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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
- 27
- 28
- 29
Admission

"Mister Michaelis," John Jarvis greets with some surprise the visitor who stands on his doorstep in the middle of the day. He has not expected to see him again so soon, for it has been only two days since Ciel's birthday party.

"Mister Jarvis," Sebastian greets him in return, taking off his hat, and acknowledging the woman and her two small children who are just leaving the house, their hearts eased by the vicar's counsel, arms filled with bread, cheese and cured meat. The little family, awed by the tall, strikingly handsome, impeccably dressed man in the churchyard, drops curtseys to him before hurrying away.

"Please come in," Jarvis says, admitting him to the house. "That was Mrs Cole, and her daughters, Emma and Jane. Her husband drinks, I'm afraid, and beats her. Yet, while he is laid up with a broken leg, he cannot work, and she is even more distressed than when he is tormenting her with his fists. Only nine days to Christmas too. It is very hard."

"Life often is," Sebastian comments, picking up one of Jarvis' cats which has come up to greet him – a glossy black one with green eyes. He settles on the sofa with the bundle of fur in his lap, and strokes her smooth coat. "What is this beauty's name?" he asks the vicar, who is putting the tea kettle on.

"That is Simone. I needed a Simon the Zealot among my twelve, but she is a she, after all, so Simone it had to be. Very French, though. I believe Michaelis is a French or German name too, is it not?"

"Yes. I'll not go into how that came about, but I am no more French or German than you are."

"I don't doubt that," Jarvis chuckles, setting a plate of chicken biscuits before his guest. He knows Sebastian does not eat biscuits, but the devil likes feeding the cats, and the cats like these meat-flavoured bakes, so they serve a purpose.

"Aren't you going to ask what brings me here today?" Sebastian breaks a biscuit into thirds for Simone and two of her feline companions who are investigating him.

"I imagined you would tell me once you were ready."

"Ah, a man accustomed to visits from people who often do not know how to say why they are seeking your counsel," Sebastian smiles.

"You, however, are not the kind of person who has difficulty declaring what he wants," Jarvis returns.

"I am not. I can tell you at once that I have come here to ask a favour. Before that, though, I want to know if you believe that God spared Lord Phantomhive's life the night we came banging on your door."

"I do."

"So do I," Sebastian states frankly. "Belief, however, is not the same as faith or acceptance. If I had faith, I would perhaps have accepted that God did not spare him just to have him grow too fond of me. I would have left his side, protecting him while keeping my distance from him. But I wanted to be with him. I wanted to be close to him."

"You are important to that child. I do not think you were meant to stay away from him."

"It began as a simple contract," Sebastian reflects. "My services in exchange for his soul. But things happened. I made impulsive decisions. They led to other decisions, other changes. I no longer claim his soul. But it appears he is allowing me to claim... other things."

Jarvis sighs as he pats Tomkin the cat, who has jumped into his lap. "When the earl sought my advice over how to speak with the Prince of Wales concerning the Cleveland Street matters, I sensed he had a personal interest that went beyond the facts and politics of the case. Am I very far off the mark to say that what you allude to has some connection with that interest?"

"I suppose you do not approve."

"As a man of the church, I cannot approve. But as a friend, I will not judge."

"I still wonder how one such as you regards a creature like me, and an aristocrat of evil like the earl, as friends?"

"You tell me what you are. But what I know of you from your deeds is that you care for that child; I hear things of the Earl of Phantomhive, but what I see is a boy who protects those who cannot protect themselves, and needs love and friendship. Perhaps I am naive – people often tell me so – but I know what I see with my eyes, and what I feel with my heart."

"You are naive in many ways. But I believe the goodness of your heart and soul protect you. You are a good man."

"I try to live in the way I believe to be right. But, Mister Michaelis, I am a deeply flawed man. I often argue with God; I am sometimes upset with Him; I do not always obey Him; and I am occasionally impatient with my parishioners when they do not seem to want to help themselves."

"You are a good man," Sebastian tells him. "Yours is not the harsh, sterile purity of angels, but a human goodness that is believable to mortals. You hold hope and love and faith in your heart, and give freely of that hope, love and faith, despite your struggles and temper and moments of doubt. That very flawed human goodness of yours is why I am here today."

"You said you wanted a favour? Don't put it that way. Tell me what it is I can help you with. I will see if I am able to help, and if it will be advisable for me to do so."

