Not Lying
Notes: Wanted to write something with Sebastian and Ciel - they were the first couple I ever roleplayed, and I have fond memories of an amazing roleplay I did with a friend of mine. Had lots of crazy, crazy stuff. Ex lovers, the whole thing. I miss the girl terribly, but, c'est la vie, eh?
Ciel is older here. It's a personal choice due to headcanon mess involving Sebastian, aaand it would take ages to explain, so. xD
It was traditional in a Christian society for the soon-to-be-betrothed husband to meet with a priest, to discuss the path that his life would follow after the wedding ceremony. The final task before Sunday was for Ciel to meet with this priest - but for obvious reasons, mostly in the shape of his most loyal and trustworthy servant, he had put off the meeting until very, very late on Saturday.
Sebastian was away at the Trancy ruins, on a task that Ciel had not asked about.
The black-painted carriage trundled up the driveway to Maylene’s welcoming presence, more a hearse than a vehicle of faith. It really was funny, to Ciel, how easily religion became skewed once you thought about it for more than a second. That deep, true faith most Victorian men were instilled with had never had a chance to prosper with him - oh, he could’ve tended to it, fanned the flames of belief higher, but why?
God had never done anything except ruin, ruin, ruin, or allow ruin.
The Devil had helped him damn himself, but at least he regained who he was - who his family was. Pride, not faith, had saved him.
Just for tonight, he’d pretend to be a believer. It wouldn’t do to have the priest sense something off.
. . .
He’d declined to meet him in the living room. Such a visit required privacy and neatness; his study was a more proper room for discussing religion, and it had the added benefit of placing a desk between him and the man of God.
For a man of God, he did not look in particular good health. Brown spots dotted his face from old age, and the many wrinkles around his jaw and beneath his eyes folded like waves when he moved his head. For a man of God, God didn’t really look after his own. The cross around his neck wouldn’t save him from the worms and maggots - but then, his body wasn’t going to be eaten by the worms and maggots.
Ciel inclined his head. He pressed his fingers together in a triangle.
The priest smiled kindly, and didn’t say a word.
“What is your thought on demons, Father?” Ciel ventured. His eyes had fallen on a gift Sebastian had given him some years ago - a trivial and ridiculous gift, but there it stayed by the door. It was an antique Chinese vase. Lau said it was priceless; that it had belonged to a royal family whom had perished in some fire or other. Was it really wrong to think badly of the demon for doing as demons did?
He shifted his gaze to the right, and to the ailing priest. He watched his trembling hand lift, and cross himself twice.
“Demons, my boy, should be avoided. They bring hellfire and damnation, and tempt the good onto a wicked path, doing the devil’s work t-“
“If,” Ciel interrupted smoothly, “they let the demon tempt, then it’s really their own fault, isn’t it?” Cocking his head to one side, Ciel smiled. “Pardon me for interrupting father, but isn’t it also a sin to blame something on a demon when it is a choice?”
“A choice, my son?” The old priest’s eyes sharpened.
A bird tapped at his window, black as pitch, and nestled on the sill. He thought he caught a hint of bright red eyes, but the moment sped past too quickly.
“A choice.” The bird preened at its feathers. Vain bastard. Ciel’s throat ached with a chuckle, but he didn’t let his sober expression lighten. He turned back to the priest, unfolded his hands. “A demon can merely tempt. It is the human’s choice whether or not to follow the words of God, or the words of a demon. Therefore, the demon is not inherently bad, per se.”
“I do no-“
“The demon only does what is instinct for him, doesn’t he? A starving animal kills and hunts another because that is what instinct is.” Rising from the desk, Ciel moved to the window, and opened it a little. The bird didn’t move from the sill, defiantly tucking its wing up, “you wouldn’t blame the animal, you would blame the person that didn’t feed it.”
“My child, you are being blasphemous.” With his hands trembling from more than age, the priest rose to his own feet and surveyed the young man by the window. Moonlight made him a ghost, skin near translucent, the dark colour of his hair matching the clear sky above - and those eyes, bright and blue as cornflowers, watched a point on the horizon.
