A/N: Stevie's back, motherfuckers! Tell a friend~ AND READ THIS.

Alright, so this is the Cielois I've been mentioning! This giant introduction took longer than I thought it would to write...

Anyways, like I always say, if you haven't read my other fics you should check them out, namely Eudemon Everlasting. I promise you'll like it! Its continuation will be started soon, actually~

This IS a multichapter!

Chapter 1 Songs:

Sweet Tooth- Marilyn Manson

Bad Romance- 30 Seconds to Mars (cover)

Death Valley- Fall Out Boy

Disclaimer: It's been so long since my last fanfiction, and I've been waiting, but alas... I'm still not Yana Toboso. Therefore, Kuroshitsuji isn't mine.

Warning: This is basically just literary porn of young boys. Quick, someone arrest me. Also, there's lack of consent at some points, so if that bothers you I recommend you don't read this.

*Potentia Regere is the Latin phrase inscribed on the seal of Phantomhive. It roughly translates to "the power to rule".

Ciel wasn't certain as to exactly when entering the Trancy Manor became such a facetious ritual.

The rickety carriage hobbling past the ornately-welded gate, the short trek up the prestigious staircase heading to the mansion's spacious foyer, the way in which the head butler of the Trancy household would beckon them through the entryway into the grand hall— all of it was a farce. Whether Ciel Phantomhive was ushered off to wait for tea in the drawing room, or led to the impressive courtyard for entertainment, or sent off into the lush and labyrinthine gardens for a stroll with the host, it was all a sick, pompous charade. He always accepted the Earl of Trancy's fond invitations or came on his own accord bearing a different excuse; he may attend an event on the pretense of obtaining information, for example, or perhaps he and his enemy were due their destined confrontation. Yet, despite all of the pretending, and the prim practice they acted out every visit, he knew the real reason he attended.

And, although the idea disturbed him a bit, he was almost positive his butler knew why as well. Ciel and Alois were always discreet in their liaisons, but he was certain that a supernatural creature would be impervious to attempts to hide it; whether he could sense it vicariously through their contract, or he could simply discern the suspicious details, Sebastian had to know. The Phantomhive butler, of course, would never be so brazen as to suggest that he and Alois were doing anything unseemly, but it was still conspicuous that he was aware.

It was obvious in the contemptuous look of disgust he always regarded the blonde boy with. As if Alois had spit in his food.

Physical bulk had never been Ciel Phantomhive's strong suit, but he had never been weak, per se. In the past, he had suffered through tribulations that far exceeded what any person should be capable of enduring; because of this, he was purely unflinching in the face of brute violence, and, if adrenalized, his small body could house magnificent stores of energy. Nevertheless, if it came to bovine strength, with all weapons of intellect ignored, Ciel was a scrawny, asthmatic thirteen-year-old boy, raised for the majority of his life in the pompous aristocracy. His steel determination and conceptual strength poorly accorded with his corporeal capability. So when Alois, taller, stronger, and seasoned with a rough proletariat upbringing on the streets, attacked him without precursor, he overwhelmed him.

Ah, so it was to be the drawing room this time. Ciel nodded appropriately with approval, settling himself in a plush armchair and sinking a bit on the lavish, unexpectedly soft cushions. Tacky in decadence, yet seemingly more suited for a life of comfort than for show; becoming of who it belonged to. He reclined, watching Claude cart in the tea, as was customary.

He hadn't anticipated it the first time Alois got him alone. Although he usually observed and calculated his enemies' advantages to ensure he had an upper hand, he had underestimated Alois. And who wouldn't with how pitifully predictable he seemed to be? No, maybe he had just overestimated his virtue. Any dignified earl wouldn't jump a common brawl on his guest once they were in closed quarters. Yet he had, slipping the ribbon tie from his own neck while Ciel wasn't looking, then pouncing, knocking the younger boy against the glossy floorboards and stuffing the ribbon into his mouth, frenziedly wrapping it about his head in a makeshift gag.

The unnerving amber gaze of the spider demon bored into the back of Ciel's skull. Luminous, narrowed gold lid eerily over his frame again, much to Sebastian's discomfort. Claude Faustus always seemed indescribably pleased when Ciel came to visit his master, almost as if he got some private thrill out of it; in fact, it seemed as if these "visits" with Ciel actually made the demon's master more enticing, odd as it sounded. Nevertheless, Ciel didn't bother paying mind to Claude's odd scrutiny, or the perverse smirk he wore with it; no, he had oriented himself with more important matters. Such as how to order the demons to leave him alone with Alois this time without attracting suspicion.

An embarrassingly short tussle.

The thwacking of poorly-aimed smacks striking against skin, and a cacophony of indignant shouts, muffled by a spittle-soaked gag.

Ciel was huffing for breath, beads of sweat glinting like crystal on his brow, the musty flavor of velvet rich in his throat as the wet ribbon grazed his cheeks raw.

Bound tightly and rendered speechless, wrists ensnared with ribbon Alois had procured from his pockets, eye patch retied so tightly that the string cut into his tender skin. Ah, that was so he couldn't call Sebastian; something only another contractee would be wary of. A kitten without teeth or claws.

Ciel was mortified and livid over the circumstance, but he had no qualms about it. Due to his position as the Queen's Guard Dog, he had been taken a helpless hostage many a time, so often that Sebastian wasn't didn't know if his penchant for captivity was unintentional. Even with suppressed contact, Sebastian would save him if he were in any fatal danger. What was there to be apprehensive of? He could easily outwit this opponent, and would do so on his own.

"Sebastian," the Earl of Phantomhive murmured lowly, beckoning him out of others' earshot. "You are not to let Claude Faustus out of your sight. Lead him into the gardens and make your move there. You are to show him exactly what happens to those who dare sully the Phantomhive name. This is an order. Do you understand?" The order was delivered with authority, but the words rolling over his tongue sounded plastic and pompous, even to Ciel.

His devoted butler nodded grimly, whether from genuine seriousness over his task or from dissatisfaction with this game of pretend, Ciel wasn't sure. Perhaps he noted how cautiously Ciel phrased his command; he included no specific orders to actually kill Claude. All was fair game in a leisurely facade, Ciel supposed, and he certainly wasn't protecting him, so he wasn't certain as to why he hesitated. No mutual agreement existed in this unusual relationship that stated both boys would keep their loyal dogs from slaughtering one another, yet they purposely ignored any of the larger factors in play.