Sebastian takes an object out of his coat pocket, and shows it to Jarvis. It looks like a silver coin with a dark semi-circle on it, encased in a glass disc. On closer inspection, the dark semi-circle proves to be a tiny lock of hair. "The hair is Lord Phantomhive's," says the devil. "The coin has a spell cast on it – not a demonic spell – but one created by a human being, Percival Ambrose, the man you have heard spoken of at the Phantomhive manor."

"The guest of Lord Phantomhive's who died in April. The one whose demon I saw stalking the manor grounds each time I visited in spring."

"Yes. If Ambrose had been a Protestant, we would have asked you to attend him in his last days. I believe you would have been a kind influence on him. But he was Roman Catholic, so we found a priest to give him the last rites instead."

"What is this spell? I should state that as a man of the church, I do not care whether a magical procedure is demonic or human – so long as it is not of God, I do not normally choose to have anything to do with it. But as your friend, I must say that I am intrigued." Jarvis raises his eyebrows as he peers curiously at the coin.

Sebastian explains: "This spell he wrote out, and which I have for the first time tried to execute, points one in the direction of the person whose lock of hair is encased in the glass. It operates only if the person is in great danger and distress. I am asking you to keep this item with you, because if ever His Lordship should be in danger, and I am for some reason not there, or unable to help him, I would like to know that you may possibly assist him where I cannot."

"What do you think I could do to assist him in a situation where one of your abilities cannot?"

"You were the only one I could think of to help him on the night when my closeness to him was inadvertently harming him. And you did."

"Not I, but God."

"Either way, it was not I. Powers very different from mine brought him back from the brink of death that night. Your simple, flawed, human goodness was everything I lacked, and what he needed. Very soon, I may be... bad for him, once again, and he may need other friends then. Will you be a friend to him in general, and of particular help to him if and when this spell directs you to him?"

Jarvis considers the coin in Sebastian's open hand for a while, then holds out his hand to receive it. "As I did that night when you came to me, I will do what I can."

"Thank you, Mister Jarvis. That is more than I could ask for."

***

Ciel has by now gone through most of the papers Percival Ambrose left behind. Sebastian has sorted them into various categories, including spells, letters, history, personal observations, philosophies, and a large pile marked "A little of everything", because it mixes the above categories and more into a journal-like record that spans many decades.

These papers hold vast stores of arcane knowledge. Ciel has been tempted to try out a few of the simpler spells, but has so far refrained because he has little interest in the world of magic. If he does not plan to go as deep as Ambrose, or even his own great-grandfather Charles did, then he will only ever dabble in it, and he does not like dabbling in serious things – he must either master them, or leave them alone.

From the box marked "Personal Observations", he picks up several sheets dated within the past year, and selects one written during Ambrose's first fortnight at the manor, when he was still clear-minded. Part of it contains his analysis of the world Ciel and Sebastian told him they had seen in the shadow of the spell:

That the reverse side of the spell took on the form of a vast forest, with a moon in the sky, is fascinating. I did not engineer the spell's un-worldly foundation to have any facade. It must have generated an appearance and nature from the consciousness of Ciel Phantomhive. That forest did not spring from my mind; Carsten's mind was under my control before he entered the un-world, so he cannot have been the source; Sebastian appears to have been stymied by that forest, so it is unlikely to have been a product of his consciousness. That leaves the child. He and his devil have reported that he was largely unconscious in the un-world, so if his mind was imposing itself on the reverse side of the spell, he would know nothing of it.

I am of the opinion that for so young a child to have such powerful ability as to turn an entire un-world into a vast forest, complete with a false moon, suggests he has innate esoteric talents. What little I can wring from him and his devil about their initial encounter and contract indicates that their association sprang from an accidental summoning. Accidental – by a child no more than ten years of age at the time. This is most interesting. The Phantomhives have nurtured some unusual skills over the generations, forced to adapt to the position imposed on them by the crowned heads of England through the years. The significance of Ciel Phantomhive's position and abilities may be only beginning to emerge.

What the moonlit-forest scene of the un-world signified, I do not know. But as the child had just sacrificed himself for his demon, I wonder if forests and moonlight had some connection to his perception of the demon by his side. The image is vaguely romantic, but also dark and dense, possibly frightening. Only the child himself is likely to arrive at a probable conclusion about it, in the years to come.

Ciel puts the papers down and thinks about the day his relationship with Sebastian changed dramatically. He does not know what the forest and moon signified any more than Ambrose did. But he knows that nothing has been the same since Sebastian cradled him in his arms and did all in his power to save him. He has never obtained a full account of what transpired in that nowhere-world – Sebastian is reluctant to go into detail – but he remembers what he heard and felt, which is more than enough.

