Adult-FanFiction.org : Anime

Devilish Impulses	By : Arianawray Category: > Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji ???) Views: 13948 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji or any of its characters, and I do not make any money from these writings.

Chapter List
- 1-Unwanted
- 2-Whim
- 3-Trust
- 4-Taste
- 5-Scheme
- 6-Command
- 7-Competition
- 8-Advice
- 9-Enlightenment
- 10-Sustenance
- 11-Caught
- 12-Breath
- 13-Arms
- 14-Inflammation
- 15-Imagination
- 16-Intent
- 17-Compromise
- 18-Sacrifice
- 19-Despair
- 20-Compassion
- 21-Interest
- 22-Equality
- 23-Mentor
- 24-History
- 25-Disorder
- 26-Reputation
- 27-Gifts
- 28-Admission
- 29-Watching
- 30-Bonds
- 31-Revelations
- 32-Confrontation
- 33-Struggle
- 34-Separation
- 35-Duty
- 36-Change
- 37-Together
- 38-Love
- 39-Epilogue: Heaven
- 14
- 15
- 16
Note, 1 June 2011: Much thanks to everyone who has been reading this story. Your amazing reviews leave me both delighted and humbled – I am grateful for the feedback, but also terrified that I will let you down. I don’t know if the direction the story takes as it goes along will disappoint anyone, but I hope at least some readers will accept my vision of the way things develop.

=================

Imagination

Baldroy scratches his head as he stares at the piece of paper with Sebastian's detailed, elegantly penned instructions on how to cook three particular dishes without destroying the kitchen. He is not entirely certain where some of the listed ingredients are kept, or what some of them are.

This is the second sheet that has come his way today, for the butler has not left the master's room since last evening. Mey-Rin, who handed him the note, was allowed into the bedroom for a few minutes this morning to carry hot water in. She was also admitted a half-hour later, when Sebastian asked her to bring up the master's chess set. According to the housemaid-sniper, the earl is quite ill. A wound on his back is infected, and he swings between fever and chills, slipping in and out of states of lucidity and delirium despite Sebastian's best efforts to stabilise his condition. They cannot call for a doctor, because no one – least of all the master himself in his moments of sense – wants any outsider to see the scores of cuts Sophia Easton's people inflicted on him.

Baldroy swears and punches the kitchen counter, imagining Mrs Easton's face under his fist. He and the others were told only last night by Sebastian, through Tanaka, how badly injured the master was. The butler has specified that if anyone from the Midford mansion inquires, they are to say that His Lordship has a bad cold, and needs peace and quiet to recover; if anybody else asks, they are to say that the earl is not at home.

Mey-Rin is unable to give much first-hand information about the master's health, for she is so long-sighted, and her eyeglasses so ineffective in showing her what is up close, that she can only say that he seemed his usual self when she was allowed to approach the bedside. But minutes later, he was kicking the blankets off, raving about a dead albatross, and trying to turn onto his back, which Sebastian would not allow him to do because the infected cut between his shoulder blades was badly swollen.

It is twenty minutes to noon, Baldroy notes from the table clock, as he searches for the oats that Sebastian wants cooked with milk into a light porridge for the master. Although the earl has only been seriously ill since last night, the manor feels as if it has had a pall cast over it forever. Every routine seems fractured, as if all is in danger of falling apart.

***

Sebastian hears Tanaka's tread on the floorboards outside the earl's room. The footsteps stop, then retreat, as Tanaka leaves on the table outside the door items that need looking at. Despite the old man's vague sense of self, he has been through enough of the master's childhood ailments to have internalised the procedures for times when it is not convenient for the butler to leave the earl's room.

Sebastian rinses out another lot of small towels in cool water and replaces them on Ciel's neck and under his arms. He sponges his forehead but cannot leave a towel there, for the boy is on his tummy, face turned to one side. He must sleep that way because the cut on his back is too swollen to be pressed against the mattress.

