Author's Notes: I BET YOU ALL DIDN'T THINK I WAS EVER GONNA UPDATE AGAIN, HUH???

O.o

I-I have no excuse. I'M SO SORRY, EVERYONE, TREATING YOU LIKE THIS AFTER YOU'VE ALL BEEN SO GOOD TO ME, BAWW. B-But here it is! And earlier than I thought, too -- I had been planning on posting this on Christmas, but then decided to post it for Thanksgiving instead.

This was beta-read by Hedonistic Opportunist, who is totally awesome and deserves reviews more than me. (as such, please find her in my favorites and take a look-see). ^^

Now.

Summary of But a Humble Servant for those who don't want to slosh through the outdated writing style of the first 2 chaps/can't be bothered to reread them:

In chapter 1, Ciel wakes up with an erection only to have it 'relieved' by Sebastian, which, as we find in chapter 2, evolved into a full-blown affair. Sebastian calls it being a faithful servant of the Phantomhive house; we may call 911 on him for child abuse. Anyway, Ciel soon discovers the way Sebastian's subservience can be used as a weapon, and orders him to 'pleasure him orally' (as Sebastian puts it) or 'suck his cock' (as we would put it). And then, 2 chapters and 2 over-described orgasm of purpletasm later, we rejoin our heroes in chapter 3. Hey, it can't get any worse, can it?

I wrote a short Bard and Finnian-centric companion piece to But a Humble Servant by the name of Fool's Suspicion, by the way. :-) If you're interested or something.


But a Humble Servant

Chapter 3: How to Outtrick your Pet Demon


Fall imperceptibly coalesced with the chills of winter, and before long, the Phantomhive estate that had cradled in the carnival of fall stood swathed in the color-stripped sun of the darkest season.

The inhabitants of said mansion had slid into the change with relative ease. Finnian had decided he liked ice skating (the fact that he kept sliding off the lake and making a row of trees lining it fall down like dominos notwithstanding), Bard was delighted to be able to switch to warmer cuisine, and Maylene seemed particularly happy that Sebastian had decided to assist her with the task of heating the house. Sebastian gave her a thin smile after helping her with the fireworks before going on his way, inwardly thinking that really, it would be a shame if the mansion burned down because of her: he always had been fond of some of the paintings in the hallways, after all.

Aforementioned minor quirks aside, the five inhabitants of the Phantomhive manor spent the winter days in as much peace as could be expected of them. Except, of course, that for the few weeks leading up to the young master's birthday, there had been a certain tension thrumming in the house that everyone had been distantly aware of.

The upcoming 14th anniversary of his birth had careened the young master into a mood dire enough to snap and sneer at Sebastian even more viciously than he usually did, and this caused the rest of the household to tiptoe around the mansion like it was a field full of active war-time mines scattered about. Indeed, much of the mansion seemed like a war these days: the young master's death glares were missiles to Sebastian's lilting voice tanks, with the servant trio the fleeing, whining, mud-streaked victims: Finnian with his eyes drawn to the floor and his shoulders practically touching his ears, Bard with his lame jokes that were meant to break the awkwardness and instead only made everything worse ("So Sebastian... do you know we call butlers 'penguins' in America? Ha ha. Ha. Ha"), and Maylene who no longer reminded Sebastian of a tropical turtle, but of a tropical turtle on an imaginative death row.

They all knew that the young master was not at his most cordial this time of the year.

Nobody knew it better than Sebastian did, however.

"Get under the table." The fact that Ciel's voice squeaked in the middle of that sentence took away a lot of the wrath. "Now."

He had grown taller over the past couple of months -- so much that the crown of his head now reached the height of Sebastian's collarbones, if nothing else. Skinnier, as well: age had whipped away the round swell of his cheeks to reveal the first traces of what would one day be high and aristocratic-looking cheekbones. His young master was quite pleased with his new looks -- thought it gave him authority, gave him power, no doubt -- and Sebastian liked to watch how his young master would sometimes poke his stomach and delight in the absence of the pudge that had lent a childish curve to his belly mere months prior.

Personally, Sebastian thought there was still an unfinished roughness to his face, just like a statue being carved from marble that had passed the axe stage but hadn't yet made it to the chisel, but he held his tongue; he knew better than to flounder perched atop a high-strung rope.

Along with the growth spurt and the confidence, though, there had come that crack, the one that would make his voice jerk from
soprano to bass and back in the span of a second, and then cause him glare at Sebastian out of glittering eyes of mortification. Much like he was doing now, after his voice had cracked somewhere in the middle of that empathetic 'now'.

Ciel frowned. "Get under the table," he repeated, willing his voice not to crack this time. "I have needs."

It was a game his young master was playing: Sebastian had once verbally likened it to the way a kitten played with a ball of yarn, tossing it in the air again before pouncing and digging its claws into it, tearing at the threads until they spilled out like glistening innards.

