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Immortal	By : zoni Category: > Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji ???) Views: 4535 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji. I do not make any money off of my fan fiction.

Chapter List
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Chapter Four

My young master's lips are warm as he kisses me. Ever so softly, he is pressing them to my own. I am surprised. However, the feeling of his fingertips on my jaw as he holds his face and the magnetic feeling of his mouth have become the only thing that I am aware of right now. The touch is simple and unobtrusive. His mouth isn't moving against mine. Is he looking for a reaction, to see if I will push him away? I won't do that, especially not when I have just asked for his forgiveness. I press my lips back against his, giving in to the kiss. Reaching up with one hand, I touch his hair. At that small gesture, he leans his head into my touch and joins in the kiss. It's sweet, chaste and affectionate. The caress only lasts a moment before he pulls away. His eyes are serious as he regards me, still holding my face in his hands. I had asked him what I could do atone for my actions. He gives me his answer. "Don't leave. This time, don't leave me."

Looking at him as he says the words, I can see a hint of desperation in his eyes. He is not masking his expression right now. Instead, he is looking at me openly in a way that he only has once or twice before. He doesn't just want me to agree, to accept and tell him that I will never leave his side. He needs me to. I consider this as my fingers drift through the strands of his hair. I am quite tired of wandering aimlessly, going from master to master, even though the time I have spent away from him is relatively short. I want this. I will tell him that I will stay by his side. And then, I will do exactly as I say. "Yes, my lord."

His eyes soften as he hears the words. Unable to resist the temptation, I do something that I have wanted to do for more than a century. Leaning up, I capture his lips with my own. There is no hesitation as he presses into the touch, moving easily with me as he slides one of the hands that has been on my face down and wraps his arm around my neck. I reach up and wrap my own arms around his back and waist, pulling him closer to me. He lets me, stepping forward so that his body brushes against mine as I kneel before him.

More than a century has passed, and I relish the feeling of being this close to him. I realize that things have changed. Not only from when I first came to serve my master, but even in the time that has passed since I first spotted him in that coffee shop. Whatever happens now, I doubt we will ever be simply master and servant, or even master and demon, again. The barriers that kept us apart when I was simply his butler were eliminated the second he kissed me. Even a few months after our contract was first instated, I had begun to see him in a light that no demon should ever view their master. While he did remain simply that, the fact that I cared for him more than I should is why I left. I see no point in fighting those emotions now. Even if I had a mind to, it would be hard to deny that I have come to love him. He is warm and sweet in my arms. This feeling is very different from when I would carry him when he was injured. I am a demon who entered into a contract which required me to devour Ciel Phantomhive's soul upon completion. I will never do that. It would seem that, for once, I have lied. I am glad.

My tongue runs across his bottom lip. His mouth opens against mine and I deepen the kiss. I straighten up slightly as he pushes closer to me. Kneeling in front of him, I am nearly the same height on him that he is on myself when we are both standing. The reversal is interesting. One of his hands reaches up to bury itself in my hair. I can feel his fingers running through the strands as he fists the other hand in the material of my shirt. I am smiling against his mouth as my own hands tighten in his clothing, wanting to bring him closer. In more ways than just this, I do not want to let him slip through my fingers again. Were it possible, I would lose myself in the taste of his mouth. The feel of our tongues dancing is addictive, a distraction from the events of the previous night.

The kiss ends and he pulls back just far enough that his lips brush my own as he whispers my name. He is panting. Very slowly, his hand slides out of my own hair and he releases the grip that he has on my shirt. I watch as he takes two steps backwards, his eyes never leaving mine. He wants me to watch what he is doing. He reaches up with both hands and begins unbuttoning his shirt. His fingers work slowly on the fabric, still not completely confident as he pushes each button through it's hole. My breath catches in my throat as I watch the expanse of pale skin that is being revealed as the shirt falls open. The invitation is obvious, even as he reaches the last button and lets his hands fall to his side. He is blushing, but his eyes never leave my own. I can tell that he is waiting for my reaction.

Pulling the glove off of my right hand, I reach up and run my fingertips across the side of his face. My hand drifts down his neck and across his chest, sliding across his soft skin the entire way down until I hit his belt line. He is beautiful. He is mine. My fingers retrace their steps back up his body. Instead of touching his face, however, I slide my hand across the fabric of his shirt and down to his bare hand. Picking it up, I bring it to my lips and kiss it. Then, I place it on my shoulder and wrap one arm around his back. My other arm reaches under his backside and I scoop him up as I stand. Still looking him in the eye, I tell him, "I have missed you, young master.

"I..." His direct gaze finally breaks and he looks away from me. That blush on his face darkens further. "... missed you, too."

Those words have me smiling even as I walk toward the bedroom with him in my arms. This isn't a matter of romanticism, fantasy or even cliche. I have every intention of taking advantage of the invitation he extended to me. My bed simply provides the most room in which to do so. Even though the intentions are different, this situation is oddly similar to the countless times that I carried him to bed in his own mansion. The similarities end when I place him on the bed, following so that I hover over top of him. He looks up at me, unblinking. Slowly, I lean down and let my lips brush across his. My eyes watch the shadows that my hair casts as it drifts across his pale skin, illuminated by the sunlight that is drifting through my curtain windows. I press kisses to his skin, drifting away from his mouth to nibble at his jaw and then up to his ear. "Young master..."

