Chapter Text
Sobbing. Sniffling. These were odd noises to hear echoing against the chapel walls at Weston. The confessional, sitting up against the stone wall, was an ornate thing, carved from dark wood and hung with red curtains. Soft murmurs in dark dulcet tones emanated from the center chamber, that is if one were to stand close enough to hear such soft whispers. From the far right, the sobs and sniffles continued along with less conspicuous words, choked in a voice pitched higher from the emotions it tried to contain.
“So then, tell me of what is troubling you so - your face in the library was quite pitiable,” came the dark smooth voice through the slatted divider to where Joanne Harcourt sat with his hands between his knees and his face lowered.
“It was Cole,” came the defeated response. “He said he gave me the invitation to Swan Gazebo, but... I never received it.”
Such was the scene that greeted one Mr. Phantomhive as the appointed time to meet with Professor Michaelis drew near.
Ciel frowned and tried not to roll his eyes. It must be so incredibly dull, he thought, having to listen to all the petty sins and trivial nonsense of adolescent boys all day long. A wicked smile crept across his face. Good.
He slipped into the left-hand booth and shut the curtain behind him; the grate to his left was shut, but when the sniveling penitent on the other side left, the cover would be slid back to allow him to speak. He snickered, muffling the sound with one hand - oh, it was too rich, the devil having to play the vicar and absolve children of their sins! He couldn't pass up the opportunity for some mischief, he just couldn't.
“I'm really not lying!!” Harcourt burst out loudly, but then his voice dropped with a sob. “Everyone is calling me a liar.”
Professor Michaelis let his eyes slide shut, and his lips curled into a serpentine smile though his voice betrayed no such thing. He was devoutly sincere in his tone; the irony was laughable. “You must have been sad, and it must have been hard on you, to have no one believe you… but I do not think you are a liar. And so, please pray that this misunderstanding will clear up one day soon.”
The final response from the poor student was unintelligible. A few short minutes later however, Harcourt was exiting the chapel, eyes dry, if not still puffy from all the shed tears.
Ciel heard the rattle of the curtain rings as the occupant of the right-hand booth left; there was a soft metallic scraping sound as the demon closed the grate, and then the brass cover of the lattice in Ciel’s booth slid back. The little Earl leaned closer to the grate and whispered in his best innocent-child voice: “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned… oh, so very much.”
The familiar, childish, and oh so impish voice caught his attention immediately. “Oh?” the demon chuckled. “And how long has it been since your last confession?” He smirked behind the lattice separating him from the left-side compartment. “Would you like to tell me your sins, young Phantomhive?”
Ciel struggled not to laugh as he replied, “I can’t remember the last time I went to Confession… that’s awful, isn’t it?” He softened his tone even more, doing his best to sound sorrowful. “I… I’ve sinned so terribly, Father… I’m so very ashamed.”
“Poor child,” the 'Father' murmured back, with a mocking lilt to his velvet tones. “If you do not share your shame with me, I cannot absolve you of sin.” Father Michaelis curled a gloved finger in front of his lip to hide the smirk threatening to overtake him, lest his utter amusement leak into his patriarchal tone.
“Well, you see, I…” The boy made a little sniffling sound. “I have… impure thoughts. And… and I’ve…” He paused for dramatic effect, and added another little sniff, just for good measure. “I’ve… committed lustful acts,” he finished, in a tortured whisper.
“You sound far too innocent for the sin of lust to have taken hold so strongly.” There was a short pause before the calm, soothing voice continued through the latticework. “Tell me of these acts, so that I might advise you on how to make penance.” The demon silently chuckled to himself, the chain from his glasses swaying slightly.
“Well…” Ciel put a hand up to his mouth, as if to hide the words. “I… I’ve been thinking… sinful things… about someone. Someone in this school. I… I’ve thought of him at night, when everyone else is asleep… and I’ve… I’ve…” He covered his face with both hands, more to hide his irrepressible grin than anything else, but he was fairly certain a casual observer would think him horribly embarrassed. “Oh, I can’t bear to say it, Father! I’m so ashamed!”
