Hey guys - I'm not sure if anyone uses this website anymore. If you are still reading this in 2019 can you comment? I am also keen to know what you think of the chapters, thank you! :D

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...

The kitchen smelt like pomodoro sauce and burnt candles.

The house was still warm with people. Empty now, and littered with lipstick-kissed glasses and half-eaten gnocchi. Small gifts of food. Flowers spilling over the lips of vases. More food. So much that Nonno tried to pack it all into the fridge, between his bottles of homemade preserve and Italian wine. But it overflowed into the freezer, and when that was full, he packed the downstairs cooler too. The basement stairs creaked with his journeys up and down the varnished stairs, in the now empty house.

When they'd had guests, it was easy to forget Nonna had died.

Now her absence was overwhelming. Agni had stayed, and tried to help, but Nonno had ushered him off. The other guests left empty spaces that were quickly filled with sadness. Neither of the two men spoke. Nonno kept himself busy with the food, carefully wrapping what he could and binning all the scraps. He wasn't usually one to waste, but now things had changed.

Sebastian picked apart bread to feed to one of his cats, offering the scrap to Deborah's dainty, black nose. She ate it from his fingers, wound around his ankles like a wisp of smoke. Her tail brushed against his leg, suit too short on his ankles and wrists due to the growth spurt he'd had over the summer. The television was on, to serve as a sound other than silence in the Nonna-less home. The news was on, and as the sixteen-year-old broke off more bread for Deborah, he watched the image of a car crash flicker onto the screen.

An entire family had died.

Well, not entirely. There was a little boy. The sole survivor. Sebastian paused, fingers motionless as the cat bumped insistently against them for more food. The wrecked cars looked like soda cans, on fire and billowing smoke up to the helicopter that captured it all. And then they were showing a photo of the little boy, thrown over the shoulder of a firefighter as he reached out for the wreckage. His face was covered in blood. His minuscule hands, too. They left it on screen for a moment, before switching to the aerial view again, and Sebastian realised he was crying.

He brushed his knuckles over the tears like he didn't understand why they were there. He wasn't crying for the boy. Or perhaps, he was. He didn't know. His heart ached knowing there was someone else out there, experiencing the gut-wrenching ache of losing the one they loved most. And he started at the TV for so long, tears dripping down his cheeks and towards Deborah's paws, until the segment ended and Nonno was standing at the mouth of the living room, mouth pressed into a line.

"Vita mia," he said.

His voice was rough with mourning. Sebastian glanced up, tears reflected Technicolour with the television. As a teenager, there was no way of knowing how identical he would become to the man before him. He was too thin. Too tall. Too awkward, and yet to grow into the sturdy, wide-shouldered stance his grandfather held himself with. The old man's skin was warm like lacquered wood, eyes darker than coal and hair to match. Tattoos covered his knuckles and his forearms, shirt sleeves folded to his elbows. He always dressed beautifully, especially today.

The day they buried Nonna.

His hug smelt like alcohol and cologne, and the faint trace of dust from a suit hardly worn. Like varnish, and butter, and worn-down, expensive leather. Sebastian pressed his face into his chest and cried harder, the silk of his grandfather's tie brushing his cheek. He shook like a child in his arms, the older man rubbing his hair as he kissed the crown of his head.

"It will all be okay again," he promised, voice raw like he needed to believe it just as much as the sixteen-year-old. "With time."

Sebastian nodded under the safety of his arms, clenching his fingers into the back of his shirt as the advertisements ended, and they showed the car crash again. Broadcast the family's tragedy for the entire nation to see. Sebastian turned his face to look away from it, Deborah stepping gingerly between the two men's polished shoes.

"At least I still have you," his grandfather mumbled against his hair.

He must have been watching the television because he shook his head. Without letting go of his grandson, the old man stooped down to take the remote from the armrest of the leather lounge chair, and turned the news off. The house was quiet again. Just the two of them. Sebastian pressed his ear against his grandfather's chest and let his heartbeat fill in the empty space she left behind.

…

Alois looked as obvious as the blaring, red spotlight that flashed over the crowded ice rink.

He was wearing a Howlers t-shirt, like the hundreds of other fans packed into the stadium. It was faded red with black lettering, and it's age showed in the thin fabric and the fact that it was several sizes too small. Ciel's eye darted down to where Alois's navel piercing shone in the bright lights.

"You look obsessed," Ciel said over the music, which vibrated through the floor and beneath his sneakers. He stared with barely concealed jealousy at his best friend's tight, skinny tummy, and the blonde shot him back a dazzling smile.

"I am," Alois breathed, rocking forward on his feet again. He was wearing a red and black scarf too, to compliment the artfully scuffed denim jacket over his shoulders. Even his eyes were smudged with black. He looked like a punk. Like a Howlers groupie. Like that Russian figure skater he coveted.

