Grooms Don't Wear Dresses
Title: "Grooms Don't Wear Dresses"
Series: Kuroshitsuji
Pairing: SebastianxCiel (Very light, though)
The idea came to me whilst looking at cocodrillo.deviantart.com/art/Ciel-s-Wedding-121956929
To Read:
The closet: the small doorway leading to a world of imagination. Each article within is its own magical fable. A delicate shoe: Cinderella. A majestic cloak: the prince on a Sunday afternoon. A top hat with a broad red band: the magician with a white rabbit hidden in an illusion. Every piece of attire is a key that unlocks a unique story.
Needless to say, such an enchanting thing captivates the minds of children; children whose minds still have the freedom to dream. Dreaming within the closet also happened to be a favorite pastime of the young Ciel Phantomhive.
Often he’d brush his little fingers against the fabric in his parent’s wardrobe. Silk, cotton, velvet, lace and ribbons and beads… The child would tug upon the one that felt the nicest, tugged upon it until it slipped from its hanger and onto the floor. From the floor the clothing would find its way onto the boy’s tiny body. He’d stand before the mirror, swimming in his father’s jacket, wobbling in his mother’s shoes and half blind from the hat two sizes too large for his head. Ciel would masquerade in his mother and father’s room for hours on end creating countless outfits with a story - a future - knitted by his imagination. Then would come the time Rachel would intrude upon his parade and ask him “Is that your planned attire for the ball, my darling?” The child would giggle, wiggle out of his costume and continue on with his day; his ritual no longer sacred having been interrupted.
All outfits had their tale, a clear beginning, middle, and end. Save for one garment; one garment that the Phantomhive boy seemed to favor the most. Rachel’s wedding dress hung in the very corner of the closet. Its crisp white, beaded and lacey glory the treasure hidden within a cave of fool’s gold. Without the slightest thought, Ciel’s hand would gravitate towards the dress. Forever mesmerized by its beauty and elegance…forever mesmerized by its lack of story. It was simply wrong not to try it on. In front of the mirror he’d step, a puddle of white at his feet. His dainty face cocking to the right, studying his reflection, trying oh so hard to weave the tale, to glimpse into the future. The vision was all a great blur, though; a blur with the only definite thing a figure beside him; a tall, dark, mysterious figure; a figure with no face, no identity. The boy wondered and pondered about the figure. Who was it? Where had they come from? What were they doing there? His musings only ever left him with the dress, an indistinct tale, and a blank face that was obviously so very important. He did not worry though; he could not exactly place his finger on it, but the child felt he need not search for the unknown person. They would find their way into his life somehow; he could feel it, almost as if it were destiny.
Rachel could never resist laughing when she walked in and saw the little boy in her wedding gown. “You can’t seem to resist that thing, can you?” She would walk over, pluck a flower from the bedside bouquet, and place it in Ciel’s hair. Mother and son would then gaze into the mirror.
“I’m going to be married in this, mother!” Ciel would say, giggles bubbling from within.
“You are, are you?” Came Rachel’s reply, playfully. “And how are you so certain you shall be the bride, my silly boy?”
They say that things happen for a reason. That magical closet was consumed by hungry, angry flames. Cinderella, the Prince, and the Magician all turned to ash. The silk, cotton, velvet, lace and ribbons and beads…cinders. Their owners: nothing but dust. The stories, the futures...all had gone up in smoke. Save for the garment without a tale.
Ciel believed it was fate - however weak it seemed to have belief in such a thing - that that dress had survived. It was in rough shape, terribly so. Rather than crisp white it was a dull brown peppered with splotches of black and singed holes. Mere traces of lace were left, most of it having been incinerated. And many of its beads had been lost or melted in the heat of the fire. Upon a first glance, one would be more likely to think it a rag than a wedding gown. Its beauty had vanished - no, been stolen. But the garment remained magnificent in Ciel’s eyes. Beneath his bed it resided, in a box. Rarely did he take it out for fear someone would see. It was one thing to be spotted in a wedding dress when the boy was smaller, but at thirteen, he would not be caught dead in one.
