So, Happy Valentine's Day! It's still technically is, right? Anyway, this is part of the "Once Upon a Midnight" and "Ice Would Suffice" continuity. It takes place shortly after "Once Upon a Midnight," and reading that would help understand this a little better, but it can really stand on its own.
As a warning, this fic contains implied shota, implied slash, implied sexual situations, and most definitely BLOODPLAY and KNIFEPLAY. I am NOT kidding about that. If those things squick you out, than do NOT read. Seriously, guys.
Also, this fic is based on the poem "Cut" by Sylvia Plath; lines in italics are lines from the poem. Lines in italics and bold are edited lines. I own neither the poem, nor Kuroshitsuji or any of its characters. With all that out of the way, please enjoy and review. I hope you've all had a happy Valentine's Day.
OoO
Ciel's letter opener worked in quick clean swipes, polished silver gleaming in the frosty light cast from the window. Sebastian set the tray of macaroons on the desk—pistachio, raspberry, and hazelnut biscuits forming a pastel pinwheel on their plate. Ciel had not asked for the sweets, but Sebastian knew that his young lord was in a foul mood, it being Valentine's day. The thirteen-year-old thought love was a naïve and useless machination of idiots who wasted their time coming up with maudlin trash to make the world seem bearable. A true romantic, Ciel Phantomhive was.
"Today we have a white Earl Grey tea with strong notes of apricot," Sebastian said in pleasantly indifferent tones, all brisk efficiency as he matched the porcelain tea-cup with its pot.
"Mmph," Ciel grunted, distracted by the pinprick monstrosity of pink chiffon and white ribbons that Elizabeth had mailed to him. He stashed the valentine quickly in his desk drawer, to be ignored for the moment and properly dealt with later.
"Ah, my lord's many admirers," Sebastian commented with a glimmer to his eyes.
"I want you to burn this," Ciel gestured to a gaudy feathered valentine wrought in overlapping red and purple satin, signed Alois Trancy, "and the candied violets that came with it. I'm sure they're poisoned."
"Of course," Sebastian nodded with all due seriousness, but Ciel's grave handling of colored lace paper was undeniably amusing. He was pouring the tea now, not spilling a drop. A hot, moist cloud of steam hovered in between master and servant, thickening the air that they breathed. "Are there any other hazardous materials to be disposed of?"
"Just ingratiations from my subordinates," Ciel replied, noting but choosing to ignore his butler's underlying mockery, "but I can deal with those."
Sebastian's lips quirked. The manager's who maintained branches of Ciel's company in various parts of the world often sent small presents on holidays; today, ornate little boxes decorated Ciel's desk, containing exotic chocolates filled with coconut and curry, ginger and sesame seeds, anise and fennel, chili powder and cinnamon. Sebastian knew that his master enjoyed those "ingratiations" more than he let on. "Lady Elizabeth will be arriving at eleven. I have arranged for you to have brunch, then attend the Funtom charity bazaar."
Ciel nodded. The grotesque sentimentality of Valentine's Day was good fodder for candy sales, if nothing else. At the bazaar, the newest Funtom truffle would be unveiled: the Wink of the Rabbit, a cloying caramel, pecan, and milk chocolate concoction that Ciel had both created and frequently indulged in. Every man, woman, and child would buy at least two sample boxes: one for themselves and one for their "valentines." Funtom would rake in record profits, and Ciel would only be mildly disgusted with the whole affair.
Brilliant. Business as usual. Comfortable and nauseating in its banality.
But then, the clink of Ciel's teacup being set down on the lacquered wood of his desk, the rrip of the engraved letter opener as it tore an embossed envelope at an unfavorable angle, and the slight hiss of pain that escaped Ciel's lips when the silver blade sliced a diagonal line of red through his left index finger.
"Damn," Ciel muttered. He stared at the wound for a moment, morbidly enthralled by the sight of his insides leaking out through a tiny cut that barely stung. Then he looked at Sebastian.
"I will fetch a dressing for that," the demon muttered, busying himself with the crockery. Sebastian kept his raven head down now, but Ciel had seen the way those crimson eyes had lingered on the laceration...how they'd flashed hellish purple for the briefest of seconds.
"Sebastian," Ciel called to the demon, who'd been exiting the room at a swift pace. The boy imagined that Sebastian's shoulders tensed then, so subtly that no human could notice.
"Yes?" Sebastian turned, face expressionless.
Wordlessly, Ciel held his injured hand out, finger extended. A drop of blood fell, staining a cream-colored envelope. For an instant, Sebastian wondered if Ciel was asking him to kiss the cut better, but he knew that that was ludicrous. For once, the demon was at a loss. "My lord?" A bird-like tilt of the head.
