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The Countess

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Ciel awoke before his new bride, careful not to stir her as he blinked into consciousness. She was so close, the closeness something he had grown so very unused to in the past years. But there she was, his wife, pinning his arm to the mattress where it was beneath her throat. He could feel her steady breathing against his skin.

Her natural scent wafted off of her in gentle waves, mixing perfectly with the lavender scented perfumes she used and mixed with her lotions and creams. Ciel wondered how she knew how wonderfully lavender worked for her. Did someone else tell her, or was it her own thought that made it so popular?

He’d smelled it on her before, it was hard to miss when you got as close as they often did, even harder with her hair splayed out across his arm and tucked beneath his cheek this way. It wasn’t overwhelming, quite the opposite. It was just her.

Cautiously, Ciel brought his fingers up to her hair. He raked his digits through the golden locks, brushing it all over her throat. He dragged the soft tips of his fingers over her sunkissed shoulder, careful not to wake her. There was a great deal he’d wanted to say the night before, he hadn’t actually intended to come together with her when he’d gone to their room. But, seeing her in the state that she was in, denying the want he’d felt in steadier waves when she was around these last few years seemed impossible.

Despite his inexperience, they’d both known enough for it to get underway easily enough. It was a feeling he’d not been expecting. He’d masturbated before, as all young men do, but sex had never been at the forefront of his mind. Though he’d flirted with temptation, he’d never wanted it enough - ahead of his other, more needier aspirations - to betray Lizzy in that way. He’d been happy to oblige virginity until they’d been wed, and though he’d thought it, he’d confirmed Elizabeth’s own loyalty the night before. And that, more than the sharp dip of her waist and the thick musculature of her thighs, more than how perfectly her breasts had fit in the palm of his hand, had pulled at his arousal.

The darkest corners of his mind loved it most. So pure an angel, so loyal to him - how easy to use her for so many personal advancements. How beneficial had this initially unwanted union become? But it was not all of him that thought so selfishly. He reminded himself of this as his fingers dipped lower, tracing the lift of her hip beneath the blankets.

As a youth, Ciel had often thought her annoying and selfish, a childish and abrupt brat with no sense of self preservation. He’d learned she was hardly like that - though her bubbly personality did annoy him sometimes - it was largely a show. An attempt to come off as cuter than she felt she was. It didn’t make him like her any more or any less (he had always liked her just fine, more so with the advancement of years and their natural maturation) to know that she compensated for what she found unendearing. It just lent to his understanding of her, something which none would say is anything less than a good thing in a relationship. He found her ability to make him fold to her every whim… frustrating… but impressive. None had ever managed such a feat, and likely none ever would. It was suggested to him once, by his aggravating butler, that this was because of that damning emotion called ‘love’. Remiss to admit it though he was, it wasn’t impossible.

He dared a kiss to the apex of her shoulder, mulling over the idea that he may, in fact, be in love with Elizabeth Midford - nay, Phantomhive. Would it be so terrible to love his wife? Perhaps, considering the man he was and the things he did. Perhaps it would be cruel to love her. But she loved him, and he knew well enough he already did not deserve such a kindness. Would it make him worse to deny her the pleasure of returned devotion?