Black Butler Fanfiction
Written for tekla
Title: Playing the Game
Author: tasukigirl
Pairing: Sebastian/Ciel (Ciel is 17 in this story)
Rating: R, for sexual situations
Warnings: Obviously contains male/male romance. Don't like, don't read.
Summary: Sebastian wonders when the nature of Ciel's games began to change.
Ciel Phantomhive was a child when their contract began. He could sit up straight in the giant four legged tub and the water, if filled to the top, would reach his neck. He would sit quietly and patiently endure Sebastian's ministrations, allowing his scrawny limbs and pale back to be scrubbed clean with a soft, soapy sponge. He would complain when he got soap in his eyes and sputter a little when the water was poured over his head to rinse it off. He would complain if his fingers got pruney or if the water turned cold before the bath was finished.
Sebastian sometimes misses that irascible child.
His present master, Ciel Phantomhive, aged 17, reclines against the curve of the claw foot tub. His head tilts back against a damp blue pillow while his arms rest along the white edge. One long pale leg dangles from the edge, toe pointing towards a small puddle of collected bath water on the floor. His closed eyes open upon Sebastian's arrival. The contract flickers beneath a curtain of silvery hair.
"Ah, Sebastian," he says lazily. His body shifts in the water setting off ripples around his pale body.
"Master," Sebastian nods. He holds the pitcher of hot water carefully, pouring it near the base of the tub near his master's feet. The water steams in the cold air and his master closes his eyes and sighs in pleasure. The water rocks gently against the white walls of the tub.
Sebastian pours out the last steaming drop and sets the pitcher down on the damp wood of the wash table. He picks up the soap and sponge and holds them out to his master, who is tilting his head back against the pillow with his eyes closed again.
"Master, your soap."
Ciel turns his face away from Sebastian, exposing a long line of pale neck. He extends his leg in the air with pointed toe and the bathwater tinkles with the sound of droplets hitting the surface.
"Wash me," Ciel says. His eyes slide half open. A blue eye challenges him from below the shade of long lashes.
Sebastian's lips turn up to show he understands. He returns to the wash table where he puts down the soap and the sponge and wonders when this particular game began.
Pulling on the fingers of his white gloves he tries to recall the moments when things changed. Was it when fourteen year old Ciel noticed Miss Elizabeth had developed breasts? Had his awareness been set in motion the day he blushed bright red in her embrace and pushed her delicate powdered arms away? Maybe it was earlier than that when they squeezed his still androgynous body into a corset and paraded him before the Viscount Druitt and forced him to feign lolita-like prowess.
Ciel always managed to maintain some sort of innocence despite his immersion into the grittier side of Victorian society. But little by little his awareness had grown.
Sebastian places both gloves on the small table. His fingers close upon the soap with one hand, the sponge in the other. He kneels beside the tub as he did when Ciel was a child and dips them both into the water.
"I should think that the young master is old enough to wash himself these days," he says, eyes focused on brushing the lump of soap against the sponge. It is hard to work up a lather. He reaches into the tub, pulls up Ciel's ankle and rubs the foot vigorously.
Laughter bubbles from his master's throat like a low rumble. "Take care, will you? That tickles." He sounds like the ladies in the drawing rooms after dinner: playful, flirtatious, and yet innocent enough to stay within the bounds of propriety. Ciel points his toe as Sebastian's hand works the sponge up his leg. Sebastian wonders if this started when he overheard Bard and Maylene in the stables, or the day he understood the way Lau looked at him and answered with a coy smile.
Sex had always embarrassed Ciel as a child, but this creature, this master watching his ministrations with half- lidded eyes, understood it's power.
Sebastian washes the smooth leg up to the knee before moving on to the next leg. He ignores his master's keen interest in his response to the request. He washes the leg the same way he would a horse, or a carrot. He ignores the fine muscles that have developed in his master's calves. He moves to the arms, to the neck, to the places still sitting above water.
"Young master," he says, pausing with the sponge held dripping over the tub. "You need to stand up if I am to complete my chore." He punctuates the last three words.
Ciel's brow wrinkles in annoyance. He holds out his slender fingers to Sebastian. "Help me up?"