That sense of closeness to Sebastian, however, is one thing; his knowledge that Sebastian has not been entirely open with him is another. He rises, puts the papers away, and walks out of his study for the third time that afternoon since the devil left the manor, to see if the way is clear for him to go downstairs unobserved by the servants.

***

Sebastian leaves John Jarvis' house, but does not return to the manor at once. Instead, he moves unseen through London. He uses every one of his unnatural senses to track the possible presence of a certain individual, waiting until he picks up on that being's aura.

A rapid determining of the precise location, a swift flight to that spot, and in seconds, he is standing behind the gangly, outlandish figure of Grelle Sutcliff, inside a shabby house where a warring husband and wife have just breathed their last – he having stabbed her eleven times in the chest and womb, then driven the blade into his own heart.

Grelle does not appear to notice him, busy as he is severing the cinematic record of the woman's life while keeping his own abundant scarlet hair out of the way of his unorthodox scythe. But it becomes apparent that he was only acting unaware, for he glides with impressive speed from slicing through the record to very nearly slicing through Sebastian's midriff in one long, clean stroke.

The devil, however, is as canny as the soul reaper, and has seen the attack coming early enough to avoid it, leaping backwards across the room to land lightly on his feet in front of the far wall.

"Ahhhh, Sebas-chan," Grelle exhales breathily, splitting his face from ear to ear in an exceptionally unbecoming grin that displays every one of his sharp teeth dovetailing in a vicious scissor-bite. "How naughty of you to sneak up on me like that!"

Sebas-chan.

A deliberately Japanese play on his European name, turning it in one double-edged stroke into both an alternative articulation of it, and into a diminutive version that more or less means "Sebastian dear".

Not for the first time, it occurs to the devil that unlike demons, soul reapers transcend cultures and time. Devils know different human cultures because they have existed long enough to watch them develop. Soul reapers, however, seem not to draw on their longevity for knowledge, but to tap into a mysterious source that lets them span human experience, and reach into the future. The mechanised scythe Grelle wields – like the unorthodox scythe of Ronald Knox – looks to Sebastian well within the possible realm of human invention, only not now, not yet. Perhaps in a few decades.

Somehow, soul reapers – Shinigami, to spin off Grelle's dabbling in Japanese touches – can take hold of these future inventions and employ their shapes and functions in their spiritual tools.

"Ooooh, Sebas-chan, are you struck mute by my stunning beauty?" Grelle asks, laying the seductiveness on thick, ogling, pouting and posing all at once.

"Quite the reverse," Sebastian replies dryly. "I could find no words in any language known to me that were sufficiently offensive to express the disgust I felt at sight of you, hence my silence."

"What poetic speech you woo me with!" Grelle cries, springing towards Sebastian with such swiftness that the blade of his scythe, rotating and vibrating at dangerous frequency, comes within a fraction of an inch of the demon's cheek.

The devil sweeps a long leg out as he ducks elegantly, catching Grelle in the backs of the knees as he shoots past him, sending him stumbling across the room.

"O-ho, playing hard to get, are we?" shrieks the Shinigami, through a messy veil of red locks that he tosses off his pale face once he recovers his balance. "Do you like it rough, Sebby?"

Grelle's high-heeled, high-vamped, laced-up brogues kick at Sebastian's jaw in an attack that the devil just manages to drive back with the palms of his gloved hands – a hard blow that would have shattered Grelle's ankles had he been human, but as it is, only sends him crashing through the bedroom wall into the kitchen.

Grelle's green eyes narrow. He rights himself and readjusts his grip on his scythe as Sebastian glides lightning-fast into the kitchen after him. "You're faster and stronger than I remember, Sebby-chan. Bad boy – what have you been doing?"

"I might ask the same," Sebastian states coldly. "My young master has not been inclined to pursue the matter, but I have decided that I will not let it go."

"Oh, 'pursue'?" Grelle echoes suggestively, with a disturbingly sweet smile. "Is this the beginning of a beautiful courtship, my tall, dark, tainted hero?"

"When Sophia Easton sought the counsel of practitioners of magic against the Phantomhive manor, you posed as one such practitioner. You did that to impart to her information contained in my master's premature cinematic records that are stored in the soul reapers' library. Did you imagine I would let you get away with teaching his enemies how best they could hurt him?"