He puts a gentle hand against the earl's forehead to check his temperature, and sponges his face once more. He does not wake. Sebastian decides it may be safe to leave the bedside for a moment to bring in whatever is outside. The items prove to be a few letters and a parcel. Good man, Sebastian thinks, for Tanaka has obediently left the parcel despite its being addressed to him. He carries the items into the room and only has time to note that none of the letters bears the royal seal before he sees that Ciel has flipped over onto his back.

Difficult brat.

Leaving the things on the nearest cabinet, he hurries to the bed, where he turns the boy onto his front again without waking him. This is a quiet spell compared with the fevered struggles of the morning – but even in quiet spells, the child manages to do what he is not supposed to. He lowers the blanket to Ciel's hips, raises his nightshirt, and looks under the strips of linen. The damage is minimal, but the pressure has squeezed out pus from one corner of the swollen wound. That may be a good or bad thing.

With fresh linen bandages, he wipes the pus away and carefully presses out more fluid from the abscess. He would have preferred to let the abscess burst naturally, but as the skin sealing it is now broken, he chooses to drain it. If it does not spread or fill up again, there is a good chance his master will recover smoothly.

The butler then partially unwraps the bandages over Ciel's left arm and checks the other wound that caused concern last night. Unlike the cut on the earl's back, this one seems to be holding steady, getting no worse. Satisfied, he rewraps the linen and leans over to whisper into his master's ear as he covers him with the blanket: "If you roll onto your back once more, I will tie you face-down to the bed-frame with your own silk stockings."

Ciel sleeps on, not hearing.

A smile touches Sebastian's lips, and he adds in a lighter whisper: "Before that, I shall remove all your garments, so I can look at your injuries more easily. And I shall throw your blankets into the fireplace, so you will have to beg me to hold you to keep you warm."

Sebastian smirks. The child appears utterly defenceless, less capable than a kitten of protecting himself as he mumbles in his sleep and shifts his face a little on the flattish pillow he finds more comfortable than the better-stuffed ones while he is obliged to lie prone.

The butler is still very much put out over having the reward for his restraint and care snatched away literally from under his nose last night by his own peculiar sense of demonic pride and propriety. So he consoles himself by indulging his imagination. Strolling to the foot of the bed, he pictures Ciel spread-eagled on his belly, wrists and ankles bound to the four corners of the bed frame with the softest of silk, straining to lift his head to look over his shoulder at Sebastian. What should the boy be saying, feeling, thinking?

He could have him seductive and welcoming, speaking through a salacious smile: Do you like what you see? Is this how you want me? Or eager to be used, pleading with Sebastian to take him, panting: Please... don't leave me like this... I'll be good, I promise... Or terrified out of his mind, screaming in pain as his devil ploughs into him, tearing him open, lubricating his passage with blood, drinking his tears.

Perhaps, in addition to those attractive scenarios, he should bind the child's thighs at their very tops to the ends of two long cravats and secure the other ends to the ceiling to have that inviting bottom hiked up off the bed. That will give his hands easy access to the neat little cock that would otherwise be pressed into the mattress. The boy should know some pleasure to accompany the pain. Maybe he will beg to be stroked along that small-but-growing shaft of his, once he starts liking it... although Sebastian must admit that he has never known him to have erections triggered by sexual arousal. All boys, even infants, regularly have non-sexually-prompted erections, and the earl is no different. However, at his age, most adolescents would be surreptitiously exploring their bodies under their blankets. He has not. Sebastian has never scented the least sexual interest in anything from his master, and knows for certain that he has never touched himself in that way.

Well, he can always learn. Please, Sebastian... faster... uhnnnng... yessss...

Sebastian lets a wry smile escape him. How absurd. Of course the child will not be seductive or eager. Neither will he cry or beg. The devil has a suspicion that he will on the contrary find some way to whip around and command him to castrate himself, then feed his dick and balls to the dogs. He huffs in amusement.

"What is so funny?" comes a displeased mumble from the bed.

