Written for the kuroshi_contest community on Livejournal. Enjoy =)
Fragile
Ciel pleasantly denies his enjoyment, watching blood dribble over Sebastian's pale, cold fingers like syrup squeezed from pancakes. It sits between white webs like sticky dew on cold morning stems, a violent red tongue teasingly lapping metallic heat. His fingers twitch with excitement, a dog eager to pounce, awaiting his master's next command. He would not even need to speak, just a flittering thought like butterfly wings and he would unleash himself.
The eyes of a demon glow like embers when one should get what they want. Ciel has seen the look in Sebastian's eyes on countless occasions, a sizzling desire set alight by satisfaction and devilish delight. He watches him toss coal into the cast iron fireplace in the drawing room, red flames hungrily lapping the hem of his crow-black jacket that drips from him like hot tar. When he rises, his smile is crème brulee, sugary and warm on the surface, cold beneath. He is a deadly oxymoron dabbling between two plains of existence.
Earl Ciel Phantomhive hates him.
"Would young master and his guest like dessert now?" Sebastian asks, glancing towards the gentleman sitting opposite in a walnut chair with a buttoned back and slender cabriole legs, busy fingering through a pile of documents. Brow wrinkled like pug-chops he is utterly engrossed, Sebastian taking the opportunity to embarrass his little master by leaning across the back of his chair, lips brushing the exposed bridge of his shoulder. Ciel's fingers clench against his knee, heat rushing to his cheeks and his groin.
"You did that on purpose," he hisses, eyes ever steady on their guest. Joseph Merryweather, a waif of a man, legs too long for his trousers and arms too short for his jacket, wisps of greying hair curling string-like around his ears. Stone-crumbling eyes are the sickly blue of cheap glass jewels. Thankfully, he is as deaf as a post, ear trumpet balanced rather precariously at his feet. Ciel snatches Sebastian's sleeve and growls, "Fetch dessert instead of playing games."
Sebastian nods innocently, a minute later elegantly carrying two plates upon which is a bell shaped glass off-white with cream, the juice of red fruit sinking into the depths like sugary blood. Syrup lines the edge, pink icing peppered over strawberries that are fat and swollen and oozing with flavour. One is left for the guest first, then for Ciel.
"Strawberry angel parfait, young master," Sebastian murmurs, producing a small china jug and lifting it to his nose so he can catch the alluring scent of Funtom chocolate sauce. "Would you like me to pour the sauce for you? It is quite delicious, but defiant. It can so easily be spilled and leave quite a nasty stain."
Ciel refrains from yelling impatiently, gesturing for Sebastian to go ahead. He knows it's intentional when one thick drop hits his bare thigh, cold and glooped, dribbling suggestively between his legs. "Excuse me, young master," he says quickly, sweeping a pristine white handkerchief from his breast pocket and reaching between slender white thighs. "Let me clean that away for-"
Snatching the handkerchief away, Ciel deals with the issue himself and thrusts the item back into his hands, glaring. The grandfather clock ticks like weary, pacing footsteps, Sebastian pouring for Merryweather instead.
"No. No, no, no, not good enough," Merryweather says suddenly. He looks up, surprised to see the dessert sitting in front of him. Nose wrinkling, he pushes it aside. "Toys and sweets? Do you not have a more...adult orientated market? It is bad enough the entire company is run by a child. You would see your profits increase with items directed towards adult men and women. With my input and guidance from my jewellery company you could see--"
"I have no interest in pretty jewels to hide the ugliness of humanity," Ciel interrupts, idly twisting a silver dessert spoon around his fingers. "This is about investments and expansion. This is my company. The name of Merryweather shall be nothing more than a speck in its shadow."
Sebastian stands by with a tray hooked under his arm, lips twitching. His young master, so eloquent, so devious. "Your company is floundering, Merryweather. You need me, that is why you are here. You need me, a child, to help you to avoid bankruptcy and debt."
Merryweather puffs up like an angry cockerel, bushy eyebrows joining to form a furry smile. His knuckles are white against the arm of his chair. He could be a friendly old man if not for the glint of greed in his eyes, ready to feed and be fed on, ready to exploit and be exploited. "You insult me, Phantomhive," he says with little effort to restrain his anger.
Ciel waves his white-gloved fingers dismissively, chocolate smothered spoon balanced across the dessert glass. "You insult me spouting business advice to a millionaire. I know how to run my company, unlike your good self." Ciel's smirk is poisonous, pleasantries of high society briefly abandoned. "Please, feel free to beg for handouts. It would amuse me."
Merryweather surges to his feet, fists smashing against the table with extraordinary force for the man's age. The dessert topples, spilling to the floor like bloody innards and he forces back his chair, strides wide and swift, screeching, "I will give you the hiding a child like you deserves!"
Ciel loves to watch the last squeeze of life from wriggling little worms picked apart by crows. Sebastian's pocket watch jangles like sinners' chains as he delights in digging claws into a neck fragile like weak bony twigs, pure white of his fangs tinged with spatters of ruby. Ciel stands over the weakening form of a man approaching death, grinning salaciously.