Sebastian scoops up in one smooth move a quintet of knives from the kitchen table of the dead couple, and flings them with deadly accuracy at Grelle, pinning him to the back wall by his coat and sleeves, and letting the fifth knife catch him by the hair at the very top of his head. Its blade nicks Grelle's scalp to release a rivulet of blood which flows down the soul reaper's brow and nose.

"How dare you ruin my beautiful tresses and mar my flawless face?" Grelle screams, only to look pleased the very next second as a different thought strikes him. "Ahhhh... but this rough wooing of yours may be said at last to have penetrated my maidenhead with your masculine blade, and here is the blood which proves that long-awaited consummation... except you forget that I too have a very large blade!"

With that, Grelle wrenches his right coat-sleeve free of the knives pinning it to the wall, and throws his scythe in a dangerous arc that whirls past Sebastian, slicing through a lock of his raven-black hair before nestling back into the shinigami's hand.

"Slippery, slippery sweetheart!" Grelle cries. "Next time I swing this at you, I'm aiming for hairs on other parts of your delicious body!"

"Then it is just as well that you won't be swinging it again," Sebastian snarls, soaring into the air with a sextet of forks and unleashing them to stab their tines into the soul reaper, in a neat line from throat to belly. As Grelle registers the unwelcome and painful penetration by the blunt tines – grubby with stale food, at that – the devil plunges downward and kicks the scythe out of his hand with the heel of his left shoe. In the same move, he forces the forks further into Grelle's body, right into the wall, impaling him on them.

The soul reaper shrieks, but continues to leer at Sebastian through his pain. "Sebas-chan – how hard you thrust into me..."

"If it were not for my master's lack of interest in seeking revenge on you for the Easton affair, I would pick up that scythe now and separate your head from your shoulders," the devil declares icily. "As it is, I will leave it at this. But if you attempt to harm the child one more time, directly or remotely, I will end your existence with no apologies."

One last shove of the bottom-most fork through Grelle's belly, and Sebastian turns and walks away.

"Sebas-chan," Grelle hisses at the erect, black-clad butler's back. "You should be looking at who authorised me to release information that would weaken the brat."

Sebastian keeps walking.

"Oh-ho-ho!" Grelle laughs as the revelation hits him. "You already know that I was permitted to act, don't you? And you know perfectly well what you're doing to yourself! Ah, my sweet Sebastian – we may enjoy a further consummation yet, with torn flesh and much blood. Because you're not going to get away with what you're doing!"

***

Ciel checks that Soma is napping, Tanaka is having his tea, Baldroy, Agni and Mey-Rin are engaged in the kitchen, and Finny is outdoors, before he slips below stairs and makes his way along the corridors towards Sebastian's bedroom.

He is no fool. He knows Sebastian has been hiding things from him. His frank refusal to explain his regular absences from the manor, and evasiveness about what Carsten wanted on Ciel's birthday, clearly say that he is keeping something from him. Ciel supposes he ought to be grateful that Sebastian does not lie, and has not thought up some believable excuse as a cover. But the fact remains that he is not telling him things, and Ciel does not like to be kept in the dark.

He shuts the door behind him and begins to search the room, opening Sebastian's desk drawers and wardrobe, checking under the bed and the mattress, climbing onto a chair to feel along the tops of the furniture. He does not know what he is looking for, but has an idea that it might be something out of place, whose significance will occur to him only when he sees it.

He begins with grim determination, and a spark of ruthlessness, steeling himself for whatever he may find. But as the minutes tick by, as told by the pocket watch Lizzie gave him, Ciel discovers nothing of interest. In fact, what begins to occur strongly to him as he goes through Sebastian's belongings is that nothing he has found here has any sort of significance at all.

Sebastian has virtually no personal possessions. The garments in the wardrobe are all items belonging to the manor – his butler's clothing, and other finely made but generally anonymous articles that come in useful when he and Ciel are working on underworld cases. The only truly personal item folded on one of the shelves is not even from Ciel, but from Lizzie – the black scarf she gave him after he saved her from death in that crate buried under the earth.

The items on his dresser are for show. Ciel knows his devil does not need to shave, or clean his teeth, or trim his nails. Perhaps he combs his hair, but that is all. Everything else on and in his body apparently puts itself in order, given enough time.

The papers and books on his desk relate to household accounts, tradesmen's bills, grocery lists, and the daily menus. No personal letters, no diaries, not even a novel or collection of poetry. All the blank sheets of note paper are marked with the Phantomhive crest, used for business purposes.

His chest of drawers is empty of everything besides his spare butler's white shirts, fronts, ties, vests, pins and underthings, common household items like boxes of candles (again, only for show – his eyes need no light in the dark), leather waxes and oils, polishing cloths, unopened boxes of matches, spare lamp glasses, string, and bed linen.

