Hello lovely readers.
I hope you all enjoyed the fluff. I couldn't help myself, I really couldn't. I hope it wasn't to unbelievable. I would also like to give a shout out to those of you who recognized the Sherlock reference.
As always, I don't own Black Butler, my readers and those of you who review are my muse.
Ta,
Majix
The room was dark at night, not unpleasantly so, but enough that the blonde captive took particular notice of it. There really wasn't much to complain about, aside from the constant nature of his confinement. The room he'd awoken in was furnished with top quality decor. Jim found it fair to say that what'd happened could only be brought about by a powerful man that could afford such things, however, the blonde found himself surprised at how he was being treated.
Every single day, a butler came and went without a word, dropping off meals, collecting plates, tidying up, extinguishing the lights, but no matter how much Jim talked to the man, he never got any sort of response. It was aggravating, but it also pleased the broken teen in an odd sort of way. He wasn't sure what he would say, if anything, had the man responded to him.
From what the boy could tell, it'd been three days since he'd been taken from his former life, three days since the murder of the beloved brother that he'd, in the end, failed to protect. He'd spent much of that time crying, too lost within his own misery to even recall the passage of time.
One final look of terror induced panic. That was what Jim found himself left with; his last memory of a brother he'd cherished with all his heart. As the blonde looked around the room, he found himself wishing that he'd died also, that he hadn't been chosen for whatever this was.
A brief glance towards the window told the teen that the butler would bring him dinner soon. The last rays of daylight had long since been taken over by the darkness and he hadn't received a meal yet. However, there was little else to do other than wait.
He'd done all he could to keep his mind at bay. The blonde puddered, cleaning things needlessly, remaking the impeccable bed, wiping down the walls with a damp cloth. The tedious tasks kept the blood from consuming his thoughts, but as night fell, there wasn't anything more to do. The lights were dimmed, aided only by the moon's faint glow, and it left him very little room to see and continue his meaningless work.
Within his subconscious, the blonde teen dreamed of blood and smoke and the cold look of indifference from the man atop the single black horse, but as he sat wrapped in the smothering arms of growing darkness, all he saw was blank slate. Jim's thoughts were a mess of agonized chaos that he didn't care to sort. He merely sat amongst the sheets, staring at the far wall, waiting for whatever was to come.
However, when the butler finally made his appearance, a coil of fear tightened painfully within the younger male's heart. The man in black did not carry the usual tray of food. The elder's face was, as usual, devoid of emotion or caring. Hhowever, his indifference wasn't anywhere near the icy mask that'd been worn by the man who murdered his brother in cold blood. It showed the face of a man who did as he was told without feeling or constructive will. A servant in all ways, including thought.
"You are being summoned to the Master's chambers."
The deep and professional tone of the servant took the teen by surprise. So much so that he remained frozen in place, staring at the older man with a look of shock before the butler finally sighed and strode forward, grabbing the blonde by the top of his arm. The grip wasn't particularly painful however the lingering bruises made it so, but his grasp proved to be unyielding as the man guided him through the manor with practiced ease.
Just as his room, the building was filled with the most expensive decor available. Rugs of the darkest red sat within the middle of each hall, leading the way through. Heavy frames hung upon every wall, some filled with the ancestors of the Master's family, while others housed the masterpieces of other cultures that Jim couldn't even dream of recognizing. A variety of vases sat alongside well placed tables and conveniently located plants.
It was all incredibly tasteful and even someone as clueless about art as the blonde teen in front could see their immeasurable value.
They walked past countless doors and hallways before the man in black directed him towards the one at the far end of the western hallway. It looked just like all the others, but as the teen was pushed inside, he saw that it housed a giant claw footed bathtub. It was easily half as tall as the blonde, and as twin blue orbs took in its sheer size, a swarm of maids entered the room. With terrifying efficiency, they were turning on the water, adding impossible mixtures of scented oils while pulling him rather roughly from his clothes.
Jim tried to protest and to get away from them, but they weren't having any of that. Within moments his clothes were whisked away, and the broken teen was left standing naked in the while tiled bathroom, trembling as the two remaining servants eyed his body with disdain, taking in the darkened and ugly bruises that'd blossomed across his pale flesh.
Immediately, the vulnerable male was scooped up and plopped into the scalding water. A startled yelp pulled from his throat at the action, but one of the maids just hissed in response before grabbing a brush and digging it into his flesh as she scrubbed him with soap. The bristles dug uncomfortably into his skin, making it turn even redder as the elder woman continued cleaning him without speaking. Dirty toes sat in defiant contrast against the flawless ceramic tub, but before long, those too were clean, and the once clear and steaming water was murky with dirt and becoming rather chilled.