"I just want him to look at me," he continued, staring up at the massive, four-faced screen that hung above the rink. The fluorescent light illuminated the back of the blonde's wide, blue eyes and Ciel couldn't help soften at the sight of his excited friend. The booming commentator's voice rung out over the music as it recounted the Howlers' last game, replaying video footage of the team.

"I don't think you have to try too hard," Ciel drawled, leaning close so he could be heard over the music and the commentator. "He's just a big, dumb animal."

Alois ignored him, mouth half-open as they showed a close up of Bard Delacroix's unshaved face on the big screen. He grinned, his crooked nose catching the light as the audience went wild for the replay. Alois cried out something indecipherable, rocking himself hard into the plastic barricade and patting his palms against the glass. When the flashback ended, he glanced sideways at Ciel with a knowing smile.

"You told me he was chivalrous," Alois smirked. "And strong , and kind of sexy in the right light, and -"

"What I said drunk doesn't count," Ciel hissed, cheeks colouring. He refused to look at his best friend and instead stared out at the polished ice. He felt the blonde lean closer, and his laugh tickled the side of his neck.

"And what about the things you said about him? "

Alois's lip bumped the side of Ciel's ear as he smiled, both their eyes flicking up to catch a familiar, handsome face on the big screen. Sebastian didn't smile, blood moving sluggishly down his cheek under the plastic of his helmet. A damp, stray strand of hair plastered to his brow. Ciel swallowed as he remembered how the man had looked after his last game. How he'd smelt like salt and blood, and something crossed between sports deodorant and the cologne Ciel's dad used to wear.

"You said some really explicit shit, peanut." Alois purred, nuzzling his hip into Ciel's side as he grinned, fluttering his lashes in the figure skater's face. "Like I mean some fucked up, triple X rated details Ciel. I didn't know you felt that way about him. Or anyone. Thought you were gonna die with your cherry in tact -"

Ciel cleared his throat and sent his friend a look. The excitement in the rink was infectious. Ciel felt his skin prick as the crowd droned, a flurry of scarves and drinks, and shrill, aggressive shouting. The game hadn't even started yet but the energy was unparalleled to anything Ciel had ever seen before. That, and the fleeting glimpse of Michaelis on the big screen, had his heart feeling flighty and young.

"I don't feel any way about him," Ciel lied. His feelings were as blatant as the loud, brassy music that stirred the audience into a red-and-black frenzy.

…

Sebastian was fast .

Ciel had suppressed how hard his heart raced when jersey number 19 circled out onto the ice, but he couldn't ignore the tug beneath his naval when he saw how damned quick the man was. Quicker than most skaters Ciel versed competitively, and twice as graceful (in a large, imposing sense). His sheer size seemed to compel him around the rink, shoulders looking twice as broad in the heavy padding on his chest. Ciel remembered exactly what he'd said to Alois while tipsy – and in that moment, as he watched Sebastian shove his slender bulk into an opposing player with face full of determination and black-plastic-teeth, he didn't take any of his drunk declarations back.

Alois was screaming. His little fists pressed into the glass with a dozen others, hair falling over his cheeks as he yelled at someone on the ice. One second he was praising the players, rising his arms in the air so high his stomach was exposed again. The next second he was crying death threats out towards them, pointing at specific players and promising cruel and exaggerated punishments.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!"

The blonde shrieked, shoulder bumping into Ciel so hard his diet soda spilt over the back of his fingers, but the figure skater wasn't paying attention. His eyes were locked on the black chunk of plastic he recognised as Sebastian's head. The man turned, and from halfway across the stadium, he recognised Alois and the brooding, silent boy beside him. His face caught in the bright lights and Ciel's heart stopped in his chest.

And then suddenly Sebastian was there. All red-and-black, padded gloves and teeth blocked out by a plastic mouth guard. He was smiling none-the-less, and the barricade rippled as he bumped up against it, pressing so close against the glass that Ciel could see the sweat beaded on his brow.

"You're here," he said loudly, slurred around the plastic, and Ciel almost laughed at how dumb it sounded but stopped at the genuine tone of the player's voice. He nodded, stunned, and shifted closer to the glass so he could get a good look at the man with a dozen cameras pointed to his back. In his peripheral Ciel could see Sebastian's back on the big screen, and his own name echoing out across the loudspeaker.

Sebastian opened his mouth to say something but he was suddenly gone. With a loud smack he hit the barricade, sending Ciel backwards in fright. Diet soda dripped onto the already sticky floor and Ciel rushed forward to look. Alois jumped up on his tip-toes again, beating the glass with his ineffectual hand.

"This is what I came here for!" The little blonde screamed, leaning forward with the rest of the crowd to watch a member of the opposing team knock Sebastian flat onto the ice.

There was a flurry of colour, the wooden clank of his stick hitting the rink, and a low, pissed off growl under the cheer of the audience. He was only on his back for an instant, and Alois cried triumphant as he reared up and head-butted the opposing player, so hard that his plastic helmet cracked and the two went scrambling back in the opposite direction.

