A small rap at the door brought the boy's attention away from the mists of sleep, and back to the waking world. He didn't make any concentrated effort to move, merely lying in place, letting his eyes adjust to the chink of light making its way through the curtained window.
A familiar ceiling.
The knob turned, and he shifted himself groggily, sitting up and attempting to comb down the untidy tuffs of dark hair attempting to rise skyward. The head of the household had to maintain some sense of dignity, even this early in the morning.
Even in front of him.
"Good morning, young master."
The smooth trill of the tall figure stepping through the doorway was one he'd become well-acquainted with over these past few months.
The boy said nothing in response, turning his head away as the man placed the silver tray he'd been carrying on the dresser in order to draw the curtains, dowsing the four-poster bed in golden rays of sunlight.
Pointed shoes, gleaming with polish, turned as the man lifted the tray once more, using only one white-gloved hand and holding it aloft. The boy felt the pull of the man's gaze on him, and finally let his eyes meet that of his manservant.
Sebastian Michaelis was butler of the Phantomhive household, and as such, as wore the uniform impeccably, even at this early hour. The cut of the pitch-black tailcoat he wore denoted his status of lesser than that of a gentleman, but the front buttons adorning the breast of the fabric were not copper, but silver, and each intricately designed. Rather baroque in style, despite his standing. Smaller versions of these appeared on each cuff – though these were purely decorative – and the theme carried forward onto his gloves, which were embroidered with lines of silver along the seams. Although he could nary see a hint of it, the boy knew that under those gloves Sebastian's skin was as pale as snow. Except of course, for that mark.
The man's peaked lapel lent a sense of further formality to him, as though ever-prepared to host some black-tie event, beneath which the pinstriped grey waistcoat he wore hugged his form tightly; it would be clear from a glance that Sebastian was incredibly svelte. The silver chain that peeked out from beneath the tails and slipped into one of the pockets of his waistcoat lent an asymmetry to the man, though they both knew it was connected to a simple timepiece and not for fashion: a given, considering the practicality of the man. A simple Windsor knot matched the plain black tie beneath the collar, which, though buttoned high, was flared at the edges for a touch of personality.
Above, his face was framed by dark hair, just as immaculate as the rest of him. His thin, angular features were masculine and effeminate in equal measure, with high cheekbones and thin eyes, heavy-lashed and dark. Yet his features were incredibly chiselled and smooth, with full lips and a sharp chin, bearing no hint of stubble.
The boy knew this face well – the face of his late father.
And yet it was worn here, like a mask on this man, as though the flesh itself has been transplanted onto another, with one exception.
Sebastian Michaelis had eyes of the deepest red, the fullest crimson. Eyes that were boring into him, as though delving into his very soul. There was no blink, no pause, not even for a fraction of a second, and all he could do was return the stare, as though transfixed. As much as he might want to, Ciel Phantomhive could not break away.
And then they fell as Sebastian placed the tray across Ciel's legs and lifted the ornate teapot to pour the scalding tea into the cup placed adjacent. Two pieces of buttered toast rested on their own plate atop the tray, the last hints of the condiment melted as he watched. Ciel stared at the leaves milling in the hazel liquid, before lifting the cup to his lips and letting out a low sigh.
It's today, isn't it.
'I thought I'd give young master a treat and let you enjoy your breakfast in bed for today.'
Sebastian's smile didn't quite match his words, and Ciel picked at the crust of his toast as if to make the thought palpable.
'That's uncouth, and liable to make a mess of my eiderdown. I'm not hungry, anyway.'
With a small nod, the butler lifted the tray from Ciel's lap and returned it to the dresser, before turning once again to face him. With a beckon of his hand, he received a grumble and a shuffle from the boy as he slipped from underneath the covers and the morning preparations began.
Before the floor-length mirror in his bedroom, Ciel stood, clad in only the overly long and crinkled white bedshirt that reached almost down to his knees. He looked so frail and child-like, although at thirteen years of age that was only to be expected.
The figure of Sebastian appeared behind him, his face placid, before he bent down and began to unbutton the shirt, before pulling it away from his pale skin. Now wearing nothing but his undergarments, Ciel stood motionless. His body was lithe, skin and bones, with incredibly thin arms and legs. The boy's complexion was pale and pampered, as though he had never left this ornate house. His hair was dark and untidy, his face soft and rounded, with full pink lips and large blue eyes. Well, one large blue eye, for the other bore the mark of the deal with the devil he had made, and it was it he covered with the black eyepatch resting on his bedside table.