Sebastian grabs the offered hand and drags up his master with less gentility than he perhaps expected. Ciel looks a little unsettled upon being dragged up to his feet. His eyes narrow briefly and his bony shoulders shiver in the cold air. Sebastian runs the soapy sponge over Ciel's chest, down to his belly. He ignores the pink nipples distended in the cold, and does not spare them a second glance. He squeezes the sponge, allowing the soapy runoff to slide down the slender torso, down the pale thighs. He washes them like windows, starting from the top and working down. He makes his way down to the knees.
"Turn, please," Sebastian says. He glances up and catches the mismatched eyes watching him closely. Ciel turns slowly, exposing his backside and the ugly scar still raised like a seal. Sebastian continues to scrub the way he would any other item in the house. The lean muscles rippling under his care are no different than the good china; something to take caution with but not think too closely about. He reminds himself of this as he runs the sponge over the high cleft of his master's shapely behind. Sebastian's eye traces the dimples just above both globes, descending into full curves of cream colored flesh.
Sebastian realizes his hand has slowed without him intending to. He resumes his earlier pace and catches his master glancing at him over his shoulder. Sebastian can see the knowing smile wrinkling the corner of his eye.
One point to his master.
Sebastian completes his task quickly and without further incident. He is not caught unaware again. He returns the soap and sponge to the porcelain bowl next to his gloves. He picks up the pitcher which he fills with the bathwater and pours it over his master's head.
Ciel squeezes his eyes shut and wrinkles his nose. He snorts out his nose repeatedly, trying to blow out any water and rubs his eyes with the flats of his fingers. One hand pushes his drenched hair straight back, uncovering his ruffled expression.
"Pardon, young master," Sebastian smiles. "Old habits," he turns to set the pitcher down.
One point for the butler.
Sebastian reaches for the fluffy white towel resting on a worn, round stool. He feels almost pleased at ending this little game.
"You missed a spot." Ciel cuts him short. Sebastian turns narrowed eyes at his master. Ciel slinks back into the water, both eyes visible and twinkling with mischief. "Weren't you the one who taught me the importance of doing things thoroughly?" The set of Ciel’s mouth remind Sebastian of the face in the painting, of Vincent Phantomhive; a not unfriendly and yet somehow calculating look.
Sebastian's expression relaxes. "Then if the young master would be so kind as to direct me to the missed spot," Sebastian rolls up his sleeves as high as they will go. He picks up the soap and sponge for show.
"Leave the sponge. It won't help you," Ciel says. Mismatched eyes follow Sebastian's hands. Sebastian raises an eyebrow, and places the sponge back on the table.
"Shall I retrieve a small cloth?" Ciel stares at him over the rim of the tub and slowly shakes his head. He rests upon his hands and knees, back visible above the water and arched slightly like a cat ready to pounce. "Very well," Sebastian smiles. "If the young master will stand up..."
Ciel is shaking his head again. His body slips beneath the water, and turns gracefully to his former position. He leans his head back against the blue pillow. "It's too cold," he slides his eyes closed. "I prefer it like this." He stretches his neck to one side and wiggles his shoulders until he is comfortable. Sebastian kneels at the side of the tub. He wets his fingers and rubs the bar of soap between his hands. The white lather looks off- white against his pale hands.
"Master?" Sebastian waits for his master's orders, noting the relaxed expression despite how lukewarm the water has become. Ciel's lips part for a sigh. His head rolls lazily to face him.
"What are you doing all the way over there?" His eyes slide close again. His chest rises and falls slowly. Sebastian inclines his head and notes his master's deep breaths; deeper than usual. He says nothing and shifts without his master's instructions. He places himself at the head of the tub and leans forward, pressing Ciel's damp locks against his white shirt. He can feel the material growing heavy and cold with damp. Ciel's pulse visibly leaps against his porcelain throat.
"Master," Sebastian says quietly. He wraps his arms around either side of his lord's still thin frame. He immerses his hands in the tepid water, watching the soapy suds slide from his skin and float to the surface.
When did this game begin? Sebastian wonders, allowing his fingers to be guided by a slender hand. Ciel parts his thighs and guides Sebastian's fingers along the silky interior. His fingers slide up and down in slow, short swings. Ciel continues to breathe in deep, slow breaths. His breath hitches when Sebastian's fingers graze the edge of dark curls. He slides his fingers back up and safely away.