Ciel covered his mouth as his heart threatened to climb up his throat and onto the blood-splattered ice. More of it splattered against the glass as Sebastian drew back his elbow and punched the other guy in his face, ripping his glove off with his teeth so he could connect knuckle to the opposing player's cheek. Gone was the grace of the hockey player Ciel had cherished before. It had been replaced with the primitive rage of the man Sebastian was infamous for becoming.

The other player surged forward to grab Sebastian again but a shrill whistle broke them apart, and suddenly Agni was there too, using the back of number 19's jersey as a leash to drag him away from the other man. Through the glass, and the blaring commentator, and the thudding of Ciel's own pulse, it was impossible to hear anything of what was said, other than Sebastian and Agni yelling in the face of the bleeding attacker and the referee. The taller man threw his hands up in frustrating, spinning around with his teeth grit, all plastic and narrowed eyes. He caught sight of Ciel and the nasty expression disappeared - smile lighting up his face in a way that made the mouth guard look even sillier.

"You came," Agni slurred, eyes bright.

Sebastian bumped into his side, cutting in front of his friend to press up to the glass, ignoring the screams of the crowd. He paid no mind to the sweet praises and nasty threats yelled at him, because he'd locked eyes with Ciel once more. His upper lip was bleeding, a cut just shy of his Cupid's bow, and his eyes softened and he smiled again. Like he hadn't just decked some guy in front of a dozen TV cameras.

"Are you okay?" Ciel had to scream over the crowd.

His palms were pressed flat to the barrier and Sebastian shuffled closer, his helmet touching the glass and his breath coming out in little puffs of condensation on the glass. He nodded, pressing so intimately against the barricade that Ciel blushed. The hockey player stared him down, pressing his own hand over the glass where Ciel's was. Ciel wet his mouth and shook his head at the look the man was giving to him.

"Stupid," Ciel mouthed. Sebastian huffed in amusement, sending another foggy breath across the glass. His tongue darted out to lick away the blood on his upper lip, piercing glinting in the artificial light. Ciel's stomach turned. Sebastian smiled slowly. His eyes flickered back to the game before he leaned in, nose bumping the glass inelegantly before he kissed it, leaving nothing but a smear of blood as he threw himself back into the game.

Ciel stared with his mouth half-open, and an all-consuming heat in his abdomen and between his legs. Someone beside him cleared their throat, and with a whooshing roar of voices, music and sound, Ciel was back in the real world, Alois shooting him a mean grin.

"You look obsessed," Alois teased, leaning in to laugh hard against the smaller boy's ear. Ciel was too stunned to protest. He blinked at the blood smear on the glass and shivered.

…

Showing up at the Howlers' house was significantly more terrifying whilst sober.

Sebastian had grabbed him after the game. Hard. Enough to force the air out of his lungs as those bruised, tattooed knuckles wrapped around his forearm and tugged him flush against the fence that separated the players from the eager fans. They had won. The triumph was evident on the Howlers' faces as they left the rink, helmets pinned under their arms. He smelt like sweat and blood, and his grin was infectious as he tugged Ciel close (to the dismay of a dozen female groupies) and muttered roughly in his ear.

"See you at the party, princess?"

His lip was busted but it looked hot. Ciel couldn't think much further than the crimson cut along his handsome mouth, and with Alois squeezing his hand and whining enthusiastic pleas of yes in his ear, he could do little more than nod. And that is how he found himself back in the two-story townhouse, with Alois clinging to his arm, and a thousand strangers drunk and dancing all around him.

He tugged him into the kitchen, lollypop pushed to one side of his cheek to ebb away at his anxiety. Alois was wide-eyed, fingers brushing up against every hockey player he could reach, bright teeth and charming smiles all the way down the hall, earning a double-take from men and women. Ciel dragged him by the front of his denim jacket, chewing the edge of the plastic stick in his mouth. Alois had always been a head turner.

Speaking of which…

He found him in the kitchen. Dressed all in black. Sweaty t-shirt, beer in hand, and hair pushed back off his brow. He had a graze on his forehead, red and inky with blood, and the knuckles of his free hand were dark with bruises. But he looked good. Stupidly good. With his boot pressed into the rung of a bar stool he could see a tattoo peeking through the rip in his jeans, and he wondered how much of him was covered in them. He smiled when he saw the pair of petite skaters, his lips quirking up in a way that made Ciel sick with want.

"You're here," he said for the second time that night. His eyes darted down to the candy sticking out of Ciel's mouth, and then back up to his eye.

"I'm here," Ciel said, stupid, letting the lolly clack his teeth.

"What did you think of the game?" Sebastian smiled, cocky, and Ciel was tempted to give him a rude answer. But it was entirely too difficult to forget the way he'd looked on ice. Powerful, and beautiful, and frightening. Ciel was envious, and he held his tongue, playing with the end of his lollipop stick.

"It was more violent than I thought it would be," he said, taking the candy out of his mouth to cross his arms over his chest. It made the taller man grin, black nails tapping against the side of his beer.