However the worst part came when Jim was forced from the water. Relentless fingers dug into his scalp as soap was poured through his hair. These were not the gentle and adoring touches from his childhood as his mother stripped the dried mud from his hair, these were the fingers of a stranger. Locks of his hair were pulled sharply, soap got in his eyes, and after every strand was slick with soap, the teen was forced to bend over the tub as a bucket of chilled water was poured over his head.
The combination of the soap and the cold liquid made the fresh scratches along his scalp burn but the blonde boy said nothing, choosing instead to remain as still as a statue as the maids ascended on him like a swarm of locusts once again.
Hairs were roughly plucked from Jim's body, brushes dragged through his damp locks, and his mouth was forced open while they scrubbed his teeth with a disgusting powder mix. However, the biggest shock came when the maids slathered a dark mineral oil over his flesh. It sat thickly on the male's torso, some of it managing to sink into the blonde's softening skin before being wiped away.
His body glistened but as the seconds ticked on, Jim could feel his conscious begin to haze. His vision proved to be blurry around the edges and the teen soon found himself squirming under the gaze of so many. His skin felt tight, itchy and borderline uncomfortable. Where the steamy bathroom had previously been comforting and warm, it was now unbearably scalding, the heated atmosphere making the teen whimper.
He couldn't think. The entirety of Jim's thoughts became devoted to the scalding heat and the way he found himself desperate. For what, the teen didn't know, but there was an ache, a desire demanding to be met, and nobody to guide, nobody to sooth his screaming nerves. None of the servants offered the confused teen a bit of sympathy, or even a second glance. They merely looked to the clock, content to wait for whatever was coming.
After what felt like hours, the stoic butler returned. Jim had originally assumed that the elder man would be bringing his clothes, and the conviction of that assumption sat heavily on his features when the man appeared empty handed. He barely managed to spare the maids a look before the man in black grabbed his slippery skin and pushed him from the room.
The blonde opened his mouth to protest, but the elder silenced him with an icy glare and a brutal squeeze. Fear replaced the embarrassment within his heart and Jim longed to cover himself. He felt exposed, for more than just his nakedness. His bruises were laid bare for all to see, the marks of his failure. They would fade, in time, but to the blonde teen, they were eternal.
The nasty servants had tried their best to cover the dark marks with pigmented powders, but they did little to hide the unmistakable greenish black shapes of fingers.
Anxiety consumed the blonde's heart as the man knocked respectfully on the sealed wood door. Jim's conscious was foggy, desperately trying to push through the haze and keep up with the situation, but the task couldn't have been more folly if he'd tried. Each passing thought dragged itself through a thick pool of lingering confusion. One single thought at a time. The fact that his skin felt heated and the blonde wanted, more than anything, to cover himself remained at the forefront of his conscious. That he didn't know what was going on or where he was. That he was naked. That he was trembling. That he couldn't think.
The attempt at sorting the teen's thoughts promptly distracted him from the situation at hand, and the blonde barely noticed that the door was opened and he was being ushered inside. Focus returned slowly as the younger male felt the plush carpet beneath the soles of his feet.
The Master's bedroom had to be at least twice as big as his family's house. It was decorated in expensive wall tapestries, and gleaming wood furniture. Jim wiggled his toes against the carmine fibers of the carpet, the pleasant feeling momentarily dragging him in. Each brush of stimulus captured his attention, drawing him in before casting him away with a shove, forcing him to focus on something else entirely. In this case, the blonde teen took in the most dominating feature in the room, The gigantic four poster bed against the far wall.
The posts were made of the richest mahogany, darkened with age. It held steady, the faint sheen of polish glossing the surface, sitting heavily on a stark white rug, the edges just barely peaking out from beneath the lengthy hanging blanket. Fluffy white pillows sat upon black satin sheets, all wrapped with what appeared to be a velvet lined maroon comforter. The bursts of red controlled the room, but not like the bed. It drew the eye in, captured your attention with the sharp contrast that somehow worked in the best way.
Jim was no exception.
His attention was indeed captured, and within the confines of the teen's clouded mind, he couldn't drag his thoughts from it.
It wasn't until a foreign pair of fingers wrapped around his wrist that the blonde pulled his train of thought away from the massive bed.
