So, it turns out I'm not dead. (Could've fooled me.) There's actually an excuse for this story: AoiBlu-Kun and I challenged each other to a Vincent/Undertaker bakery crackfic competition, and so if you are reading this and have not read hers, you should go do that. But this turned out to be not so much crack as... well, stuff that I'd actually write. Which means it's riddled with cheese and whatnot.

Enjoy!

Living in Dark Desire

As the Earl of Phantomhive, Vincent was perfect. His young family, his prosperous business, and his stunning attractiveness were enough to make anyone who knew of him envious. There was not a flaw in his character, even to those who knew him. Vincent Phantomhive was a perfect man.

But he himself knew better. There were dark desires in all humans, he had learned, and the ones who controlled theirs the best were the most successful ones. He began to wonder if his own success was due to the ignorance he had, until his adult life, of his own darkness. Once he had discovered it, it became harder to control.

The one who forced it out of him was his most trusted informant, the man known only as The Undertaker. His unconventional appearance and behaviour placed him quite outside the mould of acceptability in the British aristocracy, but the fact that he merely served the aristocracy, as well as being quite good at his job, made putting up with him a much easier feat for those who knew of his talents than for those who merely observed the scraggly-dressed man in the homes of the wealthy.

Perhaps it was because Vincent was the first to see the value of the mysterious informant's skills and knowledge, but they took to each other, mutually benefitting from their business relationship. When the gray-haired man began to refuse Vincent's payment, however, they began to share more than just secrets.

"I can accept no more from you, Earl," he had bowed respectfully and added his title to the end of this sentence for the final time. "You are a valuable companion," he dropped the joking tone and picked up a level, serious one, and continued. "And I intend to keep things that way between us. However, for reasons I am still struggling to explain to myself, I can no longer accept payment from you."

Vincent was bewildered. He was a little grateful that they were in his private study, too, with no audience, because it was not often that the Phantomhive noble lost his composure. "What do you mean?"

The mortician giggled at his companion's confusion, though it came out far deeper and richer than his usual laughs. It made Vincent want to shudder, it wracked so completely and inexplicably through his being. "Like I said, I cannot even explain it to myself. It is not completely beyond me, though, and I have a feeling that you will begin to understand as well."

"Cryptic as always, I see," Vincent sighed. All he knew was that he would not be paying the undertaker to help him out. "Does that mean that you will no longer be working for me?"

Too suddenly, Undertaker's voice was coming from behind him, and in his confusion, all Vincent could think about was how he must have had a lapse in his consciousness; such quick movement was humanly impossible. "Quite the contrary, Vincent."

The touch of spindly fingers and strong nails on his shoulder made him shiver and lose his focus for a moment. Was it his imagination, or was the cool breath that gusted over his ear filled with an energy that made his skin flush? Formless desires gnawed at his insides, and he knew not what to do with them. His companion peered from beneath his bangs, though his eyes were still shadowed as always to Vincent. Turning his head to face the man who held him captive more than he knew, the earl found his voice again with some difficulty. "I still don't understand."

A grin spread across that scarred face. "Perhaps you would like to visit my shop sometime and I can attempt further explanation?"

An intense curiosity took root in Vincent's otherwise empty mind. A hand moved away from his shoulder, a fingernail traced a vain in his pale neck, and his words were lost once more, but he did manage a nod.

"Come by tomorrow night. You've been there before, no? I'll expect you any time after dark."

And when the door closed softly, Vincent found he could speak again, though he had nothing to say.

"He began his studies in music today, dear. Isn't that wonderful? He took quite well to the tutor, and I believe we're going to have a little musician in the family." Rachel laughed daintily on the pillow next to him.

He smiled back, the love and pride he felt for this woman and their son swelling within him and moistening his eyes. "That is wonderful. I am so proud of him."

It was not until Rachel fell asleep next to him that night that Vincent's drowsy thoughts turned to the man with the long hair, but once they turned there, they could not turn back.

What had been so paralyzing about having him so close? It was a bit terrifying, though not completely unpleasant. There was something about it that made him feel something he'd never felt before. If he didn't know better, he'd say it was desire, but that was crazy. What reason did he have to desire such contact?

He hoped that answers would come the following evening. He fell into fitful dreams of burning touches and cool breath.

"Couldn't wait, could you, Vincent?" The familiar grin greeted him beneath a shiny mess of silver bangs. His voice was high, this time, but he had used his given name again; Vincent's thoughts were sent into turmoil once more as he stepped over the wooden threshold silently but eager for answers.

Vincent had spent the entire day in his study, refusing even to see Ciel, until the child himself came knocking on his door with the most heartbreaking expression of hurt on his face. He melted when his fragile arms locked themselves around his neck, silently demanding to be held and cared for, as if to make up for being turned away earlier. "Ciel," he murmured happily. "I'm sorry. Daddy's been busy, but he always has time for you." At this, the boy's wide eyes crinkled in a smile and he buried his face silently against his father's chest.

