Chapter One
A/N: Kuroshitsuji belongs to Yana Tsuboso, not me! Contains many, many pairings, such as Claudexsebastian, ClaudexAlois, AloisxCiel. And others if I get round to it. Rated for chapter 2 onwards. Happy reading!
"…Claude… can… you…ha… believe it? That Phantomhive… ha…butler… beat you! Can you believe it? The great Claude Faustus taken down by a dog! Ahaha!"
The boy rolled around on the bed, screeching with hysterical laughter. The demon twitched a little, otherwise remaining emotionless, stood by the door obediently as his master mocked him. He did not reply to the insult, only thinking of his revenge once he could finally take the boy.
"Claude. I asked you a question."
His voice became deadly. The smile faded from his face, the flushed, youthful features suddenly becoming as bare as the depths of winter. Alois Trancy slid off the bed, and prowled over to his servant, leaning over until his lips brushed the demon's ear.
"You failed me Claude." "I'm s-"
"You worthless piece of shit!"
The demon didn't flinch as the boy's hand stung across his face, the sensation rung in his ears, although he remained emotionless. Emotion was weakness, and not one that he would ever display. Unlike the Phantomhive butler.
"I sold my soul to you, and this is how you repay me?
Another slap.
"You are my servant Claude. Mine."
And another.
"You will do as I say. I ordered you to get the Phantomhive boy. And you failed me."
Now. As expected, the sudden change of humour. Threat turned to seduction, slap to caress. The boy pressed close, one slender finger tracing the curve of the butler's chest. Leaning into the hell-fire. Embracing the heat of the other's body. Tender, shell-pink lips brushed his ear once more.
"But you will help me get him. Won't you Claude? I want him. And only you can get him. I trust you, Claude. Only you can take down that dog. You'll help me, won't you?"
The flames raged within the devil. Coursing through every drop of his blood. Through his heart, through his brain. Through every soul and every muscle. The feeling of tender young flesh against his own. The desire to rip, to tear, to use and abuse the boy until he was burnt to cinders by the hell-fire.
To possess that skin. To feel that soul. To take the heart and the body. It was not bloodlust that ran through his veins this time.
"Yes, your highness."
The taste of his master's lips scalded like hot coals, lust and fervour blinding as smoke. Nothing else mattered. Just this moment. No kindness, no tenderness. Just raw, animalistic lust. If he could not consume his master's soul, he would at least devour this. How naively the young lord pushed him onto the bed, embracing his own feelings. He felt no love for the boy. Yet, like a fool, the teen had fallen for him.
"I knew you'd help me Claude."
The young lord crouched over him, a singular strand of golden hair flopping over those intense eyes. Such passion in those eyes. Such destruction. Such hate. Such love. Such vulnerability. It was delicious. He would enjoy devouring this one.