Author's note : this is by far the HARDEST REQUEST I NEEDED TO FULFILL. but hey, for ~Krizy888888~, I don't mind.

Warning: OOC, AU, dark, rape, some incest, paraphilia, and other Sade stuff. It's quite similar to how I write Remorse, which by the way, may or may not be discontinued.

Disclaimer: Never been awesome enough to own Kuroshitsuji. Damn, it's been a year and yet Yana Toboso won't give me the rights? Wait, I don't have the money...

~.~.~.~

Emerald orbs widened in amazement as a pair of red lips stretched in a smirk, revealing a set of sharp teeth as white as pearls. It's by far the prettiest thing he ever seen. Indeed, more gorgeous than the sparkling rubies in the shade of crimson that matches his long, silky hair. Lovelier than the bloody shade of the finest wine from France.

It is the red of this painting that caught his fancy. The flaming shade that merged in perfect harmony with the doomsday black that gave him the chills. In an ordinary person's perspective, this maybe nothing more than a stained canvas designed by a bored kindergartner.

But in the eyes of Grell Sutcliffe and the rest of the Art Critiques now gathered at Trestine Academy, it is an abstract form of the Purgatory.

"As you can see dear guests and students, Gregory Violet's Purgatory in Hell aimed not for the usual visual appeal, but rather the emotional stir within the viewer's soul." the emcee gestured towards the nationally acclaimed artwork framed in the nicest gold-plated mahogany, while the critiques whispered approval amongst themselves. Grell folded his hands on his lap, ignoring a friend's rant about last night's party to focus on the subject at hand.

This is a work of a madman.

Someone who believes in no one, in nothing but himself.

An eccentric youth who would never set foot on heaven, but rather enjoy his sentence in the purgatory.

Someone who is just like me.

"-Grell! Are you even listening?"

"Yeah, tomorrow, Friday. Heard you Rem."

Inside his head, the murder and horror engraved by the haunting painting was more powerful than reality.

「~*~*~*~」

Gregory tossed back a lock of highlighted hair in ashen hue, paintbrush on his left hand, the palette on the other. As expected, his Purgatory in Hell was doted on by his professors and those shallow reporters.

Stupid. It wasn't supposed to be beautiful. It was supposed to be bizarre. It was supposed to push people away. That painting itself was a representation of himself.

He was supposed to push people away with his eccentricity, not attract them.

"What now?" he asked himself, naked body shifting to get a better angle at what he is painting.

"This is a difficult pose Gregory-"

"Shut up." He hushed the model, a lanky blonde from the business department, who was standing on one foot while wearing a Gothic short dress.

Paint splattered noisily, and the brush stroked in silence as the two worked together. The model frowned slightly, uncomfortable that the naked artist was looking at him like his prey. He wouldn't mind screwing this art student on top of the table he's balancing on (table:standing in one foot on top of it:itchy dress) but rumor has it that he's too batshit kinky to be enjoyed by anyone.

"You can get down now, Alois."

Sauntering to the artist's side, he peeked at the fruit of his labor, only to be disappointed with an abstract of yellow, black and brown shit that has nothing to do with his pose.

"What is that?"

"Unbalanced." the eccentric man nodded to himself and sighed in satisfaction.

"And where am I in the picture?" Alois felt a vein popping on his forehead.

"The emotion. That's where you are. Can you feel it?"

Gregory was too absorbed by his art that he paid no attention to the slamming at the door. He can find a new model anyway. Someone with more aesthetic in them.

At least his art was complete.

「~*~*~*~」

"Nice dress," Grell grinned at the short blonde huffing his way to the exit. The offended male glared at him, but as always, he ignored the person and made his way to the studio.

He'll be meeting Gregory Violet. In person. A bouquet of red roses at hand, he ran to the destination. Pushing the heavy door open, he was greeted by a naked man with long white hair and black highlights, now putting on a black velvet robe to cover his body.

Damn. The strong biceps, firm abdomen, nice thighs, all encased in flawless creamy skin.

The handsome man looked at him with an evil aura, darkest violet orbs almost black as he bit his lips.

"Uhmmm, for Gregory Violet?"

"Come in and close the door. I don't like sunlight."

