#modrodney

DemonAU!Rodney Hall/Modri Vladis.

Chapter 4.

I woke at five in the morning — way too early. Outside, it was pitch-dark, snowflakes clinging to the trees and rooftops, melting before my eyes. Winter had been surprisingly warm this year. Rodney was coiled around my body like a snake, his cheek pressed against my scarred chest. The Undertaker, or whatever his name was, must have twitched his hands the moment he resurrected good old me, because even a blind, armless cripple wouldn't have sewn so crookedly. Rodney, warm and completely disheveled since last night, snored carefree. We've been together for twenty years, and I'm still amazed every time by how broad his shoulders are, how confident he looks even in his sleep. I shivered slightly, lying there uncomfortably, my arm going numb, though I thought it would be impossible for a corpse to go numb!  Rodney winced in his sleep at my movements and rolled over to his side of the bed without waking. He smacked his lips, licking them dry — are you tempting me, you devil? — and turned his head to the side, settling more comfortably. Without further thought, I somehow managed to slide myself into his side.

I couldn't fall asleep anymore, but I felt very weak. Squinting, I saw my own hands in the darkness, covered in ugly veins, arteries, and other tendons protruding strongly from the skin. I'd never seen anything like it before, so I panicked, but my tongue slurred, and instead of words, I only groaned pitifully. My whining woke Rodney and with a snap of his fingers lit the candles on the nightstand.

"My sunshine, what happened..."

He froze, looking at my motionless figure. I felt as if I was about to die a second time. Rodney, looking me over from head to toe, grinned and rose from the bed. At my moan, instead of asking a question, he smiled and stated, "I'll get you some blood, you look like a kitten." Rodney quickly dressed and, all combed and combed, left the room.

"Like a dead one, or what?"

Five minutes later, Rodney returned with two bags of blood. The tube clanked against the nightstand as he replaced the bag on the IV cross, took a new needle from the first aid kit, and screwed it onto the tube. I lay there this whole time, staring at the ceiling—it was hard to even move my eyes. Rodney finally connected the IV to my wrist and sat on the edge of the bed.

"You should be more careful next time, my sunshine." he said, kissing my forehead.

I felt life flow through my body, goosebumps running up my relaxing arms — it turned out they'd been so tense all this time that I couldn't move them, and I hadn't realized it. After half a minute, my fingers and toes began to tingle pleasantly.

"What the hell is this?" I stammered.

Rodney gently rubbed my shoulders and arms. The veins gradually disappeared, the scars healed, almost blending with the skin, which, though pale as wax, was still soft and felt alive.

"Yesterday, you only drew fresh blood in the morning. You didn't get one in the evening." Rodney nuzzled my neck. "You slept all day yesterday, and then all evening and all night without any nourishment."

"Well, I did have some nourishment last night." I smiled weakly, relaxing under his warm hands. Rodney chuckled smugly.

"That kind of nourishment isn't suitable for your body." Rodney sat on my hips and took my palms, rubbing them and warming them with his breath.

"But it's suitable for me."

A good half hour later, Rodney helped me dress. Why did the members of Aurora think a priest's robe was the perfect outfit for me  A cassock, a cross-shaped chapel — whoever gave them the ideas was either a genius or a complete bastard, playing on other people's pain. I swung my feet to the floor, resting my elbows on my knees.

"You wanted to discuss something with me this morning. I still have time before my shift starts." Rodney hugged me from behind.

"Yes, exactly!" I almost jumped, but Rodney held me back. "The new guests, who are they?"

Curiosity flickered in Rodney's eyes, and he ran his fingers along my ribs through my cassock.

"Mr. Vladis, this is confidential information." I turned sharply, giving my demon a displeased look, to which he laughed. "Just kidding. The new guests are Earl Ciel Phantomhive, or at least that's what he calls himself, and his butler, Sebastian."

"Sebastian? What a name he chose for himself..." - I mentally mapped out the unwanted acquaintances in my head.  "And the little one? Who is he? Did a demon decide to babysit?"

"Most likely, his new contractor." Rodney gently pressed his cheek to the back of my head.

A child?" I stated a fact rather than asked.

"Does that surprise you?"

Sebastian and the young Earl Phantomhive. Where could I... Suddenly, it struck me like an electric shock.

"So THIS is the Sebas-chan Grell was talking about!?" I almost screamed, shocked.

Rodney laughed.

"Most likely."

***

'So who was that yesterday?" Ciel woke up at six in the morning and immediately received tea in bed, which he was sipping.

Sebastian had been a little more thoughtful than usual since last night, but nothing more. He didn't want to waste time on some madman.

"I haven't the slightest idea, my lord. Perhaps he's confused me with someone else?"

"Really? Not everyone walks around with knowledge from your essence, and not everyone is willing to injure themselves just to get YOU to notice them, you know. So what?"

"I have absolutely no memories of that man."

Ciel slid down his chair and exhaled loudly.

"Perhaps one of your former contractors?"

"Definitely not. I remember them, and I absorbed their souls long ago."

"He's clearly a walking corpse. Scars, lividity, and a IV. He has no soul."

Sebastian grinned.

"You're right, my lord. Walking corpses have no soul. However, I can assure you: this Modry is indeed a walking corpse, but his soul is with him." 

Ciel frowned and put his cup down, just to be on the safe side.

