No one is like you. No one is like me.
-dirgewithoutmusic.
"...How long will you stay?"
This is where Ciel figured they'd gone wrong before their parting ties. He'd never bothered to ask questions properly when he'd been turned and Sebastian was under no obligation to give information freely otherwise.
A hundred years, and then some, leave a lot of time to think on what could have been, had they not both been so very stupid, rigid and without much shared trust.
But Ciel was not lord and master anymore; he was just some small, weak amalgam of a demon with too many human traits to consider and count, while Sebastian was older, more powerful and, most importantly of all: free to leave whenever he wanted.
He'd rein down the habit to return to be a haughty, insufferable brat, if it meant there was the chance Sebastian might be less inclined to leave too soon.
"For a while," Sebastian answered, looking down on the boy still hugging him and trying very hard not to acknowledge the sound of him afraid of being left alone again.
He also tried not to acknowledge that Ciel took that for what it was and seemed to...accept it. No air in his lungs, slowed heart rate and closed eye.
Losing people never really got easier as time wore on in the early days of his demonhood. So much and so often it became difficult to ignore this kind of sense that took up it's place in his bones when he knew someone important to him was on the edge of oblivion, not unlike what war veterans referred to as phantom pain in missing limbs.
There were books he would write once he settled back in England near the end of the twentieth century; huge tomes detailing the times and lives of the people that would never be replaced in his heart and memory. Handwritten scraps, at first, because he didn't trust himself to sit down in front of an elegant and somewhat fragile typewriter and just...bite his teeth into his lips and then leave because sitting down and still for too long made the memories consume him.
His wishes to die in those first scraps kept in his pockets were made quite obvious in his prose at the time.
The first tome was Tanaka, though he wasn't the first of his people to pass onward.
No, horror of horrors, the first to leave were Soma and Agni.
A short trip back to the royal palace had brought upon the young prince, twenty-two and much better than all of his siblings put together, an infection of Bubonic plague before the much larger outbreak the year after. Soma was one of the first to die, but it wasn't from the disease.
Ciel had run for three days, like summer lightning was at his heels, to try and get to Soma and Agni both; to try, maybe, to form a contract and maybe prolong their lives, or even offer comfort in their last moments.
Even if he'd shaved a full two days off of his journey by running in wolf form (bigger than usual, the size of a horse instead of just larger than a dog, because of the energy given through his own fear, which other demons did not experience and did not make them grow or shrink like he did; a many in his long list of quirks, gifts and curses) he only got to them after they'd passed on.
He'd been in time to see two members of the Reaper Dispatch of the region collecting their soul reels, going over their lives and precious memories before the obviously elder of the two gave the final cut to both Agni and Soma, though Agni a little later than his prince.
Apparently, Reapers from the district were much less inclined to attack a demon if they remained in their familiar form; assuming him to be a psychopomp or messenger of the (lazy, worthless, good for nothing) gods they ran into from time to time.
They had not been very appreciative when he'd hauled the bodies onto his back, as respectfully as he could, and told them he was taking them back to England to administer a proper funeral for the both of them. They had assumed he was going to eat them or desecrate the bodies in some horrible manner that would be counterproductive to their own practices.
If he hadn't been so miserable, he might have been amused when both Reapers had stumbled back and become defensive when he'd snarled so many sharp teeth at them at the mere idea of him doing such a disgusting thing. Even more amusing, in retrospect, was when he'd told them that if they had a problem, "Please, take it up with William Spears in the London Dispatch branch. I'm sure he'd be happy to answer any of your questions."
Spears had indeed been contacted, but Grell had found the entirety of the situation so hilarious that she'd been more than willing to keep Will from tracking Ciel down after he'd finished the funeral rites and left immediately far, far away from England.
Ciel had been on his way to the frozen Arctic as the last scent and ashes of an exemplar butler and probably the only person that had ever considered friend settled into the dirt and surroundings of the trees he'd planted at the edge of his favorite wood (actually along the fence line of what would later become his property) and the headstone that wasn't actually necessary in their Hindu funeral tradition, but something he'd wanted to do for them.
Even if bathing the bodies that showed the painful signs of the plague had been hard. Even if placing the two side by side and gathering the flower garlands and holy basil had been exhausting after having to apply sandalwood and ash to their foreheads without flinching. Even if reciting the mantras and chants had made him desperately aware of all the silence surrounding him.
Even if, when he had to cremate them, and stay until there was nothing left but bite-sized bits of ash and bones, he'd felt like that well of sadness in him was enough to drown in...
He'd still wanted to leave a stone mark on the land, with words carved into it, to remind himself and perhaps tell anyone in passing, that the two men had meant something, that they mattered.
(Of course, he didn't know at the time that there was another reason the Indian Reaper Dispatch had not wanted him to take the bodies.)
Staying in the Arctic and eating the souls of hundred year old Blue Whales might have helped him gain some strength and nourishment, but it did nothing to remove the reality he was faced with.
He'd have to keep burying the people that mattered to him, like watching sand in an hourglass, and knew he'd fail in trying not to care.
It made his writing better down the line, Sebastian would note and speak truthfully to him, after he'd found the manuscripts hiding in the back of the library.
Holy water does significant damage; like having scalding oil tossed onto skin without clothing to offer protection.
There is a skin discoloration between the shoulder blades from his twenty-fifth year made by some idiot choir boy tossing used water from a ceremony out of the rectory window and towards a garden Ciel had been loitering in to take a rest.
Walking on hallowed ground was not too different from walking in red hot iron shoes.
He crosses to the other side of the road when he's near the fence or the brick walls lining graveyards. A simple mistake and not knowing left him crawling away from an old Potter's Field once, feet blistered and ankles throbbing.
Exorcisms were bullshit created by the church to give some real meaning to the lives of the priests (although the nuns did offer some power if ever allowed into the room with an afflicted party).
Sebastian had taken note that Ciel has some old, charred remains of bibles that some fool had undoubtedly tried to use against him, and when asked, was given confirmation that Ciel had panicked and kicked the tomes into a bonfire when cornered around 1911 by a flock of parishioners looking for someone to blame for a young child being "possessed."
"Stupid creatures," Ciel explained after shaking his head to clear his mind as they both climbed the hill that led to one of the meadows where the younger kept sheep to raise for wool and souls when they got old or sick enough, "The child in question had what would now be considered an anxiety disorder coupled with seizures. It was just bad luck she was born in some backwoods little village in Romania that knew no better."
