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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
++++++++ Please see disclaimer & story notes in chapter one ++++++++

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

I know nothing about the stock market, and I don’t have the time to be a ‘professional’ author and learn it for the sake of accuracy in this fanfic. It isn’t the focus of this story, and I’m not concerned about the accuracy of what I wrote regarding it.

I fly beta-less. Please forgive the typos.

As always, thanks for reading!

 

+

Gilded

Chapter 7

+

The American holiday called Thanksgiving was fast approaching. I was looking forward to it immensely! It looked as though our entire staff and a few of their loved ones would be gathering for this traditional feast at Gilda’s manor, as well as Fortunado Fernandez and his Uncle Rafael, and several of Rafael’s ‘goons’. I was happy to hear there would be goons present. With that many people, I needed some help with the security.

Speaking of more people, Gilda herself had personally invited some conservatory students to stay with us for the break, eight of them to be exact, who either had no place to go or could not afford to go home themselves – for an entire week.

Goodness.

I would be decorating the manor for this holiday and the next two, Christmas, or Gilda’s non-commital ‘x-mas’ as she put it, and then New Year’s. She was not a religious woman, but she adored holiday decorating. She informed me that we would do outdoor lighting, and I was to put wreaths and candles everywhere, and that we would have a decorated tree, of course. I asked her what I was to top the tree with, since she said an angel was out of the question. She answered, and I quote, ‘I dunno, Alex, how about a statue of Dionysus?’ Then she laughed like a harlot and walked off.

I adore my new Mistress.

Hopefully by x-mas I could talk her into a party for New Year’s Eve as well. I am thinking costume ball. Yes, indeed.

I am gleeful, I digress. Back to the task at hand.

Come this November, I would be making a Thanksgiving feast for twenty-one people! I was also put in charge of entertaining and accommodating the conservatory students who were to stay for the entirety of the break.

What a nice gift she has given me. I could finally arrange a pool party, and have legitimate reasons to clean the basement. The students were sure to use the entertainment facilities wasting away down there night after night, not to mention the upstairs guest rooms would finally get appreciated.

+

Many aspects of our life together fell into place, making for a nice, comfortable routine.

Gilda attends school five days a week. She has a set schedule for the Fall. Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays I pick her up from school at two-thirty, the other two days I wait in the limo at four-fifteen. I am not entirely comfortable with this arrangement, considering she is out of my sight for so many hours, but it appears to be safe. The conservatory takes an old-fashioned approach to the security of their students and is well-guarded as a result.

She will change to another schedule shortly after the holiday break for what will be her last semester. Spring semester will be a bit more relaxed. She will only attend three days a week, and there will be more lab time and fewer classes as she prepares for her three finals. I have no worries that she will come through with flying colors. The conservatory expects her to manage her time effectively during that semester, and I will be supervising her management.

She swims almost every evening, and I insist on watching over her. Yes, I finally did get her some swimwear. While I do not get to enjoy her thrashing about naked in the pool, I still get to change her clothes for this. Throughout the average day, I am now undressing and redressing her four times. Delightful!

I swim with her occasionally, and during those times we get close have a bit of fun. Nothing elaborate, mind you, just touching, or a small peck here and there. She is still running hot and cold on me, and when I do not join her in the pool, my constant vigil seems to get on her nerves. I may have to submit to her wishes – ‘Christ! Leave me alone already!’ – once again. She is a strong swimmer, and I agree that she could probably do with some personal time that is butler-free, not just while she sleeps.

Although… she isn’t really free of me then, either.

Our staff continues to report in, and they are growing more and more comfortable with us. It seems that our accountant and tax lawyer, Michael Jacobs and Evelyn Shapiro, have same affliction that many people who live and work in the underworld suffer from – they have no relatives that continue to consider them family. I recently caught the two of them kissing on a couch in the library. Ah… love is in the air.

Rafael reported to me that they had bought out all but two of the primary shareholders in Norman Bellows’ firm. They nearly had control over the company. The last two would be bought out either with a healthier offer, or through intimidation. I told Uncle Rafael that if he needed any help with that, I was more than willing to lend a hand. After they embezzled the currency from Bellows’ rather solvent company and moved it to temporary allocations, they would liquidate those investments and launder the money. Once that was done, we’d be left with about nineteen-point-six million dollars, half of which went to the ‘staff’. The rest was Gilda’s, to dole out and distribute as she pleased.

And then, Norman Bellows would be forced to file for bankruptcy. The poor dear. Gilda stated that she wanted to be present for that last board meeting so that she could confront her father. I would make this happen.

The manor was already ‘paid for’, so to speak (that poor real estate agent; I hear he is in a ‘home’ now), and the creditors from my huge shopping spree have not come busting down our door as of yet. When I mentioned this, Uncle Rafael sped up some of the embezzling, and Michael Jacobs laundered enough cash to pay off the various bills that were hanging over our heads. My Miss Gilda was sitting pretty as far as her finances went, even if the throne she sat upon was, technically, stolen property.

And the best thing of all for me? I am free to buttle to my black heart’s content.

+

I have learned that Gilda does not simply have some differences as compared to Ciel; my new Mistress is in fact fantastically dissimilar from my former Master.

They both faced major tragedies and obstacles in life. She has a sharp tongue, just like his, and neither one would suffer a fool gladly. Very intelligent, both of them. She has an annoying stubborn streak that leads her to become obsessed with whatever task is set before her, just as he did.

And, most importantly of course, their souls – both pure, rare, and delicious.

However…

Ciel was loyal, rational, cynical, strong, and uppity.

Gilda, on the other hand, is amusing, flirtatious, friendly, kind, and a bit naïve.

He embraced his need for vengeance.

She seeks vengeance, but doesn’t appear to even have much of an interest it.

Ciel was interested in gadgets and machinery and industry.

Gilda hates most technology. She doesn’t even know how to drive a car.

He had precious few friends, and he couldn’t stand them.

She has precious few friends, and she cherishes them.

He had no idea how to live without money or servants. He saw his wealth as an integral part of his person.

She has no idea how to live with money and servants. She accepts her poverty.

Ciel talked down to his servants (and just about everyone else) and ridiculed them, even as he was, for the day, an exceptional Master to work for.

