Chapter Text
“Young Master…”
In a velvet darkness, a pair of strong, toned arms enveloped Ciel in a hot embrace. He shuddered, surrendering to warm kisses on the back of his neck, and heat pooled in his loins as he melted against the firm body of a taller man.
“Young Master…”
Ciel whimpered as a hand snaked down his chest, wrapped itself around his need, and began stroking it. They'd barely started, but Ciel knew he wasn't going to last much longer. Breathlessly, he called out the name of the one whose touch drove him mad.
“Se-Sebastian–”
“Young Master!”
Sebastian’s voice rang sharp and clear, and Ciel’s eyes jolted open. Cold, stark winter sunshine drove away the dark, sultry heat of his dream. Ciel was in his bed, dressed in his usual nightshirt, while Sebastian was pouring tea like always, not a hair out of place.
“Your schedule begins early today with a Funtom investors meeting at ten,” said Sebastian, presenting the young earl his favorite Ceylon blend along with a copy of The Times. A smirk crossed the devil's lips as his eyes darted downward. “I do beg your pardon for interrupting what I'm certain was a most pleasant dream.”
A flush swept across Ciel's cheeks, and he quickly adjusted the duvet in an attempt to conceal his evident arousal. It was bad enough that Sebastian- a man, and a devil of all things- had so thoroughly invaded his dreams and fantasies lately. Did that damn demon have to call attention to it as well?
"It's none of your concern," Ciel grumbled, grabbing hold of The Times. Eager to distract himself from the fantasy of Sebastian's touch, Ciel focused on the major headline: that evening's sold-out grand premier of The Importance of Being Earnest, the latest masterpiece by London's most celebrated playwright, Oscar Wilde. Theater wasn't one of Ciel's typical interests, but it was a sufficient diversion for the moment.
"I've kept this evening free of appointments," Sebastian said, "But I assume you've something planned with Lady Elizabeth."
For a moment, Ciel was puzzled.
“What's she got to do with–?"
Ciel swallowed his words when he noticed the date– February 14th, 1895– mocking him from the newspaper's front page. It was Valentine’s Day, and Ciel had completely forgotten.
"Shit," Ciel murmured. Sebastian sighed. Were his young master still a child, he'd have felt obligated to scold his foul language, but after having survived the quagmire of puberty, his "young" master was now a man. Swearing, liqour, sex-- all Ciel had to do was say the word, and every vice this world had to offer could be his.
Sebastian suspected that it was not Lady Elizabeth who seduced Ciel in his dreams. Still, she was his master’s betrothed, and as a butler he had a duty to ensure Ciel met all his obligations.
"Sebastian, buy some flowers and a diamond necklace– an expensive one–”
"Ah, a reprise of last year's eleventh hour plan?" remarked Sebastian with a smirk. “Might I suggest selecting a different gem this time? A gift for one's valentine should at least give the illusion of forethought.”
"I'd have remembered if that Wales case hadn't taken so long," Ciel insisted as he hopped out of bed. Sebastian seemed unaware that he'd been the star of Ciel's erotic dreams lately, and Ciel preferred to keep it that way. If Ciel maintained his usual cold demeanor, Sebastian would suspect nothing unusual, or so he hoped. The stark reality of the day's responsibilities had already taken care of Ciel's "morning visitor.” Dreams meant nothing at all, and were best forgotten.
It wasn't as though Ciel hated Elizabeth– far from it. Beneath the ruffles and lace was a kind and courageous spirit, and though their personalities clashed sometimes, he did enjoy her company. Once she was his wife, Ciel's lewd fixation on his butler would disappear. Next Valentine’s Day, he wouldn't forget.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and Snake entered carrying an envelope.
“‘Urgent, urgent, message for Smile!’ says Emily,” said Snake, as he handed Ciel the message.
“It’s from Irene Diaz,” said Ciel, recognizing her signature wax seal.
Dear Lord Phantomhive,
The Marquess of Queensberry threatens to sabotage tonight’s performance of The Importance of Being Earnest. Once again, I must beg for your assistance. I'll arrange the tickets if you can help. Please, stop the marquess from ruining the premier!
Although Irene Diaz had first risen to stardom in the opera, she had recently transitioned into other types of theater. To have landed a role in such an anticipated show would certainly be a boon to her career– dependent, of course, on the success of opening night.
Ciel couldn't fathom what the Marquess of Queensberry, a fellow member of the peerage, could possibly gain from such a boorish act. Not that it mattered. Those tickets were too good an offer for Ciel to refuse.