If one did not know better, Ciel may have been mistaken for a doll, an article to be put on display, trapped in some glass cage. He had a uniquely feminine appearance, despite being the male head of the household, no doubt exacerbated by his short, slender stature and the studs embedded in each of his ears. He paid such thoughts no mind, and it seemed that neither did Sebastian, as he turned the boy about to stand straight before the mirror.
The first touch of his skin against the firm grip of the butler made him flinch slightly, and though he could not see the man's face, Ciel was sure he was smiling. The man slipped a white button-up shirt across the shoulders of the boy, hands stroking along Ciel's collarbone to straighten out the fabric. Turning him about so that they were face-to-face, Sebastian began to button up the shirt, though his eyes were downcast, focused on his task as though he had not done this a million times prior. At this close range, Ciel could feel the man's body heat, catch the scent of his hair. He pushed those thoughts from his mind as the butler finished his task, next procuring a set of trousers from the closet.
Ciel stepped into them and Sebastian raised them to tighten firmly about his waist, before attaching suspenders to the waistband and pulling them up around the boy's slender shoulders. As he did so, their eyes met once more, and the butler gave him another smile.
'The dark cyan blazer today, I think,' he said softly as he adjusted Ciel's shirt collar. It wasn't really posed as a question. 'And the matching bowtie and ruff. Splendid.'
Ciel didn't open his mouth to reply, and so today's outfit was decided. They continued through the motions, each time Sebastian shifting and posing him as necessary to add whatever clothing and accoutrements were necessary. Sebastian took pride in his work, and with each adjustment, each touch, each position of his body, the man needed no readjustments, no changes. He carried on ceaselessly, every touch one of measured process, as though he were playing a memorized tune. There was a familiarity in his dressing of the boy, an acknowledgement that they had been down this road before, a remembrance, a reverence, even. His fingers glided across skin, fabric, lingering just enough to make his presence felt.
As he pulled on the knee-high socks for Ciel, the boy sat on the end of the bed, the butler kneeled before it; a knight before his king. Raising one slender foot, then the other, the man took them in his gloved hands, slipping on his everyday shoes before rising once more, and producing an ebony hairbrush. Ciel groaned, but acquiesced all the same, and Sebastian went about removing the split-ends and tidying up the boy's tousled appearance.
'And there you are. Fit for today's lessons.' With a nod, Sebastian settled back to take in his handiwork.
Tugging at the lapel of his jacket, Ciel snatched up his eyepatch and slipped it over his right eye, before leaving the room without a further word to his butler. Sebastian tapped the brush against his palm with a sigh, before following the young master out into the hall.
The day's event transpired to no great excitement – the usual business affairs progressed as they always did, and Ciel went about signing off on the new toy line that his company had been in discussion about. He practised horseback riding out in the manor's grounds, painting in the west wing before pausing for a light lunch. An excursion into town to deliver the business papers to the head of production took up much of the afternoon, and he returned to the Phantomhive manor for his evening meal at roughly five-thirty. Wherever he went, it felt as though a cloud of misery were hanging over him.
Wherever he went, Sebastian followed.
Ciel sat alone in the dining hall, lit by the many candles along the length of the table, as well as the chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Alone, save for Sebastian, who stood at his right side to refill his drink whenever it appeared less than half-full and follow any other request the boy might have. He himself ate nothing.
After the plates had been cleared, Ciel left the dining hall to wander for a small period of time, now without Sebastian. The manor was dimly lit, and every step seemed to echo a thousand times off of every surface. He saw nobody, and nobody saw him. In the foyer, Ciel stopped to stare at the picture affixed to the wall, the painting of himself and his parents hanging as the centrepiece. Despite his best efforts, his eyes slid across to those of his father's, so lifelike on that canvas they were almost staring back.
The night went on, and before long he was called into the music room, and the dread began to sink into his very bones. Inside waited the butler, though now he had left behind the tailcoat and tie, the top button of his shirt undone to reveal a small patch of his pale chest.
A pair of silver-rimmed glasses sat affixed to his nose, and the man peered over them as Ciel shuffled into the room, his hands stuffed into his pockets. Sebastian regarded him with a small smile, resting his elbow on the marble lid of the piano.
'You are ten minutes later, young master. Did you forget about our lesson?'
Ciel pouted, shaking his head and glancing away. 'I was taking a walk.'
'You would do well to look forward to your piano lessons, young master,' Sebastian chided playfully, waving a finger. 'Not only are they to your benefit, but the art of music is something you should take inspiration from.'
Ciel stepped further into the room with a hint of reluctance, taking the seat at the piano that Sebastian gestured towards.
