oh dear

HI I DON'T OWN THIS IDK I FOUND IT LETS CRY TOGETHER

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this is on fanfiction.net
Spider Web by Maiden of the Moon
(this isn't mine, I literally just copied and pasted the whole page I have no life)
TIME TO CRY

XXX

Spider Web

XXX

I.

White marble crumbles into dust.

Sparks glimmer like fireflies.

He wants to kiss him.

II.

He loves him.

It does not surprise him; he expected nothing less. Theirs are hearts, minds, souls that have been bound together, and are now tightly tied by the red thread of fate. Each order, each comment, each glance strengthens those chains, and Sebastian can see the boy slowly starting to suffocate—choked by needs and wants and strange, foreign desires.

He understands the feelings—reciprocates them, even. But where the sensations seem to frighten his master, they do not bother him. They are simply additional strings: something else the young Earl has constructed to link them.

His master does not yet understand how knotted he is in the demon's web. At this point, it seems likely that he will never understand, never connect the millions of tiny, invisible, perfectly obvious dots. For the more the child loves, the more Sebastian loves, and the more ensnarled they become. Intertwined and helpless… neither will survive once the spider returns.

No.

The young Count Phantomhive— beautiful and stubborn and proud and weak, weak, weak, weak— will die. Someday distant, someday soon. And when he takes his final breath, he will not be the only one to perish: the butler Sebastian will also cease to exist.

And the demon that remains will care as little for the child's rotting corpse as he would for any other piece of human filth.

III.

He balances precariously on a single, blood-stained hand.

Dark grey lashes lower to a close.

He wants to kiss him.

IV.

There is no need to dive after the body. No need to risk the dangers of the Thames to secure one fragile cadaver. The boy's soul is interlaced with his own, and would follow accordingly—there is no way for him to escape, no matter where he might try to run.

Until the contract has been fulfilled, the bonds will not loosen. Never loosen. Always tightening, even in death: cutting deep into flushed flesh, raising welts and blood and leaving one struggling for oxygen, spitting up pollution-tainted river water in the first light of dawn.

There is no need for the body.

And yet…

V.

The child leans back, consenting and sure and every inch the master he's always adored.

He touches that fearless face—gently, tenderly, caressing the silk skin he's fought so hard to protect.

He wants to kiss him.

So he does.

VI.

He will never forget the screams.

VII.

Time passes slowly in the wake of excitement.

The demon squanders away the decades, watching in mild amusement as the modern world falls victim to the plagues and problems of the old one. But with so much more gusto. So much more fire.