The stench of his own blood, drying on the newly scrubbed floor, becomes vexing.
Rainwater drips from Ciel's bluish-black bangs, shielding his expression, as he remains in a forward, hunched position, wrists lying on his knees. Nightfall quietly has passed over them, subdued, bloated with large, dark clouds and a hint of starlight and atmospheric warmth.
Somewhere in the depths of the estate, Mey-Rin and Finny argue noisily, lighting and preparing the various bedchambers for a monthly and thorough cleaning, beating out the dusty, old linens.
Ciel's woolen peasant trousers and his shoes are caked with a thick, swampy mud. He's already pulled off his soaked, white button-down and his vest, wordlessly allowing Sebastian to hover over him and attend to his gaping, reddened knife-wound on the back of Ciel's shoulder. A loathsome mistake — but Ciel supposes himself lucky to escape death at twenty-and-two. Considering the demonic and ever-constant presence.
The time for being young and brash is nearly over. Time and existence will soon be lost to him, Ciel reminds himself with a stern and yet numb familiarity, unresponsive to Sebastian's gentle touch.
"Are you finished yet?"
His words are clipped, soft as the earthy grave-soil buried underneath Ciel's fingernails.
Sebastian makes a low, thoughtful noise, intently focused on his task regardless. "Perhaps if a certain Young Master would have been a little more patient before running headlong into danger—"
Ciel's lips twist up into a sneer.
"—or perhaps if you would have done your job—AAH!" he yelps, shutting his clearwater blue eye and hanging his head down. Ciel's fingers grip harshly onto his kneecaps. The pain amplifies when the wire-thread holding together his bloody skin tightens abruptly.
"My apologies," Sebastian says, nearly purring. He's delighted by any show of vulnerability that isn't his own, Ciel thinks bitterly, panting. Horrid and utterly befitting a demon.
Once the wound is closed and cleaned out with a dose of scotch once more, he feels Sebastian's blood-tacky glove press against his waist, encouraging him to stand up from the dinner-chair. There's plenty of ruined, scarlet-hued cloths and bandages piled up on the table, along with the longer, medical needle.
Ciel's throat spasms. His vision greys when the parlor-room spins and he goes slightly limp against Sebastian's front, clutching onto his butler's sleeve to aid himself from falling.
"Mm'fine," Ciel grumbles out, ignoring a troubled, wordless look.
He straightens up, no longer with visibly quivering legs or dizziness, and walks a pace out of those cradling arms. Sebastian bows, now smiling thinly. It's hollow and slovenly and Ciel nearly loathes its existence as much as allowing his own mistakes to be brought into the light between them.
"Yes, my lord. If you don't mind, I will begin the preparations for tomorrow's dinner."
Ciel snorts, lifting his nose. "Nothing with that German wine from the cellar," he commands, heading for the immaculate, dimly lit master staircase. "It reeks like hound's piss."
A tea cup, swirling with honeyed, ginger-flavored rosebuds and lavender, gently sets down. Ciel avoids kicking it over by accident, smoothing out his night-shirt barely cresting to his lower thighs. He's practically grown out of all of them in his dressers. But that's not his concern right now.
Sebastian has gone missing in the last hour, and though Ciel can simply order him to appear, he wants to see for himself what's keeping his butler preoccupied. Of all things, it better not be a damn cat.
He considers marching downstairs with his candlestick and interrogating Bard, after wandering on the second floor-level with no avail, until Ciel hears a peculiar, thudding noise in one of the solars. An intruder? How could anyone get in without his servants noticing? With a grim, inquisitive determination, Ciel nudges the door wide-open, blocking the flame's light to his candlestick with his palm.
Shrouded in a pulsing, melding blackness, Sebastian lingers by himself. He clenches his silken, white glove dirtied and splattered by Ciel's blood, holding it close to his face and gazing down on it with an identical scarlet-hue burning deeply within his irises.
Ciel feels the air gradually warm from an icy, brittling temperature. He drops his palm, approaching his butler who doesn't look at him, but rather at the nothingness vanishing in tendrils.
"Forgive me…" Sebastian's voice rises, throaty and eerily pensive. "I had nearly forgotten myself."
He's realizing the circumstances quickly, but only sighs aloud.
"Isn't temptation and indulgence second nature for demons?" Ciel points out monotonously, as if this is a boring subject for him, placing down his candlestick to a lone, maple-wood desk.
The corners of Sebastian's mouth tilt up.
"I fear so—" A heavy, fresh tinge of blood-scent fills the solar. Sebastian's glowing red eyes widen, his pupils dilating when he witnesses Ciel lifting up a decorative, steel letter-opener from his forearm. Drizzles of red cascade along his pale, unbruised skin. "Young Master—"
"You've been a dutiful and faithful servant to me, Sebastian. For years beyond what ordinary lives would accept." Sebastian's bewilderment intensifies, pinching his features. The young man gestures for him, calmly presenting out his bleeding arm. "What kind of Master would I be if I did not seek to understand your own turmoils and alleviate them?" Ciel says, narrowing his eyes but with no malice or fear. "To which I feel the answer… is that you will do what you must in the end… …"
Silence falls. Ciel's heart rabbits against his breastbone, as the demon suddenly chuckles airily and grins. Sebastian's hand touches around his forearm, disregarding the blood, closing his fingers possessively to the wound. He leans in, dragging his mouth over Ciel's lips hotly, whispering out.
"Testing the strength of my resolve and my loyalty needn't involve you harming yourself."
Despite being a grown man, Ciel feels himself becoming indignant, glowering like a brat and flushing.
"Shut up…" he mumbles, humiliated by the Sebastian's ability to read him so carelessly, so eagerly and accurately. Ciel opens himself to another half-kiss against a smirking, pliant mouth, maneuvering around the myriad of fangs enlarging, avoiding his tongue being cut, licking deep inside.
Death will not taste so sweet and gentle.
Kuroshitsuji isn't mine. It's the middle of Summer Sebaciel Week and I went with "Day 4: First Times" (First Bloodletting)! Why the hell not! There's always blood spilling in this manga/anime! Alrighty all my Kuroshitsuji peeps out there I hope you enjoyed and any comments/thoughts appreciated! TYSM!