"You underestimate me, Joseph Merryweather," he whispers, squatting beside the body held up by the neck, glassy eyes pleading. Ciel fingers greying hair greasy with age and starts to laugh, a hysterical wild laugh like the echoing, relentless caw of black beady-eyed birds. "You are lucky I am going to let you live so you can tell others not to take Ciel Phantomhive for a fool. Sebastian, drop him."
Response instant, Sebastian lets go and steps back to bow. When Ciel glances his way, his expression is placid, neutral, Ciel knowing he is not impressed with the denial of blood. Merryweather collapses to the floor, white shirt blooded from fingernail shaped whelps and Ciel returns to his seat, legs crossing elegantly. "Sebastian, see Mr. Merryweather to the door. I am sure he can make his own way home from there."
Sebastian does as he's ordered, returning quickly to tidy away the mess. Ciel sighs wearily, eyes slowly closing. So many betrayals, so many trying to creep about his feet like insects around fresh meat.
"Did you enjoy the show, young master?" Sebastian asks with a definite hint of irritation. Ciel watches him carefully, unsure of the reason for his sudden anger and annoyed by it.
"Something troubling you, Sebastian?" he asks lightly, reaching for the freshly poured cup of tea in front of him. He sips quietly, single blue eye following his butler suspiciously. Sebastian moves with effortless grace, cleans the carpet, sweeps away broken glass, clears the table with demonesq efficiency then he rises like a black cobra to face his master.
"Nothing troubles me, young master," he says, lips wrapping around each word with dark eloquence.
"He was not yours to have."
"I did not want him, young master."
"Then what are you so angry about?!" Ciel cannot deny that Sebastian's unusually cryptic moods unnerved him, his secrecy, like a father protecting his child from the horrors of the world, only Sebastian's reasons were not innocent. "I do not care for this Sebastian. I am tired and your ridiculous mystery irritates me-"
Ciel gasps in surprise when fingers closed around his neck, Sebastian smiling smoothly. He does not squeeze or crush, caressing supple skin warmed by firelight. "You enjoy it, little master," he whispers, pushing aside his soft, engraved patch. Ciel reluctantly opens his single, amethyst eye, taking in every inch of Sebastian's smooth, unblemished skin. Eyes half lidded and bubbling red, lips pink and sullied with sins. "You enjoy the horror in their eyes as they take their final breaths, looking upon you, standing over them like a war king."
His fingers tighten, Ciel releasing an uncharacteristic whimper. He is but a child then facing his own, personal demon, the living embodiment of the darkness in himself. "Sebastian, stop it," he says, forcing strength into his voice. Night-blue hair falls into his vision.
"Frightened, young master?" Sebastian says softly, his voice betraying his intention. Fingers skirt up a single, china-white thigh, pushing apart trembling knees. He leans forward, lips barely brushing a thin, pointed nose quivering fearfully. When fangs sink into a plump, red bottom lip, Ciel shudders in wanton glee, legs parting to let Sebastian slither between. "You can witness their fear, relish it, feed on it, but you cannot deal with your own."
"I am not 'frightened'."
"No?" Sebastian's chuckle is the echo of demons' marching. He moulds around Ciel's aching groin, smirking for the defiance his master shows when he bites his tongue. "Then why such ferocity towards our guest? He was simply arrogant. Harmless. An old man too big for his boots. Was the young master afraid to show humility? Afraid to extend a hand?"
"He would betray me."
"He would be another pawn in your endless game. You need allies."
"I need no one," Ciel insists, eyes sharply narrowing. His fierceness falters when fingers curl around his pubescent shape with practised ease, smoothing up and down languidly. It is a luxury to give in to this, a luxury he can ill-afford, but Sebastian's persistence offers easy persuasion and after a while his hips move with fluid grace, his breath fast like panting dogs.
And then, in the midst of it all he makes the mistake of whispering three fatal words, regretting them instantly. Ciel Phantomhive is no romantic. He is just a boy stumbling under the pretence of a man and trying to cling to whatever will drag him forwards. Be it angels or demons. Just a child.
"You 'need me' young master?" Sebastian says mockingly, tongue whipping snake like over kiss-bruised lips. He snatches Ciel's hair to yank back his head, hungrily eyeing silk soft skin. "What a sad little admission from my young master, to show such weakness."
"I am not weak!" Ciel yells, shoving Sebastian away with vicious strength. Sweat plasters hair to his forehead and he sweeps it clean and rises unsteadily from his chair, ignoring the demanding throb below. "I am Ciel Phantomhive of the Phantomhive family, head of the Funtom company! I AM NOT WEAK!"
"If you are not weak then why the hesitance to let me kill?"
The question has Ciel stumped. He is a wild animal caught in a trap, Sebastian looming over him in wait of his answer. Huffing, Ciel dusts himself off and replaces his patch, returning to his seat quietly. "Leave me, Sebastian, I tire of you."
"Yes, young master," Sebastian murmurs, eyes glowing like embers. "As you wish."
Fin~