What Lies Within an Empty Heart

A/N I really, truly adore the SebaxCiel pairing so very much, almost too much to be healthy. They are just so fun to work with, so many possibilities for me to play with! So here is another short fic for you, and it is a rare thing indeed to find me write as it contains no smut. It's always too much of a temptation to write Sebastian into delicious scenes of debauchery but I managed not to yield to temptation for once in my life. Also, it is written in the first person, through his eyes. I rarely write in FP so this is a rare piece indeed, all the more reason for you lovely readers to review for me, especially if you insatiable things want some more naked Sebby *winks*

Zephyr

Demons…are not supposed to fall in love. We are not supposed to be capable of such emotions. Lust is another thing altogether though; the desires of the flesh are not in any way connected to those of the heart. So how could I ever foresee this happening to me? I, a demon, falling in love with a mere human, and not just a human but a child. He's just a child. And my master. This is wrong, I know that, but we demons live by aesthetics, not morals. I should not bear such feelings towards this selfish, arrogant human but I do, though how I came to posses them is beyond my understanding.

It started as that warm, unfamiliar feeling of affection I felt when I woke him in the mornings at the sight of his innocent, bed rumpled appearance. He would always look so… sweet, even adorable. In those few moments while he awoke, he would appear to be nothing more than an innocent child, untainted by this world, so unlike how he truly is. His expression would be open and his lips not set in a hard line or sarcastic sneer. I would almost be fooled for those brief seconds that he was the sweet boy he appeared to be, that he was pure. And then he would turn his gaze to me, and those wide eyes, those wide, beautiful eyes would betray him for what he was. A cold, hardened gaze and most importantly, our contract. His eye, no longer a match to the cerulean blue of its twin, burned with the seal that bound us together for eternity. When for the first time in my existence I felt a sense of remorse upon seeing the seal marked on what was effectively my prey, I knew something was changing within me.

It came to be a habit of mine to enter the room silently and not rouse him for long moments. I would kneel beside him and watch him in his sleep, watch the way his chest rose and fell evenly with his breathing, the way his lips were always slightly parted when he slept. His hair would always be tousled from a night of fitful dreaming, and I became too brave for my own good and would smooth that blue hair from his face. I came to know when he was having an unpleasant dream or nightmare because his eyes would be tightly shut and a small frown would crease his brow, sometimes he would have the sheets clutched in his fists or he would toss and turn and mumble incoherent words in his sleep.

I would venture into his room on silent feet at night, too, and watch him in the darkness, shrouded by shadows. I once thought he knew I was there when I heard him call my name ever so softly, and as I am bound to, I answered his call but found him to still be sleeping. He called for me in his sleep. He was dreaming of me. Me. I had to leave him then and there, for a peculiar feeling that threatened to overwhelm me swelled within my heart. But still I would return, pulled as though by a magnet to his side once more, to gaze upon his sleeping form with a strange longing.

That affection was only the beginning. It grew into a longing to touch him, and so I did, carefully, as he slept. Simple gestures like smoothing his hair from his flushed face grew to stroking the side of his face. It didn't end there, it grew, screaming at me so I could not ignore it. Once I had been obligated to protect him under out contract, and now, it was my wish to. The concept of failing him pained me. I refused to allow myself to let him come to any harm for more reasons than it was in the contract and my own pride. I care about him. That alone is almost terrifying in how unlike me it is to care for anyone (as I recall, there is a first time for everything, and this is certainly one of those times) let alone to this degree.

And why? Why do I care for him so? I could give you a thousand reasons ranging from small to grand. His adorable appearance is one of those small reasons. His tormented past in one of the grand ones. Funny, that. When he summoned me I barely registered why he did nor did I give a damn. He was a contractor and his soul would become mine. That was all I cared about. And now I care for him. What happened to the mighty demon I was, that I would become this thing? Sebastian Michaels. That is the name I was bestowed with, and that name seems to have branded itself to me for no longer do I feel like myself. These intrusive feelings and thoughts have made sure of that. I am a stranger in my own body but I do not care now. At first, I was horrified with myself, disgusted, even. But now I have grown to accept that I have fallen in love with my master, for all the small and great reasons I can and cannot justify.