Outwardly, he only raised an eyebrow. "Oh, does the young master wish to be pleasured again so soon? It's only been a few hours since --"

"Are you trying to argue with me?" He snaped, getting angry at himself for not being able to speak without that terrifying squeak. His eyebrows tightened into a venomous frown. "Now."

Sebastian smiled, polite and cold, and considered to drag this out just a bit longer. He had always delighted in that part, after all -- the one where he could just say things to annoy Ciel, the mellifluous inflections pouring out of him like syrup ("Oh, would you like me to orally pleasure you again? Is there something insufficient about my hand? Oh, and would you like me to swallow?" and oh, how he relished in that twitch of his eyes) --

Deciding against it for now, Sebastian bowed his head, strands of inky black hair stumbling forward and dangling along either side of his cheeks, and said, "Yes, my Lord."

Ciel liked the power aspect of it more than anything else. Sebastian could tell, from the way his young master's eyes hardened with
cruelty and then wielded beneath the sheen of anticipation when Sebastian sunk to his knees before him and crawled under the desk; from the way his every muscle tensed when Sebastian cupped his already hard cock through the material of his shorts, or from how his fingers found Sebastian's scalp and pressed, pulleing him toward him in impatience and dominance and barely controlled nerves that made the slender muscles beneath his skin cord into knots.

Sebastian had to try hard to stifle a grin, really, but suppressed it when he lowered his head, lips parting when they met the tip and then sliding down along the hot skin.

Sebasitan supposed that if he had been human, he would have probably found the space beneath Ciel's desk rather claustrophobic: the surface of the mahogany roof only inches from his head, the smell of wood and history in his nose, sturdy wooden legs fanned out at the either side of his head.

Not being human, it was all overshadowed by the smell of Ciel; the traces of his skin lotion, soap, shampoo, sweet-and-sour sweat and beneath it all, the heady scent of the excitement. Ciel's heartbeat pulsed in the shell of his own ears -- thump thump THUMP -- and above all, he could feel him melt, could feel his consciousness being dragged below the black sheen of pleasure and tumbling toward the abyss of orgasm, and that was what gave Sebastian more pleasure than anything else did.

Sebastian's lips stretched across the cock in his mouth as he smiled.

His young master was close now, he could tell: gasping and tightening his grip around Sebastian's head, trembling everywhere now, only just a little, just a little bit --

Until a voice -- "Ciel, Ciel," it called, high and sweet and pink-colored, if voices had colors -- ran through the scene, Ciel almost jumped in his seat, and --

The door flung open with a crash, followed by the flurry of several light footsteps slapping against the ground, and another voice Sebastian immediately placed as the woman named Paula piping up from back near the doorway, "Lady Elizabeth, don't run in your fiance's study --"

A jolt tore right through his young master's body, the kind of intense physical reaction that was like nothing so much as being slapped across the face. His grip around Sebastian's skull slacked before he snatched away his hands as if they'd caught fire. Heavy silence was broken only by the breathing and the fluttering hearts of the three humans in the room, but Sebastian could vividly imagine Ciel opening and closing his mouth like a fish writhing on deck of a fishing boat for just a few seconds before he pressed out:

"Li-Lizzie. What are you doing here?"

Sebastian didn't need to see his face to know that his eyebrows were twitching in irritation now.

Sebastian could visualize Lizzie pout her lips in that way that made her eyes stand out in that adorable way. "Don't you know that it's your birthday?" The petulance in her voice broke by the end of the sentence, sunshine spilling forth. "I always come for your birthday. Here, it's your birthday cake --"

"Don't come any closer." Ciel practically crashed against the backrest of his chair, the impact shivering all the way down to the chair's legs.

Sebastian could hear Lizzie coming to a halt, mind quick to conjure up images of a befuzzled look settling all over her face; perhaps she'd tilt her head, mouth hanging open, eyes big and wide and confused, and maybe she'd say --

"Huh? What's wrong?" A pause. "Finnian let us in, I didn't see anything wrong with entering. We were invited, and --"

And that was when Sebastian, with a smirk twitching at his lips, opened his mouth, and licked Ciel from base to tip.

Nerve explosions rippled in a chain reaction through Ciel's body, falling down his spine, pooling in his hips, making him etchforward and up --

"Nnng." The muscles in Ciel's thighs were flexed so hard they seemed to quiver beneath Sebastian's hands. "Nnn --"

And Ciel's fingers were back on Sebastian now, tangling in his hair, scratching, trying to push him away.

Sebastian reached up and caught one of Ciel's hands, holding it in place. He could feel Ciel trying to free himself, hurriedly, desperately, rotating his hand within the confines of the grip, fingernails in search for something to scratch.

