Series: Black Butler
Prompt: #07: Repeat
Word Count: 1,473
Characters, Pairings: Sebastian/Ciel
Summary: He cares little for this state of constant repetition.
Warnings: tension of the sexual kind
Notes: Even demons can have a change of heart, yeah? :P
His life as it is now is little more than a state of constant repetition.
He has discovered that he doesn’t care for it much at all.
He does not care for getting scolded over waking his young master up at a perfectly reasonable hour; he does not care for having to clean up the other three servants’ mistakes; he does not care for standing perfectly still while food is thrown at him over and over again because ”it’s not even remotely edible.”
He does not care for the nearly-incessant griping that he has to endure from day to day, week to week, month to month. He does not care for following his little master around like the dog that he isn’t, for that title belongs to the boy-watchdog whose side he’s vowed to never leave until the very end (and demons don’t lie).
He does not care for the bored glances; he does not care for the lack of attention displayed by the little nobleman when they are in the middle of an important lesson. He does not care for having to extract his young master from the trouble he always places himself in, nor does he care for immersing himself in such human activities. He does not care for pretending to be something that he isn’t, even while never denying what he truly is.
However, there are moments when the little one reminds him of an angry kitten, what with all his scathing remarks and his quiet, livid hisses. The slaps from his small hand are as harmless as those from a kitten’s paw, and Sebastian admittedly finds this somewhat amusing and entertaining.
There are other moments when the boy leans into him – also like a little kitten – without provocation and without a known reason, seeking warmth and shelter, and of course it is his duty as a butler to provide his master with what is needed from him (it is part of their Contract, their agreement); therefore, Sebastian does not pull away when such human needs are either intentionally or unintentionally expressed: even though stooping so low as to provide a measure of genuine comfort to a human child would be considered beneath a demon, for a butler to offer comfort to his ailing and devastated (and spoiled) master is merely part of the job description.
Perhaps there are some things that make this seemingly-never-ending (nevermind the fact that he knows better—he’s survived for millennia and this boy will live a handful of decades at the most) routine of his quite bearable, to tell the truth.
Even repetition has its variations, he learns.
As the months turn into years, the young master becomes less inclined to scold him each morning he is awoken, though a sleepy glare is always present, without fail. Gone, too, is the Earl’s tendency to flippantly throw Sebastian’s carefully-prepared dishes right back in his face. Instead, the young master greedily devours everything brought to him, and Sebastian finds himself likening Ciel’s hunger to his own.
Even the three (unintentional) troublemakers do their best to become a little less of a nuisance—granted, they still make a mess of things, and Sebastian still has to clean it up, but at least he is now more ready to accept the notion that those three do everything with the best of intentions even though said intentions are often sorely misplaced (which more often than not results in chaos).
His presence at the boy’s side remains a constant, and even though some part of him is not content to be a tamed beast, there is another part of him that is, and it’s easy to convince himself that it’s because of the reward that lies at the end of this road he’s currently walking—easy to convince himself because, yes, that is the real reason (or one of them, at least).
His master has gotten no better at staying out of trouble’s way, though Sebastian supposes that such dangers come with the job that the young male has inherited from his father. London’s Underground shouldn’t welcome one such as himself, but it opens and it swallows him whole, and it is Sebastian who sees to it that his tamer makes it back from his little misadventures unharmed.
(It isn’t that he’s lost sight of his goal—no, never. Neither of them have or can or will.)
There are other things that have changed, much to his amusement. For instance, the young master actually pays attention now when Sebastian plays as his substitute teacher, and oh, how he pays attention. There are days when he doesn’t bother with the eyepatch and he sits in his favorite chair in the study and he watches Sebastian with mismatched eyes, bright with interest and greed and an intent that he will not act on – at least, not yet – for he believes that his stubborn pride and precious station will never allow him to be able to indulge in everything that catches his eye.
Even the things that he’s too obstinate to admit have caught his eye.
But Sebastian sees it and recognizes it instantly, for being the creature that he is, he is naturally attune to such things, and he hones in on it with vigor, his gaze meeting and holding his master’s, his posture open and daring even as he stands before his young lord and suggests that he repeat the first five lines of Shakespeare’s ‘Sonnet 129’ for the third time.
Ciel’s stare wavers and he glances downward at his perfectly-manicured nails instead. “You know I don’t like repeating things, Sebastian, and this particular work of Shakespeare’s isn’t exactly my favorite.”
“Just because it is not your favorite doesn’t mean that it shouldn’t be learned, does it, Young Master?” he quietly counters, and he half-smiles at the way Ciel tenses. “Humans learn through repetition, do they not?”
The Earl glares up at him, and all but spits out the words as an angry cat would spit and hiss.
Sebastian has his master (student, for now) repeat those same lines again and again until they are said with more than anger and more than embarrassment, and he listens and he smiles and he watches how Ciel’s cheeks darken with each passing moment, and he notes how his tamer’s eyes darken just as his cheeks do—deeply-colored with the sin that both of them understand and yet only one of them currently acknowledges.
So it would seem that demons can learn through repetition as well.
Not only can learning take place through repetition, but through repetition, tension can also be built.
And tension is indeed built—through his young master’s hungry glances and his own ‘innocent’ touches, and through their banter, which has become as customary as everything else in this new (temporary) life of his.
His master – caught somewhere between a boy and a man – looks and he speaks, but he does not act, and Sebastian – though admittedly amused at this turn of events that he had never even imagined taking place – grows weary over the lack of motion, of purpose. For it is not in a demon’s nature to remain stationary for too terribly long, and he makes no secret of that fact.
He knows that his words can often spur his tamer into action, and he uses that knowledge to his advantage as he bows before Ciel one evening—not to bid him goodnight, but to make him move. “Why is it that my young master does not make any gesture to take what he so obviously wants?”
Said young master offers him what could be a scathing glare, and Sebastian thinks a slap (or two or ten) might follow, but instead, Ciel replies: “To take what is already mine sounds somewhat redundant, doesn’t it? For you became mine on the day I named you Sebastian.”
Never does this (no-longer) little one cease to surprise him.
“Indeed,” Sebastian agrees with a knowing smile, and he does not mention that the reverse is also true: yes, Ciel is also his.
Just like that, the tension between them snaps with an audible hiss from his tamer and a quiet chuckle from himself. He finds inexperienced though eager (and greedy, always greedy, for his master is such a spoiled child) lips pressed against his own, and he forces Ciel to slow down—after all, what sort of butler would he be if he did not teach his young lord to at least kiss properly?
Idle hands may make for the devil’s work, but they are not still long: They tangle in hair and they grab and tear at expensive clothing, and—
His life as it is now is little more than a state of constant repetition.
“Sebastian, Sebastian, oh!”
He has discovered that he quite enjoys it, after all.
This one gave me quite a lot of trouble to be as short as it is. Ugh. :/