The butler had disappeared, the door closed, and Jim stood naked and alone before the man of the house. The elder male stood tall beside the teen. Age lined his face, not necessarily in an unattractive way, but there was no denying that he'd witnessed the inevitable passage of time. Silver strands fell against the sides of his face and down the other man's back, ending just below the male's shoulder blades.
He wore a bathrobe, the plush material another deep shade of red, and as their eyes met, Jim felt his stomach twist in discomfort. His eyes were dark, settled only on the blonde's face. They held a promise, an assurance of something that made the teen's skin want to crawl.
"Alois."
His voice was smooth, aged like fine wine, but it held secrets. The Earl's tone was laced with well disguised venom and it left Jim feeling rather small. He suddenly felt very much like the prey, captured within the gaze of a well hidden predator.
"Your name."
A sudden bolt of relief slammed itself home within the teen's throat. This was all a mistake, they grabbed the wrong boy.
"My name isn't Alois."
Those four tiny words made the man's face darken, and the blonde felt his heart sink in terror as the smooth sophistication melted away in an instant. The elder's features turned cold, the sheen in his eyes going flat, and before Jim had a chance to react or prepare, an unyielding fist swung at his face, strong fingers connecting with the fragile bones of the teen's cheek.
A cry of both surprise and pain sat heavily on his lips, a rush of heat quickly collecting below his skin, the white of his cheek blooming with color. The younger man's eyes watered before full blown tears began streaming down his cheeks as those same fingers twined and gripped the strands of his blonde hair in a death grip.
"And just what is your name, son?"
Terrified blue eyes rose to meet the dark brown ones of his tormentor, the teen's body trembling as his lips parted, "Jim, my name is Jim."
The blonde immediately knew that he'd said the wrong thing as the fingers within his hair tightened, pain spreading across his scalp before the man swung at him again, landing another solid punch into the soft of the teen's face.
"Wrong again, boy. I'll ask again. What. Is. Your. Name."
He didn't know what to do. Was he supposed to lie? And if he admitted to being somebody he wasn't, would the brutality stop? There was no way to be sure.
Even with a clear mind, the blonde wouldn't have been sure, so it didn't come as a surprise to him when he began to sob, the motions making his face and teeth ache, "I swear! My name isn't Alois. It's Jim Macken! I swear, I SWEAR!"
Once calm features twisted with rage, and the teen once again knew that he'd made the wrong choice. His gamble hadn't paid off, and there was no way to stop the onslaught of violence that became focused on him. This time, the man didn't just settle for his face. Merciless fists rained down on the soft parts of his body, the swollen round of his cheek, the exposed curve of his spine, and the tender stretch of his ribs.
Over and over, the Earl hit him, making the boy scream in fear and pain before finally it stopped. Jim curled in on himself, desperately trying to protect his aching form from the next attack. His body trembled and shook with the power of his sobs, but the cruel male gave him no time to recover.
A broken cry pulled from the blonde as he was once again hauled up by his hair, his back bowing uncomfortably as the Earl leaned down, his hot breath less than an inch from the boy's ear, "I'll give you one last chance to tell me your name, boy."
Tears streamed down Jim's face, His vision blurred with them as he stared ahead, his foggy mind threatening to collapse on itself. It was to much, the death of his brother, the nature of his kidnapping, the murder of his entire village, his current situation. The pain, the humiliation, the confusion. His body slowly began to shut itself down from not only the sheer amount of pain radiating through it but the barely restrained stress of everything that'd happened, however, a swift tug at his hair brought the teen back to the present.
"Answer me."
Split lips parted and the blonde sucked in a shaky breath, the action making his ribs cry out in protest before he attempted to speak, the crack in his voice leading the statement.
"Alois. My name is Alois."
Chrysanthe sat calmly in the center of the butler's chest, content to wash her adorably rounded face as the demon ran his ungloved fingers down her back. The cat had quickly adjusted to the house. It took her just over five hours to completely scour the property, peeking her fuzzy black head into every open room, nosing every nook and cranny that she could find. She'd wandered aimlessly through the halls, sniffing at the rugs, clawing at the wallpaper, exploring the expansive garden, but not once did she try to leave the estate.
After Ciel's return, and the dropped bomb that was his gift, the butler had returned to his duties. Throughout the day, though, he'd found himself distracted, his mindset boarderlining bewilderment. Of all the things he'd expected Ciel to say when he'd returned, his gift and the confession that accompanied it were far from his first choice in assumption. It had thrown him so far off kilter, that he'd almost forgotten entirely about the Master's after dinner dessert.
