Sebastian:

As the butler of two years and the Queen's Watchdog's Contractor (a supernatural deal sealed by an imagined name used to attain ones desires in exchange for the soul that knits to the demon's like blankets), Sebastian knew that something was bothering Ciel Phantomhive lately-more than usual. Not only was the thirteen-year-old's angelically beautiful face perpetually sunken in a look of blank gloominess, he had also started to ignore his butler's presence almost completely: speaking to him only when he was required to, passing him by without a second-or even a first-glance, and overall just acting as though his little mind was engrossed in only himself.

The blank gloominess to the boy's features wouldn't have been an abnormal thing-the boy normally carried expressionless faces and a brooding azure eye. It was the ignoring that in fact got Sebastian vexed; suspicious. Normally, Sebastian was the one person Ciel willingly spoke to; the first person he'd turn to in a nasty situation; the first person he'd sought his eyes for in the room. Now that had changed, and the demon wanted immensely to know what poison was flooding the little one's mind-whether it be curiosity, or something else, something that bled deeper...

Sebastian sighed.

Cook breakfast.

Make tea.

Scold useless servants prone to inevitable disaster.

Wake up the young master.

Just the normal, tedious timetable.

All for one soul.

One highly desirable soul.

Sebastian finished stirring the pot of tea and hefted it up, setting it on the blinking tray alongside Ciel's choice of breakfast with a metallic rattly clang. He could not help but pause and gaze awedly at his visage trapped in the ethereal curve of the shimmering utensil one called a spoon as he pulled it out the reddish brown liquid steaming softly. A sharp face structure, a creamy complexion, silky onyx hair and dull light brown eyes. His young master had certainly done a good job on him. With another sigh, he slowly unpeeled his fingers, one by one, from the intricately engraved handle of the spoon and set it warily aside. The sun rose dangerously higher, spilling watery light through the pellucid windows, the grandfather clock ticking steadily with the sound like a dying heart, as if a reminder of the time ticking hastily by.

The door of his master's bedroom swung open obediently under the familiar touch of the butler's long-fingered, gloved hand. He ripped the velveteen curtains back, almost reluctantly as he tore his eyes away from the sleeping adolescent sprawled in the ivory-sheeted bed. Morning light, a warm lightly-shaded golden block, spilled inside and threw the ornate room's features into sharp relief. "Young master. It is time to wake up."

Ciel:

"Young master. It is time to wake up." A butler in black, voice like silk or velvet; bleached over with the sound of curtains being torn aside, setting a warm golden track of rare sunlight illumination across the polished marble floors of the master bedroom.

A young boy of mere thirteen unfolded himself groggily from his nest of blankets with stirs and protesting groans, cloud-grey hair fluffy and dishevelled with sleep. He wiped his sleepy mismatched eyes-one a ocean of azure, and an eerie eye, emblematic with strange ivory symbols, the colour of pretty violet, and as if sensing something vital, the identical Mark burned slightly on the back of Sebastian's hand, under his white kids glove, like it was being drawn over with the tip of a hot poker, sending delicious shivers of pleasure up his spine-with the backs of his petite, ethereal hands and then blinked at his black-clad butler enviously through half-slitted eyes.

Sebastian Michaelis, the Phantomhive butler of nearly three years, had an abnormal ability to always seem chipper and cheerful in the mornings, whereas Ciel wished irritably that he could veil himself in the blankets again and sleep until afternoon. But then nothing about Sebastian had been anything other than abnormal. Demon. Servant of Hell, Satan himself, things that would send a meek human being screaming in terror. And yet the boy was unfazed.

"Good morning, my Lord. Today for breakfast I can offer a traditional English breakfast, toast, or scones."

'Ciel' sat up sluggishly, his mop of hair falling back fluffily into place with random spikes sticking out here and there like the tentacles of a startled octopus. His voice, when he spoke, was thick not only with a British accent but with sleep. "A scone."

