Here it is: the sequel to Seeing Black, The Bloody Mary Murder Files.
I do not own, nor claim to own Black Butler.
I would like to give a quick shout-out to my wonderful readers.
This sequel is dedicated to promocat, who has been with me since the beginning and stayed with me till the very end.
Thanks also to Paxloria, SeafoamMist, Lieutenant of the BVB Army and all the others who left me reviews and with praise, tips, and motivational messages.
Without further ado...
The Bloody Mary Murder Files: Chapter 1
Bored out of his mind, the Earl Phantomhive lazily picked up a sleek, black remote, flipping through hundreds of channels absentmindedly, before stopping on the local news station, which he tuned out of quickly.
As luck would have it, the demon boy's lover/butler/secretary/whatever-the-heck-he-was-now had left not an hour later to go run errands in the city.
Being the C.E.O. of Phuntom Toys didn't really require too much effort (though inventing more excuses for his never-aging appearance and occasionally coming up a new alias provided some entertainment), and, because Sebastian spent so much of his time managing various subdivisions of the company, Ciel often found himself slouching in a lavish, leather armchair in front of the seventy-two inch, plasma screen television in the , watching badly-acted soap operas and dull, predictable, action series, loaded with pointless violence and little logic.
Ciel decided that he would—deliberately—hire an additional ten people to take over some of the older demon's work…because, quite frankly, the Phantomhive Earl—and this was something he would never willingly or openly admit—enjoyed that man's company far more than he thought he ought to; as the years passed, Ciel became progressively more addicted to the little time they spent together, particularly the night hours.
But that caused Ciel (even after two hundred years) to blush profusely, so he hastily pushed it to the back of his mind, bringing forth the current business of remodeling the Phantomhive manor.
This included adding several hundred—extremely expensive, mind you—custom hybrid, rose bushes to the grounds, wallpapering and painting every room, refinishing the furniture, restoring the many paintings, and updating all the technology…all which Sebastian—or Ciel himself, really—was capable of taking care of, single-handedly… but that was entirely unnecessary considering the ridiculously extravagant fortune that had accumulated over two centuries.
The news that night consisted of various clips from the London Olympics, all of which Ciel smirked at, smugly, his perfect lips twisting up at one corner.
No matter how impressive the athletes might have appeared to a human, Ciel, even being a younger and weaker demon, was fully capable of performing any of the activities with several times the speed, skill, and strength. Gymnastics was the only sport that the Earl Phantomhive held a shred of respect for, due to the lithe, flexible bodies of both the males and females.
Even from across the estate, Ciel noted the low scrape of the front door against the door frame; Sebastian was home.
With his augmented hearing, the demon boy could pick out the individual steps his butler took, calculating the man's current distance from him. This had become a game of Ciel's—measuring distance using sound alone. The earl had become quite good at it too.
One hundred and seventy-seven meters, nine and six thirteenths centimeters, Ciel figured, staring blankly at the television screen in front of him. With one hand, the earl flicked the power switch to the device, retrieving his glass of pinot noir with the other.
Twenty-one meters, two and sixteen thirty-oneths centimeters.
"Bocchan." At the end of a long, unproductive day, the sultry voice of Sebastian Michaelis welcomed Ciel to Hell, casting open a pair of gnarled, wrought-iron gates to reveal the brimming, treacherous sea of sensual flames.
"Sebastian."
"Every time I come home, I find you in front of the television," the older demon rolled his eyes, stealing away the remote with a skillful hand.
"There's nothing else to do, and I'm bored," the Phantomhive complained.
"You could get a hobby."
"Such as what?"
The older demon chuckled, amusement playing across his features. "All that time in front of a screen, and you don't even bother to watch the news, Bocchan? Shame, shame…"
"What are you talking about," the younger sneered, causing his butler to raise one perfect eyebrow.
"Oh? I thought that London's high crime rate would certainly satisfy my master's need for excitement. My lord is the Queen's watchdog, after all—"
"Was," the boy corrected bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest. "And there's nothing exciting about investigations anymore," Ciel sighed heavily, combing through his blue-black hair with one soft, petite hand. "With the government and judicial system and technology… It's not worth my time."
Finishing off the bitter alcohol, the Earl replaced his glass on a conveniently placed, ornately carved, side table, turning back to the grinning butler.
"And there is a deficiency of…interesting cases," the Phantomhive added, growing gradually more suspicious at the predatory glint in his (and by no means did Ciel mean anything romantic by this possessive; that would be absurd!) Butler's crimson, cat-like eyes.
Still sporting a wide smirk, his Butler followed up with, in a teasing manner: "Of all the deadly sins, Bocchan, couldn't you have picked one more befitting than sloth?"
"Do you mean to say you'd rather I was a glutton?" The smaller huffed, irritably,
Sebastian continued on his merry way with: "Gluttony is said to be more deadly than sloth, My Lord."
Audibly and visibly exasperated, the Earl Phantomhive sank back into his chair, frowning at the older. "I've had enough of this petty match."
"How regretful that My Lord does not even keep up with world news—"
"Just get on with the bloody point, Sebastian!"
"Such profanity—"
"God damn it, Sebastian! Tell me what you bloody wanted to say!" The boy growled and then, in a lower tone added: "Two hundred years has rotted your etiquette as well."
Wearing an absolutely feral (and quite libidinous) expression, the raven-haired man raised one hand to his smirking lips and freed it of a flawlessly white glove, repeating the action with the opposite so that two sets of coal lacquered nails met the boy's gaze.
"Mmm, I don't think I should. It's nice to know the Earl has not become completely apathetic," the older demon justified, discarding his gloves beside Ciel's empty wineglass on the side table.
"Sebastian, that's an or-mph—" Whatever train of thought the Phantomhive had considered boarding, it was now racing down the tracks in the opposite direction, leaving Ciel behind to melt into the pair of sinfully-versed, lust-laced lips that pressed to his and rendered the piqued Earl nearly incoherent every time.
Damn that man.
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~Sophia.