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Gilded	By : tinkerheck Category: > Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji ???) Views: 3151 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji, aka Black Butler. I make no money from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
++++++++ Please see disclaimer & story notes in chapter one ++++++++

++++++++ chapter notes ++++++++

I fly beta-less. Please forgive the typos.

As always, thanks for reading!

 

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Gilded

Chapter 2

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I have told you about demonic fast food, correct? And how I can no longer can stomach it, and haven't been able to for some time? I haven't really told you all of the reasons why, though. Well, it might interest you to know that I haven't had a decent meal in decades, which is one of the reasons I was so very intent upon striking a deal with the lovely Miss Gilda.

I have had exactly three meals since losing my young master. They were all successful contracts, and two of them were fairly tasty. Not mind-blowingly delicious, like Ciel or Gilda. But nutritious, filling and tasty. I suppose one of the reasons they were not of the highest caliber flavor was that while their demands in the contract were fairly honorable, they were also a bit single-minded. Too much of this silly 'an eye for an eye' ridiculousness, and not enough creative comeuppance.

I get ahead of myself.

Let me elaborate. As I said, I've had exactly three meals since losing Ciel. Do not judge me too harshly, I couldn't help it; I was hungry. They weren't fast food by any means, but they weren't a black-tie affair with all the courses, either.

By the way, speaking of black ties… I look simply juicy in a modern tuxedo. They are one of the better perks of the twentieth century.

Whoopsie, I'm off course again. Apologies. I cannot help it! I am in a gleeful mood. Do let me continue and you will see why.

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In the year nineteen hundred and twelve on the Western calendar for the human civilization, I contracted with a French-speaking painter from Brussels named Louis DeBrena. He was enormously talented and as poor as dust. Master Louis had belonged to circle of artists of various disciplines, most of them painters or writers. These little groups were all the rage over Europe, and due to that, competition in the art world was much fiercer than your history books would have you believe. Never mind all that make love not war bullocks, these folks were ruthless while trying to get ahead. Well, as a rule. DeBrena was a genuinely nice man, which is probably why he got screwed in the first place. Thievery and back-stabbing were common place amongst some of the lesser-known circles, even murder was done.

It was done to Louis DeBrena. Or at least, it had been attempted.

DeBrena had dabbled in the occult – not as a practitioner, mind you, but he'd studied it. So in a state of delirium with a mortal stab wound to his stomach, he managed to summon me, and snap! We formed a contract. He wanted revenge on a fellow painter who had stolen not just his life, but his life's work from him.

His story is a sad one, but there are moments of light in it, too.

DeBrena was a homosexual, and was without a doubt the prettiest adult human male I have ever seen. Tall and slender, but well-built (for a man who did not eat regularly), with dark blond hair, coffee brown eyes, great teeth, creamy smooth skin and… Oh, that majestic backside. It was perfectly clutchable, I tell you! I mention specifics here just to attempt a picture, but truly it wasn't so much his coloring, or his height or any one thing… it was his entire being. He was well-balanced physically, yes, but also quite an adorable person.

He named me Lawrence. In front of others he said I was a distant relative visiting from England, because my being his butler didn't really appeal to his personal politics, which was Socialism. Oh, but Louis was terribly sweet… how nice it felt to lay him out before me like a platter of warm seafood bouchée before ravishing every inch of his delicious body. I placed the contract mark right on the small of his back. (I believe that when a human gets a tattoo in this same spot these days it is referred to as a 'cum shot'? Oh, you kids! Such clever vernacular!) Do believe me when I tell you that I practiced my aim on that target with impunity. It still makes me hard just thinking about sad, sweet Louis.

Oh my, there I go again. I tend to reminisce on the more sentimental histories of my prey when I am in a good mood. Do forgive me.

Where was I? Oh. Oh yes.

Now, DeBrena was closeted, as so many of his fellow homosexuals were back then. Surprising, isn't it? You humans are not exactly an accepting society, even amongst the artistic.

His murderer, Jean Lamonte, was a miserable human being and, to put it bluntly, a dreadful artist. No vision, no fire under his backside, but lots of money in his family, and even more every time he sold a canvas to the plebian benefactors that surrounded him. They were the sort that wouldn't be able to tell the difference between a diamond and a piece of ice on a hot day, but if some artist suddenly became popular, then of course they were deemed talented as well. The unfortunate thing for Lamonte was that he knew he was a hack, and he learned no matter how rich he was, or how well his paintings sold, his work still, and would always, suck.