Grell promptly shut the said door and looked around. The place was neat and organized, but lit only by an incandescent bulb that hang maladroit on the ceiling. It's a wonder he can paint such vivid colors in a dark place.

"I am Grell Sutcliffe from the Medical Department. I am a fan of your works, Mr Violet."

"Gregory. We're just same students that lurk across the campus." Motioning him to sit, Gregory tilted his head to the side, accepting the flowers while noting how red the other's hair is.

Interesting. Let's try a test.

"Tell me, Grell. What can you see in this painting?"

Green eyes moved towards the canvas, now splashed with a vivid mesh of color. Inside the dim room, the painting appeared to be menacing, as if inside lurks an evil force waiting to savor it's meal.

But he can also feel uncertainty. As if the painting can combust anytime.

"Unbalanced."

"Oh?" he crossed his legs, chuckling softly at the answer. "Are you saying it is not beautiful?"

Grell looked at the smiling man with a leer of his own. Indeed, they are the same. What he is inside, this man is the manifestation on the outside world. A handsome man, indeed.

"Is it supposed to be beautiful to be appreciated? Ugliness can be a special trait on its own.*"

The man clapped his hands at the answer, impressed at how he nailed it straight on the head. This person is a dark one, despite the brilliant colors on him. No brighter than green, no bolder than red, his personality is blacker than black itself.

"Do you read Sade?"

Brows creased at the question, with the redhead confused at who Sade was.

"Never mind. It goes to show it is all in your head." pouring his guest a tall glass of strawberry juice, and some blueberry juice for himself, he proceeded to observe Grell with scrutiny as the man delicately lifted the glass to his mouth. Even as he set the tumbler on the table, his pinky cushioned the sound with the poise of a woman.

"The flowers are lovely. But why, pray tell me, do you seek my audience?"

Gulping a good portion of the oxygen, the Nursing student gathered all his courage, before asking, in a small voice.

"I want to volunteer as your helper or preferably your model. I have mentioned I am a fan, and as a fan I am devoted to help you in any way I can. I heard you were asked to exhibit your art in France and Italy, so I assumed you will need a few hands."

"Is it really the case?" he returned the cartons in the ice box and analyzed the pretty face in front of him. "Or perhaps you are enamoured by myself more than my art?"

"You speak as if I am in love with you," Grell smiled to himself, liking how articulate their conversation is.

"A model, well I need one darling. However, you might not enjoy the process.

"My future project would be titled as Gomorrah. Are you familiar with 120 days of Sodom or perhaps it's big screen counterpart Saló?"

The transvestite inhaled sharply upon hearing the movie title. Saló is on the list of the most brutal movie of all time, and number one at that. It involved misogyny, sodomy, incest, human torture...

As well as murder.

"I want to paint something along those lines. Horror. The inevitable doom and hopelessness any human can feel upon the brink of death. I want my model to experience at least a minor shed of blood. I want someone who's not squirmy and easily disgusted. Do you think you can help?"

"Don't tell me you'll kill someone for that project?" the voice spoke without the hint of fright, and the owner managed to look up with a curious gaze.

"No. Do you know what orgasm means?"

"Ugh, ejaculation?" he grimaced at the change of topic.

"If I am not mistaken, it means 'little death'"

Another sip from the vermilion drink, and he knows what Gregory meant.

"BDSM... You want someone to perform BDSM with you."

"That practice involves a lot of things, Grell. I only aim for one thing."

Long, white fingers stained with different oil based paint made its way to Grell's chin, and the cold dark eyes stared into that beautiful green.

"I want to see a beautiful creature break down in pain and pleasure."

「~*~*~*~」

He walked hand in hand inside Gregory's apartment, a one roomed place neatly arranged yet with few furniture in it. Led to the bedroom, the robe wearing eccentric ushered him wordlessly.

A perfectly normal bed with black silk sheets, a small closet in chipping brown paint, a table and chair scattered with random papers and sketchbooks and a window with shutters closed.

At this perfectly normal atmosphere, his heart thumped rhythmically in fear.

Why am I here? Why am I allowing myself to be a fucking guinea pig?

No answer came as the handsome yet frightening artist ushered him off his clothes. The red polo shirt, the black skinny jeans, the red bikini briefs, all was dropped to the floor, leaving him exposed for that set of cold eyes to see.

