The World is Falling Apart
Title: The World is Falling Apart
Series: Kuroshitsuji
Characters/Pairings: Alois/Ciel apparently.
Warnings: Shota masturbating, some gory stuff?
Rating: M
Summary: Ciel has a wet dream.
Notes: I don't know. I really don't.
Nothing changes, except that Ciel begins to dream.
Waves crashing, icy sprays of sticky brine hitting his face. The wood underfoot is slippery, with blood, water, and standing at the edge of the hull, upon a ledge, still through the lilting, lurching, twisting ship is a shock of blonde hair. Soaked wet and skin torn asunder with nasty gnashes, he looks straight at Ciel. Says words that should be too soft to be heard over the roar of stormy waters and the deafening claps of thunder, but Ciel feels the breath of his whisper, hot in his ear:
“Why will you never get enough?”
And then rough hands, belonging to strangers, big and burly, encroach that small body, slight of frame, dirt and grime and rain trailing down his face, making his white blood-stained shirt slick, his bright blue eyes watery with shock. Hands bound, he is helpless, he falls backwards, slowly.
Ciel trembles, breathes, screams, the sound of his gasp blotting out all other sound. His hands outstretched, coiled muscles springing into action and he darts forward, but he is too slow. The body falls into the water and the black maw of the ocean swallows him. His purple jacket flares once, like the blossom of blood from a wound before being claimed completely.
The vessel lurches underfoot unsteadily, Ciel slips as the rain pours, cold, painful drops, splat-
Awake now, he is violently sick, retching, barely missing the sheets that cover him.
***
Morning sees the young Earl in a bad way. Tea does nothing to soothe his ragged nerves and he cancels all appointments for the day, retreating to his study, bundled in warm clothes.
He dismisses his demon butler. No, he doesn’t need assistance, he doesn’t feel ill, he is just having dreams. Nightmares. One nightmare. He regards the innocent, sprawling estate from his window with dark, weary eyes.
“Nothing is as it seems.” He whispers, fingers clutching the heavy drapes, “Nothing ever is.” Not for the Queen’s watchdog.
It is a surprisingly bright day, but Ciel still feels the wet kiss of rainwater flitting down his skin, the soaking splashes freezing him down to his toes. He nurses a cup of tea, fingers clustered around the porcelain for the feeble warmth. His teeth chatter. The sun shines bright, with a ferocity that is a little frightening, and very uncanny for English weather.
The young Earl succumbs to the call of his chambers, falls asleep atop the sheets, drawing tightly into himself.
***
They are in a church. Ciel sneers, lips turning up, nostrils flaring, he doesn’t care for religion.
White light smudges the edges out, the world is soft and blurry, quiet and cloaked in a solemn silence. There is a coffin before him. Red roses litter the ground, not the burning, bitter red of licorice, he realizes, quashing the alarm that stutters the beat of his heart. There is someone sitting beside him, so he turns.
Alois, blonde hair, blue eyes, cunning tongue and clever fingers is kneeling, looking straight ahead, face clear of a mocking expression. It is a startling revelation, seeing him like this. Clear as day, silent as a lake, a deadly serpent deep in still waters.
“Will you not pray,” He asks, gently, uncharacteristically.
“A dog has no understanding of faith in an entity such as a God,” Ciel bites out, harsh and angry, his breathing rough. No, in a world with Demons and Soul Reapers and unspeakable human evils, there couldn’t be a God. In a world where cruelty was rampant, belief in kindness and mercy was blind denial and that, he could not, he would not stand.
“You are not dull,” Alois laughs, cherubic features splitting, “You’ve been betrayed and you’re hurt. You’re proud. You haughty little whelp!”
Teeth gnashing, with the sound of waves crunching, crashing, the smell of salt fills his nostrils as he tries to speak and Ciel can feel the wet curl of his hair against his forehead, but there is no ocean, no lurching, swaying ship. He’s sweating. How unbecoming.
“That coffin is empty, you know,” Alois points to the heavy, morose wooden casket lying shut before them. Gold light pours in through the windows, the entire setting is so preciously beautiful and peaceful. As death should be. Respectful and filled with a tenderness that the world couldn’t quite bear. Why was death so savage?
“Are things getting better?” Alois asks, “Did you think that you were saved?”
No, no, nonono-
“Then what is this?” Alois points to the cross.