Gilda treats everyone like they are equals. While this is compassionate and democratic, it is also preposterous; as far as I have seen there isn’t a soul like her in existence today.

He was arrogant; he knew he had a rare soul, and he acted like it.

She is self-deprecating; she doesn’t think her soul is worth anything at all.

Ciel loved giving me orders. Ones that involved violence or terror while keeping his own hands clean seemed to be quite easy to delve out. He especially enjoyed the ones that made me uncomfortable. (Let’s just say its name was ‘Pluto’.)

As I mentioned before, Gilda despises giving me orders and wants for my comfort as much as I want for hers. I have no idea how to deal with this.

He had a mean streak and he taunted me. I didn’t like it, save that the demon in me found it admirable.

She is playful and likes to tease me, but it’s all for fun… or maybe even a bit more than just fun (I’m getting to that). I sincerely enjoy it, although the demon inside me is disturbed by that fact.

Ciel became technically good on the violin, although his performances lacked any sense of passion whatsoever, and he hated playing it. In fact, he took a dispassionate stance on nearly everything in life, with the exceptions of obtaining his revenge, and, well, me.

Gilda is a genius on the piano and was apparently born to be a composer. She doesn’t simply love music; it is her life’s blood. She is eager and interested in learning many things, especially things about me.

(Oh. Apologies, that last bit was a similarity, in a round-about way.)

He liked to hunt wild animals and then shoot them. He had a fondness for guns.

She has a weakness for nearly all animals and hates violence. She abhors weapons.

Ciel was in desperate need to not be touched (although I still tried). He accepted it when in peril, or when he had the need to be carried due to injuries or fatigue, but he would slap my hand way at any other time. I confess that sometimes I did it just to get on his nerves.

Even as she does not realize it herself, Gilda needs to be touched, and frequently, which I try to do. While the physical challenges regarding that seem to be out of our way, she still has some emotional barriers. She allows me to do whatever I try to do, but sometimes it’s as though she is not there with me while I am doing it. I confess I’ve become obsessed myself – with reaching her. I am determined to get under her skin before I take her into mine.

That brings me to their most notable difference. Gilda wants very much to not need anyone; Ciel constantly claimed he didn’t. But by the end it was obvious that he needed me as much as I needed him. And as far as Gilda goes, that is a ‘want’ I plan to break her of.

It was foolish of me to assume that because they are both worthy of a contract, I could and did try to handle Gilda the same way as I handled Ciel. It was even more foolish that I expected her to behave as he did. Like children, every prey is unique.

What can I say? I was mistaken. Chalk it up to all that glee when I marked her!

+

Miss Gilda Louise Franks also has a few quirks. Occasionally, when she returns home from her classes at the conservatory, she will either delay or deny me helping her change into a fresh set of clothes for the evening. Then, when I am occupied with some other task such as making her supper, she will slip upstairs and change on her own.

At first, I just assumed she was being stubborn about letting me undress and dress her – oh, she got over her shyness about being naked and touched soon enough; pretty much after our fun in the pool she didn’t seem to care what I saw or what I touched – and if that is her solution, I don’t really like that, either.

However, there is a different motive behind this behavior.

She likes to tease me.

Now, I don’t mean the traditional ‘tease’, as in sexually. I cannot possibly label her whatever term you humans are using these days for someone who taunts, instills desire, and then refuses. I can’t, because the fact of the matter is, we have both been playing with each other in that fashion.

In this, I am talking about her being a charming tease.

When sneaking upstairs to change on her own, Gilda likes to tie her panties, socks or stockings in knots before she puts them in the dirty clothes hamper.

These are not loose knots, either. They are tight, and sometimes intricate. I suppose she is challenging me to get them out without damaging the article, because they would give a mere human fits. But I don’t think she is doing it to be spiteful. She truly doesn’t have a mean bone in her winsome body. I don’t believe that it is to try and agitate me to the point I start yelling at her, either.

She knows that I find the knotted garments while she is away at school. They have become little reminders that while I cannot see her, she’s here, in my life, until this contract between us is finished. It’s nothing, actually, for me to untie them, but the point is I do have to take the extra few seconds to do it.

I can only imagine that she muses over this while at school: Are you picking up after me right now? I know you are. Thank you. Here, have a knot, Demon. Have two.

It gives me pause, and I find that I enjoy it. Like I said, it’s charming.

She also does something similar to this with the tissue she uses to blot her lip makeup. She usually puts on her make-up herself (not always – I do enjoy applying it, and I occasionally ask if I may) and she does so while I am on the main floor getting her things together for school. When done, she lays the tissue out in the most obvious fashion, flat and smooth, with the corners of it aligned neatly to the edge of the vanity, and smack dab in the middle. Such lovely organization. Such marvelous attention to detail.

When I go to clean her bath and bedroom everyday at exactly nine thirty-four a.m., I now find that the first thing I do is to look for that tissue. Such an adorable, provocative shape. It is, in fact, a printed version of the ‘o’ her mouth forms when shocked or surprised, and as you already know I have come to love that about her.

Sometimes it’s just clear or pink gloss, sometimes it’s a shade of red. Occasionally she goes ‘goth’ or ‘punk’ and I will find a black one – and as infrequent and non-traditional as those are, they have become my favorites.

Just as with the knots in the stockings, socks and panties, she wants me to find them.

See? It’s like I’m giving you a kiss, Alex, a nice, open-mouthed one! Only not quite, because I’m afraid you’re going to have to work a bit harder for the real thing.

Endearing little vixen.

But there is an unspoken rule to this game: she never mentions it, and neither do I. When she comes home, the blot has simply disappeared from her vanity, and her knotted clothing is unknotted, laundered, folded and put away. The next day I find more waiting for me. I have a feeling that were I to ignore or dispose of them, she’d be quite hurt, and were I to bring it up, I’d be declared the loser of this little game we are playing.

In fact, I do not want either of us to bring it up, or I’d be forced to tell her an embarrassing truth. I’m saving the blots, you see, pressing them between wax paper sheets and storing them in a heavy, random tome entitled The Weapons of Sparta in the library. The likelihood that she’d find them in such a place is quite low; most of her reading is artistic in nature.