A hundred years and some away from each other, and still and all, Sebastian found it impossible not to chafe and knead the inside of his lip and cheek with his sharp teeth at the very idea of Ciel being brought down low by things that barely bothered Sebastian when he was young and became almost like dusting off ashes and grit in his old age.
Normal demons did not scar, or burn, or retain evidence to remind them that the past was real. It made them weak, it made them feel ridiculous, so when the moment came that they learned to harness their power and magic, they washed away the presence of imperfection with but a scintilla of thought.
He hesitated as they came to the top of the hill, looking down on the flock of Scottish Blackface and the speckling of Border Leicester grazing with the sedate disposition of creatures that were never hurt. Heads lifted lazily as Ciel shifted into the black wolf that had gotten bigger since being around Sebastian and actually feeling an inclination to eat instead of feeling like he had to abstain and starve because of that...that thing...that thing called guilt that he'd had to explain to Sebastian repeatedly.
If he looked close enough, eager eyes taking in the swift black beast circling the flock and leading them out into another field beyond the fence of old wood with wind chimes twined all along from post to post, Sebastian could make out all those reminders of mistakes made through Ciel's learning curve; jagged and smoothed from age, though none so old as that accursed and wretched branding burn.
"Stupid creatures, indeed," the corvus huffed, blowing stray strands of hair from his face to keep his clear view of those thick nailed paws leaving no marks on the earth, that bright blue eye watching the lambs moving along so they didn't get trampled, that wagging tail he found ridiculous on all other members of the canis branch members but, if he permitted himself to be honest, was endearing to watch as long as it was Ciel.
Sebastian never imagined that Ciel would take up some habits like that of the ancient and most powerful dragons in Hell, but he also supposed that it wasn't technically like he exactly meant to start hoarding in just one of his nests.
Plus, Sebastian acknowledged, if Ciel was actually entirely taking up features and behavior like the dragons, he would keep hoards in all of his nests entirely.
That and, well, it wasn't like his young master didn't actually use his hoard for things. Dragons had a tendency to collect objects that just sat around, being polished in their grubby paws, caressed by their dangerous talons and looked on like there was nothing better in the world.
Ciel's personal library in his house in England was something that would make most human book keepers get down on their knees and beg to look over.
And his taste was thorough and without real aesthetic or form. It expanded and encompassed the entirety of the Dewy Decimal System for his non-fiction; and his fiction section had its own separate room.
The especially well-cared for books that spent most of the time in his room made Sebastian grin sly and wide the first time he'd wandered in for the sake of his curiosity and found one blue eye focused entirely on the page of a work by someone long gone.
"First edition 'Sherlock Holmes and the Hound of the Baskervilles'? I'm sure if Arthur were still around, he'd be quite flattered, my lord."
After the first year of Sebastian showing no sign of wanting to leave, but not mentioning if he intended to give back his eye, Ciel had given up telling him he need not use his former titles. He accepted in that almost grating serenity he had, that perhaps it made Sebastian feel more in control, and stopped arguing.
After finishing the page he was on, Ciel placed his little bookmark of a cloth ribbon with an empty bell at the end inside and addressed Sebastian properly, "Maybe. But, then, if Arthur was still around, I don't think flattery would be the first thing to come to his mind. I think he'd be rather excited to realize he got what he wanted."
"Oh? And what is that?"
Ciel shrugged and placed the book on his bedside table atop a copy of 'The Kinsey Report', 'Catcher in the Rye' and 'Girl, Interrupted', "He was mortal. He wrote what he wanted and look where it is a hundred years later; well-known throughout the world, hailed as a work of absolute genius and flattered twice over by hundreds of attempts at imitation."
"The wish to be remarkable, then."
That one knowing blue eye blinked up at red, a small smile on his lips, "Maybe."
Ciel had an actual relationship outside of disdain and antagonism with the Reapers, but had neglected to enlighten Sebastian on this fact until some time after they'd paid a visit to the Russian wilderness, hunting down some very aged moose dying of congestive heart failure and returned back to England. Ciel with a full stomach for the first time in nearly a year (skin almost translucent and stubborn about hunting larger animal souls until he'd finished off the stock of grey squirrels he'd been snacking on in storage) and Sebastian carrying him the whole way back, "You just regained your energy; you are not wasting it through running around as a dog!"
The elder demon had been dusting the main hall and actually nearly defaulted to his original form when the doors swung open and he found himself facing the one Reaper he disliked on a matter of principal from the hundred years previous, in spite of her lending assistance to actually being reunited with his young master.
"Sebby, darling! I didn't expect to have such a treat waiting for me here!"
"This is Bocchan's home, Miss Sutcliff, I wouldn't expect you to have anything waiting here for you...why do you have a key?"
The redhead twirled the artistic old thing around on the faded ribbon hanging off the end, smiling those shark teeth and walking right past the demon with the adorable expression of shock on his face.
"Because, the little one thought it proper to give me access to his home when he's had access to mine. Ronnie has one, too. We all sort of exchanged them after a bit of a dust up between myself and three other Reapers that are, thankfully, no longer part of my dispatch thanks to a conversation Ciel had with William before I had my operation."
"...Conversation?"
The odd feeling that constantly passed over Sebastian every single time Ciel was awake before he was and already making coffee for the both of them, essence of elder and cherry tree slipped in of course, was at once a kind of endearing ripple of affection and a sour churning in his gut.
The same feeling a constant companion when he realized the boy could actually function like an actual adult in the itty-bitty body he was stuck with that was never going to get any bigger.
He would have liked to have seen the journey made on his own two (tiny) feet. He would have liked to have been there as he figured things out. He would have liked to have seen when the idea came to the boy that humans were not his to consume because he felt (guilty) wrong about it.
To imagine any demon anywhere could feel wrong about taking a human soul was almost unfathomable. Sebastian himself had never thought it possible, the Fallen that he was and without thought that any thing other than humans could actually sustain demons at any capacity never crossing his mind.
He thinks on it rather as he used to think on the mark that Ciel bore from his month with the cultists that brought them together. When Sebastian was playing the game Ciel thought himself the chess master of, the mark was a reminder that Sebastian had earned a prize that would be all the sweeter because it was seasoned and prepared readily before he arrived and once the game was over, the meal would be done up twice over, his name imprinted on the meal so it couldn't be taken from him. But then, the meal was stolen, turning, perhaps in a way, into a decoration in a display case at a confection shop; it looked beautiful and gave off the impression of perfection while still being claimed, but it was not edible and almost imaginary.