Briefly, although he knew it would skew the cycle between them, Ciel couldn't determine if Claude's death would not be more convenient for him. Without any assistance from an ethereal beast, Alois could make a lovely pet.

Calla-white hands latched onto his vest and ripped it open, brass buttons skittering across the floor. Ciel wrenched his body backwards, thrashing and twisting, his fingers working rapidly to unknot their bindings; his hands twitched, no, ached for freedom, as if having them in his devices would make any difference. The frantic boy made some progress, the heels of his shoes scraping and scrabbling against the ground as he wriggled backwards, before Alois slapped a hand to his thigh to hold him in place.

Greedy little fingers crawling everywhere, slipping underneath his crinkled dress shirt and grasping at sharp hipbones and dainty shoulders. Ghosting gossamer-light across his rioting, straining muscles, feeling the skin flinch away from the pads of fingertips. Tickling across protrusive collarbones, along the defined tendons of his throat, as that syrupy voice melted in his ears. Teasing little taunts as Alois gripped at his waist, groping the skin as he cackled heartily.

"Would you look at how tiny your waist is!" Alois exclaimed in wonder, kneading his fingers harshly into the flesh and slicing it with petite nails. Pale pink lips curled into a smirk chockfull of amusement, and he added, "You're so little Ciel… Just as thin as the pretty girls at soirees." He pinched at a delicate shoulder, and chuckled, "How does anyone tell the difference?"

The gagged boy bit out a virulent grunt of dissent, attempting to sound proud with fury and disgust, even as he knew how piteous he must look writhing away from those eager, starving fingers; that was, until he felt it. Alois' hand gently brushing up his inner thigh above his shorts, pausing to softly grind his palm against Ciel's crotch, while the other hand remain clamped to his bound wrists. His throat tightened and he squirmed in offense the instant he felt those violating fingers rubbing against him so intimately, but the more he struggled, the stronger that invasive, foreign friction became.

"But you aren't a girl, are you?"

With both of their contracted jackals gone, Ciel had little to occupy himself with besides thought, namely the abhorrently arousing recollection of his first visit to the manor. Nothing to do besides muse over that, and wait intently for the click of Alois' tall boots descending the stairs.

Shielding himself in defense, Ciel was quick to clamp his folded legs together the moment he felt finger fumbling with the hem of his shorts. Regardless, Alois was not discouraged, clawing voraciously with a single hand as he tore down his shorts and undergarments, yanking and dragging them past heeled shoes. The younger earl wanted to lash out, to kick the depraved boy away from his vulnerable body, but he could do little more than shove at him with his knees; anymore effort would risk exposing himself carelessly to Alois, and he was by no means eager to relinquish any ounce of pride or privacy. Yet he was wary of opening his legs at all, regardless of whether or not he'd reveal himself. What exactly did Alois plan to do with him once he had him nude? He knew, what with the boy's snide smile and proclivity for touching, that it wasn't for aesthetics alone. Surely his distress in a situation like that would alarm Sebastian, yet he wasn't certain he could wield the shame if Alois raped him; no, he couldn't simply let something so vulgar happen to himself. He would fight with all he had.

His muscles trembled with the strain of clenching his legs together so tightly, with the tension of rioting against those hands prying and ripping at his soft thighs. His heart was palpitating wildly, fast enough to rattle his ribcage and echo in his throat, a chilled sweat breaking out over his brow. Ciel was far from naive; after all, in his position, he reigned over a world with values that weren't half as proper as his own, and his theoretical innocence had been stolen long ago. Nevertheless, his prudish modesty was still intact, and he couldn't help being squeamish in an area where he had no expertise; and why would he have experience if the only alternative to oblivious naivete was so repugnant? He adorned a regal scowl of contempt, yet the wavering glint in those sapphire eyes betrayed his fear, and the more viciously those claws snagged and scraped his skin, the harder it became to press his legs together. Abruptly, with a weight dropping in his gut and a feeling of bile at the back of his throat, Ciel's shaky legs gave out, and Alois wrenched them open, splaying him out to see.

The instant Alois yanked the legs apart, Ciel opportunely jerked his leg out and rammed his heel into Alois' shoulder; he had been poised to strike, and while the exertion from fighting Alois' advances had weakened the kick into no more than the swing of a limp leg, he still delighted in the feeling of his wooden heel twisting lividly into warm flesh and stark bone, in the yelp that burst from the blonde's lips as he reeled backwards from the impact. Droplets of sweat cascading past his brows, Ciel struggled to lift himself into a sitting position, thrusting another gangly leg at Alois to keep him at bay, but the older wouldn't be fooled twice. Promptly darting and dodging Ciel's petty attempts, he clambered over him again, effectively sitting with his knees on Ciel's thighs. Those bony knees pierced and pinched at the nerves in his spread legs as Alois shifted all of his weight onto them, grinning as he saw Ciel writhe and suppress a raw cry in his throat at the sudden pain. He was harmless once more.

The earl's breathing hitched as he inhaled starkly through his nostrils; everything in his memory became hazy at a certain point, as if he'd been so intoxicated by physical persuasion he couldn't recall much else. Tingles rippled across his skin and he felt his blood warming at the memory alone; yes, he certainly recalled how it felt.

Shit, he thought bitterly, a grimace encompassing his features; he could feel the heat swelling in his gut, and before he caught notice of it, his blood was rushing south, making for a rather uncomfortable tent in his shorts. With a snarl and a slue of muttered curses, after affirming he was entirely alone, he slid a hand down to rub at his stiff member through his shorts, hoping the friction would ease his strain. He released a shaky breath at the slight relief, willing his stubborn erection to go down.

That's not what I'm here for, he chastised himself, clapping his gloved hands onto his knee and shifting with irritation in the pliably soft cushion. Lurking beneath his collected exterior and semblance of detest, even he doubted his genuine reason for coming. He'd been playing pretend for too long to stop now.

Scrunching his eyes shut as Alois' body hovered flush over his own, Ciel felt a presence drifting closer as knobby knees jabbed sharply into his nerves. It was accompanied by an effeminate sweetness in the air; something comforting, an aromatic strawberries and cream, coupled with a flavor more savory, a vivacious, unrefined musk, a zest of spice. Eyes flickered behind crinkled lids when he felt what he presumed to be Alois' mouth enveloping his bottom lip, nipping and tugging on it, sucking on it gently before releasing it with a pop. Recoiling abruptly, the younger tried to gnash his teeth, yet only ground them into the sopping wet gag; the drenched fabric chafed his soft, plump cheeks, and it was starting to fester with an acrimonious burn.

