Title: Snapshots

Author: Neko-chan

Fandom: Kuroshitsuji/Kuroshitsuji II

Pairings: various (mostly Sebastian/Ciel)

Ratings: various (usually T or M)

Summary: A collection of vignettes covering a variety of prompts, pairings, and themes.

Author's Note: Figured that I might as well do this for the shorter stories/vignettes and the ficlets that tend to lean more towards the experimental. These will be irregularly updated and will vary in length.

Summary: Prompt from BlackButler(dot)net—"school." May or may not continue this. If so, it'd probably be in a later chapter. Mostly had an image that I wanted to get written out.


The first time that Ciel gets called to the principal's office, it is the second day of freshman year. He is already bored with his classes: most of the subjects that each teacher specializes in he has already covered in detail through his childhood tutors and the private primary school that his parents sent him to. But the American school system is behind, and the blue-eyed boy knows that he must put up with it until his mother and father can find a suitable alternative.

But, until that time comes, Ciel is bored—

And perhaps that is why he loses his temper when normally he would have just looked away, bored expression settling upon his face as he waited for the droll words to end. That doesn't happen this time, however, and before Ciel realizes what it is that he has done, his eyes are lighting with a dark ferocity and his hand comes up to slap the blonde who won't stop speaking those words.

The teacher had intervened before the blonde had the chance to retaliate and with the only proof that something had happened being the red handprint upon the other boy's cheek, it was Ciel who had been punished and sent to the principal's office.

He stares at the door before him, scowl tugging deep at the corners of his mouth: he is annoyed at the situation, but moreso at himself at the loss of control. What would his father say once he heard of this? And his mother… Though he was too old for her spankings, he still remembered just how much they had hurt when he had been younger—and she was sure to come up with an adequate punishment in lieu of them.

He sighs softly, bringing his chin upwards—no one could fault him for his chilly Phantomhive pride—and lightly knocks upon the office door. A voice murmurs, "Enter," and Ciel pushes the door open so that he might step inward.

Bemused mahogany-colored eyes greet him, and Ciel is surprised to see the man curl his lips upwards in an enigmatic smile. The man is relatively young, dressed in a white button-down shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, black kid gloves that covered his hands, and equally black jeans—nice quality but still mostly casual for all of it. This was his principal…?

Ciel remains silent as he takes a seat at the gestured-to chair, weighing what he should say since his previously prepared words have flown from his mind. Before he can settle himself, the principal speaks once more: "Regardless, I will have to punish you for slapping Mr. Trancy. But dare I ask what it was that he said to you that encouraged you to strike him on your second day of school here?"

The question is asked with a quirked eyebrow, and Ciel can't help but stiffen his spine in response, eyes sparking as he meets the opposite pair. His answer is dignified and self-composed despite the loss of temper earlier. "He insulted my family."

The man laughs at that, bemusement darkening and almost seeming to take on a wicked edge as his head tilts to the side. "Are all British citizens so concerned with family pride?"

Ciel arches his own eyebrow in reply, looking the man up and down before crossing his legs neatly. "Do all Americans share a lack of pride in appearance?" he retorts easily enough, calling the principal on his apparent lack of concern over an appropriate dress code for himself.

Instead of becoming angry, the principal smiles once more and Ciel feels a stirring of unease at the look in the man's eyes. "You're to play a game of chess with me; this shall be your punishment."

Ciel can't remember the last time he lost a chess game.

It has been years—not even his own father can keep up with the labyrinthine twistings within his mind—and the boy's breath catches in his throat as he stares down at the black knight that has just checkmated him.

"…again," he says, his voice less a request and more a demand. He never loses, particularly at games, and Ciel refuses to acknowledge that the principal of his new school has managed to beat him at his particular brand of specialty. It doesn't fit into the order of things that Ciel has established for himself, and the boy is determined to fix the situation so that it once more makes sense. And that means beating this man at his favorite game.

"As you wish," the principal chuckles, tugging off his gloves with elegant, economical gestures of his hands. Ciel's gaze is caught by the tattoo on the dark-haired man's left hand; he recognizes it, remembers the symbol from when he had his Medieval Studies tutor.

It is the Seal of Solomon.

He glances up then, fingers tightening over his chair's armrests at seeing the faint glow of hellfire in the other's eyes. His heart feels as if it's skipped a beat, stuttering in shock and denial before its pace quickens: this is not possible.

"Welcome back, Ciel," the man murmurs.

And as he shoves the board and its pieces from the desk to reach across it, fingers wrapping tight in his principal's shirt to tug him close—as he kisses him, right eye flaring with pain and the knowledge that he will once more have to wear a cover over it, Ciel remembers.