The earth splits. Windows shatter and the ground cracks open, as the building collapses slowly, inch by inch, with a great, painful moan. Ciel feels his legs slip, the jerky pull of gravity tugging at him, darkness yawning beneath him, waiting to swallow him, the soft-whiteness all gone, despair filled with urgency as the world is shattering.
His feet kick reflexively and Ciel bolts upright, sweating, feeling sicker than ever and feverish.
Wiping his mouth with shaky fingers, he curses. He will not lose. He hated to lose.
***
“Have them send Lizzy,” Ciel orders stubbornly, solitary eye fixed on the newspaper in his hands. “She will be delighted to come over.”
“If I might be so bold as to voice my opinion,” Sebastian says smoothly, his tone demure, his intent devious and unrepentant, he was not asking for permission, “I believe the young master is in no position to entertain Lady Elizabeth. With you in such ill health, and ill temper, she will only be worried.”
“I don’t care,” Ciel snaps, before sighing. “Have her sent for.”
Sebastian sighs as well. “As you wish, young master.”
The afternoon is sunny and bright once again and Ciel embraces himself, waits for the chill to pass. It is a tiresome day.
***
As soon as his eyes open and the light recedes, he sees bright blue sky, a square of it so vast, little white puffs of marshmallow clouds dotting it.
Blue like the sky, blue like his eyes, and ah- there he is. Looming over Ciel, dressed in some ludicrous outfit with long bunny ears, twitching as he smiles.
“Ciel,” He says, hands clasped behind his back, pale blue dress and striped knee socks, “Ciel, I’m so glad you came!”
Ciel frowns, allows himself to be pulled to his feet. The world rights itself in his vision.
Gold apples hang heavy and decadent from large trees, branches bowing under the weight. Flowers, all colours of the rainbow dot the green, green grass and Ciel inhales, exhales, the sweet, sickly scent of honeysuckle deep in the thick, languid air. It cloys, and he is familiar with the sensation. A lot like blood.
Alois is closer now, flyaway blonde hair shining in the sunlight, aureate with an angelic glow. Oh, the irony. Birds chirp and insects buzz in the air, invisible but for their sounds, charming and melodic, metallic and twanging. Pink lips, pink heart-shaped lips, Ciel sees them before they press against his own, mapping with gentle pressure, the faint lines, the corners to the lush bow of his bottom lip, succulent and fleshy.
Gasps, wet and heavy taint the air, the apples fall as though they’ve been wrenched off, the rest of the world reverses itself. The grass rips itself off the earth, trees uproot, all in stellar silence, gravitating to the sky. Alois’ clever fingers unfasten Ciel’s dress, silver tongue branded by his contract slipping along the slope of his jaw, to the knob of his earring and he bites. Breaks the jewel, tears flesh, chips his tooth and there is so much blood, so many splinters, but it was warm and slick, insidious as it slides over his flesh, under his dress.
Alois’ smile is salacious, wicked, it grows savage. His fingers trail skin, sinking into it like pearls upon velvet.
“Are we doing this now?” Ciel asks, some corner of sanity, something rank and filthy holding him back.
“I’m taking what I need,” Alois offers in answer, secretive and happy, “Before they come knocking for your bones, you see? Before this,” And his fingers tear into the flesh of Ciel’s forearm, muscles rippling aside to display bone, frail and white, “Before this belongs to someone I cannot defeat.”
The world is twisting upside down, inside out, and Ciel waits, watches until Alois leans forward and yanks his teeth between his lips, drags his heart out his throat.
He wakes up, shuddering, in the middle of the night, a single candle burning dimly on the mantel, distant and uneven. Ciel snakes a hand down his shaking torso, past dank sweat filming his pallid skin, to the throbbing between his legs to stroke, once, twice, thrice and- he wheezes, nauseous even as he climaxes, trembling like a leaf, feeling the life leave his breath, grey like dust. Cheeks drawn in to the bone, his teeth rattle and he falls asleep, exhausted, his hands wet with the mess of his fear.
***
He doesn’t leave his bed the next morning. In a matter of days, he has been reduced to this.
“Perhaps I should summon a doctor, young master,” The demon is restless, on edge, disturbed. This is amusing.
Ciel refuses. He will not lose. Outside, the sun reigns supreme, stubbornly refusing to yield to autumn. He has the servants draw the curtains. The heirloom upon his finger winks up at him in the gloom, oily and black upon the white of his silken sheets.
“Stop it,” He mutters into the silence of his room, “Begone. You’ve lost. I won.”