I have not lied to either of us. I have truly missed his presence. Perhaps it is foolish, but I feel now as if I wasted the time that I spent with him more than a century ago. This is what I wanted to do before I left him, before I made the mistake I still regret. Now, I will devote myself to memorizing every inch of his lovely skin. Underneath of me, he whimpers as my lips and tongue travel across his skin. From his neck to his shoulders and down slender arms. I am going to take my time enjoying him.

His fingers still bear his family and signet rings. Pressing kisses to the palms of his hands, I nibble on his fingertips. From there, I find my way to his chest. One of his hands tangles itself once more in my hair, pulling the strands even as I press my mouth to his body. I can hear my master's heart beating. Never would I have thought that I would be so happy at such a simple thing.

The sounds leaving his lips are a pleasure in and of themselves. He is whispering my name as I lick and nip at his skin. His breath catches in his chest whenever I find a sensitive spot. My fingers explore every inch of him that my lips have already covered, dancing across his arms and chest. I dip my tongue into his navel just as my dark nails scratch across his nipples. He cries out, arching into my touch. I wonder if he can feel me smiling against his skin. I press one last kiss to his stomach, just above where his trousers begin. Then, I pull back to hover over him once more.

My young master gave me an invitation when he unbuttoned his shirt. I accepted. However, even though I am a demon, I do not have any desire to rush this. Not out of any concern for some supposed virtue of his, though. Even when I served as his butler, I knew what he had gone through before he called me. I also have no idea what he may have done in the interim since I left. It doesn't really matter. No, the reason I am holding back is much more selfish. I want to savor this. I want to savor him.

His fingers are still twisted in my hair, slowly mimicking the actions of my hand as I stroke my fingers down the side of his face. I am delighting in simply having him here, like this. Though I probably shouldn't be smiling as widely as I am. While I may be grinning, he is glaring at me. I can practically feel his annoyance. I do not think that he is happy with the fact that I stopped what I was doing. Leaning up towards me, he has to stretch in order to kiss me. The hand in my hair tugs me down as he tries to pull me down on top of him. Rather than risking crushing my young master, I roll to the side and pull him with me. After a moment, he winds up perched on top of me with his legs on either side of my stomach. The second we stop turning, his lips are on mine again. Annoyed, indeed. This isn't like the kiss he started after hearing my apology. I can feel the heat behind this as my tongue tangles with his. I can feel his agitation not only from his mouth but the way that he is pressing up against me, his thin body rubbing up against mine as we kiss. He is taking out ever bit of frustration he feels at the past century and our current situation on my mouth. His hands drift from my hair down to my face then to my neck and onto my shirt. His thin fingers are warm even through the fabric. The feel of them is surprisingly teasing, though not nearly as much so as the way he keeps rubbing himself against me. I wonder if he even realizes that he is doing so. My arms tighten around him, pulling him closer to me still.

One of my hands slides down his back, passing the small of his back and settling on his backside when he shifts against me. At the feel of it, my young master pulls back from the kiss. Slowly, he leans back so that he is sitting up. He looks dazed. It's nice to see the effect I have on him so blatantly obvious in his expression. Has he finally decided to draw the line for today? While I have no objection to any of this, a human might think it was rather sudden. I am watching him and wondering if he is going to climb off of me or otherwise put an end to this. Instead, his eyes travel down from my face to my chest. He frowns. "... buttons."

"What was that, young master?"

"Why must you always wear something involving buttons?" He sounds almost disgusted.

I find myself smiling in spite of myself. It's a ridiculous complaint, but it's true. The button down shirts that I wear now are not dissimilar to the suit shirts that I wore while in his service a century before. Somehow, I became fond of wearing them and have continued dressing in a similar manner. Though, admittedly, usually without a tailcoat. Unable to resist, I reach up and push his own unbuttoned shirt off of one shoulder. "You are also wearing something with buttons, young master."

"That's different," he says quickly, huffing.

"How is that different?" I ask.

He fumbles for a response. Finally, finding something to respond with, he mutters, "Well, mine's already undone."

"Oh, I see," I grin. "Well, I believe I can do something to help."

Reaching up, I begin unbuttoning my shirt. In the past I've worn undershirts and the like, but today there is nothing but the thin cotton covering my skin. His eyes are riveted to my chest as my fingers slowly move further down. With him straddling my stomach, however, it's only a matter of time before I can go no further. My hands stop an inch from the crotch of his pants. Letting the fabric drop from my fingers, I run my hands up so that they are both sitting on his thighs. The amused atmosphere from a moment ago is fading quickly, replaced by something heavier. His eyes trail back up my body until he is once again staring into my own. "Sebastian..."

"Yes, young master?"

"You told me that you regretted leaving. Why?"

