The Beginning And The End

I don’t own Kuroshitsuji or the characters there of.



Warnings: Future Mpreg, AR-means alternate reality. The universe is the same but I change things to suit my purpose.



The Beginning And The End



Part Four



Tanaka set out the tea, having prepared it along with small cookies. He offered cups to both men before bowing slightly and exiting the room to leave them both in silence. His training would not allow him to do more than serve his master, no matter if he might approve or disapprove of the mysterious Alastair Allegro.



It was Vincent who broke the silence but not before sipping the brew. It was one of Tanaka’s specialty to create soothing brews for any occasion and soothing was something Vincent needed. He couldn’t stop feeling the loss of equilibrium. Alastair’s presence before him left him fighting to stop the strange longings rushing through him with each pulse of his heart. He would remain calm, using every ounce of his nobility education to do so.



“What happened that night,” asked Vincent while sipping at the tea Tanaka had placed between him and Alastair. The cozy drawing room was one of the more comfortable rooms in the Phantomhive country manor. Most of the rooms tended to hold a bit of a chill. Amazingly, this room maintained a warm and comfortable air.



Alastair shrugged as if he’d been asked about the weather. Had he not been sporting some rather questionable new scars, Vincent might have thought him a specter of some sorts. The way he moved was almost otherworldly. His hands cradled the cup while his grin split his face, made only more devious by the addition of the scar slicing across his brow and the bridge of his nose.



“Which night do you speak off? There are so many I could choose from.” Alastair’s grin never left his face and his eyes, hidden behind his usual dark framed glasses, were surely gleaming devilishly.



Vincent fought to keep his face neutral. How the man could keep such a nonchalant attitude after what they’d both seen was freakishly strange? It baffled the mind at his unconcerned attitude. “You know very well which night I am referring to. Don’t play dumb or coy with me. My memory is quite hazed. I was injured, but otherwise the events of the night are lost on me.”



“You were drugged.”



Vincent nodded. “I surmised as much. It is how he kept his victims calm so that he could more easily remove their heads from their bodies.”



“Mmhmm. He was quiet devious in that aspect. I don’t see why he went about all the trouble. I doubt any of his victims would have put up much of a fight. Do you remember anything else?” Alastair focused his gaze firmly on Vincent.



“Honestly, just flashes. There is nothing concrete in my mind and it is frustrating me. Tell me what happened that night.” Frustration was an understatement. For one such as him, who lived by information, the lack of it was proving most disturbing.



“What more is there to tell that hasn‘t already been revealed to you? I waiting until I was sure I wouldn’t be noticed and followed after you left the pub. I arrived just as he was about to remove you head from your body. He proved a slightly more challenging adversary than I had first surmised. But he was nothing I couldn’t handle,” embellished Alastair.



Vincent sighed in resignation, a hand lifting to rub between his eyes. There was the sensation of a migraine beginning to form behind his eyes. He’d been hoping for a bit more description with the tale. Instead he only received vague explanations and hints of truths. “I suppose that’s the end of it then. You have my gratitude for assisting in the neutralization of a serial killer. I wish I could recall more, but I suppose it can’t be helped.”



“The pleasure was all mine,” purred Alastair.



Vincent nodded and stood slowly. He needed to get away from the man‘s presence. Even if he had to deal with him on the morrow, at least he could rest tonight and gird himself for their next encounter. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m retiring to my chamber for the night.”



“So early?” A cocked brow mocked him just as the grinning lips. “The evening is only just beginning.”



“It’s been a trying day, in more ways than one.” Vincent turned to leave, only to have his arm trapped in a firm grip. He turned to see Alastair‘s long fingers wrapped around his clothed arm. “Release me, sir.”



“You don’t want me to, do you?” Alastair’s eyes pierced to into him over the rim of the dark glasses. They really were stunning eyes. It was probably a good thing he kept them hidden from free view. Looking into such eyes, one would willingly give up everything just to have them focused on him.



“I don’t know what you think you know of me…” Vincent wasn’t able to finish the statement.



Suddenly he was shoved against the wall and lips pressed insistently against his. He opened his mouth, but the motion had the opposite effect of what he’d initially intended. Instead of speaking, his tongue was pulled into a dual for dominance. Lips mashed harshly against his and he barely felt the twinge of pain as his body connected with the wall.