Yes, all right. I am a Demon who loves cats, and whose hobbies include making decadent, complicated sweets and scrap-booking my Mistress’s used lipstick blots. Seek litigation against me why don’t you.

By far, however, the most interesting quirk of hers is that she occasionally removes her pajamas while sleeping.

Just the tops, mind you. The first time, I only heard her moving about in her room, and went to check on her. I found her shirt on the floor, which was curious, but she was sound asleep. I checked, and sure enough, she didn’t have anything on but a pair of ‘hello kitty’ bikini panties. I covered her back up with the fluffy comforter, and left the room.

So sweet.

The next night I lit a candelabrum for old time’s sake, and waited patiently at her bedside after she had fallen asleep. It took a few hours, but I wanted to see if I could catch her in the act.

Sure enough, about four hours in, her breathing pattern changed and then it started. She talked a bit, mumbling some nonsense, then flipped onto her back and suddenly sat up in bed. I noted that her skin was glistening a bit and her hair was sticking out at odd angles, so I could only assume that she was too warm… but honestly, I think there is more to this than just that. In any case, she yanked her shirt off and tossed it on the floor, then plopped back down onto her side, snuggling into her pillow. Within seconds she was completely asleep again.

I watched her for three weeks after that night. She did this approximately seventy-two percent of the time. It never even registered with her that I was in the room. Each time, she’d fall back asleep and I’d cover her up. I’d go back to my quarters, delighted with this new behavior. What can I tell you? It’s adorably comical. T-shirts are pulled off with ease, but it gets even more comical when she is trying remove a spaghetti-strapped lacy camisole on the nights I get to pick her sleepwear. One of these days I’m going to get a silk ‘teddy’ for her just to see how she deals with that.

The only snag to me watching this, of course, is my obsessive desire to stroke her bare back. There it is, uncovered and right before me; smooth, soft and moist, the subtle bumps of her vertebrae and the fleshy valley above her coccyx, beckoning me – ah… Lovely. I have yet to give in. I am sure she’d never realize it, but still. Butler etiquette and all that rot.

My experience with her doing this started shortly after she stopped taking her pain medication at night. When on those, she slept like a rock. But drug-free, she talks in her sleep, and tosses and turns as well. I don’t think she’s even aware she’s doing it. While I enjoy finding her topless in the mornings, I also began to worry that her nighttime activities might eventually lead to sleepwalking. But after a few weeks of watching her closely, there was no evidence of danger. Just the impromptu sleep-stripping.

In the morning I’d open the curtains, letting in the light, and she’d stretch so sweetly. Then suddenly, “Oops, I did it again,” she’d say, blushing. I’d lean over and pick up the abandoned top between two gloved fingers, smirking at her, and she’d shrug. She didn’t even bother trying to cover herself up. I think she was more embarrassed by how it happened than from being naked.

I am fine with it, either way. For one, she is nude, and two, she’s magenta. All over. In any case, the old shirt goes in the hamper and a fresh t-shirt is put on her, as she insists, “just in case I spill my breakfast on my tits.”

Mmmm, yes. I have to stop myself from telling her that I’d simply lick her clean afterwards if she wanted to remain shirtless while eating. Given her pale olive-hued skin and the occasional freckle, a seedless blackberry jelly, I think, would serve perfectly as a nipple garnish.

She finally admitted to me that she’d been taking her top off during sleep since she was a child. She, by admission, ‘runs hot’ and is a ‘restless sleeper’. A human needs her sleep, and restless nights would get in the way of her studies.

I’m going to have to work on that with her. Hands-on therapy, that was the best approach. If not, there was always the jelly!

+

Fortunado Fernandez came over once or twice a week. He had his own driver as well, but on those days that he rode with Gilda to the manor after school, he would leave with his Uncle in their own limo at night. He swam with her occasionally, or they played board games and read magazines and ate whatever I brought them.

He was a very well-adjusted young man, especially given the hardships he’d gone through with his parents, and I was glad that my Mistress had such a loyal friend. However, when the boy stated that his steady lover had a straight friend that he wanted to ‘fix’ Gilda up with on a date, it was all I could do not to strangle him.

I knew he meant no harm, but Gods… Dating – modern courtship, if you could even call it that – it simply made me ill just to think of her being touched, fondled – or worse, kissed by another.

She agreed, which did nothing to improve my mood.

Later, I received more news, some good and some bad.

Uncle Rafael informed me that they had finished buying out the partners in Norman Bellows’ business. Her father’s share totaled less than forty percent; it seems he had to sell more of it than he originally intended to plump up its value. Rafael and his inside men could now begin manipulating it for bankruptcy.

However, Bellows is a shrewd and highly paranoid person. Rafael was hearing some things from his own people as well as the scabs he had put in place at Bellows’ firm. The man was looking a little too closely at his ‘new’ business partners. He must have had his own snitches, and if he dug hard enough, the paper trail could lead him to Gilda.

Norman Bellows didn’t know Gilda Franks from, I hate to say it, Adam, but I doubt who she actually was to him would make one bit of difference as to whether or not he’d harm her if he thought she had cheated him out of his money. I was not pleased to hear of such a loophole, but Rafael assured me that in today’s age, there was not much one could do to completely cover one’s tracks.

I could tell Rafael wasn’t trying to schmooze me, nor was he lying. He had no reason to, and he was just as concerned about Gilda as I was. His goons were keeping a close watch on Bellows’ goons, and as long as I stayed alert, Gilda would be fine.

I hate potential setbacks, more so than the actual ones. They made me tense.

+

“So… You wanna check if my underwear is clean, Demon?” Gilda asked, leering at me.

This had become a tradition with her, I’m afraid, after that first day back to school. She always asked, sometimes teasing a bit more than usual. If she knew what sort of imagery went through my mind when she did that, well, she would stop asking. Or perhaps she’d ask me more; I am not really sure.

“Language, Miss,” I scolded, frowning at her in the mirror. I silently told my crotch to behave itself as well.

She giggled. Perhaps I shouldn’t admit this but, as much as she uses it against me, I like her giggle. It’s rather addictive, actually.

