Kuroshitsuji Fic - "Colorless" - Part 3, Masquerade
Title: Colorless - Part 3, Masquerade
Fandom: Kuroshitsuji
Rating/Warnings: PG-13ish - quite tame, but a bit of shounen-ai.
Notes: Third part already? XD' Yeah, I know. This is a very short one because it was originally going to be part of what will now be chapter four, but I decided to split it off for emphasis. The Grell we all know is starting to shine through, just a little.... Also, a bit of a cameo is waiting for you all in this one.
Yet again, thank you to shoebandit for being my beta, and again, thanks to everyone watching the story! Your kind words are making the story pour faster from my keyboard...which is good, because there's quite a ways to go yet. XD' Chapter four, if all goes well, will go up sometime tomorrow.
Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji or Grell. This version of the backstory, however, and many characters contained within, are my own creation. <3
"See the lights, see the party, the ballgowns,
See you make your way through the crowd,
And say 'Hello'...
Little did I know...." --"Love Story," Taylor Swift
It was a beautiful ballroom. Everyone was dressed in their finest gowns, turning and twirling in a shared, universal rhythm. The dance floor was a sea of fluttering velvet, satin, petticoats and feathered fans...and all had ornate, glittering masks fastened upon their faces.
Wading through the crowd, Grell felt remarkably at ease - his head held high, long brunette hair swept neatly into an elegant knot behind his head. Briefly, he passed by a looking glass, taking in his reflection - gazing at the figure in the elegant red gown that fell in skillfully-constructed tiers about his slender frame. Some faint part of his consciousness thought this was strange - was incredulous upon closer inspection of the delicate makeup that adorned his face behind the crimson mask - but that part of him seemed worlds, lifetimes away.
No one was chiding him for being clumsy. No one was telling him he wasn't behaving like a gentleman. For once, he felt completely at ease...he felt RIGHT.
Standing out on the edge of the dance floor, he watched the procession of couples twirling neatly in time to the music that livened the air - nothing like the dirge those awful records at home had become - and wished to join them. Patiently, he stood there, unsure what he was waiting for...until his golden-hazel eyes met a pair of deep, smoldering brown ones.
He felt heat settling in his chest as the figure parted the crowd, that intense brown gaze locked with his own. It was a man - tall, with dark hair, dressed all in black...the mask that rested upon his pale face littered with ebony feathers. As he approached, he knelt low, bowing his head with a flourish. "Milady," he began, not yet lifting his gaze. His voice was like a dark, fine velvet, and it made Grell's knees weaken. "May I have this dance?"
Without having to think about it - without feeling the need to correct the man - Grell held his skirts in a neat, graceful courtesy, smiling gently as he nodded his agreement. As he was lead out onto the floor, moving in measured steps that seemed natural, he could feel that warmth inside of him lighting his face. He was sure he was blushing, but he didn't care...his body fit easily against that of the taller man, stepping in time as if he had been doing this his whole life. Gently, he was spun about as the song played to a stop - and he landed neatly in his partner's arms, tilted over backward with the raven-haired man bent low over him.
Grell thought they could have remained like that for an eternity...color burned into his cheeks as brown eyes bored into hazel. Slowly, slowly, the gentleman pulled him closer, breath warm and sweet as fine wine against his skin...that distant part of his brain that told him that this was wrong had silenced....
Their lips met, hazel eyes drifting shut as the kiss turned deeper - Grell reciprocated every last bit of passion, starved for the affection, the closeness, the security -
"Mister Sutcliff?"
Jolting upright, the music teacher found himself staring out into his little rented classroom, the custodian of the building watching him with a brow raised. Blinking sleepily, he felt first disappointed, then confused.
Sitting with his arms resting on the desk he had fallen asleep upon, wearing his usual beat-up blazer and dress pants instead of a red silken gown, he could swear he still heard the orchestra play.