Ciel has just awoken. He is not nearly well or alert enough to be fully aware of his butler's peculiar mood, but he has heard the huff.

"You are, Young Master," Sebastian replies smoothly, going round to the side of the bed.

"You think it funny that I'm sick?" Ciel mutters, reaching for his glass of water, which Sebastian hands to him. The fever still plagues him, but the temperature is lower, and he is cognizant of his actions.

"No. I think it funny that even when you are sick and helpless, and I imagine all the ways in which I might best you, you still have a way of turning the tables on me in my imagination."

"What do you mean?"

Sebastian cannot possibly answer that he was just picturing himself thrusting his perfectly formed cock deep into his master's sinfully tiny arsehole while schooling the boy's penis in the pleasures of the devil's warm hand, so he opts for a strategic omission, and gestures to the chessboard which he had Mey-Rin carry up earlier today.

"That's not how we last left the game," Ciel remarks, looking over at the chair on which the board rests, remembering where the pieces were the night before he left the manor with Mrs Easton.

"I have been moving the pieces around."

"You've been playing against yourself?"

"I have been moving the pieces for you," Sebastian replies.

"Imagining what I would do?"

"Somewhat, yes."

"And you lost the last move?" Ciel asks disbelievingly.

"I believe I did."

Sebastian holds up one of his black knights, which Ciel's bishop has just removed from the battlefield.

"Idiot," Ciel mutters.

"An astute observation, my lord."

The boy is in no state to analyse the game, however, for the persistent fever is keeping him hazy and aching. Sebastian persuades him to drink more water and use the chamberpot, then gets him to sit up, for he can hear Mey-Rin coming down the corridor with the porridge Baldroy has prepared. He opens the door, takes the tray from her, and allows her in to see the master. She trips over the edge of the carpet by the bed, and Sebastian has to catch her with one hand while balancing the tray in the other.

"I'm so sorry!" she cries, blushing deeply to be this close to the handsome butler.

"We've got to do something about those glasses of yours," Ciel murmurs tiredly.

"But I like this pair!" Mey-Rin protests, almost in tears of joy to hear Ciel speaking normally instead of murmuring frantically about dead albatrosses. "It's a good disguise so people won't know I'm not what I appear to be. And more importantly, you gave it to me, Young Master!"

"Then I'll give you another, better pair," Ciel sighs.

"Oooohhhh..."

Sebastian wonders how a girl who is so sharp-minded and ruthless behind a sniper's rifle can be so addle-brained as a housemaid. It occurs to him that he is not the only one who forgets himself in the roles he plays.

"Thank you for bringing the porridge up, Mey-Rin," the butler says. "Would you be so good now as to tell the other staff that the master is a little better?"

"Yes, at once!" Mey-Rin cries before rushing out of the room, mercifully not falling over anything else.

Sebastian shuts the door after her and draws a light side table up to the bedside. He places the bowl of porridge on it.

"Try to eat some milk porridge this way, Young Master," he coaxes. "Lying in bed all the time is not bringing your temperature down. Perhaps sitting up for a while every now and again will speed your recovery."

Ciel's head is clearly swimming too much for him to agree that sitting up is an improvement, but he begins spooning the warm, milk-softened oats into his mouth. He remarks that he can barely taste it, for his tongue has gone to sleep. But Sebastian concludes from the appearance, smell and texture of the porridge that Baldroy has done a good job. And the earl does succeed in eating most of it before putting the spoon down.

"Well done," says Sebastian, removing the table. "Do you need to lie down again?"

"I'll lie on one side. My neck is aching from my lying prone."

"Let me see if I can do anything about that."

Standing by the bed, Sebastian removes his gloves and presses his thumbs and fingers firmly, but not too hard, into the back of Ciel's neck, on either side of the column of bone. Ciel draws in his breath sharply, and for a second Sebastian wonders if he is hurting him. But that breath is exhaled in a throaty "Mmmm..." as warm as melting butter, and which instantly features in Sebastian's mind in a plethora of erotic scenarios.

