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The Spaces Between Us	By : zoni Category: > Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji ???) Views: 2761 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji and do not profit from my fan fiction.

Chapter List
- 1-Chapter One
- 2-Chapter Two
- 1
- 2
The Spaces Between Us

Chapter One

by Zoni

Everything around me is tense.

The day is ordinary enough. Sitting in my office, I can feel the light summer breeze blowing in and onto my neck from the open window behind my desk. On the lawns, somewhere far below, I can hear the sounds of my wife chattering away like a bird with her friend that has come to visit us for the day. In front of me, a stack of paper awaits my signature and whatever other information I might need to provide. Unfinished correspondence to the Queen rests to my right, still needing my final word before it is sent away. All of these things are normal in every way, and yet I feel incredibly tense.

The reason for all of the tension that I am feeling is standing no more than ten feet away from me. Sebastian. Even as I drag the tip of my pen across paper and feel the soft rasp of the nib against the fibers, I cannot seem to concentrate on anything but him. Every little movement he makes draws my attention like a moth to a flame. I do not like this feeling, this unease that his presence brings me. The sounds of clinking china and the blade of a knife hitting a pie platter should be something that fades into the background. After all, I have heard these things every single day for the past ten years. Yet, I can hear them even more clearly now than the sounds of my own thoughts.

  A cup of tea, temptingly fragrant, is sat on the edge of the desk next to me. Smooth, gloved fingers pull back from the edge of the saucer. I pause in my paperwork, hand freezing over the last line of a business contract. Unable to stop myself, I look up at him. Warm brown eyes meet mine for a moment before he looks away. His voice is quiet as he asks me, "Young master, will you be accompanying Lady Phantomhive on her excursion to the country over the weekend?"

  "No," I respond, still looking at him. I do not understand why he still calls me his 'young master.' At the age of twenty, he could easily stop calling me by that childish title. In front of others, he simply addresses me as master. The fact that he does not do so when we are alone bothers me, adding to that slight sense of unease that is still in the back of my mind. "There is too much work to do for Funtom Company. She can take Paula with her for company, if she wants."

  He watches me as though he is looking for some response beyond words. I have grown too used to those looks as of late. After the briefest moment, he asks, "Would you like a slice of the dacquoise?"

  Two months ago, he would not even have had to ask. If there is any weakness that I possess, it is my love of sweets. That weakness is one that he has always exploited, for his own benefit or mine. Yet, lately, I have not indulged in the delicate treats that he creates for me for whatever reasons he sees fit. Where once we had been reasonably close, we now barely acknowledge one another. At my own discretion, the two of us have drifted far apart. Even with this distance between us, however, I am still somehow always very aware of him. Perhaps even more so than I was before.

  Today, I can feel my hesitation giving way to the temptations that the sweet cake and strawberries offer me. I war with myself for only a moment before inclining my head in acceptance. In an instant, he has placed a slice of the dessert before me, surrounded by ripe fruit. The layers of cream and filling are smooth, creamy and chilled to perfection. The cake is every bit as delicious as it looked. Yet, I cannot forget the very reason that I hesitated to take it. It is all too easy for me to recall the events that happened not so long ago that inevitably caused this rift between him and me.

  Three months ago, the atmosphere inside of my mansion had already become wound very tight. It was something that I had anticipated. After all, once my impending marriage to Lizzy had been announced, things had changed dramatically within my household. Aunt Frances had always been particular about the goings on within my home. That attitude became even more prevalent as I prepared to marry her daughter. Over the space of six months, the house became a sparkling example of cleanliness. The entire household staff had also been on their best behavior as the date approached.

  While their behavior was exemplary, Sebastian fell into a very foul mood as the wedding drew closer. While flawless in his duties, he became very short with the other servants. Even mild offenses were treated as though they were severe. His mood was so thick that it was nearly tangible. We had all dealt with him being angry before, but this time it was on a completely different level. Even so, he remained patient with me. As such, even when the other servants complained, I did not approach him about it. I knew that the impending marriage was to blame, but I was not certain as to why. Originally, I assumed that he disliked the trouble that the wedding was causing in the day-to-day activities around the house. He never liked it when things began to turn into chaos, and carefully controlled chaos had been the order of the day. Whatever I might have assumed, I soon discovered how very far off the mark I had been.