“Keeping one ruffian out of the theater for one night ought to be child’s play for you,” said Ciel to Sebastian, with a grin. “Telephone the Midfords. A date to a sold-out performance will make a perfect Valentine’s gift.”
—
Snow had completely covered the cobblestone street by the time Ciel and Elizabeth arrived at the St. James Theater that evening. But the weather hadn't chilled the crowd's excitement. The entire block buzzed with anticipation as the elegantly-dressed patrons bustled into the open doors of the brightly lit theater.
“How exciting this all is,” said Elizabeth, squeezing Ciel’s arm. With his top hat, tailored suit, and ruffled lace cravat, Ciel looked as sharp as ever. But it was Elizabeth who truly dazzled. She had donned a ruffled magenta evening gown underneath a white fur coat, and her blonde curls were topped with an elaborate feathered hat. Elizabeth may have been oblivious to the admiring glances of the gentlemen around her, but they sharply reminded Ciel of how lucky he should feel that she was his.
Ciel looked back through the open doors to where Sebastian stood in the street, snow accumulating on the shoulders of his overcoat. The two exchanged a quick nod before the large oaken doors of the theater shut behind Ciel. After all, though Elizabeth was unaware, Ciel and Sebastian had a job to do. According to their plan, Sebastian would guard the entrance, while Ciel would search for the marquess inside, in case he'd infiltrated the audience prior to their arrival. Ciel had never met Queensberry, but Sebastian had procured a photograph of the marquess easily enough. Ciel's good eye scoured the crowd in the foyer, but amidst the bustle of twirling gowns and dapper tailcoats donned by the theater-goers, Queensberry was nowhere to be seen.
Ciel and Elizabeth settled into their box seats, which, much to Ciel's delight, offered a broad view of the auditorium seating. While Elizabeth settled into her chair, Ciel leaned against the rail and craned his neck to study the crowd. If Queensberry was in this audience, Ciel would find him.
–
Outside, Sebastian surveyed the thinning crowd, but the marquess had yet to appear. Still, Sebastian remained vigilant, even as the hush of the crowd inside the theater announced the performance's beginning.
Then, silhouetted against the gaslit streets of snow, a trio of men approached the theater. The Marquess of Queensberry, a man of fifty, with gray tufted sideburns, dark bushy eyebrows, and a lean, solid build, was flanked by a pair of younger, stockier men whose lopsided jowls could only belong to seasoned prizefighters. Queensberry carried in his arms a putrid bouquet of rotting vegetables, arranged mockingly with colored paper and a white ribbon.
“The Marquess of Queensberry, I presume?” asked Sebastian. He stood at the top of the steps, blocking the theater doors.
“And who are you?” asked the marquess.
"I am simply one hell of a butler," said Sebastian, lips curling into a confident smirk. "For my master's sake, I cannot allow you– or your associates, for that matter– entrance into this theater.”
"We'll see about that," said the marquess, with a nod to his two cronies. The boxers approached Sebastian with fists bared. He ducked beneath one boxer's right hook, then backflipped away from the second boxer's uppercut.
“My my, don't the Queensberry rules prohibited pitting two men against one?” Sebastian remarked.
“A man with a mission must sometimes aim below the belt,” Queensberry retorted. Sebastian raised an eyebrow. What sort of mission required sabotaging a play with rotten vegetables?
The pair of prizefighters, undeterred by Sebastian's agility, each took another swing at him, which the demon avoided like child's play. Human opponents were so dreadfully dull, but lethal force against mere ruffians would cause trouble for his young master.
“Let him pass!” Growled one of the boxers, raising his fist once more. In response, Sebastian raised a single finger.
"For the likes of you, this should be sufficient," he said. With a deft, single strike, the demon tapped one prizefighter's neck with his finger, rendering him instantly unconscious. He then lifted the limp man above his head and threw him at the second assailant, causing both men to collapse in a heap upon the snow-covered ground.
“Useless fools,” Queensberry grumbled.
The marquess narrowed his eyes and sized up Sebastian. He appeared slight enough, but to have effortlessly taken down two heavyweights meant he must have some modicum of skill… or a lion's share of dumb luck.
“Not bad,” admitted Queensberry. “But you won't get lucky a second time.” The marquess tossed his billowing black coat to the side, and set down the vegetable bouquet, freeing up both his hands. He bent his knees slightly and took a wide stance, keeping both his fists up as he lunged toward Sebastian with an attack.
–
“To lose one parent, Mr. Worthing, may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness.”