The question is unexpected. Reaching up with my left hand, I run my fingertips across the side of his face. He is oh so lovely in the soft morning light. Paintings by the old masters would pale in comparison next to his face now. My thumb brushes the skin underneath his right eye. I look at the contract seal as I consider how to answer. Smiling softly, I reply, "I have never enjoyed being away from you, young master."

"Is that..." He pauses for a moment, searching for a way to phrase what he wants to ask. "Is that because of the contract?"

"No." My answer is immediate. I know that yesterday I told him the reason for my departure. I wonder if he has really forgotten so quickly, or if he merely wants to hear it again. "The contract is of little consequence to me any longer. Whether or not your soul is owed to me has no bearing on my desire to be near you." He leans his head into my hand, both of his eyes sliding closed. My voice is quiet as I realize precisely how much truth is behind my words. "My place is always at your side."

His eyes open and he looks down at me for a moment, his expression unreadable. I wonder what is running through his mind with him gazing at me the way he is. All that I know is that I am glad to have him here.

He leans forward very slowly, lowering himself onto my chest so that he is laying on top of me. Rather than bringing his lips to meet my own, he presses them instead to my neck. The feel of his lips and teeth on my skin draws a quiet gasp from me. He presses his hands into my chest as he bites softly, nibbling his way down my body. He is mimicking my own actions from earlier, letting his hands drift down my sides and across my arms as he explores everything that my unbuttoned shirt allows him access to. The feeling of his tongue dragging across my skin is ecstasy, feeding the desire I feel for him.

Small hands work to undo the rest of the buttons on my shirt as he slides further down my body. After a moment, he slides off of my stomach and sits beside me. His mouth never leaves my skin. I find myself mesmerized by the sight of his soft pink tongue sneaking out to lick at my skin. He presses his lips to my stomach before pulling back and glancing at what he has now reached. My belt. The shirt is undone, but still tucked in. In an instant, that is no longer true. He tugs the shirt out from under the edge of my trousers. I still half expect him to back off or stop at some point, and this would be the ideal opportunity for it. After all, even supposing he manages to get my belt off, he might have trouble getting my pants undone. There are buttons, among other things.

For a moment, he does nothing and I wonder if my guess was correct. I will not push him toward one decision or another, though I find myself holding my breath as I wait to see what he will do. Then, he reaches forward and unfastens the belt. His hands only falter for a moment before working to undo the button on my slacks. He looks up at me then, staring into my eyes. I can hear every single one of the teeth of the zipper as he slowly lowers it. Reaching up, he trails one small hand across my chest and down my stomach.

As much as I enjoy having him touch me, this simply is not acceptable. As my master - no, simply for what he is to me - his needs come first. I reach down and grab his wrist. In an instant, our positions are reversed and he is pressed snugly into the comforter that covers my bed. He's startled, his voice surprised as he begins to say my name. "Seba-"

"Shh," I say. His voice is cut off as my lips come down onto his chest. No longer trying to memorize, I now simply want him to enjoy himself. I want to hear his voice as he calls out for me. My lips fasten on to one pink nipple. I wrap an arm around his body as I pull him closer to me. With my other hand free, I work to unfasten the remainder of his clothing. It is amazing what you can do with only one hand if you are determined enough to manage it. I drag my tongue across his skin as I undo his trousers and slide them down his hips and legs. Boxers follow shortly after. I love the way that his skin feels underneath of my hand. Soft, smooth and warm. I could spend all day simply touching and tasting him like this.

The hand that I have wrapped around his body quickly joins the other as I run my hands down the sides of his body even as I press kisses to his chest. Underneath my mouth, he whimpers as I nip his stomach and allow myself to drift lower. His arousal is pressing heavily against my chest, his hips pressing into me as he searches for some relief from that pressure. My tongue slides along his skin, tasting the sweat that is forming there. He reaches up with both hands, tangling his fingers in my hair.

I press a kiss to his hip and then take him into my mouth. He tastes sweet and hot on my tongue as I pull him into my throat. The sounds he makes as my tongue wraps around him are beautiful. He's crying out for me, back arching as I taste him. My hands explore his body even as my head moves between his legs. His hips push his length further into my mouth and throat. I don't mind. I relish the feel of him beneath me, the way he moves. Reaching up, I touch one of the hands that he has buried in my hair, twisting and pulling the strands. Instantly, he takes hold of my hand. I lace my finger as my mouth devours his body.

Pulling back, I let my lips glide across his hardness, solid but as soft as my silk sheets. He writhes under my careful touches as I pinch one nipple, rolling the bud between my fingertips. I can hear him panting. His toes curl against my side as he cries out one last time, the only warning I get before I feel his body tense and taste his pleasure on my tongue.

I pull my mouth away from him and rest my head on his leg, swallowing and licking the last few droplets from the corner of my mouth. My fingers are still intertwined with his. Neither of us makes any effort to change that. My free hand traces patterns softly across the skin of his stomach as I wait for him to recover. His breathing is still heavy, but I can hear it slowing. After a moment, he pulls slightly at our joined hands. He isn't trying to remove his fingers. Instead, he tugs my hand higher. Following the motion, I slide up the bed to lay next to him.