"What do you mean?"

"I think you heard me perfectly well, my lord." Sebastian stared at the floor, lost in thought. "But the mark on his neck..."

"A mark? Aren't those tattoos?"

"Yes, a mark. Everyone whose soul a demon tried to devour gets a mark. A scar of sorts, and different demons produce different marks. Modry's mark is indeed mine." Sebastian sighed deeply. "But for the life of me, I don't remember him."

"How awful, Sebastian."

***

"Are you going to the smoking room today?" Rodney popped in on me in the middle of the day, bursting in through the window. On the eighth floor, again.

"Yeah, why asking?" I liked sitting in the smoking room. I didn't smoke myself, but it was nice to sit in the semi-darkness, especially since I could be with Rodney there without fear of judgmental glances.

"Earl Phantomhive was interested in you. He wanted to know where he could chat." Rodney settled himself more comfortably on the windowsill, dangling his legs over the edge.

"What for?" I walked up to him, wrapped my arms around his shoulders, and pulled him to my chest. I knew he could fly, but watching him perched on the very edge was unsettling.

"I don't know, but don't you want to talk to Sebastian?" Rodney looked at me with a smirk. "Sort of, sort things out."

"More like just punching him in the face."

"That's unlikely, of course, but you two could have a chat." Rodney squeezed my sides warningly, as if stopping me in my tracks.

"You have so much faith in me." I waved him off, and Rodney, turning around and sitting normally on the windowsill, with his feet facing the room, picked me up and sat me on his lap.

"I just don't want you to get hurt. These two has already set their sights on you. The Queen's watchdog is unlikely to let you out of his sight without finding out everything about you first."

"The Queen's watchdog? Is that his nickname?" I peered skeptically at Rodney's face, but he was serious.

"More like a title. And a secret one at that. A state secret."

"Great." I dropped my head on my demon's shoulder. "And they won't send me to jail for knowing such things, following in the footsteps of that 'running' watchdog?"

"They won't even catch you, my sunshine. I guarantee that."

Warning: it was written before chapter 222, strong OOC, demon!Rodney Hall AU.

Ship: Rodney Hall/Modri Vladis.

Fandom: Kuroshitsuji (Black butler).

I wrote it all in a two weeks (it has aboot 19 chapters for now) and now i want to post it here. I could've post it on AO3, but i don't understand how to log-in there, being in my country.

Translated by Google Translator, so don't mind if something sounds weird, English is not my native language.

Prologue.

It all began about thirty years ago. Back then, I had just become a priest—not of my own free will. My parents, a butler and housekeeper for a wealthy nobleman, caught me in bed with a fellow student when they unexpectedly returned from the city a few hours early. My mother was furious and wouldn't speak to me; my father was furious and beat me so hard my ears rang and my jaw clacked for hours afterward. After several hours of screaming and beatings, my father finally left and got completely drunk. The next morning, he ordered me to pack my suitcase and sent me to church. My father himself didn't come with me, only walked me to the carriage. That was the last time I saw him. Now, almost thirty years later, he's most likely long dead from drunkenness.

The Church, however, couldn't rid me of sin for a whole year, even though I genuinely tried to maintain absolute chastity: I prayed diligently and spent most of my time in proud solitude in my cell. However, it's hard to ignore my desires when so many people come to church every day, half of whom are men. Tall and handsome, athletic or plump, my student peers or men in their late fifties—very different, but many of them, especially those from London, looked down on us priests with mild disdain, and their words were ingratiating, feigned goodwill. And damn, this awakened in me, someone who had taken a vow of celibacy, completely dark, sinful desires.

I held out for a year until a young lady appeared on the threshold of our church, accompanied by HIM. I thought I'd go crazy.  The butler who accompanied his mistress was so impeccable that I simply couldn't look at anyone else that evening. During prayer, I stood in the corner, trying my best to hide my red face with my collar. The man noticed this, and after the prayer, having sent his mistress to a nearby inn, he came over to talk to me.

We talked for a long time about everything and nothing: I talked about my service and my parents, he talked about his mistress. He mostly asked about me, though, and I answered with a sinking heart, looking at him with admiration. He listened with interest to my story about our church, about my "colleagues" the priests, sometimes asking me strange clarifying questions that I can no longer recall, and I didn't even try to remember them then. To think that this man was an ordinary servant, not a count, baron, or viscount, for even our crown would have envied his manners.  The longer we talked, the more he strove to touch me, as if his cold fingers were creeping beneath my skin, and I didn't even notice until a couple of hours later, when we found ourselves in bed together. He told me he'd seen my desire and wasn't averse to satisfying it. I, starved for such a display of love, didn't even resist.

The night was long and intense. For a whole year, I'd suffered, suppressing every thought of sin, trying to "cure" myself, as my parents had told me. After a whole year, I finally felt relief. All my feelings burst forth, I smiled and cried with pleasure as they rolled me around on the mattress like a dockside prostitute, until I couldn't breathe. Every cell of my body trembled in sweet agony as HIS hands touched me everywhere, both permitted and prohibited, yet almost vitally necessary. I didn't hear what he said to me then; I only remember his voice penetrating somewhere deeper than just my soul.  I bit my lips so hard that blood trickled down my chin and neck, causing my body to contort even more, as if in some drunken waltz. However, now I can say it was more of a macabre.