And then Lizzie asked, "What are you fidgeting under your desk with?" and Ciel seized all movement, and in front of Sebastian, a clear image of the scroll of horror unfolding vertically along his young master's face swam into focus in his mind's eye.

Glorious.

"N-Nothing." N-OH-thing, courtesy of his squeak. "W-Weren't you supposed to -- to come tomorrow?"

Sebastian could hear her clothes rustling as she shifted her weight, probably for a better angle in order to to shoot Ciel another quizzical look. "No." He could just visualize the blink. "No, I --"

"I called yesterday to inform you we would be coming a little earlier." That was Paula, voice subdued and hesitant. "Did you -- did you not receive our message, Duke Phantomhive?"

The smirk that wound itself around Sebastian's face was so wide he was pretty sure it curled up around the edges of his eyes and showed a wink of his teeth. What he was certain of was that Ciel could feel it.

His young master stiffened against him. "W-What? Don't tell me you --"

Smirk still firmly in place, Sebastian closed his lips around him and sucked.

"-- nng."

Sebastian could just visualize him gritting his teeth, see him shaking and glaring, and then he heard him finish his inquiry with a rush of air that miraculously didn't spike in the middle, "You were talking to Sebastian on the phone?!"

And for a second, right along with that sharp inquiry, a fissure ran throughout the room that suddenly made every sound fall away, trapping them in a vacuum.

And Sebastian took Ciel's cock in deeper, letting his teeth lightly graze over the skin, tongue twirling at the top, and then the silence was broken and the staccato of his young master's breathing bored into his ears right along with the sound of him gripping the edge of the mahogany desk, hard enough that Sebastian could visualize it bursting beneath his knuckles.

"Yes, it -- it was Mister Sebastian," Paula said. "Is something wrong?"

"Ciel?" That was Lizzie, sounding unsure.

Sebastian could feel Ciel getting closer, and closer: His breathing was a growing crescendo in Sebastian's ear, getting faster, shallower, approching the state of panting; and he could visualize the soft spray of red that would have already been dragged up and dusted itself all over his cheekbones and the flanges of his nose, ocean eyes fogged over like a mirror beneath hot breath, and mmm, mouth dropped into an 'oh', of course --

Sebastian had seen him on the brink of orgasm often enough to know very well.

A note of alarm clung to Lizzie's tone. "Ciel?! Are you sick?" Sebastian could hear rustling clothes and footsteps as she drew closer.

Ciel gripped the edges of the desk even tighter and slid forward. "Don't come -- mh. Don't come -- closer. I have the -- the flu." A tremor passed through his body, Sebastian could feel it, and oh so close, so close --

"Oh really?! Where are you hurting?" More footsteps. "Is there anything I can do?"

"NO!" He nearly toppled over the seat as he crashed against the back rest, and finally stopped trying to single-handedly chop the desk into firehood by holding up his hands. "I -- I mean, I don't want you to -- oh." A pause, trying to compose himself, even out his breathing. Then, "I don't want you to -- to catch the flu, too, so -- please -- just -- JUST --"

Thighs pressed together, feet trembling in concentration so hard that the heels of his patent leather shoes made a click click click sound against the floor, long swell of muscles on his thighs flexing and unflexing so rapidly they jumped beneath Sebastian's palms.

"Oh. Okay, Ciel. Then I guess I'll -- stay away." The footsteps fell silent. "But -- but where is Mister Sebastian? Shouldn't he be taking
care of you?"

Ciel's foot trembled harder, clickclickclickCLICKCLICK.

"I -- I don't know about Sebasti--"

And he was stiffening, legs kicking out beneath him, almost choking on his breath; oh yes, oh yes, now, now --

" -- aaahhhhhn."

Sebastian felt his release hit the back of his throat. He would have liked to roll it around on his tongue and savor the taste, but it wasn't the time; he swallowed, feeling it drop into his stomach like a ball.

Ciel released another chopped-off moan before his writhes blended into the last few stray shudders rolling through him in aftershock before stillig against Sebastian, muscles now turned to goo and the lulling haze ready to settle over his brain -- until Ciel, with another jolt, realized what exactly had just happened.

A hissing sound zipped through the air as all three humans gulped in breath near-simultaneously. The room was deathly silent for a long, contemplative moment, and then, as the implications of the story fully sank into the heads of all three humans, action resumed with an abrupt jerk.