He is watching me. The expression on his face is unreadable as the two of us lay there and say nothing. I do not mind the silence. He is biting his bottom lip as though there is something that he wants to say. The slight flush across his cheeks as he looks down at my mouth and then glances away is adorable. I cannot help but smile at that. It is a little late to be embarrassed, but he is even more lovely for it.

Moments pass in silence before he speaks. When he does, his voice is quiet. "I looked for you, you know."

"Oh?"

"Yes," he says. "After you left, I tried to find you."

"Weren't you under the impression that I would devour your soul, young master?" I ask him. Even trying to find someone such as myself is a fool's errand. I am certain he knows that. Even so, I find it difficult to comprehend why someone would willingly search out the one thing that might bring about the end of their existence.

He looks away, not meeting my gaze as he studies the shape of the fan on my ceiling. "Yes."

"I am afraid that I do not understand, young master." Some of his hair has fallen down across his face. Reaching over, I brush it out of his eyes. "Why would you try to find me, knowing that I would devour your soul?"

The open expression on his face darkens slightly. A sense of unease and discomfort come over him. He doesn't pull away from my touch, but he looks as if he is considering it. Am I the source of his unease? I doubt it. More, I think that he is uneasy at the question that I have asked or his own answer to it. His voice is very soft as he responds. "I thought that, even if you were to eat my soul, it would be better than not having you there at all."

I do not like hearing words like that leave his lips. Even if it had been true that I desired to eat his soul, it bothers me that he finds that more appealing than life. The contract that he and I entered into existed to grant him some semblance of that life until the time came to conclude the contract.I had simply chosen to allow him to continue that.

It is disconcerting to think that my young master, who has always been a very strong individual, would have that sort of weakness within him. I take the hand that is still lingering in his hair and let it drift down his body. Wrapping an arm around his waist, I pull him closer to me. He allows himself to be moved, leaning against my chest. One of his thin arms drapes over my own body, allowing him a little space in between the two of us.

I enjoy having him this close to me. Even before, when I was simply his butler, I was never able to spend time like this with him. I savored the times when I carried him to his bedroom, and the few times he leaned against me for support, be it physical or emotional. I had assumed that those stolen moments were the most that I would be granted. Never had I thought that I would be able to lie here with him so close to me like this. Dipping my head, I press my lips to his hair. He smells wonderful.

My young master tilts his head forward and I feel his lips as he presses them to my chest, kissing my skin. That simple touch is a tangible heat against my body. While he has reached completion, I have not. The arousal that I felt as I brought him off still burns in me, slow and hot. I desire him as I have desired few people through out the centuries. That feeling is only deepened by the fact that I have felt this way for so very long. I want him.

My eyes slide closed as his mouth trails across my skin. The fingers of the hand he doesn't have twined with mine traces lines across my skin as he explores it. His touch is light and barely there. If I wasn't so completely aware of him, I might wonder if I was imagining it. His warm breath cools my skin where his saliva covers it as he licks the skin around one nipple. With his tongue, he traces a circle around it before his teeth bite down. I open my eyes to watch him as I lose myself in his precious touches. My arm around him pulls him even closer as he pulls his fingers out of my own. Those slender digits slide down my side, pushing my open shirt to the side. He traces the line across where my trousers are normally fastened and lets his hands drift down over the open fly. I can feel the heat of his hand on my erection, but he doesn't move his fingers inside of the fabric to touch me. Instead, he runs his hand along the outside of my pants. His fingers trace the outline of my cock, providing nothing more than teasing pressure through the fabric. "Sebastian..."

"Yes?"

"Make me forget." The words are little more than heated air on my skin, his voice so soft that even I can barely hear it. His hands have stopped moving. He slides up, his lips ghosting over the skin of my shoulders and neck. They are nearly at his ear as he speaks. "Make me forget that you were ever gone.

For now, nothing matters but him. I move to hover over top of him, pressing my lips to the juncture of his neck and jaw. Both of his hands move down to my waist once more, tugging at the fabric of my pants. He can't get a very good grip, and there isn't much leverage for him to work with. Between the two of us, however, we somehow manage to get the trousers slipped off of my legs and onto the floor. With that simple action there is nothing left between the two of us but air.

My lips are on his skin once more, sucking at the softness I find at the base of his throat. It will leave a mark, one I will admire later. Even more so for the teeth I let dig into the flesh there, sharp but not enough to break skin. He whimpers, his voice captivating as his hands grasp at my back.

My hands run down his sides, exploring his naked skin. Traveling down his body and between his legs, I can feel him starting to get hard again. His back arches as I wrap my fingers around him. Slowly, I begin to stroke him once more. A century ago, I might have wondered if this is what he truly wanted. Especially considering everything that I know he has been through, and the many things I do not know about. However, I do not. I have no reason to doubt him now.

I am a devil. Selfish, lusting and wanting to feel his body around me. In this moment, however, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he desires exactly the same thing. I cannot fully erase the past century from reality, but perhaps I can replace it with another that will surpass the one before. It is a frightening thing to think that I would come to care so very strongly about a human. The only thing that I care about is my young master. Since the day that he and I first met, he has always been my priority. The only thing that has changed in that respect are the reasons for it.