Still, the feeling changed the longer the demons remain near, and he is reminded that, much as he'd had to be reminded often when Sebastian himself was but a fledgling, hardly bigger than Ciel; not everything in the world was there to be eaten.
Every new class and collection of Reapers were required to take a class explaining fully the conditions they would face and the expectations fixed upon their shoulders, should they encounter a demon.
All demons knew about this. Sebastian had been made aware of it around the time that the Sphinx was being constructed. And throughout that time and forward, he was perfectly aware that the edicts never changed.
"If you cross a demon trying to get at the soul of an assignment, you chase it off. If it fights you, fight it back. It will most often lead to a fight to maim or kill. It is in your best interest to kill it, before it kills you..."
It was a little stupid for William T. Spears to conduct a study session out in the English wilderness a half-mile from Ciel's extensive and well-tended property, but, for once, he wouldn't complain on it, as it offered an opportunity for Sebastian to hear something new pass from the mouth of the stiffest Reaper Sebastian had ever met.
"Mr. Spears, sir?" One of the obviously youngest of the class raised a hand, nervously fidgeting with a paper that each one of them seemed to have been given. His eyebrows were drawn tight together in confusion as he kept looking from the rigid elder and back to the paper, followed by a cursory glance at the surrounding wilderness.
Sebastian was honestly hard pressed not to give a little flicker of his demonic energy just to spook the hell out of the brats and get them moving along faster from this show-and-tell. He wasn't especially keen on his young master getting caught herding the sheep over the hill and running into the nervous, twitchy bunch.
"Yes?" Spears almost drawled, pausing in his movement to step over gross looking moss sticking to some rocks pissed on by the foxes Ciel had been working to increase the population of over some ten years.
"You keep saying these reactions are appropriate when faced with all demons, and yet... well, Mister Knox and, uh,"
"Miss Sutcliff," Spears supplied, automatic.
"Right. They handed out these pamphlets that, say, uh, well, um... otherwise...?"
That genuinely uncomfortable look on William's face.
This was a man that had been around and witness to hundreds of dead children, infants that were slaughtered in their beds or left out in the wilderness to die because they happened to possess the wrong parts; who'd been instructed in Reaping around the time when the word 'rape' wasn't just a novelty formed by the mouths and whispers of women that seemed uppity in their day and age; who'd had to be a part of the clean-up for countless diseases spread through human discomfort. And yet, and yet, and yet...
"That's why we're here. If you happen to be in this area to collect a soul for whatever reason and run across a very, very small demon whose photo was no doubt supplied in the fine print in his multiple other forms..."
Spears was actually twitching. Agitation flowing off of him in waves.
"That would be Phantomhive. Through some dealings our dispatch have had with him through the years, we have... more or less... come to the decision that, should the need arise; you are to fight any demon that is in the area as needed... Except Phantomhive. Never Phantomhive..."
The surrounding students looked a little frightened when the knuckles belonging to the hand gripped around his death scythe cracked, yet Spears persevered in spite of the contempt dripping off of every enunciation.
"Leave Phantomhive alone. Otherwise I will have to deal with the fallout from Knox and Sutcliff because you did not follow my instruction, which in turn will leave me massively displeased. Am I understood?"
It wasn't a question, but the resounding, "Yes, sir," echoed through the territory with finality as they moved along and Sebastian was left in his tree wondering if it would be worth breaking the peace and civility settled between Ciel and himself to ask how he managed to get the Reapers off of his back.
Beatings lasted longer than a deathblow.
Three days gone from the home that always felt like it belonged to Ciel because Sebastian had no hand in building it like he had the manor the first time around.
He hadn't wanted to leave for the days, when he knew that when he traveled great distances and said that he'd see his young master later, the young one always wished him well and gave something of a smile, but he became stiff and Sebastian could smell that sickly sweet scent of despair crash in waves off of him.
A few times Sebastian had even watched Ciel leave in the early mornings, mist to the ground on his way to move the sheep somewhere dry and warm, and look back at the house for a few moments, no smile in sight and hesitant to leave, before taking a deep breath and moving to fulfill his practiced self-appointed duties.
Sebastian knew Ciel was afraid the elder would leave without a word, again. He would leave and it might be another hundred years before he saw him again, if at all. Thinking he actually might have done something wrong.
But needs must when Sebastian had things to do in Hell and the one time he'd thought to take a walk to the nearest entrance point with Ciel, thinking he'd follow right along like a little yellow duckling after its mother, Ciel stood stock still save for shaking at the first sight of the entrance. Sebastian had thought it almost amusing, until he'd made to coax him forward and his response had been more shaking and an almost whispered bit of information, "I can't, I can't, I can't... I'm sorry, but if I take one step in there, I'll never come back."
That green jacket had made him look so vulnerable, all hunched over as he was and avoiding red-brown eyes he thought would show disdain or condescending. Sebastian hadn't even thought before speaking and setting a hand softly on his shoulder, trying not to take offense at the full-body flinch.
"It's alright, Bocchan. I understand you must dislike being down there, it's so different from up here."
"I've never been down."
"...What?"
He'd repeated, now doubly ashamed at the absolute disbelief Sebastian exhibited at the idea of a demon, even a demon like Ciel, never stepping foot once into Hell in their lifetime, "I've never been down. I'm not...normal. And whatever's in there knows it, too. I have a bad enough time up here with the ones I come across on accident; I can only imagine it would be quite a bit worse if I went down."
Sebastian still hadn't quite understood what Ciel meant, even as he told Ciel the timeline he'd be gone and back and said he'd try to meet up at the house before the younger started making the dinner Sebastian was more and more inclined to imbibe in since Ciel showed him how to add in souls and essence and it actually tasted good.
He hand't understood until he'd gotten back, the sun gone, the sheep in the pasture, but... no lights on in the house, even with smoke coming from the chimney.
Sebastian had assumed Ciel was out hunting pheasants or fish, deciding that he'd take the opportunity to set up the stove and table while he waited for the boy. Until he'd gotten within five feet of the door.
He'd smelled the blood before he saw the hand marks on the knob and door's frame.
Entering into the dark home, he'd gone slow in the case that whatever had caused Ciel to bleed (and it was his blood, strong and fresh and enough to make red-brown eyes flame to boiling with his own rage and blood how dare someone touch his Bocchan) was still within the walls and doing something suicidal on their part. Then he'd sped up when he heard and smelled no one within other than Ciel, a heavy breathing down beside the lit fireplace.