The night before my wedding, I finally decided to ask him what was bothering him. It had been very late in the evening. Final preparations for the next day had taken much longer than expected. The last of my guests for the day had left after a late dinner and a fair amount of conversation. Aside from that fact, it had been a night like any other. The end to the day had been routine with Sebastian helping me to dress for bed before I retired. As he fastened the last of the buttons on my nightshirt, I asked him, "Does the wedding bother you that much?"

"Just a little," he responded. "Is it that obvious, young master?"

"Only slightly," I said. I felt no need to tell him that he had come close to frightening off the rest of the staff on more than one occasion over the previous week. "Why does it bother you?"

He said nothing in response. Instead, he continued to button the shirt. His fingers moved over the clasps with practiced ease. We had done this thousands of times through the years that he had been at my side. I did not press for an answer as I watched him work. Knowing his expressions as I did, I could tell that he was thinking even though he did not say a word. When he had finished, his fingers toyed with the edge of the collar for just one moment. Then, he slid his hand up to the side of my face. I thought that he meant to straighten my hair as he sometimes did. Instead, holding my face in his hand, he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine, kissing me.

  The first and only real reaction that I had was one of complete and total surprise. Shock wound through my body. Without even thinking, my hands had flown up against his chest and I had pushed him away, shouting, "What do you think you are doing?"

Since that night, Sebastian has become the perfect servant. Everything that he does is flawless, from cooking and cleaning to the care of the other staff members. Even when he is taking care of me or Elizabeth, his manners and actions are impeccable. There has not been a single mistake or oversight in the past two months. He simply goes about his duties without complaint or comment. I have found it impossible to talk to him the way that I used to. I felt uneasy. The conversations between us became brief and formal, neither of us saying much of anything. We have never discussed what transpired that night in the confines of my bedroom. We never will.

  Today, as with every other day, I try to push those thoughts out of my mind as soon as they begin to surface. The more that I try not to think about him, though, the more I seem to do exactly the opposite. I am all too certain that no one else notices Sebastian the way that I do. The demon has a way of capturing my attention at all the worst moments, when I least expect him to. I wonder if anyone else has noticed the way that he stared at me through the entire wedding ceremony. Does Lizzy wonder why I pulled away from her last night? Even I am forced to wonder why I cannot seem to get him out of my mind. In the end, it does not really matter. It is simply one more inconvenience in my life that I must deal with. Perhaps this is natural for someone who has entered into a contract with a demon. I truly do not know.

"Young master?" His voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

"I'm done," I tell him. Pushing my now-empty plate towards the edge of the desk, I watch as he comes over to retrieve it. He leaves the teacup, which I have yet to touch. Easily, he places the dirty plate on the teacart, sliding the rolling cart closer to the desk for ease of access. Turning back to me, he raises his hand and brushes it lightly across my jaw. Automatically, I jerk back from the touch. "Sebastian, wh-"

"I was merely removing some crumbs," he says, a look of vague confusion on his face at my reaction. He clearly thinks that I am overreacting.

"I am not a child any more, Sebastian." It is all too easy to cover my embarrassment with annoyance, pushing aside the surprise that I felt at having him touch me. Looking away, I tell him, "And for the last time, stop calling me 'young master.'"

  Without responding, he bows to me. Then, he turns and pushes the teacart out of the room as if nothing else had happened. A loud click sounds as the door slides shut and I let myself sink a little further back into my office chair. The wood of the arms feels strangely cold under my grasp as I wrap my fingers around the rests. Around me, I can once again feel the warm breeze coming in from outside. Somewhere, birds are singing. I feel shaken by that single, casual encounter. I am the Earl Phantomhive, the Queen's guard dog and someone who controls much of the movements of London's darkest corners. No one should ever be able to unnerve me like this. No one ever has except him. Why is it that I never seem to notice anything but him when he is around?