His bedside table holds an alarm clock and a lamp, both from the manor.

Ciel experiences a sobering sense of unease as it sinks in how little of Sebastian is in this room. It is as if he were merely passing through, a guest at an inn who will pack up in the morning and leave. If one is to judge purely by this room, then he does not seem at all attached to this place, bound as he is to it by nothing except Ciel himself. Nothing here – except...

Something catches Ciel's eye amidst the matches, half-used candle, buttons, needles, thread and gauze in the bottom drawer of the chest, the second time he opens it for another look. It is so small that he missed it the first time amongst the buttons it mingles with. A spent bullet. Ciel instinctively knows as he picks it up that it is the one he shot Sebastian with the day they hunted down Susan Rothstein, or Susan Eliot, or whatever name she went by. A reminder of that period of resentment and distrust. Why would Sebastian keep this, of all things? Does he hold that lack of trust against Ciel?

He does not know, but he is out of time. Whenever Sebastian leaves the manor alone, it is never for more than an hour or two. Already, an hour and a half have passed since the devil stepped out. With his keen sense of smell, he will know at once that Ciel has been in here. There is no point in attempting to hide it. So Ciel does the only sensible thing he can do – he kicks off his shoes, spreads out the cat-hair-free blanket over Sebastian's bed, and curls up on top of it for an afternoon nap, clutching the bullet in his hand.

***

The instant Sebastian steps into the manor, he knows where Ciel is. He wonders if his return will take him by surprise, or if he will find the boy defiant, afraid, or furious. He does not expect, however, as he pushes his bedroom door open, to find him fast asleep, curled up in the middle of his bed like a rather large cat. The loosely closed fingers of his upturned right hand cover the bullet Sebastian has been keeping in the chest of drawers.

The devil shuts the bedroom door behind him and locks it. He removes his leather gloves, touches his fingertips to Ciel's soft, black hair, and smiles. Of course the child would not hide, or clumsily conceal his actions; he would make perfectly plain his presence here, and his searching of the room. He is not feigning sleep either, but has truly dropped off.

Sebastian bends down and wakes him with a kiss. The boy stirs and languorously turns onto his back to gaze up out of one sleepy blue eye, a tiny speck of dirt in the inner corner. The demon cleans the speck away and slips off the patch to check the other eye.

"There's blood on your coat," Ciel murmurs.

Shinigami blood.

"There's a bullet in your hand," Sebastian replies calmly, stripping off his soiled coat and dropping it to the floor.

"Turned your room inside out looking for it," Ciel says, shifting to accommodate Sebastian on this bed, which is much smaller than his own.

"Why were you looking for it?"

"Not for it specifically, but for something that was yours, rather than the manor's. There's nothing of you in this room."

"Physical possessions mean little to me."

"Why did you keep the bullet?"

"It was something of yours that pierced my flesh and drew blood from me. It seemed significant," Sebastian says, taking the bullet from Ciel and putting it on the nightstand.

"I'm sorry I shot you."

"I'm not," the butler answers, unbuttoning Ciel's shirt.

"What are you hiding from me?"

"You will find out in time," he tells him, unfastening his shorts.

"You're not even bothering to hide the fact that you're hiding something."

"Why would I? You are too keen-minded to be deceived by such concealment." Off with the small drawers.

"But you won't tell me what it is," Ciel perseveres, while Sebastian peels off the last scrap of clothing on his body, leaving him in his stockings.

"What amusement would there be in telling you?"

"I didn't know this was meant to be amusing."

"It wasn't. But if some entertainment may be derived from it, why not be entertained?"

"Are we about to do something entertaining now?"

"Of course we are. When a demon returns to his bedroom to find a delectable morsel curled up in his bed, isn't that morsel fair game?"

"It won't be for long if you keep referring to it as a morsel," Ciel growls, even as Sebastian pulls him into his lap. He catches his breath when the devil positions him so that he is straddling his thighs, just like the time he was sick and Sebastian was holding him like this to massage his neck. Except that while Sebastian is still clothed, Ciel is wearing nothing but his silk stockings. "You like having me in your lap, don't you?" he asks softly.

"I like having you everywhere."

Ciel blushes, but retains enough presence of mind to remind him: "Not that you've had me yet."

"It is too early for that. It will hurt you."

"So you say."

In response, Sebastian holds up his right hand before Ciel's face. As the boy looks questioningly at him, he gently inserts his middle finger into his mouth. "Lick," he tells him.