I pull the hand that is exploring his body to my lips, wetting two of my fingers. Slowly, I bring those fingers back between his legs. My hand finds his entrance easily. Slowly, I press a finger into him. His breath catches at the intrusion. My eyes never leave his face as I begin to move the digit within him. Those hands that he has wrapped around my back tighten. His fingernails dig into my skin as I stroke him in time to the motions of my finger within him. Even around a single finger, he feels tight. Another finger joins the first, moving slowly to let him adjust to the sensation of something inside of him. I'm a fair sight larger than my fingers, and I do not wish to hurt him any more than is unavoidable.

He is still whimpering as my fingers begin to move within him. His breath comes in short pants as his teeth dig into his bottom lip. The dark hair around his head shines dimly in the faded light that still manages to find its way into the room. Only a few more moments and it will be time. Even those few moments before I remove my fingers are a trial. If I did not have as much restraint as I do, the temptation to simply go ahead and take him would be too much. He has always been tempting, but never more so than he is now as he looks up at me through half-lidded eyes. He runs his tongue across soft pink lips and I know that even I cannot wait any longer.

I pull my fingers out of him very slowly, reaching up to press against the bulge of his prostate as I draw them back. His back arches and he cries out for me once more. Settling between his legs, I spit into one hand and then spread my saliva over my own erection. He looks straight into my eyes as I begin to push into him, wrapping his arms around my neck and whispering my name under his breath. My own breath catches as I ease myself in, very aware of every movement he makes around me. He is holding his breath as he waits for me to still. Wincing, he is trying to hide the discomfort that I know he is feeling. There is nothing I can do to take that away. I am going as slowly as possible. Not only for his own sake, but because I would like to remember this. This moment, this feeling. I have had countless partners in the past. I cannot remember ever wanting any of them the way that I want him now. I would like to remember how it felt as I finally made my young master my own with more than markings and promises.

"You feel good, young master," I whisper to him as I finally hit home, completely buried in his heat.

I am certain he can hear the smile in my voice. He blushes deeply and looks away from me. "Be quiet, Sebastian."

"Is that what you really want?" I ask. I move my hips and let him feel the weight of me as I slowly pull out of him.

He gasps heavily. His arms tighten around my neck as he shouts. "Sebastian!"

I chuckle darkly against his shoulder as I lean closer to him, pushing back into him. Any feeling of amusement quickly fades as the two of us quickly find a rhythm and move together on the softness of my comforter. I have been hungry for the feeling of him beneath me for far longer than I think I would care to admit. Having him here now only feeds that and makes me want even more of him. My young master. For he truly is mine now, and I doubt that either of us will ever feel the need to deny that simple fact.

His lips on mine steal desperate kisses as his hips roll against my thrusts. My hand on his arousal teases every sensitive point that I can find. His skin is hot against mine, like fire. We're both sweating, and I delight in the taste of it on his skin. The only thing I am thinking about is the way that he feels around me. His voice sounds so sweet as he calls my name and moans when I hit just the right angle. Every movement we make feels electric. As much as I am enjoying this, however, I would like to actually be able to hold him as I push into him. That isn't really possible with his back pressed so solidly into my bed.

As smoothly as possible, I move both of us so that I am sitting on the bed with my back pressed against the headboard. He is sitting on top of me, legs on either side of my hips. His eyes widen with surprise, but he doesn't seem to mind the change of positions. "Seba-"

I cut his words off with my lips, tangling my tongue with his as I wrap my arms around him. This new angle has an added benefit, one which he and I soon discover as I thrust into him. I can reach even deeper than before. He breaks away from the kiss, groaning loudly against me. His small body is pressed so close to mine now that his arousal presses firmly into my stomach. My arms slide down his back as I let my hands settle onto his hips, showing him how to move. He does not hesitate as he follows the motions that I am showing him, pressing his chest into me as he moves over me. The feeling is amazing. Every time I push into him is like a delicious static dancing across my entire body, teasing every nerve in my skin.

His arms are wrapped around my neck. His lips press into my skin, licking and biting at my collar bone. I am getting close to going over the edge, but I will not let myself come before him. One of my arms wraps around his back, holding him closer as my other hand strokes his arousal. I flick my tongue over the sapphire earring in his ear. "Come for me."

His hips push into me even as I hear him cry out, nearly a scream as he shouts my name. He does come, hard. "Sebastian!"

His fingernails dig into my skin and the feeling is pure ecstasy, the purest feeling of pleasure and pain mixed into one. I bury myself in him even as my own pleasure overtakes me and I fill him with it. Letting out a breath, I collapse against the headboard. Sliding down onto the bed, I pull him with me.

Moments pass before I slide out of him and he rolls to the side, laying next to me. We are both still trying to catch our breath, but I can see from the smile on his face that he and I are thinking similar things. For the first time in a very long while, I am content. Perhaps even happy. Every reason for it is laying at my side and looking up at me. My sense of ease is not due to what we have just done. It is simply because he is here once more.

