A/N:Written for 10orders LiveJournal writing challenge community using the prompt #8 – Take off your clothes.
Disclaimer: Toboso Yana and all associated companies are the rightful owners of the Kuroshitsuji universe. No copyright infringement intended and no money is being made out of this. Please support the mangaka by buying her work.
"Take off your clothes."
Claude blinks, his face expressionless, as his eyes lock on his little master. He is still kneeling in front of Alois, just having finished preparing the boy for the bed, and the order has caught him a little off guard. Alois stares him down, a challenging smirk on his face. He will not repeat his words twice.
Claude stands up, slow and deliberate, and methodically removes each piece of clothing, his gaze remaining locked on his little master's face. He watches Alois' eyelids slide down as his gaze moves down, then up again, an evaluating look tracing each part of his butler's body while it becomes uncovered before him. He leans back on his hands, kicking his feet carelessly and tilts his head, a lazy smile stretching on his lips. He has never been spoiled, but he wants to be. Right now, by his butler. And he knows – deep down he knows that it's the same as asking the mountains to move aside politely. He is smart enough to know that only dynamite can do that, or a demon, and he's got the latter. His orders will be the dynamite to move Claude. The contract mark burns on his tongue and he knows that words cannot be taken back once spoken. Alois lets his head fall back and dangle helplessly while he laughs. Even during this outburst Claude hasn't stopped undressing. He is as unmovable as a mountain and nothing his little master asks of him can faze him. He takes his time, folds his clothes neatly, and waits for his master's next order patiently. On the inside, he is tired of his little master. He is tired of all this waiting.
Alois drops down onto the bed with a sigh and stares up at the darkness for a while. The ceiling is grey from the dusk where the candlelight doesn't reach.
"Take me, Claude."
Again, Claude hesitates only a moment, a heartbeat's worth, long enough to adjust his glasses and watch the boy spread his legs for him. He takes a step forward, lowers himself onto the bed and leans over the boy, his face unreadable. Alois stares back at him, blue eyes to yellow, and Claude runs his hand up Alois' thigh, pushing his nightshirt up. He touches his little master, teases him, makes him beg for it, but never answers any of his questions.
"Am I beautiful?" Alois asks when Claude spreads him, fingers pushing in deep. "Am I a beautiful doll?" When Claude's hands spread his legs even further apart and hold them down at an uncomfortable angle. "Am I perfect?" When he squirms because Claude's touch hurts.
Claude doesn't speak, never says a word. Speaking wasn't an order. He makes his little master scream. He isn't gentle – that has never been an order, but he never denies him demonic pleasure, borderline pain. He leaves his little master breathless, tears pricking his bright blue eyes, with one kiss invading him so deep, so thoroughly that their contract almost breaks, Alois' soul almost drawn out of him, almost. Because it is not yet the time. Every time Alois recovers from that, Claude is already inside of him, moving ruthlessly, and Alois is left to writhe and trash under him, pained moans echoing in the dim room and a dull throbbing on his tongue, as if the contract mark gets burned onto it anew.
And sometimes Claude's tongue goes where it shouldn't and Alois writhes on his bed, forced to beg, forced to want it. He sees a reflection of triumph in Claude's eyes on those nights and he laughs, driving himself insane until Claude makes it all disappear with a touch and a shove, and Alois finds himself tangled in the sheets, restrained and breathless. Claude is everywhere, filling every part of him, taking him all and Alois can't even scream. Claude swallows all of his screams and when he pulls back, Alois' throat feels raw. The boy swallows and opens his eyes, a slow satisfied smirk twisting his lips upward.
Claude's fingers burn their way over his skin, over every part of his body, and into it. Alois welcomes it, thrives on it, loses his sanity all over again. Yellow eyes burn above him and he moans.
He doesn't even know what he's begging for anymore.