No mistress could ever compare to the feel of soft and hard. His mind fluttered back and forth between consciousness and the haze brought on by the taste of another. He couldn’t ground himself, and that left him lost on the waves of something he couldn’t control. Alastair held the reigns and directed the tide of Vincent’s mind.



“I won’t allow you to deny the truth. Turn me away if you must, but you will accept what you are feeling–what I make you feel.” Alastair lifted a hand and swiped a bare thumb across Vincent’s parted lips.



Vincent was at a loss of how to react. His body thrummed wildly, daring him to deny what Alastair was offering. To be with this man would be madness; something a large part of him was willing to accept in exchange for the delicious pleasure being offered him like food offered a starving man. “Alastair…”



He winced at his voice–a voice husky with lust and need. Alastair smirked and placed his hands under Vincent’s thighs to lift him and easily create a cradle for hips. He did so without the slightest wince or struggle, as if Vincent weighed nothing more than that of a small child. Vincent was not a small man. His frame was slender and tone as was the style in the ton, but he still possessed broad shoulders and a heavy masculine frame.



He was preparing to argue his weight when Alastair chose that moment to grind their groin together. Alastair plundered his mouth, forcing his tongue again and again in imitation of a private act amongst lovers.



Vincent’s fingers scrabbled for a grip in the thick material of Alastair’s frock coat. He pulled back his head, slamming it to the wall as the other slid a hand easily to his trousers to release the buttons. The hand cupped the hardness and began a slow and firm palming of it.



Vincent had never been brought so close to the edge with such deft quickness. Alastair appeared to be possessed with a mission to drive him insane as fast as possible. It wasn’t long before Vincent’s hips were raising with each pump of the hand, desperately seeking the aptly named petite mort.



“I wanted you from the first moment. But I played your game, even knowing the faint traces of desire you showed me in your eyes.” Alastair bit hard down on Vincent’s lip, as his thumb circled the tip of the erection he stroked.



Vincent’s body seized but was denied the expulsion of his seed as Alastair’s stroking thumb pressed hard onto the damp slit. The sensation of frustration amplified and Vincent opened his mouth to cry out at the loss of what he needed, only to have his lips covered once more and the probing tongue returned.



“Not yet,” purred Alastair. “I’ll let you come when I’m ready for you.”



Alastair carried Vincent easily to the chaise set aside in the corner to catch women who became faint from the tight whale bone corsets that were all the rage.



Vincent’s body was quickly divested of his preacher boots, doe skin trousers, and cravat. His shirt was left on his shoulders, only unbuttoned to reveal his tone chest and the bandaged wound. He should have fought the shameful action, yet he couldn’t deny the desire for what Alastair offered. It had been too long since his last mistress, and his body screamed out for satisfaction.



Alastair paused upon seeing the bandaged wound. His fingers traced the skin surrounding the white gauze, creating chill bumps wherever he touched. His palm cradled the injury and he closed his eyes as if praying for a safe recovery. While Vincent was grateful for the care, he found himself in need of something more satisfying.



“I’m fine. Please…continue.”



Alastair’s eyes popped open and he removed the shaded glasses and set them on the small table near the chaise. “Ah, you now ask for my touch. A welcome change from your fighting attitude. I wonder, is it my touch you long for or merely any sort of release?”



Alastair’s finger trailed behind Vincent’s sac and pressed upward towards his prostate. Vincent arched from the chaise, thrusting his still hard erection into the air in a plea for attention. He’d had a mistress who’d shown him the pleasures of prostate massage, but never before had her touches elicited such a response from his body.



“You. I want you,” he gasped with as much breath as he could muster.



Alastair purred his satisfaction and lifted one of Vincent’s legs to drape over the stiff back of the chaise. “So delicious to see you like this, sprawled and every bit of your noble sentiment tossed out the window in favor of my touch.”



Vincent moaned and struggled to sit up, his realization of the position he was in was shocking. His body was open for touches and exposed in a way that was unbecoming. Any servant could step inside the drawing room and witness him in such a compromised position. Servants did talk, no matter their loyalty.



“We need…to move to my chamber,” gasped out Vincent in a pleading voice.



Alastair only smirked and gazed on him with those beautiful eyes. “No, I find myself comfortable where we are. Don’t you?”