I am not deluding myself. I am still painfully aware of my contract with John Anderson. Even now, with my arm wrapped around my young master, I can see the edges of the clear black lines that serve to remind me that I serve two masters for now. However, I am strangely elated at the thought that my secondary contract will soon come to an end. It is bad form on my part. I pride myself on loyalty to whatever master I serve. To the better end, even if they are as distasteful as John Anderson. However, that does not mean that I will be sad to conclude that contract. Soon, I will be able to return to my young master once and for all.

I have loathed the entire century that has passed. Even before my contract with John Anderson, I did nothing productive with my time. It was not so much as an interim as a mourning period. For demons, that is shameful and disgusting. That will never happen again.

He is watching me with a most unguarded expression, a slight smile on his face as my fingers idly across his side. Neither of us is saying anything anything, and neither of us needs to. He truly is a beautiful boy. Even so, I can see things now that make me regret leaving more than I already do. My fingertips move slowly across his side, circling a small line of raised flesh. "Young master, what is this?"

He looks down to where my hand is and shrugs. "It's a scar."

"I can see that. What is it from? This was not here when I left."

"No, it wasn't," he agrees. "I've got hired bodyguards but even they can't stop everything. That one was a gun shot. I've got a few of those. Only took a few weeks to heal." He looks at the frown on my face and snorts. "Immortality begins and ends at a lack of aging with me, Sebastian. I'm not indestructible like you."

"You should have hired better bodyguards," I tell him. "They were careless if you received an injury like this."

Looking at me, he raises an eyebrow. "I was injured a few times while you were with me, too, you know. Anyway, are you saying you won't protect me?"

"Young master," I pull him a little closer. "Even with my protection before, did you not have a capable staff in your household?"

He ignores the question and buries his face in my chest, huffing. Several long moments pass before he rolls onto his back and stares up at my ceiling. "I have to leave soon."

"Oh?"

"I have a business meeting this afternoon. I can't cancel it again. Funtom Company is still something that I have to take care of." He sighs, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Rising, I retrieve a wet washcloth from my bathroom and clean the evidence of our activities from his skin. Then, I do something that I haven't done in more than a hundred years. I help him get dressed. The motions are so easy that I feel as if this is still an every day routine.

As I fasten the last button on his shirt, there is a dull electronic buzzing from my nightstand. My eyes slide over to the small black cell phone that sits on top of the stand. That sound the very last thing that I wanted to hear today. My young master makes a dismissive motion with his hand, giving me leave to answer it. I rise to my feet, bowing slightly as I say, "Excuse me."

Picking up the cell phone, I walk out of the room and into the hallway that leads to my living room. I flip the phone open and press it to my ear. "Hello?"

"You, de... de... demon," the slurring voice at the other end manages. It's still morning, though nearly noon, and he is already drunk again. Or perhaps he is still drunk from last night, I am uncertain. I really could not care less. His distasteful voice rolls through the phone more loudly than I would have cared for. "I'm having some company over tonight, a couple of... lovely ladies," he pauses, as if not sure those were the right words. They probably weren't. "You're gonna come over here and entertain us. At six."

"Entertain you?"

"You know what I mean, you... you animal," Anderson says. There is a loud crash and a dull thud in the background. I wonder if he has fallen over. He growls stupidly at the phone. Animal, indeed. "Don't be late. And you better be fuckin' presentable, or... or else."

The line on the other end goes dead as he shuts the phone. My eyes drift towards the door at the end of the hall that leads to my bedroom where my young master is still probably sitting on my bed. Yes, I think that tonight will be the last time that I will see John Anderson.

Walking down the hall, I go back into the bedroom. My young master does not ask about the phone call or even bat an eye when I set the cell phone back down onto my nightstand. He isn't stupid. I'm quite certain that he is aware that there aren't many reasons that a demon such as myself would keep something like that around. Rather than broach the subject, I say, "I apologize for the interruption, young master."

"It doesn't matter." He slides off the bed and stands up, his eyes not meeting mine. Instead, he looks back at the bed where he and I made love. I wonder what he is thinking behind those mysterious eyes.

Quietly, I ask, "Young master, can I ask one favor?"

"What is it?"

"Will you come to see me later tonight, once your meetings conclude?"

Finally, he looks up at me. I can see him thinking about my question. He is not uncertain or regretful about what we have done, but perhaps trying to instill some of that caution in himself that he had only the day before. Apparently, caution does not win out in the argument. He breathes, "Yes."

Quietly, I escort him to the door of my apartment. Before he leaves, I am unable to resist leaning down and stealing a kiss.

It is five fifty-two in the evening and I am standing in front of the brick facade of John Anderson's apartment building. Nothing on the outside betrays the filth of the people within it. It only takes a moment for me to make my way up to his apartment. After a polite knock on the door, I let myself inside.