He hated Louis, because while Louis was starving he still managed to paint beautiful, compelling works. So Lamonte decided to blackmail him. He convinced his own cousin to seduce and debase my poor Master Louis six ways from Sunday, then had the cousin turn around and gossip about it to the local paper – and everyone else who would listen for that matter, media whore that he was – about Louis' sexuality. Louis was promptly shunned.

Then Lamonte played savior, offering to buy every painting in Louis's disgustingly small, rat-infested flat, and for no more cash than could get him through a month. The bastard was a skinflint, as well as a liar, snob and murderer. In any case, Louis was too desperate to turn him down, so he took the cash.

Lamonte promptly painted over Louis' signature with his own and claimed the work. His popularity went through the roof. When Louis couldn't take it anymore, he confronted Lamonte, who laughed at him, then grabbed a large, dirty palette knife off a table and plunged it into Louis' belly.

Palette knives are rather dull, you know.

I gave Master Louis a new wardrobe, a new identity, and a fortune. He had the same body, the same face, but money does amazing things to other people's perceptions. No one ever compared His Honor the Earl Victor Newsted (I called him 'Vickie' when I buggered him, it made him giggle like mad), to poor dead Louis DeBrena. He bought back all his paintings, and together we exposed Lamonte as the fraud and the murderer he was. That piece of scum was jailed and sentenced to death. Louis was now in a unique position; he had the opportunity to watch as his own paintings garnered accolades while he was still, technically, alive.

As a freebie for Louis, I goaded Lamonte into committing suicide before they could hang him. Ah, the good old days, before security alarms and jailhouse surveillance cameras. It was fun.

Well, you should know that even as I had become very attached to Vickie and the delightful things we did to each other in his feather bed, fulfilling his contract still came relatively easy to me. As I said, he was not fast food… but neither was he filet mignon.

I consumed him when the contract was fulfilled, and my sweet Louis went without a fight. He was content with his reward and smart enough to simply submit to my will. As he floated through the silence of oblivion, he seemed at peace. I fed on him, as is my right, and I bled his soul dry until it was a husk.

Despite my complete and total disclosure about what it means to contract with me, you humans still accept the terms. You will wither inside me. And the weaker your imagination, the faster all the black nothingness will rot your mind like compost.

You didn't know that, did you? Have I frightened you? Honestly, I cannot fathom why you are so surprised. I may be utterly charming, but at the end of the day I am still a demon… remember?

Even the most delicious souls decay. I will say this though; they last a hell of a lot longer. I cannot even imagine how long I would have tasted Ciel within me until he faded. He might not have ever faded, not completely. Had I consumed Ciel as originally planned, I might not have ever needed to feed again. I cannot even imagine that – what it would feel like to be free from hunger?

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The next soul was an American woman named Linda Smith. Miss Linda was a boring middle class secretary who would have been a full-fledged accountant were it not for two things, World War II and the Old Boy's Club.

Linda had a penchant for charity and a mind for numbers. She could have easily been an investment banker or a money launderer. But, men were going off to war so the women were asked to rivet planes together, pass out donuts, work for the military. The cultural timing was atrocious and any career she may have had was doomed because of it.

Due to her skill set, however, she managed to work her way up the secretarial chain in the Army's War Finance Division, and wound up as the personal secretary to a rather assertive Colonel. One that assertively raped her after only a few months in his employ.

Linda, who never had any interest in marriage, now found herself single and pregnant in a society that simply did not accept such things. She had very little income set aside to begin with, but when the good Colonel discovered she was carrying his baby, he dismissed her as a whore and fired her on the spot. Left with no choice, she went to a seedy doctor for an abortion, and the procedure nearly killed her. She was terrified, that's to be expected, but she was incredibly angry as well. Her soul demanded revenge in its darkest hour, and snap! I came to her side, presented my terms and she accepted them. The mark was placed behind her left ear and neatly covered up with her hairstyle. Strong, yet practical… just like Linda.

Sometimes, I wonder if the quality of the life that had been led before is what ends up being the strongest catalyst in contract making. That can't be said of Ciel, of course, but think about that one… Would a human with even a passably decent life really, truly want to have her soul up and devoured? Linda Smith's life had been one long remarkable disappointment, as had Louis DeBrena's, and mostly because they were painfully aware of their potential only to have circumstances choke the life out of it. They were rendered impotent, but they still knew they had what it takes to be a success. I find that idea maddening. By the time I entered their lives, they probably felt as though they weren't gambling with anything significant with regard to their souls, and just said yes, I'll do it. It's a sobering thought. Heartbreaking even, but I think that's the reason.