But then her smile fell, and she grew quiet as a group of girls and boys walked past the front of the limo, entirely too close to the vehicle for my comfort. At the lead was a leggy blonde, who tossed a look towards the front windshield that could have frozen a bonfire.

“Oh, great. Linda Derricott, my favorite person in the whole goddamn world.”

I watched as the girl in question stopped in front of the limo, tilted her head, and wore an expression that was reminiscent of a human who had swallowed something nasty. Even with the limo’s one-way glass, this young woman seemed bent on expressing her disdain for my Mistress. Or at least, for the limo.

“Goodness gracious, what a foul disposition for a young lady,” I said, watching with limited interest as she moved on, with what was apparently her very own posse following her obediently. “Why does she look so disgusted?”

“Why? Jeez, Alexander – look at her.”

The young lady was about five feet ten inches tall, had blue eyes and long blonde hair that, despite being nicely coiffed, bore the dull, straw-like pallor of far too many color treatments. She had a very trim figure and was exquisitely dressed, and she walked with an air of authority.

Her appearance may have been high on the scale of some human being’s standard for beauty, but I was distinctly unimpressed. I could tell, even from the limo, that her soul was particularly shallow.

“I am looking,” I said, narrowing my eyes as I watched the arrogant girl bound up the steps with her gaggle of even less-spectacular cretins in tow. “What about her?”

“She’s taller than me, prettier than me, skinnier than me, more sophisticated than me, and her money came from her colonial family, not from her demon butler. She knows I wasn’t raised in a cultured environment,” Gilda waggled her gifted fingers like they had something sticky on them, “and she has made sure to let me know where I stand with her every damn day since our first class together three years ago.”

I frowned. What a haughty, presumptuous little bitch. Making my Mistress feel inadequate was my job.

I turned in my seat to face Gilda. “Listen to me, Miss. Your money, when I am done with your father, will be family money. Not that that means much of anything. As to the rest, you are a lovely, extremely talented young woman. You have a soft spot for those less fortunate than you, and a fiercely independent sense of style – regardless of how much I may hate some of your choices. You possess a sarcastic wit, and have a sharp tongue that matches it perfectly. Furthermore, this ‘Linda’ person may be taller and thinner than you, but she is not more attractive.”

Gilda’s look of surprise at my rant was slowly melting into an amused, pleasant smile.

Good.

“Her appearance may be very well put together, but it is also common. Her eyes have no spark to them, and it is not her hair that begs to be touched.”

“Oh my, Demon… aren’t you poetic,” she said, tucking some of those silky strands behind her ear.

“My dear Mistress, there is nothing poetic about the truth,” I replied, smiling at her with a naughty flair. “You complain about your weight as compared to hers, but as far as her body goes, she may be thin but she is also a plank. Your pretty brassieres and adorable panties would slip off of her body from a lack of substance holding them to her, if not from a sudden burst of animated desire to simply be free of her person. Further, she is walking around on chicken legs, but your legs, and I do not need to say this to you because I am sure you realize it as well, are simply fantastic. And I will personally put down a large sum of cold hard cash that boys eventually discover her to be a garden variety tease, or worse, a dreadful lay.”

Gasping incredulously, Gilda ducked her head and covered her mouth as she began to snicker.

“Lastly, and most importantly, I can tell you for a fact that her soul has very little merit, even for the most undiscerning of demons. That alone should be all the proof you need that you are her superior.”

She looked up at me, smiling. “Alex. You’re such an awesome butler.”

“I am aware of this, Miss; now, you say something mean about her.”

“Um…” she began, looking out her window at the group, now loitering at the top of the stairs. “She’s not great at the piano. I happen to know she hates me for that.”

“Wonderful! You shall find a way to rub that in her smug face today, yes?”

She smiled, but gave a doubtful shrug. “I’ll try.”

“No, I’ll not have any trying. You must do this. Now, what else?”

“Well… she’s kinda stupid. She doesn’t even get good grades in the courses that don’t have her playing an instrument or composing anything.”

I smiled. “There. Don’t you feel better now?”

She nodded. “Yeah, actually, I do. Thanks, Alex.”

“There’s my good Miss.” I got out of the limo and opened her door. I offered her my gloved hand to help her exit, as any proper chauffer would do.

“Have a lovely day, Mistress,” I said, a tad too loud, and the gaggle looked down at us. “And congratulations on your achievement. I am sure you will make conservatory history!”

“What on earth are you talking about?” she hissed under her breath.

“Just play along,” I whispered encouragingly, then raised my voice again. “Do tell Dean Manners that we are all so very proud of our Young Miss Gilda!”

She managed to get that damn smirk off of her face and nodded at me as though she were unconcerned with my praise. Perfectly executed. I bowed at her, the very picture of a loyal, happy servant. Glancing up the stairs, I saw that Linda Derricott was rolling her eyes in an exaggerated fashion, but she didn’t manage to disguise both the intrigue and the jealousy that was coloring her face.

It’s a beautiful moment… that delicious, sweet beginning, when your darling pupil first puts your teachings into practical use.

+

“Well?”

I admit I was a bit impatient with her. After picking Gilda up, she’d barely gotten herself situated in the back seat of the limo when I demanded to know how she’d handled her enemy. I could not help myself; I was thrilled that she actually had an enemy to work with. I know, I know, there is very little about this contract that involves vengeance or killing or violence. By all rights, I knew that going into it, and to be honest, the terms of Gilda’s contract were simply not as interesting as plotting a course to make her mine sexually.

That was proving to be very interesting.

That’s my tasty Mistress – kind, affectionate, and (hopefully soon) passionate. But to have a teensy bit of vengeance as a side dish…? Oh, as I said, I just couldn’t help myself. Gilda was one of the most genuinely sweet humans I had ever contracted with, and I wanted to see if she’d actually do something along the lines of ‘paybacks’.

“Well what?” she said around a grin, then screwed off the cap to a bottle of water and took a long gulp.

“Now, now, don’t be coy, Mistress. Did you put Miss Derricott in her place?”

She twisted her lips trying not to smile, and was still looking down. She looked out the window, up the stairs, and suddenly smirked, saying, “What do you think, Demon?”