John Anderson is not difficult to find, though he isn't in a location that I would have normally checked. His voice and the laughter of two women can be heard clearly coming from the kitchen. The counters are made of white marble, but it is hard to tell that beneath the discarded wrappers from various food items. Anderson has also unearthed and opened several bottles of wine, most of which are empty now. He and his company are all holding wine glasses. The wrong sort of wine glasses for the chosen vintage, but I doubt he cares. They all turn their attention towards me as I walk into the kitchen. I cannot say that I am surprised by his choice in company, though I am not greatly enthused by it. In addition to his preferred prostitute, John Anderson has decided to include the anorexic woman from last night in this private party. She smiles far too warmly at me for my tastes as I walk into the kitchen. Anderson does not react favorably to my arrival. The happy smile on his face fades the instant I see him. "You're late. And you're not fucking dressed right again. Have some class."

At least he sounds slightly more sober, though with that much alcohol in his system, I do not know how that is possible. I am perfectly well aware that I am not late. The only thing that he could complain about is the fact that my clothing is black and white. Tonight, I simply couldn't be bothered wearing something else. I meet his gaze, but do not apologize. Surprisingly, the prostitute at his side speaks up, her voice thick with a New Jersey accent. "Oh, leave him be, John. Who cares what he's wearing? It'll be off of him soon enough."

"That's right," the anorexic woman speaks up, her eyes still on me. "You up for a repeat of last night, stud? It'll be loads of fun, and more's a party..."

Smiling politely, I respond. "I'm afraid that is absolutely out of the question."

"Excuse me?" She sounds as though she might be offended. I think I should remove any uncertainty.

"I have no desire to feel your touch again or to be any closer to your filthy body than absolutely necessary," I say. The smile never leaves my face.

She begins sputtering, backing up as she finally finds her voice. "Fuck you!"

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Anderson shoves the woman aside and walks up to me, spitting in my face as he breathes. He barely comes up to my shoulders. It is very difficult for anyone that height to look imposing, and he certainly doesn't manage to achieve that.

"Mr. Anderson," I say, ignoring the bluster.

"What?" He says, having no other response.

"You have been quite wealthy for some time, you know," I tell him, smiling brightly as I relish the thought of what is soon to come. My eyes are glowing. I wonder if the women are afraid yet. Anderson certainly has not realized what is about to happen. "As such, I do believe that I have fulfilled the requirements of service that our contract has dictated. I'm afraid it is now time to bring a conclusion to our dealings."

John Anderson's eyes are wide as the realization of what I am about to do sinks in. Rather than killing him outright and taking his soul, however, I do something that I have wanted to do since the party last night. My left hand shoots out from my body, claws ripping through the cotton gloves as my hand fastens around the throat of the blonde woman that I slept with last night. I flex my ingers and my hand crushes her throat even as my claws cut through her flesh. She is dead in a very short amount of time, but the spray of arterial blood and the squelching scream that she makes as the last of the air leaves her lungs is enough to strike terror into the other two people in the room. People like that woman disgust me, and I do not appreciate being humiliated. I can feel a deep sense of satisfaction as I let her corpse drop from my hand, hitting the floor with a thud.

The prostitute screams, turning to run. I dislike her for many of the same reasons that I hated the woman that I have just killed. After all, this prostitute was one of the people that John Anderson forced upon me when I was first under his subjugation. Even if I did not have that dislike of her, I could not let her survive. In the modern world, police can cause more problems than they should be able to. My hand shoots through her chest, crushing her ribcage and ending her life before her heart can even complete another beat. Her blood drips down my arm, splattering the man on the ground in front of me. I have not even taken one step away from where I have been standing.

On the floor in front of me, John Anderson is on his knees with his hands clasped in front of him as if he is praying. He is, in a way, but begging me will do him little good. He is simpering, weak and foolish. He smells of urine. I do believe that he has wet his pants. "You don't have to do this! Please! Please!"

"I have been in your service for more than a year, Mr. Anderson, and I have to admit that I am in awe." I peel the remains of the gloves off of my hands. Even I have no desire to feel blood soaked cloth against my skin. I drop the remains on the floor. I will dispose of them later, once I have removed the corpses. "I have never met someone for whom I feel such complete revulsion before. Coming from one such as myself, that is a very remarkable statement."

"Please! Don't kill me! I'll do anything!" He is ignoring my words completely. Instead, his hands are grabbing the legs of my pants, trying to garner my attention as he begs like a dog. "I can give you anything you want! Money! Women! Drugs! Just name it and it's yours."

"Money?" I raise an eyebrow. "Mr. Anderson, wasn't I the one who helped you get that money in the first place?"

"Even so, I'll-"

"I already have everything that I need," I tell him. "After all, I am merely one hell of a butler."

"Butler?"

The confused word is the last to leave his lips. Picking him up easily, I tear him in half. His body falls apart as easily as wet bread, fluids and flesh gushing out on the tile floors he loved so much.

In an instant, I have already knelt before him and devoured his soul. I take no delight in it and barely even notice the flavor. It is sustenance, nothing more. Rather than needing a meal, my motivation in devouring him is to finally bring to a close the contract that I entered into with him. With both gloves gone from my hands, I look at the back of my left hand and watch as the black lines on it leech back to the familiar pattern that indicates who my master is. Ciel Phantomhive is now the only one whose contract marks my skin.

