FILL: Lizzie/Edward, pre-Lizzie/Edward/Ciel!

Date: 2015-10-24 06:21 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
This didn't end up quite fitting any of the related prompts, so here it goes! Edward is insecure before Lizzie's wedding, and she reassures him. Kinda cracky.


At last Edward could no longer stand the ribbons and chattering. “Stop,” he snapped, and when Lizzie whirled to stare at him his shoulders dropped. More quietly, he said, “I can’t stand this.”

She dropped both pairs of silk white slippers and sat beside him on the couch. Her knees tucked up, her hands finding his shoulder and his wrist. “This isn’t a surprise, brother,” she said. “It has to be this way.”

Edward looked away. “I know. But I don’t have to be happy about it.”

She scowled, a sudden storm cloud. She could hide her feelings with effort, but she hid nothing from him. “You don’t have to be happy about it,” she agreed. “But I wish you would. I love him, Edward. Almost as—I’ve loved him almost as long as I’ve loved you.”

He repressed a sigh. If Lizzie had to marry—and oh, yes, his father’s voice echoed in his head, she had to marry—then he thanked every god he knew that she was marrying someone her age, her station. Someone she wanted. Ciel Phantomhive was a peculiar young man, sure, and Edward thought perhaps dangerously single-minded, but he trusted Elizabeth to protect herself if need be. And certainly that butler was well able to defend the household. He’d long since come to terms with his jealousy over Lizzie’s attentions. He could share, yes. Sharing wasn’t the problem.

“I worry I won’t be able to see you,” he confessed, and the storm cloud faded.

She tried a small smile, lifted her hand from his wrist to his cheek.

“Of course you’ll get to see me,” she said fervently. “Of course. I won’t have that much more to do every day than I do now. Ciel won’t care when I want to visit, when I want to have you over. And nothing will change on your end.”

He coughed. “Well, of course we’ll be visiting. But, if we want to, you know…”

Lizzie laughed. “If we want to fuck?”

Edward flushed. “If we want to make love” he corrected. “It’s difficult enough to hide when we live in the same house, Lizzie. I can’t very well call on you for tea and ask Ciel to wait in the parlor while I—make love to his wife!”

Lizzie laughed again, and tucked a strand of Edward’s hair behind his ear. “I think it will be terribly exciting. You can rent out a hotel room, and have me there while I’m supposed to be out shopping. Or you can sneak through the back door and I can ride you in the wine cellar.”

“I’m serious, Lizzie. We have to be careful. If Ciel finds out…”

Lizzie traced a delicate line from his cheek to his collarbone to his chest, playing with the top button of his vest, though she wouldn’t dare unbutton it with the maid just off in the other room. She said, “Sebastian’s already assured me we’ll have his assistance keeping Ciel in the dark.”

Edward leapt from the couch with a strangled yelp. “What! The—Sebastian? The butler? Why the fuck does the butler know we’re fucking?”

Lizzie smoothed her dress out over her knees and fussed with her hair. “Oh, well, he’s very observant. He’s fine with it, honestly. He’s always been fine with it.”

“Always?” spluttered Edward. “Always? How long has he known?”

Lizzie bit her lip and examined the ceiling. “Oh, you know. I’m not sure when he realized, but he mentioned it around three years ago.”

Edward felt like he was in a sick, endless nightmare. “Do I even want to know what he said about it?”

“I think so,” said Lizzie. “He said, he was glad at least one of us was getting some practice in, because Lord knows Ciel’s going to be a useless virgin on his wedding night. He’s a very practical man, Sebastian is.”

“Very practical,” said Edward weakly.

“Anyway, yes,” continued Lizzie. “He’ll help us keep the secret as long as we want. Though, he also said that if we go about it carefully enough, we could probably just get Ciel to join us.”

His sister was a madwoman, Edward realized. A blonde, beribboned madwoman, and the butler just as mad. And what of he himself? With that unmistakable jolt of heat at the image of Ciel kneeling down, single eye wide, Lizzie standing behind him with her hand in her hair?

“I’ve got to go,” he said dazedly. “Practice. Swords.”

“We’ll talk later,” she said, and nobody alive or dead had ever sounded half so smug as his sister when she was throwing people off balance.

He fled the room feeling utterly lost, but one thing was becoming certain. His dread of Lizzie’s marriage was dwindling by the moment.
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