He was unaware that his butler was staring at him.

Sebastian:

"A scone."

Sebastian watched him for a lingering moment, simply observed with his hands halfway toward his master's favourite pot of fruity-scented Earl Grey tea. That gloomy look...-It didn't seem to leave that face as soon as the Earl opened his eyes. Sebastian had long before tried reaching into the other's mind through their Contract, had long before touched those delicate mind walls and tried to feed himself what exactly the boy felt. But his Lord's mind had stubbornly and skilfully resisted, and instead of touching the boy's thoughts he had only received a clammy cold feeling, as if he had been dumped in slimy ice water. This had made Sebastian even more uneasy; normally he could pick out Ciel's thoughts as easily as a child picking out their favourite toys from their toy-box, but now his own mind sprang back like an elastic band.

The child before him looked annoyed. "Sebastian? What is my timetable for today?" His tone suggested he had asked not only the once.

"My apologises, sir." Sebastian bowed in a languid show of remorse, white-gloved hand pressed against his breast, and then collected Ciel's attire for that day from the wardrobe. "Your timetable is free today, my Lord. You may do whatever you please."

The boy looked pleased at this piece of information. "Good. I want to spend some more time in the library, and shall eat up there again today."

Sebastian did not say how he knew Ciel was going to the library to avoid him successfully, or that he knew Ciel had been throwing his food out the window into the shrubbery below. He instead kneeled down and tipped forward into a subservient bow. "Yes, my Lord."

"And one more thing," Ciel groused, waving a commanding hand; Sebastian understood the gesture, and rose. "Do refrain from checking up on me constantly today. If I should need you, I will call for you."

Sebastian gritted his teeth unwillingly, eyes flashing a brief, angry claret like the skin of a ripened apple. There it was-he was pushing him away again, like an unwanted pet. "Yes, my Lord," he returned again, before beginning to dress the boy silently as his wont. Ciel sipped absently at his tea, its pungent fumes mingling with the just as pungent scent of Ciel's very skin and soiled essence. Mouth watering slightly with the scents, Sebastian finished off and leaned back to admire his handiwork. Exquisite, seemly, omnipotent, rich-everything an Earl should look.

However, he had barely any time to admire, since Ciel knocked back the rest of his tea with one swallow and erected himself with a graceful push. There was an almost eagerness to the way Ciel started towards the door, that gave Sebastian an amazed yet pained taut set to his face. "Master~"

But Ciel was already gone, the door swinging shut between them resolutely with a decided click.

Sebastian didn't move-whether it was because he was too surprised to, or because he was too intricate staring after his master incredulously and wondering what was happening to him, why there was the gloominess, the ignoring. Perhaps Ciel had changed his mind about wanting the Contract...?

No. No, Sebastian could not think like that-Ciel had promised, had had no doubts. Why would he suddenly change his mind now? But if not that then what?

Sebastian stood up slowly. There were chores to do, no matter his... problems? Could he call it that? He had to admit, this whole thing was scraping down on his control, over what though he wasn't quite sure himself. Maybe it was just an aching curiosity; a thoughtfulness; a bafflement. Anyhow, Sebastian was determined to find out what.

As told to, Sebastian didn't bother the Earl until dinner. He knocked on the veneered door twice with his gloved knuckles, waited for permission, and pushed the metal trolley into the room obediently when he heard one.

The library was circular, with a clear-glass ceiling that tapered to a point, as if it had been built as a tower. The edgeless walls were lined with books, the shelves climbing up so high that tall ladders set on casters were placed along them at intervals. They weren't exactly ordinary-looking books either: they were each bound in black or brown leather or velvet, clasped with sturdy-looking locks and hinges of gold and silver, the spines studded up with bits of marble or dully shimmering semiprecious stone.