His wrists were grabbed and tied to the bedpost with a rough unforgiving rope, no kisses, no words involved. He is not a virgin when it comes to pleasure, but pain is what made his knees shake uncontrollably. He expected the man to be rough, not docile.

"Are you wondering why I am so gentle? Do not fear, the party only just began."

With that, the man pulled away and switched off the incandescent light, before it was replaced with a glaring ultra violet illumination*, so suddenly that Grell's sensitive eyes had to squint.

On the walls, on the bed, on the door and on the ceiling, graphics glowed boldly and proudly. A special paint was used to draw such atrocity, exposing itself only with a black light.

Naked men and women in various obscene positions and situations were posted on each and every area, so realistically that it seemed to be alive.

A girl hanging on a noose, obviously dead, was being defiled by a man on a stool.

A male child, spread naked was impaled on the ass by a sharpened pole, the bloody end went as far enough as to expose itself on the mouth.

A woman's mouth was sewn shut, and the left eye socket spouting blood was being fucked by a hound.

If he weren't so shocked, the medical student would've screamed.

"You see Grell, the reason why I never draw the human body is this. I feel it is filthy. I feel it is never worthy of such divine admiration. I believe it is not in the likeness of a nonexistent god."

A sharp cutter glistened in the light, and Grell struggled to remove the handcuffs, cursing himself. How can he not know it'll end up like this?

But of course you know. His inner voice mused. You and him are alike. In your fantasies. In your dreams. In your subconscious musings.

"I see your hair, and it reminded me of blood," Violet licked the blade until his tongue bled, and he tasted his own copper fluid.

The sight of that trembling beauty tied to his bed was gold. How those emeralds widened in fear, tears already threatening to shed! The lovely skin sparkling with sweat, he can almost taste the regret!

"Tell me, Grell Sutcliffe. Are we alike?"

Only did the artist realized that the reason why he is doing this is because of that notion. He can't accept that someone can understand his art oh so well.

He reached out for the flaccid cock exposed in front of him, and with quick, rough tugs, the member hardened in his grip. Looking up to the hazy green eyes, he tentatively stuck out his tongue, tasting the bitter beads at the end.

How can it feel so good? The tied male closed his eyes in denial as Gregory jerked off his cock, trying to push out any sensation out of his mind. He can't possibly enjoy such sick treatment from an insane man. But a light suck on his dick and he let out a long moan. The fear mingled with lust, a heightening combination.

Moving away, Gregory took one look at his victim, the blade now tracing which part to cut. Metal grazed the skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. From the ankles, to the legs, up to the thighs...

A slash was placed on his inner left thigh, with Grell gasping loudly at the sudden cut. The dull part of the knife was turned and the silverhaired male deepened the cut, making sure to leave a scar.

"S-stop! Please!" His face contorted in agony at the harsh treatment. Complying, Gregory stopped. His blade however, roamed upwards to his stomach, then to his nipples, where the tip threatened to puncture each defiant nub. Another cut was made, this time to his chest. Same process, Gregory continued with a blank expression, not heeding to any of the pleas that followed.

Cut, deepened... Cut, deepened... Each cut was followed with a thrusting of the blunt end, vessels breaking to let the blood out. Whimpers and begging did not made it stop, and now tears stained the unharmed face while his body was battered bit by bit, cut by cut.

There were lots of blood in the brightest red. In sick pleasure, Gregory unclothed himself and lubed his thick cock with the blood, aroused and yet no sign on his face.

"Please stop this! Gregory- ahh! Not like this!"

Beautiful, isn't it? How he pants and how he helplessly beg for mercy. Beautiful hair scattered against the black sheets, blood red designed his pale, lithe body in no definite pattern...

In one swift thrust, he pushed his way in the tight ring of muscles, breaking skin and making Grell scream.

The surge of pleasure was barbaric in its own way. He assured himself as he pulled in and out of the battered body, now too weak to fight back. Squelchy sounds formed as the blood from the tear of his innards now aid to his quest for completion.

He was breath taking as his lashes touched wet cheeks, enduring the pain of being taken against his will. The perfect example of Gomorrah. His own chiseled chest heaved at each powerful pump, knowing that tomorrow he will not see the beauty again. A foreign squeeze on his heart made the thought unbearable. To think that the only person who understood without explanation was going to be pushed away by his oddity and self-hatred.