"It's your job to clean things," Ciel stated calmly, "clean this."
Sebastian nodded, closing the distance between himself and Ciel in two fluid steps. Taking the boy's hand in his own—firm but tender as a lover—Sebastian put his mouth to the lips of the wound, removing the scant trickle with a single swipe of his tongue. Then, formally, he straightened, bowed, and left, as though everything that had just occurred was entirely ordinary; mundane.
"Just a taste," Ciel murmured, selecting a raspberry macaroon to dip in his gold-rimmed teacup. It crunched like fall leaves between his teeth, flurrying baby-pink flakes over his paperwork, "of what's to come. Right?"
OoO
Less than a year later, Ciel was no longer human, and Sebastian was gone. Far too many years after that, Sebastian returned, and Ciel was free. No longer confined to the ruined castle in the forest, Ciel wanted to go to Germany—the industrial capital of the world. No sooner had the two demons arrived than war broke out and spread like a fever across Europe. It was wonderful. Astonishing numbers of souls were cleaved from their bodies en masse, too many for Reapers to handle on their own. Brutality, desperation, misery, destruction, pain, and so much blood; a devil's paradise.
Afterwards, Ciel demanded that Sebastian take him to America. The demonling figured it was high time he visited this booming nation, and he was particularly fascinated by the idea of skyscrapers, invention, and stock markets. Prohibition was in effect, and factories were havens for violence. Fresh blood, spilling everywhere...
OoO
From the window of their room at the Hotel Elysee, Ciel and Sebastian could look out onto Park or Madison and see the hoards of young, rich socialites who'd come out to play that evening. However, Ciel was naked and bound by his wrists to a shower head in the bathroom, and Sebastian was understandably occupied.
"Comfortable?" Sebastian inquired as he slid the bowie knife's blade lightly over Ciel's spine, causing a perfect line of red to well up bright.
"Like you—Ooh—care," Ciel replied, squirming slightly. A band of silk, luxurious and easily breakable, held his wrists together and tied them to the shower head; his tiptoes found purchase on the porcelain floor of the claw-footed bath tub, though his body was stretched taut.
"But of course I do," Sebastian purred, silky-sweet as he ran his finger over the bloody blade. He eyed the scarlet liquid with fascination, rubbing gently at it with the pad of his thumb.
"Well don't bother," Ciel retorted, straining his neck to turn and look at Sebastian, "get on with it."
"As you wish." And just like that, the knife plunged through Ciel's side, clean into the skin outside his ribs. Ciel gasped at the intrusion, sapphire eyes flying open and flushing ruby.
What a thrill—
Me instead of an onion
The metal tip wiggled playfully within, and a low groan rolled up from Ciel's throat. "You're quite beautiful like this, you know," Sebastian murmured, sanguine gaze sweeping hungrily over Ciel's supple, bleeding body. So perfect.
Dead white.
Then that red plush.
"Ha—ah" Ciel coughed out a laugh that was only half bitter, "I'm beautiful—Insides out."
"Indeed," Sebastian smiled, amused as he withdrew the knife. "I'm going to taste you now."
Straight from the heart.
I step on it,
Once Ciel had nodded his consent, Sebastian knelt and placed his hands around smaller demon's torso, steadying him. Neat but firm, Sebastian pressed his lips over the wound. He pulled away and rolled the fresh blood around his mouth, over his tongue like a gentleman sampling champagne.
Clutching my bottle
Of pink fizz. A celebration this, is.
Ciel tasted like white wine—invigorating and sharply sweet, paired with something light, fresh, and tender. Sebastian told him so, but Ciel didn't care. "More," the demonling panted.
"If you insist." Sebastian, still kneeling, took a moment to admire Ciel's legs, splayed on either side of the tub's faucet and slippery with bright red rivulets dripped down from higher cuts. Sebastian sliced into the back of Ciel's thigh, just below the pale globe of his left buttocks. Ciel's back arched sharply as blood ran hot down the snowy skin of his leg, swathing it in a crimson curtain.
Out of a gap
A million soldiers run,
Ruddy liquid gushed over Sebastian's hands, smooth and slightly sticky like heated honey—pleasant to the touch. The older demon traced idle swirls on the small of Ciel's back with his stained digits, finger-painting. He tugged at the knife, unsheathing it from Ciel's skin, and watched as a small font spurted from the cut.
Redcoats every one.
Who's side are they on?
"The other side," Ciel commanded, eyes squeezed shut. Sebastian obliged. The knife plunged high on Ciel's right thigh, and the blue-eyed demon cried out. Pleasure and pain. Ciel's fingers scrabbled for purchase against the wall as his hips thrust out a rhythm against it. "Deeper."