I watch him with a burning desire I rarely disguise. Longing glows within my crimson eyes and I know he sees it. He sees it now as I dress him for another day, a torturous task in itself. Every morning and night he sits exposed before me, so perfect, so beautiful. He used to not bat an eyelash at this, so used to being serviced in every way and never having to dress himself, but now he shifts uncomfortably under my gaze, fidgeting nervously if by mistake our eyes meet and he sees the red of my iris's burning like a fire. If it is awkward for him, it is impossible for me. I have to go about this task like any butler would, however, I am a demon and a butler, and not used to this level of self-restraint.

Another morning and Ciel is sleeping soundly. A strip of light filtering through the curtains falls across his face and he squints his eyes tighter closed, frowning. This in turn makes me smile. He is so adorable; his face is like one of the dolls his company sells. His features are no less than perfect, I have never laid eyes upon anyone quite like him. Does he know he possesses such a rare and magnificent beauty? Does he know how well his creamy, ivory complexion marries with his teal blue hair? Does he know? Of course he knows, but not in the arrogant vanity most beautiful people do. He knows because of the ordeal he went through due to his angelic beauty, and it is for this reason I restrain myself. He has suffered through enough. I will not be he one to cause him any more suffering. I will be the one who protects him from suffering and anybody who tries to cause this boy pain will truly understand what it means to be in a personal hell.

I know the light will rouse him soon, and so I cannot be caught off guard. With a final glance at him I open the curtains and hear a muffled groan from his direction. While my back is still turned to him, I smile, and then compose myself. He has turned his face into the pillow and has dragged the covers over his head, locks of blue hair fanning over the pillow.

"Bocchan, it is a beautiful morning." I say, in a vain attempt to make him get himself up. Of course, it does not work and I am answered only with an incoherent grumble of discontent. "I have prepared morning tea, and breakfast will be served imminently." Still he does not move. "Bocchan?" Is he sleeping?

"I'm sleepy." He mumbles. "Just ten more…minutes…" He mutters, drifting off towards the end. Due to this I presume he has indeed fallen back asleep. I sigh and place the tray on the nightstand. I gently shake his shoulder and he groans yet again. "Said ten minutes." He finally says, flipping over. He underestimated how close I was to him and now my face is about a foot away from his and I have to swiftly draw back else I succumb to temptation. He struggles to sit up and I prop pillows behind his back to lean against as he accepts the tea and blows at it before sipping.

"It is a tea infused with black cherry. I heard that in Russia, they sweeten their tea with black cherries. Is it to your taste?" I ask attentively, worrying I shall have to go and prepare a different tea, and knowing if I do, he will just go back to sleep.

"Yes, it's fragrant and sweet." I almost sigh in relief, but naturally I keep my decorum. As a butler of the Phantomhive household, it's only natural I remain composed at all times. This is why it troubles me so that I am struggling greatly with maintaining any composure at all these days.

Ciel's morning routine is the same every day; he drinks his morning tea whilst reading the London Times and I wait patiently by his side until he is ready to be dressed. For a child, he is incredibly cultured, even for a noble. Boys of his age should not have the duties he does, but he never complains. From being the head of the Phantomhive family to running the family business to being the Queen's watchdog, he takes it all in his stride and never voices a complaint. It is admirable, really, even if he does rely heavily on me. The boy can't even dress himself.

"I thought these garments would be most appropriate for the fine weather we have today." I hold out the outfit, really only postponing having to undress him. "Are they ok?"

"Yes, fine. You never really care what I think about them anyway, why today?" He asks.

"I'm just being attentive as a butler should be." I smile.

"There isn't a bad outfit in my wardrobe and you're a good butler. You don't need to ask me." He shrugs and swings his legs over the side of the bed, waiting for me. I kneel before him and begin unbuttoning his sleep shirt, which is of the finest Egyptian cotton. I am glad for the gloves I wear; my fingers graze his tender, soft skin with every button I undo as more of his youthful body is revealed. It seems he still feels nervous when I dress him, as he flinches slightly as I move to undo the final buttons. He is not the only one. Usually, my fingers are dexterous but now they are almost stiff and I have to avert my gaze as is appropriate whilst undoing the final buttons. I slide the shirt off and my hands glide along his shoulders and slender arms. I feel him shudder slightly and can't help but be surprised by his reaction.

The urge to kiss him is almost unbearable, but I continue to help him into his underwear and then the worst part is over and we can both relax.