“If God’s word decrees that a child’s family must be killed, would it be wrong for the child to bargain with a demon to protect them?” Ciel asked, his voice a whisper. He ran a nail over the glass pane - thought he saw the bird flinch, knew he felt the priest flinch. “And if that - the senseless killing of a family - is thought of as good, is what a demon does truly bad?”
“Child!”
Ciel glanced at him, and by the time he looked back at the window, the bird was gone. He sighed, and rounded on the priest, settling back at the desk. Toying with a pen, he took in the priest’s mottled expression, half fear, half rage, the way his gnarled old fingers curled around a rosary bead nearly crumbling from wear and tear.
“A demon,” the priest said tremblingly, “is a creature against God. Sin is his greatest weapon - do you sin, boy?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” When the priest choked, Ciel smiled, and leaned over his desk. “Did you expect me to say no? That would be a lie, Father. I have sinned. I do not require absolution. I do not consider God to be a problem - I have not considered Him in a while.”
“So far, boy, have you strayed,” the gnarled hand crept over his own, fingers searching, prying, “that you do not believe in God?”
“I believe in society, and in the evils of society. I believe in being honest. I believe in demons - and in angels. God? Perhaps not. Like the Devil, I imagine He does not exist. Demons and angels do the job well enough, don’t you think?”
The priest sputtered a reply, something in Latin, something saintly. Like faith, there was a knock on the door, and it opened quietly with his nod. Sebastian’s face appeared around the jamb, with those crimson eyes watchful.
“Kindly escort our friend out, Sebastian. I believe he has learned all he needs to from me, and I require sleep,” Ciel said carelessly, and stood. The priest’s fingers curled around his wrist, keeping hold. His pupils nearly swallowed the whites of his eyes, spittle trailing from the fervent words on his lips.
“I cannot, in good conscience, marry you to a woman when you do not believe! Marriage is a union underneath God between believers - it will be a lie! A lie!” His hand flashed up, down, to his shoulderblades.
Sebastian stood by, half-smile frozen on his lips.
Ciel shook his hand loose and left his office, uttering to himself, “A marriage between myself and Elizabeth will be a lie in more than one way.”
. . .
It wasn’t that he didn’t love Elizabeth. He did. She was, and always would be, his childhood love, his best friend. He did not trust her - no, he did trust her, just not to that same extent as he trusted Sebastian - and the desires he had for other things could not be fulfilled.
Elizabeth was too soft, too easily hurt. Her reputation would benefit from the marriage, but she knew, as well as he did, that this was merely business; a transaction that would aid the two of them. A lie, then, to come under God at all; and Elizabeth had been happy to do that. She did love him, in a truer and more pure way than he deserved.
If she - as a good, God-fearing woman - knew what he had done, with whom he had laid, what would she think of him?
Sebastian’s body remained cool, always, to the touch - his skin remained marble, but it breathed, it melted, it lived beneath his fingers. Simple touching, to relish in the feeling of flesh and hair and firm, young muscle; simple touching, merely to be - he had never had that. He would not have that, not with Elizabeth. There was too much shyness there.
“I am flattered that you hold me to such a regard, my lord, as your god and ... dare I say, idol?” Sebastian’s smirk widened.
Ciel snorted, pushing him to the other side. “I should have known you’d memorize and twist my words. I worship no-one, Sebastian. I enjoy, I admire. I do not ‘worship’, just as I do not lie. Admire, however...” He let his stare dip, down the broad chest, the flat stomach, his hips enticingly hidden by silk sheets soiled and ripped and stained, “admire is something I can do.”
Sebastian laughed, and extended an arm to draw around his shoulders. Ciel moved with him, falling against his chest, his smooth, strong chest, and cradling the demon’s Narcissus-pretty face in his hands, taking his mouth with hard, quick kisses, his hair with little tugs of his fingers.
