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It’s not hard for Ciel to finally give in and order Sebastian to his knees. Of course, the journey there has been anything but easy— he’s avoided his attraction to the demon for years, denied his lust for those brown-rust-blood eyes to be tearing up underneath him and for his obedient butler to act exactly like the dog he is.
He has no doubt Sebastian has known of this, of course. The demon always seems to know, no matter how well he tries to hide any of his secrets. He had no luck hiding his want (need) for the privates beneath his clothing to take a different shape, he has had no luck disguising the lust he feels when giving an order (those glinting eyes, the lilt of Sebastian’s smile driving his lust-anger-need for him further), and he has had no luck pretending he isn’t just squirming from discomfort when Sebastian delicately wipes the blood off his face after a massacre the demon has perpetrated, his steps around the bodies like light and gleeful movements of a dance.
Sebastian doesn’t look powerful, necessarily, lanky and slim and with graceful movements that please the eye, as any butler should move. Yet. He is able to rip their opponents limb by limb, slice their throat open with just his bare fingers. Should Ciel order it.
Ciel wishes to order it. The intoxicating thrill of having that power under him, it’s… not something he likes to dwell on. The fact that he could order Sebastian to murder their entire staff, Lizzie if she were over, any guests, and it would be done before tea time…
He wouldn’t, ever. He wouldn’t. And yet. Yet. That power attracts him as much as it disgusts him, and he is the one in control. Sebastian may have claim to his soul, but the demon is his until the time to collect comes. His to order and push around and be served by, waited on hand and foot.
If he is going mad (going mad? More like been mad.) then he should certainly share in such temptations with his companion. His most loyal companion.
Which is why, on an impulse that sends his heart reeling and thumping at such a rate that he knows the damned demon can hear it, on a sunny day wherein he has no immediate plans or obligations, for once— he stops Sebastian as he finishes buckling Ciel’s sock garters and says:
“Kneel.” The word is icy, betraying none of the excitement and nerves that run hot and electric through his entire body. It feels perverse enough thinking of, wishing for this, much less actually going through with it.
Yet, if there is anyone to indulge with in his perversity, his madness, whatever these feelings may be, it is Sebastian. No one else. There has never been anyone else he wished to do these things with. Fantasies, sure, but wanting—
“Young Master?” Sebastian questions, although he has already sunk to the floor, stupidly long legs tucked under him. He sits tightly, ready to move at the drop of a hat if Ciel were to order anything else. Knowing that he shall order something else. Despite his question, there is a knowing look in his (almost human today,) rust-brown eyes. His smile is smug, lips upturned and eyebrows raised just-so, like he has been waiting for this as long as Ciel has. Probably longer. Ciel wants to smack it off of his face.
“Shut up,” he snaps, despite Sebastian not saying anything else. The infuriating smile grows, and before he can realize it, a smack echoes throughout the bedroom, leaving Sebastian’s porcelain doll skin tinted the slightest red. Sebastian does not cry out, does not flinch or scowl, his gaze not tearing away from Ciel even as his face is forced to the side. Ciel feels as though he shall be tracked with those damned eyes for the rest of his life, knows he shall.
The knowledge doesn’t bother him near as much as it should. As much as it used to.
“Did you feel that?” He snaps again, the words sharp and thorny escaping his lips. The only response from Sebastian is his smile, those pale lips spreading further and parting, showing his too-sharp teeth, all perfect, all doll-like and blinding white. Ciel decides he doesn’t want to hear the answer. “I order you, Sebastian, feel these sensations as a human would, through your hollow mockery of a body, as though it is your true hellish form.”
If Sebastian is surprised or upset by his declaration, he doesn’t show it, his mouth closing with no complaint. He inclines his head just-so, that graceful infuriating way he does. “As you wish, Young Master.” When their eyes meet again, the demon still smiles at him.
Even as he kneels, his head nearly reaches the same height as Ciel’s chest, his sharp irises barely having to move up to meet his master’s. Ciel clicks his tongue at that— he’s unlikely to ever pass his butler in height, he knows. At least he can reveal their true standing like this, if only here, if only just between them. His hand raises and is deceptively tender on Sebastian’s head, passing over and smoothing already in-place hair. It’s almost calming, and Sebastian’s hitched breath at the gesture surprises him.