"It's not so bad. It happens," is Ciel's answer, tired and words strung together with his scratched up throat and torn lungs trying to put them into play through what must have been agony. Bruises like blackberry pie, his one good eye and his too thin wrists, cuts along both lips like teeth caught him wrong, obvious marks like fingernails on his skeletal hips.
Sebastian registered his naked form being almost dwarfed by the pillow that had been heated in the pot hanging from the lever by the fire, so tiny and aching, but did not register lust. Just concern; those cuts and bruises had been aimed towards the small flaccid penis that hadn't changed a bit from when Sebastian used to clean it in a claw-foot tub and the battered lips he'd fed countless cakes to with as much pride a demon could have when it came to something he had no experience enjoying himself.
It was difficult to swallow down the bile in his throat as he gently pulled the pillow from Ciel's grip against his stomach like a stuffed animal, "Happens?"
"Mating season and the winter solstice. Usually they know I'm gone during the season, but I forgot about the solstice this year."
"Where do you go for the season?"
Despite the pain, Ciel smiled and showed all of his teeth, making a show of illusion to make them sharper in the dim light of the fireplace.
...That explained more about why Grell had a key.
A regular morning in the house, sun pouring in from the open windows, Ciel on his belly in front of the fire and reading his ghastly medical textbooks and the Lancet just in from the post. His over-sized shirt that served as bed clothing a mark of his giving himself a day to laze about, no pants or underwear in sight.
The large lump of brown striped, fluffy fur was new, though.
Sebastian paused in his steps, his cup of Darjeeling with Hawthorn and Jacaranda tree essence halfway to his lips.
"...There is a cat sitting on your butt, Bocchan."
"I know."
"Do you want me to remove it...?"
"No, she's fine for now. I'll finish these next few chapters and she'll probably be back off outside, anyway."
Sebastian made no move forward or back, eyeing what Ciel assumed must have been a fine member of the feline race to his glowing eyes; fingers twitching and the high pitched squeak he was trying to maintain within his throat grating to Ciel's ears.
Ciel sighed and flipped to another page, waving the other over and pretending he wasn't sparing him looking totally pathetic.
"You can pet her, I'm no longer allergic to her and her kind; just clean up the hair afterwards."
"You seem quite familiar with her, my lord. Is she your pet?"
"Don't be ridiculous. The grounds are full of wild cats that catch mice and other vermin and sleep in their own dens or in the old stables. Sometimes they get inside, but if they don't bother me, then I don't bother them."
"Does she have a name?"
"Always Pregnant."
"Really, my lord!"
Ciel clicked his tongue and tried not to tense up when Sebastian's needless doting on the great fat beast sitting on his backside caused her to start kneading untrimmed and rarely clean claws into his skin, making it harder to focus on the chapter detailing the use of sedatives on women in labor with evidence of placental abruption, "I have no need to name them. They are not my pets, I just allow them to live on the premises as long as they catch vermin and don't offend my sensitive nose by pissing on every available surface."
"Shhh," Sebastian scolded, setting his tea atop the nearest side table and lifting the complacent feline from Ciel before she tore into his skin in earnest, "All your lessons as a gentleman and you insult and curse in front of this gorgeous young lady."
The slate haired former aristocrat scoffed, counting down the seconds until Sebastian started the baby talk in earnest as he rolled up from the floor and onto his feet.
His reading material was bookmarked and set to the table beside Sebastian's tea, and he walked up to his room to slip on his stirrup leggings and head out to the edge of the property to hunt or fix the fences or head into London to set about finding more information on a recent rash of burglaries that were giving Scotland Yard trouble or visit Undertaker and make himself useful by helping out with the construction of the coffins.
The years had done nothing to remove his annoyance and disdain for Sebastian acting like an actual decent, affectionate, compassionate fucking person around cats; if anything, it made it worse.
He knew the slammed door was childish, but he also didn't give a rat's ass.
Contracts for demons were finite and absolute between two parties that agreed on the terms.
Contracts could not be cut, severed, or gotten rid of once the mark was placed down, ink made of magic dried and set.
A Barter, on the other hand... An ancient way of trade that had gone out of fashion before the age of Noah and was considered less than satisfactory given that either party could change the rules at any given time with very little notice and the reward was seldom worth the risk. The development of Contracts was as close to a Godsend as demons were every going to get, and none ever went back to the old ways.
Those who could look back that far considered it more of a way to pass the time than any way to get a prize worth looking forward to. A human almost never offered up their soul for trade in those days. They offered up years from the end of their lives; memories they thought were unimportant; newborn babies.
Honestly, demons in those days had so little imagination, it was a wonder any of them lived as long as they did.
Ronald Knox was the first person to agree to a Barter with the demon that was hated and ostracized, small and weak, known as Ciel Phantomhive.
He had been training some transfers that had come into his district by way of Germany; one slightly older than himself by the name of Rudgar that was really quite the catch for management material, but had turned it down too many times. The other was young and went by Sascha.
He had been showing them about like they were tourists, rather than people that actually would have to face an offsetting amount of demons in the region, and had made the mistake of forgetting himself, walking along the docks at high moon and high tide.
The fight had been sudden and harried; eight demons of lesser standing than blood drinkers all told, but they had just eaten a collection of drug dealers that had made the mistake of tramping through their home along the shore where rotting animals had a habit of drifting downstream from more rural areas. The desperation built up quickly and he'd asked for help without expecting it.
Ciel had taken to drawing summoning charms in various places, in different forms and ways months and years before this; chalk on cobbled streets and brick buildings in tatters, blood at the point where four roads meet, planting deadly nightshade along a ring of toadstools.
Ronald had been standing on a tracing of chalk, his own blood smeared along one eye, and the other nearly blinded when a burst of freezing cold ice and snow precipitated the arrival of the massive black wolf Ciel had been hunting as.
(An interesting fact they would later learn; Ciel did not have hellfire in his veins that could pour out of his mouth or fingertips in droves, like he'd seen Sebastian exhibit a handful of times. But he could set a room to frost, a landscape to ice and snow, as well as erupt bursts of what seemed like liquid nitrogen like comets at a given target here and there. It gave him a headache to try the latter, though.)
The dead beaver he'd just sucked the soul from had been a little embarrassing, hanging from his maw, but the chance to try out this new technique had been worth the derision from the demons he'd end up wiping the floor with at the power given from the Barter.