Mmmm... yes, harder... more... deeper, right there... lower down... yes... oh, Sebastian...

"Is that good for you?" the butler asks, massaging his way down that delicate neck. So pale, so breakable.

"That feels good," Ciel murmurs, his dark head drooping like a bowing flower on a fine stem as the stiffness melts away under Sebastian's hands.

The butler ministers to him for several more minutes, then remarks: "You look too tired to sit up thus for much longer, but don't lie down again at once – let your head clear. Please allow me..."

He seats himself on the bed and lifts Ciel onto him so the boy is kneeling, facing him, straddling his lap.

"There, like this," Sebastian says, drawing his master's head towards him until he is resting his forehead against his chest. The devil brings his arms round the boy's back and continues massaging his neck. The warmth of the child in his lap – inner thighs pressed to Sebastian's trousers, crotch nestled on the groove between his butler's legs – pleases him immensely. When Ciel makes his buttery, throaty murmur of approval against his chest, Sebastian smiles, and his eyes glow as he steals a deep sniff of his master's hair, perfectly scented with sweat and heat.

Minutes later, Ciel is asleep in his lap, drooling into his shirt. Sebastian continues to hold him, gently massaging his neck and the uninjured parts of his shoulders. Only when the boy stirs does he lift him up carefully and settle him on the bed so he is lying on his left side, head on a plump pillow. He wets more towels to keep him cool, and also positions two soft but heavy pillows behind Ciel's upper and lower back, so he cannot turn over easily.

Then the devil goes up to the chessboard and swallows Ciel's white bishop with his black rook. He follows that move with something he has never before done in the manor while in the earl's presence: he pulls up a chair to the foot of Ciel's bed and sits down as if he were his master's equal, someone entitled to take a seat unbidden in His Lordship's bedroom. He crosses his right leg smoothly over his left and leans his right elbow on the armrest, propping up his head on the back of his hand. Gazing at the sleeping figure before him, he contemplates the state of play in a battle that the boy does not even know he is engaged in.

Ciel moves in his sleep and would be supine by now if not for the two pillows, which relieve the pressure on the swollen cut although he is partially on his back. A minute later, he apparently feels too warm, for he kicks off the blankets to give Sebastian a charming view of his drawers riding high up his slightly parted legs, right knee resting on his left foot.

Sebastian's eyes fix on the small, tempting bulge at the apex of his slim thighs, and soon, the Ciel in his mind is presenting himself, whispering haltingly: Is the scent of him gone from me... there...? Wash it off – no, lick it off me like you licked the dirt off my fingers... lick it all clean...

Delightful proposal.

But that would be impossible. After what those accursed creatures did to him at the mill, he will hardly welcome anyone's mouth there for some time, unless he can be held down and thoroughly pleasured against his will until he learns to enjoy it.

Sebastian can see him now, bound face-up to the bed, narrow chest heaving and hips bucking as he pants and strains to push himself deeper, deeper past his devil's lips. He can feel that small shaft growing hard against his tongue, swelling inside his mouth. He can practically taste the essence of the boy like a creamy, salty liqueur of the greatest rarity.

Then he laughs quietly to himself, for unexpectedly, the thought shoots into his mind that the child is far more likely to do his best to pee in his mouth just to get his revenge for being thus violated again. Not that he would not enjoy the taste of that pee, but the earl's intent behind it would be so full of venom that it might well poison whoever consumes it, demon or human.

"Very good, Young Master," whispers Sebastian, rising from the chair and allowing Ciel's queen to remove his rook.

"Water..." Ciel mumbles just as the butler completes his move.

It has not been easy for Sebastian to tell, these two days, when the earl's utterances are conscious. He responds to everything, for being a negligent butler would be unacceptable – indeed, he is in danger of paying too much attention to his master. As Ciel struggles upright, Sebastian supports his lower back to help him sit up. He is soon managing well, holding the glass on his own and drinking easily.