The instant Alois departed from him, raising his body from Ciel's legs, the younger was absolutely petrified; he felt nothing besides the cold tile pressing to the back of his bare thighs, the remnants of Alois' lips ghosting over his own that seemed to confirm his intention, the abrasive velvet stinging the edges of his mouth, and the stifling caress of the stagnant air. His silent terror in that instant overwhelmed him, waiting for the insufferable inevitable, the gears in his head turning sluggishly as he tried to uncover some means of escape. He was consciously aware that if he opened his eyes it would be easier, that he had another choice besides anticipating the worst and cowering in the black behind his lids, but he couldn't bring himself to watch the crude spectacle.

Then, he felt it, warm and wet, slicking the underside of his shaft with generous amount of saliva. His eye snapped open.

A floorboard creaked. The wood would not dare squeal in protest underneath the inhuman Trancy servants' graceful treads. The master of the house had arrived.

Ciel stared down in utter confusion and disgust at the head of fair hair between his legs that was laving attention on his still-soft penis, laying flat against his pelvis. Rough tastebuds dragging along soft flesh. Hot lips pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses at his pink tip, mouthing vigorously down the sides of his shaft. Thin fingers loosely fondling and stroking the base as it swelled ever-so-slightly in Alois' palm. What on earth was the lecherous child doing? Ciel blanched, consumed mentally between deciphering Alois' actions and coping with this newfound sensation. It ought to be repulsive— it had to be revolting, putting one's mouth on such an intimate area. Just watching that little pink tongue lap at him made him lightheaded. But this uneasy twisting in his stomach wasn't nausea. No, the slippery caress actually felt... good, if he'd allow himself to think it.

When Alois extended his tongue completely, inadvertently flaunting the insignia of his contract, and then swirled it around the sensitive head, careful to flick the tip across Ciel's slit, the unexpected occurred. A twitch, and an unexpected shudder that rolled down his spine, complemented by a shaky and horribly embarrassing gasp.

Grinning predatorily, and apparently pleased with this reaction, Alois lowered his head and slipped his lips over the semi-erect penis, slurping and sucking the flesh into full hardness.

Through the first early encounters, Ciel had fought to preserve his modesty in the only way he knew how: resistance. Nevertheless, any preserved dignity he had was destroyed in those first moments that he was completely bare before those roaming, icy eyes, the instants in which Alois' dirty, far-too-experienced lips ventured between his legs, ready to defile him, in the second that caved to carnal pleasure and let himself moan and writhe like a common tart under his enemy. He had no pride left to salvage... unless, of course, he managed to beat Alois at his own game.

A clandestine battle for sexual power, and other measures of physical prowess; it didn't leave Ciel much room to condescend on his opponent, and in fact, only increased the disdain he held for himself. But what choice did he have once he involved himself? Rejection would display admirable will, but not exclusively; he would still be conveyed as the inexperienced child he was, prone to flustered embarrassment, even if purity itself was laudable. If he donned a regal countenance of apathy, if he never became perversely impassioned, he could delve into the abyssal game of labyrinthine lust and leave unbesmirched. In time, he stopped resisting altogether.

Never before had he experienced a heat as rich as this one; Alois' throat was soft-fleshed and wet, swallowing and constricting rhythmically in a way that sent ripples of pleasure coursing through Ciel's bloodstream. In fact, the tighter the blonde's lips and hollowed cheeks squeezed as they slipped around him, the more intolerable the pulsing of his shaft seemed to become, until it was engorged and throbbing to the point that it hurt. Strangely enough, the only sensation that soothed this alien desperation was its source: that thirsty, laving tongue and those hungry lips, suckling and tensing harder each time Ciel was engulfed. More. He needed more.

The slate-haired boy was quivering with raw feeling, thighs clenching and flexing as he began to slowly roll his hips into Alois' face, using him for his own release. Alois' movements felt like they were increasing exponentially. Flaxen hair swished with his bobbing motions and and pooled on a sweat-slicked stomach, and his mouth swallowed Ciel's painfully-hard erection down until his nose pressed to the skin of his abdomen, rivulets of clear fluid dribbling down his chin. The animalistic sensation on its own was too much for the younger boy to cope with, seizing him as jolts shivered down his spine and swelled in his groin; his muscles were already twitching, rioting as they prepared him for climax.

The first times Alois and Ciel lay together, while physical bindings weren't always involved, Ciel still found himself incapacitated in one way or another. It was as if Alois doubted Ciel's commitment to the game, wholeheartedly expecting him to be repulsed at the idea; and he truly was, to begin with. Even if Alois had tempted him to the challenge originally, he hadn't reckoned on such weak willpower in the face of seduction. Alois Trancy was incontrovertibly skilled in the art of the incubus, forcibly trained in it, and by physical means, he was riveting, beautiful. He knew exactly what made any red-blooded man relinquish his common sense; the prestigious Earl of Phantomhive was no exception. Once Ciel began cooperating, the bindings themselves became a fresh variable of manipulation. Gradually, they grew looser, and Alois significantly less guarded. It was an invitation to shed his subdued guise or physical restriction and to grasp control once more, to abuse or attack Alois at his own bidding, to up and leave, to overcome the lanky blonde and coerce him into submission; the opportunity alone was enough to drive Ciel mad, to forego any machination he held. Yet he never accepted the offer, much to Alois' surprise. Eventually, any evidence of Ciel's lack of consent vanished, and bindings were exchanged for utmost compliance and mock trust. Vocalizations of dissent transformed into no more than an impatient sigh, with an authoritative remark of, "Well? Get on with it." Even if Ciel didn't care about his own behavior anymore, Alois never suspected that Ciel's fascination with victory could be overshadowed by lust, the only thing that branded his cold soul as human.

He never anticipated Ciel's hunger.

How had he ever deprived himself of anything so phenomenal? Those lips, licorice-red and flush from exertion, were a blur as they slid over his erection, rough tongue kneading into his pulsating head, the base of his cock gleaming with spit as Alois performed his ministrations. His muscles were contracted too tightly, his machine-gun heartbeat firing too rapidly, the breath spiraling from his gasping lungs too quickly. A sheen of perspiration glistening on his lithe porcelain frame, his hips began thrusting erratically as the most mind-numbing, overwhelming wave of pleasure yet wracked his body, and he whipped his bound wrists downwards to clutch at blonde tufts of hair.