"I'll do for you, if you do for me later. I don't want your soul, nor any other human or Reaper's. You can say no, but then so can I. Do we have a bargain?"
Ronald had been as intrigued as any other sentient being would be at the mystery and half the ability to understand.
Ciel did not and would not make a seal so outlandish and detailed as his own had been at one time, nor as obvious as others he'd had the misfortune to see.
The more visible the seal, the more powerful the bond.
But Ciel didn't care for much power any more. It wasn't about quantity, but quality for him.
He chose substance over style.
So, he made his seal out of a simple looped circle (a bit like something the Celts used for their ornate furnishings in clan castles) and the symbols needed to call from both ends of the bargain. It was only about the size of clover blossom, and not an especially big one at that; and placed on the middle knuckle of Ronald's right hand, while Ciel's mirror mark was on the underside of his left wrist, the size of a ladybug.
Ronald had requested (because Ciel was not going to allow anyone to give him orders; they were equals in this after all) that Ciel save their lives and get them back to the Reaper Realm and medical hall.
Rudgar and Sascha had been half-awake and falling over from blood loss; the elder's left arm half mauled to hell and the younger having been battered around like a mouse among kittens, but were awake enough when there was a sudden shift in the air, and no more demons baring down on them. They were lucid and sure when Ronald hauled them onto a back as sturdy as any horse and they rode through a break in the dimensions Ronald opened up.
Rudgar had passed out when they found themselves in the medical ward, nurses and doctors clattering about, and the injured parties no longer riding thick black hair with muscles beneath that felt safe and sturdy in the running, having vanished right under them like smog into cloud.
Sascha had informed him later that where the wolf had vanished, a fox had slithered into existence from black dust and fog, taking his place around Ronald's neck like a scarf until later, when things had wound down and the report on the goings on with other demons had been given orally to William Spears and transcribed by somebody else. Once Ronald had been placed in a medical bed and given a slip to change into, the fox had turned into a boy who had smiled smug and pleased with the outcome and leaving Ronald dreading what was to be asked of him.
At least, until the boy had snatched up the clipboard from Rudgar's bed explaining the details of his injuries, looked them over like he was a medical professional himself (not technically untrue, given that living as long as he did left a lot of time to study and experience and gain so many degrees and majors it was insane) and then tore out one of the pages in the back that was passed over since no other notes had to be taken for blunt force trauma and internal bleeding.
He'd started writing down what he wanted from Ronald so he wouldn't forget it, and his home address in England in case he had trouble using the seal.
"Let's see, I saved three of you from eight demons, prevented an increase in previous injuries and got you back to your realm as promised. I think that's good for three Elm trees, preferably over a hundred years old, and, since those particular demons weren't much to deal with compared to some of the others... Hmm, eight cows. Preferably steers in their old age, but in a pinch, I'll be satisfied with dairy cows. Does that seem like something you could find for me?"
...Ronald would later look back on this deal as the most practical thing he had ever done.
Which meant he would talk about it while drinking, leading to other deals in Ciel's future with the Reapers.
When Sebastian heard about this offhandedly and without hesitation that came with lies of any sort, he would have to give Ciel points for creativity. And ignore that little prideful tug in his chest that often came together with acidic worry; glad to know Ciel indeed had ways of getting the food he wanted, but his demon instinct twitching and questioning constantly on whether it was actually enough.
He never showed any inclination for physical affection beyond shoulders brushing and maybe a little cuddling by the fire. Perhaps, as well, when he blundered and crashed into things because he lacked depth perception and was half blind, and allowed his face or other bruised areas to be touched for binding and salves counted as affection, but Ciel doubted it.
Sebastian had his cats and Ciel was an adult who never needed more than his own hands to do things anymore; clothing and food and hard work that he didn't mind in the least, and bathing on his own in a metal tub or washing his fur with his own tongue out in the wilderness with no alternatives.
So it struck the elder as odd when, a year right down to the day before mating season, Ciel started being...curious.
Sebastian had actually taken a night to bask in the luxury of sleep, as he found himself doing more and more often, the longer he stayed around Ciel and London and didn't wander off to search for more human souls to snare up (the animals and the trees with their own souls and essence dunked and dipped into teas and cakes were baring merit and appreciation on his world weary palate) and, not unpleasantly, woke to find a warm tongue cleaning his hands. The little black fox form of his master having been mistaken for a cat in his still sleep filled brain.
When Ciel noticed Sebastian had woken up, he didn't even pause in his ministrations, just glancing up at red-brown eyes with one sapphire and continuing on. Tongue across his right open palm and then the left, between each digit, along the grooves and joints, the knuckles and the pulse point. He'd even taken the tip of each finger into his mouth and cleaned under the fingernails with both tongue and less-dull teeth.
Finishing that, ignoring the look of not understanding in the least, and the growing not insignificant amount of heat Sebastian's body had been want to make in almost a century of its own volition, Ciel had blinked up, changing from a small tuft of fur into eternal teen, and asked him if he wanted Darjeeling tea or some of that Chai Latte blend he'd bought from the market. With ash tree essence as a chaser, of course.
Then he'd gotten up to go and make both when Sebastian made no move or answer, his brain entirely out of sorts with what in the seven hells had just transpired.
He didn't bring it up when he finally got out of bed to find Ciel already finished making his latte, Sebastian's preferred cup with the little kitten paw prints filled with steaming tea and chilled essence set on the counter next to an empty plate that would be filled with sunny-side up eggs and chicken souls within the half-hour.
Nor did he bring it up after the meal was had, the dishes cleaned, their trek out to the sheep comfortably quiet and the rounding up of the animals loud and hurried as usual.
Nor when Ciel went to the city to check things over in the underground circles, Sebastian staying behind to wander around the fantastic library and take a look at some of the books that hung precariously close to the edge like little gnomes had pushed them aside to remind Ciel that he was going to be reading them soon and he shouldn't forget. He'd leafed through 'Little Women' and tried to stifle derision while glancing through 'Bleak House' and stared at the cover of 'The Giving Tree' for what felt like an hour without opening the book at all, before taking a half glance at 'Cunt: A Declaration of Independence' and practically flying out of the library and back up to the room given to him.
His room.
His room that was so unlike the one in the servants' quarters of Phantomhive Manor. It wasn't just down the hall from the sounds of Bard and Finny snoring away like woodcutter tools, or Mey-Rin sighing out little puffs of air that caught on her various wisps of hair hanging about her face, or Tanaka being quiet and proper as the dead even in sleep. It didn't have that agoraphobic transparency to it that came with being below ground adjacent to the cellar that kept imported and expensive wine, and a place away from prying eyes to take assassins that came skulking around so he could do them in, cut them into tiny little pieces and then toss them in shoe boxes to bury in the woods or toss into pig feed for a farm not too far away.