Vincent opened his mouth, but all thought of servants or gossip flitted away on the breeze as a single finger pressed inside his anus. It wasn’t a particularly pleasurable feeling, nor was it painful. It was a bit strange but the scraping of the nerve endings around his anus provided a pleasant sensation.



He knew the mechanics of sodomy, but he’d never felt any desire to attempt it on any of his mistresses. Now he was being the one sodomized, and his mind could no longer seem to function with any sort of higher brain power.



The introduction of additional fingers was a slightly more painful experience. The slick oil Alastair had procured from who knew where, eased the way of his fingers but did not take away the burning sensation as his muscles were stretched in ways he’d never allowed before. It was uncomfortable and yet, his erection never lost its stiffness. If anything, it grew harder and pearls of cum began to bead on the tip.



Alastair smirked swiped at the clear pearls with a finger, lifting them to his lips. The sight was even more arousing than any thing he’d ever seen. Vincent was sure he would come from just the sight. He probably would have had Alastair’s hand not wrapped tightly around the base, deftly preventing his second attempt at an orgasm.



His body was nearly frantic to come. He’d suffered through two dry orgasms and still had not been allowed the pleasure of coming. Another dry orgasm was sure to be even more painful, his cum building heavily in his balls.



“Easy. You’re letting yourself get too excited. One would think you were a virgin,” chuckled Alastair.



Vincent growled low in his throat, the sound transforming from a deep growl to a breathless whimper as the fingers were removed. His body clamped down powerfully at the emptiness he now felt. His hips rose desperately, seeking the feeling touch once more.



Alastair’s lips widened into a smile and tilted Vincent’s head upward with a finger. “Ask me.”



Vincent’s jaw clenched and he internally balked at the thought of begging like a woman for a cock. He was a lord and refused to allow this man to rule him. He shook his head and pulled his chin from the touch. “No.”



The answer only seemed to please Alastair. His hand left Vincent’s chin and traveled down his chest, pinching the erect nipples and relishing in the gasping of breath the action caused.



Vincent’s resolve weakened but did not fail at the way his nipples were tugged and twisted. Still he refused to ask him for what he truly wanted. He shook his head, making his long bangs fall into his eyes to obscure them from Alastair’s piercing gaze.



Instead of resignation or disappointment marring the pale features, Alastair merely chuckled. “It seems you’re quite a handful.”



He lowered his lips so they brushed the shell of Vincent’s ear. “But you will beg.”



Alastair sat back and released the tortured nipples, their color having darkened from a faint coral to a dark cherry. His hand bypassed the wound carefully and stopped when it reached the beginning of curls just below Vincent’s navel. The hand lifted and palm pressed down upon the head of Vincent’s shaft.



His vision went white as the hand began rotate back and forth with continued pressure on the tip. “Alastair…stop…oh Lord help me.”



“It is not God you should pray to in this moment. I’ll stop. I ease your suffering; all you have to do is ask me to take you.” Alastair lifted his hand for barely a moment’s reprieve before he began the torture again.



Vincent closed his eyes and his hands clenched at the chaise. It was pure torture. There was no other term to describe the wild, uncontrollable shudders running through his body. Sweet torture with only the promise of release was the best description one could present. “Please…fuck, please…take me.”



Alastair grinned and swiveled his palm once more, shivering at the pleading whine coming from gasping lips. Each gasped word of the plea was an aphrodisiac.



Vincent would have never thought such sounds would come from him yet they fell easily from his lips under the pleasurable pain he endured. Each sound he made seemed to arouse Alastair even more.



“I’ll take care of you, Vincent Phantomhive.” Alastair lifted Vincent’s hips, one arm beneath a knee while the other leg remained thrown over the chaise.



Vincent only had a moment to tense as Alastair’s hard shaft rubbed sensually between the cleft of his ass. He hadn’t even felt the man undo his trousers. Gentle hands rubbed up and down his thighs, soothing the nervous energy from him.



The touch on his skin soothed and aroused. His body relaxed enough for Alastair to slide inside him in a smooth glide.



Pain shot up his back. No matter the preparation, he’d never been breached and his body clenched tightly around the invading girth. He cried out, his body attempting to force out the invading length.



Alastair rode out the thrashing and clenching as Vincent spasmed. As his body adjusted, Vincent felt himself relaxing the powerful grip his body had on the other. While the pain was fading, it was taking the previous pleasure with it.