Something changed the day Sebastian moved the sponge over Ciel's changing body; the day Ciel slapped his hand away with red cheeks and ordered him out of the bathroom. For a brief period of time, Ciel had insisted on washing his own body, on taking his baths alone. It wasn't the start of the game, but another milestone; perhaps that was the moment when things changed.
Ciel's fingers touch Sebastian's unoccupied hand lightly. He raises his knees slightly, resting his legs against the side of the tub, spreading them as far as the tub allows. His grip tightens a little as he runs Sebastian's hands along both sides.
Sebastian will not count this as a point. He knows better.
Even without the looks, the smiles, or lingering touches the game began when his master left the bathroom door open and ordered him back inside. Smiling like nothing had changed, as though there had been no absence, they both knew something was different; somehow the power had shifted.
Ciel's body arches in the water. Pale pink nipples peer at him above the rippling surface. Sebastian's dark gaze lights upon them, wondering when his master will demand he caress those too. He ignores the odd stirrings of this human body. Ciel has become too aware of this new type of control. It would not do to concede the extra point.
"Remember," Ciel whispers against his cheek. The warm puff of air tickles against his skin. "You must be very thorough." Sebastian's hand is guided back down to the dark, coarse curls and to the hardening flesh rising to meet his caress. He does not point out that he has no soap, that the suds have dissolved into a film now skimming the tub's edge.
"Yes, my lord," Sebastian says softly. He ignores the throbbing between his thighs and keeps his fingers steady as he rubs the hair in small circles between his forefinger and thumb. He keeps his grip on his master's slender thigh firm, not too tight, and not in any way that would betray any loss of composure. Every other game he has won with ease; every other game has proven no challenge. Playing this game, he does not think it shameful to tie.
But losing...
Sebastian closes his eyes when his hand wraps around the "spot" he had missed. Ciel sucks in his breath, sighs and breathes deeply again despite the hammering of his pulse. Sebastian clenches his jaw and wills away this all too human nuisance he calls desire.
Losing, he thinks, and for a moment it doesn't seem so bad. His hand tightens it grip slightly, but when his red eyes slide to meet his master's he glimpses not an expression rapt in pleasure, but a coquettish smile he has seen before.
Sebastian concentrates on his task with a little more clarity this time.
No, losing will not do.
Title: Playing the Game
Author: tasukigirl
Pairing: Sebastian/Ciel (Ciel is 17 in this story)
Rating: R, for sexual situations
Warnings: Obviously contains male/male romance. Don't like, don't read.
Summary: Sebastian wonders when the nature of Ciel's games began to change.
Ciel Phantomhive was a child when their contract began. He could sit up straight in the giant four legged tub and the water, if filled to the top, would reach his neck. He would sit quietly and patiently endure Sebastian's ministrations, allowing his scrawny limbs and pale back to be scrubbed clean with a soft, soapy sponge. He would complain when he got soap in his eyes and sputter a little when the water was poured over his head to rinse it off. He would complain if his fingers got pruney or if the water turned cold before the bath was finished.
Sebastian sometimes misses that irascible child.
His present master, Ciel Phantomhive, aged 17, reclines against the curve of the claw foot tub. His head tilts back against a damp blue pillow while his arms rest along the white edge. One long pale leg dangles from the edge, toe pointing towards a small puddle of collected bath water on the floor. His closed eyes open upon Sebastian's arrival. The contract flickers beneath a curtain of silvery hair.
"Ah, Sebastian," he says lazily. His body shifts in the water setting off ripples around his pale body.
"Master," Sebastian nods. He holds the pitcher of hot water carefully, pouring it near the base of the tub near his master's feet. The water steams in the cold air and his master closes his eyes and sighs in pleasure. The water rocks gently against the white walls of the tub.
Sebastian pours out the last steaming drop and sets the pitcher down on the damp wood of the wash table. He picks up the soap and sponge and holds them out to his master, who is tilting his head back against the pillow with his eyes closed again.
"Master, your soap."
Ciel turns his face away from Sebastian, exposing a long line of pale neck. He extends his leg in the air with pointed toe and the bathwater tinkles with the sound of droplets hitting the surface.
"Wash me," Ciel says. His eyes slide half open. A blue eye challenges him from below the shade of long lashes.
Sebastian's lips turn up to show he understands. He returns to the wash table where he puts down the soap and the sponge and wonders when this particular game began.