The audience roared with laughter as the farce played out onstage, but Ciel was getting antsy. Sebastian was supposed to report to him after he dealt with Queensberry. But the play was well into its first act, with no sign of Queensberry or Sebastian. Ciel trusted his butler's abilities, of course, but checking on the situation himself would, if nothing else, grant him peace of mind.
"Darling, where on earth are you going?" asked Elizabeth when Ciel stood up.
"Just getting a bit of fresh air," said Ciel. And without further explanation, he left the box and headed down the stairs.
The foyer was empty, save for a couple of ushers clustered by the window, chattering about something sensational going on outside. That damn demon had better not be making a scene, Ciel thought.
When Ciel opened the door, he found Sebastian and Queensberry engaged in combat– if one could use that term to describe such a lopsided encounter. One after the other, Sebastian effortlessly dodged Queensberry's punches, leading the increasingly agitated older man in circles.
Ciel sighed. While he knew Sebastian loved showcasing his skill, this charade was drawing far too much attention. He would not allow Irene Diaz's performance to be upstaged by a common street brawl.
"Sebastian, I order you to end this," said Ciel. Queensberry paused his assault long enough to get an eyeful of the young earl. His top hat was adorned with a black lace ribbon, a ruffled cravat with matching lace cuffs peeked out from his suit jacket, and a white rose decorated his lapel. Without Elizabeth beside him, the intricate adornments of Ciel's clothing were a statement all their own.
"I wondered why some long haired dandy was playing doorman tonight,” he sneered, spitting on the ground. “But I see clearly now. You two are Oscar Wilde's sort of people, aren't you?"
As the Queen’s Watchdog, Ciel had a duty to keep one ear to the ground, sifting through society gossip for nuggets of truth. Oscar Wilde, a celebrity who regularly flaunted social conventions, had inspired more than a few rumors about himself. And while the stories seemed baseless and sensational taken individually, they nevertheless shared a common theme: the allegation that behind closed doors, Wilde carried out improper– and illegal– sexual relationships with other men.
Was it true? Ciel didn't know. Queensberry’s insult landed, regardless.
"Sebastian, now!" Ciel cried.
The demon was not in the habit of making his master repeat orders. With a single push, Sebastian hurled Queensberry down the stairs, his body landing atop his two cronies in the snow. With a groan, Queensberry grabbed his lower back, face twisted in pain.
“...Seven, eight, nine, ten!” Sebastian declared, clapping his hands together. “I believe we can declare this one a knockout.”
Queensberry grit his teeth and pulled himself to his feet; he hadn't had the wind knocked out of him like that in quite some time. While the marquess was known for both his pride and disagreeable nature, he could at least recognize when an opponent outclassed him. His lumbar spine popped as he gingerly reached down to pick up the vegetable bouquet.
"Tell that scoundrel Wilde that this isn't over," said Queensberry, tossing the bouquet upon the theater steps. Then, with fury and bluster, he and his cronies disappeared into the snow squall.
Sebastian turned to look at Ciel, who had left his cloak behind in the theater. White snow dusted his shoulders, and his lithe body shivered in the cold.
"Young Master," said Sebastian, "You needn't have troubled yourself with such a trifling matter as this." He gently brushed the snow from Ciel's shoulders. He recalled when they'd first made their contract, nine years ago. His master had been such a slight thing back then, a wisp of a child that Sebastian worked fervently to care for and protect. And though Ciel had grown taller, his voice deeper, his shoulders broader– he was unmistakably a man, and not a child– Sebastian's urge to care for him had only grown stronger.
Instinctively, Sebastian's gloved hand brushed some drops of melted snow from his young master's rosy cheek.
“As your butler, I simply cannot allow you to catch a chill out here," Sebastian said, his hand lingering upon Ciel's cheek. Ciel’s heart fluttered at the demon’s touch, and for a brief moment he leaned into Sebastian’s warm, inviting hand.
“You’re Oscar Wilde’s sort of people, aren’t you?”
No, Ciel said to himself. He mustn't let Queensberry, of all people, unravel him. It didn't matter how often he dreamed of Sebastian embracing his body in bed. They were just thoughts, fantasies– things he would never act out in reality. Surely once Ciel was married to Elizabeth, and had a “proper” outlet for his sexual desires, his fixation on Sebastian would evaporate into nothingness. Ciel was certainly not “Oscar Wilde’s sort of people.”
Ciel abruptly stepped back, shaking off the demon’s caress.
"Make sure that nuisance doesn't return," said Ciel to Sebastian. Then, he opened up the large theater doors and disappeared inside.