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Iron Lung	By : flagfish Category: > Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji ???) Views: 3743 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji nor any of the characters, nor do I make any money from writing this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Iron Lung
- 2-Chapter 2
- 1
- 2
Twenty minutes past midnight.
The heavy carriage wheels splashed with graceless clatter through mud, leaving watery trails in their wake through the London rain. At the driver’s seat, Mey-Rin knew better than to ask when she’d been instructed to take the reins; downpour like this was nothing out of the ordinary.
Neither was whatever the Earl had got up to with his butler inside the carriage.
At thirteen, Ciel already was a man; at twenty-five, a widower. Lady Elizabeth’s spirit still lingered at Phantomhive Estate, at night you could hear her voice if you were quiet enough. Mey-Rin had said the Mistress better protected her beloved in death than she ever had in life, and even Sebastian was prone to agree.
“Imbecile,” Ciel muttered, voice stern and subdued, “keep that up and you’ll have half the city awake with your clumsy blundering.”
From beneath the black swing of his hair, Sebastian arched an eyebrow, dryly amused. “Shall I have my Lord gagged, in that case,” he suggested helpfully, “as he can’t very well stifle his voice on his own?”
He’d come to expect the death glare that followed; it was Ciel, after all, whose voice came too loud, and whether or not it was drowned by the sound of the wheels, it was nothing Mey-Rin had not heard before—and nothing, Sebastian knew, she didn’t quite fancy listening to.
You hear that, My Lord, he would ask other times at his bedchamber, bent double beneath Ciel with unnatural grace, elegant even at the most scandalous depths of degradation, “Your maid is at the door.”
Dark hair mussed in a way so unbefitting a young Earl, Ciel wouldn’t stop, bundles clinging damply to his forehead as he glared, as though this, too, was his butler’s fault. Asking are you sure would be in vain. “I should think you rather enjoy that she is, wretched creature that you are,” he would reply.
The profane sound of flesh striking wetly against flesh emanating loud and distinct through the confines of the room, Ciel would glare at his butler, and Sebastian would smirk with diabolical contentment, unnervingly unaffected despite the disheveled sway of his hair, despite the rubor of his naked thighs, struck too violently and too deliberately under the weight of his master’s aggression.
The Earl Phantomhive was a thin and sickly boy of a man, an unsettling presence for all his beauty and aristocratic grace. There was something about him not quite right, disturbing and almost inhuman. Some had said he had no heart. He had no soul, said others, he was meant to die in boyhood, but somehow cheated death.
Ciel was aware, of course, of the rumors, and dignified them with neither denial nor confirmation; regardless of detail, it wasn't entirely untrue that he was dark and diabolical inside. The slender, asthmatic manchild Earl and his devil servant, the both a touch too beautiful, a touch unnatural, and the mansion rumored dark and haunted, where the very walls were said to come alive at night with the souls of those who’d died in the fire long before.
“Get on with it, Sebastian,” he murmured now, very human with impatience despite it all, the way he always had been, Sebastian knew, where matters of the flesh were concerned. His own delicate hands had seldom practice with the binds of his own clothes, and even to the extent that he was proficient, he’d much preferred to see his butler work. He reveled with sadistic pleasure at the frustration he’d made Sebastian endure, and the demon creature knew it, he obliged his Lord with patience humans seldom showed.
The gloved digits of his hand worked with elegant grace at the laces and buckles, Like this, my Lord? he asked, though he knew all too well that like this was exactly the way his Lord would have him. At the driver’s seat, Mey-Rin strained to hear their voices over the loud splash of the carriage wheels through the cobblestone roads, loyal to the Earl through and through even if he was unnatural and dark.
Ciel would not reply; he fought vulnerably for composure, as for all his strength of character far beyond his years, he also was well aware of his own physical limitations. It was the demon who saw him at his most wretched hour, and who knew in earnest the full extent of his vulnerability. “Hold your tongue and get on with it already,” Ciel finally hissed, irritated all the more by Sebastian’s insufferable smile after the fact and aware of the comment on holding his tongue he was thinking to make.
Yes, my Lord, was all Mey-Rin made out, her hands firm on the reins; it never ceased to make her breath go dry, knowing the Earl did dirty things to Sebastian. She wondered what the butler’s face was like when he did, he probably smirked up at Ciel, challenging, cheeky, is that all you’d have me do, surely my Lord would have more—
Within the carriage, Ciel’s hands were tight in Sebastian’s hair, cruel with disregard and deliberate pleasure in having him annoyed, and only Ciel had known him well enough to tell that indeed his butler was annoyed, as for all the world he’d seem perfectly civil and content—were all the world to witness such a thing.
Even at moments of weakness like these, Ciel would fight for calm, his gaze on Sebastian unwavering, he’d tilt his chin toward him as better to see.
You like doing this, don’t you. Dirty demon.
Lips glittering wet with fluid, Sebastian would grin evilly at Ciel, is that what my Lord would have me say?
Very well, then. I like it, if it pleases you.
Ciel would say no more, but only smirk in reply.
By the time they were back at Phantomhive Manor, he’d be fully dressed and lethargic, asleep like a child in his butler’s arms. Sebastian would have liked to carry him in this way, as had been his habit for many years when Ciel still was younger, even in adolescence too small for his age. He’d fancy carrying him now, if only to see him fly in a rage, as even in manhood the Earl Phantomhive still was slender and slight, for all his immeasurable power.
“We’ve arrived, my Lord,” Sebastian’s voice ghosted immaterial just at the delicate folds of his master’s ear, seductive and whispering cruel, and to the maid’s obvious dismay, she’d missed out seeing whatever she might have seen were Sebastian any less perfectionistic in his duties to have Ciel presentable.
Moments like these, Ciel still was a boy, Sebastian thought, and unquestionably human; moments before the full weight of his wrath issued forth, he’d forget himself somehow, and still lean on the pressed fabric of his butler’s suit in a voiceless request to be carried inside.

(On to Chapter 2)
- 1
- 2
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Iron Lung