Disclaimer: Not mine! (As always.)
Author's Note: These prompts (with the exception of 'laughter,' 'wish,' and 'mirror,' which were my own additions) were all taken from a list of 50 prompts that I found in the "Avatar: The Last Airbender" fandom, and have since used in two separate sentence-and-minific collections. (Oh well. If it ain't broke, don't fix it, right? X3)
I hope you enjoy this heaping helping of SebastianxCiel! :D
Warnings: A great number of these feature sexual (and, therefore, shouta-flavored) themes! Nothing too heavy, but certainly light-R worthy. IF YOU DON'T LIKE, PLEASE DON'T READ!
A Collection of SebastianxCiel Mini-Fics and Sentences
It frightens Ciel how willing he is to seek comfort from the hands that will one day kill him.
Their lips meet with a hesitant ferocity: soft flesh upon soft flesh, quickly slickened by desire and a desperate, unspoken hunger. A needy tongue pushes through lightly-clamped teeth, forcibly exploring the small, honeyed cavern— rubbing and suckling and dragging delicate mewls from the stubborn child, strong hands holding him back, even as the skilled mouth tries to pull him closer, closer, closer.
After a minute, they break apart with an audible sound: one gasping for breath, the other fighting for control.
A dark chuckle penetrates the silence…
"Does that answer your question?" Sebastian purrs, his low voice husky and bitterly sweet. Pale noses brush; gloved hands slide slowly down his master's face, as if gently stroking his rosy cheeks…
Ashen-faced, Ciel nods.
He had asked how he would die.
"We wouldn't want the rain getting you wet, now, would we?" Sebastian smiled, kneeling before his young master and buttoning the front of his waterproof coat.
"No," Ciel droned in response, the sarcasm in his voice unmistakable as he opened his matching umbrella. "That's your job, isn't it?"
A quiet laugh, a devious smile. "Indeed," the demon murmured, his garnet gaze gliding up the boy's delicate body, lashes half-lowered in amused appreciation. "And we both know that I perform that task well enough without any help from the weather."
Sometimes his orders are sharp and clear, other times his orders are intentionally vague, and once in a while he doesn't think things through before speaking. And those orders—few and far between though they may be—are Sebastian's favorite, for he loves the look of panicked shock that briefly overcomes his master's white face, adores the splash of color that darkens those soft cheeks, savors the sharp gasp that follows the command of "clean this:" the boy's back stiffening as he feels the demon's tongue tickle the sensitive skin of his palm.
Visibly stunned, a wide blue eye turns to follows the bent butler's movements, trembles shooting down his spine as the demon takes the sweet-stained fingers into his mouth, suckling gently and nibbling on the tips.
"…you know," Sebastian whispers as he pulls slowly away, leisurely licking his smirking lips clean, "chocolate is considered by many to be something of an aphrodisiac…"
Ciel arches a regal eyebrow, using every ounce of composure he possesses to mask his flushed and flustered face. "That would explain the sudden increase in chocolate-themed desserts you've been feeding me," he manages to drone, yanking his quivering hand away from the demon and hiding it beneath his desk.
Sebastian pretends not to notice the boy's shudders, or his blush, or the front of his pants, and instead clamors gracefully to his feet, bowing slightly. "Nothing gets past you, young master."
A small snort. "Of course not."
Smiling faintly in the wake of this entertaining game, the black-clad butler turns to make his leave, pushing the tea trolley with him. But before he can reach the door, his master has cleared his throat.
The demon turns slightly, arching a questioning brow. "Yes, young m—?"
But he cuts himself off in noticeable astonishment, ruby eyes widening as he notes the boy's posture: paperwork pushed to the side, chin propped up in his right palm, left hand extended and entirely covered in sticky chocolate crumbs and sauce and cream.
The cake beside him now sports a magnificent handprint.
"I made another mess," Ciel announces coolly, wriggling his fingers as if in illustration. His eyes close lightly; he crosses one leg over the other, the very picture of lazy boredom. "Clean them again."