Homunculus, I am ill
I have taken a pill to kill
The blade twisted inside Ciel, and the boy-creature's pelvis slammed against the slick white wall. Sebastian practically salivated at the animalistic sound wrenched free from Ciel's mouth, then mentally chastised himself for the feral reaction. Ciel's little body was wracked with the force of his breathing.
The thin
Papery feeling
With a a light hand, Sebastian carved a cursive "S" into the meat of Ciel's thigh. His penmanship was impeccable—even when the pen in question was a knife—and heavy on flourishes. Ciel got his breath back and chuckled derisively, "Initials? How cliché. And sentimental."
"Well it is Valentine's Day," Sebastian said, blasé, as he flipped Ciel around to face him. Gently, Sebastian tipped Ciel's chin up with an un-gloved hand, considering those parted lips, those wide, half-dazed rubies and their slitted pupils all dilated. "But tell me, my lord, what would you have me do?"
Ciel stilled for a moment, then offered a haughty smirk—the one reserved for issuing challenges, "Cut out my heart."
"Oh, Young Master," Sebastian smiled, shaking his head slowly in amusement, "we both know you don't have one of those."
The stain on your
Gauze...
Ciel said nothing, so Sebastian tapped his temple in consideration before deciding, "I'll just paint you a new one. Seeing as your skin makes such a lovely canvas."
Darkens and tarnishes and when
The blade worked over Ciel's chest in bold, precise strokes, carving an ornate heart upon tight skin, bright red and pretty as a lace card. The knife was a violin bow, and Ciel's body was the instrument. It was blissful agony and tortured ecstasy all at once. He moaned with every metal caress, and Sebastian thought it was the most wonderful music he'd ever heard.
"There," Sebastian murmured, admiring his work. He licked his fingers with delicate swipes of tongue, so as not to waste any of the carmine ambrosia. "It suits you."
The balled
Pulp of your heart
"Well, you can't leave off there," Ciel snapped, twisting about in frustration like a worm on a hook.
Confronts its small
Mill of silence
"Are you sure?" Sebastian teased with false concern, "How much blood do you really think you have in that tiny body?"
"Finish me," Ciel growled with a fierce buck of his hips.
"Of course," Sebastian said, all humor gone. Claret eyes narrowed in concentration, and then...The bowie knife careened through Ciel's soft stomach, splitting it through the navel. Skin tore apart, organs ruptured, and blood exploded outwards—a florid fountain that stained the walls and shower curtain. Ciel gasped, body seizing once in violent sensation before going limp; eyes flying wide before falling closed.
How you jump—
Sebastian held the small demon's slack body in his arms, cradling that pretty head against his shoulder. He let the knife drop from his hand at last, tucking a lazuline strand of hair behind the shell of Ciel's ear as the blade clattered to the floor.
My love.
OoO
Two hours later, Ciel's head still rested on Sebastian's shoulder, but the scene had quite changed. The demons had cleaned themselves and forged out into the busy night. The speakeasy was opulent, all crystal chandeliers, velvet cushions, shining mahogany, and gilded moldings. They were dressed elegantly—Sebastian in a high-waisted tuxedo jacket and Oxford Bags, for that was the style these days, with a top hat on his lap and a Bacardi Cocktail on the table, untouched and bloody with grenadine—and Ciel in black wool knickerbockers and a sailor shirt, trimmed in gold, that matched the blue ribbon on his Homburg hat. Men in similar fashions and women in shimmering evening dresses glanced over, wondering what a child was doing in such a place, but Sebastian just offered them all a thoroughly disarming smile. Ciel ignored the attention altogether, absorbing the familiar solidity of Sebastian's body and skimming his finger down the printed stock numbers on the newspaper spread before him. He could feel his own wounds healing.
Ciel and Sebastian enjoyed the speakeasies; the cigar smoke, the corruption, the high-society patrons, and music, and shows. Ciel, who'd spent far too much time with criminals as a human, could sniff out a gangster a mile away and liked to strike up conversations. Now, he reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out a butterfly knife he'd recently lifted during one such interaction.
With a wicked little smile much like the one Sebastian liked to wear, Ciel tugged at the sleeve of the older demon's jacket.
"We're done here," the blue-eyed demonling said, tone clipped and decisive, "it's my turn to paint."
Sebastian beamed in acknowledgment, and Ciel slid off the booth seat. After leaving a generous tip on the polished wood table beside his still-full glass, Sebastian took his young charge's hand and led Ciel out the door and onto the dark city street. On the way back to their hotel, Ciel clutched the butterfly knife tight in his freehand, like a stuffed animal or trinket to give to a lover.
Because Sebastian's blood was like a red dessert wine: velvety and robust, to be paired with something rich, decadent, and positively sinful.