Adult-FanFiction.org : Anime

Iron Lung	By : flagfish Category: > Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji ???) Views: 3743 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji nor any of the characters, nor do I make any money from writing this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Iron Lung
- 2-Chapter 2
- 1
- 2
Victorian infirmaries were a thing to behold, gateways of death rather than houses of healing; only those few among the privileged could afford visits by physicians at home, and it would have done Ciel good were his aunt still alive. So the servants had whispered with compassionate voices, lest the Master heard they worried for his blinded eye, for the sickly pallor of his skin, the fitful wheezing that would ail him on particularly distressful nights. The Earl however was not so far affected, he'd lean comfortably in his chair mid-reprimand, grinning knowingly as he wasn't meant to live much longer, anyhow.
He was far more concerned with how dull Sebastian had been in his regular listing of duties, how little patience he had to endure the dressing and undressing of his various outfits in the means of formality. There still lay contraptions in sub-chambers below, mechanical atrocities intended with creative macabre to aid the ailing, but which served tragically to propagate infection more.
Lizzy was certainly none the better for them. As per physician's orders, she was not to have contact with anyone else, and Sebastian kept Ciel from venturing in; tuberculosis was dreadfully infectious and indeed had taken many lives within hospitals, themselves, on account of overcrowding. Ciel had a duty to protect Lizzy, he'd said, to which she'd replied with gentle affection that she too had a duty to protect him.
It was Sebastian, then, who came in to deliver her care, despite the servants' protests that he should watch his own health and have a nurse go in his stead. He was too pleasant to look at, Mey-Rin had said, to risk tuberculosis.
When finally Lizzy had passed on, the chamber was no longer accessible.
--
"Sebastian, you impertinent creature," Ciel said, bemused as his butler entered his bedroom late at night. "Bring me something to help me sleep."
He scowled when Sebastian didn't move, gazing back with just as little humor, the single candle in his lamp illuminating his slim face in an orange haze. "Would my lord really expect me to go through the pretense of treating him," he asked, "this isn't why you called me here."
Ciel gazed back for several moments before chuckling quietly. "And what if I do have night terrors," he asked, now only to torment his butler.
Sebastian, of course, played along. "Then my lord will excuse me for several minutes while I fix something to help him sleep." He bowed elegantly before turning to leave the room, and on his return Ciel also had him go through the motions of administering the draught, and had acted quite the difficult patient as to harass him more.
"How do you plan to stay awake, then," Sebastian deadpanned, and Ciel asked him to mind his own business and get on already with disrobing.
Shadows danced in the low flicker of candles, grotesquely misshapen orange and black, the chair and the night stand, the wardrobe, obscure profile of Sebastian's face, the fabric meticulously unfolded from over his long arms;
Ciel liked to have him subjugated. Sebastian took it with grace as he took any other annoyance he'd endured on the Earl's part, such a troublesome master, naturally Ciel wouldn't bother himself disrobing his butler, Sebastian reckoned Ciel's aristocratic hands wouldn't know how even if he'd tried.
Ciel would have him touch himself, he'd have him do frightfully profane things to himself, so that Ciel could tell him he was immoral and wretched, and all this would leave Sebastian unfazed, he'd wait patiently for Ciel to ask on his own to be touched, because watching all that had left him awfully frustrated.
Some nights, get on with it was all he'd have patience for, and Sebastian would nod, right away, voice composed with dignified seduction that came to him second nature; even at the most scandalous depths of degradation, no creature had looked so noble in the nude as a demon.
Demons were practically built to that end, because what greater weakness had humans than money and flesh—
Sebastian had to show Ciel very long ago how to subjugate him proper, because Ciel had been young, and ill practiced in the profane as he'd been at anything else Sebastian hadn't taught him. He'd been clumsy and graceless and had got Sebastian hurt, a very difficult young master, not like that, Sebastian would hiss through clenched teeth, if I were human, I'd lose circulation with that sort of bind.