Must be because of the human sensations that he’s been ordered to feel. That’s all this is, physical responses and needs. Ciel brushes away the untidy flowers that bloom in his chest, pushed against the beating of his heart and halting the filling of his lungs. The irritating sensation is almost as overwhelming as the hunger and need to hurt that flows through his blood.
Still, Sebastian leans into his hand, even as his grip tightens in those silky tresses, nigh slipping out of his fingers as he moves his hand to the side— sudden, hurtful, tantalizingly close to ripping the pretty strands out. Sebastian bites his lip, muffling the gasp that rises in his throat, that makes his breath go shallow and fast. It’s hypnotizing, seeing the way the blood finally rises to the cheeks of his butler’s human-shaped cage, his bitten lip turning red under the attention.
Sebastian seems frustrated, or perhaps upset, now. Or maybe he’s just not used to pain. Either way, the smile is finally falling away from his face, his thin brows knitting and a rare wrinkle appearing against the furrow of his brow; it’s satisfying, seeing Sebastian feel the reality of the situation sink in, that he is helpless. It’s not like he thinks Sebastian is ever unaware that he is under Ciel’s control, but this is perhaps the first time his beloved Young Master has ever used that power quite like this. Those sharp irises stare up at him, burning, burning like hellfire. It makes Ciel smile.
He knows Sebastian can feel his hardness, length leaking against the demon’s fine vest through Ciel’s nightclothes now that he has pulled him closer by the hair. Ciel has used it many a time on his own (he is a growing boy, after all,) ever since asking Sebastian if there were solutions for men such as him. Men born without the privates they desired. With his wealth, there were many fringe, underground doctors he could have pursued the help of, but Sebastian’s solution was much simpler: a solution that didn’t require any rest or recuperation away from his duties, one that simply changed him with the run of a clawed fingertip up his previous genitalia that turned into a red scar along the seam of his balls. It always runs hot compared to the rest of his body, a reminder of his hellish origins.
His cock has grown with him since he’s gotten the procedure, three inches now up to four and a half. On his own time, he imagines countless scenarios; of shoving it inside Sebastian’s mouth, of forcing his butler to worship his balls with his tongue as he chokes on the unfamiliar length in his mouth.
Of finding out if demons can choke at all.
The dream is tantalizingly close to a reality now, one that he intends to realize, damn it all. If his soul is already Sebastian’s, what more does he have to lose? He takes Sebastian’s chin in his grasp, and orders him, looking him in the eyes. “Pull up my nightrobe, Sebastian. You’ve been slacking in tending to this area of care. Shameful for a butler who prides himself on his work, really.”
The smile on his face is cold and hot all at once, his lips pulling unfamiliarly to the point of the sharp tug that belies his skin almost cracking open; yet it is not unnatural, not an instinct he doubts giving into for even a second.
If he could, he would have his butler wear a collar and leash at all times. He feels, in their day-to-day, that he pulls him along with each step they take, their deal a collar in spirit if not physical reality. Still. As horrifying as it is to think that another member of nobility or dear Lizzie could see them like that, Sebastian on his knees, panting like the dog he is— it also feels correct in a way he cannot name.
Sebastian does not hesitate, for all that his lips are pulled in a grim line as if he doesn’t want to. (As if he hasn’t felt those burning eyes on his thighs as Sebastian dresses him, as if that hell-hot breath does not linger next to his throat longer than any respectable butler should allow it to.) His cheeks remain flushed, and Ciel has half a mind to extend his leg and find with his foot some hard purchase against what is in his dear butler’s pants; he knows his depravity does not exceed this demon’s. It can’t, for as much as he feared that being the case, Sebastian’s hands trail up the blooming, thin dusting of hair on his thighs and lifts his nightclothes delicately, as if handling fine glass plates or a Phantomhive heirloom.
As his arousal is exposed to the cold air, it bobs with arousal and with the bead of suddenly chilly precum that drips down the underside, down to the throbbing seam of his balls. The cold morning air is only cut through with the heat of their two bodies, the rest of Ciel’s too-big too-empty room, the rest of the too-enormous, too-tiny world, a fire that encompasses just the two of them, this life and thereafter.
Nevertheless, the biting cold of the air cuts into his arousal, softening it even as his cock beads with precum again as he looks at Sebastian’s expression; intense and pale pink tongue flicking over those newly bitten lips. Ciel needs his cock enveloped by those lips now, or at the very least to feel those deadly gloved hands on his balls, around his length— his hips stutter against his will at the thought. Or the thought of ripping Sebastian’s clothes open, rubbing his dick in the crevice between Sebastian’s tits. Making his butler push the tantalizing flesh together so he can rut in the dip more effectively, imagining that tongue peeking out just like it should be now, awaiting his reward for a good job.