"Y'know they put me in the penalty box because of you." He said it low, and playful, and purposefully to rile him, and Ciel was faintly aware of how easy he played into the trap, nose twitching as he bared his teeth.

"How was that my fault?" He grit. It made Sebastian smile harder, glancing down at the way his hands curled into fists, and he stepped in a little closer.

"The way you were staring at me," Sebastian murmured. "Could feel your eyes following me all the way around the rink," he swallowed, darting his gaze down to look at the plastic sticking out of Ciel's lips. He wet his own. "Really threw me off my game," he concluded, shaking his head slowly in disappointment.

"I wasn't staring at you," Ciel lied, tongue thick. He had been. A lot. And then suddenly the lollipop wasn't in his mouth anymore, and it was being tugged past his teeth with a clack, sheen of saliva sitting on his lower lip as Sebastian Michaelis took the candy right from his mouth and stuck it into his own.

"Mm," he said thoughtfully. "Tastes like lies." And his piercing clacked on the watermelon-flavoured orb.

"That's…" Ciel said stunned, frowning. "That was mine." His cheeks burnt at the dumbness of his answer. The noirette nodded, slipping it free from his mouth with a wet smack.

"I need it," he breathed. His lips were glossy from it. Ciel couldn't look away from the cut on his mouth. It was distracting, and sexy, and stupid.

"I quit smoking, so." He tapped the end of it against Ciel's nose, sticky residue on his skin, then stuck it back between his teeth.

"Gotta go take a shower," he announced, giving Ciel another slow once over. "Unless you wanna join me." He smiled again at the way Ciel bristled, the candy a brighter shade of pink than his pierced tongue.

"In your dreams," Ciel muttered. Another brilliant response. And Sebastian grinned, brushing past him and leaving him in a stupor of sweat, and sports deodorant, and the trace of blood on his gorgeous, smirking mouth.

…

Sixty minutes and two pineapple vodkas later, Alois asked Ciel to kiss him.

They'd kissed before. Their mouths were familiar territory to each other. They'd kissed at bars, and they'd kissed simply because they were drunk, and sometimes, like tonight, they kissed to get the attention of insanely attractive men.

His lips tasted like cherry lip chap and a dozen sweet clichés. His skin smelt like baby powder. His hair, the distant trace of cigarettes and Ciel almost pulled back at that, but then their tongues met, and he made a sound that wasn't entirely put on.

Bard was watching.

That's why Ciel was kissing Alois. Why his fingers slipped under the edges of the boy's too-tight shirt and hitched it up. Subtly. Just enough for that navel piercing to catch the light before the smaller skater tugged him closer, sliding his fingers into a thick crop of buttery, blonde hair. Alois smiled into the kiss, his tongue dipping between Ciel's teeth to curl against his own, lips wet with liquor and spit, and glossy in the kitchen lights like his glazed eyes.

Ciel pulled back with a smack. Caught his best friend's lower lip between his teeth and tugged the slightest. Brushed their hips together as they kissed again, the blonde's fingers playing with the loop on the back of Ciel's jeans as his other hand traced the swell of his ass. He pulled back, chest heaving against Ciel's.

"Can he see?" Alois whispered into his mouth. Ciel flicked his lashes up to the opposite side of the room, his hands still under the blonde's shirt, stroking the soft skin of his hips. He found Bard easily. Trapped like a deer in headlights. Staring at the side of Alois's head with his beer sitting loosely in one stunned hand. His lips were pressed together. His cheeks were dark. Ciel huffed, tilting his cheek to kiss the line of the marginally taller boy's throat.

"He looks like he's dying," Ciel whispered, laughing. Alois sighed, running his tongue over his bottom lip as he struggled to catch his breath. His eyes were big and black as he stared at Ciel's mouth.

"Was he rough with you?"

Ciel blinked slowly. "Huh?"

"Last week," Alois breathed, bumping their noses together. "When he touched you. Was Bard rough?" They kissed again, wet and noisy. Ciel shook his head against the blonde's mouth.

"No." He paused to swallow. "He was gentle. Really gentle."

Alois made a frustrated sound, closing his eyes as their heads bumped together. His fingers tightened around Ciel's arms, his teeth worrying his lip as he exhaled, swearing lowly.

"Ugh. That's even hotter!"

And Ciel smiled, leaning in to ease another kiss onto the fanatic twenty-year-old's lips, teeth clicking as he looked back up to stare at the idol of his affections. Bard was still staring, and it was when Alois sighed into his mouth that Ciel realised the older blonde wasn't alone. Ciel sucked in a breath, eye widening as Alois kissed off his mouth with a smack and pressed his lips into his throat. He groaned, whole-heartedly and surprised, and nervous. Because Sebastian was staring too, and he looked pissed off.