Later tonight, after I have finished cleaning up this apartment, I will reestablish the connection with him that I tamped down on so long ago. That little part of my mind that will let me hear if Ciel Phantomhive calls for me. I no longer fear feeling that familiar pull on my mind. I get started on cleaning up the apartment. I am not doing it out of respect for the dead or any regret for my actions. I am doing this so that no one will discover what has happened here, because it will be less problematic for myself if it appears that John Anderson has simply left for an impromptu vacation. Eventually, perhaps a month from now, someone will discover that he isn't returning. When that happens, they will investigate his spare apartment, where I am staying. I will be long gone by that time, but I would not care for someone to discover the apartment before I leave.

Three and a half hours after I arrived at John Anderson's home, I am walking down the sidewalk towards my own apartment. All traces of blood are gone from my body. I am wearing a fresh change of clothes, one I kept in that apartment for situations which might require clean clothing.

I am surprised to discover that I feel relieved now that the contract between John Anderson and myself has concluded. There has never been a point when I particularly cared about the fact that I was in a contract with someone or not. Demons do not usually have a preference, even if their master is revolting or cruel. Truthfully, some even enjoy that. It is simply how we live. Much as humans have jobs to survive, this is how I live. When one contract concludes, demons will eventually find themselves in another. It is simply the natural way of things.

Even so, I find myself smiling as I walk down the sidewalk in the darkness of evening. I am pleased at the prospect of being able to see my young master again. Even with John Anderson out of the way, I am well aware that there are other complications that will arise. I have no intention of ever devouring my young master's soul. That has not changed. And, truthfully, I do not need to eat to survive. However, demons do feel hunger. While many years may pass, eventually I will find myself feeling a very great deal of discomfort at that hunger. As my experience with John Anderson has shown, however,, I believe that I would feel just as uncomfortable with the thought of entering into another contract simply to assuage my hunger. The thought of devouring souls outside of a contract, the very thing that the grim reapers fear from demons like myself, is not even something I will consider. It is akin to picking food out of a dumpster for your dinner. Yes, in time, I will find myself facing two different kinds of discomfort. Either hunger or a secondary contract. When that happens, I will simply choose whichever option is the least offensive at the time.

And, after all, there are different kinds of hunger. Memories from this morning are enough to remind me of that. The smile from my lips fades as I look up ahead of myself, however. In front of my building, emergency vehicles are blocking most of the two lane road. There are no sirens going, so I know that they have been there for a while. However, the lights are still flashing on top of two ambulances even as one of them pulls away. A police car is parked directly in front of the building. A policeman is trying to keep a crowd of onlookers that surround the area back. It's obvious that there's been an accident. Another policeman is standing off to the side, talking to a distraught looking woman who is leaning against a vehicle.

The crowd is blocking the door to my building, but I try to work my way through them. I can tell that people are being allowed inside the building through the front door even though it is slow going. I do not feel like using the back entrance or fire escape to reach my apartment. As I nudge my way inside, one of the women from my floor sees me. "Did you hear what happened?"

"An accident, I'd assume," I say, looking at her levelly. I've had the misfortune of being caught by her before. The woman could take three hours to retell a five minute story, and she is always hungry for gossip. I wonder if I can work my way around her in less than half an hour.

She nods. "I saw it, too. Nothing ever happens on our street, does it? Not like this. That car swerved across both lanes and hit a kid crossing the street. Took out another car, too, and part of the building. They said the brakes cut out on them. The entire thing's a mess. Such a shame, too. I saw the kid before they took him out of here, too. Couldn't have been more than eleven or twelve. I wonder if they've gotten a hold of his parents. I hope he's okay, he looked like he was in bad shape."

"Kid?" There is a sinking feeling in my stomach. My young master and I had not agreed on a particular time, merely that he would meet me at my apartment at some point later in the evening. I have no reason to assume that something has happened, even if he does have a history of getting himself into difficult situations. "Did you see what he looked like?"

"Not really, no," she admits. "All I could see of him was a glimpse of his face before the paramedics put him in the ambulance."

"Was he wearing an eye patch?" One of his most defining characteristics, and something that most humans notice on a child. I'm certain it isn't him, but knowing for certain and not wondering as I wait for him to arrive will set my mind at ease.

"Oh. No, definitely not." She smiles. I let out a sigh of relief. She turns to look at the last ambulance as it pulls away. "He did have the prettiest hair, though. Sort of a slate-blue color, almost gray."

My entire body feels as cold as ice as I hear those words. Pushing past her, I make my way swiftly through the crowd of people. The line where the policeman is pushing people back is clearly defined by some hastily strung tape. Against the building, a sedan with the front half of its hood crumpled is steaming lightly. There is blood on the pavement behind it, ending at the curb where the car went up and over it before hitting the building. The air smells of burnt rubber and oil. I open my mouth to call the police officer over to get more information, to confirm or deny my fears, when I see it.

Laying on the ground, nearly hidden underneath the back tire of the sedan, there is a small black triangle of cloth. Twin black cords string out from either side, frayed and shredded on the pavement. My young master's eye patch.

To be continued....
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Immortal