Sleep does not come easily this time, but Ciel waits for it, patient as a mouse and at last.
He drifts off.
***
Waves crash, black as the sky is purple, thunder rippling in spidery tendons of shocking white. Beneath him the sea churns, the ship lurches and sways, and Ciel finds his hands are placed in stocks, behind his back. From here, he can see the hull of the ship, from this thin strip of wood jutting out into the hungry ocean.
It’s raining, he realizes dimly. And their positions have changed.
“Alois!” He calls, calls his voice breaking, his throat dry.
Hands creep around his throat, cold skin curling around the column of his neck, squeezing gently. A warm tongue flicks briefly and indulgently at his earlobe. “You called?”
His hair curls wetly at the nape of his neck, and Alois is nosing it, tasting the salt on his skin as he asks, shaking Ciel, “Are you scared now? You’ve wet yourself in your fear, haven’t you? You’re absolutely, positively terrified, aren’t you?”
And now, and now, he tightens his grip on Ciel’s throat, choking the breath out of him.
“Do you a have a prayer left in your soul now?” Alois jeers, “What about now? Are you hoping for a God? A God you cannot understand and will not accept?”
He dances across, graceful as a swan, trotting as though upon the air, as though the slipping, sliding ship didn’t affect his grace. Standing before Ciel, haughty, proud, his hands on his hips, weight shifted to the center, his legs spread evenly, Alois regards him curiously with the barest tilt of his head.
“We could’ve done this - together, we could’ve freed ourselves.” He says, almost sadly, “We are not alike, you and I, but we bear the same curse.”
He reaches out, climbs up Ciel’s torso with his fingers, one step, two steps, three-
“You should’ve trusted me!” Alois cackles and pushes.
The world goes to hell and Ciel- gentle and slow like a feather drifting to the ground until the darkness claims him- he falls.
***
The fifth morning, Ciel wakes up a soldier, battered from war, but victorious.
He drags himself out of bed and draws the drapes aside, but the sky is awash with grey clouds. He smiles in grim satisfaction as rain begins to slash down, pelting against the glass. This is more like it.
“I should’ve,” He says to the world at large, to a dead Alois, “But I didn’t. I’m not a fool.”
Series: Kuroshitsuji
Characters/Pairings: Alois/Ciel apparently.
Warnings: Shota masturbating, some gory stuff?
Rating: M
Summary: Ciel has a wet dream.
Notes: I don't know. I really don't.
Nothing changes, except that Ciel begins to dream.
Waves crashing, icy sprays of sticky brine hitting his face. The wood underfoot is slippery, with blood, water, and standing at the edge of the hull, upon a ledge, still through the lilting, lurching, twisting ship is a shock of blonde hair. Soaked wet and skin torn asunder with nasty gnashes, he looks straight at Ciel. Says words that should be too soft to be heard over the roar of stormy waters and the deafening claps of thunder, but Ciel feels the breath of his whisper, hot in his ear:
“Why will you never get enough?”
And then rough hands, belonging to strangers, big and burly, encroach that small body, slight of frame, dirt and grime and rain trailing down his face, making his white blood-stained shirt slick, his bright blue eyes watery with shock. Hands bound, he is helpless, he falls backwards, slowly.
Ciel trembles, breathes, screams, the sound of his gasp blotting out all other sound. His hands outstretched, coiled muscles springing into action and he darts forward, but he is too slow. The body falls into the water and the black maw of the ocean swallows him. His purple jacket flares once, like the blossom of blood from a wound before being claimed completely.
The vessel lurches underfoot unsteadily, Ciel slips as the rain pours, cold, painful drops, splat-
Awake now, he is violently sick, retching, barely missing the sheets that cover him.
***
Morning sees the young Earl in a bad way. Tea does nothing to soothe his ragged nerves and he cancels all appointments for the day, retreating to his study, bundled in warm clothes.
He dismisses his demon butler. No, he doesn’t need assistance, he doesn’t feel ill, he is just having dreams. Nightmares. One nightmare. He regards the innocent, sprawling estate from his window with dark, weary eyes.
“Nothing is as it seems.” He whispers, fingers clutching the heavy drapes, “Nothing ever is.” Not for the Queen’s watchdog.