Ciel would be every bit as annoyed as he'd been when his butler had taught him anything else, and he'd threaten to gag him to put a stop to his chatter, to which Sebastian would respond with very little amusement that he'd seen the Earl's atrocious handiwork at tying knots, and he'd never properly secure a gag.
To hope Ciel would have settled for seduction was ludicrous—Ciel never was the sort to be seduced. He was sadistically stubborn, and had Sebastian at his service here, too, under the most irritating terms. Ciel struggled to be quiet, but he liked it, Sebastian knew, inelegant as it were, he liked watching Sebastian take his member in his mouth, his abdomen would tense as he fought for composure, long fingers tight in the demon's black hair, clumsily pulling.
Sebastian would ask him, fluid still glittering on his lips as he spoke, My lord should ask me to stop now, or he won't be able to have me—
And, even as he fought uselessly for calm, Ciel would glare bloody murder in return, I'll decide when I'll have you, he'd snap.
He'd hold Sebastian's chin up toward him with one hand, the member slipping out from his perfect lips and gracelessly unto his chin, trailing fluid in its wake; Very well, the demon would reply, elegant and civil as ever.
Sebastian knew it would only be moments from then that Ciel would ask him to turn around so he could have him properly, and he would sigh, what a right mess you'd made—
—though Ciel had got quite good at it over the years. In the orange candlelight, outlines flickered on the wall, light and shadow and the echo of breath, such a wearisome, difficult master, he'd truly made a right mess in the end—
He'd leave Sebastian tender and wet, fluid glistening down along the naked expanse of his thighs; it tasted nice, Sebastian thought, though the rest of him was sure to taste even nicer.
--
In dreams, deep in the decaying vessel fields of mind, Ciel had walked the underworld home. Past the mortal lock and distortion of time that gave no meaning to something like minutes, a disturbing familiarity that was self. Distant mists of breath and heart, misshapen echoes in the sand— and, in the mind, he'd reached home.
In this inverted world, it had all been mirror image; there was the Phantomhive Estate, but in reverse, shadow and light flickering vague, the primitive inside of human.
In here, he saw with unparalleled clarity. He'd been reversed as well, a mirror image of himself where left and right were inverted, it all felt oddly off somehow, the heart beating on the right.
Voices whispering at night, you could see them now, vague in stairwells and corridors, not completely formed, inwardly decaying and collapsing on themselves—
The skin of those they had in the kitchen, charred in the stove, had they really cooked them there, or had that only happened here? Somehow, in sleep he couldn't quite remember. The dragging sound along the floor was his own flesh, and he followed its echo to sub-chambers below, rooms of the house and the mind, deeper to the primitive self.
This room was inaccessible in waking life; he only could enter it here.
The damp scent of medicine.
The forgotten outlines of mechanical gears, rusted and creaking with years of decay; skin, skin, the rest came indecipherable, in the dark he only could make out his own vague reflection in the oval looking glass on the wall.
The voice came part mechanical and part human, fragmented, misshapen, distorted. In the mirror, he had pointed to the skin on his arm, the only decipherable word, but when Ciel reached out to touch the glass, he had no hands at all.
In the dim candlelight in the mirror, he could make out the creature made of flesh down to the sternum, and mechanical gears and joints from there, the heart beating on the left, until the metal skeletal framework gave way to flesh again for the pelvis and legs.
"What have you got to give me,"
Ciel asked, and the creature extended its hand wherein was laid a ring—Ciel's family ring—which Ciel could not take, because he was missing his hands.
"Keep it for me," he asked instead, but the creature only gurgled in reply through the black, gaping hole of its mouth, its white skin stretched tight over the rest of its face. It was no longer trying to speak as its head had slowly decayed to one side over the shoulder, and the windpipe had collapsed.
"We've wasted too much time on trivialities," Ciel said, "I'm really very late."
To be continued…
- 1
- 2
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Iron Lung