There was no sexual activity with Linda. She simply wasn't interested. In many ways, that made her one of my most difficult marks, because with the absence of a physical attraction to me comes more work to get my clients to do what I want them to do. Louis was easy in that regard – I'd put my lips to his ear and my hands to his cock, and he'd agree to whatever I suggested – all in the name of fulfilling our contract, of course. But with Linda, I had to learn a new tack.

After the obligatory fortune and new identity, Miss Linda gave me the role of her 'personal assistant', citing that "no one is going to believe that a single gal from the Midwest has a butler, Diddums."

She named me Diddums. I didn't mind. She had cats.

Linda made me drive her around so she could perform charitable acts until her contract was fulfilled. It was kind of rewarding in its own way, bashing about in a nice car and throwing money at sick orphans and wounded veterans. They smiled at me. They thanked me. I began to enjoy it.

But at some point in her service I realized what she was turning me into – through no fault of her own, incidentally, because Miss Linda really was that generous a person – so I knew I had to tie that one up before I started wearing her skirts and kissing flowers.

We destroyed the Colonel's good name. Like Jean Lamonte before him, the Colonel also went to prison. Per Linda's terms, I hogtied him, raped the shit out him, and left him crying on the floor of his filthy cell.

I told you, when it comes down to it, there's all that an eye for an eye philosophy with you humans. She was a bit put out when it was finally over. She never cared for the fake celebrity that came with our Rainbow Tour, but she was thrilled with the charity part. Eventually I appealed to her sense of fair play and once she admitted that a deal is a deal, she sat still for me as I took her in. Her soul lasted longer than Louis DeBrena's, but still, it was not long enough.

+

In nineteen sixty-seven, my tummy began to grumble again, and so I started searching through the files, hoping against hope that I'd find another Ciel. They had been decent enough prey but I really didn't want to eat another Louis or Linda.

I stumbled across a suicide risk, a fourteen-year-old boy named Tomas Solomon who wanted to be a writer. He was the only child of a Jewish father and a Spanish mother. They were disgustingly wealthy, horrible materialistic and permanently annoyed by the needs of a child. You know what it is I refer to, silly human needs – like food, security and affection.

Honestly, why do some of you make children if you aren't planning on enjoying them?

As a result of their indifference they shipped their son off to an exclusive all-boys prep school in Switzerland where the sensitive young man was bullied on a daily basis. Tommy attempted suicide, and snap! Contract, mark, buttling, revenge.

All he wanted me to do was bully the boys who had bullied him, and he gave me carte blanche on that. I was not gentle. Tommy watched while I obtained his revenge, but he was so apathetic about his own dreadful existence he couldn't even manage a modicum of satisfaction.

I should have known better, really I should. Tommy had named me John.

YAWN.

His soul didn't even last a decade inside me. I made a promise to myself that I wasn't going to do another one, ever again, even if it meant I starved to death, not unless it was a damnable feast. And that is why I was so upset with myself for not trying harder with Miss Gilda.

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This is where my tale catches up to the present. I was very bored… leaning back in my creaky heat-resistant office chair, daring it to collapse under me… knowing full well it would be years, possibly several decades, before the file of another worthy soul crossed my desk.

Which is why I was shocked and thoroughly delighted to hear the weakened but determined voice of one Miss Gilda Franks softly crying a name over and over.

Alexander, she was saying. Alexander, Alexander…

Despite the extreme need for haste, and my prey's obvious physical pain, I grinned. No further encouragement necessary, I popped out of existence in my world and into yours, concentrating hard so as to locate Gilda's soon-to-be-corpse as quickly as possible.

Alexander. It is not my true name, mind you. A human isn't even physically able to pronounce that… but Alexander is a lovely name. Made even lovelier by the quiet, needy desperation in Gilda's melodic voice. It got weaker and quieter each time the little minx managed to say it, but that didn't matter one bit. This was something only I was meant to hear, and it was as loud and as clear as if she had been screaming it out in ecstasy, her pretty pink lips less than an inch from my pointy ear.

The lovely Miss Gilda, now at the ripe old age of twenty, was fading quickly due to blunt force trauma to her rib cage. Having learned that very difficult lesson with Ciel's untimely death, I hurried to her side before it was truly too late, and – yes indeed, snap! – I got to her on time.

I know it's inappropriate behavior for a butler… but, I have snatched the golden ring. I won the lottery. I'm downright giddy!

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tbc

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++++++++ notes ++++++++

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