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The demon had enjoyed bedding with contractors before. He doesn't suspect this particular covenant might have time to come to that, given the boy's age and nobility paired with his own lowered status under the guise of a servant. Not to mention, from such a child who had been broken at the hands of others far before he could even know anything of the pleasure that could be had of them.
He'd never gone after deals with those so young, if it could be helped. The souls of children are usually dull to taste, so immature, so blandly pure with none of the delicious edges of pain, grief, humiliation and rage from a matured life there to shape them; to age them, so to speak. Their wishes are usually so easily made that they get granted before a day's time and the contracts are, all in all, unfulfilling.
But, of course, this child is nothing like Sebastian had ever come across before. Already this contract was the longest Sebastian had ever held, edging close to three years, and it's brutal end still seemed like a far off fantasy.
As a devil he’s driven only by his hunger to feed, but within a human disguise come other hungers. Sometimes the lines blur and he watches the boy's movements not with the eyes of a demon, but the eyes of a human. Those of a mortal, weak willed man with the same petty desires of the flesh as the rest of them, looking upon Ciel's pretty face and delicate limbs with a not so different a type of hunger than the one that had drawn him to his side in the first place.
-
Small shoulders roll back with a muted sigh, and Ciel slides further down into the tub, Sebastian's hands sinking in after him. In one smooth, casual movement the boy lifts a leg and hooks it out over the tub's edge, still warm water running in thin rivulets from knee to foot, dripping onto the tiles.
Sebastian stares, eyes following the quick drips of water, renewed interest peaked by the uncharacteristic movement. Ciel usually keeps his limbs pulled in close during bathing, allowing his butler access to bends and crevices only when completely necessary. He must be in a mood tonight, meaning to tease his demon's hunger.
Or, far more likely, the child only means to give his butler the extra task of mopping up the spreading puddle now flooding the spaces between the floor tiles.
Sebastian runs the cloth in his hands down his master's back, eyes still on the dripping limb dangling at the other edge of the tub.
He thinks about taking that thin ankle in his hands, just as he's done so many times before. So many mornings and evenings of dressing and undressing. So many memories of watching thin legs disappear into dark stockings and thinking only of the hours forward to when he'd be able to peel them bare again, to bring that flesh back to light, to know that he's the only one now to be allowed to see so much of the Earl's body. And he'll hold that little foot again, not to carefully tug up a sock, but to rub his bare thumbs into the tender meat of a soft heel until the boy cries out, in pain, in pleasure, in something he does not understand-
"Sebastian," Ciel says his name suddenly, full of warning, yanking the butler right out of his thoughts.
He blinks, looking down at his hands; he had been rubbing into his lords back much the same way his mind had been rubbing his foot, and the force of his thumb had pushed a hole right through the soapy washing cloth. When he looks again over the boy's shoulder, that morsel of a leg is gone, retreated back into the bath, the water now covering it still sloshing with the movement.
Sebastian's mouth goes a bit dry. "Forgive me, my lord. I'll fetch a new cloth."
Ciel doesn't turn to speak. "Don't bother. I've had enough," he draws his knees to his chest, and Sebastian's human heart gives a throb at the sight of those knobby joints once more.
-
On the surface, Ciel tends to act as if he has complete knowledge of every facet of his demon. He is correct in these assumptions, to a point.
But he will never know just what is lurking behind the deep garnet of his eyes, just what goes through his mind as he guides slender arms into the sleeves of a clean nightshirt, how he sits kneeled before the boys legs and thinks of running hands up them, spreading them, pressing his mouth into the crease behind a little knee, running his tongue up to the inside of a thin thigh.
Ciel could never even begin to suspect the truth of what is exactly going on behind his butler's smoldering, fire bright eyes, but he does know well enough when he's being subjected to shameless staring. "Sebastian," he says firmly, planting his hands on the edge of his bed between his spread knees and catching his demon off guard once again. His next words are a tad softer, what might be an attempt at coyness. "Have you gone lost in wonder of what you've yet to deserve?"
The butler's hands curl into fists over his lap. His eyes immediately leave the pale bend of his master's knee to lower to the floor and he bows his head, reproached.
"My lord," he begins, tone apologetic. Then, carefully, with lips curling up, "...In a sense."
Ciel glares at the answer, very much aware of how Sebastian finds his ways to twist loopholes of half truths and tactfully omit information. " 'In a sense'," he repeats, baleful.
Sebastian can't help the smile once it starts, the salty scent of the child's irritated confusion in the air stirring up into something of a froth. "Of course, young master, I merely find myself dreaming of the day. You've nothing to worry about," he raises one hand to his chest, keeping his gaze, and grin, to the floor. "Unless my lord orders it, I cannot have my fill you before it is time."
Ciel rolls his eyes, having heard similar spiels of the sort before and, as usual, wants not to have to think about what comes after their game ends. "Then get your head out of the future," he all but spits, drawing his legs up onto the bed. "I won't have a servant as distracted by all his little undeserving fantasies as you've been today."
Sebastian catches one last brief flash of Ciel's toes before they disappear under heavy blankets, not to be seen again until morning.
"You act as if you're perfection incarnate, Sebastian," the boy continues, rolling to face away from his still kneeling butler, dismissing him with his backside. "So I won't accept anything less of you."
Ciel settles under his covers, but Sebastian can see his body stretched out clearly as if he were bared of all, reclined naked and pale in the moonlight. His eyes burn over the little bundled form, imagining the near non-existent curve of his hips, young body yet to have grown into a distinct silhouette.
Sebastian wonders- briefly, as such thoughts sit on tongue just to melt and flood his mouth- if it will ever get the time to.
He raises slowly to his feet, smoothing out the bunched creases of his trousers, snapping his tailcoat back into form. His eyes, while still out of his master's sleeping sight, remain burning embers even as he says pleasantly, "Of course, my lord. Good night."
There's no answer from the lump of blankets. Sebastian doesn't expect any and, despite his still rattled arousal, finds himself half smiling once again as he leaves the room, blown out candelabra in hand and damp bath towels under one arm.
-
His soul.
Sebastian lingers in the hall just outside the bedchamber doors, staring into the polished wood and thinking still of the slight raise his master makes curled up all alone in his huge bed.
The little Earl is so sure that it's been thoughts of his tempting soul that have gotten his demon's mind so muddled. For what else could a devil, made only to devour, to eat, possibly ever want of a weak, mortal body?
Of course his master thinks of him as the type of monster merely wearing the flimsy mask of a man, and not one currently trapped within bone and flesh susceptible to base, troublesome desires.
Sebastian begins his way down the hall, thinking about sinking long canines into a bare shoulder, his contractor's sweet, innocent blood flooding his mouth, down into his throat. Imagines the burning ache he'll give the boy as he presses himself into his lithe body. He thinks about little legs struggling to hold his waist, feet straining to press into his back, fingers grappling his hair and a perfect mouth making noises so terrible and pure as his cold, unfeeling facade is torn asunder by sensations he's never known before.
The devil aches to paint him from the inside, their shared mark carved into his right eye suddenly not nearly enough of a claim.