But really, it wasn't the demon's fault. In between the feline's inspection of the house, she'd taken to following Sebastian, content to merely poke her head in, wait for him to see and acknowledge her, and then she was gone.
After all was said and done, and the Earl was tucked in to bed, Sebastian had wandered the house looking for the creature, only to find her sitting in front of his quarters. The moment he'd made himself known within the hallway, her mismatched eyes had been on him, and the cat offered the butler a friendly meow before pawing at the door.
So here they were, Sebastian laying on his back, while the small feline dominated his chest, content to sit and bathe herself while the ravenette petted her body. It was oddly domestic, and Sebastian found himself frowning as he stroked her sleekening coat.
The animal was absolutely lovely, just the right size for her age. Her coat was soft and shiny, and it was obvious to anybody that knew anything at all about cats that she took very good care of herself. Chrysanthe was a vain cat. But Sebastian himself held a special spot within his darkened heart for vanity, so it wasn't odd at all to think that he enjoyed that about her.
She matched him, and despite the demon's initial anger at the blue haired Earl, he was already quite smitten with the tiny creature. She was beautiful, stark white whiskers, midnight fur the very definition of ebony, and those eyes. They saw through everything with a brilliant spark of intelligence that left the demon feeling rather prideful, especially in light of knowing that she'd taken an immediate liking to him.
But on this quiet night, in the darkened estate of Phantomhive manor, Sebastian immersed himself within his thoughts. The ancient considered his human life, something he hadn't thought about for centuries. He thought of his transformation into a demon at the hands of Mephistopheles and as time went on, Sebastian began to think of his own decent into the world of the supernatural. He thought of his new body, his new title, the one he would bare for as long as he still roamed. Hell or above, he was never to be that Roman scholar ever again, just as Ciel was destined to leave his innocence behind.
There was something detrimental about learning of the existence of true evil. Sebastian didn't consider himself to be truly evil. Brimming with the seven sins as all others of kind? Absolutely. He was changeling, a demon who had begun their life in the mortal realm. His heart housed the ability for compassion, regardless of his choice to exercise that ability or not. He was not, however, one of the thirteen.
The original thirteen fallen angels lacked all forms of empathy or positive energy. They had neither need for company or human souls. They were the Dark King's Court, and they rarely left the nineth circle. Though Sebastian considered himself quite sadistic, he would never be one of them, despite his effortless ability to climb the ranks within the Underworld. Sebastian held power and sway, many demons knew his name, respected him, approached him for favors, but the power the thirteen held came at a price, a price he would've never been able or willing to pay.
All these thoughts came back to Ciel, Ciel who was surprising him more and more with each day that passed, Ciel who delved deeper than any human or demon had before, Ciel who gifted him with a pet, a creature of his adoration. Ciel, who would eventually fall limp and lifeless before him as the demon forgot his assumed name and consumed the teen's very essence, the core of who he was and what he'd been.
As Sebastian thought of these things, the small feline began to pur against his body. Her head rested on thin paws, mismatched eyes meeting the maroon irises of a being that walked among humans but remained separate from them. He saw Ciel in her calm face, and a frown crossed the ancient's face as he reached a hand down and ran one of his fingers over her cheek.
The fact was, he would miss Ciel when he was gone. The demon would miss their adventures and the work they accomplished as a team. He would miss London and the kitchens of Phantomhive manor, but above all, he would miss the blue haired teen that he'd saved.
Once upon a time, the younger man had been a scared child, covered in soot and blood, crying out in agony, begging for anything to save him. In those last moments, the blue haired boy that'd seen the darkest corners of the human race had not thought to beg the Almighty for his life. He'd discarded his faith, sworn off the promise of Heaven and that of the Father. In that moment, Sebastian had heard the cry of an innocent turned black with hatred, and he saved him.
For a price.
And as time passed, the collection came closer and closer. Sebastian could see it as clear as day, the path of progression that would lead Ciel to the truth, and inevitability, to his death, but in these moments alone, when Sebastian thought of the value behind human life and the price that must be paid in the end, the demon couldn't help but to think that, in the case of Ciel Phantomhive, the price was to high.
For all that he'd suffered, the teen still had one more bill to pay, one last thing to take care of before he was finished, and in the darkness of his room, with only the unjudging eyes of his companion on him, Sebastian laid silent in thought, wishing that things could be different.