Sebastian's imagination went into overdrive trying to picture the three people. Lizzie, oh -- she wouldn't understand at all, and was probably commencing a rigorous program of blinking with confusion sprawled adorably all across her heart-shaped face right this moment, and she was talking, saying something like, "Ciel, what's wrong, are you all right, did I --". And As for Paula, she was herself a young, unmarried woman and would probably not allow herself to even entertain these thoughts -- but she'd suspect it, oh yes, would be uncomfortably reminded of the times she had touched herself at night huddled between the sheets. She was probably with a certain tightness around the corners of her lips and a nervous jitteriness to her limbs when she moved, and -- oh, and what would she say? Oh yes, she'd probably say --

"Lady Elizabeth." Sebastian could hear her fumbling. "We -- we should leave. I--I hope you recover soon, Earl Phantomhive. We'll – we'll leave the cake by the coffee table. Lady Elizabeth, if you'd just -- N-No, just for a little while – yes, of course you can play with him later, now if we could just --"

And then, amidst the high-pitched and indignant protests, Paula maneuvered her protégée out of the room. The door fell shut behind them with a gentle click that might as well have been a gunshot.

The seconds ticked past. The grandfather clock in the corner of the room was proclaiming the passage of time with a tick-tock as proud as it was incessant.

Sebastian waited a few seconds until the wailing sounds of the two human females trotting down the hallway outside had dropped below the edge of his hearing, then crawled out from under the desk and got on to his feet, careful to smooth down his uniform and flick off a few specks of dirt.

Ciel gave him an acerbic look, one that pinned and measured him. Sweat pearled on his temples, matted strands of slate-colored hair against his forehead, and raked their path down over his now-hollow cheekbones.

Sebastian halted, dropped his arms on to his side, and held his young master's eyes.

Soon now, soon; Sebastian could almost visibly see the neurones frizzling in Ciel's still-befuddled brain, struggling to connect the impression 'humiliated' to the muscular reaction 'physical violence'. Just a bit now and it would click into place, and the tension would finally invert and crash upon itself like a visible wave of white-hot shock, and Sebastian would accept the slap or the screams or the kicks with a demure nod and an apology that dripped with condescension, and it would thrill his young master so much that he would accept it.

And then they would bump against the next knot of the endlessly unraveling thread of their hopeless entanglement.

Just like they always did.

And then, as predicted --

(one, two, three; repeat --)

-- the tension snapped like a rubber band.

Ciel jumped on to his feet with a start. The chair screeched along the surface of the floor, shredding the silence. His master's upper lip curled as if he'd tasted poison and he spit it out with, "Sebastian."

"Yes, young master?"

The anger was twisting inside him, Sebastian could see it so well; the kindling set, the branches laid, match hovering just above, waiting for some of the embers to strike

And then, his young master's mouth fell shut, tightly-knitted eyebrows relaxed and drifted apart, and azure blue eyes widened as the dawn of realization set upon him.

Sebastian had known, of course, that his young master was far too intelligent not to be able to figure it out eventually. Eventually being the operating key word.

He stood just a little bit straighter as if trying to physically deflect that glare that lit up his young master's eyes before it liquidized, dripped down and solidified into a venomous scowl around his lips.

Sebastian smelled the metallic surge in the air as Ciel's heart rate picked up.

And then, Ciel was marching up toward him, awkward teenage limbs for once strutting along the floor, heels making a dull click click click sound that rose to a crescendo just before scattering and dying off when he came to a halt right in front of him.

Close.

"Can you?" Ciel hissed.

The fact that his young master's rebellious voice had squeaked right in the middle of that question made a smile tug at the corners of Sebastian's lips. "Can I what, young master?"

His eyes narrowed. "Come," he said, "Can you come, Sebastian?"

Sebastian let the seconds squeeze past. He could almost hear them ache and moan as they struggled to pull through the tight canvas of time, stretching themselves thin in the process, long and white and bony, and --

Ciel's eyes slid over to a point somewhere to the right of Sebastian, and that was enough of a distraction to let the morbid mental image disappear with a poof.

His young master pushed past him, eyes flexed upon something in the corner. "Fine then, if you're not going to answer."

Click click: Ciel had snatched the cake from the coffee table and was walking back toward the desk; mask of palpable apathy cracked just enough for the rays of suppressed rage to squeeze through: tightness rippling at the corners of his lips, eyebrows narrowed, eyes spitting out the words his mouth would not –

Ciel put the cake down on his desk. "I guess we'll find out, huh? Take off your trousers, Sebastian. And yes, it's an order."

And, in the pricks and needles that followed that statement, Sebastian took a long moment to just look at his young master.
"Not going to drop them?" Ciel tried to cover both the nervous tremble and the juvenile squeak in his voice, and failed on both accounts. "Come over here."

And while the floor creaked softly beneath his steps, as if contributing their own dramatic soundtrack to the scene, all Sebastian could think about was how very, very interesting all of this was.

Up close, Ciel's eyes were still as young and wide and terrible as they had been at thirteen.

Sebastian held his gaze, trailing the newly-matured lines of his face, and remembered.