Another day. He makes a note to tell Sebastian to make a note later. For now, he hasn’t much time to decide on what he wants to make Sebastian do before his own hands decide for him, a sudden yank against that perfectly styled scalp again, pulling those lips to finally, finally, brush the tip of his cock.
It’s satisfying to hear (and feel) a stuttered, surprised breath drawn audibly from Sebastian, beastly eyes on his length and mouth parting to exhale once again. When it causes another drip of precum to shudder down, Sebastian doesn’t hesitate, deceptively innocent tongue darting out and catching it as it trails down. It’s warm and wet, already so much more satisfying than the warmth of Ciel’s own hand, with just one simple lick. Even Sebastian’s expression is already more erotic than what he had imagined.
Ciel can’t wait to see his expression as he is ordered to force himself down on it.
To his surprise, Sebastian barely hesitates before wrapping his lips around the tip, tongue swiping hotly against the sensitive opening of his urethra as it leaks another spurt of precum. Dripping velvet-hot, lathed and adored by his tongue, even as Sebastian’s eyes on him couldn’t be considered much besides clinical and cold. As attractive as that is on its own, well.
He’ll fix it. He needs to see the same need he feels reflected in Sebastian’s own eyes. (He doesn’t much care to examine why, why he even admits that it is a need.)
“Are you that much of a whore for me, Sebastian?” His words are cruel, but they feel right, even more than the cold and biting retorts he usually dishes out to his butler. Those aren’t usually warm like this is— though perhaps hot might be the better word. The feel of Sebastian’s cheek against his palm is unfamiliar and yet it fits perfectly, like a missing chip off the fragile glued-together surface of himself.
Sebastian’s eyebrows go knotted and his forehead wrinkles in a rare show of frustration, maybe, but he doesn’t have much of a chance to voice his emotions before Ciel slaps the already-pink cheek with all of his strength, then forces him down further with the grip he still has on that pretty black hair when his mouth opens tantalizingly. Sebastian’s irises are diamond pinpricks, small and sharp as he sinks down with a lewd sound, garbled and undignified and so very moan-like.
“Shameful.” And yet Ciel still grins as his dog gags against the pressure on the back of his tongue, slippery mucus-spit spilling out of his lips against the movement of Ciel’s hips. The droplets land somewhere below— whether Sebastian’s uniform or the harsh wooden floor beneath him, Ciel doesn’t much care. As tempting as it is to lean over to get a peek, his butler will be cleaning it either way, and the feeling of thrusting inside Sebastian’s mouth is the closest thing to heaven Ciel will ever experience. He’ll be damned if he pulls out of this for something he can take in just as well afterwards.
He’ll just have Sebastian lick it off the floor if it isn’t staining his trousers. The thought causes him to give a particular harsh buck of his hips, and Sebastian finally moves from his graceful, ram-rod straight position, his gloved hands shooting up faster than Ciel’s eye can move to rest on his bare thighs once again, grip tense and yet not bruising. So careful, so caring.
Ciel doubts they’d be gripping hard enough to stop him even if his butler had the choice to.
For all that his tongue’s technique was practiced (and doesn’t that burn him up inside, his butler, servicing another. He hates it, despite knowing intellectually he must have experience), this body is not, another gag coming from the back of his throat; Sebastian’s eyes go wide and his cheeks grow flush with— embarrassment? How cute.
“What a fitting shade of red on you, Sebastian. Perhaps I should have you paint your lips the same color.”
Sebastian gives him another grunt, almost a growl, in response, and it only spurs Ciel on further. He wants those eyes teary and red, to see his jaw slack and his tongue out, panting after he swallows Ciel’s cum directly into his awaiting stomach.
His thrusts almost hurt himself with their force, and he wonders if any bruises will appear on his own too-thin bony hips, if Sebastian will tend to and press sweet kisses to the dark misshapen marks that might litter his skin. He wonders if Sebastian’s lips will be swollen as if he has been punched, if his voice will be raspy and if it will be hurt to speak those elegant, deep-toned sweet words.
He hopes so. If not, he might have to punch the demon himself.