Alastair would have none of that. His hand lowered and stroked Vincent’s flagging arousal, bringing it to life once more.



With his body’s reaction renewed, Vincent began to follow the motions of the hand. As he moved, Alastair began to follow with his body. Slow strokes merged into more powerful movements, each inward thrust sending shards of pleasure shooting up Vincent‘s body. The pain was no more, or if it remained, it went unnoticed by him.



Vincent cried out at the pleasure. It had never been as such. No woman had ever pulled so much from him that amount of pleasure. There was a nearly painful contracting in his balls, three orgasms worth of cum ready to be expelled. His body arched high off the chaise, only his shoulders and head touching the embroidered material as cum exploded from the tip of his dark red arousal.



Thick white streams splattered across his chest. His orgasm felt endless; the cum continuing to ooze from the tip of his organ even as his orgasm ebbed. Alastair growled, and continued to pump inside him while his hand pumped the last of Vincent’s orgasm from him.



Alastair shuddered heavily and thick warmth flooded Vincent as the pale haired man collapsed on him, his long hair having come loose from the tie and spilling around them like colorless water.



Vincent collapsed, unable to think, speak, or move. His mind remained in a haze. He didn’t feel Alastair lift him easily into his arms or carry him to his series of rooms. It was all a blur, colored by the strength of his orgasm.



As his back touched cool sheets, he gasped as Alastair appeared with a pitcher and bowl. The soiled bandage was removed from his abdomen and his body cleaned of the excess of cum. He tried to argue but was ignored. The bright pink of the healing scar was carefully examined for even the slightest trace of remaining infection before clean gauze was wrapped around his abdomen.



“How did I get this?”



Alastair paused in his care of the wound to gaze at Vincent. “The battle should have been between us and not involving you. Michael knew I was…attached. I don’t know if he sought to kill and erred, or if he had another agenda. Until I know for certain, I will remain with you.”



“I don’t remember anything but the pain and even that is muted and vague.”



He nodded and sat back. “You’re lucky to be alive. Don’t let yourself get into such a situation again. I won’t always be around to watch your back.”



Vincent chuckled faintly, his body still shivering with the pleasure. His mind was confused but no longer at war. For now he would enjoy what he could. It was no different than keeping a mistress. Alastair’s time with him was likely to be brief. The other didn’t look the type to remain in one place too long.



When Alastair finished, he forced Vincent to the center of the bed. Vincent had never allowed his mistresses to sleep in the same bed as him. He’d always either left the apartments he set them up in, or in the rare chance they were at his residence, he arranged for other sleeping quarters for them. Now he was being forced to make room for another man.



Alastair slid his cravat from his neck and Vincent realized he had yet to remove his clothing. It was embarrassing to think his came off rather easily. As the shirt fell open, his eyes widened at the scars encircling Alastair’s throat. They looked just as raw and painful as the one across his face.



“What happened to you?” he asked wide-eyed.



Alastair reached up to rub the still tender flesh. “Just a retirement gift from Michael, I suppose.”



Vincent reached forward and stroked a hand over the raised skin. It hadn’t been that long but the skin was already puckered with scar tissue. That shouldn’t have been possible but he knew Alastair’s face had been unmarred before their encounter with the serial killer, Michael.



Vincent opened his mouth but Alastair placed a kiss on his mouth to stop the question before it escaped. “Don’t ask things you know I can’t answer. Let’s just say that you and I both bear the wounds of Michael.”



His curious nature demanded an answer but another part of him chose to allow Alastair the time to tell him of what happened to make his wounds heal so much faster. There would be time, if they were going to be together for a while.



Vincent allowed Alastair to pull him into an embrace and found himself becoming drowsy as they drifted off to sleep. He’d never slept so restfully and when light broke through the open curtains in his room, he opened his eyes to an empty bed and strangely refreshed feeling.



“Good morning, my lord.” Tanaka entered, carrying a fresh pitcher of water and towels for his morning ritual. “Would you care to break your fast in bed or will you be joining Mr. Allegro?”



“I’ll eat with Alastair. Bring me my clothes while I wash,” Vincent ordered and eased out of bed with a wince. He almost wished he’d opted to remain in bed for a while longer but refused to give Alastair the satisfaction of knowing his ass throbbed as if it had a hot poker shoved up it.