"Does your head still hurt, Young Master?"

"Not as much as before, I think." Another sip of water, followed by a question: "Did I fall asleep in your lap?"

"Yes."

Sebastian scrutinises his face to see if he is blushing, but the fever has generally heightened the colour in his cheeks, which are still marked with welts and scratches, anyway. His raised temperature makes it harder to discern if he is reddening for emotional reasons, or poor health.

"You put me back onto the bed without my waking up at all?"

"I did."

"Good God. So anything could happen to me while I'm sick and I won't know about it? I'm bloody useless when I'm ill," he mutters.

Sebastian holds his tongue despite the gaping-wide opening presented to him, but the earl catches the smirk on his face.

"Damn you," the boy growls. "I know you're dying to say that I'm bloody useless even when I'm not ill."

"Am I?" Sebastian smiles.

"I may sleep like a baby when I'm sick, but I'm not as ignorant as one."

"Oh, I know very well that you are not a baby, Young Master."

Something about the way Sebastian says that, and the expression in his garnet eyes, makes Ciel look curiously at him, but the butler is walking away towards the cabinet near the door. When he turns back holding a parcel and letters, his face is impossible to read again.

"These arrived today. The parcel addressed to Tanaka is from Funtom. It must be intended for you."

Ciel indicates with a nod that Sebastian should open the parcel. He undoes the string and brown paper and lifts the lid of the box. The earl looks in, sees a family of plush rabbits resting in its base, and reaches in to take them out. They are exactly as the toy designer had drawn them in his proposal, with all the features Ciel had specified a week ago that he wished to see in the finished products – soft hair in natural colours, plump bodies that are not too fat, paw surfaces in a contrasting colour from the body hair, and faces stitched to look appealing, but with no smiles.

"Perfect," he says softly, caressing the child-rabbit before setting it down beside Mother and Father Rabbit. "These will sell. We must think of good names for them."

"Would you like to keep these samples?" Sebastian asks.

"What use have I for toys?" Ciel responds rhetorically.

Sebastian returns the rabbits to the box and puts it back on the cabinet. While he does that, Ciel opens the first letter. Business matters. Nothing urgent. Another card is an invitation to a ball. That is of no interest to him. The third letter is folded into an inexpensive envelope, and penned on simple writing paper in a neat hand. He skips to the end and looks at the sender's name, then starts again at the beginning and reads it in detail. It is from the vicar of the church south of the Thames, in whose compound Sebastian destroyed the ghoul controlled by Lady Susan Rothstein.

The vicar begins by apologising to the earl for writing to him without an introduction, but asks if he may be so bold as to think that the circumstances under which they met might be introduction enough. He expresses his gratitude to the earl and his butler for saving his life that night. He says that he knows their intention must have been more to destroy the ghoul than to preserve his existence, but nonetheless, he has been preserved by their actions and the grace of God, and therefore offers a simple thank-you. He closes with these paragraphs:

"I might never have known who you were if not for the appearance of a strange man and his manservant at my door the very next morning after we met in the churchyard. The gentleman was young, but had silver hair, and seemed to know that the evil spirit had been in the churchyard the night before. I told him honestly that it had been destroyed by the butler of a young boy with a covered eye, and he believed me without doubting me for a moment. He sounded relieved that I had not been hurt. I then asked if he knew who you were, and he told me that he thought you were the Earl of Phantomhive.

"Afterwards, I made enquiries about your place of residence. When I found myself with time to spare from my parish duties, I tried to call on you at your town house, but was told by the servants of a neighbouring house that you had left for your manor outside London.

"I do not know if the men who appeared at my doorstep are known to you, but the gentleman did tell me very freely, when I asked, that his name was Percival Ambrose, so I do not think he would object to my relating it to you in a letter.

"Thank you again, my lord, for your intervention that evening. I shall always be grateful to God for your timely appearance, and your butler's also."

