Hey! Can I request number 12?
Sure. I’m assuming you’re referring to the most recent prompt list I reblogged, so here you go
12. Take my jacket, it’s cold outside
“What’s a pretty young thing like you doing in a place like this?”
“I work here,” Ciel deadpanned. The dilute sound of glasses clinking together was lost to the scratchy sound system playing some unwholly twangy country song over the muted TVs. Balancing the tray carefully on his hip, Ciel collected the empty pitchers and the bottles from the table as the gruff figure loomed behind him.
“Well when do you get off? Why don’t you let me buy you a drink?”
“I don’t drink,” Ciel scoffed, “at least not in some cheap hole in the wall like this place.” The bar wasn’t even that bad, but it was his father’s establishment, and Ciel enjoyed dragging him any chance he got, even if Vincent wasn’t around to hear it.
“I’ll take you someplace nice.”
“Look, I’m not going anywhere with you. Tonight or ever. So piss off.” Ciel sighed and quickly turned back to the bar before the man could say anything else. This had been happening more and more recently; older men who had probably never had a gay experience in their life outside of a college frat house in the late 80’s were all of a sudden hitting on Ciel, wanting to buy him drinks or take him out back and show him a good time. Fucking losers.
Ciel sighed again and unloaded the empty bottles into the recycling and dumped the pitchers in the sink in back.
“Sebastian,” Ciel poked his head out through the swinging door to the kitchen. The lean dark-haired bartender looked up from the limes he had been slicing, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear with the heel of his palm.
“I’m going out for a cigarette. Will you and Bard be okay for a minute?”
“Yeah, we should be.” Sebastian glanced around the bar. “We seem to be slowing down some.”
“Okay, cool,” Ciel said, zipping up his hoodie, “just call me if you need a hand.”
“Wait,” Sebastian set down his knife and turned to look at Ciel.
“Don’t you have a coat?”
“Oh, nah. I’ll be fine in this,” Ciel explained, scooping his lighter and pack of Camels up from the shelf under the bar where everyone laid their keys and phones and other odds and ends.
“Take my jacket, it’s cold outside,” Sebastian offered. “It’s on the hook in the back.”
Ciel hesitated for a moment. “Okay,” he said, “thanks.”
He nearly drowned in the long sleeves and high collar of Sebastian’s fancy pea coat, but it kept him exceptionally warm as he huddled against the back of the bar and smoked his cigarette. When he tucked his face down into the collar to avoid a frigid breeze, he could smell Sebastian in it. His cologne, his shampoo, whatever it was was warm and inviting, comforting. Ciel didn’t really know Sebastian all that well; he had only been working at the bar for a couple weeks and had barely exchanged any words with him outside of drink orders and good nights. He felt bad that this expensive coat was going to reek of tobacco and smoke upon its return.
Little did he know that Sebastian welcomed it, anticipated any hint of Ciel that would be left in his jacket. He had been desperate for an excuse to talk to him, to broker some interaction with the young man, but his boss had almost strictly forbade it.
“He’s a Phantomhive,” Grell had explained, tossing her bright red hair this way and that. “You fuck him, his dad fires both of us, and we’ll be lucky to end up working the drive-thru at Burger King afterwards.”
So Sebastian had kept his distance, despite his desires. The boy was so cute as we wove between tables, precariously balancing full glasses and pitchers on his tray, narrowly avoiding collisions with out pushed chairs and groping hands. He was even cuter when he snapped, demeanor cold and harsh as he bitched out a patron that had been too handsy or some privileged soccer mom complaining about sticky coasters and overzealous sports fan shouting at the TVs.
“It’s a fucking sports bar,” he sneered. “In a college town. What did you expect? If you can’t handle rubbing elbows with average blue-collar people then get the hell out.” Sebastian had to hide his smile behind his water glass as the woman stared in disbelief for several moments before shutting up and sipping her drink, abashed at being called out by such a pretty young thing in a place like this.
When Ciel came back in to the bar from outside, the tip of his nose and his fingers slightly pinker than the rest of him, Sebastian decided that he would hold back no longer. Fuck Vincent Phantomhive. He had no control over his son’s life, nor Sebastian’s. Maybe Ciel would turn him down, refuse to have a drink with him and instead tell his father to fire him, but it was worth the risk. Sebastian would never know what could have been unless he asked.