Before dinner, however, Vincent became restless again, and he left Ciel in his mother's care, announcing that he had a business visit to make. He refused a carriage, opting for a horse with the excuse that it was a casual and brief trip into town, but not to worry if he was not back by supper time. The sun was still far above the horizon when he departed, and he hoped that he would not be turned away from Undertaker's door when he arrived. He needed answers.

But now, inside the dim and rather frightening shop, Vincent had no ideas about how to get answers.

"Would you like some tea?" offered the host.

"Yes, please." Vincent stood, feeling awkward and apprehensive.

"I was hoping you'd turn down that offer. I'm fresh out." Undertaker grinned even more widely, and though Vincent was in alarm that he had caused some trouble to his informant, he did not know what to say, and became even more afraid when his heart started beating irrationally. "Not to worry, not to worry! We can go next door!"

"...Next door?"

"It's a bakery. They always close in the afternoons, and my shop connects to theirs. They entrusted me with a key in case of emergency."

Vincent looked even more alarmed than before. "Isn't that a bit abusive?"

"But they have tea," Undertaker said, as if he was justified.

They ended up unlocking the adjoining door and sitting down for tea at a booth in the bakery. The gray-haired man began first, his tone light but less airy than it was around others. "I do enjoy working for you, Vincent."

"I am glad to hear that," came the reply, spoken softly into a cup of Earl Grey. He waited for the "however" clause that he was sure would be next.

"That is why I intend to continue a working relationship with you, Vincent."

Had he been less tactful, Vincent would have been unable to contain his tea. As it were, however, he avoided spluttering and forced himself to swallow the scalding beverage before he coughed a few times, delicately, much to the other's amusement. "You do?"

"Yes. Your assumptions are what caused you so much anxiety, am I right?"

That wasn't completely true, thought Vincent, as he reflected upon the odd behaviour of his companion the day before. The mere memory of such contact evoked the same strange sensations coursing through his body, and he put down his tea with a shaky sigh. What did this all mean?

Undertaker continued in a low voice, conveying all his serious intentions. "The reason I will no longer accept pay from you is purely emotional."

"What does that mean?" Vincent was even more confused. Emotion never factored into business transactions. If the man had information and advice that he could sell to the earl, despite the amiable companionship they had developed, he should sell it, and that was that in the world of business. It was especially so in the dangerous underworld in which Vincent secretly worked, in partnership with the cold cook.

Long, silken grey hair was suddenly in his lap, and he could feel a pair of piercing eyes staring intently into his own from behind a thick curtain of bangs. Though he would never admit it, he wished to see those eyes clearly…

Before the young Phantomhive's heart could go into overdrive in reaction to such a sudden movement, he noticed, quite calmly, that the man had flawless skin and soft hands. But all too soon, his pulse quickened and sent him into panic mode. What were they doing?

"I know what I want, and I know what you want. You want information, but money is not what I want."

Still only inches from the undertaker's face, he leaned even further toward the man as he snapped, "Will you quit being so mysterious? I still don't know what this all means, and I'm not feeling well, and will you get off me?"

"Oh, but it seems your body does not want me to do such a thing."

It was true, Vincent realized with a growing sense of dread. His face was heating up far too quickly, and with such fair skin, Vincent knew his agitation was not well hidden. "I don't know what you want, but I was much more comfortable before you started confusing me. I'd appreciate it if you kept your physical distance from me as well."

"Oh, but Vincent, you'll find this to be quite comfortable before too long."

"What are you sayi-"

He was finally cut off when his lips were sealed with another pair. Looking back, Vincent was not sure if he had really been surprised; it may have simply been that he could not believe what he thought he was getting into until it was confirmed by a kiss. The feelings that simple exchange brought forth were so intense, so unexpected, but so right.

Faint light from a street lantern was all that illuminated the small dining area of the bakery when they had decided to extinguish the lights inside. A small glass window on the far side of the parlour might have exposed them to prying eyes, but they neither worried nor cared about that. Those who may have heard their cries would not have thought much of it; in a poverty-stricken part of the city, one of the few joys to be found could seldom be contained by such thin walls.

Each touch, each ghost of lips on pale skin, of tongue on flawless porcelain skin, drove Vincent further toward his own personal madness. It was glory and heaven, and thinking about it beyond how damn good it felt in the heat, the friction, the weary but frenzied movements would have driven him crazy.

For all his perfection in the public eye, Vincent Phantomhive had discovered his inner darkness, and was not sure if he could control it. He loved his wife and child, and his devotion to the queen was just as certain; but he possessed a near insatiable lust that he was only beginning to discover. The one who helped him control it would stay by his side until the very end.

*shot*

Please review~! I'll love you forever and ever! And don't forget about AoiBlu-Kun and her wonderful story as well! (Hers is much sexier...)