The shirt I have chosen is a very lightweight, fine silk and should be cool enough for a warm day like today. It is because I am attentive to Ciel's needs that I chose it, and it is because I am a good butler and attentive and posses even a shred of decency that I do not kiss him. I do not touch him. I do not gaze upon him like I wish to. I just dress him in his suit and slip on his shoes, comb his silky hair out and tie his eye patch on. I am a good butler. I have only my master's best interests in mind (and heart) and his best interest is not for a demon like me to make a move on the already fragile boy. It pains me to know he is now shy around me, and it is all due to my carelessness when always I have prided myself in being one hell of a butler.

"Bocchan?" I begin. He looks up at me with his usual blank expression. An image of his sleeping face intrudes in my mind. "I have to ask you, why is it you have been acting so awkward around me as of late?" It is not an easy thing to ask, and I almost regret the words leaving my mouth. He blushes. It's adorable but I can't let myself drift off. I know what he's going to say. He's going to tell me that I am an insufficient butler and my behaviour has been reckless. Or worse, that he knows I steal into his room at the dead of night, or that he pretends to be asleep in the morning yet knows I am already there before I wake him. Any moment now.

"It's because…because you…" He stumbles, his blush deepening. I wait for him to finish but he does not.

"Because I?" I continue impatiently.

"Because you always look at me like that." He says, not looking at me. I knew it. He's known all along and it really is my fault that he has been uncomfortable around me. For the first time in my existence, I feel shame.

"Bocchan, I…" But he carries on as though I have not spoken.

"You always look at me like you're going to kiss me and you never do." He says in a rush, positively crimson now. Even the tips of his ears are burning red and he is clenching the sheets beneath him. He still does not look at me. I look at him though, in fact, I openly stare. Was that…longing in his voice? It's already too late to dance on eggshells. I sit beside him on his bed, something I never do.

"Do you want me to?" I ask in a whisper, turning his face to me with my thumb and forefinger at his chin. He won't look at me but his silence is answer enough. I tilt his face upwards and brush hair away from his single visible eye and finally that eye looks at me. In his eye I see fear, but fear at what? At me? No, I understand. At rejection. He was afraid, afraid to admit his feelings, and every second I waste just looking at him is only building that fear. And so, hesitantly, gently, I press my lips against his.

So accustomed to simply seizing whatever I want, this summons up something else entirely; I have waited so long to feel his velvet lips against mine that a delicious wave of emotion is sweeping over me. I had deemed him entirely unobtainable for so long that this is just so…perfect. He is perfect. His lips are so soft against mine, so hesitant and unsure, so inexperienced. Carefully I cradle the back of his head with one hand while the other snakes around his waist to draw him closer, as close as I dare. An advance like this would usually obtain a punishment, but now, as he relaxes beneath my touch, melting against me, I do not think he is in any state to protest, nor does he try to. His body is so frail, so small, that I'm almost afraid of breaking him if I am too rough with him. He pulls his lips away from mine, his eyes still closed, long lashes brushing his rosy cheek and I can feel his warm breath on my lips.

His azure eye opens and looks up at me, so many emotions swimming in its blue depths, so many questions. What does he see in mine? I do not even know what I am feeling right now; it's so strange and unexpected but so strong and not at all unpleasant. Strange that my heart is always so empty, and yet this boy, this human, can make me feel for him without even trying. I brush my lips against his again, a light, feathery kiss, and as I draw away he startles me by being the one to kiss me, his lips crushing against mine urgently. I'm so taken aback by his unpredictable behaviour that momentarily I do not respond, but then I dare to lick my tongue over the seal of his lips and surprisingly, he understands and parts them for me. I feel a tingle akin to electricity course through my veins when our tongues meet. It's thrilling. It's so...exciting, when you get just what you want, when it is given to you, when you have waited. Anticipation makes it all the sweeter, almost as sweet as he tastes.

He tasted like black cherries.

A/N Oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh. I ended up liking this little ficcy more than I intended to, so I'm no longer sure whether to end it here or carry on. If you lovelies review for me and desire it, I will continue 'What Lies Within An Empty Heart' for you. Even the name begs a longer story, it must be sign. But it isn't a review~ *sings*

So come on kids, review for a naked Sebby?

Zephyr