Joanne Harcourt was a very different sort of human from Ciel Phantomhive, particularly in his qualities of self-sufficiency and his personal habits. Even if he had taken a personal vacation from school, he was not inclined to sleep in, but preferred to start his day early just as his normal routine would demand. By seven o' clock he was not only awake but dressed, washed, and ready to sit for breakfast, just as I was wheeling the trolley to the master's quarters with tea. Since my young master's return from Le Havre he had slipped into a terrible habit of taking an embarrassing length of time pulling himself together in the mornings.
To better accommodate his guest, I would be forced to raise Ciel out of bed at six instead of seven, so as not to have Joanne sitting at the breakfast table by himself. The master's protestations and whining were irritations I could endure because knocking him up at such an early hour meant he did not fight me dressing him, which was a privilege I had sorely missed.
Fair weather continued into Saturday, and it was at my suggestion that the boys should take the day in the city. The young master had been walled in the house for days, and he needed the exercise, of course, he would not admit to his companion that such was the case. Joanne seemed keen for a day of shopping.
Mey-Rin attended to our guest's meal that morning as I tended to a cranky earl. Sunshine flooded the east-facing bedroom, and he blinked and squinted with irritation as I set him right for the morning, finding great satisfaction in an old routine of dressing, combing, tucking, buttoning and fastening. Before placing his eye patch I removed his bandage. The cut on his forehead had nearly healed, and it appeared there would be no indication of scarring. As I cleaned it one last time, he did not so much as flinch. As I dabbed the scabbing wound with ointment, he peered up at me.
"Sebastian... I never did thank you for saving me."
"What? Are you referring to your fiasco in LeHavre?"
"Yes, what else could I be referring to?"
He might have been considering some other time I had kept him from danger, or perhaps he was reflecting on the very first time I had saved him, which he had never thanked me for. I pulled off the medical gloves and replaced them with my standard white. . "No expression of gratitude is necessary, you know that."
He folded his arms. "Just fulfilling your role? Insuring your investment?"
"Something to that extant."
Before I could turn to place the medical kit in the cabinet he grabbed my sleeve. "I don't have much longer, do I?" When it came to matters of impending demise, humans tend to choke and whimper over such words. Ciel delivered his question with stern timbre, more of an affirmation than anything.
I stared at the steady hand that pinched my cuff. "What makes you say that?"
"Just a feeling."
Over the years I had come to trust that boy's intuition, perhaps because I myself had influence in refining it. He leaned back on the bed, looking down as he swung his legs.
"You could, you know, complete the contract on your end. You could search all of the United Kingdom to find the last of them, and I wouldn't stop you. You could have an answer by this evening, by afternoon tea if you were really earnest."
I closed my eyes and smiled. "But where is the fun in that?"
He was right; I could have ended this contract years ago, but there was always something else about him to intrigue me, some other way he challenged me, or perhaps the challenge of this persona was an intrigue unto itself. I was watching him grow before me, where every day brought the possibility of some new discovery, to watch him develop from every new experience. There was the time he attended Weston, when I considered if there would be value in letting him grow to be a full adult, if he would grow to be someone resembling his father, if I would very much like to discover that person. He would still be the same cocky Ciel, only older, taller, and deeper. Perhaps he would eventually learn to waltz, become a skilled marksman, take on the role of father, and I would be less of a caregiver and more of a confidant. He was already skilled enough to move and operate in an adult world, so what sort of power and influence could he wield if he actually looked the part?
But I knew that such was not to be his fate. As soon as the case was closed and he left Weston, he had eschewed all association with the "friends" he had made there. He was off on another case, dancing with death every step of the way. He was never interested in cultivating a real life, a real future. As he had told me one evening, he was living on bought time.
"Do you want to end it? All you have to do is say you are done with this and I can end it right now. I would do it, even if it would be a dull ending." For all my hunger, there resided within me an even deeper ache, something I could not define but knew, a feeling, that there was still something more this little lord had left to show me.
I collected his face. His grasp on my arms in response was scalding, his breath seizing, and eyes dazzling from the morning light in their wide gaze. Perhaps he caught some trace of my uncertainty, that I needed his order, a direction, some indication that he intended to continue his steady advance.