The feeling of uneasiness shadows me through the rest of the day. When work concludes and dinner is finished, nighttime comes as an unexpected relief. In the office or elsewhere in the house, other people surround me nearly constantly. I am always the Earl Phantomhive now, even when I am interacting with my friends or employees. Duty has taken on new meaning in recent years. Yet, in my bedroom, I am simply myself. Dressed in a set of pajamas, I allow myself to collapse onto my bed once I have finished removing my jewelry. As soon as I hit the mattress, Lizzy scoots over beside me and presses a kiss to my cheek.

Elizabeth has truly become a remarkable young woman in the time that has passed. She is no longer the obnoxious, offensive little girl who loved nothing more than making things cute. Over time, she has grown to be beautiful and charming, the perfect wife for a member of someone in the upper echelons of society.

While I am polite and sociable at parties, some of the reputation that I have managed to build both in business and politics invariably clouds some of the interactions that I have with London society. More than once, this has caused problems for me, no matter how charming or gracious a host I may be. It is frequently she who makes up for whatever friendly demeanor or approachability I may be lacking.

  While perhaps not as sensible as her mother, she is certainly just as headstrong and very intelligent. She is my match in many ways. I am glad to have her at my side. Pulling her closer, I still somehow find myself unable to muster a proper smile as I say, "I haven't seen you since this morning. Did you enjoy your visit with Annette?"

  It does not matter whether or not I am actually interested in hearing her response. She is delighted by the simple fact that I have even ventured to ask. A smile breaks out on her face and she blushes as she rushes to tell me everything that has happened throughout the day. Women lead such tedious lives, filled with gossip and their own brand of politics along with whatever other mysterious pursuits they enjoy. As I listen to her cover every detail of her activities, I wonder if she does not sometimes accomplish more than I do.

"I am truly looking forward to visiting Mother, though she does wish that you would come with me. I cannot wait to see the new decor that they-" Lizzy's voice trails off mid-sentence as she looks at me, her eyes narrowing as though she has suddenly noticed something.

"What is it?" I ask curiously, raising an eyebrow.

"Won't you take this off?" she asks. Lifting one hand, she reaches up and brushes her fingertips over the white bandage that I keep across my right eye while I sleep. The eye patch will not stay in place, and I will not let her see that eye uncovered. She smiles at me in what she probably thinks is a reassuring manner. "I promise, it doesn't bother me."

"No," I tell her, offering her a half smile that I hope will end the discussion.

Elizabeth does not know about the seal in my right eye. She most definitely has no knowledge of the contract that I hold with Sebastian, or the fact that he will one day devour my soul. She does not even know that it was he who saved me after my month in captivity. Though she is my wife, there are many things about me and my life that have been carefully hidden from her. She will never know. I wear a bandage over my right eye while I sleep so that, when I wake, she will not see the mark. I do not want to lie to her, but I will if I must. If she never asks the questions then I will never have to give her answers that I do not mean. She knows that part of my life is covered in shadows. I hope that, one day, she will respect this part of that particular darkness.

My eye is only one of many things that she does not know about. The extent of the violence that I sometimes reach in my thirst to please the Queen is one of them. Though Queen Victoria's health is failing, I am still Her loyal guard dog. My service to Her has only expanded in the ten years that have passed since Sebastian and I first entered into our contract. Every part of that contract and the circumstances surrounding it are also hidden from my wife just as much as they are hidden from public view. Even the details of my time in captivity and the marks that it left behind are kept away from her eyes. I wonder why she has never asked for the reasons that I never remove my shirt, not even when we are as close as two people can be. Tedious though it is, I work to keep the brand covered despite the inconvenience it causes.

  Lizzy manages to pull my thoughts away from the marks that stain my body, reaching up and pulling me down to her. In her sweet kisses, I can pull myself away from all of the darkness that haunts my past and the life that I keep hidden. She murmurs happily against my lips as I turn to bury one hand in her hair. I want nothing more than to lose myself in her touch, ignoring everything else that has happened throughout the day. The work, the visitors and even the tension with Sebastian can fade into nothing at her touch.

