Fic: quid pro quo
Title: Quid pro quo
Rating: G
Pairing: Alois/Ciel (one-sided)
Series: Kuro II
Summary: Even Claude could not do what this ring could.
Notes: Very much influenced by the theory in moon_maiden36's recent short "What Dreams May Come". Possibly OOC. Also a kurohedonism entry.
The tin box was sturdy in his hands, solid and unwavering, concrete in the face of ghosts and half-truths. The cold of its metal edges seemed to burn into his hands, soft again after being marred by bleeding blisters and callouses. Here now, he was aware of everything, of the steady grip of his socks around his thighs, heady pressure grounding him, of fine cloth sliding against his skin in silky whispers, of bright light shining in through the delicate French windows, and most of all, of the tin eating into his skin.
A present, the first he had ever received since being rescued. Arching, curlicued script wound across its faces in art nouveau style, bright gold against aqua and purple. Unable to resist its lure, he gave in quickly, and pried the top off, flinging it across the room with a tittering laugh.
A ring twinkled quietly up at him, nestled within the fragile white tissue paper cradling it. A deep sapphire was set into its silver face; its facets threw soft blue light onto its surroundings, bespeckling pure white with blue snow. He reached in and took it out. The ring almost seemed to greet him, sparkling with a brighter light than before, pulsing in his hand. It almost felt like something was nudging at his mind, with a shy sort of prodding.
He licked his lips. He always welcomed a challenge. He slipped the ring onto his right ring finger; the ring seemed to grow a little bolder, settling into the cracks and gorges that his psyche could not fill, flowing into him, through him, something dark and smooth in its wake, and he felt a shiver run up his spine at the feel of being full. Not alone, never alone, not with this ring. He wanted this feeling, always. Even Claude could not do what this ring could.
Suddenly, rejection. The band seemed to sink into his skin, biting with fangs, and he felt the ice creep into him as the dark warmth receded, and he jolted again and again with as the ring squeezed his finger to the bone and sparkled in the sunlight, innocently.
He screamed, wrenched the ring off his finger, regardless of the blood and skin it took with it. Throwing it to the floor, he crushed his boot heel on it as hard as he could. The blue of its sapphire gleamed mockingly up at him, as he brought his foot down again and again. Still, it would not break. In his pique, he cackled as he threw the ring back in the tin, and flung the entire thing into the hall. He imagined the ring rattling about in its metal jail, hopeless, and danced, clapping his hands and snickering gleefully.
It would learn what he had learned. It would learn solitude, it would learn desperation, it would learn insanity.
One day, it would be grateful for him, and when that day came, he would crush it without mercy.
Rating: G
Pairing: Alois/Ciel (one-sided)
Series: Kuro II
Summary: Even Claude could not do what this ring could.
Notes: Very much influenced by the theory in moon_maiden36's recent short "What Dreams May Come". Possibly OOC. Also a kurohedonism entry.
The tin box was sturdy in his hands, solid and unwavering, concrete in the face of ghosts and half-truths. The cold of its metal edges seemed to burn into his hands, soft again after being marred by bleeding blisters and callouses. Here now, he was aware of everything, of the steady grip of his socks around his thighs, heady pressure grounding him, of fine cloth sliding against his skin in silky whispers, of bright light shining in through the delicate French windows, and most of all, of the tin eating into his skin.
A present, the first he had ever received since being rescued. Arching, curlicued script wound across its faces in art nouveau style, bright gold against aqua and purple. Unable to resist its lure, he gave in quickly, and pried the top off, flinging it across the room with a tittering laugh.
A ring twinkled quietly up at him, nestled within the fragile white tissue paper cradling it. A deep sapphire was set into its silver face; its facets threw soft blue light onto its surroundings, bespeckling pure white with blue snow. He reached in and took it out. The ring almost seemed to greet him, sparkling with a brighter light than before, pulsing in his hand. It almost felt like something was nudging at his mind, with a shy sort of prodding.
He licked his lips. He always welcomed a challenge. He slipped the ring onto his right ring finger; the ring seemed to grow a little bolder, settling into the cracks and gorges that his psyche could not fill, flowing into him, through him, something dark and smooth in its wake, and he felt a shiver run up his spine at the feel of being full. Not alone, never alone, not with this ring. He wanted this feeling, always. Even Claude could not do what this ring could.
Suddenly, rejection. The band seemed to sink into his skin, biting with fangs, and he felt the ice creep into him as the dark warmth receded, and he jolted again and again with as the ring squeezed his finger to the bone and sparkled in the sunlight, innocently.
He screamed, wrenched the ring off his finger, regardless of the blood and skin it took with it. Throwing it to the floor, he crushed his boot heel on it as hard as he could. The blue of its sapphire gleamed mockingly up at him, as he brought his foot down again and again. Still, it would not break. In his pique, he cackled as he threw the ring back in the tin, and flung the entire thing into the hall. He imagined the ring rattling about in its metal jail, hopeless, and danced, clapping his hands and snickering gleefully.
It would learn what he had learned. It would learn solitude, it would learn desperation, it would learn insanity.
One day, it would be grateful for him, and when that day came, he would crush it without mercy.