Childish Games
It is a cold evening when Alois, surrounded by dozens of boys in agony (finding freedom through death) is beckoned from the filthy cell. Drawn away, he is washed with lavender soaps; his white skin is draped with rich, imported silk; his flaxen locks, brushed until their texture matches that of the robe; his lips, soft and pink, bear a gloss to make them look fuller. He is informed that he shall be entertaining his father (that wretched piece of shit) for the evening and he knows what this means for him.
(Do you hate him for what he has done to me?)
But Alois Trancy likes to pretend.
-x-
Coverlets to soft grass, the heat of that crushing body into comforting sunshine, defilement into love. While his body remains in the present, aching and screaming with each thrust (it hurts, it hurts, it hurts), his mind tricks and taunts him, painting an illusion before his eyes until it surrounds him completely. A head of chestnut tresses and a smile of pure innocence throws his body into Alois's, tackling him to the ground. The small boy's laugher is soft and tittering, like that of a bird, and the light breeze sends strands of hair across his face, tickling his cheeks. Alois turns about into the boy's embrace and returns it, basking in the warmth of the simple, affectionate gesture, squeezing the younger boy close.
When their giggles subside and their bodies relax, they lie side by side and create dreams from white wisps of clouds. In time, the sun dips below the skyline and blackness surrounds them, overwhelming and suffocating. But Alois reaches down, his fingers curling with the smaller ones of the boy (my brother) beside him and his world is bright and full and beautiful once more… (Yes, your higness.)
His mind's façade eventually falls, pushing him back into reality (into hell), and Alois feels numb. Not his body, oh no; the yellow and purple bruises that slowly blossom across his flesh throb with each move he makes, and the light trail of blood trickling down the back of his thigh is proof enough of what he has just endured for the first time (and many more to come). It is his mind and heart that feel numb, empty, dead. The only thought that registers is just how dirty, dirty, dirty he is.
(Just a dirty brat.)
His expression remains blank when the greedy old man's eyes loom above him once more, drinking in his unclad (sullied) body impatiently. Alois doesn't realize the moment his mind falls from reality once more until he feels his brother's soft hand joined with his.
(Never leave my side.)
-x-
When night falls and he is surrounded by blankets of pink and white (no longer scarlet and gold), Alois finds difficulty in falling asleep. Despite the candelabra that his ever loyal butler has left lit for him, he finds the room too dim (that impenetrable darkness); shadows dance and leer at him, caressing his skin and leaving burns in their wake. He clamps his eyelids shut and exhales slowly, pleading his mind to take him elsewhere.
But as of the late, elsewhere and here tend to always bring him back to the same place… the same person.
(Demon.)
Alois is not stupid; he is aware that this dangerous and foolish mindset will bring him nothing other than misery, for what else can result in such sinful feelings? But he allows his delusion to envelope him and cradle his open and cracked heart (ready to let someone in, ready to be healed), as he does so often lately.
Make-believe is his favorite game, after all.
-x-
The heat of two bodies meshing together; lips pressed to skin, hands guiding but not forceful. He arches and sighs against his neck, allowing his tainted flesh to be reclaimed once more, poisoning it with not the touch of a perverted man (may you rot in hell), but with the touch of the devil. His body rises and falls with his butler's and soon, they come crashing down together, chests heaving and bodies exhausted. But Alois does not hurt this time. He feels wanted and yearned for and cherished, warmth blossoming from his chest and extending to the tips of his fingers and toes.
(You are the only one I have, Claude. You are my highness...)
The devil raises his head and smiles down at him, an image so rare, he is not sure he has ever witnessed it before. But devil's face is transforming. His golden eyes have begun shift, turning a brilliant shade of red and they stare down at him like a wolf that has just cornered a wounded animal. Lips curl and part to reveal sharp incisors amongst the rest of his impeccable white teeth, too sharp to be human. He snarls, a sudden and primative (evil) sound that causes the boy to tremble and his eyes to widen. And then, before Alois can utter a single thought, his (my highness's) mouth is on the boy's neck, his razor-like teeth ripping through the delicate skin, tearing and sawing at the flesh. Hot scarlet pours from the boy's throat and mouth, and he feels wet, thick tears begin to pool over his eyelids as he screams and screams and screams…
-x-
Alois's eyes snap open and his illusion shatters. His breath is heavy and sweat clings to his back and neck, making his clothes stick. His eyelids flutter and he feels his eyes are moist (too wet to have not been crying). Releasing a shaky breath, he turns over so he is facing the ceiling and clenches his teeth, his hands curling and twisting the blankets about him in frustration and shame.
Pretending is for fools.
A/N: So, my first Kuroshitsuji fanfic. Ever since episode eight of season two, I have been dying to write some angst for Alois (I hope I did him justice.). Sorry if this was difficult to follow/read – this is my first fanfic in almost a year. :,D I think I might have whomped up the tenses somewhere along the line. Comments are encouraged/welcomed.