The servants were doing daily duties, Elizabeth was on trip out of town, and Sebastian was preparing lunch…a glance over the right shoulder, a glance over the left. Curtains closed, door shut - the box was pulled across the floor, out into the open. Ciel ran a hand over it, leaving a trail in the coating of dust on it. Knowing the longer he took the better the chance of being seen, he flipped the cover open with haste and lifted the dress out. He allowed himself a sliver of time to admire it before slipping it on. Another cautious glance around the room; he was safe. Lifting the skirt, he padded to the mirror. The gown wasn’t as large on him as it had been in the past, yet it still pooled a great deal at his feet. A faint smile flashed across his features, but only for a second. His expression returned to its default as he began to smooth the dress out.
“Young master-.”
Ciel froze. He turned his head towards the door where his butler had poked his head in. His cheeks ignited instantly. He knew he had forgotten something: the lock.
“…may I be so bold as to ask what exactly are you doing, my lord?” The question came slowly.
Ciel’s brain struggled to start. “I…eh…” He stammered before regaining his ability to function. “Nothing!” He began to squirm his way out of the dress as quickly as possible. “Nothing at all!”
Sebastian caught his arm, moving from the doorframe to Ciel in a flash. “Come now, young master. You need not get so flustered.” The butler gently slid the right sleeve back up his charge’s arm. “You look quite lovely, I must say.”
“Don’t you try to flatter me!” The boy swatted Sebastian away, embarrassed to the core. He willed his burning cheeks to desist their blazing, but they chose to disobey.
“Whether you consider my comments flattery or not is your decision.” Sebastian knelt down and began fussing with the dress. “I am simply telling the truth.”
“Lair.” The boy huffed, crossing his arms.
After a moment of contemplation, the demon looked up at his master. “If you would like, my lord, I am certain I could repair this. It seems a little worse for wear…”
“No.” Ciel replied sharply; his glare reflecting his disdain towards the idea.
The butler’s hands retreated from the fabric. “As you wish.” He stood and walked towards the cart in the hallway to fetch the afternoon tea. “It would appear that garment holds a great deal of sentimental value.”
“…you could say that.” The boy’s gaze returned to the mirror.
“Judging from your strong opposition to repairing it, it is fairly obvious.” Sebastian explained, placing a tea cup on the youth’s bedside table.
“It was my mother’s.” Ciel whispered absent mindedly. His fingers reached out and brushed the reflection in the glass.
Sebastian did not offer a reply.
Ciel laughed weakly, “I used to play this ridiculous game in which I’d raid my parents’ wardrobe and try everything on. Dress-up.” He ran his hand down the glass, stroking the skirts’ image. “This was always my favorite piece of their attire...”
“I see.” Sebastian stood quietly in the background, watching his master reminisce.
“I’d constantly say I would get married in this.” He scoffed. “I was stupid back then.”
“Perhaps you will be betrothed in it.” The demon proposed.
“Feh! Grooms do not wear dresses, Sebastian.”
“What makes you so certain you shall be the groom?”
Ciel’s breath caught in his throat. He shot his butler an odd look. “Funny you should say such a thing…You know, I used to envision the future in this. And the only thing I ever saw was a figure standing beside me…”
“Could it have been Miss Elizabeth? She is, after all, your fiancé.”
“Hell, no! No, it was not Lizzie. It was…dark, and curious; almost mystical.” The boy was lost in his thoughts until he suddenly snapped back to reality. “What am I doing? Ugh, this is such nonsense.” He started undressing. “Go, finish preparing lunch. And disregard our conversation. It was foolish to tell you all of that.” He tossed the dress into its box rather haphazardly and kicked it back to its place under his bed.
“Yes, my lord.” Sebastian turned to leave, obeying orders.
The boy sighed as he listened to retreating footsteps, back to the door. His eyelids slid shut. “Sebastian?”
The butler returned to the doorway. “What is it, young master?”
“That figure.” He spun around to face Sebastian. “It was you.”
“Was it, now?”
“I knew it. I knew it from the first time I saw your face.”
“Well then, perhaps you will be married in that dress.”
“Very funny.” The boy said flatly.
“I do believe I asked earlier ‘what makes you so certain you shall be the groom?’.”
“You twat!”
Sebastian merely smiled his devious smile and returned to his dining preparations, leaving a blushing bride in his wake.