I turned in my seat to look as well, and there was the skinny blonde in question, coming down the stairs wearing a face that was more sour, if that was even possible, as compared to when I first saw her that morning. She stomped past the limo, again too close for comfort, and halted directly in front of the hood ornament. She focused her gaze on the back seat – bear in mind that she could only assume Gilda was in it, because all of the limo’s windows were made of bullet-proof, one-way glass. Linda Derricott raised her middle finger in a very impolite salute to my Mistress.

“Oh, dear,” I said.

“What a jackass,” Gilda snickered.

As Linda walked off I noticed something. “Has the stuck-up shepherd lost half her flock?”

“Yup,” Gilda said matter-of factly, and smiled smugly. “There was a piano-off in the lab today. I don’t usually go in for that, it’s an underclassmen thing. But that bitch always joins in – as a professional musician, she would suck, but she’s still better than most of the freshmen, so she competes just to try and make them worship her. I tell you Alex, this girl acts like she is still in high school.”

“You played, then? Against her?”

“Yup,” she said again, grinning broadly.

“I am very happy for you, Mistress. I am proud. You did well.” I pulled out of the drive and we began our journey home.

“Ah,” she shrugged, “It wasn’t much. And I’m sure she’ll find a way to get back at me.”

“But she has lost half her group. How did that happen, by the way?”

“Same as it always does with people who think the way she does. Sooner or later the stronger pack members turn on the alpha. Once they saw what a fake she was, the ones that didn’t need her simply left.”

“And you are their alpha now, I take it?”

“Oh, shit no! I have no interest in that. The trick is to not need an alpha.”

I smiled at Gilda in the rear-view mirror. That was a lesson most humans didn’t learn until they were nearing old age. Yet she said it as if it had always been true for her.

After taking another sip of water, she looked out the window at the passing trees. I don’t think she meant for me to hear her, but of course I did when she muttered to herself, “The trick is to not need anybody.”

And… there went my happiness.

+

‘The trick is to not need anybody.’

Her defense mechanisms are going to make this contract much more difficult.

For one thing, they are extremely well-honed. She was neglected as a child and learned to take care of herself, that much is obvious, but at the same time she has a passionate streak that she keeps strictly guarded. Learning to live with both these things, simultaneously, must have been difficult. I believe this is what hardened her heart to a degree.

But I cannot pretend that I am some Don Quixote romantic savior. I think you know me better than that by now. I do believe in chivalry, and the proper treatment of the softer sex, but I have no plans to become Gilda’s ‘boyfriend’. I want to be her paramour, if only to strengthen the bond between us – to make her want me, need me and perhaps adore me, if only just a little.

I know how vibrant Gilda can be. I got a sense of just how deep her feelings run when we were together in the pool, or while listening to her play in the Salon… and that night in the bathtub. Nothing less than her fullest potential would do for me now.

Think of confident, vengeful, strong Ciel Phantomhive, who had tasted his revenge… and then Claude Faustus made him promptly forget it. His flavor had paled after that. Do not misconstrue me; it wasn’t nearly enough to consider him less than worthy. A pure soul is a pure soul, and they are worth the effort of a contract even as they are also bored to tears. But the higher the emotions run, the more vibrant the flavor. The change in him was enough that my palette noticed the difference, and like an addict, I had to have the greater euphoria… and I ruined everything because of that.

I refuse to fail with Gilda. Not again.

But I’ll never be able to use sex and affection to get what I want unless I start divesting her of her armor, and that could prove to be dangerous. Unwrap too much of it, and she’ll fall in love with me. Yes, in love she’d taste amazing. But Gilda is a smart girl; she’ll figure it out that I cannot return those feelings… and then her heart would break.

If I broke her heart… she’d be equally potent.

But we are not talking about a little crack here. I’d have to follow through and break her completely for the flavor to be robust. Devastate her, cruelly even, for her misery to be complete. I would do it if came down to that. Please don’t think I won’t – I’m famished, remember? After eating her soul, she’d provide exquisite sustenance while she flared like a wretched, unhappy torch the entire time, until she was no more.

The problem is… I don’t want to have to get her that way.

You heard me. I don’t want that, not even a little bit.

I’ve wondered before if I was going soft. And you are probably thinking that right now. Fuck you. You try living with an unhappy soul inside of you. That is the very thing that makes us more vicious than we need to be.

Apologies for the language, but you are not a Demon. Don’t pretend that you know what it feels like.

In the end, I am left with the more complicated solution of affection. How far do I go? Can I make her need me without falling in love with me? Can I make her sustain that feeling if I can’t avoid it?

I would fulfill the technical aspects of our contract. She would see her father penniless; probably much sooner than anticipated if this ‘staff’ of ours are as good as suspected. By next Spring, she would complete her studies and then our contract will be fulfilled, with the exception of carrying out her last will and testament, and how hard can that be?

Do not misconstrue me. I’d love to take her, right this second even – pull off to the side of the road, climb into the back seat, remove her clothing and tease her, say sweet things to encourage her, stroke her… then thrust into her over and over with my human cock until she is coming her head off and shouting my name, fluid spills on the leather seats be damned.

I like sex. It feels good, even when I am not joining the human in orgasm. But that isn’t going to work with Gilda. She would eventually find that behavior cheap and shallow, or she would see through my plans and become angry, or, worst of all, she’d fall. Fast. Too fast for me to cover up the fact that I’m not falling right along with her.

This is the path I have chosen to walk with this prey, so all I can do is be patient. I must mind my temper and quell my lust, both of which are getting more difficult for me with each day that passes. I will take the chance that if I allow Gilda to fall in love with me, slowly, my inability to return those feelings will not hurt her – diminish her – before I could consume her precious soul.

Otherwise… it will have to be ‘heartbreak hotel’ for Gilda.

I can do this. It’s just a matter of timing.

+

Date night had arrived. I was radiating anger. I was having enough trouble sticking to my grand plan; I didn’t need Gilda messing up more of our time together with things like other men and dates and romance.

To make matters worse, none other than Grell Sutcliff showed up to help my Mistress get ready for her night out. They picked out various outfits and primped and fawned and manicured and flat-ironed to their heart’s content. I stayed the hell out of that.