Distantly, he pondered over how long his wrists had been free. If Alois' hands had been off of his own for that long, how had he just noticed now? His mind swirled and swelled with hazy thought, a confused concoction of emotion bubbling to the point of bursting. Why couldn't he think of anything besides this sinful rapture? Alois must have put something in his tea. That had to be it.

The warmth at his core pulsing through his body, he entwined his fingers into fair locks of hair and brutally rutted against that mouth, forcing Alois' head downwards. Suddenly, his body jerked and he froze, back slowly arching up as he was seized with his first orgasm; with a sharp inhale and a low, reverberating moan, he spilled himself into the confines of Alois' mouth, sides heaving with breath. Although he was encompassed in all-encroaching bliss for a few instants, Ciel let one azure eye flicker open, glancing down at his shaking hands buried in blonde hair, before another tremor thrilled down his spine and he bucked his hips, spurting out more semen as his climax tapered off. Even with his eyes pinched shut, his lid had been open long enough to see a pair of sugar-crystal blue eyes snap open in shock at the unexpected orgasm, before darkening as the blonde boy slipped into a somewhat queasy expression. In moments he had composed himself once more, swallowing with a near-obedient diligence. Ciel blanched once he realized that Alois had actually consumed whatever it was that came out, and he felt ill, likely more embarrassed than he would have been if Alois had chosen to spit the evidence of the release across Ciel's face.

Slipping his mouth off of the softening penis, Alois let it slap wetly against Ciel's stomach, watching with amusement as Ciel jumped slightly, still quaking; he was oversensitive after his orgasm, and the lightest contact sent excruciating tingles down his nerves.

"Was that your first time?"

The voice, choked out with a startled chuckle, snapped Ciel from his serene reverie. Alois sounded abnormally hoarse, the back of his throat raw from being rammed into, from gulping down all of the salty residue. Ciel gradually spun back into a discontent reality, mortified once he had his wits about him. Had he really done something so utterly revolting with his nemesis, who was another boy at that? Prudish sensibilities returning, a heavy sense of shame settled over the boy once he recalled the intimacy; it didn't help that his lower half was still completely bare and dripping with cooling sweat and spit. Disgusting. Even so, he was too weak to stand up and cover himself, limbs trembling as he tried to regulate his ragged breath, and it wouldn't be worth it if he had the strength. Opening his eyes only risked seeing that satisfied, condescending smirk.

With a raised forearm, Alois wiped the remaining fluid from his mouth, only succeeding in smearing it across his chin. He lifted his eyebrows in an expression of faux concern. If it really was Ciel's first time, it made sense why years worth of held sperm would be nauseatingly bitter to the taste. Alois snorted.

"Maybe that's why you taste like shit."

When Alois had declared to wanting him, the night of their first encounter at the costume ball, he hadn't thought much of the boy's improper advances, thinking them to be no more than distasteful acting on behalf of his disguise. He had never guessed that his virginity would be involved.

Skin white as divinity. Plush, rounded hips, rolling and gyrating against his own pelvis, matching up with poorly-concealed gasps and muffled groans. Their flexing motions were fluid as he rode Ciel, indulgently slow and rich, like molten toffee smoothing over a tooth-rottingly sweet confection. Everything about him was so delectably sinful in that moment that Ciel almost forgot that he didn't want to be here, pressed flat to the floor by the thighs straddling him.

Later on, he would snarl in disgust at the prospect of mounting Alois and still being the unwilling victim. They had already been consistent in their liaisons for a brief period of time, yet he hadn't known how to respond when Alois had instigated this in particular; Alois had actually prepared himself beforehand with lubrication, a practice which became habitual over time. He had simply let it happen this time, partially from dumb shock at Alois' intention, but moreso because some childish, predictable part of him saw the promise of pleasure dangling from Alois' fingertips like a ripe fruit. He saw no issue in taking advantage of Alois if the boy felt inclined to please him, and although he was uncomfortable in an area he held very little command over, he wouldn't deny himself, like the spoiled child he was. All of it was foolish, whether he demanded it or simply let it happen, and Ciel knew it, yet he couldn't dwell on it much. In fact, there were only a few things he was capable of pondering in the moment. Little bumps of vertebrae, an echo of a spine, his back arching and curving with his movements. The way his little toes curled in his black stockings each time he let out a particularly throaty moan. The wet slapping sound of flesh against flesh as he bounced in Ciel's lap.

"A-Alois," Ciel finally choked out breathlessly, using the boy's first name in an inadvertent plea. He sensed the familiar stirrings of heat in his gut, and he knew his stamina must be embarrassingly short in comparison; and he certainly didn't want to finish inside of the other boy. Gritting his teeth with the strain of keeping a level voice, he muttered out, "Get off of me."

He sighed in relief when he felt Alois lift himself, though it exposed him to a cool draft of air, but it was short-lived as Alois turned around with a petulant smirk and settled himself over his hips again. Ciel was so stiff, the tip red with desperation and radiating heat as it ground against Alois' already-stretched, eager hole, that the boy didn't need to align himself, sinking onto his erection with no more than a hitch in his breath. Ciel refused to look down as Alois' body engulfed his girth once more, but he took a guilty instant to let his eyes drift over Alois' previously obscured body. He had never seen the other boy, or for that matter, anyone besides himself, naked before, and it disarmed him. In fact, he wondered if he shouldn't feel more offended with the sight of that lewd body in such a crude position. However, the only fact more disturbing about all of it was that, as he absorbed the full frontal view of the boy, the discovery only left him more aroused. Pink nipples glistened under the sheen of sweat that sparkled over his body, urging Ciel to touch him, to ravish him until both were swollen and flushed from kisses. Hips swirled and circled as Alois bucked into his own hand, a firm little grip around himself, muscles tightening uncontrollably in a way that made Ciel completely unravel.