Pulling on the fingers of his white gloves he tries to recall the moments when things changed. Was it when fourteen year old Ciel noticed Miss Elizabeth had developed breasts? Had his awareness been set in motion the day he blushed bright red in her embrace and pushed her delicate powdered arms away? Maybe it was earlier than that when they squeezed his still androgynous body into a corset and paraded him before the Viscount Druitt and forced him to feign lolita-like prowess.
Ciel always managed to maintain some sort of innocence despite his immersion into the grittier side of Victorian society. But little by little his awareness had grown.
Sebastian places both gloves on the small table. His fingers close upon the soap with one hand, the sponge in the other. He kneels beside the tub as he did when Ciel was a child and dips them both into the water.
"I should think that the young master is old enough to wash himself these days," he says, eyes focused on brushing the lump of soap against the sponge. It is hard to work up a lather. He reaches into the tub, pulls up Ciel's ankle and rubs the foot vigorously.
Laughter bubbles from his master's throat like a low rumble. "Take care, will you? That tickles." He sounds like the ladies in the drawing rooms after dinner: playful, flirtatious, and yet innocent enough to stay within the bounds of propriety. Ciel points his toe as Sebastian's hand works the sponge up his leg. Sebastian wonders if this started when he overheard Bard and Maylene in the stables, or the day he understood the way Lau looked at him and answered with a coy smile.
Sex had always embarrassed Ciel as a child, but this creature, this master watching his ministrations with half- lidded eyes, understood it's power.
Sebastian washes the smooth leg up to the knee before moving on to the next leg. He ignores his master's keen interest in his response to the request. He washes the leg the same way he would a horse, or a carrot. He ignores the fine muscles that have developed in his master's calves. He moves to the arms, to the neck, to the places still sitting above water.
"Young master," he says, pausing with the sponge held dripping over the tub. "You need to stand up if I am to complete my chore." He punctuates the last three words.
Ciel's brow wrinkles in annoyance. He holds out his slender fingers to Sebastian. "Help me up?"
Sebastian grabs the offered hand and drags up his master with less gentility than he perhaps expected. Ciel looks a little unsettled upon being dragged up to his feet. His eyes narrow briefly and his bony shoulders shiver in the cold air. Sebastian runs the soapy sponge over Ciel's chest, down to his belly. He ignores the pink nipples distended in the cold, and does not spare them a second glance. He squeezes the sponge, allowing the soapy runoff to slide down the slender torso, down the pale thighs. He washes them like windows, starting from the top and working down. He makes his way down to the knees.
"Turn, please," Sebastian says. He glances up and catches the mismatched eyes watching him closely. Ciel turns slowly, exposing his backside and the ugly scar still raised like a seal. Sebastian continues to scrub the way he would any other item in the house. The lean muscles rippling under his care are no different than the good china; something to take caution with but not think too closely about. He reminds himself of this as he runs the sponge over the high cleft of his master's shapely behind. Sebastian's eye traces the dimples just above both globes, descending into full curves of cream colored flesh.
Sebastian realizes his hand has slowed without him intending to. He resumes his earlier pace and catches his master glancing at him over his shoulder. Sebastian can see the knowing smile wrinkling the corner of his eye.
One point to his master.
Sebastian completes his task quickly and without further incident. He is not caught unaware again. He returns the soap and sponge to the porcelain bowl next to his gloves. He picks up the pitcher which he fills with the bathwater and pours it over his master's head.
Ciel squeezes his eyes shut and wrinkles his nose. He snorts out his nose repeatedly, trying to blow out any water and rubs his eyes with the flats of his fingers. One hand pushes his drenched hair straight back, uncovering his ruffled expression.
"Pardon, young master," Sebastian smiles. "Old habits," he turns to set the pitcher down.
One point for the butler.
Sebastian reaches for the fluffy white towel resting on a worn, round stool. He feels almost pleased at ending this little game.
"You missed a spot." Ciel cuts him short. Sebastian turns narrowed eyes at his master. Ciel slinks back into the water, both eyes visible and twinkling with mischief. "Weren't you the one who taught me the importance of doing things thoroughly?" The set of Ciel’s mouth remind Sebastian of the face in the painting, of Vincent Phantomhive; a not unfriendly and yet somehow calculating look.