"I'll spare you a dull ending and say that today is not my day to die." He flashed me a most sparkling smile and I retracted my hands as if that grin could bite. He stood from the bed. "Let it be a good day."
I bowed and felt a touch of relief. "Very well, young master. I will call for a cabbie."
It appeared all of London had the similar inclination of taking advantage of the fair weather on Saturday, with the elite gallivanting in their finery. Men tipped their hats to the pair of young lads, Joanne in his soft russet frock and Ciel in smart pinstripe. There seemed to be little of interest to them in the more exclusive shopping districts, as they glanced at the gleaming shop windows on Bond Street. Ladies in their latest styles perused the Burlington Arcade, with its jewellery and watches, fine tailors and hat makers, coats, canes, shoes, and accessories. Children bounced beside their mothers, pleading to enter the dolls shops and sweet shops on Regent. Joanne suggested a quiet book shop on Oxford Street he had a habit of visiting when time and opportunity afforded. The young master was familiar with the place, and was eager to be away from the fashionable crowds with all their pretensions.
They bustled past a crowd entering a parasol shop next door to take refuge in a quiet bookstore, not the sort of stop for many Londoners on such a spring outing. The clerk behind the counter sounded a delighted greeting, and Joanne responded with a timid wave. The young Earl scoffed at how Joanne would allow a commoner to address him so casually, at which point young Phantomhive was reminded that "Mr. Harcourt" was not yet in possession of his father's marquessate. Also, I suspected years of attending public school with peers of diverse rank and status had softened his attention to such things.
Books were shelved to the ceiling, the air smelling of the comfortable muskiness of stale pages and antique dust jackets. The clerk kept the lamps low, a tactic no doubt to force his patrons to lean in closer, to pick up articles and read titles.
It was but a moment after entering that Joanne stopped in front of a table holding various new publications, picking up a book with scrappy binding and a rough typeset on the cover, an indication that this publishing house had little money for presentation of such a work.
Ciel turned to peer over Joanne's shoulder. "You found something you like?"
"Yes... I've read this story before, in a periodical."
Ciel grabbed it, inspecting the cover. "What is it about? Is it any good?"
Joanne looked to the ground. "It's about a young man who... wishes to stay young forever. But his corruption leads to his undoing. There's more to it, and honestly, when it was published in Lippincott magazine, it created something of scandal."
"Let me guess, questionable content? I couldn't find a copy of that month's publication for that reason." Ciel was familiar with the magazine; a certain author he had a particular fondness for had been writing for Lippincott some months prior.
"You have a way with euphemisms." Joanne reached out to inspect it once more, flipping through the pages to the table of contents. "It looks like the author has expanded the story a bit... and has added a preface." He fell silent as he began to read.
"Do you suppose it is worth reading again?" Ciel leaned in close to the other boy to read.
Joanne hunched into the book, eyes scanning a page and then flipped it to scan another. "It would be... perhaps..." his voice trailed in mock-concentration, but I considered Joanne was concentrating more on ignoring Ciel's proximity.
After a few more page turns, my master jeered, "You can't have read that entire preface in those few moments."
"I did, actually."
"Well, what did it say then?" He did not want to admit that he was unable to read at such a fast pace. He had shown irritation with me when I read texts with unnatural speed.
"That such previous criticisms show there is a necessity for his work, that such works as art serve as a reflection of humanity and that-"
"All right, all right, I believe you. Give me the book." Ciel snatched it back and I followed him to the counter.
"You want to read it?"
"I will after you're done with it."
I offered the clerk a few coins. Joanne stared as the transaction took place before he could manage a protest.
"Wait, did you just buy this for me?"
Ciel shrugged. "I suppose I did. Let Sebastian carry it for you."
He clutched the book to his chest. How such a trifle expense to my young master could mean the world to this young man. He stood aghast as my steely little lord brushed past him to the exit. "Come now, I'm a little peckish and there's a café on Coventry I'm a little fond of." Offering my hand, he relinquished to me the book.