A fine dark brow arched beneath inky black hair. “Is that so?” He cleared his throat as he repressed a chuckle. “As you know, all of your confessions are of course kept in the strictest of confidence. You can lay your shame at my feet.” The demon crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in the compartment as he turned his garnet eyes to the latticework to glimpse the boy beyond. “To have your nights so… disturbed... poor child.”
Ciel took his hands away from his face, leaned even closer to the grate, lowered his lashes, and breathed softly: “It’s as though the devil’s gotten into me, Father, stirring up all manner of indecent thoughts… My hands wander beneath the duvet as if by themselves… I feel as though I can’t control it!” The shy whisper became a low, throaty murmur. “I can almost feel him there, touching me, asking me to touch him… and I want to!” He made a pitiful little sound verging on a sob. “Oh, I’m a wicked, wicked child, aren’t I?”
“That is truly sinful, to keep the devil in your thoughts as such. Why, you might find him in your bed with you, should your thoughts hold their course.” The vicar smiled to himself in the dimness of the confessional, illuminated by the unnatural glow of his eyes. “A wicked child indeed. You were right to come to Confession. You need saving, Phantomhive. These sinful desires you have... whatever shall you do if the opportunity were to present itself? Pray?”
“Oh, but it has presented itself!” the Earl whimpered, and had to bite his lip to keep it from becoming a laugh. “And… I didn’t pray. I… I did… such obscene things…” He pressed his cheek to the lattice, keeping his eyes demurely downcast. “Can you absolve such a bad child, Father?”
Smirking gloriously, the demon reached one gloved hand out and stroked along the cheek pressed to the latticework. “Perhaps, perhaps. But it will take an awful lot of devotion to absolve such shamefulness.” A dark musical chuckle sounded from behind the velvet curtains. “How much faith are you willing to show?”
Ciel turned his face toward the grate, gazing into the darkness beyond; his human vision couldn’t make out the demon’s form in the shadows, but he knew ‘Father’ Michaelis could see him perfectly clearly. “What must I do?” he asked, blinking his wide blue eye innocently.
Deep garnet eyes swallowed the ocean blue one in the darkness. As his lips curled at the corners, his tongue brushed against a sharp canine tooth, starkly white against the dark. “Oh dear. Perhaps you should start by telling me all of the shameful things you have done.”
Ciel looked away, as if in mortification. “Well, I… I’ve touched… I’ve kissed his… um, you see, I…” The sudden inability to form proper sentences wasn’t entirely for show – and neither was the blush seeping into his cheeks, although it certainly did lend a nice hint of credibility to his act. He hadn’t expected to actually say such things… and what if someone were eavesdropping outside the confessional? After a moment’s consideration, he looked over one thin shoulder at the grate and whispered, “Oh, Father, I just can’t say such wicked things out loud!” He snuffled against the back of his jacket sleeve, peering imploringly into the dark booth on the other side of the lattice. “Whatever shall I do?”
A beautifully smug smile glided across the demon's face. He watched the boy through his lashes, turn away from the grate. He listened to his words become tinged with actual embarrassment and he laced his fingers together and set his hands upon his knee. “Yes. You've said as much already. Such vague statements simply won't do.” That eye looming wide and pitiable in the darkness had the devil chuckling quietly to himself. “Well then, my child, if you simply cannot get the words to pass those innocent lips of yours, perhaps you had better come show me what you cannot speak of.”
Ciel had to turn away again, this time to hide the naughty smile curving his lips. “Yes, Father,” he murmured. He cautiously drew back the curtain just a bit and peeked out; seeing no one else in the chapel, he hurried over to the center booth of the confessional, unlatched the heavy wooden half-door, and slipped through, re-latching it behind him. After one last quick look around, he drew back the curtain and stepped into the interior of the booth; and just before the drapery fell back into place and plunged the little enclosure into darkness again, he caught a quick glimpse of the devil sitting on the bench, his legs formally crossed, his spectacles glinting, the long, long row of tiny buttons down the front of his cassock. “I…” he started, then looked towards the floor, though he could see nothing in the blackness. “I don’t know where to begin,” he said, which was actually the truth. “Please give me your guidance, Father Michaelis.”