Lizzy wraps both of her slender arms around me, pulling me closer to her even as she deepens the kiss. She rolls back on the bed, pulling me with her. As I roll to cover her body, however, a stray thought enters my mind. For the barest fraction of a second, and in that instant it is not Lizzy that I am picturing underneath of me. In my mind's eye, I see a flash of raven black hair and hear the deeper sound of a whispered voice much different from that of my wife. Jolting backwards at the thought, I pull away from Lizzy and break the kiss.

  Her green eyes stare up at me uncomprehendingly, unsure of why I pulled away. Still, she leans in once more to capture my lips. The momentary anxiety that I felt is swept away once more as her arms twine around my waist. That small comfort that I feel in her touch flees as her fingers begin to edge under the fabric of my shirt, slowly sliding up the skin of my back. She already knows I will not allow that. Pulling away from her kiss once more, I reach down and unwrap her arms from around my waist.

  "Ciel-" Her voice is quiet but confused as I move away from her. She reaches out for me, not wanting me to leave.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I run one hand through my hair and sigh heavily. Even here, in the confines of my room, I cannot escape him. "I need a drink. I will return in a while."

Slippers slide onto my feet and I tie a dressing gown around my waist before I make my way out of the bedroom and away from my wife. Why do I keep seeing him, even when I am with her? I do not understand and that lack of comprehension is frustrating. This is not the first time that he has wandered unbidden into my thoughts. It always happens at the worst of times, when it is inappropriate beyond question. More nights than I would care to admit, I have pulled myself out of Lizzy's arms, unable to look at her when I find myself thinking of him instead. Invariably, those nights are followed by equally uncomfortable mornings. Sebastian still helps me with my bath, even though I am grown. It is not uncommon for men my age to have their valet attend to their bath, and I am far too accustomed to it to simply tell him to quit. I doubt he knows precisely why I startle at his touch on the mornings afterward, when I am left with my own imaginings of the things that I keep telling myself I do not desire.

All of these thoughts run through my mind, tumbling over themselves as I walk through the hall and down the flight of stairs to the kitchen, finding my way by the moonlight that comes through the windows in the hall. All of the lamps in the house have been dimmed. As I reach the kitchen and push the door open, I can feel all the forces in the universe conspiring against me. The very first thing that I can see upon entering the kitchen is the fact that someone is still working inside. That someone is Sebastian.

  Jacket and gloves removed, he is wearing an apron as he slices vegetables. More than likely, he is finishing preparations for tomorrow's lunch or dinner. The instant that I step into the kitchen and see him, I want to turn around and leave. He is the very last thing that I want to see when the entire goal of leaving my room was simply to get him out of my mind. Every nerve in my body is telling me to turn around and walk into the hall. However, doing that would make it obvious that something about him is bothering me. No matter how far apart we have drifted, he would probably inquire as to what that might be. Right now, that is more trouble than I am willing to deal with. Instead, I make my way over to one of the corners in the kitchen where someone has placed a chair. The wood creaks as I sit down, leaning back and focusing on both everything and nothing at once, letting my mind slide out of focus as I try to ignore him.

Though I have fought with my mind the entire day through, it slides easily out of focus in the silence of the night. The only sounds in the room are the ones that he makes while doing whatever it is that he does in the kitchen. Studying the patterns in the woodwork of the cabinet, I manage to distract myself so thoroughly that I almost do not notice him approaching me. Unexpectedly, a cup appears in front of my face.

  "You look like you could use this, young master," he says, taking a step back when I notice what he is holding.

I am too surprised to reject this unexpected offering. Reaching out, I take hold of it. As soon as the cup slides out of his hand and into mine, he turns and moves back to the counter to continue his preparations. Tentatively, I lift the drink to my lips. Warm milk, sweetened with honey. Exactly what I have loved since I was ten and what always seems to make the nights a little more bearable when I have trouble sleeping. I did not expect him to fix something like this without my asking him to do so.

  Allowing myself a little leeway, I watch him as he works. The vegetables are sliced; he has already put them away. Now, he is working on cleaning up the dishes that were left at the end of the day. The lightest hint of a smile pulls at the edges of his lips as he goes about his work, every movement effortless and perfect. I wonder why he is smiling. No matter how much he may look it, he is not human. Even after having seen him come to enjoy many of the duties he performs around the house, I have always wondered how it is that a creature like him could come to be doing dishes in my kitchen. Not only cleaning them, but also taking some sort of satisfaction from seeing work done well. The world is far stranger than even I would care to admit.