In the centre of the room a magnificent desk was installed, made of a heavy, great slab of oak that dully shone with years. The slab rested upon the back of two men dressed in hanging cloth, their figures gilded, their faces engraved to give off the air of profound suffering, as if the great weight of the desk was breaking their backs. Sitting behind that desk, on a plush violet velveteen chair, gilded, was Ciel, a book open in his lap. His petite feet were propped up on the desk curtly, and he was slumping back in his chair like he didn't want to be noticed-which, from the sudden tense set of his feminine shoulders, Sebastian guessed he heartedly did.

"Please refrain from putting your feet on the desk, young master." Sebastian carefully rolled the trolley down the circular two steps that led down to the desk, stopping beside the boy. "You're dirtying it, and it was expensive."

"Fine." Scowling with exasperation, Ciel dropped his feet from the desk and smoothed his book out on top of it. Written up the side in bright golden script were the words: Alice in Wonderland. Sebastian knew how much Ciel adored reading, found the familiar scent of leather and parchment and dust and ink nearly as comforting as the scent of his deceased mother's rosy perfume. "I know that scent. Is that a roast lunch?"

"Yes, my Lord," Sebastian answered, impressed, scooping up the fine porcelain plate loaded with softly steaming food, the surface warm even through the fabric of his glove, and set it on the table before his master when he shifted his stack of books and wads of papers aside. "It is traditional to have them on a Sunday."

"Hm." Ciel looked uninterested at this piece of information. Sebastian wondered what did interest the boy-what about books engrossed him, perhaps? "You may take your leave."

It was an obvious dismissal, however Sebastian hung there hesitantly, staring at the child he called his master in submission. "My Lord, might I ask-"

There was a heavy thunk, like a brick being dropped to the floor. Sebastian was startled for a moment, before he realized that Ciel had moved his arm and accidently-accidently?-knocked his stack of books off the table; they lay scattered across the floor now, open and gaping, like an offering.

"Excuse me, my Lord." Sebastian tugged his gloves off with his teeth and got on his hands and knees by his master's chair, stacking up his fallen books in a tidy pile. They were worn, it could be seen, in a way that was clear they were not just old but well used, and had been loved. At one book, he paused with it in his hand, eyeing it scanningly, earning a frown from Ciel. "There is a tear, young master. In this book's pages."

"What?"

"Here." He held it up; running down the length of the page-pages, actually-was a gaping rip that fluttered like fishes gills when Sebastian moved the book. For a moment, just a moment, a flicker of uncharacteristic vulnerability flittered across Ciel's face, a remorseful grief. "The pages have torn."

Ciel reached for it, at the same time Sebastian moved to hand it over. Their fingers accidently brushed; Ciel abruptly jerked his hand back, like he'd received a shock of static electricity, the unfortunate book tumbling down to the ground again.

Sebastian stared at him. Ciel was retracting backwards involuntarily in his chair like he wanted it to swallow him in, a defiant blush on his cheeks; his eyes were blown wide slightly. For a moment, Sebastian had thought he'd caught something as their skin had brushed, a strong feeling that washed over him like a warm tidal wave and made his heart beat faster, his stomach turn gooey and flutter like butterfly's wings. If he didn't know any better, he'd say it was... No. No. Sebastian thought he must have imagined it.

And yet the look on Ciel's face...

Ciel's voice unwillingly came out a little unsteady, yet still his words were firm and unwavering, the words of a commander. "I said you can leave, Sebastian."

"My apologies." Dazed, Sebastian got to his feet, tugged on his gloves again, before bowing courteously. "I'll be taking my leave now, my Lord."

Sebastian left, though his mind was still with the boy. What he had felt... It must have been real. Nothing as vivid, even if momentary, as that could have been imagined up.

Sebastian's mind was plagued with these thoughts until the moment he acted on them. He was waiting in his master's room for him, crudely sat on the end of his bed. If that didn't attract Ciel's attention, Sebastian didn't know what would. His gloved hands were folded in his lap neatly, half reflexively and half so they wouldn't start doing nervous movements-a demon, nervous because of a human!