'And what is it exactly that should inspire me?'
Sebastian tutted softly. 'Young master, have you forgotten already? With you lagging behind in your skills, we've decided to go back to basics.' He placed a page of sheet music in front of Ciel, taking out a metal pointer and running it underneath the title of the piece.
'Piano Sonata No. 1. Ludwig van Beethoven. One of the seminal composers of all time, and a master in his craft. He wrote his first pieces at the age of eleven and twelve, younger than you are now. You should look up to him as someone to aspire to.'
Ciel gave the man a flat, irritated look, and Sebastian continued, his hands rising and falling, like a conductor organising his orchestra.
'Music not only teaches you rhythm, performance, stress anxiety and control, it also plays a vital role in understanding discipline. One must always follow the music to the note – step out of line, and the song is no longer what it once was. Beauty gets tarnished when you make mistakes. No great artist would accept a work that refused to stand up to such a lowly criticism. As precocious as you both are, I thought it could serve as to push you to further heights. Now, play.'
Ciel's fingers dropped to the keyboard as if on command, and he stared at the page in front of him. Despite his practice, this was one craft whereupon he had let laziness take hold and his skills had suffered because of it. It didn't help that Sebastian was baring down on him with a look of expectancy on his face.
Slowly, Ciel began to play, though he lacked a flow to his movements. Every key was considered a fraction too long, and with each note, the hair on the back of his neck seemed to rise. Sebastian seemed to inch closer, and stillness overtook the manner, with the only sound the E-flat notes produced by his slender digits.
A sudden brush of something against him caused his finger to slip, and the sonata ended in a flat clang as his hands brushed along several keys at once. Ciel shifted to the side, before whipping around to see the butler there, directly behind him.
His face had changed – there was no smile, no placid stare. The man was glowering at him, the crimson eyes gleaming, as though incensed that he dare play a wrong note.
'I did not teach you those notes, young master. And I cannot see them on the sheet music, either. So why did you play them?' His tone was deadly soft, and with each word a sinister undertone lingered, as though he was restraining his anger.
'You startled me,' Ciel replied sheepishly, his voice quavering just slightly. 'It won't happen again.'
'It had better not. Again. From the beginning.'
And so Ciel began once more, his slender fingers resuming the notes from the first page once more, though now he was even more aware of the figure looming over him from above. Each note was criticized, judged, and he felt as though he were playing before an auditorium full of critics, each one muttering under their breaths, each one laughing quietly at the slightest hint of a mistake. Each one-
CLANG.
Once again, he'd made a mistake and hit a wrong note on the third line. The music stopped, and the stillness returned to the room. Ciel was still, and didn't dare for a moment to turn his head. He didn't need to – the hot breath of the older man breached the shell of his ear a second later.
'Again.'
And once again, Ciel restarted the sonata. His palms had begun to sweat, the back of his neck prickling as he played again, fingers slipping on the keys. He glanced downwards and noticed that his hands were shaking. Balling them up into fists for a moment to try and regain control, he let the music flow once more.
CLANG.
Sebastian removed his gloves and tossed them aside, leaning down now over Ciel to place his own long-fingered palms on top of the boy's gently caressing them and guiding them to their correct spot, leading him along the steps. Ciel stared at the mark on the man's hand for a moment, before taking a breath and focusing once more. This time.
CLANG.
This time the metal pointer came crashing down across his hands, and Ciel cried out in pain, clutching his fists as he heaved through gritted teeth. Curling himself up, he looked down to see the great red welt across the back of his palms, before glaring at Sebastian.
The man stood resolute, back straight, tall and imposing. The glare of the glasses in the half-light blocked out the sight of his eyes as he tapped the pointer against his open palm, lips tight and firm. 'Poor form. Again.'
Biting back a rage of insults, Ciel once again returned his stinging hands to the keyboard and placed them in the ready position, taking a deep breath as the sonata began once more. His shirt was soaked with sweat and his entire body was shivering.
I won't let him win. I won't let him beat me.
CLANG.
The pointer came down again, harder this time.
'Again.'
I won't let him win.
CLANG.
Whack!
More screaming, Ciel holding back tears and clutching the piano for support.
'Again.'
CLANG.
I won't. I won't. I won't.
CLANG.
I won't.
CLANG.
(Whack)
'Again'. I won't.
CLANG. Whack. I won't. 'Again'.
(CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.)
'Again.'
Ciel's hands could barely stay in position. Blood had begun to seep across the back of his palms, trickling down between his fingers, coating the keys. The ones used for Beethoven's No. 1 were stained crimson. He could barely see the sheet music, his vision beginning to blur.
