Disclaimer: Yana Toboso owns Sebastian, Ciel, and my eternal gratitude.
AN: It's going to be multi-chaptered, so wish me luck, if you would =) The title has everything to do with the Kübler-Ross model that depicts the five stages of grief, though that won't be the feeling I'm focusing on... *wink*
Text= Sebastian
Text= Ciel
Text= Dual thought
When I hold him close, it is usually in passing.
It is, more often than not, to protect him.
This slight, beautiful frame.
This delicate, weak husk of a body.
This forlorn shell, with a core of blinding, mouthwatering white.
When he holds me closely, I think nothing of it.
He has to, should he someday wish to claim his reward.
That grip, overwhelming and possessive.
That expression, blank and unreadable.
That lie he lives, a refuge that I sometimes find myself clinging to.
When I cradle him in my arms, I am touching him.
This is something he allows very, very strictly.
But here, in this moment of exception, it is different.
I can hear his fluttering pulse, wholly mortal, imperfect in rhythm.
I can see his pride being tossed aside, in favor of the shelter I am offering.
I can feel his grip, demanding and willful and lost.
I want to-
When he has me in this cradled embrace, I do not overlook that he is touching me.
I don't want him to touch me. It burns.
I want him to touch me. It soothes.
I can smell his scent, vivid, warm, and much too human.
I can see only black, as I hide beneath a curtain of soft, thick, ebony hair.
I can feel his voice hum through his chest as he speaks, dark silk rubbing against my skull as I listen.
I wish, maybe, that he would-
Hold him-
Hold me-
Closer.
I do so.
He reins me in further.
When we are close, this close, my thoughts begin to oppose one another.
He is fragile. I want to break him until there is nothing left.
He is fragile. I want to heal his bleeding heart.
I want to devour him, this temptation, whose breath stains my neck.
I want to treasure him, this little gem; the only one I've ever found in my long existence.
I want to see those mismatched eyes full of horror and pain.
I want to see them aglow with delight, shining, a sapphire and amethyst engraved into a porcelain face.
I am sure-
When I am in this proximity to him, I forget everything.
He is a demon. A creature sired by the flames of hell.
He is my savior. A creature who snatched me away from the clutches of death, when angels were no where in sight.
I have the urge to push him away, to tell him to burn in the world of sin he emerged from.
I have the urge to never let go, and will his strength to stay beside me.
I want to see him lose, and watch that smirk falter with defeat.
I want him to win, always, and let his blood-red eyes gleam with his victory.
I don't think-
He does not-
That he could ever-
Understand.
"Sebastian."
When he says my name, the chain that tethers us rattles. Curls tightly around us.
I want to sever it with the hunger that tenses in the curve of my talons.
I want it to bind tight, and grant sweet suffocation.
This feeling he gives me is disgusting. I cannot name it.
It is pleasant. I want to bask in it.
Somehow, I feel-
"Young Master."
When he replies, I hear the obligation in his voice.
I like the tone; recognition of what he is and to whom he belongs.
I despise it, wondering why it cannot be genuine, bear no grudge.
What I feel for him has no definition. It hurts when I contemplate it.
It fills me with warmth. I want to capture it.
Yet none of it feels-
That this is not-
As though it is-
Enough.
AN: Hope you enjoyed so far ;)