It went unsaid between them, that Sebastian would be the one to claim him, take him, damn him.
Not lying didn’t mean speaking the truth, after all.
Ciel is older here. It's a personal choice due to headcanon mess involving Sebastian, aaand it would take ages to explain, so. xD
It was traditional in a Christian society for the soon-to-be-betrothed husband to meet with a priest, to discuss the path that his life would follow after the wedding ceremony. The final task before Sunday was for Ciel to meet with this priest - but for obvious reasons, mostly in the shape of his most loyal and trustworthy servant, he had put off the meeting until very, very late on Saturday.
Sebastian was away at the Trancy ruins, on a task that Ciel had not asked about.
The black-painted carriage trundled up the driveway to Maylene’s welcoming presence, more a hearse than a vehicle of faith. It really was funny, to Ciel, how easily religion became skewed once you thought about it for more than a second. That deep, true faith most Victorian men were instilled with had never had a chance to prosper with him - oh, he could’ve tended to it, fanned the flames of belief higher, but why?
God had never done anything except ruin, ruin, ruin, or allow ruin.
The Devil had helped him damn himself, but at least he regained who he was - who his family was. Pride, not faith, had saved him.
Just for tonight, he’d pretend to be a believer. It wouldn’t do to have the priest sense something off.
. . .
He’d declined to meet him in the living room. Such a visit required privacy and neatness; his study was a more proper room for discussing religion, and it had the added benefit of placing a desk between him and the man of God.
For a man of God, he did not look in particular good health. Brown spots dotted his face from old age, and the many wrinkles around his jaw and beneath his eyes folded like waves when he moved his head. For a man of God, God didn’t really look after his own. The cross around his neck wouldn’t save him from the worms and maggots - but then, his body wasn’t going to be eaten by the worms and maggots.
Ciel inclined his head. He pressed his fingers together in a triangle.
The priest smiled kindly, and didn’t say a word.
“What is your thought on demons, Father?” Ciel ventured. His eyes had fallen on a gift Sebastian had given him some years ago - a trivial and ridiculous gift, but there it stayed by the door. It was an antique Chinese vase. Lau said it was priceless; that it had belonged to a royal family whom had perished in some fire or other. Was it really wrong to think badly of the demon for doing as demons did?
He shifted his gaze to the right, and to the ailing priest. He watched his trembling hand lift, and cross himself twice.
“Demons, my boy, should be avoided. They bring hellfire and damnation, and tempt the good onto a wicked path, doing the devil’s work t-“
“If,” Ciel interrupted smoothly, “they let the demon tempt, then it’s really their own fault, isn’t it?” Cocking his head to one side, Ciel smiled. “Pardon me for interrupting father, but isn’t it also a sin to blame something on a demon when it is a choice?”
“A choice, my son?” The old priest’s eyes sharpened.
A bird tapped at his window, black as pitch, and nestled on the sill. He thought he caught a hint of bright red eyes, but the moment sped past too quickly.
“A choice.” The bird preened at its feathers. Vain bastard. Ciel’s throat ached with a chuckle, but he didn’t let his sober expression lighten. He turned back to the priest, unfolded his hands. “A demon can merely tempt. It is the human’s choice whether or not to follow the words of God, or the words of a demon. Therefore, the demon is not inherently bad, per se.”
“I do no-“
“The demon only does what is instinct for him, doesn’t he? A starving animal kills and hunts another because that is what instinct is.” Rising from the desk, Ciel moved to the window, and opened it a little. The bird didn’t move from the sill, defiantly tucking its wing up, “you wouldn’t blame the animal, you would blame the person that didn’t feed it.”
“My child, you are being blasphemous.” With his hands trembling from more than age, the priest rose to his own feet and surveyed the young man by the window. Moonlight made him a ghost, skin near translucent, the dark colour of his hair matching the clear sky above - and those eyes, bright and blue as cornflowers, watched a point on the horizon.
