the man stated in his same monotonous voice, looking at the far wall, "And my intentions of not having intercourse with you have not changed."

He frowned, looking around the room. It was very large and spacious with Victorian style furniture. A select suit, no doubt. This meant the man, despite his scruffy appearance, was an upperclassman with money to his name. "Then what do you have in mind?" He used a suave, seductive tone of voice but the annoyance was beginning to break through. There was something humiliating about catering to the needs of the 'freak' that he had steadily ignored in the elevator. Though the 'freak' seemed to bear no grudge – except for the fact he refused to have sex with him.

"A conversation."

"A conversation," Light repeated slowly, tilting his head to scratch his neck, making sure to expose the firm skin under the brown locks.

"Yes," the 'freak' nodded, using the same bland, uninterested tone, but his eyes glanced at the display of skin more than once, "Does the name Mikami mean anything to you, Light-kun?"

He bit his tongue as not to show any change of expression at the turn the conversation was taking. "Most people don't tell me their names, if you know what I mean."

"Light-kun."

"Yes?"

"Have you ever thought of going into theatre?"

"Huh?"

"You're acting is quite superb."

Light bit back every insult that came to him. John's words echoed from a month ago, when the warm, wine-coated lips had brushed against his quivering ear. "Professionalism will take you farther than a quick screw. If they got money, you got game, you understand? You're the best we got in this hellhole so if you want to make it out alive, baby, you got to come out on top."

"I don't understand," he used his lightly confused tone of voice, making sure to drawl his words slightly. Foreigners often found that cute.

"You're family is very worried about you, Light-kun."

That struck more than a few nerves and before he knew it, Light was on his feet.

"What's wrong? Light-kun?" The 'freak' was the one drawling his words now.

"I have a busy schedule."

Pale fingers curled around his wrist and pulled him into a sudden embrace.

"If you ever need anything, call this number," it was a quiet whisper but he heard it clearly.

He felt the same thing fingers push something into the back pocket of his jeans before he was released from the embrace.

Without the support, he fell back, pulling the other man onto him. Dark eyes bore into his, sweet breath on his face before the 'freak' leaned over swiftly, his face mere inches from Light's, and unclasped the manacle. Before he could pull back, Light, without thinking, brought his head forward but the cold fingers stopped him.

"You have a busy schedule, Light-kun."

He left the room wordlessly and stepped into the elevator in the same silence, rubbing his raw wrists absently. His hopes of mulling the last five minutes over were dashed when at the next floor, the doors slid open, making way for a large bald man and a few others who were much scrawnier. They were all dressed the same – black leather jackets and shiny dress shoes – and gave him a less than friendly glare.

The doors closed and a heavy tension settled amongst them.

"How much for a fuck, fag boy?" The bald man sneered, rubbing his sweaty palms together. His cronies laughed, slapping each other on the shoulder. Some of their gazes lingered too long and not on his face either.

"Appointments only, gentlemen," Light returned nonchalantly and looked back at the orange light making its way down the numbers. These bastards weren't worth the effort but he wasn't exactly in the best of moods.

"Why you--!"

But he was already off the elevator. He didn't know what floor he was on – probably the 23rd – but he knew he had to get out of here, and fast. He'd caught a glimpse of a tattoo on the bald man's arm, similar to that on another man, which meant some sort of gang, and that never was a good thing for a back talker of a prostitute, be it man or woman.

The fire exit was close, the door clear in view, and he was almost there, just a little further… – a meaty hand grabbed his sore wrists. He tried to pull away but the man had a strong grip. His yell was stifled by a different hand and next thing he knew, he was being pulled into a room.

The men threw him onto the bed and held him down. He tried to break free, thrashing and kicking, and tried to bite the hand clamped over his mouth. In return, he got a few punches to the face and the world seemed to be spinning around him in a merry-go-round of sharp pain.

"You got some nerve kid," the bald man was standing over him, rubbing those sweaty palms like he was trying to start a fire, "Fucking fag." He easily tore off the shirt from Light's torso, though it took another man to take off the pants due to Light's kicking and flailing. He gestured for the others to turn their captive onto his back and then took off his own pants. Without warning, he pushed himself in and began a rough thrusting rhythm, more or less pounding into Light like a sharp-edged rock. With each thrust, he growled something incoherent, hands gripping the younger man's shoulders like knives. "Unngh!" His bliss was quickly forgotten at the sound of a cell phone from his jacket pocket. "Dammit!" He pulled out roughly and answered.

But Light wasn't listening. He could only hear a low humming all around him. The men didn't release their hold on him though he'd stopped struggling. He'd bit his lip in two and the blood seeped into the pillow, and onto the sleeve of one of the men who yelped in disgust.

"Shit, let's go," someone said and the hands rendered their grip on him. The thundering of heavy footsteps growing distant and the loud shut of the door bought him out of the haze.

He tried to sit up, gasping at searing pain coursing up his lower abdomen, and fell back onto the wet sheets. The jeans were around his knees and he reached for the back pocket, fingers trembling. A white card with a single gothic letter and numbers in very small print. He managed to get his cell phone from the other pocket and dialed the number properly after the third try. It rang once. Then twice. On the seventh ring, there was a clicking noise. No one spoke.

Light gasped, trying to find his voice amidst the numbing pain. He brought the card closer to his face, eyes widening at the letter. "L," he hissed into the phone before darkness consumed him.

A/N: I'm surprised I updated considering exams being only a few days away. Once exams are over, updates galore! Please review and bring me some luck for the exams.

Cheers,

elomelo