Fortunado arrived with both his date and Gilda’s, and they came in for introductions all around. Fortune’s boyfriend was a nice enough lad, extremely handsome but a bit put off by Fortune’s attachment to Gilda. He was even more put off by Grell Sutcliff’s sudden and uninvited interest in his own person.

Gilda’s date, Ben Tomlinson, however, was another matter.

He had that large, slow, sports-fan undeclared-major look to him, and I caught him sizing up Gilda’s body far more often than he actually looked at her face. She had such a lovely face, too – one I did not want him touching. I did my fair share of intimidating the cretin until Gilda put her foot down and announced they were leaving.

As they made their way down the drive towards the front gate, I discovered, to my horror, that I had an erection. Yes, anger can make me that excited. It wasn’t helping my control any that my prey was involved, either. Prey that I wanted to have my way with… yet there she went, off on a romantic encounter with this… this galoot who was probably a ‘C minus’ student from state college.

Grell felt my agitation, no doubt, and he looked me up and down. But before I could deflate my obvious problem, he noticed it, and Sutcliff suddenly had more material to work with when it came to taunting me.

“Good Lord, Bassie! Is that a meat cleaver in your pocket or are you happy to see me?”

Gods, that voice. One hundred years later, and it still irritated the piss out of me.

“Do stop that, Reaper,” I growled, watching the vehicle as it reached the gate on the security screen. I opened it after a few beats, just so that all of them in the car realized, one more time, that I was not happy with the situation.

“Sebas-chan,” Grell sing-songed to me, far too close to my ear, “I do believe that you are jealous of that dim young man.” As he stood behind me, the Reaper tossed his arms over my shoulders and squeezed me in an impromptu hug. “Poor, sweet Bassie… having to watch his heart’s delight run off with some strange human on a date, where he’ll do who-knows-what to our lovely Gillykins.”

I tossed him off, muttering something about his delusions regarding me, and stomped into the kitchen. He followed me, of course. Damn Reaper.

“You can’t deny it! Your trousers are bulging with loooove,” he said, dragging out the word like it was a piece of rotten fruit sliding down a wall after being thrown against it. Hard.

Yes, that was a metaphor.

“Sutcliff…” I sighed angrily, pulling out a chair and sitting down. I pretended like I was interested in going through a pile of junk mail that happened to be on the kitchen table. “If you have nothing better to do, I’d prefer it if you left. And never came back, as well.”

“Oh but look at you!” he said, coming up behind me and dragging a clawed hand down the front of my shirt. “You’re as hard as a rock, my love!” When he got too close to said rock-hard parts, I whacked his hand away with enough force to have separated it from his wrist. But, he has inhuman Reaper reflexes, and he was too damn quick.

He spun around dramatically, doing that stupid thing with his middle fingers. “A rock this Reaper would love to climb!”

Enough was enough. I stood up. "Oh – all right, already! Anything to make you go away,” I growled through clenched teeth. I pulled the chair out and turned it to face him, then sat back down. I threw one arm over the back of the chair in a casual way, and slid the palm of my other hand down the side of my thigh. Then I parted my legs for him.

I was now sitting in a manner that I have always considered to be vulgar for a gentleman. Legs wide open like a common whore – I can’t tell you how many times I berated Ciel for sitting like that – so slovenly. Coarse.

Rude.

And now here I was, doing just that. Oh, well.

I didn’t unbelt, unbutton, or unzip a goddamn thing. If he wanted to help me out so badly, I was going to make him do all the work.

His eyes lit up like a child on Christmas morning, and Grell moved toward me with the expression of the stupefied. His lower lip quivered and his hands stretched out slowly, but I grabbed him by his scrawny neck before he could make contact. I hissed through my fangs, “Just watch those damn razor blades you call teeth, Reaper."

I thought he might start crying from sheer happiness as he lowered himself, reverently in fact, to his knees, positioning himself neatly between mine.

+

“Vile. Disgusting,” said the second one.

The first one could not disguise the fact that the entire situation was very humorous. “What’s disgusting? That he’s engaging in sexual behavior? Or is it because it’s oral? Or – that it’s homosexual, maybe?” The second one curled his lip. “What? You complained about me being a prude.”

“Please. I absolutely do not give a damn what orientation anyone is, or what positions they favor. I am disgusted… by him.”

A very loud, rude snicker was heard from the first one. The second one frowned, seeking clarification.

“Which one?”

The first one’s guffaws, and they truly could be called that, were heard echoing throughout the massive halls that surrounded them. Many a curious head turned to look, and became even more curious when they only saw one person standing near the noise, and that one was not known to have a sense of humor.

The second one sighed wearily, and walked off.

+

I had to admit that allowing Sutcliff to give me a ‘blow job’ had been a good idea. He wasn’t bad at all, actually. A little quick perhaps, but, and I hate to say this, deadly efficient. I kicked him out immediately after I came off, though, before he could start begging for a damn cuddle.

I wasn’t really in a better mood by the time Gilda arrived home – safe and sound, and earlier than expected, I will add. But at least the urge to rip someone’s head off had abated, all thanks to the Red Reaper’s interesting, eager mouth. I have to remember that he could be handy to have around for such moments.

When Gilda returned that night after her date, she had a few things to say about Mr. Ben Tomlinson, and none of them were favorable.

“Turns out he knows Linda, the Evil Witch of the East, and I think he may have been setting something up to help her screw with me at school, but I can’t be sure. Either way I wasn’t gonna let him touch me after that first kiss. He was awful.” She sighed and headed up the stairs, with me in close tow. I kept trying to smell her as discreetly as possible, concerned that the boy went further than that without her permission, and she wasn’t telling me the whole truth to try and prevent me from running off to eviscerate him.

I could smell him on her, but only a small amount. Unfortunately, hiding things from me wasn’t going to help any. I already wanted to rip his throat out just for being alive.

“Where’s Grell? Did she leave already?”

Yes. I came, and then ‘she’ left.

“He has left for the evening, Miss. He said to tell you goodnight and pleasant dreams.” Sutcliff had said that, actually, but for Gilda’s sake I left it out that my fluid was dripping down his chin at the time.

“Oh, she’s such a sweetie,” she gushed, and I felt the bile rising again. Still, I’d rather she’d gone on a date with Sutcliff than this jerk Ben Tomlinson. “Anyway, Ben will probably tell Linda that he fucked me, then she’ll tell everyone at school that I’m a cheap whore or something.”