Tanaka helped him dress, wise enough not to mention the obvious discomfort his master was in but didn’t seem troubled by it. The man knew what had happened and in true servant style, ignored it as the master apparently wished.



Vincent was grateful and by the time he was dressed in black trousers, black preacher boots, white linen shirt, and green velvet vest; he felt more himself and was able to move about without any evidence hinting at his previous night’s activities. He didn’t need to worry about Tanaka gossiping. The man was as tight lipped as a statue.



“Good morning, Vincent.” Alastair was sipping on coffee as Tanaka pulled out Vincent’s chair at the dining table.



“I still haven’t given you permission to use my name,” grumbled Vincent.



Alastair only smiled and continued to sip his coffee as the servants placed plates of sausage, eggs, flat corn cakes, and fruit on the table along with condiments such as honey, butter, and jam.



Vincent chose tea instead of coffee, enjoying the lighter flavors of tea over the bitter brew in Alastair’s cup. He glanced up to see Alastair watching him intently. “What is it?”



“Are you sore?”



Red flushed across Vincent’s face and he sent a threatening scowl in Alastair’s direction. “Don’t talk of that out where the servants can hear.”



“Vincent, if they didn’t hear you last night, they were deaf. Your servants are loyal to you.”



Vincent waved his hand dismissively. “That doesn’t mean I want to be the choice topic of their gossip. They are notorious for it.”



Alastair shrugged and turned his attention to his break fast.



He chose the quiet to read over the letter left by his plate. It was a letter from his sister, Francis, Marchioness Middleford. He only skimmed it but it seemed she and her husband were still traveling abroad and wouldn’t return to Britain for another few months. Her very precise scrip was scrawled across the parchment. Once again she inquired to his status with finding a wife. He glanced up to see his male lover seated across from him and couldn’t help but find the inquiry amusing. His strict and proper sister would definitely find the situation scandalous.



Alastair looked at him curiously and he shook his head, mentally making a point to write Francis and assure her that he was still a happy bachelor and had no plans to change that in the near future.



They were just finishing up when Tanaka entered the room. “There is a Sir Durless to see you, my lord.”



He frowned for a moment then realized it was the father of the two young women he’d assisted the previous day. “Ah, show them into the receiving room. I’ll be there shortly.”



Tanaka left to do as instructed and Vincent finished his tea and stood. “Two girls I assisted yesterday,” he explained at his companion’s arched brow.



Vincent entered the room to see the tall older man standing with the two young ladies of the previous day. “Good morn, Sir Durless. I am Vincent Phantomhive.”



“Lord Phantomhive, my daughters and I came today to offer our gratitude for your assistance.”



Vincent inclined his head slightly. “It was no trouble. I was heading to my estate from London and in good conscious could not allow them to sit on the side of the road unprotected.”



“Thank you again.” The man bowed and gestured to his daughters, who both curtsied. “If you ever require my assistance, do not hesitate to call upon me.”



“I shall keep that in mind, Sir Durless.” Vincent smiled politely to the two young women and escorted the threesome out.



Alastair stood lounging in the door frame as he turned. There was a strange look on the man’s face. “What is it?”



“She likes you?”



Vincent frowned. “Who?”



“Nothing,” said Alastair and he turned and walked out of the manor and towards the stable.



Vincent followed at a slightly slower pace. “Where are you going?”



“To check on my horse. You didn’t think I flew here, did you?” Alastair’s lips quirked, upward and Vincent forgot about the strange feeling he’d had concerning Alastair.



“I assumed you rented a carriage,” he answered.



The quirk turned into a large grin. Alastair adjusted his glasses and grinned widely. “Never assume anything with me.”



Vincent arched a brow but followed him into the stable. The strange thoughts were gone. Both the Durless girls disappeared from his thoughts, replaced by Alastair. After the last few weeks, the Phantomhive luck seemed to be on the rise though neither would be prepared for the future they were destined for.



To be continued…



AN: Thank you to all five of my readers for this story. It is appreciated. PLease remember this is AR and things happen as I want them too and not canonly. Also, the ending will not be a fairytale happily ever after. I warned you guys in the first chapter so if you keep reading, no blaming me. Commissioned by Jennablackfox on ygal