It is a surprisingly bright day, but Ciel still feels the wet kiss of rainwater flitting down his skin, the soaking splashes freezing him down to his toes. He nurses a cup of tea, fingers clustered around the porcelain for the feeble warmth. His teeth chatter. The sun shines bright, with a ferocity that is a little frightening, and very uncanny for English weather.
The young Earl succumbs to the call of his chambers, falls asleep atop the sheets, drawing tightly into himself.
***
They are in a church. Ciel sneers, lips turning up, nostrils flaring, he doesn’t care for religion.
White light smudges the edges out, the world is soft and blurry, quiet and cloaked in a solemn silence. There is a coffin before him. Red roses litter the ground, not the burning, bitter red of licorice, he realizes, quashing the alarm that stutters the beat of his heart. There is someone sitting beside him, so he turns.
Alois, blonde hair, blue eyes, cunning tongue and clever fingers is kneeling, looking straight ahead, face clear of a mocking expression. It is a startling revelation, seeing him like this. Clear as day, silent as a lake, a deadly serpent deep in still waters.
“Will you not pray,” He asks, gently, uncharacteristically.
“A dog has no understanding of faith in an entity such as a God,” Ciel bites out, harsh and angry, his breathing rough. No, in a world with Demons and Soul Reapers and unspeakable human evils, there couldn’t be a God. In a world where cruelty was rampant, belief in kindness and mercy was blind denial and that, he could not, he would not stand.
“You are not dull,” Alois laughs, cherubic features splitting, “You’ve been betrayed and you’re hurt. You’re proud. You haughty little whelp!”
Teeth gnashing, with the sound of waves crunching, crashing, the smell of salt fills his nostrils as he tries to speak and Ciel can feel the wet curl of his hair against his forehead, but there is no ocean, no lurching, swaying ship. He’s sweating. How unbecoming.
“That coffin is empty, you know,” Alois points to the heavy, morose wooden casket lying shut before them. Gold light pours in through the windows, the entire setting is so preciously beautiful and peaceful. As death should be. Respectful and filled with a tenderness that the world couldn’t quite bear. Why was death so savage?
“Are things getting better?” Alois asks, “Did you think that you were saved?”
No, no, nonono-
“Then what is this?” Alois points to the cross.
The earth splits. Windows shatter and the ground cracks open, as the building collapses slowly, inch by inch, with a great, painful moan. Ciel feels his legs slip, the jerky pull of gravity tugging at him, darkness yawning beneath him, waiting to swallow him, the soft-whiteness all gone, despair filled with urgency as the world is shattering.
His feet kick reflexively and Ciel bolts upright, sweating, feeling sicker than ever and feverish.
Wiping his mouth with shaky fingers, he curses. He will not lose. He hated to lose.
***
“Have them send Lizzy,” Ciel orders stubbornly, solitary eye fixed on the newspaper in his hands. “She will be delighted to come over.”
“If I might be so bold as to voice my opinion,” Sebastian says smoothly, his tone demure, his intent devious and unrepentant, he was not asking for permission, “I believe the young master is in no position to entertain Lady Elizabeth. With you in such ill health, and ill temper, she will only be worried.”
“I don’t care,” Ciel snaps, before sighing. “Have her sent for.”
Sebastian sighs as well. “As you wish, young master.”
The afternoon is sunny and bright once again and Ciel embraces himself, waits for the chill to pass. It is a tiresome day.
***
As soon as his eyes open and the light recedes, he sees bright blue sky, a square of it so vast, little white puffs of marshmallow clouds dotting it.
Blue like the sky, blue like his eyes, and ah- there he is. Looming over Ciel, dressed in some ludicrous outfit with long bunny ears, twitching as he smiles.
“Ciel,” He says, hands clasped behind his back, pale blue dress and striped knee socks, “Ciel, I’m so glad you came!”
Ciel frowns, allows himself to be pulled to his feet. The world rights itself in his vision.
Gold apples hang heavy and decadent from large trees, branches bowing under the weight. Flowers, all colours of the rainbow dot the green, green grass and Ciel inhales, exhales, the sweet, sickly scent of honeysuckle deep in the thick, languid air. It cloys, and he is familiar with the sensation. A lot like blood.
Alois is closer now, flyaway blonde hair shining in the sunlight, aureate with an angelic glow. Oh, the irony. Birds chirp and insects buzz in the air, invisible but for their sounds, charming and melodic, metallic and twanging. Pink lips, pink heart-shaped lips, Ciel sees them before they press against his own, mapping with gentle pressure, the faint lines, the corners to the lush bow of his bottom lip, succulent and fleshy.
