A/N: I'm really excited to post this story! It's the longest story I've ever written so far... I've finally completed a novel-length fic, which I've wanted to do for years. It should probably come out to be 37 chapters all told. As a warning, this story is rated for dark themes primarily and some cursing, but there is a rape scene in chapter three. [I'll put more details in a note at that chapter.] It's very necessary to the plot and sets up character dynamics that will have repercussions for the rest of the story; but there will be no other sexual scene in the fic.
primary pairings: Sebastian/Ciel (very slow burn); Claude/Alois
pov: rotating
Despite the dark subject matter at some points, the whole point of the story is really to serve as a fix-it for Season 2 and the ending of the anime, which I found to be incredibly depressing. I wanted an opportunity for Sebastian and Ciel to be able to work together again as a duo, instead of seeming so disconnected the whole time. So the story will (hopefully) not be total angst!
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What think you, if he were convey'd to bed,
Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers,
A most delicious banquet by his bed,
And brave attendants near him when he wakes,
Would not the beggar then forget himself?
—The Taming of the Shrew
Part One: Along Came a Spider...
{i.}
There were slippery magicks in every loop and knot of the crochet web Claude had created to ensnare the Phantomhive boy, lying asleep and defenseless in his arms, his face taut with pain, uncertainty and loss even as he dreamed; and with every step those magicks pulled themselves tighter around him, burrowed whisper-thin threads into his skin that made him keen and whimper. And so Claude bore him, every step in his own arms, watching the play with parted, wondering mouth and cruel, gold-glitter eyes. When they stepped over the threshold of the Trancy manor the boy stirred, eyes blinking open to gaze in bewildered fancy at the ceilings that spun dizzyingly above him. "W...where are we?" he managed, at last, to slur.
"Home, my lord," Claude answered, with a quiet, soothing voice, and the boy's brow furrowed. "Are we?" he asked at last, lost, uncertain, and sounding more like a small child than his full thirteen years of age.
"Yes, we are," Claude said, and cradled the frail body closer, breathing in the sharpness of sweat and fear and the pure, sweet note of the boy's unquenchable soul. "You remember it, do you not? And here…" he pushed open the room of his late master's, with its draperies of lavender and rose, silhouetted by the dying sun; the striped pink bedspread and the rug of red and gold, the light honey-wood of the bed and dresser. It was a child's room in many ways, for Alois Trancy had been in many ways a child, though not in others. It was a bright room, gay and merry, as bright and sugar-sweet as candy—and as capable of making ill, if over-supped. "Your room, Highness; it has been made waiting."
"My room? No—" at last the boy began to struggle, weakly. "It isn't right. Sebastian—"
"Yes... it's such a pity about Sebastian, isn't it?" Claude asked, and the blue-eyed boy blinked up at him, his strength of will diverted with confusion. "Who would have ever suspected that the demon who promised to bring your parents' killers to justice would in fact be that very killer? Such a betrayal goes against the very nature of the contract itself." He smiled, slightly, and with a hint of hunger; and something in his expression made the boy's eyes narrow. Claude didn't wait to see what thoughts might take seed behind those canny eyes, but stroked his hand along the boy's, touching the angry red of the the ring upon it, letting the soul of Alois flare up, bringing to that mind a confusion of jumbled memories, the horrors of his own past combined with those he had never experienced. The boy shuddered, his breath shortening and eyes growing wide in remembered agony until tears blinked to life on the edges of every perfect dark eyelash.
Claude let the boy go to slide heavy and drugged to the bed, the white, white web spread out around him.
"Are you well, my lord?" Claude asked at last, watching that vacant gaze come to latch onto his as he slowly slid his hand away from the ring. "What troubles you? Memories?"
"Yes," the word came out, weakly, and trembling he flinched away from the gentle hand Claude rested on his shoulder. "Don't—don't touch me…"
"Your Highness?" And let that red flare up, that anger and betrayal, that familiarity all housed in the prison for his former master's soul. "What was that?" he moved, still slowly, that hand along his arm, along his collarbone with creeping fingers. For he had had time enough to work upon this boy's soul, when he had last had it in his grasp, to let the miasma of this cursed house slip into the spaces where his eyes and mouth would be, to whisper into the recesses of his ears.
"I said— … …Touch me." The desires of another soul worked upon this, stranding all complaint, all reason. Those eyes, still confused, but wanting; the foetid breath slipping from that exquisite mouth. Such a familiar sight, this desperation, and yet so different! That body struggling against its natural instincts to lean toward him, to clutch those shaking hands about him, soul screaming in instinctive horror, and Claude chuckled, hand slipping lower. "I will, master. If you ask of me… anything."
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