Sebastian fucking Ciel in the drawing room and the pair of them coming close to being caught in the act ✨
The fire a roaring heat on a unusually warm spring afternoon, warming the boys already sweat-dampened skin; slick and slippery against the polished oak of the large desk, an obscene squeak of damp skin against glossy wood as he squirms, apprehensive, tensing.
The boy, only donning the silk slink of his stockings and his shiny shoes, the laces of the left coming undone, tries to push himself up. Jamming his elbow against the unyielding surface of the desk and shoving with his palm against the unmovable shoulder of his butler. The warm grain of the wool under his digging fingertips. Frantic. Afraid of being found out; a dismal uncovering of his squirming, long-festered secret. Laid bare, as vulnerable as an exposed nerve and just as tender.
To be caught allowing his servant - his male servant at that - to rut between the quiver of his thighs, taking its pleasure within its masters body... well, it made the child’s chest damp and stiff. Like a great slick of mould had taken up residence in-between the cracks of his ribs, making it impossible to breathe quite right.
Mey-Rin, warbling some cheerful tune as she goes about airing out the rugs and runners, is right outside the door.
The handle jiggles. The boys stomach leaps, cold and unpleasant as congealed porridge within him, a slushy sensation. Foul. And unbidden he clings to his butler, burying his nose against the skin of Sebastian’s throat. No pulse there. Nothing but falseness. The sharp scent of starch.
Yet, Sebastian grips him in turn. An embrace of sorts, hunched over wriggling boy and sturdy desk. It’s not an embrace the boy would consider particularly comforting, mind you. Containing, restraining. And, clear and assertive, his butler calls out; “One moment, if you will.”
And Mey-Rin, obedient as she is to the head butler, acknowledges by moving down the hall, and Ciel’s chest aches. His belly, too. Not simply from the way Sebastian had been rawing his insides, an unrelenting, unremitting flex and push of his hips. Stirring the child’s lust as much as reaching every sensitive and tender place high within his bowels.
Oh, but he wants to bite it for the way it moves within his body. Sinuous as oil over water. Upon him and stifling, and yet somehow it keeps a certain distance as it says, cool, drawling voice against the shell of the boys ear, “Did that frighten you?”
“I am not in the habit of being careless, sir. Now,” a sly press and roll of its hips. Ciel feels it below his ribs. Deep-seated sensation. A breathless wanting. A desire for release. “Nicely, be a good boy and let me finish in you.”
He loathes the ease in which he relents.
He loathes, more so, the way his body pitches over the edge soon after; a scrambling, dizzying climax, when he hears the knock of the maids boot heels passing back down the hall, pausing outside the drawing room door as if to enter. Though she would not be so disobeying towards Sebastian’s orders, however mild they had been.
….are we seeing the vision??? 👀
