Chapter Text
As the carriage draws through the wrought iron gates of the manor, I cradle Ciel close.
He lays his ear over my chest, lulled by the drum of my false heart.
At last, there are no walls between us. I am free to touch, free to hold him- to revel in his softness, delicate bones and sweet scent.
"Sebastian?"
"My Lord?"
His fingers curl tightly into my tailcoat, and he buries his face in further, as though he wishes he could melt into me. "You're mine, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Then promise that you will never let me go."
His words make something inside me twist. Crack. Break.
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I prance up to my Master, and drop a plump cottontail at his feet, unprompted.
"Well, it looks like we will be having rabbit for lunch!" Vincent smiles, reclining in his patio chair. "Good boy!"
"Already trained him to hunt and fetch, did you?" The Undertaker carefully regards me with an air of suspicion, tapping a long black nail on his chin. "Quite the quick learner, he is."
It would seem that I have fooled everyone but this man. Though from where I sit, I can see the layered irises of chartreuse green and neon yellow behind the curtain of his bangs.
Beneath the stinging aroma of preservation chemicals and heady incense clinging to his black robes, I can smell that he carries the scent of a crypt's pulverized marble and ancient earth.
Whatever Undertaker may be, it isn't human. Of that, I am certain.
"I wish I could take credit for that, but he comes from a long line of champion Borzoi, and was already well-trained when I purchased him." Vincent lies, and lies well, giving me an affectionate pat. "Unfortunately with my duties, I would have never had the time to do so myself."
But the slight curl of Undertaker's lips tell me he is not buying it. Still, he politely plays it off.
"A sight-hound was a good choice. Though headstrong, they make excellent hunters."
As they continue to chat, I trot around the patio table, covertly gathering what I can on the strange man. He radiates a staggering aura, one of devastating power that I believe would easily match my own.
This man is dangerous, and I vow then and there to never let Vincent out of my sight when the mortician is present.
My Master then utters something amusing, and Undertaker throws his head back with a hearty cackle, slapping a hand over Vincent's shoulder.
A possessive fire roars from within, and before I can stop myself, I let out a throaty growl.
"Oh, does he not like anyone touching his Master?" Undertaker asks, but does not remove his hand.
The bastard is testing me.
"My apologies, he has never growled at anyone before. Sebastian," Vincent levels me with a glare. "Behave yourself. Mr. Undertaker is a guest."
With a groaning whine, my ears flatten in submission and I lie down at my Lord's feet, resting my head on my paws.
"That's a good boy." The Undertaker's voice takes on a teasing lilt as he looks down on me, making my hackles rise.
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I lavish my Vincent's throat in sucking kisses and gentle bites. With a gasping moan, he arches under me, sliding his slickened shaft against my own. My Master's flesh is a stark ivory against the red satin sheets, like the beautiful clash of blood and bone.
"Sebastian..." The fingers of our right hands lace together, and I feel the warmth of my seal of contract glow with each reverent murmur of my name.
How exquisite he is in lust, in ecstasy. He burns with an insatiable hunger for more, his pheromones a cocktail of desire that I glut myself on. Lips so petal soft part for breath, feathery lashes dipping as his nails rake down my back. I am intoxicated by the sensation of hot, fluid muscle writhing beneath me, his hips rising and falling like the restless sea.
With the lady of the house away to be fitted for a new dress, we embrace as a tangle of limbs in the Master bedroom. Determined to smother any trace of the Undertaker's scent with my own, I wasted no time in taking him the moment we were alone.
"You are mine, Vincent." I remind him, "Mine."
His eyes fall closed with a lazy smile. "You really did not like him touching me, did you?"
Vincent knows I care not what he does with Rachel. They truly love one another, and his wife is kind to me. She occasionally brushes my coat, slips scraps of fat trimmings to me under the table, and even allows me to sleep indoors, so I am actually rather fond of her.
