His Butler, Obsessed

When I first met you, the scent of your soul was already a bit difficult to resist. But then… after years of cultivating you… I found you absolutely mouthwatering. My instincts screamed for me to throw myself upon you and sink my teeth into that youthful, gorgeous body. Day and night, I fantasized, more sinfully than the entire domain of Hell itself... You have no idea, Young Master, how long I have suffered in the very presence of you.

Watching you. Listening to you. Every fluid movement of your body, and the perfect ring of your voice… all of it beckoned me further and further into your fingers. There in your grasp… it was warm, proud darkness. But I did not falter. What kind of butler would I be if I did? No… I will be nothing short of perfection, My Lord.

Your heart of ice with your burning soul.

Your delicate face with that surly smile.

Your fearless heart and uncorrupted innocence.

I am wretched. You are immaculate.

You are simply one Hell of a Master.

I am simply one Hell of a Butler.

I am yours. You are mine.

You are mine and no one else's, Ciel Phantomhive.

So with my body on yours;

Unclothed, unblemished, a sempiternity of perfection.

I invade your vulnerability, and wash away your innocence.

The revolting completing the untarnished.

The untarnished reveling in the revolting.

My… what a sweet aroma even your body carries; Overwhelming, intoxicating, torturously delicious.

Your veins pumping cherry nectar with notes of chocolate and cloves. Your skin, finer than porcelain with hints of mint.

Your length more hardened in my hand than even a cane of diamond.

You… exhilarate me!

Oh, Young Master…;

How I enjoy the sounds of your satisfaction.

Velvet, haughty, lustful, pained, excited, even psychotic in your enjoyment of my attention.

I can only imagine how I sound to you.

And I do hope it pleases you, My Lord.

I wish you could still desire me after I devour your soul.

Your soul… how could anyone call it "unclean"?

How could anyone call such a delicious morsel "unclean"?

Determined, brave, analytical, unrelenting, and without one weakness to hinder it?

No… You are not impure in the slightest.

You are the holiest thing I've ever laid my eyes upon.

God be damned if another thing as perfect as you walks the face of this Earth.

I savor this more than one could think possible.

Your begging,

Your calling,

Your praise…

How am I so much more amazing performing this simple, human pleasure?

How am I so much more amazing performing this ritual as I drain away your life?

So slowly, so slowly… You. Are. Dying.

Withering away like the passionate rose of red blood you are.

Withering away as the ominous rose of black tears steals your precious vitality.

And the Grim Reapers stand outside our door, waiting eagerly to see the contents of your Cinematic Record.

Oh Ciel… My Young Master.

My deepest desire. My sharpest blade.

You still kiss my hand as your porcelain skin fades to grayest ash.

You still lace our fingers together as you collapse upon me.

You still kiss me on the lips, even as the bullet sears through both of our temples, seamlessly.