Kuroshitsuji: Masterly Discipline, Part II
Title: Masterly Discipline, Part II
Author: Sensei
Fandom: Kuroshitsuji (SebaCiel)
Words: 1064
Rating: MA+
Summary: Ciel decides to teach Sebastian a lesson. Sebastian decides to enjoy it.
Prompt: citrus_taste #49, "Think of all the things your hands could make"
Warnings: Shouta, graphic
For moon_maiden36 and talonsage.
Sebastian held his position, naked on his hands and knees on the cold floor of Ciel's bedchambers. The room was silent but for the crackle and hiss of little blaze in the fireplace. The obedient butler could hold this pose as long as his master wished, and even relished the discomfort as a gift to the determined little earl. Ciel Phantomhive was making his existence in this guise a greater pleasure than he had imagined when summoned. The consummate Victorian butler must be prepared for any contingency, and he was learning quickly that, together, he and his young master had the potential for a broad and delightful array of life's bounty.
To the fire's sputtering chorus, Sebastian began to hear added tiny grunts of Ciel. He had been commanded to be still, and so he was, but his curiosity was growing. And he did love to feed his curiosity. Ciel had threatened-or promised-to show him "who is master," and he relished the promised delights. Could the boy actually follow through? Temperament, surely, would spur him enough to take whip or cane to Sebastian's slender backside. The thought of it was a terrible thrill. On the one hand, the perfect butler should never have to be beaten. On the other, the whack of the cane across his ass would be quite a new sensation indeed. He could not remember the last time in his long existence he had allowed himself to be placed in a position of such vulnerability. Skirmishes and conflicts, yes. Battles even. But kneeling for a beating? No, that was new. Deliciously new.
And yet no beating came. In fact, he had seen Ciel's true intent clearly as he stripped: fisted in his little hand was his alabaster prize. As perfect and precious in its tiny stiffness as every other feature of his young master. Sebastian's crimson eyes flashed at the tasty little glimpse of it, and he marveled that the earl actually ventured to threaten him with it. "Who is master" indeed. This must, of course, be what the grunting was about. His child's body could not rise to the glory of his masterly disposition. Poor creature. Perhaps the perfect butler should assist.
Ciel squeezed and pumped his little shaft, commanding it with fist and mind to obey. He was going to do what he'd read in that naughty book he kept beneath his mattress that even Sebastian didn't know about. Just as Sir Dudley had initiated his squire and been obeyed the better for it, so Sebastian would be initiated, and respect him more hereafter. He frowned, bit his bottom lip. If only he could get his "proud, marbled sword" (which was really more like a lady's dagger) ready to "sheathe." It had been so easy for Sir Dudley, despite all the armor.
"May I assist, young master?" came Sebastian's low, velveteen voice.
Ciel startled, and his lady's dagger became a milk-soaked ladyfinger. "Sebastian! You've ruined everything!" he pouted, looking at the pitiful appendage resting in his palm. He released it and let his nightshirt drop the final curtain over his aborted performance. Looking up sullenly, he caught the wicked gleam in Sebastian's eye. "I should let you stay there, just like that, all night."
"As you wish, young master," replied Sebastian, grin widening. He noted that his own erection seemed to have grown as Ciel's shrank. This mortal form was such a delight.
"You're no fun to punish at all," Ciel concluded, turning to climb back into bed.
Sebastian was upon him in an instant, silent and warm, hand hiking the soft, white linen over Ciel's backside almost before he even knew it. As Ciel squeaked a futile protest, Sebastian pressed him onto his belly, hiked his little hips up over the bed, and stretched and pinned his arms overhead. "Allow me to demonstrate how it's done, young master, for future reference."
"Sebastian!" gasped Ciel. He could feel Sebastian's burning eyes caressing every inch of his body. He shuddered and struggled to free his hands.