During a short carriage ride onto Regent Street and through Piccadilly I snatched a few quick glances at the book's contents. In some ways I rather enjoyed this character named Basil, even if his sense of morality was beyond realistic. I predicted that his infatuation with the main character, who was all manner of awful but no less charming, would lead Basil's undoing. I could see how this story might have appealed to Joanne in such a way that he would not readily admit, and how Ciel might find it disturbingly relatable.
The boys sat outside the front of the café under the awning with their coffee and macaroons, a continued conversation over books and the like, which forced Joanne into a lively discussion that could not be tempered by his usual shyness. Half-way through his coffee (which he preferred in much the same way as his tea: quite a bit of cream), he pulled from a breast pocket a cigarette case. I had never met a noble who smoked those things, but for Joanne it seemed to fit him. He would have looked too ostentatious with a pipe, and a cigar was far too overbearing for his personality.
In conversation a cigarette seemed to be his means of gesturing. Most often he sat with his hands still, but as soon as he lit the end of a cigarette it became an instrument to focus his words, thoughts spun from trails of spindly smoke, a flick into the ash tray like the period at the end of a sentence. He offered to Ciel, who stated that the whole activity seemed uncouth, preferring his pipes, but he would take one anyway... then proceed to ask for another.
At one point the young master made a comment of how he had become so lucky to find someone who could share his tastes in literature, to which Joanne paused, catching Ciel's sideways glance and sharp little smirk. Joanne's suggestion to take a stroll through Leicester Square Garden seemed a needed preoccupation.
There the two ambled about, Joanne giving forced attention to statuary and everywhere else besides his bored companion. It was then Ciel overheard an animated conversation about some new company that had been established on Maiden Lane, something about sound recording. Being the savvy businessman, the young master inquired the gentlemen about this new business, determined to discover what had them so enthused.
It took some time for us to arrive in Covent Garden, for the area was bustling with open stalls, produce, flowers, meats and fresh eggs, baked bread and confections, jarred preserves and canned fruits. With so many people jostling in the streets one could barely manage to pull a carriage through. We proceeded onto Maiden Lane and taking a look at my watch decided this would be our final stop.
The new shop the gentlemen spoke of was easy to spot with a group of people gathered outside its entrance. Over the excited crowd I heard something like a symphony, but there was no way such an entire orchestra could fit into that little shop, nor would it have reason to. Regardless, it sounded like an orchestra was playing but was not present, almost a hollow echo of a real thing. The two hurried to the source of the music and stopped by the crowd of people in front of a poster behind a window that said, "GRAMOPHONE."
A curious contraption was displayed in the window with what appeared to have a spinning platter and the sound emitted from a large fluted contraption. A needle scratched along the surface of this plate-like object and somehow this was producing the music. The two boys stood in awe of this. Daresay I was impressed. Where do these humans keep coming up with these ideas, as if they just never cease to build upon what they already know? I suspect that before long the world will not be able to keep up with them.
"I heard about these!" Joanne exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "That needle is picking up grooves on that disc there, see you just crank the machine and a gear system spins the table where you set that disc. The needle sends vibrations that are amplified by that horn."
Ciel looked rather impressed by Joanne's explanation. "How do you know all that?"
He shrugged. "Read about it in some periodical one day. And they make different records with different recordings."
"No way. So you can change the sound?"
"Of course."
Ciel pointed to the spinning record. "How do you put music into an object like that?"
"Well there are grooves stamped onto it, but I don't really know how you can record a sound like that. But you can see it works."
Ciel was absolutely entranced by this contraption. All day he had comported himself with all the poise and maturity of a fine nobleman, but at this point he had his hands on the shop window like a child who was fixated on some new toy.
"I need one of these." He grabbed Joanne by the hand and pulled him into the store, and as I followed I made pardons for my master who had shuffled past people in a less than dignified manner. When the young master found something that intrigued him, cost was no concern. Both Joanne and I had to contain his exuberance as he asked the clerk all manner of questions about this magic of recorded music, that he could play these same recordings over and over ("yes"), if there were more recordings one could buy ("more are made every day"), what if the machine should stop working ("there is a warranty"). Finally Ciel declared, "I would like this delivered to my town house. And these recordings, especially these by Handel, oh, and this opera. And whatever else you think is good. Sebastian, give this man what is due."