He had to stop him if he didn't want to come completely undone. Alois felt too wonderful, his muscles twitching around him every time the tip of Ciel's penis prodded into some soft, sensitive spot inside of him. Too tight, too searingly hot, too soft and welcoming and endearing. Hoisting himself up urgently onto his palms, accidentally slamming his sweaty chest into Alois', he struggled, trying sincerely to avoid dwelling on Alois' erection nudging into his stomach as the blonde ground against him, parched for friction. The younger grappled onto the other boy, scrambling to shove and hurl Alois off of him, yet he was so close to the edge that he found he could do little more than cling once he clasped the boy's arms. Rather, he started involuntarily thrusting into Alois' movements on instinct, curling his body to fit into the other boy's as he rocked against him. Despite his clutching and groping and panting, that single sapphire eye remained furious, expression almost pained beneath the lidded glaze of lust that clouded it. Nothing could be gained by trying to prolong his end; the burning friction had already overtaken him, warmth pulsing sluggishly through his groin, and he knew he had no choice in peaking. With a grunt of frustration, in a rather piteous effort, he hurled his own weight against Alois, knocking him back ever so slightly. The flimsy push was rather worthless, yet Alois retributed wholeheartedly, hips still rutting in a blur as he pressed their chests together, and, with an airy huff of breath, slammed Ciel against the floor. His bare back smacked against the cool floorboards, an icy caress on his flushed skin, and his head collided next, a hollow crack ringing out upon the impact, before he felt teeth sink into his neck just below his jaw. His vision dimmed, warped and swirling with mottled colors and shadows, agonizing prickles of pain pressing behind his eyes, and for an instant, the world went black.

When he came to, spindly lashes fluttering languidly, he was quivering violently underneath Alois, relief rushing like fresh adrenaline through his body, his legs sprawled limp and trembling. With mild dismay, that probably would have transgressed into something worse if he hadn't been so exhausted, he realized that he had already emptied himself into Alois, and his face blossomed in a horribly guilty shade of carmine. Now, with his own semen trickling from Alois' entrance, it didn't seem horrifying so much as... unsanitary.

A smattering of pink still dusting his cheeks, Ciel whipped his distant gaze to the side once he realized that his partner was still clamping onto his softening member, and frenziedly slipping a hand over his own length, lathering it with his own pre-climax fluids. He pinched his eyes shut, looking away out of misdirected decency, but he felt tears pricking at the corners of his lids; Alois' muscles gripped him painfully as he grew flaccid, and though the pounding in his cranium had just subsided, he felt so spent that he didn't know if he wouldn't slip into unconsciousness again.

He slowed his breathing, cautious of the unpleasant results that hyperventilation could bestow, but he still felt his heartbeat, thudding and shuddering in his chest. And he still heard that broken whimper as he felt the blonde boy's release splatter across his chest.

Originally, getting Alois off had never been any of Ciel's concern. However, with ever rendezvous the two shared, much to Ciel's discontent, it seemed that something as basic as an orgasm leveled the scales between them. It was wonderful, certainly, but it was a break in one's will; the body crumbled before the mind, at least to tangible entreaties. Whoever slipped composure first, or allowed a human reaction to be coaxed from his equanimity before the other, was doomed to lose. If the older earl finished first, since he had instigated all of this nonsense to begin with, Ciel would hold an advantage, would he not?

Even so, it began to bother him; if he purposefully put Alois' pleasure above his own, it would dismantle the callous, impassive front he achieved, and would convey some form of... affection. Using the blonde carelessly wouldn't risk having them mistaken as— dare he say it without cringing— lovers, but it would lead to his downfall. He was trapped.

Because of this, Ciel refused to admit that he was genuinely enjoying himself.

At first, he could be smug about how eagerly Alois obeyed his simple whims; after all, he had been raised wielding control over others. Ostentatious smirk and all, the boy could easily feign amusement with the situation. Alois had no intentions of concealing his vulnerability, especially if he was in a frantic state, and that alone attracted Ciel's spite; he was composed in one instant and manic the next, spurred into hysterics by something so negligible as the sight of his own blood. A particularly vicious bite, ruby beads glimmering around Ciel's toothmarks, and Alois could be reduced to a mess of piteous begging, hoarse shrieks, and fat tears rolling down his cheeks. The strange boy reveled in the gritty, rough treatment, soaking it up with a thirsty desperation, but it seemed the smallest discrepancy shattered his mental state. A dose of pain just an ounce larger, and he was crying again. And when he openly cried like a child over the tiniest things that set him off, who wouldn't laugh at the predicament? He strived to make himself pathetic, and if he didn't behave so urgently, Ciel may have just believed it was more acting.

Nevertheless, his projected disdain waned with the frequency of visits. The sobriety of the perverse game appeared to set in, and he could not pretend to be pleased with himself anymore. He had succumbed to the unsuppressed covetousness in those pale blue eyes, to that unspoken, flirtatious invitation, luring and beckoning him into the sheets. The glance was commanding and simultaneously submissive, an offer of power, a tempt at a chance to subdue him. Could any mortal man really resist the primal vice that captivated him? There weren't enough layers of aesthetic pleasantry to plaster over it, and there were not words thick enough to hide it.

No, of course Ciel couldn't fully blame himself. It is a child's nature to be greedy and selfish and impatient, to grab at offered treats with grubby little fingers; and there Alois was, the most mouthwatering treat he'd ever encountered. It was natural in the mindset of the youthful, paralleled in Ciel's strict code of ethics, to reject anything that didn't benefit oneself. When Alois was laid out on a platter for him, a buffet of butterscotch-sweet skin and ripe potential for euphoria, how could he resist eating?

Eventually, it all became so addicting; he had involved himself in the vain power struggle just to redeem himself, hoping that maybe one victory in this game would compensate for all the time it had taken from his vengeance. Yet as it progressed, Ciel became more lost in it, too transfixed with the pliable rules and questionable prize, with the predictable and simultaneously spontaneous exhibition of human nature. And even then, the giddy predilection of a win was incomparable to his opponent himself. He was both the price and the prize, wasn't he? Ciel Phantomhive wasn't interested simply in the great sex, or so he tried to persuade himself, but in the boy who held such a talent at his fingertips. As much as he loathed to do so, he had to complement Claude's tastes— Alois had become his favorite dessert.

And it was a steady bargain he held with himself, trying to smother his urges, even as the boy he so craved drowned his senses. Would he take to a frosted sugar glaze dribbling over a crisp pastry, or the salt of sweat dripping from Alois' taut skin? A sweetly tart drizzle of blackberry sauce, soaked up by the sponge cake sopping and swimming in it, or the rusty savor of Alois' blood mingling amongst his tastebuds, complemented with a hearty helping of soft mewls? Whipped vanilla bean frosting, or the creamy expanse of his white thighs and a raised, welcoming rear-end? The succulent scent of flaky pastry rising golden brown, permeating the air with a buttery aroma, or the light musk emanating from the blonde's flesh? Did he really have to choose? Of course not. The other boy was his chosen treat any day of the week. He would sacrifice many a dessert to nip and suck and defile Alois' skin with purple stains the hue of candied berries; it was worth it for that body, pale and sweet as mascarpone, and just as soft on his tongue. That saccharine skin practically melted on his lips, lapped up delectably in moments of fervor, dripping like soft butter on his tongue. Every detail of Alois was hypnotizing, charming. With the exception of his eyes.