His young master, he had had a pretty smile once. Blinding, even -- a smile that had curled up around the edges of his eyes and made them glitter like stars in the uncharted universe of his face. Back then, when desire had still been a dream as soft and uncomplicated as yellow sunshine on his face and pollen-streaked limbs, that smile had been one of the first things that had caught Sebastian's attention.

Now, he no longer had a smile, but even so, even with his face locked into a tight mask, he was more beautiful than that screaming, joyful child with the bald pink knees and the laughing eyes ever could have been.

Ciel's hands were on his pants now, small fingers tugging urgently, and Sebastian's thoughts skidded to a halt and then scattered about much like the documents on Ciel's desk were when he brushed them away with a swat of his hand.

"Young master," Sebastian said, "these are some very important documents, are they not?"

Ciel didn't even dignify that with an answer other than an annoyed snort.

Sebastian could sense it all too well: that he was nervous, so nervous; a single sweat pearl glimmered on Ciel's temple, lost its footing, and then tumbled down, glittering in competition with those fiery eyes then curving over the swell of his cheekbones nd slicking into his jaw line.

The sound of Sebastian's trousers finally opening ripped through the scene, echoing hollowly off the walls and calling Sebastian back to the urgency of the situation, and with one long look at the determination smoldering in his master's eyes, Sebastian decided to -- finally -- put an end to it.

The bones of Ciel's hands felt brittle and insubstantial when he gripped his wrists, stopping him in mid-movement.

"I am but your humble servant, young master," Sebastian said with firm politeness, " I cannot accept."

The words hung suspended in the air for a few moments after that, thick and thrumming.

Sebastian took a step back, hand still wrapped around his young master's wrist. "Now, if you'll excuse me -- I should properly greet our guests and --"

Ciel fixed him with a glare. "Don't even think about it."

A smile pulled at Sebastian's lips -- the fake one that never reached his eyes and yet always reached his goals. "I cannot --"

He stopped himself when Ciel pressed closer to him, and closer, until he could feel the ruffles of his blouse brushing against the front of his uniform, and feel his breath breaking across his neck, hot and moist and so deliciously human it stirred something deep inside him.

"Read my lips," Ciel said. "It's an order."

And with that, he grabbed Sebastian by the shoulders -- yes, actually grabbed, disadvantageous height notwithstanding -- and gave him a shove.

Ciel, being a human, said shove amounted to little more than the impact of a butterfly mindlessly drumming against a steel pipe.

Sebastian allowed himself to teeter back, however, until the back of his thighs bumped against the desk.

He wasn't exactly sure why he did it. It was possible that he just found his young master's behavior too intriguing -- oh yes, it was exciting indeed, the dominance -- or the thirst for it, rather, oh, the useless struggle, oh the glory -- or maybe the fact how amusing it all was, yes -- side-splittingly hilarious, really, how his young master finally managed to crawl out of the embrace of desire, pat himself clean of its smears and learn to wield the weapon he'd been given.

Sebastian had always had a penchant for the dramatic and ironic like that.

Zip, the zipper moaned as it finally split open, and Sebastian could see Ciel's eyes growing a little larger at that, and then there was more tugging and muffled cursing beneath his young master's breath, and then Ciel's hands finally found his --

Sebastian's spine stiffened just a little.

Another body part echoed that particular sentiment.

Ciel's face was so serene in its determination that it bleached the shadows of hesitancy a blinding white and made his eyes glitter and sparkle, and that smirk around his lips stand out as if to say, 'Gotcha'.

Out loud, he only said, "Oh my, Sebastian. Smaller than I thought."

"I feel greatly honored to know that the young master has previously spent precious seconds contemplating the length of my penis."

"Well, your Latin classes can get rather tiresome."

An amused tone, with a smile snapping on its heels. "If that is the case, please remind me to give you more homework in order to ease your boredom, young master."

"Shut up now." Hand awkwardly curled around Sebastian, he finally started to move.

His strokes were messy and sloppy, just like his kisses were: too fast, too hard, as if trying to rip off his cock; unrefined skills made worse by the over-zealousness of adolescence.

Sebastian found it a little disturbing that he couldn't figure out why it still felt so good.

"Do you feel it?" Ciel's voice demanded, breath washing hot and moist all over Sebastian's neck. "Do you?"

"I feel nothing, young master," Sebastian said, leaning forward to settle on Ciel's eye level, fine strands of hair falling forward to frame his face. "Nothing."

Sebastian could visualize the shower tick off the nubs of his vertebrae on its way down his curved spine when his young master shivered.

"Not even a little?" Ciel spat. He narrowed his eyes. "You're hard, though, you know that?" He squeezed his hand around Sebastian harder as if trying to asphyxiate the heart beat insistently fluttering against his palm. "I've enjoyed your 'services' long enough to know what that means, Sebastian. "

Voice bland, Sebastian said, "Merely a --

mh. oh.

"-- physical reaction, young master."