I whispered to the man if he would take a bank check. He offered a complimentary recording for my trouble, but I insisted that my charge was no trouble and that he would wear himself out soon enough.
Joanne stood in the corner, amazed at how Ciel had clerks darting back and forth packaging his entire order, taking his information, how they all thanked him formally as Earl Phantomhive. The crowds parted as they vacated the store, and Joanne whispered, "Do people often treat you like this?"
"Like what, a noble? Well, yes, that's what I am. And when I start tossing money around they pay me even more mind. Are you not a member of a Marquessate? Has not your family owned such a title for generations?"
"I suppose I associate 'the Marquess Harcourt' with my father."
"Well, that's your first problem." It was then I noticed the young master do something he was not often inclined to do. He reached out to nudge the other lad on the shoulder, a friendly jest. The gesture had come and gone in the blink of an eye, and no one would have paid it mind, but I knew that Ciel rarely cared to touch anyone at all, or be touched for that matter.
Joanne stopped his amble alongside the earl, rubbed his shoulder as though an inconsequential tap really had knocked the wind from him. Ciel turned back to determine why Joanne had stopped walking. His astonished expression was tucked away as he combed back the blonde hair from his face.
"Oh Ciel, what an awful thing to say." Joanne quipped with a smile.
On our way back to the townhouse I watched how Joanne tried not to bump knees with Ciel in the carriage. He slunk back in his chair during dinner and excused himself from the table earlier than he had the day before. When the young earl invited him to his smoking room, Joanne politely declined the invitation, insisted he needed to retire early from such an eventful day. Feeling dejected, he said to me, "Perhaps he really thinks me intolerable."
I knew it was quite the opposite.
On Sunday the abysmal spring storms had returned and the boys were forced to stay in the house. Fortunately Ciel had this new contraption to keep him preoccupied. Joanne insisted that he would prefer to wile away his time with his book, believing Ciel shouldn't feel obligated to entertain him at all hours. In a quiet study he stayed to read, lounging on a couch in Turkish trousers and a collarless shirt. This was a particular habit of Joanne, that if there was no reason to dress in a gentleman's attire, he would not, preferring to rest in silks patterned with rich colours. As any other unique habit of his, it suited him.
It so happened that despite the downpour Ms. Hopkins made a quick stop by the townhouse to drop off a certain ensemble that was ordered two weeks prior, a commission she had been enthusiastic to fulfil. She wanted to bring it personally to express that if any alterations needed to be made that she should work them post haste before the Season had her neck high in orders. Such was her way of treating Phantomhive, a most loyal patron.
The young master watched me carry the trunk upstairs. "I will get to see, right? After all, no doubt you used my money to pay for it."
"I wrote it as an expense of the charity event, which was coming from one of the property accounts, not your personal one, I assure you. And yes, you will see what I have ordered for Joanne soon enough."
After depositing the trunk in the guest room, I returned down the stairs and knocked at the door to the lounge. Not only did I have the intention of putting Joanne in this dress, but also I was determined to settle an issue I was sure was causing Joanne some slight apprehension. He looked up from the book he was closed to finished reading as I announced, "Your ensemble has arrived. Will you permit me to pull you away from your reading?"
He stood stiff from the couch, soft paisley fluttering about him and he looked as delicate as a doll from the Orient. "You mean the… dress? It's here?"
"Indeed. It is upstairs waiting for you."
I noticed a curious mix of excitement and trepidation as I followed behind him, his bouncing steps up the stairs causing the silk of his trousers to billow about him.
Opening the wide box revealed a silk resembling of Paris green. Yards of layered silk and chiffon spilled over the bed. The bodice was an array of frills with a modest neckline, but no less elegant. Dramatic sleeves were the fashion for the season, but I had had requested that Nina dare to give Joanne bare arms, with cap sleeves just over the shoulder.
Joanne covered his face in astonishment. "I could have never..."