"Yours faithfully,

"John Jarvis"

Ciel shows the letter to Sebastian, and says: "We may now assume that the silver-haired man William Thompson told us about is alive, and still youthful, though he appears to no longer be using succubi – at least, I infer that from what the vicar says about his seeming relieved that he was not harmed by Susan Rothstein's creature."

"His name is Percival Ambrose," Sebastian remarks. "That gives us a point from which to investigate him, and learn if he truly is causing no further harm to people."

Ciel takes the letter back from Sebastian and looks over it again, assessing the tone and words. "It troubles me that this Percival Ambrose knew who I was. But it was decent of the vicar to write to thank us after learning my identity. He seems a good man. Unlike so many who write begging letters, he appears to want nothing from me."

"I concluded that he was a decent human being when I saw how he tried to protect his cat that night," Sebastian notes.

"You and your cats," Ciel mutters, folding up the letter and indicating to Sebastian that he should put it into the drawer of his nightstand.

"You can tell a lot about people from the way they treat cats," Sebastian insists, closing the drawer before draping a dressing gown over his master's shoulders. "Are you well enough for me to leave you for a while to prepare dinner? Baldroy has been so good about not blowing up the kitchen that I fear an explosion is overdue. I'll send him up to sit with you while I am gone. Of course I will first remove every cigarette and match from his person."

Ciel nods. He glances at Sebastian's face again, for something in his eyes is disturbingly different from before... or is his illness altering his perceptions? When the butler leaves, the earl looks over at the chessboard curiously. The carnage in the shape of the toppled pieces on either side stirs up snatches of fevered visions of the past days, stretching back through the oddness of his life in the last three years. Lost in the memories and half-memories of words and deeds from the near and distant past, he starts when a figure appears in the doorway, but it is only Baldroy.

"Hey, Your Lordship," the chef says, fairly quietly for someone of his hearty nature. "Feelin' better?"

"Yes, thank you," Ciel says, relieved to see that the man has no cigarette dangling from his mouth. "Sit down."

"Sebastian's cooking up a storm in the kitchen already," Baldroy remarks, pulling up a chair. "Never seen a man move as fast as him when he's determined to get something done. He's been taking good care of you, eh?"

"He must have, as I'm not dead," Ciel remarks.

"Need to lie down?" Baldroy asks when he sees the boy shifting back towards the middle of the bed.

"I think I do," the earl replies, letting the man help him out of his dressing gown as he reclines on his right side. The chef is not inexperienced at caring for the sick and injured, for he was a soldier in his earlier years, and a good one too.

As Baldroy leans over to pull the blanket up to Ciel's chest, the earl notes that he smells of smoke and sweat, milk and grease. It does not bother him at present. He finds it an honest sort of odour, earthy and real and straightforward... like everything Sebastian is not. Sebastian does not smell of anything at all.

When Baldroy sits down and gazes at him affectionately, Ciel realises that he has grown so accustomed to the devil's inscrutability that he has forgotten how very like open books some humans can be. It strikes him in the same moment that he has not the slightest fear of this man before him, or the other servants – but Sebastian always, always gives him pause, always makes him think twice, always sends a shiver through him even during those times when he trusts him the most.

Something nags at him, something he cannot quite grasp. He feels an urgent need to pin it down. Something spoken by someone – himself? Sebastian? Something that happened... no, he can't remember. But the vague memory of words rolling off his tongue finds him murmuring aloud: "Did you ever save my life?"

"Uhm," the chef scratches his head lightly. "Can't say for sure that I ever saved your life directly, but if you count those gunfights against gangs and other intruders, maybe, yeah, I might've saved your life."

That is it. Saving his life. Those were the words: You saved my life. Who said that?

Then the vision returns in its sickened haziness: himself, smiling at Sebastian in the heat of his fever and as good as offering him a kiss – mortifying to recall, for sure, though excusable considering his illness and the echoes of that day's events. But what stuns him is the memory of Sebastian accepting that offer, slinking onto the bed and bending down towards him, before holding back when he realises the fever is making him behave unconsciously.