He groans, leaning over and pushing himself further into Sebastian’s mouth, if possible. The garbled noises and gags he gets in response makes him moan again, his stomach vibrating against the bone of Sebastian’s brow. His deep, blink-length thrusts and the new position leaves him burying his mouth and nose into his butler’s hair, smelling of brimstone and roses and the soaps he buys for Ciel— he wants to sink his teeth into his scalp, pull even harder with the too-dull teeth than he’s pulled with the hand still buried in the strands had. He resists, as well he can. As well as anyone can with the desires raging like a fire inside of him. He simply sinks his short nails in harder until he feels Sebastian gasp wetly around his cock again, satisfying and sharp. Warmth drips onto his thighs where Sebastian’s lips part, only for a moment, but he still can’t help the cut-off laugh that escapes him, ribs aching with the force of his breath.
“So messy, Sebastian. So unfitting for my butler, fuh—“ His teasing is cut short by the swiping, unnaturally flexible movement of Sebastian’s tongue, pressing into the pulsing vein on the underside of his cock. “Cheeky little thing,” he gives a bark of laugh, even as he’s cut off once by more unplanned moans and groans. His butler is still so sloppy, so slutty, his body choking on every deep thrust Ciel gives it, little choked-off coughs and humiliating barely-audible gluks filling the too-big room. For once, the room doesn’t seem too large at all; if he can hear the slaps of his balls hitting Sebastian’s chin and lower lip, he will happily accept that loneliness’ hollow echo that drapes over all other things in this manor.
Drool drips onto his balls, creating pretty little threads from his skin to Sebastian’s mouth, swaying and breaking with each thrust, glinting in the light. Sebastian’s cheeks are so flushed that Ciel would be worried (or perhaps not?) if he were human. A thin translucent trail leaves his nose, pathetic and unbecoming, so unlike his normal gracefulness. He wants to drive himself into Sebastian’s mouth until not a single speck of that poise remains. For now, though, he pulls out, resting himself back on his bed with a quiet sigh even as his hips ache to thrust again.
Sweat runs cold down his back against the morning air, and Sebastian’s breaths are tempting puffs of warmth against the too-quickly drying spit streaks down his length. He wants to shove himself back into that velvet heat, but he allows his butler to catch his breath— those audibly wet inhales and undignified coughs on Ciel’s precum and his own saliva are satisfying in their own way, anyhow.
“Having fun, dog?” Ciel asks, leering down at him and leaning over to once again tangle his fingers into that perfect hair, now finally sweaty and disheveled like it should be. Sebastian looks up just-so at his tormentor (looks up, like he always should be,) and manages a smile as he licks a droplet of precum or spittle off his bruising lips.
“As much fun as you, Young Master,” the turn of his lips is smug, but that’s quickly thrown away as he yelps, Ciel yanking him closer to his cock again. Despite his voice cracking with the abuse Ciel has dealt to the opening of his throat, it's not enough. He must leave a lasting mark inside him, the way he has to Ciel. He can feel the mark of their pact, despite the fact that he shouldn’t be able to. It burns the same it did the day that it seared itself into his soul, the same fire branded into his cornea, into his very being. Cumming down Sebastian’s throat is the least he can do to mark the demon in return.
Despite Sebastian’s surprise at the sudden movement, his mouth remains open and he sinks down with only a gag and a garbled word from his mouth, only a hint of his sharp fangs sliding against Ciel’s cock before his jaws gape wider. Were Ciel a kinder master, he might’ve complimented his butler on his professionalism; he doesn’t. All he wants is to mark Sebastian as his, sear his throat and leave him thinking of Ciel for the rest of this life.
Hellfire burns behind his hips, his balls feeling taut against his groin and precum dripping into Sebastian’s mouth and overflowing past his lips once again— the sight is at once infuriating and what he has dreamed of for years. He wishes to sew those damned lips shut, let the last words and taste Sebastian has in this body be of Ciel. He wishes to kiss him as Sebastian’s tongue mixes his seed with their saliva. He wishes to leave Sebastian’s mouth on his cock at all times, for them to never leave this position.
Sebastian moans like a whore, as he has done all this time— Ciel can’t imagine the pain of his grip and the invasion of his cock as pleasurable, but perhaps the act of service itself is a pleasure. Ciel wants to find where the line is; where does the comfort of service cross into a pain that Sebastian cannot moan at?
He looks forward to finding out— he shall order his butler under him as many times as it takes to discover the answer. That is the only reason. Ciel wants him to suffer, to be his the same way Ciel has been claimed by the demon.
