I have no excuse for what happened here. It wasn't supposed to be like this, really.
Warning: Seriously twisted thoughts, lame ending and Alois-abuse. But I love him really 3
Disclaimer: Yeah. If I owned it Ciel and Sebastian would have had hot sex, Grell would have killed himself and Alois would not have died. So, nope, I don't own shit.
Alois Trancy admired his reflection, smiling a little.
He examined the blonde hair that fell into crystal blue eyes. They were eyes that could take whatever expression was required of them. He looked at the expensive clothes he hated; his coat, the crisply ironed shirt and the brass-buttoned waistcoat, the shorts, much too small to be decent, and the stockings. The clothes were not entirely proper. Proper. How he hated that word. It was so much better to be improper, to dress in a way that turned heads, regardless of why they turned. He knew what he looked like; he knew what people called him.
Vulgar. Whore. Slut.
He preferred the last two.
He wasn't an idiot, he knew how people pitied him, pitied him because he had been nothing more than a slave, a source of entertainment for an old man whom they all called disgusting.
He thought they were the stupid ones. They thought he wasn't right, that he was mad, that he needed to be loved. Idiots. They didn't know that being loved was pointless. Love made you do stupid things, and Alois Trancy did not intend to do stupid things.
No, it was far better to be wanted, to be desired as an object of lust, than to be loved. Claude didn't love him. Claude wanted him. He wanted his soul, to devour it and destroy him.
The boy wanted to be destroyed. He wanted to be hurt and to be told that he was nothing.
Nothing.
It was a beautiful word, and a beautiful concept. Nothing. Unimportant. Empty.
Yes, Alois Trancy was nothing, and he delighted in it.
He met his own gaze in the mirror. His tongue glided over his lips, a caress. The seal, the mark of his contract, glowed there. It was an ugly thing, and it ruined him. He liked that. But it was a mark of ownership, and that, that he did not like. It tied Claude to him, gave him ownership of the demon. Alois Trancy did not like to control. Loss of control was the key. When he lost control there was nothing. He was nothing.
Claude Faustus had spent many nights in control of his young master, with just a simple order.
Claude. I order you to make it hurt, as much as you can.
Alois loved that the demon would never disobey an order, that he would carry it out to the best of his ability. And Alois had been hurt.
He couldn't see them the mirror, but he knew they were there. The bruises, the cuts and burns that stung when he moved covered almost every inch of his torso. Only his face was left unmarked.
The boy was overcome with a sudden urge to see the marks, and it was with hands that shook in anticipation that he began to undo the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt with feverish haste. He let the clothes fall about his feet, kicking them away.
His chest was a mess of half-healed cuts, yellowing bruises and raw red burns. Alois laughed a delighted laugh, like a child at Christmas.
With one pale finger he traced a deep laceration on his chest, one of four in near parallel lines, left by Claude's demoniacally sharp nails. Alois Trancy licked his lips, and smiled.
In a singsong voice he began to chant.
'Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the most worthless in the land?'
Affecting a silly, high-pitched voice Alois intoned a response.
'Your highness, you are the most worthless!'
For a long while the child laughed at his own wit, until his breathing slowed to its regular pace.
Alois Trancy turned away from the mirror, no longer interested by the memories of the previous night, determined to repeat the experience as soon as possible. His heart thrummed in anticipation as he walked from the room, limping slightly. He left his clothes lying where they had fallen, he knew that if he looked back he would see the old, pale whip scars.
Pushing the desire aside, Alois Trancy went in search of his butler.