Outwardly, their enchanting crystalline blue looked to be the cold color of crunchy sugar crystals, yet that was purely deceptive. His eyes visibly stewed with filth, putrid as dirty rainwater sloshing from the gutter. Ciel wouldn't trade a thing for those sickening eyes consciously, but unwittingly, he already had.

Ciel was well aware that he was eating himself sick. His stomach was bloating and swelling and bursting at the seams, yet no matter how much he indulged, his temptations would remain just that. Alois was a particularly deceptive confection, sweet enough to rot your teeth on the outside, yet vile and bitter within. Ciel could gorge and binge on the boy's lust, become fattened with his essence until his eyes watered and his tastebuds were ready to bust, and still be famished for more... but it was illusive, temporary, and the dessert he had devoured could spoil sour in his stomach moments afterwards, churning and twisting in his gut. And he would still be unsatisfied. Despite how acrimonious and foul the wicked boy truly was, it was indiscernible under a dusting of powdered sugar. Yes, that beautiful husk of a body was the perfect sugarcoat for any glutton, the kind that turned even lords into lechers.

At a certain point, when Ciel would watch that pink little tongue skirt over those obscenely pale lips, he couldn't decide if it was the color of sweet raspberry mousse or fresh, gleaming entrails. He realized it didn't matter to him anymore. Even if he reassured himself that he wasn't playing with anything dangerous, he was playing nonetheless.

At times, he could convince himself that he was winning the Earl of Trancy's game, and that playing into the blonde's fancies may be the most immaculate strategy.

It was in moments like these that he could visualize triumph in this facetious, cyclical dance. Moments when he had clear dominance over his enemy, a rival accustomed to groveling to get his way, but when he was simultaneously immune to these submissive tricks. Moments when the advantage was singularly in his favor, and none of these actions were capable of threatening his precarious pride. Moments when lust didn't prey on his state of mind, but rather allied itself with it. Moments when Alois was vulnerable and debased, splayed out on all-fours like a hearty and guiltless communion. Yes, he had decided he liked taking Alois the best from behind.

If not preferable for other reasons, he found it gave him a lovely view. Or at least, that's what he was musing over as he brushed his lips up the back of those cotton-candy thighs, his breath leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, before biting down harshly. The nip itself earned a sharp hiss and a clenching of teeth, but that did not please Ciel so much as feeling the flesh under his teeth, liquid-smooth and baby-soft, despite how lean his legs appeared to be; and nothing thrilled him more than marring that cream skin with purplish toothmarks, cresents of black cherry juice.

As Alois squirmed uncomfortably, finicky from anticipation and flushed from what Ciel knew couldn't be shame, Ciel found himself, against all values, staring eagerly between the boy's legs. He had always sworn he would never stoop to such humiliating lows, and he would rather perish than service Alois in that way... but something about the sight was so tantalizing that he found himself tempted. Wouldn't it be worth it to see his taut thighs trembling, to hear those nectar-sweet whimpers dripping into his ears, to make him weak?

Ciel loathed to acknowledge it, but he wanted to do it. Just looking at the tip of his erection, the head pink as a strawberry lozenge and shining wet with pre-climax fluids... how could he resist popping it into his mouth and suckling? From there, could he choke down the urge to drag his tongue along his rigid shaft, to greedily slurp and devour more of that honeyed flesh? He licked his lips, salivating at the very prospect of guilelessly delving in, but he hesitated. Control; that was at the centre of things, and a man who can't control himself wields nothing over his enemy. If he stuffed himself so full of wantonness that he lost his head, that would not be success, and succumbing to the universal weakness that plagued all of mankind wouldn't be worth defying propriety. But alas... a sampling couldn't hurt. There was no consequence in taking the hot flesh into his hand and squeezing firmly, feeling Alois' body stiffen beneath him, before stroking slowly, carelessly slipping his fingertips over the dripping slit. Tentatively, once he was certain the blonde wouldn't catch sight of him, he swiped the salty fluid over his lips and lapped it up, tasting him. Finding the taste to be to his liking, and not nearly as bitter as he predicted, he laved his tongue over his fingers in gratification, the excruciating throbbing in his tight shorts only worsening. Yes, a spoonful of decadence never killed anyone. Or so he liked to think.

Dismissing his fascination, hoping his cogent actions would assure the blonde that none of this intimacy was to be romanticized, he raised himself to his knees and unbuttoned his trousers. Alois was sturdy in position beneath him, looking perhaps a bit too obedient. Was it wrong? A nauseating guilt roiled in his gut, turmoil muddling his mind, but it was easy to exchange a fretful conscience for the warmth that enveloped him when he pressed all the way in without warning. Anything that felt this magnificent, anything that the body craved so desperately had to be inherently improper, didn't it? However, he had no time to brood over trivialities like sin, and he had never pretended to be doing anything honorable in the first place; moral corruption hadn't hindered his ambition before. He relished in the hitch in Alois' breath, his bare chest flush against the sweat-sticky skin of Alois' back, he decided he had already made up his mind.

Giving Alois little time to adjust, Ciel rolled his hips into him, starting a steady pace as he grappled onto his narrow waist. All of the flawless skin of his body on display for Ciel, like a rich vanilla custard just waiting to be defiled by his teeth, or nails, or whatever instrument he saw fit. And he couldn't seem to keep his mouth or hands off of him, grasping and groping at his supple sides, licking and chewing at his shoulderblades and the nape of his neck, sinking his teeth deep enough to draw blood; delectable violet stains and droplets of cherry red sealed by his mouth, incisors piercing through skin like slicing soft butter. The excess pain didn't seem to disrupt Alois' fragile state of mind this time, despite how very delicate he looked; deceptive as it was for his strength, the older boy's entire body looked so frail and breakable from this angle, dainty like sugarglass. Alois was quivering and moaning and heaving for breath as he was so ravenously taken, as Ciel pounded into him with a newfound vigor.