Luckily, Sebastian didn't have to wait long; ten minutes of waiting, before his little Lord walked inside, looking gloomy and exhausted. His visible eye was cast downwards, and for a moment Sebastian wondered if Ciel would carry on to his destination without noticing his butler was there at all. But then he raised his eye, and it locked on Sebastian with a imbuement of thinly veiled startlement-before it skidded away, landing instead on the star-refracting window, framed by velvet curtains. Ciel said nothing, expressionless, just moved on past Sebastian, heading for the window to observe the brilliant skyscape outside, the gentle day long before shattered into a concealing night-

Remembering the flicker of emotion from Ciel he had received at dinnertime, Sebastian boldly caught the boy's wrist, yanking him back, earning an astonished hitching of the breath. Ciel automatically climbed into the demon's lap, delicate ringed hands on his butler's firm shoulders, as Sebastian pulled him that way, hands underneath the boy's calves to prop him up. They moved from the underneath of the boy's thighs then as he moved them to Ciel's lower back, keeping them there firmly, so Ciel could not move from this position, Ciel's inner thighs straddling his outer ones. Ciel's eyes were wide, shocked, his face helplessly ridden with emotion for the first time in-what? Weeks? His cheeks were a cute shade of bubblegum pink.

Sebastian locked his eyes on his, light brown and azure. Ciel looked too surprised to move, frozen in spot, as Sebastian reached behind Ciel's grey head and unknotted the string of his eyepatch, which fell away; the eyepatch fluttered as it fell, soaring, fluttering, hanging, resisting, like a black rose petal caught midair. "Seba~"

But not a word was to be ushered in this discovering moment.

Sebastian silenced him nimbly, clad fingers pressing against petite, pink lips. Ciel trailed off into silence grudgingly, as Sebastian raised his own hands to his own mouth, one after the other, tugging off his gloves and disregarding them to the side. Then he grabbed Ciel's waist tightly, hands curling around the inward curves, lifting his own face up, and reflexively after a hesitating moment Ciel brought his down, and their mouths brushed.

Even as they both froze with surprise, because of unexpectedness or something else, they were kissing. Ciel. Young master. My Lord. Earl Phantomhive. He was kissing Ciel Phantomhive, as Ciel was kissing him. Sebastian wondered why Ciel wasn't pulling away-was it because of surprise? Or was it because what Sebastian had received earlier had been legitimate? One hand moved from his waist, pressing against his lower back instead, holding him steady as he moved his mouth skilfully, experiencedly, on his; Ciel, after few moments, arms limply hanging by his sides, tried to match his movements with his own clumsy, soft, inexperienced mouth, deepening Sebastian's surprise further. He realized, after a dazed moment, Ciel was trying to kiss him back.

Sebastian leaned back slowly until he was lying on his back, Ciel still sat in his lap, face adorably dazed and flushed with healthy colour at losing his very first kiss. His long, black-nailed fingers wound into his shirt, Sebastian pulled Ciel down, taking the light weight of his body on his with the sense of being corresponding jigsaw pieces, the way that they fit together. Their lips met again, and Sebastian ran his hands through Ciel's mop of cloudy hair; it was just as soft as Sebastian had always imagined it to be in his most buried daydreams, like pinfeathers slinking between his fingers; the kitten's fur that he loved so much. He couldn't seem to stop running his hands over him in wonder either-they mapped Ciel's body like he was drawing him, Ciel's breath hot and ragged in his ear and his natural-coloured nails digging into his sheets like he wanted to ravage them apart, fingers shaking, especially when Sebastian's hands found his jackets lapels, ready to push the item of clothing off his shoulders.