'Again!'
'I won't!' Ciel screamed, turning his head to shout at the man, the defiance bubbling over in his chest, his face flushed and heated. His whole body was shaking, with anger and hate, with defiance. He would NOT be treated like this, not in his own home.
Sebastian's hand struck out, slapping the boy across the face sharply, the force so hard that his body was shoved forward onto the keys, staggered in his seated position. A moment later he felt the man's long fingers slowly slide into his hair, caressing it almost lovingly… before clamping down and yanking Ciel's head back, exposing his neck. The pointer slid slowly up the tender flesh as the man bent down, as if sizing him up.
The boy's gaze turned to him with what little movement he could manage, only able to catch half of the butler's face, those red eyes boring into him from over the spectacles. Sebastian's tongue left his mouth to trace over his lips for a split-second. A moment later Ciel's vision whirled as the man shoved his head forward, forehead cracking against the marble lid of the piano.
Ciel's scream of pain echoed around the room, reverberating a thousand times over. He felt the hot trickle of blood down the side of his face, running down his cheek and pooling in the corner of his lip.
'It seems my previous lessons weren't enough to teach you how the head of this house should perform.' Sebastian's words wavered in and out of the boy's consciousness, sounding right against his ear and a mile away all at once. He couldn't resist any further, his body was simply too weak.
He felt the hand once again return to his head, turning his body to face the man's. Eye blearily flittering open and closed, just enough to see Sebastian's face getting closer and closer, before the man's lips clashed with his own.
Firm, rough, and powerful – this wasn't any kind of romance, it was a power play. He just took it, tears streaming down his cheeks as Sebastian claimed his mouth, the man's hand firm on his chin, before slipping down to tighten around his neck. Ciel's breath left him, but just for a moment, as a second later he was forced down onto the hard wooden floor.
'No, please… not again…' The boy struggled, blood-soaked fingers scrabbling against the floor as he tried to crawl away. But Sebastian's firm grip slipped up his wrists, pulling them up and behind the boy's back.
Drawing his kerchief from his pocket, Sebastian wrapped it about his hands before tying them together, linking them behind him so he was completely at the man's mercy. Ciel wriggled and cried, before he felt the slender fingers slip around his neck once more.
Sebastian loomed over him once more, his tone soft, gentle even.
'Bad students deserve punishment.'
The man's hands moved with precision, catching the waistband of his shorts and sliding them down, the suspenders snapping free easily and exposing the peach-coloured behind of the young boy, covered only by his underwear. Ciel opened his mouth but all that came out was a high-pitched squeal as his butler's hand fell on it with a crash.
Their morning was relived in reverse, as Sebastian shifted him elegantly, removing half of his clothing with little effort at all, his youthful, girlish body unveiled by the man as though part of a dance, exposed and vulnerable.
'E-Enough! Stop!'
The hand fell again, on the other cheek this time, and he cried out again, the stinging sensation now no longer limited to his hands.
'Not until you've learnt your lesson, young master. I believe ten should be sufficient, don't you?'
'No I do not! Mffph!'
Another jumbled squeal as his rear end was battered by the hand once again, and then once more, and then another two times. His apple-bottom behind was now glowing red, the soft cheeks battered this way and that.
'Eight… Nine…'
Giving Ciel's bottom a final rub, Sebastian let the words linger as he slowly drew the metal rod once more and dropped it with a lash against the tender skin.
That scream once again broached the walls, the boy crying till he was hoarse as he felt the laceration on his backside begin to bleed slowly, a hot trickle of blood seeping down the back of his thigh.
Slowly, Ciel struggled to his knees, tear-soaked cheeks pulled back in a fierce scowl as he looked on at his tormentor, the confident butler still perched on the piano set, one leg folded over the other. His glasses gleamed as he tilted his head slightly, conducting an invisible orchestra with the baton and his finger.
'Aah, young master, your lips make the finest music. It truly is far better than listening to you try to perform Beethoven, I have to say.' He shifted forward and let the end of the rod tap Ciel's nose. 'But if you can't play, you have to contribute something to the performance, after all. And I know just the thing.'
Unfolding his legs, Sebastian began to unbuckle his belt, and before Ciel could react, the man had looped it around his neck and tightened it, gripping the end of the strap and tugging the boy forward. The leather cut painfully into his neck, and he sidled closer to avoid the air through his windpipe from being cut off entirely.