No, it is the fact that another man touched him, knowing damned well that Vincent belongs to me, which makes a red-hot sun of jealousy rise in my chest.
"No," I growl. "I utterly despised it."
He hooks a finger around my collar, which hangs loosely around my neck at all times and pulls me in for a kiss.
"A pretty thing like you has nothing to worry about." He promises.
"Said the man who sleeps with his dog when his wife is away." I quip.
Vincent sputters a laugh. "You're terrible."
"Of course I am." I grin against his neck. "I am a demon."
"But you are my demon." Vincent insists, sliding out from under me to sit up on his knees, fingers weaving into my hair as eyes like molten bronze pin me in place. "And no one else's."
His demon.
A lightness dances in my chest, like the flutter of butterfly wings.
How strange. It is normal for me to feel possessive. But to entertain the idea of being a possession? Of belonging to someone, but not merely for the shallow-rooted desire for the limitless power I wield, but because Vincent enjoys my companionship?
That is entirely new, and I am not sure what to make of it.
Like the dog I impersonate, I find myself... welcoming this particular Master's claim of ownership. Rather than feeling oppressive and cumbersome, for the first time, the collar around my neck is a comforting weight. The tag engraved with the Phantomhive seal no longer reminds me of a cattle's brand, but a medal to be worn with honor.
"Yes, my Lord." I smile. "Yours, and yours alone."
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As the years stretch on, I grow more and more attached to my Master.
While I am patient, it is easy to become disenchanted with my food after the first five years or so. But this is not the case with Vincent. No, he is effortlessly entertaining, and time is flying by in the blink of an eye.
I bear witness to the birth of Vincent's sons, and take it upon myself to aid in their care in whatever way I can. It will not do for Vincent to be sleep deprived, not when he must be on guard and maintain sharp senses whilst carrying out his duties to the Queen.
If there is any possibility that it will extend his life, I am more than willing to play nanny to his children.
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The little ones stir in their sleep, and my ears perk up. I am quick to shift forms and tend to them before they wake my Master and the lady.
They are six months old, now.
I reach into the cradle, and Ciel wails in a pitch that tells me his upset stems from hunger, so I go to work preparing a bottle for him. As he suckles away, I gently massage the back of his neck. This seems to relax him into a quiet lull of hungry whimpers.
Rocking him slowly, he contentedly drains his bottle and I put him back to bed, then scoop up his little brother to change his diaper.
Afterwards, I sink into Vincent's lounge chair by the fireplace, turning the youngest one around so that I may look at him. My eyes rake over his little body, and I am utterly absorbed with his eyelashes, downy and dark like little feathers and how his impossibly small, doll-like fingers wrap around the thickness of one of my own digits.
Was I ever this small? I wonder, but I cannot recall a time in which I did not tower over most.
It reinforces my fear of how fragile Vincent's little sons are; how much protection they will both need from all threats, great and small.
This tiny little creature my Master and his wife have created...
What will happen to him and his brother when our contract is fulfilled?
He stares back at me with his eyes of midnight frost, mirrors to his mother's, and I realize that I am considering the future beyond my next meal.
Vincent's son lays his hand over the seal of his father's contract and coos before he lets out a little yawn.
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With time, Vincent's children grow into curious and troublesome things- well, into little versions of their father, if I am being perfectly honest.
The sickly child fears me more than his brother does, and doesn't understand that what I do is purely for his benefit. Too often he wanders close to boiling pots in the kitchen, and the cooks do not always notice the little ones underfoot. I nudge him and his brother away from danger, as Vincent has tasked me with protecting them.
They venture into the stables while their father is in the middle of convincing a glaring Diedrich to do yet another nefarious job, and I follow closely on their heels.
"Look at this one!" The older twin says as he looks upon Diedrich's horse- a large, black Fresian with a coat like black velvet and feathered hooves.
"We shouldn't be in here." The sickly twin cautions as he peers around the corner of the stable, wisely maintaining his distance.
You certainly shouldn't. Smart boy.
