Series: Black Butler
Prompt: #87: Passion
Word Count: 2,145
Characters, Pairings: Sebastian/Ciel
Summary: Today, it is Sebastian who is oh-so-boldly crossing that thin (nearly imperceptible) line, with a smile and a chuckle and a voice filled with dark promise—not to mention the wandering fingers.
Warnings: sexual content, shota.
Notes: Uhm, yeah. They aren’t just dancing on the thin line between then anymore. ^^; Sequel to ‘Lust is but Gluttony’s Twin’ and ’The Thin Line Between’.
“Are you hungry, Young Master?”
Mismatched eyes slide open and Ciel leans further back in the tub (and subsequently leans closer to Sebastian, but that detail is secondary, isn’t it?), feigning nonchalance even while his toes all but curl at the question.
This is a thrilling little game that the two of them have gotten rather good at (but Sebastian is better, so much better, though Ciel will never admit it), and they’ve been playing it for months now… or perhaps the game has been going on for years, and Ciel has simply failed to notice until just recently.
He’s gotten better at walking the messy line that he’s drawn between them, though he does still stumble from time to time, and in the back of his mind, he always wonders when he’ll fall—always wonders when Sebastian will let him, and won’t catch him.
(His opponent, meanwhile, never falters—Sebastian is always effortless grace, even while his smile is utterly wicked and full of promise.)
“It is almost time for bed, Sebastian,” Ciel reminds his butler, and he tries his damndest to sound entirely disinterested.
He almost succeeds.
The wet cloth in Sebastian’s right hand moves along his chest and abdomen, steadily dipping lower and lower (just as always, and yet nothing at all like ‘always’). “A bedtime snack might be appropriate,” the demon suggests, his warm breath tickling the fine hairs at the back of the young Earl’s neck.
After a pause, Ciel fires back with: “Aren’t I a little old for a snack before bed?”
Sebastian pauses as well, and for the briefest of moments, the cloth is still against Ciel’s lower belly. “I do believe it’s more appropriate in this case to ask if you’re old enough for a snack before bed, my Lord.”
Dark humor colors his butler’s tone, and the cloth is moving again, along his right outer thigh. Of course, Sebastian’s not-touches linger in places where they shouldn’t (so very close), and Ciel can’t find the words that he wants to say—he wants to scoff, to laugh, to brush Sebastian’s comment off as nothing but foolishness, but he can’t.
“You haven’t answered me, Young Master,” Sebastian all but purrs (he’s been spending too much time with that damn cat, obviously), and the cloth is suddenly replaced with gloved fingers, which move up and in instead of down and out.
Today, it is Sebastian who is oh-so-boldly crossing that thin (nearly imperceptible) line, with a smile and a chuckle and a voice filled with dark promise—not to mention the wandering fingers.
Of course Ciel’s body is reacting in that confusing way that he hasn’t quite figured out yet. Something low in his belly twists itself into knots and heat rushes through him like wildfire (only this heat is of an even more destructive type), and yes, this is hunger and this is ache, and the young Earl both despises and desires it at once.
The bathwater does little to nothing to hide his rapidly-forming erection, and he knows that it doesn’t go unnoticed by the demon—Sebastian may not be omnipotent or omnipresent, but he sees all that he needs to see in regards to Ciel, and he knows all that he needs to know to ultimately turn the tides in his own favor, as he is doing right now.
Fingers slide smoothly over the place where pelvis meets thigh, and Ciel fights to bite back a groan, and is consequently pleased with himself when he succeeds. Even as his thighs open a little more without his permission, even as his body nearly strains into Sebastian’s touch instead of away from it, he asks, “What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?!”
Sebastian’s laugh is subtle even though his touches are anything but. Both hands are sliding along Ciel’s thighs now, though they are carefully avoiding the one area of his body that will most assuredly attest to the fact that yes, he is hungry, but not for the sort of sustenance that a meal fresh from the stove would provide.
“You should know, my Lord,” Sebastian darkly intones, lips grazing damp skin, “that I do absolutely nothing in that name.”
A wet tongue darts out, gathering the moisture at the nape of Ciel’s neck, and the young Earl barely stifles his groan. He bites down hard on his bottom lip and he says nothing, even while gloved fingers draw meaningless, invisible designs on his inner thighs.
Sebastian continues talking as he casually explores the lower half of Ciel’s body (and after all of the baths he’s given through the years, Sebastian is no doubt very familiar with Ciel’s body, but it’s not the same, and perhaps after this, it will never be the same again). “While I am ‘Sebastian’, the only name that concerns me is that of my master.”
“You are walking on a very thin line, Sebastian,” Ciel says through gritted teeth, though both he and the demon know that there is no threat hidden beneath his words—not even an empty one; not when he’s fighting to remain as calm as he possibly can, not when he feels like he’s barely holding his head above water, not when he feels blind (and yet only in the darkness can he now truly see).
“We have been dancing upon this so-called ‘line’ that you’ve drawn between us for some time, Young Master,” Sebastian answers, and when gloved fingers find and gently fist his erection, Ciel releases a strangled sound that is somewhere between a whimper and a mewl.
“Sebastian,” he hisses and then groans, his hips arching instinctively into his butler’s touch, “this isn’t—you shouldn’t be--”
His feeble attempts at protestation are largely ignored as Sebastian’s hand moves up and down, up and down, painfully slowly. “It would seem that my Lord is quite famished, indeed. Do allow me to lessen that hunger a little.”
Ciel knows he should order Sebastian to stop. He knows that the game has been taken too far now; he knows that they’ve tumbled over that edge, over that unfamiliar precipice, and he is free-falling, and it’s wrong, but he wants it all the same.
