December 14, 1889. Ciel, Earl Phantomhive, turns 14 years old. You’ve been invited to his birthday party-along with half of London’s upper crust. It’s rumored that the earl hates his birthday; and why shouldn’t he, given that it’s common knowledge that his parents were killed and his home burned down on this day exactly four years ago? This party
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An eyebrow rises, though, at the man's next request. The young earl gives a quiet, condescending chuckle. "Too risky out here, is it, Doctor?" He mocks, tilting his head upward a little more, the tilt of his chin defiant and cocky. "In that case, I do know of a more private room nearby. Elizabeth's bedroom is just down the hall." And by 'Elizabeth' he means Lady Elizabeth Middleford, of course. Which means that, yes, he is indicating that it would be most convenient to fuck in his fiancée's bedroom.
He presses forward, hands sliding from the man's waist to rest his palms against his chest. "If you'll let me out, I'll lead the way." He whispers. "Though don't make the mistake of thinking that I'm going to allow you to punish me, Doctor." His eye narrows. "I am no child who would so easily be put over your knee."
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"Even this is a risk. I'm not certain how loud you'll be or how much I'll do to you, so I'll play it a little safe for the time being." He snickers darkly at the suggested location. There's something appealingly hideous about fucking someone in his fiancée's room while she entertains people in the ballroom, completely oblivious as to what Ciel's doing with who.
He steps back enough to let Ciel get away from the wall. "You don't need to allow it for me to desire it. Consider it a warmup to the other things I wish to do to you while I have the chance." It doesn't have to be easy for him to think it would be a great deal of fun to do.
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He's been to the Middleford townhouse often enough that he knows his way around in the dark. When he reaches Lizzie's room, the door opens without so much as a creak and he steps inside. It's dark, but not as dark as the hallway, given that the curtains of the large bay window are drawn open, allowing in the moonlight. They're on the second story, and Lizzie has a balcony outside those windows which overlooks the back garden. The room itself is very, very frilly, much like the girl who owns it. In the dark though, at least, it isn't such a strain on the eyes as it might have been during the day.
"Just don't make a mess of things," the boy warns as he turns towards the doctor. "I will not have you soiling my lady's bed." The smirk on the little noble's lips, however, indicates that he knows the irony of his words all too well. "Shut the door behind you, and we may begin."
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Even in the dark, Muraki's careful where he steps, as if the cat-like false eye barely visible under his hair offers him the animal's ability to see in low light. He notes where the room is in case he needs to make a quick disappearance and return at some point tonight. Despite the frills he notices, it's a far nicer room than the one he occupies while he builds a reputation for himself in the city.
"Then I'll keep the mess to places it's less noticeable." He eases the door shut as silently as it opened in the first place, steps in close to Ciel, and brushes his fingers over the boy's shoulder and neck to start with.
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The earl leans into the fleeting touch, visible eye sliding closed, long lashes brushing against the apple-curve of round, slightly flushed boyish cheeks. His lips part ever so slightly, allowing warm breath past them in slow, measured inhales and exhales. He's still plainly aroused, a small protrusion in the front of his short slacks. His hands curl into little fists by his sides. "Do be sure to follow through then, Doctor." He whispers. "You are already being tested. Don't disappoint me--and perhaps worse, don't bore me."
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With the challenge to not be boring, he firmly squeezes the small bulge with one hand and slides his other under Ciel's arm, intending to lift him up and set him on the bed. "It's a pity I can't slice your clothing off of you layer by layer," he murmurs. "It would be much faster than undressing you."
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The squeeze, though, causes his breath to hitch. He turns at once to press himself close to Muraki, standing on tip-toes to curl one arm around his neck, clearly used to being carried. "You could, if you like." He whispers into the man's ear--or as close as he can get to it, with their difference in height. Sebastian could have his clothes fixed again in a matter of moments afterwards. He could even bring him an entirely new outfit, if he wanted to make the excuse for his absence that he'd been changing clothes. The thought of buttons popping one by one as they're sheared off by a blade sends a shiver down his spine. "In fact...you are welcome to." Muraki is a dangerous sort indeed--just dangerous enough that it sets Ciel's heart to hammering. There's a pleasant sort of tightening in his chest. He isn't afraid--oh, no, far from it--but he is intrigued.
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Not that Muraki would do such a thing, but with strangers, it's impossible to ever be certain of what they're capable of.
His smile only grows more darkly pleased at the open invitation to ruin that expensive outfit little by little. It's been a long time since he got to take erotic care with his knife rather than simple use a blade for surgery or killing. Muraki lifts him up, steps towards the bed, stretches him out across it, and reach into his coat pocket for the small, razor-sharp blade he doesn't like to be without.
"And what if the blade slips and draws blood?" he threatens as he starts at one wrist, slicing off buttons just as imagined before he tears the fabric like it were nothing more than paper, exposing the expensive material underneath with the precision his occupation lends itself to. "Would you let me taste you?" He could taste more than blood, but at home people rumored him to be some sort of vampire; has Ciel heard those rumors here in England?