He kept the place clean and tidy, but he had personal possessions aside from clothing inside the drawers; knick-knacks on the bureau or books from the library stacked atop his bedside table. His window was always open the let the wild cats in to play whenever they wished, despite being just three doors down from the young master and Sebastian found himself with more toys for the adorable marvelous beauties than he ever did before.
There was a quilt on the bed that got turned out by Ciel every week, stitched by his own tiny hands, and exchanged for one or two others when the abundance of cat hair couldn't just be brushed off. Soft and cozy and smelling of the natural plant derivatives Ciel used instead of harsh chemical detergents and bleach.
Sometimes Ciel would drop one of the kittens that had wandered away from its mother into the bed when Sebastian was getting caught up on a chapter from one of his books, stuck around to glance over said book while Sebastian played with the kitten and fell asleep with his head tucked into a pillow if they were both relaxed enough.
Sebastian was aware that he would, often, hold onto the pillow nights later; inhaling Ciel's left behind scent of sweat, tea and earth and fiddling with the pendant around his neck with his Bocchan's eye. Contemplating want and gifts and...feeling.
This song and dance between them was not unusual. She came in at least once every year since Ronnie had taken up bargains with him, as well as those two German (suckers) Reapers that always found themselves on the wrong side of the territory when they had to clear out some demons causing mischief. Often Grell would bemoan being the only lady of the division, how hard it was on her, how none of the men appreciated her at all-save for Ronnie. And on, and on.
The bruises on her face weren't new either, but the bags under her eyes, lack of her usual makeup, and not insignificant weight loss were.
"I absolutely will not stand to live like this anymore! I can't. Please, please, please, Ciel; I'll pay anything!"
"We have been over this, Grell," Ciel sighed, wiping his hands after picking up the already dissected meat to put it in with the lot that would need to be marinated later on, "Your operation would require someone to be there after the initial surgery, plus the three to six after that, and you still have yet to find someone to recommend for that position. And I'm not going to perform drastic, permanent surgery for sure and certain unless you get permission from your head of staff."
"Will won't let me-"
"Exactly. I would like to help you if I could, Grell, but I have my limits."
The bargain with Grell for her womanhood came around the time Ciel had built a printing press in one of the rooms of his manor that had been empty and collecting dust, the feeling of needing something more to fill up his time pressing on him like his aunt Frances once had in scolding hid butler and other servants.
Keeping busy kept him sane, so supporting the arts seemed like a logical next step in his long life.
The medical and scientific discoveries of the world helped with this decision immensely, allowing him to walk around and claim adulthood through merit, despite his size.
(For Ciel, Turner's Syndrome and Hypopituitarism was a gift.)
He'd just accepted some manuscripts to put together for The Poetry Society before their awards ceremony and had also volunteered to assist in the catering. His hands weaving through a grotesque collection of fresh crabs he'd caught by the seaside at his kitchen sink, grey claws easily ripping open shells and pincers and separating the edible from that which could cause revulsion in humans; a little timer clicking away the minutes until he'd have to return to the press room to unload the prints that were finished drying and no longer hot from the spinning cycle they were spat out of.
Which of course was when Grell decided to use her key to come barging in to beg.
Grell slapped a hand down on the counter, the bowl full of crab meat rattling at the counter's edge, "You didn't let me finish! What I was about to say was that Will won't let me unless he talks to you first and you're willing to do it in the Reaper realm with a doctor of his choice assisting."
"...Excuse me?"
"He gave me a tentative, but rather reassuring 'maybe' two days ago," Grell grinned, the drained look not helping her appearance but allowing her honesty to show through, "I've just been in the medical wing the last few days because of an...incident."
'Incident' being their private code for some prejudiced assholes beating the shit out of her.
Sebastian, when told the story, being regaled with all the gory details of exactly how she became fully of herself, had only asked why Grell had continuously offered up her home as safe haven to Ciel during mating season.
Removing the testicles, carving a hole carefully into previously smooth skin, the doctor suggested by Will constantly hovering around like an annoying gnat, painstakingly inverting the penis so it could become a vagina and still offer up orgasm, inserting an elongated oval object wrapped in bandages and sewing the aftermath up with piano wire so that the formed vagina wouldn't collapse.
Allowing a month of Grell healing enough to make sure the wires could do their job while she was restricted to desk duty; feeling not unlike a medieval heretic forced down on a large wooden pike with splinters during that month.
("Think of it as nature's way of giving you all the pain of menstruation in one violent go," Ronnie had joked while she'd been drugged to the gills and unable to throttle him.)
Followed up by Ciel performing plastic surgery to give Grell labia, major and minor, proper sensation where it was supposed to be and, as a special project the boy was rather proud of, crafting her a clitoris that was a bit larger and easier to find than something half the size of a pea.
She'd been set and well enough to return to her usual Reaper duties once he'd finished with her downstairs and left him with a sense of accomplishment he hadn't felt in a good long while since Ciel had secretly resumed his duties, more or less, as the Queen's (London's, really) Watchdog.
Grell grinned at the stunned look upon Sebastian's face as they both trailed from the kitchen towards the foyer, each carrying a box of paperwork and seasoning Ciel had requested they transfer to Grell's in anticipation of the mating season dawning and Ciel himself being unable to move it as he was busy handling the discovery of...someone rather familiar... in Scotland Yard handling a kidnapping.
"...So, you got the key after he spent six months... doing you up...so to speak?"
"Yep!"
(So much for never making a bargain with Grell Sutcliff. The seal on the back of her right ear was a source of amusement that almost never got old when newer Reapers were in training and asked about it with her answer causing them serious nerve shaking, "Oh, that's my demon's contract. Isn't it pretty? It totally goes with the one Ronnie has.")
Sebastian had given the eye in his pendant back to Ciel.
No explanation, no inquiry as to what might happen once it was implanted back into his skull, not even much of a preamble in his choice.
Sebastian had merely popped it out of its glass casing, found Ciel in the living area, lazing on the sofa with tassel bookmark in one hand, new book of English essays of the year in the other, and raised Ciel's chin so he could look up and receive the eye with the contract.