  The instant that I am done drinking the milk, he returns to my side to retrieve the glass. The warmth of his ungloved fingers brush my own as he takes it from me. Watching him return to the sink to wash it, I ask, "Do you often come here at night?"

"Sometimes," he replies, sinking his hands into the water. "I find it easier to work - and think - when I am alone."

  "Bard and the others can be a distraction," I agree. The atmosphere in the kitchen has become far more comfortable than I had expected. Some of the tension from earlier in the day has faded as the two of us talk even though our words are few. The companionable silence that replaces our conversation is even more unnerving for the fact that I do not mind it.

Without waiting for a response from him, I get to my feet. While I intended to leave, I was not the only one with that idea. Standing beside the island at the center of the kitchen, he is pulling his tailcoat on and sliding gloves back over his hands. As I exit the kitchen, I can hear the soft sounds of his footfalls on the floor behind me. The clicking of his heels on the wooden floors sets a rhythm for both of us as we walk through the empty halls of the mansion.

Up the stairs and through the corridors, the only place I am intending on going is anywhere other than my bedroom. I do not want to return to Lizzy right now. For once, all that I wish to do is walk and lose myself in the silence of the halls. That, and I do not want to leave Sebastian just now. Unease aside, I am all too aware of his presence several feet behind me. He is carrying a small candelabrum, the flickering flames throwing light on the walls for several feet around us. He does not need light to see, so I know that the candles are there only for my benefit. I wonder if he has fallen so far into his charade that he, too, sometimes forgets that he does not need the light.

As we walk, I slow my steps almost imperceptibly. Keeping his own steady pace, he is soon at my side rather than several steps behind me. Every step he takes now falls in pace with my own. Neither he nor I say anything about this change as we both walk through the house in silence. A part of my mind wonders just how far he will follow me, but that thought is cut short as we approach the study. His steps slow and he pauses, turning to look at me. Pausing, I turn to look at him to see why he has stopped. Looking at me, he offers me a surprisingly gentle smile. "I will leave you here, young master. I have other duties to attend. You may take the light, if you wish. I assume that you will be needing it, as I have not seen you carrying one of your own."

Just now, all of the tension that had faded out of me in the kitchen is returning. I am tired of fighting it. I am tired of pushing him away as I have done for the past two months. In the shadows of the hall, I turn to look at him directly, studying the fine features of his face. He looks at me questioningly, one eyebrow raised. I am certain that he expects me to simply take the light and go. There is a part of me that would like nothing less than to do just that. All that I would have to do is reach out, take the candles and walk towards my room. Yet, I do not. Instead, I do something that surprises both of us. Taking a step forward, I reach out and push him backwards towards the wall, one hand on his shoulder.

Raising his eyebrows, he looks at me in surprise. "Young ma-"

  The words are cut off as I do something that I have resisted since that fateful night before my wedding. One hand on his tie to pull him closer to me, I press my lips to his and claim his mouth with my own.

To be continued...

Author's Note: I really hate AFFN. I really, really do. They make it impossible to format chapters. That is why most of the chapter stories that I have here on AFFN are horridly behind on updates despite having new chapters up on other sites. I am -hoping- to correct some of that during the holidays. Today, however, I felt it was time to bring my newest chapter story, The Spaces Between Us, over here. "Spaces" is a seme!Ciel story. It will have hefty hints of Ciel/Seb, occasional Seb/Ciel and a sprinkling of Ciel/Lizzy (nothing explicit there, though. Sorry, I... they just creep me out in lemons. I don't mind the pair, but... no.). Spaces hits lemon in chapter three, which is not yet released. I will either put chapter two up later today or tomorrow. Please let me know what you think. :) If you -do- want to get a look at newer chapters for Spaces, The Dark Path or Memento Mori, please check out my FFN page (http://www.fanfiction.net/~zoni) or my DeviantArt (http://thezoni.deviantart.com).
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The Spaces Between Us