…

Sebastian locked his jaw and slammed the fridge door shut,

His hair was still damp from his shower. His lip stung where he'd cleaned the grit out of the wound. The music downstairs was louder than the beep of the microwave telling him that his pasta was ready, The ceramic was hot in his palm, bottle of beer chilled in the other. But the thing he felt most was the undeniably ugly lick of jealousy deep in his stomach. It ate him alive as he padded up the staircase, escaping the noise and the people like an irritated house cat.

Urgent, little footsteps followed.

"Wait, Sebastian."

And he stopped in his tracks, pasta steaming away as he turned to look at Ciel Phantomhive following him up the stairs, eye wide and cheeks kinda ruddy. The hockey player didn't answer, pressing his lips into a line as he turned his back to him and bumped open the door of his bedroom. Ciel followed, hesitating at the door frame like a vampire waiting for permission to enter. Sebastian huffed under his breath, putting his beer down on his nightstand so he could sit on the bed, ready to stuff the jealous hole inside him full of Nonno's homemade pasta.

"You took off pretty quickly," Ciel said. His lips were swollen, dark from the very public kiss. Sebastian hated how the sight of his mouth kinda turned him on, and kinda pissed him off at the same time.

"I was hungry," he lied, stabbing his fork into a chunk of sun-dried tomato. Ciel nodded, stepping forward just a little so he could look around the room. His eyes went to the bed, to the fern on the windowsill, spilling out of it's pot. To the humidifier glowing dream-like on the nightstand, misting the scent of eucalyptus all over the bedroom.

"Do you eat when you're stressed out?" He asked, wrapping his arm around his petite body. Sebastian paused, fork sticking out of his mouth and considered saying something mean. He grunted instead, chewing thoughtfully.

"I guess," he admitted. His cheeks burnt. Ciel's nose twitched, eyes flicking down to the pomodoro sauce on his chin. He took a step forward, hesitant, the same way Deborah would enter the room.

"I have like… the opposite problem," he muttered, surprisingly honest.

Sebastian glanced up at him but the boy wasn't staring back. He was looking at the framed photos on the wall, coming deeper into his bedroom so he could examine them one by one. Sebastian watched him approach, arm still hugged around his slender waist.

"Did you take these?" Ciel asked. When Sebastian nodded, he raised his eyebrow, mouthing the word wow. Something prideful tugged inside of Sebastian, and he glanced back down at his pasta.

"This man looks like you," Ciel noted, looking at one photo in particular. Sebastian slurped up another string of pasta, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

"That's my Nonno. My grandfather."

Ciel's mouth opened and he looked back at the photo, then at Sebastian, then back to Nonno. He must have been a little drunk, because his cheeks were dusted pink and he couldn't quite close his mouth.

"He looks exactly like you. Really handsome, same eyes too," he muttered, reaching out to touch the glass, transfixed. Sebastian stopped chewing as he realised he'd inadvertently called him handsome . Ciel went photo to photo, hand pressed gently to his chest so he could play with the edge of his clavicle, absorbing every photo with that serious, heavy-lashed stare. Sebastian took another look at his little hips and cleared his throat.

"Come here," he ordered. "You need this." He stood up, winding up a fat forkful of pasta up and he offered it to the figure skater. Ciel looked down at the fork like it was a knife.

"You know I can't eat that," he said with a nervous laugh. Sebastian narrowed his eyes in irritation.

"My Nonno made this. Do you want to insult him?"

And the smile fell from Ciel's face, his whole face paling as he swallowed guilty, staring down his nose at the forkful of pasta. He shook his head a little, breathing out as he came a little closer. Enough for the fork to nudge against his bottom lip, for him to open his mouth and accept the pasta into his mouth. The fork caught his teeth as it withdrew, and he chewed, staring at Sebastian as he ate.

"That good?"

And Ciel nodded. His plump, lower lip was wet with pomodoro sauce, looking good enough to eat, and Sebastian's gut tugged with hunger. For something that he couldn't feed with pasta. He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek and breathed out his nose, feeding Ciel another forkful as the teenager leaned in close enough that they almost touched. The hockey player's cock twitched in his pants at the sound the boy made, his pretty, kissable mouth coming off the fork with a wet smack. Sebastian swallowed, resisting the urge to slam the figure skater against the wall and open up his mouth with his tongue.

"You know," he started, eyes trailing down his body to stare at his hips in those tight, tight jeans. "You could eat anything you wanted, with a body like that." And he stepped around him just a little. Enough to check out that tight, little ass. Ciel followed him with his eye, swallowing thickly as his fingers pressed shyly to his own neck.

"Don't say that," he mumbled.

"Why not? It's true."

Ciel's cheeks dusted pink, swallowing down to where his fingers still played with his collarbone. Sebastian watched, stepping closer so he could smell more of the perfume, the same miasma the boy left on the collar of his leather jacket.

"I have a boyfriend," Ciel said, and Sebastian grit his jaw. Something horrible simmered inside him, and as much as he willed it to go away, it took hold in the form of a curled lip, and him backing Ciel up into the wall.

