sebaciel except the focus is on the mutual pining.
ciel thinking he’s nothing but a meal in sebastian’s eyes. a weak, small human, something he needs to humour and put up with for a little while, before he gets his reward and ciel’s existence ceases into nothingness, without leaving even a single mark in the demon’s vast memory. being convinced the concern, the vicious protectiveness in which sebastian tends to act around him, the care he puts into making sure all his needs are met is just the very basic means of fulfilling their contract: he’d get no soul to devour from a harmed, broken or a dead master. besides, ciel’s aware of his own immaturity, he has seen how sebastian acts around people older than him, especially if he seems interested in them (or the information they posses), and how his behavior becomes much more careful when he’s addressing ciel. so ciel never asks anything of him, other than the rare “stay with me until I fall asleep” when he’s at his lowest and nothing else helps, for he’s sure sebastian only follows his commands because of the contract that binds them, without any deeper emotion tied to it.
and sebastian, who’s certain that he’s nothing but a tool, a weapon in ciel’s hands, a way to execute his revenge, that ciel sees him as a temporarily collared beast, that behaves for now, but wants nothing but to lash out at his master and consume him at the first given opportunity, should ciel’s attention would waver. who thinks after all that ciel’s been through, there’s no way he’d willingly ask anything more of him, but still finds himself caring too much, much more than with any other contractor he’s had in the past, doing much more than the contract requires just because he enjoys seeing ciel content, wishing he’d be able to provide the physical and emotional reassurance and comfort that ciel evidently needs, but knowing it’s something he: a butler, a demon, would never willingly get from his human master, which is also perfectly understandable.
so, just like with everything else that they do, they continue to exist in that weird waltz with each other, yearning for things they’re sure the other one has no ability nor interest in sharing, carefully maintaining an appropriate distance, cherishing each slip of decorum, each touch that lingers too long, each look that’s just slightly too warm, too soft to be strictly professional.