Ciel leaned back, and Sebastian felt a slam of uncharacteristic nerves and regret, wondering if characteristically-cold-and-prideful-Ciel was going to yell at him, call him disgusting; maybe even throw a few slaps in there just to illustrate the point. But that's not what he did at all-he instead reached up and tugged at his jacket, letting it slide off his shoulders so his white shirt was fully exposed, and undid the first few buttons of his shirt too; it fell aside, baring a perfect, porcelain shoulder.

Sebastian helped with the rest of the buttons helpfully, before Ciel kicked all the garments off the bed with his now-bare, petite feet. Ciel was slim, fragile, without a single cording of muscle, yet even with the slave mark spiralling in lines and curves on his chest, he was lovely, like the words of a poem. One could see the faint shadows between his ribs, the inward sinking to his stomach, inward curving to his waist, the sharp curve of his collarbone.

Sebastian reached to touch him as they kissed again-asking permission had long before become a distant priority in his mind. His fingers were exploring, fascinated, like a child running about the forest as he brushed his fingers over the mark on his chest, across the slight hollows between his ribs and the flat surface of his stomach, which shuddered involuntarily under his touch. Sebastian was making sure to take exquisite care and lightness, like one did while handing something thin or fragile; the boy was as breakable as he was lovely. However, Sebastian could not stop touching him even if he tried, with all the superhuman strength he had: his hands skimmed the boy's sides, his hips, his shoulders, his chest and stomach, his bare legs where the shorts and knee-high gartered socks did not conceal. Ciel's hands fumbled, shaking vulnerably, as he slid Sebastian's jacket off him and tossed it aside; albeit even when he opened his eyes he couldn't undo Sebastian's shirt, since his hands were trembling to hard. Clumsily he worked the buttons free, tearing the fabric, and said shirt joined their pile of clothes on the floor.

They rolled sideways, Ciel's legs scissoring around his, pressed together exposedly: Chests and chests, mouths and mouths, legs and legs. It was a whole height of impropriety, sin and sin, but they were both damned anyway-and even then Sebastian did not feel as though this was improper, or sinful, or dark, or wrong: he felt like something was being given back to him, something he hadn't realized before then he'd been missing. They pressed together close, closer, until it became hard to breathe, lips working as if one, and yet neither stopped, neither hesitated, never hung back uncertainly, both lost completely in the moment, minds blank and filled with only the feel, scent, nearness of the other. Ciel's hand curled almost protectively around Sebastian's hip, tugging, urging him on wordlessly.

Sebastian obediently reached between the almost nonexistent space between them, fingers curling over the waistband of Ciel's shorts, nails brushing the naked skin of Ciel's hips, causing the younger to tense and jump. His thumb flicked against the button of Ciel's shorts-

And Ciel pulled away, panting hard, jerking himself out of Sebastian's reaching range abruptly. His lips were bruised, his cheeks flushed magenta, and even as he began shaking his head vigorously there was a telltale shimmer to his eyes. Sebastian's eyes flecked open, and he stared at Ciel in hesitant surprise. His mind was whirling. "What's wrong, my Lord?" he asked breathlessly, and then immediately regretted he'd asked; Ciel's eyes darkened.

"You're my butler," Ciel stated, voice slightly husky, yet it held a perceptible shake. He shrunk back. "You aren't supposed to do that to me."

"Master~" Sebastian reached for him, but the boy shook his head again firmly, expressionless once more; he picked up Sebastian's shirt and thrust it at him, and, rejected and hurt, Sebastian took it off him, blinking at him confusedly. Had he been no good?

"Don't ever touch me like that again," Ciel ordered indirectly, and the words sounded almost like they were being pulled out of him; reluctance. This wasn't, hadn't been before, his young master at all: Before, Sebastian would have found Ciel's current lostness and vulnerability amusing, but not anymore; besides, it was shrinking away now, being replaced by that familiar expressionless, cold demeanour. "Do you understand?"

And so Sebastian shrugged on his shirt and tailcoat, buttoned them up, and replied as his wont with confusion, hurt, rejection and anger etched into his pallid face: "Yes, my Lord."