"Really?" The Italian bit, too loud. His hands came up and pressed either side of Ciel's head, pinning him in place beside the light switch. "The guy that called you a slut. He's your boyfriend now, huh?"

And to Ciel's credit he didn't back away, but his eyes lowered. He shook his head, opening his mouth to speak, but Sebastian cut him off again, enraged.

"You are such a fucking liar," he noirette growled. Ciel looked up, shocked. "If you have a boyfriend, why the fuck are you here, making out with your little blonde friend?"

"I was helping him," Ciel hissed, cheeks dark. "He wanted Bard's attention."

Sebastian laughed meanly. "Yeah," he bit. "He definitely got it. I think everyone was staring at you, princess."

"Are…" Ciel trailed off, wetting his mouth. "Are you jealous?" He asked like a reveltation, eye widening as he stared at the cut on Sebastian's upper lip. He'd been staring at it all fucking night, and Sebastian forced himself to breath, hand tightening into a fist against the wall as he realised the look in Ciel's eye wasn't fear.

"Jealous of what? Watching you tongue-fuck each other?"

Ciel's breath punched out of him in a surprised gasp, blinking twice at the heat behind his voice. Sebastian's rage won out everytime, hot and feral in his chest, pushing pretty things like Ciel Phantomhive far, far away from him. Sebastian stepped in even closer, suffocating the lingering space between them. So close that Ciel gasped, and pushed his little hands up against the hard muscle of his chest. He frowned, mouth still open.

"You're lewd."

"Says the boy who kisses like he's in heat. How would your boyfriend feel about that?"

"I… I don't…" He trailed off, staring as Sebastian wet his mouth. His gaze unfocused and the hockey player steeled himself, shoulders tense as he tried, begged himself , to calm down. He pressed his tongue back inside his cheek, closing his eyes as he breathed in. Out. Focused on the smooth plaster under his palms, and the soft, dulcet sound of Ciel's breathing. When he opened his eyes again, Ciel was staring at him with a crease between his eyebrows.

"Does it hurt?" He asked, and for a second Sebastian thought he meant the rage. The jealousy. Seeing Ciel kiss another man. But his slender fingers were coming up to touch softly at his split lip, tracing the cut with a touch so tender he hardly felt a thing. Sebastian exhaled against them, shaking his head as he captured Ciel's wrist in his hand. He pressed his fingers closer, and with his lashes still lowered, he pushed a kiss to the ends of his fingers.

"Does he make you happy?" Sebastian asked, lips moving against the ends of them. Ciel was still staring, pupil dilated and black, and unnerving, and so beautiful the hockey player kissed his fingers again. And again. Then hitched up his arm, pressing his mouth into the tender skin of his wrist, breathing in and feeling all the hurt and anger inside him simply crumble away. Ciel's breath hitched, and he huffed sadly.

"And you think you could?"

Sebastian's jaw locked, lips pressing into a hard line where they rested on the skin of Ciel's wrist. He squeezed him once, heart hurting inside his chest.

"Yes," Sebastian said stubbornly. He released his hand but Ciel's arm lingered between them for a moment, stunned into inaction. His fingers twitched, then slowly returned to the safe place against his clavicle. He stared hard, like he was thinking, throat bobbing as he cupped his hand and brushed over the kissed skin like it had burnt.

"I'm going to New York on Wednesday," Ciel said. "For Skate America."

And Sebastian was reminded that it was Ciel Phantomhive he had pinned to his bedroom wall. A celebrity. America's sweetheart.

"Yeah, I know. I wasn't lying about being a fan," he whispered back.

Ciel smiled, turning his cheek. His hand finally moved, dropping down to take his phone out of his back pocket. The screen clicked as it unlocked, and he handed it over to Sebastian, new contact page looking back at him.

"I won't see you at the rink," the twenty-year-old started, "and… I'll miss you."

Sebastian took the phone off him, still staring dumbly at it.

"Will you miss me?" He finished, lowering his eye.

Sebastian swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Answer my question first."

"No," Ciel exhaled. "I don't have a boyfriend."

And Sebastian felt like he could breathe again. He tapped his number into the phone, putting Bastian as the contact name before saving it. He was shaking as he did it, pressing the glossy case back into the other's palm before nodding. Some of his hair slipped forward, grazing his cheek as he tried not to smile like a fucking idiot.

"I'll miss you," he promised. And Ciel grinned.

…

Ciel had trained months for this moment.

Years, really. His entire life, if he was being entirely honest. Since he was six-years-old, and turning circles on the rink like he'd been destined to do it, grabbing his brother's hand so they could sling-shot past each other, bumping shoulders like it was a game, and not something to be marvelled at. Like their father hadn't been watching, talking in low whispers to their one-day-coach while the twin prodigies traced patterns into the ice.

