A/N: This takes place after season two.

I do not own Kuroshitsuji.

It is so easy to mistake the two.

It is too dark and his one eye cannot absorb enough of what is happening in time to figure out who was on top of him. But the air is pressed out of his lungs, the jaws of his ribs crushed down and his lips part wide. Air, air, he just needs to breathe, but all he can manage out are a few desperate whines as his hands struggle in the sheets. The blankets are cocooned around him. He cannot move. He cannot breathe in or out, and there are hands gripping his shoulders. His lone pupil widens, prying through the dark. Black hair. White cheeks. Gloves.


Ciel tries to thrust his chest, buck his hips - anything to get the pressing body off of him so he can breathe again. He can feel his brain starting to strain, a deafening throb pulsing like sonar behind his eyes. A choked sound rattles his throat and he can feel lips on his ear, the side of his face where his eye is patched, and something wet and hot slides over the lobe. It makes Ciel's stiff spine shudder. Warm breath fills the hollow of his ear and there is a soft sigh, a pleasured moan, and Ciel's eyes are tinging black and his body his convulsing. Oxygen starved, his heart beats unmercifully against the confines of his chest and then the body lifts up.

The inhale is so sharp and quick it feels like it is slicing his throat on the way down, little knives tacking themselves into the starving sacks of his lungs. Words build in his voicebox but a hand slams over his mouth, teeth clicking shut. Ciel's eye bursts open, his head flinging from side to side, but the hand is like brick and the material of the glove is cool and soft against his lips, fingertips massaging his cheeks. Panic surges through his arteries like water through a dam. It fills him up and even though he is breathing hard through his nose he still cannot calm the furious dance of his heart or the throb in his skull.

From what little he can see, he watches another hand raise from somewhere on the bed. A middle finger makes its way to a tight-lipped mouth, a flash of white teeth tugging the material away. A smooth, pale hand emerges from the cloth, and carved into the delicate skin is a star in a circle - but it does not match the one imprinted in Ciel's eye.

The boy feels like his chest expands to the point of snapping in two as panic floods him. A muffled scream dies against the palm of the demon's hand while the other plays with the hem of Ciel's nightshirt.

No, no, Sebastian! Sebastian!

The drums in his brain grow louder and louder as the demon turns Ciel's head to the side, a pair of moist lips resting over his frantic jugular. Ciel's pulse builds and hurls itself against the demon's mouth, a pumping Morse code - no, no, no!

A cruel laugh bubbles against Ciel's neck and the demon's head pulls away. The Earl's one eye can finally focus and see - a pair of golden orbs gleaming down at him.

Ciel Phantomhive screams himself awake.

The bed is almost a pool for his sweat, the damp sheets clinging to him as he flings himself into a sitting position. The bed covers are pushed away, two shaky hands clawing at his right eye. But the eyepatch was removed long before he settled in for the night and all he manages to accomplish is scratching the top of his eyelids. They blink open, pupils wide as they gaze down at his trembling hands. It was all too real, too vivid, and if he holds his breath he can still feel him here in the sheets with him, on top of him, smothering him-


It is instant, the way the door opens. It nearly slams into the wall on the other side. Ciel cannot look up fast enough to see his butler enter - by the time he has, the man clad in tight lines of black is already at the side of his bed, perched on the edge, one hand curled around the staff of a three-posted candle while the other rests on the tent of Ciel's left knee.

Ciel pants, the light of the candle reflecting on the thin sheen of sweat built on his forehead and cheeks. His eyes meet deep red, simmering from the three small fires in his hand. He watches as Sebastian sets the candles on the bedside table, his gaze never once leaving his Master's, crooked eyebrows framing worried eyes. "Young Master, you look ill."

When the boy breathes in, it shakes and trembles and sounds so much like a whimper, he would have thought it pathetic if his heart was not still thundering under his bones. He shakes his head, trying to stiffen his shaking arms and shoulders but as soon as his eyes close, the golden-eyed demon is back in his bed again, pinning him, laughing against his ear. Ciel tries so hard to stay where he is, to be the aloof young Earl Sebastian has always known him to be, but the fear has tattooed itself in his ribcage and every beat is a reminder of what it feels like.

Was it a nightmare or a memory?

He swears under his breath before crawling across the small space between himself and his demon, frail arms noosing around the other man's neck. Ciel tries to convince himself that he does not care that Sebastian instantly becomes rigid, a stone in his arms, but he does. His face buries in the crook of Sebastian's neck, lips on the collar of his waistcoat, fingers curling tightly into the fabric behind his back.

This is not weakness. This is reassuring himself that his shield does not mind that he has a few cracks.

And then his butler melts, and arms wrap around him like two secure walls and the next breath Ciel releases is far easier to let go and does not shake so much. A hand rests on the back of his head and Ciel's back is still shaking like the frantic beating of his heart makes his entire body bumpbumpbump.

"I did not think my Master the type to search for comfort in the arms of a butler," Sebastian mumbles, but his words are not condescending. As always, he is strictly honest, the hand not on Ciel's hair rubbing gently along his spine. He can feel the tremors moving through the nightshirt and he frowns, his head turning so his mouth is nestled against Ciel's cheek. "I also did not know that demons could have nightmares."

Ciel shakes his head, his vice-like grip tightening about the demon's neck. "I don't ... it was so real, Sebastian, he was right there, right on top of me ... Claude -" The name sticks in his throat.

Ciel Phantomhive would never breathe a word of fear about Claude Faustus when the sun was up, when he was alone, when he was with anyone other than Sebastian. But the night is young and the candles heard nothing and Sebastian was as bound to Ciel as his flesh was to his bones, so he lifts his lips and whispers against Sebastian's skin,

"I was scared."

Sebastian's grip tightens, fingers gliding slowly through Ciel's hair. The fact that Ciel had been taken from him, for as brief a time as it was, was disturbing enough, but knowing that such a short amount a time had had such a lasting effect on his Master - even after Ciel had become a demon, was forever troubling to Sebastian. He had promised not to fail Ciel, and yet here he was, crying out in the night. "He is long dead, young Master, and no one will ever hurt you the way he did."

Ciel knows that, believes that, but that is the ability of the dark. It can lie so easily. It can confuse two people so well. He pulls back his head just far enough to meet the blood-red gaze of his butler, his demon, and the crimson orbs snuff out the haunting yellow that had burned themselves into his throbbing head. His heart slows to an even, steady pace, and Ciel watches a slow smile crawl over Sebastian's lips.

"Sleep with me."

It is not so much an order as it is a plea. But his butler bows his head against the boy's shoulder and smiles. "Yes, my Lord."

Because Sebastian knows that his Master so rarely peels back these layers to reveal the human still buried inside of him and being able to caress the pure seed untouched in the center of Ciel's soul is an honor, if anything.

Ciel sleeps with his head tucked under Sebastian's chin. The candles burn themselves out.

A/N: So short. So fluffy. Like a puppy.

You should review. Think of the puppy.