"Let's take him out to ride!"
Damn.
I am quick to wedge myself between the stall door and the boy, and bark.
"Sebastian, move!" The boy tries to shove me out of the way.
Keeping my rump pressed back into the stall latch and yipping at the boy to discourage him, the horse becomes agitated, snorting and tossing his mane.
But the eldest twin is determined, and he loops his fingers around my collar and tugs, and at seven years old, he is strong.
But I am stronger.
I dig in my heels, and bark as loudly as possible.
Vincent.
Through the contract, I send a pang of anxiety to my Master before I dare attempt a last ditch effort to shift forms.
"Brother, we shouldn't do this!" The younger twin protests over the horse's whinny.
The Fresian's fear is rank and thick in the air, but the children cannot sense the danger they have put themselves in as I can.
"Sebastian-"
A shadow looms overhead as Diedrich's horse rears up on its hind legs in blind panic.
I react, lunging forth to snatch the child by his collar and haul him away, mere seconds before the animal's dinner-plate sized hooves crash through the stall door, sending splinters of wood flying.
I drag the boy through the doorway of the stable, and off to the side, out of the beast's path. The horse thunders out of the wreckage of the stall, beyond the pasture and into the trees surrounding the manor.
Only now do I release the boy's collar from my teeth. His little chest rises and falls rapidly, heart hammering wildly.
Vincent rushes towards us, with Diedrich in tow.
"Are you alright? What happened?"
The eldest twin is still reeling, and he before he can utter a word he begins to cry, then reaches for his father, who kneels to pick him up.
"He wanted to ride the horse." The youngest says meekly.
"You could have just asked." Diedrich grumbles.
"But you looked mad!" The eldest boy wails.
"I- I'm not mad!" Diedrich throws up his hands defensively. "What gave you that impression?"
Vincent snorts. The German always looks angry.
"Neither of you were hurt?"
The youngest shakes his head. "Sebastian pulled him out of the way."
"Good boy." Vincent praises me as he holds out his hand for his other son.
My tail wags. I know I will receive lavish affection tonight for my efforts.
"Let's get you boys back inside, to Tanaka. Sebastian, help Diedrich."
"What? You aren't going to help me?" Diedrich gapes.
Vincent leads his children away from the stable. "Sebastian knows what to do. Don't you, boy?"
I yip in reply.
"That horse was imported from the Netherlands, and is worth half of your estate, Phantomhive! And you're leaving it up to a dog to help me capture it?"
"Who better to assist my loyal German dog than yet another loyal canine?" Vincent smirks over his shoulder as he needles him.
"Verdammt noch eins." The leather of Diedrich's gloves creaks as he clenches his fists in frustration. Then he sighs, defeated.
Diedrich looks doubtfully at me. "I sincerely hope you're as smart as he gives you credit for."
Within the hour, his horse is boarded in a new stall and Diedrich asks Vincent if he intends to breed me, because he wants a pup for himself.
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"This is my final order- if you cannot save both," My Master's breath staggers with a gurgling wheeze. "You must ensure the survival of one."
With a whine, I pace back and forth, jaws salivating from both the smell of my Master's spilled blood and towering anxiety for his fatal wounds.
My tail tucks. I am not ready for him to go. While I certainly hunger for what was promised, as always, my stomach can wait.
It is the realization- that we have enjoyed our last morning lying together, bathed in the sun's rays that stream through the velvet curtains, that I have woken him for the last time, served his last cup of tea, heard his last laugh- that plucks at an untouched chord within me.
Normally, I would lunge at the opportunity to devour a ripe and perfectly cultivated soul- but not his. No. I am baffled by this internal conflict, and while I cannot pin down why, I do know that I do not want our time together to end.
All I can do at this point, however, is offer comfort in his final moments. I lie down before him and lick his face.
Neither of us expected it to end like this- a true vision of Hell, rife with devastation and bloodshed- the likes of which the Earl has never seen.