"I believe this is yours," was what he should have said, Sebastian realized in the afterwards, as he basked in the glow of the seal blazing to life, before feeling... feeling as though his stomach had been torn out of him and he'd been tossed into the ocean without warning.
The description should have left Undertaker, hair out of his face and hands snug in his pants pockets as he looked in on Sebastian, in peels of laughter. Imagine, a demon feeling unsure about troublesome, humanistic emotions...
But Sebastian had fled the room with that look of almost horrified shock imprinted on Ciel's face burnt into his mind for days later; Sebastian avoiding the issue and the presence of Ciel for a good week until he was certain neither of them would bring it up.
He wouldn't know what to say and answer if his Bocchan asked him why.
Ciel, in his life, had a lot of things attached to his character that Sebastian had come to appreciate in the ten years that they had been living back together again; being an adult without the form and a demon without the disposition suited him more than the suit Sebastian had once worn as his butler.
This being the reason, of course, why Sebastian ended up having what Ciel's books described as a panic attack with the coming of that three month period every twenty years that makes demons of all sorts and shifts, all flavors and types, lose their heads and lose any decorum to go looking for a fight, or a pair of legs that could spread on their own or needed them spread for them in the most sadistic or ritualistic way possible.
Then deer meat that usually filled up the ice chest for the week after Ciel came back in the morning every Tuesday after hunting for older stag souls and giving the meat to a soup kitchen, was not there.
The sheep had already been moved out to open pasture, adjacent to fresh running river water and an actual alpaca standing in the front of the herd like a guard, having been brought in during the night while Sebastian was submitting to the privilege of sleeping with seven cats (Ciel's aptly named Always Pregnant, and her newly walking around litter of six) snuggling up to him. Sebastian had been so comfortable, he hadn't even woken at the tread of bare feet on wood flooring; trekking in the night, organizing things as they needed to be so that things were in order for the length of absence coming up.
The letter in Sebastian's hand should have been seen as a gift even more extraordinary than the reattachment of a contract without any explanation or words spoken to make boundaries or protect against personal issues. But it wasn't.
Undertaker standing behind, looking over rigid shoulders to read the message and place a hand on stone cold skin protecting the fire and darkness hiding inside the human shell Sebastian had constructed knew this. He'd been around a long time. He had seen how demons reacted when outside of the realm of what they knew; there was usually anger, but mostly there was fear.
"I order you to live out the rest of you life exactly as you would if you were not bound to a contract with me."
Sometimes fear is the appropriate response to a situation emerging that was before unfathomable.
...Still, Ciel had the sense to ask Undertaker to make sure Sebastian was alright. That was something.
"My beautiful friend!"
It was sort of a silent agreement between Ciel and the Reapers that, while he was staying in the realm and avoiding contact of any kind with other demons, touching him was considered a truly horrible idea.
He was constantly on edge, despite having no want to go on the attack with anyone or thing that could present a challenge to him as the figure of a young boy; a fox sleeping on a desk before the next load of paperwork came in; a dog offering up something soft and warm to hold in the infirmary for those Reapers that had lost a partner; a black wolf that was the size of a bus if he found so much as a sniff of an enemy.
It was different, however, when he heard a voice and found a pair of arms wrapped around him that he never thought he'd be near in his life again.
The gravestones in the modest little cemetery at the edge of his property (first his one friend and his own butler with Empress of India springing up around the grave each year; then Tanaka in his old age whose box of ashes were held by the earth under the modest wooden marker with both English and Japanese honoring the man; Bard with his military rank and amusing anecdotes passing together with Mey-Rin and her pride in being a maid of all things under the same last name with a pewter tomb holding them; Finny living longest, but not as long as Ciel would have liked, and all the flowers his young master could find clustering around his oaken rest; trees of six kinds planted behind the placement of each, still growing and well-tended) was the only place the sound of Ciel's ghosts haunted him.
Not in the middle of office of the British Reaper Dispatch, returning paperwork he'd volunteered to edit and type up from the (atrocious) hand written documents on file for Ronald and Grell and occasionally William. Not while he was lucid and not suffering an infection from abscesses due to not being fast enough to get away from demons of the same caste and type as that horrible Faustus. Not while he was awake.
It's the fact that Ciel has only had his right eye returned to him for a month that keeps it from popping open and wide as his left when strong, warm, familiar arms wrap around his shoulders and as he is being spun around in three circles, before being set to the floor and turned around.
Death has not changed that Soma is still a pretty big crybaby, or that Agni will follow wherever he will go. It has changed their eye color and need to wear spectacles, but by now Ciel has been around so many Reapers, old and new, that he doesn't mind the change.
He doesn't mind hugging the big crybaby back, either.
"Our Dispatch in India was put on such a silly inquest because of your snatching up our bodies and giving us a proper funeral all around, you know," the two explained in great detailed, once the bawling former prince was practically pried off of Ciel by his own former butler, grinning proper and tearing himself at revisiting their mutual suicide and surprise at being told they were loved and respected in spite of themselves.
"Indeed, our superiors had no idea what to make of it. There's a bit more of a pecking order in our region, with our deities wandering around and setting demerits and rewards for how things go after mortal expiration."
"Success rates in the funeral rites, and religious dues and so on."
Ciel allowed them to follow him back to Grell's apartment, ignoring the eyes of some other transfers from India eyeing the tiny boy the English Dispatch had explained to be their usual guest demon, grinning sharp teeth at the elder Indian Reapers he recalled tried to prevent him from taking the bodies of his sunny companions. He had a feeling this talk would go on for a while and he would prefer to sit and drink tea so he didn't pass out from walking around too much (unfortunate side-effect of his during the season; he often wondered if Sebastian had the same problem if he didn't fight or didn't get laid).
"They knew we were plague victims, and they knew we'd had poison to end things on our own terms," Soma went on, taking up the Oolong tea Ciel handed him, as well as enjoying the plate of biscuits he'd baked on his own for something to do when not sleeping, "So they assumed that we'd be put in a mass grave or mass burning like many other plague victims."
"But when they checked the records," Agni continued, loosening his tie and making himself comfortable on the sofa beside Soma squealing at how good the spiced sugar tasted, "They found that our success rate was leagues higher than any other plague victim, which meant that we had actually been given all the ceremonial rites. At a 98% success rate there was a request from our patron deity Kali to look in on the soul who had braved the disease and probably ridicule from possible family that came from actually honoring victims like ourselves."