"I have said- uhmmm- that the human body is- ahhh! Not beautiful." his low voice whispered against the redhead's ear, his own bare torso touching against the beaten figure and sharing the heat.

"You are, the most beautiful thing in the world. Not like my ugly self."

There were no pleasure in this ride for Grell. No joy in knowing that the first person to call him beautiful was someone who broke him and took advantage of him. He can only blame no one but himself, all for expecting that he can handle the pain in the name of admiration.

Gomorrah. Isn't it like this? The other place god has ruined along with Sodom. This was no debauchery. Only torture.

Each breath becomes erratic as Gregory neared his orgasm. Grabbing the still hard cock against his stomach, (Grell's body is still male and therefore reacts to the foreign object rubbing against his prostrate) he pumped the member as he came. But no, the male below him didn't come.

Pulling out, his pink mixture of cum and blood oozed out of the orifice. Grell was unconscious but still breathing.

Damage was done. For the sake of art.

Taking a blank canvas and his palette, he set to work on his painting. Each glance at the passive body before him was almost unbearable, but nonetheless he continued. The first and last night with his first love, immortalized in a piece of art.

My heart beats painfully at my own stupid delusions.

「~*~*~*~*~」

"Grell, did you know?" a black haired female wearing black eyeliner and black lipstick approached the nursing student, the books in her arm indicated that she is a Law student.

"Gregory Violet's Gomorrah was offered a place in Louvre. In Louvre! Isn't that fucking awesome?"

"Yeah, another feather in our school's cap." The future nurse faked a smile and let the woman grab her arm. It's been a year since he became a 'model' for the said piece. After the nightmare, he woke up, his wounds tended and cleaned, a staggering amount of ten thousand dollars in cash beside him. Taking only enough for his fare, he took a taxi and never looked back. Avoiding every opportunity to encounter the insane artist, he managed to live his life normally. After all, Trestine Academy is a huge school.

"There's Will and Ryuuk over there," Rem immediately grabbed her Japanese boyfriend's arm, while his bespectacled boyfriend pecked on his cheek discreetly. The affection can wait later in his apartment.

"Everyone is required to go to our auditorium right now, in honor of Mr Violet's international achievement."

Grell only nodded solemnly. In a crowd, he hoped to be subdued and unnoticed right now. He's perfectly moving on and contented.

Forget. I only wants to forget

「~*~*~*~*~」

"I thank everyone for coming today, as well as the media for being supportive in this. I know this was supposed to be a ceremony to say Congratulations but I also managed to finish my new masterpiece in time for today. A first attempt in realism."

Gregory managed not to stutter as he nervously delivered his speech. Primped up in a suit and tie, the bright light was dulling his reason. Eyes scanned, but he failed to see what he was looking for. Nonetheless, he continued.

"Proudly unveiling the art that has captured my heart, the 'Red Lady'."

The white cloth covering the canvas was pulled, and the art was revealed.

A feminine face with deep emerald eyes, vivid vermilion hair scattered across the black background and lips shut tight in supposed sadness. It was indeed a sight to behold.

Cameras shuttered noisily and reporters bombarded him with questions. Looking at an old reporter taking down notes, he smiled bitterly.

"She was also the model for Gomorrah, my hell in earth illusion. This," he pointed bluntly at the painting. "-is my way of saying that heaven can be found within your hell. And that hell can be found within your heaven. It doesn't makes sense to most, but it is as simple as this. Love can be painful and pain can be loving. Some can be sick as to realize that pleasure is all in the mind."

As he looked pointedly at the deep green eyes he missed so much, he read the thoughts reflected on the hatred filled pools.

You are lying.

You painted that to say you love giving misery.

You are sick and miserable that you pass these pain unto others and only then you can feel affection.

At the end of the day, only this beautiful creature can understand him so well.

「~*~*~*~*~」

*I should stop reading Marquis de Sade.

*Got this idea from the movie The Orphan.

So, anyone read this? The smut was short, I know. But it's a dark fic! It's not my fault! I don't want this! *cries like a mad woman*

I'd be expecting flames, reports and hatred. Go on, do it. Do it. I know I'm a sick bitch.