And that was true, for the most part, except -- that the way his young master's face broadened in determination, the way his eyes were smoldering with that same emotion right behind the glassy surface --

(oh yes, you've come such a long way)

A pulse of excitement leapt from Sebastian's eyes right down to his groin, but but but no no -- no matter how much he wanted to buck his hips and thrust into his master's hands, no matter how much he wanted to hurl him into a crushing kiss, he kept his face passive and his body unresponsive.

At least on the surface. Sebastian could hear his own heartbeat in his ears now, distant drum -- thump thump -- steadily getting louder -- thump thump -- and then --

Ciel withdrew his hand and took a step back.

Sebastian's arousal flatlined. Outwardly, he only blinked.

His young master's eyes sliced to something to Sebastian's right then right back to his face. "Stubborn." The word tumbled off of Ciel's tongue like an expletive. "But fortunately, I expected it wouldn't be quite this easy."

"Young master, whatever do you mean?"

"Shut up." Ciel leaned forward and carelessly tossed the wrapping of Lizzie's gift aside. Raw sunlight peeled off the cake, its whipped cream topping glimmering in the dappling light of the winter sun.

The first thing that Sebastian thought about when seeing the Italian cream cake was that it was rather misshapen: the cream had not been so much artfully aligned on top as recklessly scattered, missing even a shred of artistic license – oh, these humans and their gluttony! – and besides, this low quality of dough should not even be allowed within the confines of the Phantomhive estate.

The second thought was an idea that zipped through his body like a jolt at the idea of just what his young master was intending to do with it.

Ciel leaned forward and crudely dipped his hand into the white cream.

The idea that had started to form inverted and crashed down upon itself when Sebastian saw that his young master was tearing at the front of his own pants with the other hand.

Catching Sebastian's eyes, Ciel snorted. "Did you really think I'd take that into my mouth?" The sound of the front of Ciel's pants springing open screeched into Sebastian's ears. "Never." His voice had peaked in the middle of it – right between the 'e' and the 'v' – but Sebastian no longer found it that amusing.

His young master wriggled his hips, his shorts sagging and slowly peeling off of him before falling victim to gravity completely and tumbling to the floor in a heap.

Sebastian's eyes were still on the crumbled piece of clothing pooling around Ciel's ankles when he suddenly felt a sticky hand wrapping around his cock. Sebastian's line of vision jumped, skimming over his young master's slender hips, up over the lavish silken blouse to the bright blue talons of doom that lay cradled in the pale oval of his face.

And then Ciel pressed his body up against him harder, harder; Sebastian's erection trapped between both of their bodies, chests fused together, and the missiles of Ciel's eyes hurling at him from the height of somewhere around his breastbone.

"Sit on the desk," Ciel hissed, and gave him a rude shove that smeared cream all over his butler's uniform.

Sebastian held his young master's gaze, carefully pushing stray documents and pens to the side as he lowered himself. "Young master," he said, mock-scandalized, "are you aware how difficult it is to remove stains from this uniform?"

"I'm sure we can arrange an alternate uniform for you," Ciel said.

"I always was quite fond of leather," Sebastian suggested blithely.

Ciel put his knees on the desk, conveniently placed on either side of Sebastian's hips and swung himself up on them with one heave until he was hovering over Sebastian, precariously balancing on the edge of the desk.

Sebastian could see his young master stumbling through the thick maze of hateful affection when their eyes met; Sebastian gazing up at him from beneath his eyelashes and Ciel's eyes like a glittering plastic star dangling from beneath a theater's roof, creaky old wires aching as it nearly crashed down upon the cowering audience beneath --

"I was thinking more about asking Maylene for one of her spare uniforms." The corded muscles on Ciel's thighs flexed when he shuffled forward, bringing their crotches together.

( he can't be thinking about – he can't be planning on – )

"How flattering that you think I would look acceptable in a skirt," Sebastian said.

His young master came closer and closer, until his hips were hovering directly above his.

Sebastian cleared his throat. "Although I cannot hope to ever look classier in one than you, young master."

"Oh, believe me." Ciel's eyebrows slid together and he put one hand on Sebastian's shoulders for balance while smearing half of the cake all over – somewhere down there, Sebastian wasn't going to break eye contact, and then Ciel was positioning himself –

( is he really going tothat's going to hurt – )

And his young master's voice cut right down to the bone. "I look quite forward to seeing you look unclassy, Sebastian."

With that, he dropped his hips, and Sebastian's eyes widened.

"Better?" Ciel asked, no, demanded, rubbing his thighs together. "You like this better, Sebas --" squeak, "-- tian?"

Sebastian threw down his eyes, seeing – seeing the head of his cock peeking out from between the keyholed space between his young master's thighs, cream haphazardly splattered along Ciel's inner legs and gathering in the curls of both of their pubic hair –

I'm between his thighs, Sebastian thought hollowly. His thighs.

