the artist's classroom.
Jan. 27th, 2011 01:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
panicking posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
skylarksHappy birthday, dear Ciara! I love you dearly! 
Word count: 1110.
The moment Ciel wonders if Alois has finally begun to make sense to him, something odd strikes and it's thrown all off balance again. This happens every time, he thinks, because he still doesn't have a proper grasp on the other boy. Which— is strange, really, since Alois can hold him so well, and no matter how unwilling a process it is, even Ciel knows that they've started to blur at the edges, that when their legs make a pale, bony tangle together in bed, it serves only to glue them further.
There are two lights to cast on it. One is disgusting: they seep into one another, they have become some mutual thing, two-headed, barely-hearted (Alois covers most of that area and Ciel feels it and it throbs like something he'd forgotten in a fire), with hands stuck together as though the fingers can't be unlocked. It's dependency and that's worthy of such disdain; Alois is needy and greedy and Ciel is horrified to realize that he wants a body so close to his. It shouldn't be that way at all. Alois is ruining Ciel's chill.
The other light is softer, mellow - dully tungsten, to keep glares and edges away. It's quietly indulgent, pink-cheeked, open-mouthed. This is Ciel right now and he doesn't know when the candles changed, when the lampshades were hung in such a way: they are a strange creature, but right now the shadows hide enough of what Ciel hates that he looks at them (a 'him and me,' a 'the two of us') as something warm for tonight. Alois has made the blood rush to his face and Alois has made his lips part, damp and surprised, and Alois has kissed him for what seems like half of the evening, holding cheeks, holding hands, bearing smiles. He smiles a lot. Ciel's defense is to tell him to cut it out when he feels his ear being bitten.
They lay close, then. Ciel is on his back and Alois is on his side and one watches the ceiling and one watches the other. "Hey, Ciel," Alois says, both sudden and somehow expected. His hands are tucked underneath his chin and his toes are curled. Their bodies brush.
Ciel should say What? because that's what he always says, and it's a strange sort of ritual between the two of them. He doesn't. He blinks his uncovered eye at the top of the room and asks, "Why do you do this?"
Pause- press- Alois giggles quietly against Ciel's shoulder. The smaller boy had missed his too-open expression. "What an inquiry," Alois murmurs, and puts one kiss to the side of Ciel's neck. "Why wouldn't I?"
"You know—"
"No, I don't."
—It always ends up this way. Ciel's some sort of frozen river, iced over with the same face while currents of this is such filth rush under his skin. Alois tries very, very hard to be the sun, but he's not sure that he's succeeding. "I love you," Alois tells Ciel, and even, "I like you," and Ciel rolls over and kisses the side of Alois' mouth, missing his center mark, knowing that Alois won't particularly care about faulty aim. They're ridiculous, the both of them, and Ciel wonders whether this boy against him realizes it too.
He lets Alois unwrap him. They're in nightgowns and so it isn't difficult (though it is, actually, and Ciel's lips are pursed and his toes might cramp for their awkward curling); Alois unbuttons and opens up and says, "It's only me," like he always does. Why does he say that every time? Ciel knows it - obviously he and Alois are the only ones in the room - what is that supposed to help? He feels a kiss at his throat, sees Alois Trancy's contrasting blond hair, and shuts his eye. "I know," he says finally, and hooks thin arms over thin shoulders. "Alois?"
A laughing boy. "I know," breathes Alois, too, and he presses fingers over ribs, over a navel, while Ciel turns his face away. That's how it works. Alois looks at Ciel but he's learned not to ask the same in return.
They are landmines, walking all over each other; they're ready to send things flying, to cause bursts of flames, but Alois has taken Ciel to bed and swiped fingers between thin thighs and he grasps and drags his palm. Ciel's skin is hotter than Alois' hand. "I don't understand," Ciel grinds out, and then his top lip's pinched between his teeth for a moment. The gauze eyepatch means that there's only one set of fluttering eyelashes, but the heat at his face crosses both cheeks, and so he's red while his chest heaves. Alois is using his thumb in a way that's far too teasing. Ciel can recognize it, by now, and might kick him a little if their current positions allowed it. "Alois—"
"I've been trying to teach you," Alois interrupts, and Ciel bites his own lip harder - that's frustrating, and he doesn't want Alois to make him sound like he cut himself off for a gasp. Still— "All this time, Ciel, aren't you learning anything? Ciel..." Caught between rolling his eye and shutting it tight again, Ciel huffs and clutches at the sides of Alois' nightgown. The blond boy hovers, breathes in the scent of dark hair, and smiles when he feels Ciel's face against the side of his neck. "Ciel," he says again, "You're always this tense."
"Oh," Ciel replies suddenly, though it's likely not an actual response to what was said; he jerks his hips, hangs on and presses, and then he comes over Alois' hand while the other boy coos at him. Breathing- breathing- that's difficult. He says it again - "Oh." - and it's more of an exhale. He probably is tense, isn't he?
Alois cleans him up. He makes sure that Ciel hasn't made an absolute mess of himself and he kisses that damp forehead and he thinks, Favorite part. It's his favorite part, when Ciel curls and sighs and seems exhausted. Alois earns glances, during times like these - half-lidded things, glazed and warm and set in a pink face. "Got to wash my hands, I guess," he says sweetly, and he kisses Ciel's lips and looks at him wholly and smiles when Ciel frowns.
"Don't you need—"
"I've got what I need."
The exchange is too simple, for all that it means.
Alois leaves for the washroom and Ciel lays there, halfway on his side now, and turns all of these things over in his mind. He decides that Alois is still ridiculous and that he doesn't know what he's going to do with that boy— he decides to get used to it.