"This colour will be striking with your eyes." Also in the box was a pair of heels to match, all necessary under things, and a witty little hat adorned with feathers. "No need to dawdle." I laid the dress over the bed. "Let us get you into this outfit. Surely the wrinkles will fall out once you are in it."
He stood quite motionless. "You want me to put it on now?"
"To see if it fits properly, yes." I stepped forward and he backed away.
"Well… aren't you going to leave while I undress?"
I blinked. "I intend to give you some assistance."
"Is that customary for you?"
"Dressing in lady's clothes is a little more involved."
Joanne stepped out of his embroidered slippers. "I suppose I'm accustomed to doing it myself."
I crouched down to collect the shoes before him. Looking upward, I murmured, "There is a matter I need to discuss with you as well, regarding my master."
Just the mention of him made Joanne quake with nervousness. "And... what might that be?" Shoes were deposited at the foot of the bed.
"You fancy him." I stood and locked my gaze with his. He attempted to turn away, but I brought his chin forward, jaw quivering as he was forced to meet my eyes. "No use in denying it. I wonder... do you have plans to pursue him?"
"If you are saying you take issue with it..." Joanne took a step back. "I know your history with him..."
"That is not what I am saying at all. You have not answered my question." I took a step towards him and he was caught between me and the bed. "Take me out of the picture for a moment. Are you going to pursue him?"
He was shaking from being confronted with such direct questions. It was a slight frustration, because I was so accustomed to heated confrontations with the young master. He had a tendency to overcome his conflicts quickly, to reach a conclusion and take action with immediacy and efficiency. I would have to rectify this with Joanne, to break down this nervous barrier of his. I grasped his shoulders, and he looked like a frightened little kitten and that I daresay was far too endearing.
"Sebastian, you want me to say yes, don't you?" Joanne whispered, cheeks flushed, "This is what you would ask of me in return for all this, isn't it?"
I began to unbutton his shirt. "I think you are missing the point, Joanne. This is not about me. This is about what you want. Will you forever grasp for the things you want in life only if you know you have permission to take them?" I lifted his arms, pulling the silk over his head, and the shirt rippled to the floor. "What are you to do when the ball is over? Will you stop being a lady after that night? Or will you make your own way? It is the same with the young master. Are you going to continue to flock about him, waiting for him to advance, or will you take control of the situation?" Fingers trailed up his bare arm. "You do have lovely arms. And slim shoulders. My decision to forgo such fancy sleeves on that dress was a good idea."
Joanne shivered from the touch. "And I can't help but feel you have taken more than just an interest in me."
"I find you curious." My touch rose over shoulders and down a pale chest, over the sides of his waist. "But my curiosity has more to do with what you can do for him. I told you before… everything I do is ultimately for his benefit." There was something I had to impart upon this timid creature. The desire was present, a capacity for ardour, and his heavy-lidded eyes lifted to stare at my whispering mouth, his own lips parted in hesitation. I needed him to be active in this pursuit, for no doubt there was something for my master to gain from the experience.
The string from his waistband was untied and trousers pooled about his ankles. He had such a sinewy figure, such narrow hips and shapely legs. "You are rather lovely, Joanne."
"You have said this to me before." He wanted to cover his exposed self, which he was very well-equipped, but I pulled his hand into mine. "Please, don't—"
"I am not going to take you for myself, if that is what is concerning you." I pulled him against me and there was a sweet appeal to how the trepidation reeled from him. "My young master is passionate, and willing to meet my intensity with equal force. You could not."
"Then why should I..." He clutched at my shoulders, neither pulling in nor pushing away, but rather in a state of seized uncertainty.
I bent forward, pressing into Joanne's lower back. "Because there is a quality to you that he needs to experience, something I cannot give. I felt it in your lips, your tender kiss, he craves such a feeling." My words feathered over his quivering mouth, lips grazing but never meeting. Even his breath was sweet, everything about him so sweet and airy. "And I need you to find the courage to show him. So I ask once more, are you going to pursue him?"
My puckered mouth caressed his jaw. He shivered from gloved hands grazing up and down his back. His face was flushed, and he feared where this would lead and in desperation he panted, "Yes, I will," Hoping that would assuage me and I would drop my hands.