“Miss… You,” I started, pausing at the stop of the stairs. She stopped and looked at me. “Please tell me that you truly did not have intercourse with him. You are not just saying that for my benefit, are you?”

Gilda sighed, and turned into her bedroom.

"That's a fair question, Alex. I've told you before that I’m kinda promiscuous. But the answer is no, I didn't have sex with him. He was a terrible kisser and wouldn't stop talking about nascar. Talk about a one-eighty..."

I didn’t know what nas-car was, and I didn’t care. I stuck to the problem at hand. Following her into her bedroom, I inquired, “One-eighty, Miss?”

“You know,” she said, hopping on her bed and tossing her purse on the floor. “When someone’s personality turns on a dime from who you though they were, and goes the opposite way. A bad way, usually. Even Fortune noticed it. He felt awful for setting me up with him.”

“I am certain Mr. Fernandez did not mean for this to happen.”

I removed one shoe and its sock, gently caressing the skin of her foot as I exposed it. Freeing the feet did very nice things to the prey’s scent, even as they barely notice it themselves. I continued on to her other foot, reveling in the quiet sigh she released as I stroked that foot as well. I stayed where I was, kneeling between her strong legs, and massaged her feet.

“Fortune? Oh, no way, he didn’t have-ohhhhhh…” she sighed when I pushed my thumbs into an arch, and I looked up just as her eyes closed and her head fell back. “Alex… That feels so good.”

Long, wavy hair dangled behind her back, and her neck muscles convulsed as she swallowed hard and let out another sigh. I bravely fought the urge to take those perfectly sweet little toes into my mouth and suck them clean. Instead, I moved on to her top.

"Mistress... Did you want to have relations with him?" I asked, lifting the emerald green jumper, one of the pieces she kept from my shopping spree, over her head.

"No.. I mean... well, yes,” she said from within the cocoon of the jumper. “What I mean is, it's been awhile, and you’ve taken my toy away from me,” her head popped out and she paused to smirk at me. I frowned back. “So, yeah, I was looking forward to some sex. But after about fifteen minutes in his presence, I knew it wasn’t gonna happen with him.”

I removed her bra, which was always an adventure, and visually checked her breasts for marks in case the boy had manhandled her. Luckily for him I found nothing suspicious.

My female prey has always had it in common that, when removing their clothing, freeing up the breasts was just as welcome a relief as freeing up the feet. Given the torture-inducing construction of the modern brassiere, I am sure Gilda felt as much. But I did not touch her breasts. Not this time. Not that I didn’t want to; I did. But it would have been too much, too soon. I had to be diligent to my plan.

Gilda stood up to let me unfasten her jeans, and I contemplated what she was telling me as I peeled them down her thighs. “It's sad that I can tell so quickly anymore… but I really hate stupid nascar and I really like kissing, so that kind of sealed his fate.”

She liked kissing? I knew she was good at it, but I didn’t know she liked it so much.

Oh my, how delightful for me!

She sat back down on the bed and I finished pulling the atrocious jeans from her body. I flung them across the room without taking my eyes off of her, and I heard them land squarely in the dirty clothes hamper.

I was still kneeling on the floor at this point, situated between her legs as they dangled off the bed. I looked up at her, clad only in her panties, with my head just the slightest bit lower than hers. Without another word, I took her face in the palms of my hands and kissed her.

I made sure this was not like any of the other kisses we’d shared before.

That thing that’d happened between us in the salon was heated, yes; but both of us had had ulterior motives, which had ruined the moment. Our quick pecks in the pool? Completely different. The kiss in the hospital was simply to assure her that I was there for her, as I promised, and to reassure myself that she was not actually at death’s door under all that medication. And the bathtub…

Well, that hadn’t been kissing at all, now, had it? Whatever it was, it hadn’t happened since, either.

More’s the pity.

She froze, at first, as I expected her to. But then she placed her hands on my wrists while I held her face, and returned the kiss. I could taste the young man on her, but it was faint at the most. She’d told the truth, she had kissed him only briefly. But still, I could taste him. It sent my instincts reeling and I had to fight another urge to lick and suck, using our kiss as an excuse to clean all traces of him from her.

But this wasn’t about me defending my claim; I had to make this about Gilda’s needs.

A soft pop was all either of us heard when our lips finally parted. I looked up at her, smiling sweetly, and she licked her lips. "Why did you do that?" she finally whispered.

"My mistress needed one hell of a kiss. Of this, I am more than capable."

Gilda’s pretty face turned that color again. I felt positively triumphant.

"You've already bathed twice today, and you are tired. Shall we just tuck you in as is, then?"

"Yes. Yes, that will be fine,” she sighed, a dreamy look on her face.

After I got her under the covers, Gilda’s arms shot out and grabbed the black cotton of my shirtsleeves. She did not look very sure of herself as she slid her hands up my sleeves to drape her arms around my shoulders. When she used my back to pull herself up closer to my face, she asked in a tiny, nervous voice, “Just one more. Please?”

“Miss does not say please to the help,” I whispered, scolding her ever-so-slightly, and she bit her lip in response. “And you may have as many as you like.” As I cheerfully obliged her, one of her hands crept into my hair to clutch it slightly, as she pulled me down with her and opened up her mouth for me.

She can be such a good little girl when she wants to.

Traces of the boy were still there, but it was much easier to ignore when I felt her pulling me closer like that. I wrapped one hand around the base of Gilda’s neck, my intent only to support her, and I placed the other on the pillow next to her head. I did not touch her further than that or try to steer the situation in any other fashion, because honestly, I wanted to see what she was going to do.

Her touch was soft while she gently devoured my mouth. We went on like that for several minutes, it was not frantic nor did it grow so; just sweet, erotic kisses, deep and warm and lush. So very pleasant. As I allowed Gilda as much in the way of this as she wanted, I discovered there was good reason as to why she liked kissing so much. Whether from experience or her own natural tendencies, she wasn’t just good at it, she was marvelous at it! In fact, she was so adept I could feel my own desires beginning to clamor. You are probably thinking otherwise, but you should know that I controlled my body’s reaction to hers very nicely, thank you. Or thank the damn Reaper for topping me off beforehand, whichever you prefer.