He wanted to kiss me, is the thought that hits Ciel like a thunderbolt. He suddenly recalls glimpse after glimpse of the devil's strange eyes, the way he looked at him, the scattered huffs of amusement, and it starts to fall into place. The chessboard. The moves. They have been engaged in a battle for two days, and he is only just discovering that he has been fighting.

"You don't look so well," Baldroy says worriedly, as Ciel shivers and pulls the blanket up to his chin. "I'll get Sebastian."

"No," Ciel says firmly.

"No?"

"No. Don't call him. Just sit right there and say nothing. I need to think."

***

Sebastian takes over from Baldroy when he has finished cooking, telling the chef to dish out the rest of the food for himself and the others. For the master, he has selected the tenderest pieces of venison cooked in a light wine sauce, the choicest greens mashed with butter, and the finest slices of roast potatoes.

He finds Ciel very quiet after his seeming improvement while reading the letters earlier. But the boy eats well, better than last night or at any time today. Sebastian touches his brow after he has eaten his last mouthful of the dinner, and confirms that the fever is gone.

"Good. Now to clean your wounds, and change your bandages. Would you like a quick wash in the bathroom? I have hot water ready."

Ciel nods.

Sebastian mixes hot and cold water into an empty pail in the bathroom. He undresses him and removes his bandages, then stands him in the tub while using a scoop to pour the water over him from his shoulders down so he can wash briskly without immersing his wounds in the bath. A quick lathering all over with gentle soap and another two rinses precede a careful pouring of the water over his head to clean his hair as well.

Sebastian does not dawdle, for the master must not catch a chill. He pats him dry quickly, bundles him into a large towel, and returns him to the bedroom, where he gets the fire going before unwrapping and dressing him. Regardless of his haste, he has ample time to look over his master's body, note that the swollen wound seems to be getting no worse, and indulge in a few more fantasies: Touch me, Sebastian, like this, right here...

His imagined scenario reaches its peak as he finishes medicating and re-bandaging the wounds, so the boy is unclothed aside from the strips of linen over his arms and torso. Ciel ejaculating all over his hand, all over his mouth, all over –

"You did save my life, you know," Ciel states abruptly, as he stands up to let Sebastian help him into his drawers.

Sebastian is startled, but does not show it. "I beg your pardon, Young Master?" he asks quietly while he kneels before the boy to slide the garment up over his hips.

"You pulled me from the water and returned life to my body," the child continues.

"Why are you bringing this up?' Sebastian asks, fastening the small, flat buttons of the drawers.

For answer, Ciel leans forward and presses a kiss to his surprised butler's forehead. "That's for saving me from Mrs Easton."

Another kiss on the devil's right cheek, accompanied by the words: "That's for taking revenge on the men who hurt me."

A third kiss planted on the left cheek, accompanied by: "That's for looking after me so perfectly since I fell ill."

A fourth kiss on his butler's chin, followed by: "That's for honourably not violating me the way that disgusting man did even when I was too sick to know that I was inviting you to – yes, I do remember now."

He leans forward again, and moves his face towards Sebastian's lips, and the devil holds his breath. But out of the blue, the child's right hand lands hard on his butler's left cheek, dealing him a stinging slap.

As an astonished Sebastian processes the blow, Ciel straightens up, glares into his garnet eyes, and states: "And that's for thinking of violating me at all."

The boy walks over to the chessboard. He is still unsteady on his feet, and weak from his illness, but he moves with determination and shifts his queen before Sebastian's king, for whom the hobbling escape of a square at a time would be pointless because it is hemmed in by the white queen, knight and rook.

"Check," says Ciel.

"That wasn't the way I left the game," Sebastian says calmly, rising and walking up to Ciel's side.

"I think we both know how to bend the rules when it suits us, Sebastian," Ciel replies, looking up at him. "Your move? Or do you resign the game?"

"Given the state of things, Young Master, I yield this game to you."
- 14
- 15
- 16
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Devilish Impulses