Series: Kuroshitsuji
Pairing: SebastianxCiel (Very light, though)
The idea came to me whilst looking at cocodrillo.deviantart.com/art/Ciel-s-Wedding-121956929
To Read:
The closet: the small doorway leading to a world of imagination. Each article within is its own magical fable. A delicate shoe: Cinderella. A majestic cloak: the prince on a Sunday afternoon. A top hat with a broad red band: the magician with a white rabbit hidden in an illusion. Every piece of attire is a key that unlocks a unique story.
Needless to say, such an enchanting thing captivates the minds of children; children whose minds still have the freedom to dream. Dreaming within the closet also happened to be a favorite pastime of the young Ciel Phantomhive.
Often he’d brush his little fingers against the fabric in his parent’s wardrobe. Silk, cotton, velvet, lace and ribbons and beads… The child would tug upon the one that felt the nicest, tugged upon it until it slipped from its hanger and onto the floor. From the floor the clothing would find its way onto the boy’s tiny body. He’d stand before the mirror, swimming in his father’s jacket, wobbling in his mother’s shoes and half blind from the hat two sizes too large for his head. Ciel would masquerade in his mother and father’s room for hours on end creating countless outfits with a story - a future - knitted by his imagination. Then would come the time Rachel would intrude upon his parade and ask him “Is that your planned attire for the ball, my darling?” The child would giggle, wiggle out of his costume and continue on with his day; his ritual no longer sacred having been interrupted.
All outfits had their tale, a clear beginning, middle, and end. Save for one garment; one garment that the Phantomhive boy seemed to favor the most. Rachel’s wedding dress hung in the very corner of the closet. Its crisp white, beaded and lacey glory the treasure hidden within a cave of fool’s gold. Without the slightest thought, Ciel’s hand would gravitate towards the dress. Forever mesmerized by its beauty and elegance…forever mesmerized by its lack of story. It was simply wrong not to try it on. In front of the mirror he’d step, a puddle of white at his feet. His dainty face cocking to the right, studying his reflection, trying oh so hard to weave the tale, to glimpse into the future. The vision was all a great blur, though; a blur with the only definite thing a figure beside him; a tall, dark, mysterious figure; a figure with no face, no identity. The boy wondered and pondered about the figure. Who was it? Where had they come from? What were they doing there? His musings only ever left him with the dress, an indistinct tale, and a blank face that was obviously so very important. He did not worry though; he could not exactly place his finger on it, but the child felt he need not search for the unknown person. They would find their way into his life somehow; he could feel it, almost as if it were destiny.
Rachel could never resist laughing when she walked in and saw the little boy in her wedding gown. “You can’t seem to resist that thing, can you?” She would walk over, pluck a flower from the bedside bouquet, and place it in Ciel’s hair. Mother and son would then gaze into the mirror.
“I’m going to be married in this, mother!” Ciel would say, giggles bubbling from within.
“You are, are you?” Came Rachel’s reply, playfully. “And how are you so certain you shall be the bride, my silly boy?”
They say that things happen for a reason. That magical closet was consumed by hungry, angry flames. Cinderella, the Prince, and the Magician all turned to ash. The silk, cotton, velvet, lace and ribbons and beads…cinders. Their owners: nothing but dust. The stories, the futures...all had gone up in smoke. Save for the garment without a tale.
Ciel believed it was fate - however weak it seemed to have belief in such a thing - that that dress had survived. It was in rough shape, terribly so. Rather than crisp white it was a dull brown peppered with splotches of black and singed holes. Mere traces of lace were left, most of it having been incinerated. And many of its beads had been lost or melted in the heat of the fire. Upon a first glance, one would be more likely to think it a rag than a wedding gown. Its beauty had vanished - no, been stolen. But the garment remained magnificent in Ciel’s eyes. Beneath his bed it resided, in a box. Rarely did he take it out for fear someone would see. It was one thing to be spotted in a wedding dress when the boy was smaller, but at thirteen, he would not be caught dead in one.