“If God’s word decrees that a child’s family must be killed, would it be wrong for the child to bargain with a demon to protect them?” Ciel asked, his voice a whisper. He ran a nail over the glass pane - thought he saw the bird flinch, knew he felt the priest flinch. “And if that - the senseless killing of a family - is thought of as good, is what a demon does truly bad?”
“Child!”
Ciel glanced at him, and by the time he looked back at the window, the bird was gone. He sighed, and rounded on the priest, settling back at the desk. Toying with a pen, he took in the priest’s mottled expression, half fear, half rage, the way his gnarled old fingers curled around a rosary bead nearly crumbling from wear and tear.
“A demon,” the priest said tremblingly, “is a creature against God. Sin is his greatest weapon - do you sin, boy?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” When the priest choked, Ciel smiled, and leaned over his desk. “Did you expect me to say no? That would be a lie, Father. I have sinned. I do not require absolution. I do not consider God to be a problem - I have not considered Him in a while.”
“So far, boy, have you strayed,” the gnarled hand crept over his own, fingers searching, prying, “that you do not believe in God?”
“I believe in society, and in the evils of society. I believe in being honest. I believe in demons - and in angels. God? Perhaps not. Like the Devil, I imagine He does not exist. Demons and angels do the job well enough, don’t you think?”
The priest sputtered a reply, something in Latin, something saintly. Like faith, there was a knock on the door, and it opened quietly with his nod. Sebastian’s face appeared around the jamb, with those crimson eyes watchful.
“Kindly escort our friend out, Sebastian. I believe he has learned all he needs to from me, and I require sleep,” Ciel said carelessly, and stood. The priest’s fingers curled around his wrist, keeping hold. His pupils nearly swallowed the whites of his eyes, spittle trailing from the fervent words on his lips.
“I cannot, in good conscience, marry you to a woman when you do not believe! Marriage is a union underneath God between believers - it will be a lie! A lie!” His hand flashed up, down, to his shoulderblades.
Sebastian stood by, half-smile frozen on his lips.
Ciel shook his hand loose and left his office, uttering to himself, “A marriage between myself and Elizabeth will be a lie in more than one way.”
. . .
It wasn’t that he didn’t love Elizabeth. He did. She was, and always would be, his childhood love, his best friend. He did not trust her - no, he did trust her, just not to that same extent as he trusted Sebastian - and the desires he had for other things could not be fulfilled.
Elizabeth was too soft, too easily hurt. Her reputation would benefit from the marriage, but she knew, as well as he did, that this was merely business; a transaction that would aid the two of them. A lie, then, to come under God at all; and Elizabeth had been happy to do that. She did love him, in a truer and more pure way than he deserved.
If she - as a good, God-fearing woman - knew what he had done, with whom he had laid, what would she think of him?
Sebastian’s body remained cool, always, to the touch - his skin remained marble, but it breathed, it melted, it lived beneath his fingers. Simple touching, to relish in the feeling of flesh and hair and firm, young muscle; simple touching, merely to be - he had never had that. He would not have that, not with Elizabeth. There was too much shyness there.
“I am flattered that you hold me to such a regard, my lord, as your god and ... dare I say, idol?” Sebastian’s smirk widened.
Ciel snorted, pushing him to the other side. “I should have known you’d memorize and twist my words. I worship no-one, Sebastian. I enjoy, I admire. I do not ‘worship’, just as I do not lie. Admire, however...” He let his stare dip, down the broad chest, the flat stomach, his hips enticingly hidden by silk sheets soiled and ripped and stained, “admire is something I can do.”
Sebastian laughed, and extended an arm to draw around his shoulders. Ciel moved with him, falling against his chest, his smooth, strong chest, and cradling the demon’s Narcissus-pretty face in his hands, taking his mouth with hard, quick kisses, his hair with little tugs of his fingers.
It went unsaid between them, that Sebastian would be the one to claim him, take him, damn him.
Not lying didn’t mean speaking the truth, after all.