"Then our caseworker found out we were laid to rest here in England," Soma spoke, swallowing a mouthful of tea, "And not only with all the edicts required of our passing, but with the addition of some Judeo-Christian frills as well. That gravestone you gave us was a beautiful honor by the way, my friend. My family didn't even realize we were gone until well after our death, and without any ceremony or remarks at all, so I thank you for going above and beyond what was necessary."
Ciel said it was no trouble.
And it wasn't, aside from being sad for a long time after, but he didn't need to tell them such when Soma kept launching at him to hug and whine and ask questions about how on earth Ciel turned out the way he did.
"A demon of all things my friend? And Sebastian as well, I've heard."
"Sebastian was a demon well before me, I assure you. I'm sort of an anomaly as far a demons go; ask anyone."
Agni assured him that they did. Being told by their caseworker that they might have to transfer to England because of their funeral position and the fact that a demon of all beings had blessed and respected them had set the Districts into an uproar of rather riotously hilarious confusion.
The former Earl of Phantomhive couldn't say this was anything new. But it was still something that caused him a self-satisfied grin.
Miserable and lonely. Repentant of leaving for song long and unable to speak about why he had come back.
Three months of feeling sorry for himself and trying to understand, truly, Ciel's position with his coming back after leaving for so long had left Sebastian feeling rung out and depleted of most of the demonic feelings and understandings he'd lived with through the millennia.
Undertaker had tried to be helpful, in his irritating visits back and forth from his shop to the home Ciel had made his own, checking on Sebastian abstaining from the mating season in his quest for understanding.
"I think you're looking at this the wrong way," the silver haired former Reaper finally spoke; walking in near the tail-end of the last two weeks of the season to find Sebastian reading through Ciel's library's psychology section, his form not too unlike a bird that had been hit by a semi and lay splayed out in a ditch, he was so miserable, "Ciel was not trying to to manipulate you by telling you to do whatever you wished with your second round of freedom."
"...No," Sebastian questioned from his position on the floor, three texts on the theories of Jung spread out around him and laying on his chest respectively, "Then what was he trying to do? Make me more miserable than I already am? I am a demon that has lived longer than any human on this planet and he confounds me more than any immortal being I have ever met, let alone a mortal... former mortal. What have you."
"Perhaps he was trying to make you happy."
"By leaving me without a sense of purpose? There will never be another soul like his; I've made peace with that, and accepted that I won't ever get to swallow it down and keep it safe within me for all eternity out of the reach of other demons. I thought I made that clear when I came back and started eating not entirely sentient creatures with him; that even if his soul was out of reach, he at least meant...something...to me."
Sebastian heaved a sigh, removing the book from his chest and stacking the others into a nice little tower so he could roll to the side, wrap his massive black wings over himself and pretend it was nightfall and he could pass the time sleeping, instead of trying to muscle down the pains of intolerable heat blistering through him the more he thought about the situation.
"That's why I tried to reestablish the Contract."
"So you want him as a person instead of a meal or an object."
There was no question, just a sort of ironic amusement in getting Sebastian to say the words.
Sebastian chose not to dignify a response, but practically doubled up with Undertaker's parting shot, "Perhaps when he comes back you should try actually, you know, telling him that."
There was a learning curve to immortality.
People lived, people died. Sometimes they came back (Ciel and Sebastian had noticed a returned Fred Abberline in Scotland yard, younger than the first time, but stronger than his last life; followed swiftly by a renewed Edward Midford following after his parents of the same souls and features, but different last names, toddling on three year old legs in the countryside where a half-blind black fox led him back from when he'd almost fallen down a ravine, nuzzling and checking up on them as often as he could) and sometimes it took a lot longer, if ever.
Promises were broken, through no fault of the people that spoke the words to begin with; it just happened. Relationships cropped up quite unexpectedly.
Age brings wisdom; age disregards opportunities where none had been before; youth brings the unexpected; youth has an unblemished clarity.
Time doesn't always heal old wounds; telling the truth isn't always the best idea...but usually it is.
Ciel returned from his three months in the Reaper realm, enjoying the company of returned friends, assisting in things where he could, suffering as he usually did in being alone without an equal.
He did not expect Sebastian to be waiting for his return, the house in slight disarray from him keeping himself occupied with things other demons (apart from Ciel) simply never did.
"...You're three days late."
Ciel raised the brow of the right eye still trying to resume its function of working order, blurry and without a mark, and slightly lighter in color than its fully functioning double, "I always wait three days extra before returning after the season. You know this."
"I do?"
"You should," Ciel reminded, bare feet moving without sound as he put his one suitcase in the hall closet to empty later and took Sebastian's hand to lead him over to the living area, intent on setting him on the sofa and fixing his hair that was a little unkempt and tangled from whatever he'd been doing while the younger was gone, "I told you I don't like coming back home, only to have to run away because some other demon decided to try their luck and pounce on me after hiding in a dark corner, awaiting my return."
"I wouldn't let them in," Sebastian stated, sat down where Ciel intended and too tired to balk at tiny hands easing the knots out of his black hair; the feeling making him more relaxed than he'd been in what felt like centuries, "They came, but I didn't want them here."
"No? I thought you would having enjoyed the season. Plenty of demons out there willing to sing your praises in a bloody fight and in the bed sheets."
"I only wanted you."
The hands weaving the knots away and out slid from black locks and found themselves entwined with fingers and palms much bigger in size. Ciel not trying to get away, but Sebastian wanting something solid and real and not as fickle as words and magic to cling to in his dopey, actually slightly fevered state of honesty that had been suggested on thoughts of Undertaker many times in the weeks gone by.
"...Say again."
It wasn't a dismissal and it wasn't a humored response, it was just looking for confirmation. Blue eyes cherished and preferred to the red that came with power holding onto cinnamon more appealing than cerise.
In an act of what Ciel had explained, and what all his human fiction and non-fiction had billions of teachings and writings of, Sebastian endeavored to make as plain as he could.
Soft lips pressed to fingertips, to knuckles, to palm, to pulse point (there it was beating; he never tired of it); to the crown of slate hair; to the forehead; to the bridge of the nose; the cheek under the left eye; the eyelid of the (healing) right...
He waited, pausing a hair's breadth from softer lips than his own, "I only want you."
Sebastian didn't need to move forward for their kiss to complete, thankfully. Ciel finished it on his own.
*
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*
Holy fuck, this took forever. And there wasn't any actual porn. I actually managed to outdo this AUs predecessor 'happy for any reason' just because I could. Kinda feels nice to give the people what they wanted for once.