However, reluctantly, I didn’t allow things to go any further than that. I had to hang on to some sort of a back up plan, you see. Gratefully, what I’d given her seemed to soothe the fit of pique her regrettable evening out had left her in. I wasn’t thrilled that she’d gone on a date to begin with, but I didn’t like seeing her upset about it either.

Finally she released me, smiling up at me in the soft light of her room. I tucked her back in, covering up her nearly-naked body with the comforter. Bidding her goodnight, I switched off her bedside lamp and left her room.

I wanted, very much, to play with her more than that, but…

+

I should tell you at this time that while Gilda was growing more and more comfortable with my familiarity, she had the good sense to keep it private. In fact, we were both behaving one way in public, or when the staff or her friends came calling, and quite differently when alone together.

Due to our contract, it was a given that we keep certain things private between us. But because of our budding relationship, we now had more to hide. I was her loyal butler, in every sense of the word, to the rest of the world. But at home, alone… I made it clear that I was her butler, and a demon, and I would tend to her every need.

All of them.

No, not just sex. Not just yet. She accepted my help and care when I was sympathetic to her aches and pains, and was much better at leaving the ‘heavy lifting’ to me, so to speak.

Left to ourselves, brief, intimate contact became common – such as brushing her face with my fingertips, pushing her wayward locks back behind her ear, or guiding her from one room to another with my hand at the small of her back. She touched me as well, much to my surprise. It was rare if she didn’t thank me for doing things for her, which annoyed me a bit, but her thanks were almost always accompanied by a hug, which did quite the opposite of annoy me.

Such moments are very different from when I bathe or dress her. That was expected, and treated as part of my job before we even got started, even if it was difficult for her. These things are different. They are subtle, and I am learning that this makes them far more powerful. It is almost as though we are engaging in a courtship.

One day she insisted I remove my gloves. I refused, so she clenched her teeth and ordered me to do it, and added that I was to keep them off whenever we were alone in the manor. I am still not sure about that one. But I will admit that the electric feel of her skin under my bare hands, however brief, has become an incredible expectation.

Gilda was also going places with me that no prey had ever gone before. She had questions about my past. Not just my recent past, either. She wanted to know where I came from. I did my best to dodge the questions or gave vague, non-fictional answers.

She consulted me with her problems, asked for suggestions, and often took my advice, which was so completely unlike Ciel.

I should have expected it, given that she could still be made to blush, so she probably considered our unvarnished relationship to be private, like a tantalizing secret. I continue to remind myself that she had been so very independent before I came along; a person in her circumstances does not usually share the details of their life all that easily. That she shared her past and her concerns about the present with me probably made things like simply touching her hand all the more intense for her.

+

The morning after our kisses, I woke her as I normally do. We shared a few more smiles than the usual, but that was about it. I asked her what she was planning to do if her mortal enemy, Linda Derricott, was going to use her disastrous date as fodder to slander her reputation. She said she didn’t have a clue.

“May I make a suggestion, Miss?”

“Please,” she said, then took a bite of her rye toast.

I sat on the side of the bed next to her. “Allow the rumors to start. When someone gets curious enough to ask you about it, and someone will, don’t deny it.”

She swallowed hard. “Don’t? Really?”

“Don’t. Make them believe that you did, indeed, have sex with Mr. Tomlinson.”

“Uh. Okay. Then what?”

“Tell them his performance was mediocre at best, but was made even worse by the fact that all he could do was compare you to Miss Derricott. Say that he eventually started to cry, because you were so much more satisfying than she is, and he was miserable at the thought of going back to her.”

She gaped at me. “Oh, Alex. That’s really mean,” she said. “Should I really go that far?”

“Miss Derricott would go that far, wouldn’t she?”

She paused, then said, “Yeah. Yeah, she sure would.”

“Then beat her to the punch. Remain confident in your story, and tell it with your natural charm, and no one will doubt you speak the truth. Derricott will become nervous and panic, and will try to trump you, but she will have no more cards to play with.”

When I dropped her off that morning, I had no idea if she was going to take my suggestions. But when I picked her up that afternoon, she was all smiles as she bounded down the stairs and into the limo. Her friend Fortune was with her; he was coming home with us.

From the driver’s seat, I questioned how her day went, not being too specific since we were not alone.

“Wait for it, Alex,” she said, grinning.

Linda Derricott eventually made her way past our limo. She kept a respectable distance from the front of it, finally, and she had no disciples in tow. She clutched at the strap of her bag relentlessly, and her face was twisted with unrighteous anger, and she did no more than glance at the vehicle we were sitting in as she passed us and got into the back seat of her own transportation, slamming the door.

I smiled. Gilda and Fortune Fernandez began laughing.

“Thank you, Michaelis. Great advice, as usual,” Gilda said, holding her side.

“Wait – you mean to tell me that butler–” Fortunado Fernandez paused, scooted forward, and perched his forearms on the back of the front seat so that he could speak to me directly. “That was your idea?” He sounded positively scandalized, even as he was grinning from ear to ear.

“Young man, if the Franks family butler cannot do a simple little thing like help his Mistress impede a school bully, what sort of a butler would I be?”

Gilda was laughing so heartily there were tears coming from her eyes, and her friend soon joined her. As I pulled out of the conservatory drive, I couldn’t help but feel a tremendous swell of satisfaction. Gilda would never have the same sense of bitter vengeance that Ciel had; she simply wasn’t that person.

However, I honestly didn’t think she had in her to play dirty, not even with my seductive encouragement. As such I was enormously pleased with her.

I caught her eyes in the rear-view mirror as we drove, and gave her a smile that reflected exactly what I was feeling: a lot of pride and a healthy dose of lust. I knew she’d understood my intent when I saw her cheeks fill with magenta.

“You okay, Gillie?” her friend asked her, still laughing. “You look flushed.”

“It’s just all the laughing,” she said to him, then smiled back at me in the mirror. When I narrowed my eyes at her playfully, she bit her lip and shyly cast her eyes downwards.

“Yeah. I’m okay, Fortune. I’m great.”

Indeed.

+

tbc

+

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