The lascivious atmosphere was beginning to overwhelm the younger earl, drifting in a wreath about his head and smothering all lucid thought. He was so caught up in the instant, in the basic urges that usurped his dignity, in the flavor and scent and heat of his enemy that logic evaded him. In fact, the faster he snapped his hips, feeling the soft, doughy flesh of the older boy's arse slap against him, the more intoxicated he became, and the more strange pleasure he derived from forcing Alois to submit. All consideration disintegrating, he bucked rapidly into the boy, jerking the blonde's entire body forwards with the force behind each thrust. As they hadn't even made it to a bedroom this time, Ciel's rough hammering scraped the blonde's knees across the abrasive ground, and when Alois' arms finally gave out, his cheek smacked against the tile floor, knocked repeatedly against the cold stone as he struggled for breath. Ciel hardly relented; at long last, perhaps this was how it felt to conquer Alois Trancy. Maybe winning against an opponent this greasy in tactics meant taking him raw, making him grovel and plead and feeling no remorse for it, pummeling into him to expel his anger. He wasn't using the boy for all he was worth, but for the price he had labeled himself with. Ciel wanted him overpowered and suffering, sopping with regret; he wanted to make him bleed, to watch ribbons of red lace themselves down the backs of his thighs, striping those lovely white legs like candy canes. Faster, harder. Rougher. Raw and vigorous and unrestrained as he thrust at an exponential pace, the friction and searing heat dragging him closer to release—

And then Alois turned his head to glance over his shoulder, those gutter-slush eyes and that pleased sneer piercing straight through Ciel. He tensed instantly under that off-putting gaze, but didn't stop, those crystalline eyes disarming him. Honey-glazed with lust on the surface, purely insidious beneath. Oh, he was sugarglass, alright. Melting on your tongue in one moment, sharp enough to draw blood in the next.

An eccentric grin sliced over his countenance, tainting his lovely sex-flushed appearance with insanity. "Oh, what are you going to do, Ciel?" he asked mockingly, the words bursting from his lips in between excited gasps and pitchy moans. "Fuck me to death?"

The lewdness of the statement nearly offended Ciel, and, with an abnormal twisting feeling in his throat, he abruptly forced himself in deeper. Anything to shut Alois up. The sudden thrust had Alois hoven to the floor, and Ciel watched in surprise as the other boy shuddered at the penetration, blue eyes fluttering shut as he gaped, a long strand of saliva dripping from his parted lips. He wasn't in pain. He was enjoying this.

Alois turned his face out of view and hung his shaggy blonde head as he was continually ravaged, but Ciel could still hear it. A breathy, thoughtless chuckle, pouring from his lips amongst groans and gasps, swelling in volume as he cackled out a single word.

Pathetic.

It was far too late to stop now, yet Ciel couldn't help feeling mildly disturbed by the entire situation, an incessant itching sensation crawling over his skin. Like filth that ought to be scrubbed off. Yet surprisingly enough, he wasn't repulsed by the rutting drooling, sex-hungry mess of a boy before him. No, he was disgusted with himself for behaving so ignobly, for playing into Alois' hands.

Where had he gotten that ludicrous idea to begin with? He wasn't winning anything.

He was just having anal sex with a lunatic.

Ciel was certain that he was no better than the cult members who had tortured him, or the first man to use Alois in this way, or even Alois himself. Not on the bounds of morality so much as humanity. All of the nobility he had once prided himself with had to be soiled at this point. Even if Alois was willing, Ciel had knowingly sunk to this level, and he was the one taking advantage of him just to indulge in rare pleasure. He was the one taking out his frustration so vulgarly on another person.

But his enemy was doing nothing of the sort; there was a succinct method in what he did, even if there was no clear goal. If he was only using Ciel as a means to an end, if he was committing sexual abuse based on what he'd endured, things would be different. He was not a bully, an older, stronger child pushing Ciel down and having his way with him. Instead, he intentionally lowered himself at Ciel's feet; all of his fighting, as well at his rise to power, came from sly manipulation and submission, from slinking through the dark, from backhanded betrayal. He never honestly indulged, and his best armor was his bare skin.

Due to this amorphous, unspoken goal, it was impossible not to give Alois exactly what he wanted. Both resistance and compliance pleased him. No matter what type of fight Ciel put up, or how impassive he was about it, or how frenzied he could become whilst besting him, Alois would a way to flaunt or exploit his reaction, breaking him down one way or another. He was an opponent that asked to be underestimated; even so, he ruled so effortlessly over a lascivious domain that Ciel had no knowledge of. Yet that was the thrill in all of it, was it not? It certainly wasn't for physical enjoyment alone. If that was the case, he would have surrendered to Alois a long time ago. They both seemed to enjoy themselves more when Alois was in control, since he actually knew what he was doing.

He swore that one day, he would challenge Alois Trancy to a respectable duel.

In an honorable arrangement, he would demand they draw swords and face off to the death. He wouldn't be so pathetic as to murder Trancy in the reigns of passion. Briefly, he wondered if the other earl didn't rely on Ciel's values, or if the risk of murder had ever crossed his mind at all. Nevertheless, it was not an option; if he was to complete vengeance in his parents' name, he would do so properly, shamelessly. A sword fight did not depend on brawn so much as skill and wit; Ciel couldn't expect Alois to play fairly, of course, living in the shadows as he did, but Ciel still carried an upper hand from training. Yes, at some point, he would get Alois Trancy completely alone, and instead of letting himself be lulled into seduction as he usually did, he would challenge him.

However, the instant Alois strutted into his drawing room, wearing a plump pout and idly fingering the hem of his black shorts, letting them ride up just enough to expose those shapely, stockinged thighs... he knew it had already been decided. That day was not today.

The affair was so effortless only because the two were static enemies. They were sworn rivals, of course, yet they did not viciously pursue one another in search, lashing out impatiently at any opportunity and rabid with bloodlust. No, they remained unhidden and frozen in position, like pieces on a chessboard that were entirely dependent on one another's moves. Forever at an impasse.

Undoubtedly, Alois was his enemy. Regardless... would he really be able to kill him?

Sometimes, when immersed in heady, bubbly afterglow, he doubted it. Endorphins had a comely way of diluting his senses, of allowing him to forget that anything was wrong with this. His blood felt fizzy and feather-light as it rushed through him and tickled under his skin, like a rich swallow of frothy champagne, and he was happy to have that ruffled head of fair hair slumped against his chest. With some emotion that was peachy and faint and borderline affectionate, he would look down at Alois' placid face with no regret at all.

