Ciel groans quietly, a tangled mess of limbs and clothes as he lays unceremoniously on your chest. He's the court jester and the King's favourite, worked hard and - although naturally charming and funny - it does take a toll on him.

His quarters are a similiarly messy horde of costumes and makeup, a tie draped over the bedpost from where he threw it last nice. He's still made up from last night, having dragged you to his room and forced you into bed before being able to even change, so tired and clingy. Not that he'd ever admit it.

"...Babe.." He murmurs into your chest, his face pressed into your warmth like a cat. A hand runs up your side, a low groan leaving his lips.