Ciel's eyes drilled into Sebastian like twin bullets, blood settling on his cheeks like a barometer of excitement.

Sebastian could feel himself pulsing against the swell of the long muscles on his young master's thighs, and oh, was this supposed to feel so – so --

"I asked," Ciel said, leaning forward so that his breath washed over Sebastian's face, "if that was better." Another squeeze, thighs rubbing in slow bicycle-riding motions.

"Your imagination surely deserves recognition, young master."

Ciel held his gaze, face pale and glowing with the infusion of light falling in through the high-arched windows in the study.

His master's lower lip quivered.

And then, Ciel pulled himself up on Sebastian's shoulder (splattering even more of the cream on his uniform, he realized, it was everywhere now, everywhere, didn't he know how long it took to clean this –), Ciel's heels clicking again when he put both of his feet on top of the desk, the sun light that fell in through the high-arched windows pooling in glimmering half-moons at the tips of his patent leather shoes.

He raised and dropped his hips once. Sharp.

Sebastian's gasp was sharper.

Triumph spilled onto Ciel's features, set his eyes alight and then dripped down to pull his lips into a smirk.

Sebastian gritted his teeth together, swallowing whatever sound was trying to worm its traitorous way out of his throat – he wouldn't moan, he wouldn't, he --

Ciel's hands found Sebastian's shoulders, and then there was the light pressure of his weight when he pulled forward a little to find a better angle, and then another drop of his hips, and another, up and down, up and down, up and down.

Something settled in Sebastian's stomach, hard as a ball, sending out feelers to the distant tendrils of his nerves.

Up.

"You can come," Ciel said breathlessly, eyes glittering down at Sebastian, sunshine tracing the glimmering curls of his hair.

Down.

"Can't you?"

A moan was drumming at the back of Sebastian's teeth, urging to spill out of him. He kept his mouth shut and swallowed it, hands starting to fumble with Ciel's blouse, letting his fingers trail over the expensive silk and tangling in the ruffles.

Up down up down up down

"Can't you, Sebastian?" Sebastian saw those swirling ocean eyes narrow, felt fingernails dipping into his shoulders. "Answer me."

I can I can I think I'm going to I

"No," Sebastian pressed out.

One of Ciel's eyebrows twitched. "Liar."

One of Sebastian's hands smoothed up over his master's chest to his shoulders and then toward his neck, that beautiful neck with the pulse fluttering against it (it would be so easy to stop it, to just press, press) –

A smirk wound itself around Sebastian's mouth when the other hand wrapped around Ciel's cock. "But I know that you can."

Ciel's eyes widened, up-and-down motions slowing down as, for just one moment only, his lower body seemed to melt into Sebastian's hand.

Sebastian couldn't help but say, "Does – does it arouse you to see me like this, young master?" And he watched how his breath broke over the skin of his young master's neck and then spilled down his spine in a visible shower. And his young master's eyes clouded over with the spike of pleasure, lower body shuddering into Sebastian's hand, and oh yes, just let it take over, just let --

Ciel's eyes snapped back into sharp focus.

"No." He slapped Sebastian's hand away, and suddenly his hips were rising and falling again. "No, this isn't what I want now. No," gaining confidence, dominance, "no, I want you to come."

And, through the rush of his own blood in his ears, Sebastian could hear the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the study, over and over again.

He could feel it coming now, he could, only a few seconds away now, building up inside him, making everything tingle and fizzle with its forceful containment.

Up, down, up, down, oh, smooth, warm, and those eyes

"Yes," Sebastian said, no longer able to contain the flood, spine erecting as he gripped his master's shoulders, "Yes, my Lord."
The last thing he saw before orgasm crashed down over him was that smirk that so artfully tickled the line to sadism stretch across Ciel's lips.

Some part of Sebastian noticed that he was bucking his hips in a frantic attempt to get as much friction as he could, and Ciel was laughing now, actually laughing, high and arch and sinister and --

That just made Sebastian come even harder.

The tug-and-release tore through him like a different kind of heartbeat, and when Sebastian finally managed to raise his head up high enough to emerge from beneath the stardust-colored blanket of pleasure zipping from neurone to neurone, all he saw was his master's face.

His muscles jerked a few times with ebbing pleasure before stilling completely.

The way his young master was looking at him, you could have thought he had just stepped out of a sunlit meadow. The triumph shone bright-red out of his eyes.

"So you can," Ciel said, the deep satisfaction of a great talent finding its place drizzling his tone. "You can."

Sebastian slid off the desk, bending down to re-fasten his trousers around his hips, then demurely doing the same with his master's shorts. Face hovering a few inches away from his young master's crotch, his eyes caught the white liquid splattered on his stomach. Sebastian retrieved a tissue with practiced ease, starting to dry off his master's blouse.