"After all," continued Sebastian calmly, as if this were just another lesson in dancing, "it would not do to leave you uneducated in proper form." He kept his sweet, pale prey pressed to the bed as he leaned in and slipped a finger into Ciel's mouth. "It will hurt less if you assist me in lubricating the way, young master."
Ciel bit Sebastian's finger, hard. It brought only a chuckle. "Horrible monster," Ciel whined, then suckled when the digit was offered again.
"That's it, nice and wet," the deceptively gentle voice praised, then withdrew it and pressed it to the precious little pucker that Sebastian himself had washed very, very clean earlier that day. Cleanliness, he opined, was what separated the true nobleman from the commoner.
Though Ciel hated the obscene thoroughness of Sebastian's bathing rituals, he also secretly enjoyed them in ways not entirely dissimilar to his pleasure in the tales of Sir Dudley, and not entirely unlike his trembling anticipation of what that finger-now circling and rubbing him purposefully-was about to do. "Sebastian," he begged, cheeks reddening and eyes filling with tears that were nothing like crying.
"Yes, my Lord," murmured the perfect butler, and pressed inside.
Words were no longer possible for Ciel, though he was by no means silent as Sebastian carefully, lovingly worked him open and filled him with first one finger and then, after proffering additional saliva in a way that only a crass peasant would call spitting, two. Once inside and able to enter and withdraw smoothly, Sebastian covered the little body with his own and pressed his hips rhythmically to simulate a mounting the child was by no means ready for.
Ciel moaned and sobbed in a way most pleasing to both butler and master, arousing each according to his particular station. Sebastian released Ciel's hands and was delighted to find he did not seek to move them from their overhead position. He slipped a hand neatly beneath his young master's hips and found him hard and quite welcoming of stimulation. "Please!" commanded Ciel.
Sebastian stroked the boy to a fevered, whimpering climax, fingers thrusting firmly and possessively all the while. As the aftershocks coursed through his exhausted body, Sebastian purred into his little pink ear, "I am, now and until the day I claim what is mine, my Lord's most faithful dog."
~
Author: Sensei
Fandom: Kuroshitsuji (SebaCiel)
Words: 1064
Rating: MA+
Summary: Ciel decides to teach Sebastian a lesson. Sebastian decides to enjoy it.
Prompt: citrus_taste #49, "Think of all the things your hands could make"
Warnings: Shouta, graphic
For moon_maiden36 and talonsage.
Sebastian held his position, naked on his hands and knees on the cold floor of Ciel's bedchambers. The room was silent but for the crackle and hiss of little blaze in the fireplace. The obedient butler could hold this pose as long as his master wished, and even relished the discomfort as a gift to the determined little earl. Ciel Phantomhive was making his existence in this guise a greater pleasure than he had imagined when summoned. The consummate Victorian butler must be prepared for any contingency, and he was learning quickly that, together, he and his young master had the potential for a broad and delightful array of life's bounty.
To the fire's sputtering chorus, Sebastian began to hear added tiny grunts of Ciel. He had been commanded to be still, and so he was, but his curiosity was growing. And he did love to feed his curiosity. Ciel had threatened-or promised-to show him "who is master," and he relished the promised delights. Could the boy actually follow through? Temperament, surely, would spur him enough to take whip or cane to Sebastian's slender backside. The thought of it was a terrible thrill. On the one hand, the perfect butler should never have to be beaten. On the other, the whack of the cane across his ass would be quite a new sensation indeed. He could not remember the last time in his long existence he had allowed himself to be placed in a position of such vulnerability. Skirmishes and conflicts, yes. Battles even. But kneeling for a beating? No, that was new. Deliciously new.
And yet no beating came. In fact, he had seen Ciel's true intent clearly as he stripped: fisted in his little hand was his alabaster prize. As perfect and precious in its tiny stiffness as every other feature of his young master. Sebastian's crimson eyes flashed at the tasty little glimpse of it, and he marveled that the earl actually ventured to threaten him with it. "Who is master" indeed. This must, of course, be what the grunting was about. His child's body could not rise to the glory of his masterly disposition. Poor creature. Perhaps the perfect butler should assist.