He'd trained years to be here, in New York. The taste of hairspray in the back of his mouth. On his skin. Holding his hair in place, slicked back against his head, and chapstick all over his mouth. He ran his tongue over his teeth to taste the lingering solution of the teeth-whitener he'd spent all morning with, sticking out of his mouth, stretching his body out on a black yoga mat at the foot of his crisp, hotel bed. And Alois, as essential to him as his skates, sat crossed legged on the sheets, chatting about nothing useful, but anything to take Ciel's mind off the competition.

Everyone was nervous. Everyone was in sub-vocal, whispering conversation with their coaches, as staff buzzed by with headsets against their mouths, and coffees stacked up in their busy hands, dodging hairspray, and extended legs, and last-minute stretches. Ciel rolled his head against his shoulders, working out the kinks as his coach chatted away on the phone. Every time he caught Ciel staring, he sent him a brilliant smile.

You've got this.

Charles was currently out on the ice.

He knew from the cheering. And he knew because Charles was arguably the best figure skater in the country, maybe even the world, and so it was no surprise to him that he would be there. The sight of the blonde skater, dressed in white and black as he performed to something as pretentious and beautiful as he was, didn't perturb Ciel. He seemed manageable on the ice. Far away. Something Ciel could bury deep inside of himself, like he did with the word that he had called him, and pretend it had never happened.

But then the music ended. The crowd erupted. Charles was coming off the ice, ducking down to snatch a toy thrown down before him before waving, the crowd crying once again as he came up to the sponsored barricade, just a few feet away from the next competitor - Ciel.

He looked horribly perfect. His hair skimmed the sides of his cheeks, ponytail dripping down his collarbone to match the alabaster, pearl-tone outfit he was wearing. His brow was damp with sweat, water bottle clutched in his hand, and a giant pancake plushie in his other. He was smiling sweetly, chest rising and falling as he stepped off the ice and right into Ciel's personal space.

"Ciel," he said breathlessly, stepping forward as the teenager stepped back. No no no no . His confidence was already beginning to plummet. The blonde smiled, but in a serious and sincere way, and reached forward to cup the nape of Ciel's neck. Like they were lovers. The cameras flashed on both of them and Ciel wondered how it would look when they posted the photos tomorrow. He pressed his lips together and tried to step back, only to find himself flat against the wall behind him.

"I've been meaning to call," Charles said, shaking his head as he gave Ciel a look so sorrowful that he almost fell for it. His heart was pounding so hard he swore everyone could see it through his thin costume. Charles's hand left his nape and went for his arm, squeezing softly as he cocked his head.

"I wanted to tell you," he said, the crowd turning to droning in Ciel's ears, "how sorry I am for the other night." The boy's throat felt tight. His arm pressed against his chest protectively as he looked up at his hero, hardly breathing. He felt himself nod, not really knowing why, other than the fact that he was nervous, and confused, and in front of a hundred cameras.

"It's fine," he said. Charles squeezed his arm again, like the pancake plushie in his fist.

"It's not fine," he said, shaking his head. You just dress like a slut, was all Ciel could hear. "I want to make it up to you. Take you out again, if you'd give me a second chance."

Ciel was stunned. Nauseous. He shook his head, drawing his eyebrows together, trying to speak but he could only open and close his mouth like a fish, camera lights cutting off every word before he could speak it. Why was Charles doing this right before he went on the ice? Didn't he know how -

"What the fuck, Grey?"

Ciel stared hard at the Olympian's face as Alois barged in-between them, realisation blossoming in his chest. His best friend snarled, placing his hand on the taller man's chest to push him back, blonde bob whipping as he wedged himself firmly between them. For an instant, a horrible look flashed across the white-haired man's features. Just like the night of the date, when Ciel had told him to stop.

"He's about to go onto the ice, asshole."

Alois sounded madder than Ciel had ever heard him before, grabbing Ciel's arms and walking him back into the privacy of the hallway, away from the cameras, and from Charles, and his pancake plushie. Ciel's mouth was half open, shocked, even as Alois pushed him into the wall and grabbed his face, forcing them to meet each other's eyes.

"Hey," his best friend said, touching their foreheads together. "Hey peanut. Calm down." He hadn't realised how hard he'd been breathing, or the tears sitting in the corner of his eye. Alois brushed them away, thumb ducking under the edge of his eyepatch to clear the hidden one out of his bad eye too.

"Calm down," he soothed. "It's fine. You know I love you, right? You know you're going to win this skate, right peanut? You've got this."

Ciel glanced over Alois's shoulder and saw his coach, waiting, with a dozen cameras, and Charles Grey's silhouette not far behind. The commentator's voice over the speaker was just a haze, and Alois forced him to look into his eyes again.

"Say it Ciel, come on." He rubbed the backs of his arms. "You've got this, right?"

And Ciel nodded, heart still racing a million miles an hour.

"I've got this," he whispered. The commentator was saying his name. The crowd was yelling. The cameras behind them both were blinding, and the smell of the ice was simultaneously frightening and beckoning. He clutched the blonde's fingers, edging forward to hold him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders in a hug. His warm body moored him, and he felt sensation come back to him as they embraced, his breath matching time with Alois's as he squeezed back, nuzzling his cheek into his hair.