The servants were doing daily duties, Elizabeth was on trip out of town, and Sebastian was preparing lunch…a glance over the right shoulder, a glance over the left. Curtains closed, door shut - the box was pulled across the floor, out into the open. Ciel ran a hand over it, leaving a trail in the coating of dust on it. Knowing the longer he took the better the chance of being seen, he flipped the cover open with haste and lifted the dress out. He allowed himself a sliver of time to admire it before slipping it on. Another cautious glance around the room; he was safe. Lifting the skirt, he padded to the mirror. The gown wasn’t as large on him as it had been in the past, yet it still pooled a great deal at his feet. A faint smile flashed across his features, but only for a second. His expression returned to its default as he began to smooth the dress out.
“Young master-.”
Ciel froze. He turned his head towards the door where his butler had poked his head in. His cheeks ignited instantly. He knew he had forgotten something: the lock.
“…may I be so bold as to ask what exactly are you doing, my lord?” The question came slowly.
Ciel’s brain struggled to start. “I…eh…” He stammered before regaining his ability to function. “Nothing!” He began to squirm his way out of the dress as quickly as possible. “Nothing at all!”
Sebastian caught his arm, moving from the doorframe to Ciel in a flash. “Come now, young master. You need not get so flustered.” The butler gently slid the right sleeve back up his charge’s arm. “You look quite lovely, I must say.”
“Don’t you try to flatter me!” The boy swatted Sebastian away, embarrassed to the core. He willed his burning cheeks to desist their blazing, but they chose to disobey.
“Whether you consider my comments flattery or not is your decision.” Sebastian knelt down and began fussing with the dress. “I am simply telling the truth.”
“Lair.” The boy huffed, crossing his arms.
After a moment of contemplation, the demon looked up at his master. “If you would like, my lord, I am certain I could repair this. It seems a little worse for wear…”
“No.” Ciel replied sharply; his glare reflecting his disdain towards the idea.
The butler’s hands retreated from the fabric. “As you wish.” He stood and walked towards the cart in the hallway to fetch the afternoon tea. “It would appear that garment holds a great deal of sentimental value.”
“…you could say that.” The boy’s gaze returned to the mirror.
“Judging from your strong opposition to repairing it, it is fairly obvious.” Sebastian explained, placing a tea cup on the youth’s bedside table.
“It was my mother’s.” Ciel whispered absent mindedly. His fingers reached out and brushed the reflection in the glass.
Sebastian did not offer a reply.
Ciel laughed weakly, “I used to play this ridiculous game in which I’d raid my parents’ wardrobe and try everything on. Dress-up.” He ran his hand down the glass, stroking the skirts’ image. “This was always my favorite piece of their attire...”
“I see.” Sebastian stood quietly in the background, watching his master reminisce.
“I’d constantly say I would get married in this.” He scoffed. “I was stupid back then.”
“Perhaps you will be betrothed in it.” The demon proposed.
“Feh! Grooms do not wear dresses, Sebastian.”
“What makes you so certain you shall be the groom?”
Ciel’s breath caught in his throat. He shot his butler an odd look. “Funny you should say such a thing…You know, I used to envision the future in this. And the only thing I ever saw was a figure standing beside me…”
“Could it have been Miss Elizabeth? She is, after all, your fiancé.”
“Hell, no! No, it was not Lizzie. It was…dark, and curious; almost mystical.” The boy was lost in his thoughts until he suddenly snapped back to reality. “What am I doing? Ugh, this is such nonsense.” He started undressing. “Go, finish preparing lunch. And disregard our conversation. It was foolish to tell you all of that.” He tossed the dress into its box rather haphazardly and kicked it back to its place under his bed.
“Yes, my lord.” Sebastian turned to leave, obeying orders.
The boy sighed as he listened to retreating footsteps, back to the door. His eyelids slid shut. “Sebastian?”
The butler returned to the doorway. “What is it, young master?”
“That figure.” He spun around to face Sebastian. “It was you.”
“Was it, now?”
“I knew it. I knew it from the first time I saw your face.”
“Well then, perhaps you will be married in that dress.”
“Very funny.” The boy said flatly.
“I do believe I asked earlier ‘what makes you so certain you shall be the groom?’.”
“You twat!”
Sebastian merely smiled his devious smile and returned to his dining preparations, leaving a blushing bride in his wake.