Ciel reddens a little more, remembering how he had made Sebastian clean his hand that time. Fair enough, he thinks, as he obeys his devil, sucking and licking the long, elegant finger, attending to every inch of it. It occurs to him to wonder if Sebastian will ever allow him to do this to his cock, and another thought crosses his mind concerning how he will ever get it to fit into his mouth – and abruptly, all thoughts flee as Sebastian withdraws his finger and slips it between his buttocks until he is pressing it against the opening to the tiny hole in his behind.

"It is too early for that, and this is why," Sebastian whispers, as he slides the very tip of the spit-covered finger inside Ciel.

Ciel gasps and grips Sebastian's shoulders with his hands. He doesn't know if he wants to run to the toilet, or if he wants to stay.

"Shall we stop here?" the devil asks.

"No," Ciel insists, although the physical sensations are strange and uncomfortable.

He pushes in another half-inch, and Ciel inhales sharply.

"Does it hurt?" Sebastian questions.

"A little."

"That's just one finger. And you are very small and snug, so it is much too early. Besides, mortals are not very resilient. Human males who are taken by other males in the rear too regularly, over too long a period of time, often end up incontinent after some years. That would not be a very dignified condition to live with, would it? Even when you grow old enough to be taken by me, or by any other lover, do it sparingly. Do not damage your body permanently when so much pleasure can be had in so many other ways."

"I didn't know a lesson on human biology was scheduled for today," Ciel remarks, trying not to squirm as Sebastian's finger moves in another half-inch. "Are you sure your finger isn't damaging me?"

"You can quite safely allow your lovers to carefully put one finger into you, or perhaps two, over the long term without permanent harm."

"Why are you bringing up other lovers? I don't want others. Only you."

"You may tire of me some day. Even if you don't, you will marry. And you may, like so many English aristocrats, keep mistresses, or a boy or two. Women must be made love to differently – I will teach you about them by and by – but if your taste falls to men, you should know what is and is not safe to do over many years."

"I won't tire of you," Ciel declares angrily, fighting at the same time against the discomforting sensations of having a finger up his arse.

"If so, we have nothing to worry about," Sebastian says with a smile, kissing him, then doing something with his finger that almost makes Ciel cry out – not with pain, but with pleasure, so intense does it feel.

"Se-bastian," he gasps, pressing his face into the demon's chest.

"Do you like that?" the butler asks.

"Y-yes..."

"My hand is actually at the wrong angle for this," Sebastian whispers. "You are so tender, and so delicate, I shouldn't be using my fingernail at all. Here – let us see if this is better."

He lies back on the bed, pulling Ciel along with him, positioning him higher on his body. He withdraws his finger from the boy for a moment to slip his hand under Ciel's right thigh before penetrating him again, approaching more from the front this time.

"That should be better," he says softly, the soft pad of his fingertip very gently stroking a spot some two inches in that gives Ciel the most arousing sensations, making him cry out.

"Shhh," Sebastian goes, his left hand moving up along Ciel's spine to cradle the back of the boy's head. "You're going to have to be very quiet now, because Baldroy is coming down the passageway."

Ciel starts to panic, but Sebastian's finger is applying the sweetest pressure inside him, and he turns his face into his butler's shoulder to muffle his cries, biting down on the fabric of his cotton shirt.

A knock soon comes at the door, followed by Baldroy's voice: "Mister Sebastian, are you in there?"

Ciel wants to scream with the pleasure of what Sebastian is continuing to do to him, but he stifles his gasps and pants, sinking his teeth into his devil's shoulder. The handle of the door turns, but as it is locked, the door does not open, and Baldroy goes away again, evidently thinking that Sebastian must have locked the door with his key before leaving the manor.

"There you are, all clear now," Sebastian whispers, turning Ciel onto his back and hovering over him, but continuing to work him with his finger even as he dips his head and takes the boy's by-now fully erect cock into his mouth, pleasuring him outside and in until Ciel twists his neck and shoulders so he can turn his face into the blanket to cry out as he climaxes violently, bucking and straining.

Sebastian swallows his young master's seed, extracts his finger carefully, and lies beside him, stroking his flushed face and damp hair with his clean left hand, keeping the right safely away from the boy.

"Now, Young Master, would you say that you found what you came looking for?"

"No," Ciel pants. "But it's possible that I found something better."

"Was that a compliment of my technique?"

"Maybe... so what else are you hiding from me?"

"Wouldn't you like to find out?"
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Devilish Impulses