And then the moment would be shattered. Alois would stifle a snort, or flash him the belittling smile of a content predator, and the peaceful instant was obliterated. Alois was no longer beautiful, but cruel, and Ciel was sated, stuffed full of sin and sweets, and he wanted nothing to do with the older boy. In less that a second, the sweet air grew stagnant and bitter, and the room reeked of sweat and sex, and there were slimy, sugar-crusted fingers stroking his chest, cherry-dappled with love-bites, and all of it was wrong. Nonetheless, he'd had too much of being nauseous and ashamed after these liasions. The dark-haired boy was simply apathetic now, and perhaps a bit disappointed in himself.

Ultimately, Ciel Phantomhive had long ago decided that the worst part of having sex with Alois, as well as the most derogatory feature, happened in the aftermath. Due to how heavily the Phantomhive servants pampered him whenever he resided at the estate, Ciel hardly had the dexterity required to tie a shoelace, much less dress himself. Contrastingly, Alois, in his previous life as Jim Macken, had more than enough experience lacing shoes and donning coats and popping buttons into place, both for himself and his brother. Therefore, unless Ciel wanted to leave in a telltale state of unkemptness, or call Sebastian to the mortifying scene, he would have to let Alois dress him.

"Get my clothes then," Ciel grumbled bitterly, although he was still out of breath; he didn't want Alois dressing him, but the sooner he was dressed and gone, the better. "I'm leaving."

"Hm... no, I don't think so. I'm a bit tuckered out, aren't you?" Alois purred dismissively, faking a yawn; the younger could feel the blonde smirk against his chest. He seemed entertained with this singular advantage, with the one moment that Ciel was dependent on him, and he wanted to milk it for all it was worth.

Ciel scowled as he felt all of Alois' muscles uncoil lethargically as he relaxed on him; he was sticky, sweltering, and uncomfortable, and in no mood for trivial games. Regardless of his thin figure, the Trancy boy was still heavier than he was, and his weight alone threatened to splinter Ciel's ribcage.

"Get the hell off of me, Trancy," Ciel spat, louder this time, though his breathing was weak and shallow. With startling strength for his exhausted state, he hoisted Alois up with a grimace and rolled him to the side, so that he was sprawled gracelessly across the tile. The lanky blonde didn't move as Ciel stood, stumbling a bit, before he stomped off to find his clothing. "You're heavy, and I'm not in the mood."

The corners of Alois' lips twitched upwards ever-so-slightly, as if he had a humorous rejoinder to that haughty remark, but his smile faded quickly as it had come. Bizzare as it was, his expression contorted enigmatically, his clouded eyes growing eerily distant in contemplation. He stayed prostrate, spread shamelessly nude and making no attempt to conceal himself, eyes glazed in some far-off memory. He looked defeated, hopeless, haunted even. As if the entire situation recalled a trauma he had long ago been victim to. Ciel opted not to comment on the oddity, although it seemed Alois always behaved peculiarly afterwards. The air seemed tense when he tried to read into the look, strung taut as tendons about to snap, and so he just ignored it with a halfhearted scoff. He decided he would have to dress himself, if Alois was being this obstinate.

A minute or two passed as Ciel faced away from him, sliding his undergarments up his legs in silent musing, before the blonde spoke again, seeming to slip out of his reverie.

"You really ought to come over more often, Ciel," he sniffed, though Ciel couldn't decide if he was being facetious, what with his abnormally whimsical tone. "It'd be fun. We have a lot in common, after all." The soft guilelessness in his voice didn't conceal hints of mockery. As if he were egging him on with that bittersweet, syrupy tone.

"...I'm nothing like you."

Ciel offered no more recognition for a couple of seconds, pausing to step into his shorts and tug them over his hips, before adding, "Stop with your idle nonsense. It's driving me mad."

"Heh..." Alois didn't attempt to suppress his chuckle, as if he was mildly amused by the comment; as far as Ciel knew, everything might as well be a joke to him. Languidly, the older boy propped himself up on his side, supporting his tousled mop of hair with one arm and draping the other across his stomach, and watched Ciel with diluted interest. Even now, the boy looked inconceivably lovely; he was more beautiful than any woman dolled up for an occasion, even if exertion was all that glossed his lips and powdered his cheeks with rouge. Purposefully ignoring the glare of the disheveled earl, which bored effectively into the back of his skull, Ciel shrugged his rumpled dress shirt over his shoulders. A rigid silence settled between the two as Alois scrutinized him attentively, adorning a rather bitter frown. If Ciel Phantomhive needed to compare him to anything, he would say he looked like a sulking cat. Limbs strewn limply, eyes alert and flickering.

"You're such a bore, you know that?" Alois sighed in exasperation, his voice deepening with dissatisfaction. Unrefined sugar, gritty and rough. As expected, Ciel only displayed the cold curve of his spine in response; yet no matter how hard the dark-haired boy tried to maintain an impervious deadpan, Alois easily discerned him fidgeting and fumbling with buttons, and a minuscule smile graced his features.

"Well? Aren't you going to come here?"

Begrudgingly, Ciel turned to face him with an irritated huff. He loathed having the boy dress him; it was not reminiscent of servitude so much as babying. Furthermore, he detested the delight on the other earl's face as he preened and primped him like a little doll, as he was made into no more than blue button eyes and porcelain cheeks and a plush velvet body. Yet what else could he do?

Muscles awkwardly stiff and face impassive, he glanced off to the side as the naked boy approached him; he was unsure as to why he felt more abashed afterwards, yet as usual, he couldn't seem to swallow his chagrin. Although Ciel pointedly averted his eyes, quite literally trying to look anywhere besides the boy's face or genitals, he could tangibly feel that omnipresent smirk as the older boy roped a blue silken ribbon about his throat. Tight as a collar.

And there was nothing to do but stand before him on shaky legs, watching those nimble fingers slip the buttons of his shirt into place, one by one.

That was how it began, and how it always seemed to end. Nevertheless, this wasn't the way events would play out upon his next visit, he was certain. Ciel would make sure of it.

A/N: Review if you want chapter two, yeah? ^-^

No, for real. I'd die without the support of all of you lovely kittens, and I really want to know what you think of this. Besides, next chapter is when the plot starts. x)