WARNING: there is an implied physical relationship between two men in this fic, Vincent Phantomhive and Deiderich. The Deiderich I write about is the one in the manga.
Author's note: this was first published for the VincentxDeiderich fanclub at blackbutler(dot)net. It alludes to some dark history of Vincent's that I pretty much just blatantly made up for the purposes of this fiction and any others I write in the future. The post that explains this background is #224 on the fanclub forum.
Many thanks to Kalina for her constant encouragement to write for this pairing I love so much.
-CaladriaHaru
"True Feelings"
Deiderich finished buttoning his coat, took a deep breath, and surveyed the billiard room. It was in less of a state than it had been at other times; corner tables were not overturned, lamps were not smashed, every billiard ball was still in its place either on the table or in the pockets, and most importantly, no blood had been spilled. He still had the coil of twine in his right hand, however. Idly Deiderich pocketed it, a little souvenir of the night, and ran his fingers through his damp walnut-colored hair.
He looked down.
Vincent Phantomhive was half asleep on the divan. As he was now- his robe open, draped just enough to cover his delicates, sprawled with one leg trailing to the floor, one hand pillowing his face-the man most feared man in the British underground looked as harmless as a kitten. Vincent Phantomhive was always ready, always composed, and this state of almost innocent disarray was a measure of the trust he placed in the hands of the only other two occupants of the house still awake. The image was a like an unspoken contract of a relationship that affirmed "you know my soul; why hide anything else from you now?"
Deiderich bent down and pressed his lips to a pale shoulder that moved reluctantly at the touch.
Vincent's grey eyes opened, already trained on the face as if he had been able to watch his lover's assessment through closed lids.
"You managed to get free," Vincent noted drowsily.
Deiderich pulled away and smirked. "You and your damn knots," he replied gruffly, fingering the twine in his pocket, "honestly, it's getting to be quite troublesome when you finish and leave me for your catnaps."
Vincent yawned and sat up slowly, "better keep up the practice of freeing yourself from them, Deiderich. One never knows when one will be held captive by some disreputable villain."
"As opposed to a reputable villain?" he responded.
The two shared a last look, Vincent amused at the rough but bantering edge to the German's tone, and then he lay back down on the divan.
There was no goodbye. There was no lingering gaze. This was how it was until it would be no longer.
Deiderich noticed the time on the billiard clock and stepped to the door. He opened it and had to draw in a startled breath in spite of himself.
"Your hat, sir."
Tanaka, the butler of the Earl of Phantomhive was like a ghost. He seemed to be everywhere and know everything. Despite the years that Deiderich had been acquainted with the household, even before Vincent had met his wife, the uniform-clad visitor could not help feeling unsettled when he was addressed by this man.
Deiderich took his hat, placed it on his head smartly, as if the gesture could restore a modicum of dignity, and then left without a word. It had been many years since the agreement had been forged without formal admission: Tanaka would tend to his master and not fulfill his usual duty of seeing a guest to the door. It was better for everyone all around.
When the midnight guest had travelled down the stairs, Tanaka pushed the door open and entered. His quick eyes did an inspection of the room, tallying the damage and mentally creating a list of what would need attended before bed as he crossed the room and turned to face the divan.
Coughing lightly into his hand to break the silence gently, he spoke, "I have drawn a bath for you, my lord. Do you require assistance?"
Vincent's eyes cracked. He took a deep breath, sighed, and sluggishly pulled himself to a seated position.
"I'm a terrible master, Tanaka," he began, a sincere note of apology in his voice. "I keep an old man up at all hours, adding to his daily burden, putting myself in such a shameful state."
A smile quirked the edges of the butler's mouth. "Old men need less sleep than young earls, if you do not mind my saying so, my lord. It is only natural that a Phantomhive butler do all that his master requires in a day…or night."
Vincent waved his hand in the air, signaling how often he had heard this speech before.
"Yes, yes, all very true…except for the part about sleep." Vincent met his butler's gaze. This man had been his father's butler. There were no secrets; there was no ceremony when they were alone like this. In many ways, Vincent was a reflection of his childhood self in those fading eyes-a childhood that had gone from beautiful to terrible.
"But you will sleep well tonight, my lord," Tanaka replied softly, his eyes tracing the path Deiderich had tread.
Vincent closed his eyes and a shudder left him, one hand trailing invariably to the last kiss on his shoulder.
"Tell me, Tanaka. Promise me that you will tell me one thing, your true thoughts…"
"Yes, my lord?"
Vincent's eyes opened and stared across the gap of space to his silent and dutiful companion of 25 years. "Do you believe I should have broken it off with him when I married?"
"Pardon me, sir, but that is hardly a fair question," Tanaka responded levelly. "What the master does in his own home is his business and his alone."
The tired earl shook his head and stood up unsteadily. Tanaka, with reflexes belying his edge, easily reached over and braced his master with an arm.
"That doesn't answer the question. I believe I drew a promise for your true thoughts."
There was stillness in the room broken only by the gentle ticking of the billiard clock, steadily beating the stretch of the pregnant pause.
"My true thoughts."
"Yes, truthfully now," Vincent pressed, his languor of the moment before transformed into something that crept and waited.
It was Tanaka's turn to sigh. "Then, my lord, since you have asked it, I am truthfully thankful for the for your former schoolmate's presence in this mansion at all hours."
Vincent's body relaxed visibly, as if the weight of the words unspoken had been bearing him down for years.
"Is that so?"
"It is so, my lord."
"Amazing," Vincent replied whimsically now that he felt quite light.
"You sleep when he leaves. You allow the pain a chance to breathe," Vincent's eyes darkened, "you exercise that caged beast within to exhaustion so that it only goes after worthy prey. You are, to each other only, simply what you are. He knows and accepts." Tanaka was not unlike that of a grandfather now, the one Vincent never knew, and his voice was full of gentleness and affection.
"You are saying that Deiderich keeps me stable by making me crazy, is that it?" he said quietly, not without the hint of a genuine affectionate smile.
"Something like that, my lord. Something like that, indeed."
Vincent nodded. It rang true. There were many issues that could not be given reign with the mask he wore for the world. He was unsure what possessed him to ask the question; he knew from Tanaka's comportment and disposition that his secret midnight rendezvous would be kept as secret as every other Phantomhive mystery. Still, somehow knowing…
Vincent stumbled as he turned for the door and his bath.
"It looks like I will need that arm of yours, old man," he berated himself for the ache in his lower back which a nice hot bathe would relieve.
"My arm, my leg, or my life if needs be, my lord," Tanaka replied with a smile, taking Vincent's arm around his shoulder and leading him from the room
FIN