That is the only reason.
Sebestian’s nose starts leaking again, a bubble of snot and pre-cum filling with his next desperate breath, taken between the short, hard pulls of Ciel’s grip on his hair. Those red eyes are blurry with tears that make Sebastian’s brow go furrowed and his cheeks go hot with embarrassment, more drool and precum leaking through the gaps of his lips, no matter how much he licks or tries to minimize the ever-present leakage. It’s spider-web thin and sticky, dripping to his throat, his chin, to Ciel’s thighs and balls and further down, and while he’s distracted with trying to clean up his mess, Ciel gives a particularly cruel thrust. Sebastian’s body tenses, his mouth tight as he coughs. The vibration of it is glorious— heavenly.
“Going to, ah, make you lick me cluh—clean,” he buries his nails again, that warm scalp underneath him. He wants to claw into every inch of pale skin available to him, leave deep gouges that bleed for hours and rip that hair out. Leave bruises that will never fade, even after Sebastian claims his soul for good— leave himself etched into the demon’s very essence.
Sebastian moans, moving his head in an almost-nod. Ciel knows it’s a response to the threat of making his butler lick him clean, but he lets himself imagine, if just for a moment, that Sebastian is agreeing to be his forever, to let him push into that pearly skin and mark him forevermore. At the least, he knows Sebastian’s voice will be ruined for the day, and that pleases him— he shall carry this mark, and Ciel will reestablish this claim as many times as it takes for it to stick, somehow. If he needs to burn these marks into Sebastian’s skin— well.
The idea is suddenly very appealing.
The demon would let him. That realization drives him over the edge, Sebastian’s gloves sliding against his damp thighs, his cock driven as far as it can be into Sebastian’s mouth, the quivering entrance of his throat working to not gag around the head of his length. Sebastian’s tongue is so much longer than it should be, passing his lips and lapping at the hot seam of Ciel’s sack, which twitches upwards as his hips slam against Sebastian’s brow again, and as his butler whines— whines, a foreign sound escaping from a man as composed as Sebastian. He hopes it bruises.
Strands of hair break off in between Ciel’s fingers, soft and loose whilst his grip still holds tight, nails digging into Sebastian’s skin and feet kicking for purchase against the hollow of Sebastian’s belly, thrusting once, twice, thrice more. Harsh, unforgiving motions as he doubles over, groans into the back of Sebastian’s hair and unloads his spend into Sebastian’s mouth. It’s the greatest orgasm he’s ever had, buried in the hellish warmth; his eye, his balls, his body throbbing and hot. He struggles to claim his breath as his own again, to steady himself as Sebastian gulps him down without any orders as fast as he can, though he feels some of the power of his orgasm force itself through Sebastian’s nostrils and trickle down to his twitching lips. His cum, searing and marking Sebastian’s insides as his own, his his hishishis— his cock is overstimulated and his hips can’t stop twitching, yet the idea of pulling out seems like an impossibility. His socked feet are settled comfortably on Sebastian’s thighs, the butler’s muscles tense and his hips thrusting pathetically against nothing. Still, the demon’s throat contracts and his breath is stuttering and harsh as he tries to clear his nose of the cum trailing lazily from it. He huffs in barely hidden amusement, and hides his smile by pushing himself back on the bed, spread out and blankets plush around him and only holding himself up on his elbows to watch Sebastian longer.
Even as the demon rises with Ciel’s movement and continues licking, his softening arousal twitching and shifting against the too-long too-flexible tongue of his servant, Ciel can’t muster the strength to escape— more accurately, to tell his demon to stop. Sebastian seems to get the message anyway as Ciel drives a fingernail into his cheek. It seems his butler has regained his dignity; at least some of it, as Sebastian manages to not let another embarrassing sound escape his mouth as he lets Ciel’s softness escape his mouth. Aside from the wet pop of his lips opening, of course. His fingers deftly and softly, tenderly, move from Ciel’s slender thighs and hold his length, though. As if the demon cannot bear to let him go, now.
The thought is amusing enough that there’s a hint of a laugh in Ciel’s breath as he watches Sebastian watch him, eyes lidded and sharp pupils hazy. It’s… endearing, he’ll admit. “Clean me, dog.” He orders, arms finally going limp as he relaxes under Sebastian’s attention, tongue lapping like an excited puppy. It’s arousing, but more than that, it simply feels good, his cock giving a few twitches. Ciel wants to face fuck him again, perhaps even fuck something else of Sebastian’s, but feeling that tongue on him— he feels at peace, arousal no longer a burning fire inside of him but satisfied, murmuring embers that will require feeding again soon. Still, not now. Sebastian savors his taste, licking the remnants of Ciel’s cum and his own fluids mixed on his Young Master’s thighs, hips, the smooth stretch of Ciel’s tummy, everywhere he can reach.