Ciel squeezed and pumped his little shaft, commanding it with fist and mind to obey. He was going to do what he'd read in that naughty book he kept beneath his mattress that even Sebastian didn't know about. Just as Sir Dudley had initiated his squire and been obeyed the better for it, so Sebastian would be initiated, and respect him more hereafter. He frowned, bit his bottom lip. If only he could get his "proud, marbled sword" (which was really more like a lady's dagger) ready to "sheathe." It had been so easy for Sir Dudley, despite all the armor.
"May I assist, young master?" came Sebastian's low, velveteen voice.
Ciel startled, and his lady's dagger became a milk-soaked ladyfinger. "Sebastian! You've ruined everything!" he pouted, looking at the pitiful appendage resting in his palm. He released it and let his nightshirt drop the final curtain over his aborted performance. Looking up sullenly, he caught the wicked gleam in Sebastian's eye. "I should let you stay there, just like that, all night."
"As you wish, young master," replied Sebastian, grin widening. He noted that his own erection seemed to have grown as Ciel's shrank. This mortal form was such a delight.
"You're no fun to punish at all," Ciel concluded, turning to climb back into bed.
Sebastian was upon him in an instant, silent and warm, hand hiking the soft, white linen over Ciel's backside almost before he even knew it. As Ciel squeaked a futile protest, Sebastian pressed him onto his belly, hiked his little hips up over the bed, and stretched and pinned his arms overhead. "Allow me to demonstrate how it's done, young master, for future reference."
"Sebastian!" gasped Ciel. He could feel Sebastian's burning eyes caressing every inch of his body. He shuddered and struggled to free his hands.
"After all," continued Sebastian calmly, as if this were just another lesson in dancing, "it would not do to leave you uneducated in proper form." He kept his sweet, pale prey pressed to the bed as he leaned in and slipped a finger into Ciel's mouth. "It will hurt less if you assist me in lubricating the way, young master."
Ciel bit Sebastian's finger, hard. It brought only a chuckle. "Horrible monster," Ciel whined, then suckled when the digit was offered again.
"That's it, nice and wet," the deceptively gentle voice praised, then withdrew it and pressed it to the precious little pucker that Sebastian himself had washed very, very clean earlier that day. Cleanliness, he opined, was what separated the true nobleman from the commoner.
Though Ciel hated the obscene thoroughness of Sebastian's bathing rituals, he also secretly enjoyed them in ways not entirely dissimilar to his pleasure in the tales of Sir Dudley, and not entirely unlike his trembling anticipation of what that finger-now circling and rubbing him purposefully-was about to do. "Sebastian," he begged, cheeks reddening and eyes filling with tears that were nothing like crying.
"Yes, my Lord," murmured the perfect butler, and pressed inside.
Words were no longer possible for Ciel, though he was by no means silent as Sebastian carefully, lovingly worked him open and filled him with first one finger and then, after proffering additional saliva in a way that only a crass peasant would call spitting, two. Once inside and able to enter and withdraw smoothly, Sebastian covered the little body with his own and pressed his hips rhythmically to simulate a mounting the child was by no means ready for.
Ciel moaned and sobbed in a way most pleasing to both butler and master, arousing each according to his particular station. Sebastian released Ciel's hands and was delighted to find he did not seek to move them from their overhead position. He slipped a hand neatly beneath his young master's hips and found him hard and quite welcoming of stimulation. "Please!" commanded Ciel.
Sebastian stroked the boy to a fevered, whimpering climax, fingers thrusting firmly and possessively all the while. As the aftershocks coursed through his exhausted body, Sebastian purred into his little pink ear, "I am, now and until the day I claim what is mine, my Lord's most faithful dog."
~