"Don't you dare leave this realm unless you are absolutely certain they will survive until you can return." Vincent's gaze, glassy with blood loss, still manages to harden like cooling steel.
I nod in understanding. Only then does the Earl remove his palm from his seeping wound, and he holds out his hand to me, his faithful beast.
He smiles softly, but it is one of lament. Vincent is ready to die. His body is broken beyond repair, Rachel has already bled out, but the fate of his sons he must leave in my hands.
I nuzzle him with a low whimper, and I can sense through our bond how the plaintive cry lances Vincent's weakening heart. "I know. I will miss you-" His voice cracks. "I will miss you so much."
My canine shape shudders and heaves, growing to fill the space between us.
Bones rearrange and settle into my preferred form, one that has occasionally treaded among the manor's numerous staff without too much suspicion, and warmed my Master's bed when the lady of the house was not present.
It is this kneeling form that Vincent had long ago fallen in love with.
"And I, you, young Master." I cup his cheek. "You are a... remarkable human, one that I shall not easily forget, no matter how many eons shall come to pass."
Vincent's fingers lace with my own, his dark lashes shimmering with jewels of tears that threaten to spill.
"You will take care of them?" With his time running out, Vincent's concern for his sons takes precedent above all else.
I smile. Noble until the bitter end, this man. For that, I once thought him foolish, but I have since come to admire this exceedingly rare trait.
"I shall, without fail. As you said, my Lord, if I cannot save both, I will ensure the survival of one." I assure him. "Even in death, your command is absolute."
It isn't. But I will grant Vincent this last request.
"Thank you... thank you, Sebastian." Vincent's voice is just above a whisper as his eyes grow bleary, unfocused. His other hand reaches out, managing to clutch at my tie. He tugs me downward to crash my lips into his. I haul him into my arms, holding him close as we share one last kiss.
Cabernet eyes glow bright, and ivory fangs push past my lips as I feel my lover's life slipping. My mouth saturates with the promise of a full stomach, and yet I cannot shake the feeling that when our contract is fulfilled, I will only feel emptier than before.
Human life is so fragile. Fleeting. Ever-changing. They are as butterflies- every soul reflects slightly different hues, different patterns; all are lovely, but every once in a while, one in particular will utterly captivate me with lacy wings and vivid flashes of a color I have yet to see.
And Vincent is by far the most beautiful of them all. I liken him to a black swallowtail, brimming with iridescent, oceanic tones, the fringe of his wings limned with beads of molten gold and ruby eyespots.
An exquisite handful of twilight sky and glittering stars.
Our lips part. "Take me. 'm ready."
I find it nigh impossible to banish the tremor from my voice. "Yes, my Lord."
A single tear spills from Vincent's eye, and his soul flows freely into my waiting mouth, a river of emotion and memories, willingly detaching from his body with the knowledge that at least one of his sons shall be safe, and take his place as the Earl Phantomhive.
That lasting note of willing surrender, is so buttery soft and sweet on my tongue, like the petals of a honeysuckle flower as I sip the last drop of nectar. I shudder as tendrils of warmth weave through every fiber of my being, as it does every time I feed, an ephemeral sensation of wholeness, but one that will fade all too soon- a cruel reminder that I shall be forever hollow without a soul of my own.
I cradle the Earl's body, still warm in my arms but now an empty shell. His soul is now mine, and it was every bit as exquisite as I could have hoped for.
Though if it were up to me, I would trade every soul I have ever devoured over the millennia if it meant I could spend just one more day with Vincent. I must admit, I had grown quite fond of the man. Vincent was kind, perceptive, undaunted.
A butterfly most unique.
But a butterfly that lives forever, isn't really a butterfly at all.
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"I will never let you go." I promise Ciel, tightening my arms around him until it becomes protective, possessive. "You are mine, Ciel. Mine. I will always keep you close, and keep you safe."
Every word. I mean every word of it.
I will not lose him. Not like I lost his father.