He can feel as the demon’s body breathes, unnecessarily, face back in front of Ciel’s cock. If he weren’t so relaxed, he would taunt the man about not being able to stay away. The underside of his cock laid against the bridge of Sebastian’s nose, tongue working at the crease of his thigh, of his balls, and then just resting there for a moment, not bothering to clean the cum that has leaked out of his nose, yet. It’s oddly comfortable, feeling the movement, even the sensation of Sebastian’s eyelashes against his skin he blinks.
It feels like how it should be.
He fears ruining the spell cast over them both by moving, but he raises his hand again, smoothing the hair he had pulled and broken, fingertips finding the divots he dug into Sebastian’s scalp. Sebastian does not break the silence, simply relaxing as much as he can in the position he’s in, cheek pressing against Ciel’s thigh. His skin is smooth, warm. Ciel isn’t sure if it’s because of his butler’s remaining arousal, embarrassment, from the strikes to his face, or if the hellish flames he was born from truly live inside Sebastian’s human shell.
It’s embarrassing, perhaps, but Ciel doesn’t know how long they stay that way, warm breath on his cock and fingers playing through the tangled strands of Sebastian’s hair. Were Sebastian human, the position would strain his muscles. Perhaps it still does, given Ciel’s order, and he simply doesn’t care.
He only comes back to himself when Sebastian hums, the vibration through his skin pleasing and enough to make his dick twitch with interest again. As much as he’d love to bend Sebastian over, to torture his tantalizing chest, to scrape his nails until that hot blood pools in his hands— the next sounds out of his butler’s mouth are decidedly less erotic.
“In two hours, we have a meeting with the Queen, Young Master.” Sebastian’s voice is soft among the muffled bustle of the shenanigans of the other servants, among the birdsong outside, among the beat of Ciel’s heart. His voice is broken, cracking and painful to the ears, a far cry from the calming deepness of his regular tenor. Quiet, the vibration just as faint.
He tears his hand away, heart suddenly beating as fast as it did when he was fucking into Sebastian’s mouth. It suddenly feels real, and he struggles not to show his heart’s beating on his face as his butler stands up; Sebastian’s hair is still a mess, his erection still pressing wetly against his slacks, his face smeared with the cum he failed to swallow, that burned through his nostrils. It makes Ciel feel… powerful, resettles his courage even as his heart beats too-fast at the sight, like a schoolboy with his first crush.
Nodding and clearing his throat sheepishly, turning his gaze away and curling against the comfort of his sheets, he dismissively waves his hand. The covers are soft and accepting underneath him. He breathes out, and his breath is cold against the warmth of his face. “Prepare my outfit, then.” His voice is cut short, clipped, and he chances a glance back at Sebastian.
His butler shows no hurt, no visible reaction to the dismissal at all. It burns a hole inside of his stomach, needing— needing something. Something he only thinks of a moment later.
“Oh, and Sebastian?” Ciel throws a glance down to the firmness in his butler’s slacks, the wet soaking through the tip of it, long since noticed and long since untouched. “No taking care of that. No touching it until I say so. If I say so.”
Sebastian visibly tenses at the order, maintaining his professional posture despite his cheeks flushing dark again, despite his eyes going lidded again, despite his fists clenching. If Ciel didn’t know better, he’d think Sebastian pleased at the denial. Despite the color of his cheeks. Despite the clenching of his graceful hands. Either way, Ciel is more than satisfied with the outcome, and turns back to the thickness of his sheets, burying himself in the pillows and letting his gratified smirk grow embarrassingly large.
“Run me my bath. Only come back when the water is sufficiently heated,” he mutters, knowing the demon can hear him.
“… As you wish, Young Master.” The smile is audible in Sebastian’s voice, his words dreamier than usual but still smug and infuriating and affectionate as he turns and leaves, steps just a bit louder than normal, the closing of his doors just a bit harsher, as if the man is doing the routine actions in a daze.
Ciel’s nails have specks of blood under them, smelling like brimstone, turned rust-dark with its drying. He presses a kiss to them.