"I've got this," he said again, louder. Without his voice shaking. And Alois nodded, smile dazzling, smoothing back a piece of Ciel's gelled hair as he headed back out to the stadium, the crowd no longer a drone, but fuel. His name. Cheering. The commentator, loud and booming as he approached the barricade of the ice rink and took a deep, grounding breath.

Ciel Phantomhive, just twenty years old. Great speed. Great choreography. Competing for the United States of America, alongside his team mate Charles Grey, who is currently fifteen points ahead.

Just for everyone watching at home, Ciel set a personal best in his short program last season at the Grand Prix Finals, where he also took home gold. Surely another medal is within his grasp if he can skate anywhere near his top form this evening.

He took off his skate guards. His coach spoke into his ear, hand on his lower back. He sent a look towards Alois as he slid out onto the ice, raising his covered hand in the air so the little sparkles hit the spotlights. But the last glance, before he slid out into the rink, he reserved for Charles.

He gave him a look more bitter than the ice. He tensed his jaw. Narrowed his eye. Let his lip curl the slightest, eye locked with the platinum blonde who stood solemnly on the sidelines. His face was tense too, hand gripped too tight around the pancake plushie in his gloves hands, team America jacket slung over his stern shoulders. And it made Ciel smile, because he finally recognised the expression flashing over the older man's face.

Fear.

And it only pushed Ciel further, bringing his arm down in a graceful sweep as the crowd cried, and he took his queue, and Ciel Phantomhive proceeded to obliterate the fifteen points that divided his and Charles's short program skate score.

…

He called as Ciel left the kiss and cry.

Ciel's heart skipped at the name on the screen, phone vibrating happily like the boy who was holding it. In his arms he cradled a giant, grey rabbit plush, it's plastic eye pressed to his cheek as he bit his lip at Bastian popping up on his screen. They'd sent a few texts. Nothing major. Twenty minutes before he skated, Sebastian had sent a good luck message, and promised Bard, Agni and Finn were all watching the competition with him.

And Ciel hadn't really believed it, until he answered the phone and was assaulted by all four of them, yelling over one another to tell him how fucking awesome he'd looked on ice.

Ciel grinned, unable to speak as Sebastian yelled at someone, phone dropping with a thud and rustling as it was picked back up again, heavy breathing as he finally spoke to Sebastian. Only Sebastian.

"Hey," he said fondly, nose twitching.

"Hey," Sebastian said back, smile loud on his voice. "Fuck, Ciel. You were…" He trailed off, clearing his throat. "You looked incredible. Your salchow, sbalorditivo, and your quad toe loop? Che bella." He exhaled, and Ciel blushed, tugging at the collar of his tight skate costume.

"You really are a fan," he mused, nuzzling into the vest of the plush rabbit. It's floppy ear rested over his face. It smelt like glitter, ice, and plastic. Sebastian laughed into the phone and the noise went straight to Ciel's dick.

"I am," the hockey player nodded, doing that thing again, where his piercing clacked over his teeth and did no favours for Ciel's racing pulse. "Almost broke something waiting for that motherfucker to get off the ice, though."

Ciel swallowed, glancing up to place where Charles had been. "I wasn't sure I could beat him, he-"

"I knew you would. He isn't shit, Ciel."

The skater smiled, resting his head against the sponsored wall as his heart clenched, hiding his face into the rabbit. It was too much. His cheeks were permanently pink.

"I mean, I still have to do my free skate, but I'm really pleased with my score."

"Yeah, fuck," the other breathed crudely. "You should be."

He sounded so excited. Ciel was stunned into a stupor by it, struggling to come down from the high of winning his short skate, and from Sebastian's sweet everythings into his ear.

"Did you get one of those dumb little rabbits?" He asked, and Ciel stared at the massive plushie in his arms.

"Bitter rabbit," he snorted. "He's Japanese, everyone thinks he looks like me. Because of the eyepatch, y'know." Sebastian huffed, rustling around on the other end of the phone. "But yeah, I got one."

"Send me a picture."

And Ciel obeyed without question, pulling his phone back to pose, pressing his lips to the rabbit's cheek with a little smirk. He sent it off with his stomach tight, pressing the phone back to his ear to wait for the man's voice again. There was a little buzz, then Sebastian made a satisfied sound, like the noise he made when he ate pasta, and Ciel's stomach flipped.

"Cute," he groaned. "I like it's little tail. Do you have one of those too?" He dropped his voice down so low and husky that Ciel stopped breathing, closing his eyes so he could snort down the line at the other man.

"No," he mumbled. But he was smiling. Smiling so wide it hurt his jaw, and he was thankful the other couldn't see the stupidly charmed face he so easily coaxed from him. And he realised Sebastian made him happy.

Stupidly. Obsessively. Happy.