This boy was not accustomed to playing these games, so this was as good a time as any to teach him. "Close your eyes."
As he did I turned him around, forcing his back into my chest. "It starts with a whisper in his ear. He likes the feeling of lips here. Can you see him? Can you imagine doing this to him?" His hair smelled of lavender, linen, antique books. "He has a fascination with hands. For all your delicate features, you have very striking hands. He would like that." I laced my gloved fingers with his, and he pressed into me.
His voice quaked, "Sebastian, we shouldn't—"
"Hush. Take what I am offering you." My touches trailed lower, and he tilted back his hips. "You can touch him anywhere, but his special places are on his lower back, his thighs, oh Joanne, he has the most luscious thighs..." I buried my nose in the boy's hair and sighed, "And how he would pull at my hair when we kissed..."
"You long for him still..." Joanne whimpered from my hand on his rear. How he quivered when my lips met his neck.
I sighed. "Yes, so very much." My hips collided with his backside to feel the cleft of his rump through my trousers. "He whimpers and moans from the slightest touch, oh to hear that symphony once more... do you ache to hear him?" Hands travelled over his chest, grazing against pert nipples. I drank in his pleasure that was so easy to cull from him.
Joanne took in a sharp breath, mouth agape. "And what does he do to you, Sebastian?" So he was learning the rules of this game.
"He disarms me, completely, to a point where I cannot recognize myself." My hands roamed over that slim tummy, and Joanne pushed them lower, fingers pawing over pubis and he bent his head back over my shoulder. I hissed in his ear, "He likes my thick cock in his mouth. He likes it in his arse as well, with his feet in my face."
Joanne moaned to hear these dirty secrets. "Sebastian, kiss me." As I did so, he forced my hands to the erection between his legs, crying into my mouth as I grasped it. His tongue felt as honey, every breath as spun sugar on a cake.
"You want him, do you, Joanne? Do you want his lovely hands where mine are right now? Do you want his lips everywhere else?"
"Yes... oh my God yes, Sebastian, finish me off..." His hips jerked into my fist, he clung to my shoulders and I tasted the saccharine sweat on his brow.
One hand fisted around his rigid cock while the other travelled between his cheeks, fingers creeping down the centre, across that tight hole, between his legs and over the soft flesh of his sack. "He takes his pleasure quickly, and greedily, and viciously. Can you feel him doing this to you?"
"I want him!" He gasped.
"And how do you want him?" I purred, my rhythm urging his confession.
"I want to know his taste… how he sounds when he calls my name…" I pumped faster, the memories of such things coming to the forefront of my mind, "I want him to bury inside me—"
"You want him to fuck you." I prodded at his twitching hole and he strangled a whimper. My pulse slowed over his length. "Admit to it. You cannot stop imagining the scene in your mind. What does it look like? How does it feel?"
"I want him on top of me, hah, as domineering with me as he is with everything else." He panted as I quickened the pace. "Does it feel good to have him inside? Does it feel good to be fucked by him, Sebastian?"
I bit into his neck, for somewhere deep within was something I had not admitted to feeling, a sort of bitterness, the longing one feels for a thing that was lost. I very well could have taken this charming little lad, unbuttoned my trousers and bent him completely over the bed. As worked up as he was I would receive no protest. If I did then all I would think about was Ciel, how this boy before me did not have the brand on his back, how he would not growl into the duvet, how he could not possess the complex blend of corruption and beauty and splendour that defined my master.
My hand twisted his wet prick, ready to spend. I whispered low, words to send him to the brink. "You will know for yourself soon. And when you have him, give him this pleasure for me."
He jerked his hips into mine, a cracking wail as he came over my gloves. He shivered under my lips, a hand to his mouth, unbelieving of what just transpired. His knees shook and I held him tight, tongue trailing over his temple to taste the nectar, fear purged, a little more emboldened. I felt his essence was lacking in a certain quality, a kind of sharp ferocity that I had come to crave. I sighed, held him still for a time as he calmed, muscles relaxing under my hold.
My words were more than suggestion. They guaranteed he would seek to bring these fantasies to absolute reality, just as captivating as the gown draped over the mattress.