Ciel wriggled impatiently. "I hope you take that as a lesson not to humiliate me in front of people ever again, Sebastian."

Sebastian finished cleaning, raising his eyes to meet his young master's. A loose smile played around the corners of his lips. "Yes, my Lord."

Irritation curled at the corners of Ciel's mouth. "What are you smiling for now?!"

"I apologize, young master. You must forgive me for finding a certain," he raised his eyes, smiling, "irony in all of this."

Oh, and there it was again, the familiar defiance: a small twitch of his eyebrows, a haughty raise of his chin, and, "Irony? The irony that I'm much too good to lower myself like this?" Something in his eyes shifted. "You never told me what power came with giving pleasure."

Sebastian was silent.

"That was the whole reason you ever did it to me, wasn't it?" The glow that had settled over his face dimmed. "Power."

"Young master," Sebastian said, "It is always about power."

The implications of that sentence hung in the air, thick and cloying.

Sebastian could visibly see Ciel floundering to find the key to the next level of this conversation until he said, in a tone that was not a question, "You mean – you mean that everything you ever do is for power."

"Ah." Sebastian smiled. "I didn't say that. All I'm saying is that it may be worth to look back at the past – oh, how long has it been? Half a year?"

His young master's eyes sharpened, snapping his features back into focus.

Sebastian went on, "That you may do good re-analyzing those months, young master. Having said that," he took a step forward, body sliding along the floor like a cat, "you are still aroused, young master."

"Don't," Ciel said, jaw set, shoulders thrown back in full display, "you even think about it."

Sebastian nodded, bowed, said, "Very well, young master. Now, if you will excuse me, it is terribly rude of us to keep our guests waiting, I should --"

He heard more than saw Ciel stomping toward him in great chopping strides, and then he was standing in front of him. Sebastian could smell him, the shrill tang of emotions wafting off of him – anger, that's what it was – and then Ciel put both of his hands on Sebastian's shoulders again, raised on his tiptoes, and then he was kissing him.

Except that it wasn't so much a kiss as an invasion, teeth clicking against teeth as his young master pressed up against him, pushing his mouth open with his jaw and shoving his tongue inside, hot and moist and demanding.

Sebastian's eyes widened at the not-kiss, freezing for just a moment beneath the rough tongue and the pressing lips and the pushing jaw, and then just when Sebastian's brain switched and his hands flew to Ciel's shoulders and he meant to dive down into his mouth, just then --

Just then, Ciel broke the kiss with a wet smacking sound and took a step back.

And then, for a moment, everything else fell away as they stared at each other.

Oh, yes. That was why he had chosen that pollen-streaked child with the blinding smile back then, hadn't he?

"Surprise," Ciel dead-panned.

That intelligence.

"Because you forget, Sebastian --"

And that will power.

"-- that everything I do is for power, too."

Only you, young master.

Sebastian smiled. "I would expect no less from you, young master."

He was glad he had met his young master, really. Had chosen him, and not one of the millions of other tortured souls prowling through the streets. Him, Ciel Phantomhive, who felt the connection humming in the air just as much as Sebastian did, who give and took in equal terms, who surprised Sebastian, surprised him with his longing and wrought-out suffering and the unpredictability of his loving.

He was aware of the bond that succeeded knowledge, that was instinctual; he knew his young master could never put it into words, but his blood and flesh understood.

Understood that their bond exceeded friendship, but wasn't love, that it was competitive and fiercely ruthless, but wasn't hatred. The two of them were like a piece of art split into two, both parts of which had been chafed and torn apart and no longer fit, but had been stitched together on a whim and remained glued together by something much more mystical.

And above all, the most entertaining playmate Sebastian had ever had.

And while they looked at each other this time, Sebastian smiled.

This was merely the end of another round, and Sebastian looked forward to the grand finale.


Author's Notes: LMAO, okay, so... I have no idea if this is better or worse than the first 2 chapters or what (other than the obvious fact that the writing style has been updated), but it's certainly very, uh, different. o.O

Also, there's a severe lack of thigh-fucking in fandom. Why don't more people write thigh-fucking? It's awesome lyek. O.o Same as with the poor underused frottage. *pets Thigh-Fucking and Frottage*

I totally forgot how awesome Sebastian and Ciel were to write as characters. Sebastian's a dick, Ciel's a dick; gotta love it. 3

*squints into crystal ball* Oh, what do I see in the future of this future... is it... could it be... AN ACTUAL CHAPTER WITH PLOT?

(Also, you might want to put me on author alert or check my profile, maybe? Because I have 2 Kuroshitsuji oneshots that I plan on posting next month. Yeah ^^)

And reviews make authors, uh. Even ecstaticer in pants!

^^ Till next time.