Sebastian's expression relaxes. "Then if the young master would be so kind as to direct me to the missed spot," Sebastian rolls up his sleeves as high as they will go. He picks up the soap and sponge for show.
"Leave the sponge. It won't help you," Ciel says. Mismatched eyes follow Sebastian's hands. Sebastian raises an eyebrow, and places the sponge back on the table.
"Shall I retrieve a small cloth?" Ciel stares at him over the rim of the tub and slowly shakes his head. He rests upon his hands and knees, back visible above the water and arched slightly like a cat ready to pounce. "Very well," Sebastian smiles. "If the young master will stand up..."
Ciel is shaking his head again. His body slips beneath the water, and turns gracefully to his former position. He leans his head back against the blue pillow. "It's too cold," he slides his eyes closed. "I prefer it like this." He stretches his neck to one side and wiggles his shoulders until he is comfortable. Sebastian kneels at the side of the tub. He wets his fingers and rubs the bar of soap between his hands. The white lather looks off- white against his pale hands.
"Master?" Sebastian waits for his master's orders, noting the relaxed expression despite how lukewarm the water has become. Ciel's lips part for a sigh. His head rolls lazily to face him.
"What are you doing all the way over there?" His eyes slide close again. His chest rises and falls slowly. Sebastian inclines his head and notes his master's deep breaths; deeper than usual. He says nothing and shifts without his master's instructions. He places himself at the head of the tub and leans forward, pressing Ciel's damp locks against his white shirt. He can feel the material growing heavy and cold with damp. Ciel's pulse visibly leaps against his porcelain throat.
"Master," Sebastian says quietly. He wraps his arms around either side of his lord's still thin frame. He immerses his hands in the tepid water, watching the soapy suds slide from his skin and float to the surface.
When did this game begin? Sebastian wonders, allowing his fingers to be guided by a slender hand. Ciel parts his thighs and guides Sebastian's fingers along the silky interior. His fingers slide up and down in slow, short swings. Ciel continues to breathe in deep, slow breaths. His breath hitches when Sebastian's fingers graze the edge of dark curls. He slides his fingers back up and safely away.
Something changed the day Sebastian moved the sponge over Ciel's changing body; the day Ciel slapped his hand away with red cheeks and ordered him out of the bathroom. For a brief period of time, Ciel had insisted on washing his own body, on taking his baths alone. It wasn't the start of the game, but another milestone; perhaps that was the moment when things changed.
Ciel's fingers touch Sebastian's unoccupied hand lightly. He raises his knees slightly, resting his legs against the side of the tub, spreading them as far as the tub allows. His grip tightens a little as he runs Sebastian's hands along both sides.
Sebastian will not count this as a point. He knows better.
Even without the looks, the smiles, or lingering touches the game began when his master left the bathroom door open and ordered him back inside. Smiling like nothing had changed, as though there had been no absence, they both knew something was different; somehow the power had shifted.
Ciel's body arches in the water. Pale pink nipples peer at him above the rippling surface. Sebastian's dark gaze lights upon them, wondering when his master will demand he caress those too. He ignores the odd stirrings of this human body. Ciel has become too aware of this new type of control. It would not do to concede the extra point.
"Remember," Ciel whispers against his cheek. The warm puff of air tickles against his skin. "You must be very thorough." Sebastian's hand is guided back down to the dark, coarse curls and to the hardening flesh rising to meet his caress. He does not point out that he has no soap, that the suds have dissolved into a film now skimming the tub's edge.
"Yes, my lord," Sebastian says softly. He ignores the throbbing between his thighs and keeps his fingers steady as he rubs the hair in small circles between his forefinger and thumb. He keeps his grip on his master's slender thigh firm, not too tight, and not in any way that would betray any loss of composure. Every other game he has won with ease; every other game has proven no challenge. Playing this game, he does not think it shameful to tie.
But losing...
Sebastian closes his eyes when his hand wraps around the "spot" he had missed. Ciel sucks in his breath, sighs and breathes deeply again despite the hammering of his pulse. Sebastian clenches his jaw and wills away this all too human nuisance he calls desire.
Losing, he thinks, and for a moment it doesn't seem so bad. His hand tightens it grip slightly, but when his red eyes slide to meet his master's he glimpses not an expression rapt in pleasure, but a coquettish smile he has seen before.
Sebastian concentrates on his task with a little more clarity this time.
No, losing will not do.