Gasps, wet and heavy taint the air, the apples fall as though they’ve been wrenched off, the rest of the world reverses itself. The grass rips itself off the earth, trees uproot, all in stellar silence, gravitating to the sky. Alois’ clever fingers unfasten Ciel’s dress, silver tongue branded by his contract slipping along the slope of his jaw, to the knob of his earring and he bites. Breaks the jewel, tears flesh, chips his tooth and there is so much blood, so many splinters, but it was warm and slick, insidious as it slides over his flesh, under his dress.
Alois’ smile is salacious, wicked, it grows savage. His fingers trail skin, sinking into it like pearls upon velvet.
“Are we doing this now?” Ciel asks, some corner of sanity, something rank and filthy holding him back.
“I’m taking what I need,” Alois offers in answer, secretive and happy, “Before they come knocking for your bones, you see? Before this,” And his fingers tear into the flesh of Ciel’s forearm, muscles rippling aside to display bone, frail and white, “Before this belongs to someone I cannot defeat.”
The world is twisting upside down, inside out, and Ciel waits, watches until Alois leans forward and yanks his teeth between his lips, drags his heart out his throat.
He wakes up, shuddering, in the middle of the night, a single candle burning dimly on the mantel, distant and uneven. Ciel snakes a hand down his shaking torso, past dank sweat filming his pallid skin, to the throbbing between his legs to stroke, once, twice, thrice and- he wheezes, nauseous even as he climaxes, trembling like a leaf, feeling the life leave his breath, grey like dust. Cheeks drawn in to the bone, his teeth rattle and he falls asleep, exhausted, his hands wet with the mess of his fear.
***
He doesn’t leave his bed the next morning. In a matter of days, he has been reduced to this.
“Perhaps I should summon a doctor, young master,” The demon is restless, on edge, disturbed. This is amusing.
Ciel refuses. He will not lose. Outside, the sun reigns supreme, stubbornly refusing to yield to autumn. He has the servants draw the curtains. The heirloom upon his finger winks up at him in the gloom, oily and black upon the white of his silken sheets.
“Stop it,” He mutters into the silence of his room, “Begone. You’ve lost. I won.”
Sleep does not come easily this time, but Ciel waits for it, patient as a mouse and at last.
He drifts off.
***
Waves crash, black as the sky is purple, thunder rippling in spidery tendons of shocking white. Beneath him the sea churns, the ship lurches and sways, and Ciel finds his hands are placed in stocks, behind his back. From here, he can see the hull of the ship, from this thin strip of wood jutting out into the hungry ocean.
It’s raining, he realizes dimly. And their positions have changed.
“Alois!” He calls, calls his voice breaking, his throat dry.
Hands creep around his throat, cold skin curling around the column of his neck, squeezing gently. A warm tongue flicks briefly and indulgently at his earlobe. “You called?”
His hair curls wetly at the nape of his neck, and Alois is nosing it, tasting the salt on his skin as he asks, shaking Ciel, “Are you scared now? You’ve wet yourself in your fear, haven’t you? You’re absolutely, positively terrified, aren’t you?”
And now, and now, he tightens his grip on Ciel’s throat, choking the breath out of him.
“Do you a have a prayer left in your soul now?” Alois jeers, “What about now? Are you hoping for a God? A God you cannot understand and will not accept?”
He dances across, graceful as a swan, trotting as though upon the air, as though the slipping, sliding ship didn’t affect his grace. Standing before Ciel, haughty, proud, his hands on his hips, weight shifted to the center, his legs spread evenly, Alois regards him curiously with the barest tilt of his head.
“We could’ve done this - together, we could’ve freed ourselves.” He says, almost sadly, “We are not alike, you and I, but we bear the same curse.”
He reaches out, climbs up Ciel’s torso with his fingers, one step, two steps, three-
“You should’ve trusted me!” Alois cackles and pushes.
The world goes to hell and Ciel- gentle and slow like a feather drifting to the ground until the darkness claims him- he falls.
***
The fifth morning, Ciel wakes up a soldier, battered from war, but victorious.
He drags himself out of bed and draws the drapes aside, but the sky is awash with grey clouds. He smiles in grim satisfaction as rain begins to slash down, pelting against the glass. This is more like it.
“I should’ve,” He says to the world at large, to a dead Alois, “But I didn’t. I’m not a fool.”