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Perhaps Ciel will be the one inviting him around to the Phantomhive manor. And won't that be a strange occurrence. The young master never invites guests who aren't work-related.
...though that isn't to say that Muraki won't become work-related at some point in the future, if his inquiries are anything to judge by.
"Taste me?" He repeats, laughing lightly, just a little chuckle. Because that sounds rather familiar. "You are welcome to try. I have heard from a reliable source that I am something of a delicacy. But do bear in mind that a taste is all I am offering for free. I've already promised someone else rights to the full course--and he will not sit idly by if you try to steal it away." The boy lifts one pale hand--the one Muraki is not concentrating on at the moment--to press against the man's face, fingers curling in to stroke his knuckles along one cheek. Ciel's smile is sharp. "Though with such a steady hand as yours, Doctor, I doubt that the blade will do much slipping that isn't fully intended." Muraki's reputation hasn't preceded him quite this far--but this is enough to set the earl to thinking.
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If he ever ends up attracting the attention of Ciel's work persona, it will be a most interesting race to see which of them emerges on top, especially with the powers he can draw on if he truly needs to.
"The man who has rights to consume you is a very lucky one." If he is truly a man and not anything more sinister, that is. "I won't take away what belongs to him -- a taste will be enough." He'll be a little stronger for it as well in case he needs to make a fast disappearance at some point tonight or draw on other powers. Muraki lets the tip of his knife poke Ciel's forearm enough to draw a small trickle of blood away from any important blood vessels. "Even the steadiest of hands misses from time to time."
[OOC: This makes me want some sort of YnM/Kuro crossover fic. Conflicing shinigami time!]
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"Lucky? He's simply a shrewd businessman. He and I have a deal," he replies nonchalantly, as if he were engaging Muraki in polite conversation back in the ballroom, rather than splayed on his back on his fiancee's bed beneath him, hard and bleeding. "He is doing me a service before I allow him to devour me. It works out well for all parties involved."
The hand on Muraki's cheek splays out, Ciel's palm settling against his skin. Curious fingers brush over the silvery hair covering his right eye. Ciel knows well what he himself is concealing beneath his eye patch; so what is Muraki hiding? "Doctor," he says, shifting his voice to a more intimate whisper, "If you show me your eye...I will show you mine." His lips quirk up into a snide little smile.
[ooc: Oh goodness, I know! That would be incredibly interesting.]
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"There's still luck in business. It's a matter of finding the right partner who shares your goals, after all." While he lacks long-term business partners, he has one friend at home who assists as needed for mutual benefit.
Muraki doesn't tense when Ciel's fingers slide close to his eye. It's something he doesn't frequently show, but in activities like this, his hair would fall free on its own anyway; there's little to lose and apparently something to gain. "I can agree to that," he nearly purrs before he slides his hair away. The prosthetic is a harsh mismatch against his natural features, but in some way it suits him; it lets him see most things, which is the biggest appeal to Muraki.
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After he's inspected to his own content, he lowers his hand. "My turn," he murmurs. That hand drifts behind his head, loosening the knot holding his eye patch in place. With a tug, the small article comes off entirely. He drops it unceremoniously to the bed beside him. The seal emblazoned over his iris glows faintly purple in the dark of the room. He can't see well out of this eye--it's as if he's looking through the maze of lines and symbols that make up the sigil.
"No questions." He states quietly, but firmly.
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He digs his thigh into Ciel's groin for a moment to amuse himself while the eyepatch comes off and then he looks intently at the strange purple seal. While it's not immediately familiar, Muraki works with darkness enough to have an idea of what it's about -- every entity has its own emblem.
"Why question what I can assume? You're more tainted by darkness than I first suspected," he replies while he strokes the area around it and leans over to graze his lips across Ciel's temple.
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"As are you," He counters when he's caught his breath again. "I've gleaned quite a bit about you already." He murmurs, tilting his chin to the side so that Muraki's lips can travel where they like. "But enough chatter, Doctor." He whispers. "You said you wanted to play with me, didn't you?" He uses his free hand to drag the tip of his index finger through the shallow wound on his opposite arm. He then raises it to Muraki's face, smearing blood across his lower lip. He's smirking softly again. "Didn't you know? Children are quite impatient where games are concerned." He only calls himself a child when he's acting his most adult. And he's apparently had enough of playing around.
His finger remains pressed against the man's lip. "You wanted to tear these clothes to shreds, didn't you?" His tongue slides out, wetting his own lips. "Show me."
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Muraki's lips trail down to Ciel's ear, where he bites it once, before he ends up with blood on his mouth and licks it away as easily as most people would lick up a stray drop of tea. Ciel's finger ends up sucked into his mouth a moment later; he sucks it firmly and slides his tongue across the tip to get all traces of blood off.
"I take care of sick children -- I'm quite aware of how impatient and bratty they can be when they don't get what they want." He gives in enough to cut Ciel's shirt off faster, but with no less precision. Once all of his pale torso is exposed, Muraki teases one nipple with his knife and rocks his thigh again.
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