Word count: 1110.The moment Ciel wonders if Alois has finally begun to make sense to him, something odd strikes and it's thrown all off balance again. This happens every time, he thinks, because he still doesn't have a proper grasp on the other boy. Which— is strange, really, since Alois can hold him so well, and no matter how unwilling a process it is, even Ciel knows that they've started to blur at the edges, that when their legs make a pale, bony tangle together in bed, it serves only to glue them further.
There are two lights to cast on it. One is disgusting: they seep into one another, they have become some mutual thing, two-headed, barely-hearted (Alois covers most of that area and Ciel feels it and it throbs like something he'd forgotten in a fire), with hands stuck together as though the fingers can't be unlocked. It's dependency and that's worthy of such disdain; Alois is needy and greedy and Ciel is horrified to realize that he wants a body so close to his. It shouldn't be that way at all. Alois is ruining Ciel's chill.
The other light is softer, mellow - dully tungsten, to keep glares and edges away. It's quietly indulgent, pink-cheeked, open-mouthed. This is Ciel right now and he doesn't know when the candles changed, when the lampshades were hung in such a way: they are a strange creature, but right now the shadows hide enough of what Ciel hates that he looks at them (a 'him and me,' a 'the two of us') as something warm for tonight. Alois has made the blood rush to his face and Alois has made his lips part, damp and surprised, and Alois has kissed him for what seems like half of the evening, holding cheeks, holding hands, bearing smiles. He smiles a lot. Ciel's defense is to tell him to cut it out when he feels his ear being bitten.
They lay close, then. Ciel is on his back and Alois is on his side and one watches the ceiling and one watches the other. "Hey, Ciel," Alois says, both sudden and somehow expected. His hands are tucked underneath his chin and his toes are curled. Their bodies brush.
Ciel should say What? because that's what he always says, and it's a strange sort of ritual between the two of them. He doesn't. He blinks his uncovered eye at the top of the room and asks, "Why do you do this?"
Pause- press- Alois giggles quietly against Ciel's shoulder. The smaller boy had missed his too-open expression. "What an inquiry," Alois murmurs, and puts one kiss to the side of Ciel's neck. "Why wouldn't I?"
"You know—"
"No, I don't."
—It always ends up this way. Ciel's some sort of frozen river, iced over with the same face while currents of this is such filth rush under his skin. Alois tries very, very hard to be the sun, but he's not sure that he's succeeding. "I love you," Alois tells Ciel, and even, "I like you," and Ciel rolls over and kisses the side of Alois' mouth, missing his center mark, knowing that Alois won't particularly care about faulty aim. They're ridiculous, the both of them, and Ciel wonders whether this boy against him realizes it too.
He lets Alois unwrap him. They're in nightgowns and so it isn't difficult (though it is, actually, and Ciel's lips are pursed and his toes might cramp for their awkward curling); Alois unbuttons and opens up and says, "It's only me," like he always does. Why does he say that every time? Ciel knows it - obviously he and Alois are the only ones in the room - what is that supposed to help? He feels a kiss at his throat, sees Alois Trancy's contrasting blond hair, and shuts his eye. "I know," he says finally, and hooks thin arms over thin shoulders. "Alois?"
A laughing boy. "I know," breathes Alois, too, and he presses fingers over ribs, over a navel, while Ciel turns his face away. That's how it works. Alois looks at Ciel but he's learned not to ask the same in return.
They are landmines, walking all over each other; they're ready to send things flying, to cause bursts of flames, but Alois has taken Ciel to bed and swiped fingers between thin thighs and he grasps and drags his palm. Ciel's skin is hotter than Alois' hand. "I don't understand," Ciel grinds out, and then his top lip's pinched between his teeth for a moment. The gauze eyepatch means that there's only one set of fluttering eyelashes, but the heat at his face crosses both cheeks, and so he's red while his chest heaves. Alois is using his thumb in a way that's far too teasing. Ciel can recognize it, by now, and might kick him a little if their current positions allowed it. "Alois—"
"I've been trying to teach you," Alois interrupts, and Ciel bites his own lip harder - that's frustrating, and he doesn't want Alois to make him sound like he cut himself off for a gasp. Still— "All this time, Ciel, aren't you learning anything? Ciel..." Caught between rolling his eye and shutting it tight again, Ciel huffs and clutches at the sides of Alois' nightgown. The blond boy hovers, breathes in the scent of dark hair, and smiles when he feels Ciel's face against the side of his neck. "Ciel," he says again, "You're always this tense."
"Oh," Ciel replies suddenly, though it's likely not an actual response to what was said; he jerks his hips, hangs on and presses, and then he comes over Alois' hand while the other boy coos at him. Breathing- breathing- that's difficult. He says it again - "Oh." - and it's more of an exhale. He probably is tense, isn't he?
Alois cleans him up. He makes sure that Ciel hasn't made an absolute mess of himself and he kisses that damp forehead and he thinks, Favorite part. It's his favorite part, when Ciel curls and sighs and seems exhausted. Alois earns glances, during times like these - half-lidded things, glazed and warm and set in a pink face. "Got to wash my hands, I guess," he says sweetly, and he kisses Ciel's lips and looks at him wholly and smiles when Ciel frowns.
"Don't you need—"
"I've got what I need."
The exchange is too simple, for all that it means.
Alois leaves for the washroom and Ciel lays there, halfway on his side now, and turns all of these things over in his mind. He decides that Alois is still ridiculous and that he doesn't know what he's going to do with that boy— he decides to get used to it.