How could he? How could he want something like this when those creatures had subjected him to very similar activities just over three years ago? He had derived no pleasure from their hands on his body.
For an instant, panic flares within him, cloying hands reaching for him, but Ciel manages to reduce the flames to smoldering ashes, because now is not then and because Sebastian is a duality: both his salvation and damnation, and back then… the choice had not been his to make.
It is now.
He thinks of a prayer that he used to know, that he used to say, back when he was younger and back when he was faithful and believed. Oddly enough, the only part of it that he currently remembers is, And lead me not into temptation.
How ironic that he is here now, standing at its front doors and knocking rather loudly.
It is not chastisement that he offers his servant. It is capitulation. “Do as you will, Sebastian,” he murmurs, tipping his head back so that he can boldly gaze at the demon, “and perhaps some of your hunger will be sated as well.”
Red eyes gleam, and Sebastian lifts his hands from Ciel’s body and from the water, tearing the gloves off of them with sharp teeth. “I assure you, my Lord—this will only serve to stimulate my appetite even further.”
Ciel isn’t certain as to which hunger Sebastian is currently referring to, but in either case, he knows that he should be revolted. He should be frightened, because this demon’s whispered words of reverence and sin herald his own destruction just as surely as the glorious trumpets herald the annihilation of the world as believers know it.
Ciel is not among the believers, but he knows better than to ever doubt his fate.
And still, he allows Sebastian to touch him in ways that he should never allow, even while he bears in mind just how easily those hands could tear him apart—and probably will at some point in the future. Then again, he isn’t clear on exactly how souls are extracted from the body… he would prefer the details to remain a mystery until the time comes.
The fingers of Sebastian’s left hand curl around his length once more, and this time, it is purely skin-on-skin, nothing between them to lessen the sensation or the significance of the gesture.
And this time, Ciel is unable to hold back his moan, and he is unable to keep his hips still when Sebastian begins stroking him, still slow and easy, like they have all of the time in the world.
While that statement holds true for one of them, Ciel is as impatient as ever, hips steadily rocking, seeking more friction, more sensation, more, more, more.
“How very eager my master is,” Sebastian remarks, and the way his voice sounds (guttural and almost possessive) only proves to add fuel to the fire presently consuming the boy.
“Shut up,” Ciel orders, his knuckles white from gripping at the edges of the tub so tightly. “You bloody well know that you’re dragging this out unnecessarily.”
Sebastian’s thumb presses into the spot just beneath the head of Ciel’s arousal and the boy keens. “It’s more pleasurable if I take it slowly to begin with, is it not?” Sebastian asks. “Or is my master simply unable to wait?”
Ciel growls, all frustration and want (and perhaps there’s need too, not that he will ever speak of it, not to Sebastian), and he undulates his hips again, forward and up into Sebastian’s hand. “Faster now, Sebastian. That is an order.”
He can feel Sebastian’s smile against his skin, right at the juncture of neck and shoulder. “As my Lord commands.”
Sebastian complies, quickening the pace, stroking and squeezing and driving Ciel positively insane. The young Earl is only distantly aware of the sounds that are falling from his lips: quiet moans, desperate gasps, heavy pants. Perhaps even his butler’s name is thrown somewhere in the mix, but he is honestly too far gone to care.
Ciel closes his eyes and concentrates on the feel of Sebastian’s hands on him (the left one steadily stroking his length, the right one currently moving over his chest and abdomen, giving him butterfly caresses), and he gasps when he feels Sebastian’s lips on his neck, when he feels teeth scrape against his skin.
“Allow me but just a taste,” Sebastian whispers, his voice like gravel, rough and hard, and yes… the demon wants, too.
Ciel’s reply is naught more than a softly-moaned, “Yes.”
Sebastian’s lips close around a patch of skin and the combined sensations of Sebastian’s hands and mouth make Ciel squirm and cry out and come, just like that.
When it is over, Ciel is boneless and sweaty and sleepy, and Sebastian is once more the dutiful butler. He resumes the task of bathing his master without so much as a pause.
Once the bath is over, Sebastian towels Ciel dry just like always, and he dresses him in his nightshirt just like always. The only difference is that tonight, Sebastian carries his young master to bed and tucks him in, and Ciel says very little by way of dissent.
Before Sebastian leaves him for the night, Ciel forces heavy lids to open, and he gently touches the place on his neck where Sebastian’s mouth had been. No doubt there will be a mark in the morning which will have to be covered up.
“You didn’t do much to feed your own hunger,” Ciel says, and Sebastian smiles and bows.
“There will be other nights, Young Master,” Sebastian answers. “I likewise know that you are not fully sated yourself, but going to bed after having gorged yourself out most assuredly means that you’ll awaken with a terrible stomachache.” The demon’s smile grows almost feral as he adds, “We must slake our hunger a little at a time, and we must savor each morsel that we are given. I guarantee you, my Lord—the crumbs that you offer me are indeed relished.”
Ciel turns scarlet and rolls over, closing his eyes. He does not reply in kind when Sebastian bids him goodnight, but he doesn’t yell at him, either.
And as his bedroom door is softly closed, Ciel hastily and sloppily re-draws the metaphorical line between them, even though he knows (without any doubt whatsoever now) that said line will be blurred, crossed, and erased again and again and again.
It is now his turn to blur, to cross, to erase.
He started the game, after all, and he’ll be damned if he isn’t the one to finish it.
The ending line makes it seem like there will be more, huh? Gee, I wonder why. XD