Sebastian's hand lowered to unzip his trousers, and suddenly the boy was face to face with the man's genitalia. He glowered at it, in fear and disgust, staring at that hideously gargantuan manhood, already bloated and pulsing, the bulbous heat clouded with a thick rope of pre-jism, sadistic excitement.
'Now. Play.'
Sebastian tapped the metal rod against the side of the boy's bloodstained face, tugging him closer and using his firm grip to force Ciel's head down unceremoniously, lips spread wide to take in the width of that elephantine beast. It was burning hot, thick and springy, like a wet noodle in a sauna. The taste filled his mouth, clouding his senses and sending his brain crashing down, emptying it of all thought until it was utterly blank, the dull throbbing of pain still at the back of his mind.
It didn't take long before Ciel began to gag, but Sebastian merely tugged the belt tighter and forced him down further, ignoring his gargling, gurgling cries for help. With his free hand, he conducted in mid-air, humiliating the boy by showing nary a single sign of pleasure. This was his sonata, his performance, and he would wait for the crescendo to leave his mark on the boy.
Up and down Ciel bobbed, his breath lost in a haze of heat and fluids, gagging with every pump, his nose dripping with cum and mucus, raising that singular blue eye to the man, pleading. And he got another lash across his face for his trouble, causing blood to drip from his nose into the mix.
Sebastian's face was one of pleased satisfaction at that pathetic look, pulling Ciel from his perch on his knees and shoving him down onto the floor once more. His foot dropped onto the boy's head, the polished tip resting on Ciel's cheek, grinding it into the boards.
'I thought you said you were no longer going to cry, young master? I'm seeing nothing but tears.'
Ciel saw Sebastian shift out of the corner of his eye, and his struggling intensified as he felt the man's weight press into him from behind. The man's touch could overpower him so easily, with just a mere firmness, a dominance to its every action. Sebastian's hot breath raked the back of his neck. Ciel's body was drenched in sweat, and the tie around his wrists would not break, no matter how hard he pulled. The firm hand in his hair returned, and the tears began to stream again, even as he begged and pleaded. The scent, the same one that he had smelled that morning, returned, even more powerful than before.
It was the same smell that his father had.
'If you won't learn how to be a man, then you'll simply have to be shown how.'
Ciel screamed himself hoarse as he felt Sebastian enter him, the forceful push giving no care to his own pain, only to the man's satisfaction. The butler slammed his head down to the floor as he began to work himself inward in earnest, grinding with each push so that Ciel could feel each inch enter him, break him.
He couldn't speak, couldn't move – he was utterly powerless, in body and soul.
Sebastian began to thrust in earnest, and Ciel could do nothing but let his head press to the floor, eyes screwed up. Blood, sweat, drool, all of it leaked and pooled on the floor before him. Sebastian delivered another spank to his behind, and with one almighty thrust, impaled the boy entirely on his enormous shaft. Ciel's entire body jerked upwards, and he screamed once more, tossing himself this way and that.
'No, no please! I-I'll play! I'll do anything!'
'I'm afraid you've run out of chances. You won't be playing Beethoven this evening.' Sebastian bent down to lift up the boy's head by the hair, tugging it back to murmur softly in his ear. 'Not when I mistune the keys like today, that is.'
Ciel's eye bulged, and he wheezed and cried, lips parting in a gape of fury, though no sound breached his lips. Sebastian's warm chuckle was the last sound he heard before he felt heat, so tremendous and powerful flood inside him, and lost consciousness.
A small rap at the door brought the boy's attention away from the mists of sleep, and back to the waking world. There was no movement, Ciel remaining lying there, letting his eyes adjust to the chink of light making its way through the curtained window.
A familiar ceiling.
His body ached, and he felt a strange dullness in his stomach. Some ache, some throb that coursed through his body. He stared down at his hands to see that they were shaking.
Through the door came the butler once more, dressed up curtly in his tailcoat and giving a formal bow. His deep red eyes peered down at the boy, and that placid, ever-present smile wore itself on his face as per usual.
'Young master, breakfast is now being served in the dining hall. Please come down whenever you are ready.'
What was going on? His mind was hazy with fog, and he felt somewhat unsteady. The days lately had blended together, and he could never quite remember how they ended. And yet… there was that memory. The more he thought, the more it seemed harder to believe. It must have been a dream… it must have.
With a nod, Ciel slipped out of bed and groggily made his way towards the door, pausing a moment to glance in the corner of the room, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The cut across his bruised face made him stop stock still, until he felt the firm hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly, leading him through the door.
'Come, young master. You need your strength. We have piano practise tonight.'