Silence. An almost stunned silence; Sebastian blinks once in evident surprise. But then, how very much like his soul—no, his master—to rise so eagerly to the challenges presented by this sick little game... With a low chuckle of genuine amusement, the demon starts forward with an amiable bow.
"Yes, my lord."
Sebastian is a demon, and does not fully understand the human concept of emotions… but if he were to guess what 'happiness' might feel like, he surmised it'd be something akin to what he'd felt during those long, idle days as a servant in Phantomhive Manor.
He whispers softly in his ear, words too faint and dirty and perfect to hear, and Ciel is reminded again and again that he is damned, that he is claimed, and that he would readily follow this voice anywhere, even now.
"Will you ever stop calling me that?" Ciel grumbles, blue eye closing in mild irritation. "I'm nearly fourteen. Just 'master' will do, you know."
"Nonsense," Sebastian politely returns, tilting forward and into his usual bow. "You will forever be my young master."
A noticeable inflection. A responding pause. Ciel's azure gaze flicks back open, and he catches the last, ruby-red seconds of a glittered stare.
"…yes," he then murmurs, more to himself than to his nearby butler, as he smirks and laces his hands upon his desk. "I suppose you might be right."
For he will never live long enough to be anything but 'young.'
Sex is like a dance: full intricate movements and purposeful turns and bodies that touch and twist and glide… and just as he had the waltz, Sebastian is more than willing to teach Ciel each new step personally.
He is certainly old enough to dress himself, and wash himself, and walk on his own two feet… but he is far too proud to simply ask for Sebastian to touch him, and he refuses to give up such perfect excuses.
He did not agree to the contract because of the sacrifice. Not because of his own hunger, nor the child's snobbish and screamed demands. No, he agreed to the contract because the bruised, battered, and bleeding little boy had not shed a single tear…
And the demon had to admit, he found that highly intriguing.
For a demon whose special talent is speed, Ciel can't stand how agonizingly slowly his butler performs certain tasks… Nor does he appreciate the obvious pleasure Sebastian reaps from this intentional slowness, laughing as he forces his master to cry out demeaning orders like "faster! Faster!"
12: Jealousy (For Lessa, with due credit to the amazing Amanuensis-san!)
He is not jealous of Lady Elizabeth. Why should he be? She is nothing more than an irritating child, a momentary distraction, a pawn that his master is forced to utilize. He must wear the guise of normalcy, after all: act like the gentleman he has been raised to imitate. Dance with her, and spend time with her, and chastely kiss her whiney pink mouth.
There is no reason for him to be jealous of little Lizzie. After all, his master cares for her, but only out of duty. He feels no real urge to marry her, or love her, or allow her to see that sweet, sweet face of his contort in unearthly pleasure.
No need to be jealous. He knows he owns his master completely: body, mind, and soul. Most importantly soul. For when the time comes, he will consume the boy in totality, and the two of them will be one until the end of time.
Yes. He is a demon. He has no reason to be jealous of this obnoxious, noisy, clingy, loud-mouthed freak of a child. She has no idea what goes on behind closed doors; will never realize how willingly her fiancé surrendered to his wiles; won't ever know the joys of hearing the young man gasp and moan and fight in vain to muffle his own mewled cries. Whether the girl acknowledges it or not, Ciel Phantomhive is his, will always and forever be his, no matter what she may try.
There is no need for jealousy…
But when no one else is looking, Sebastian snaps her fragile neck anyway.
He may not be jealous, but neither is he tolerant.
His hands brush and slide and slip and smooth and straighten and button and oh— my, my, my, young master, another 'problem?'
A gasp; a chuckle. The hands slide beneath the half-laced pants, and the cycle begins all over again.
His lips dance across the boy's damp skin, and his tongue ravishes his tiny, willing mouth, and he swallows every last ounce of his master's salty essence, and oh, the child tastes so very, very good… Sebastian can hardly wait for the day that he truly gets to eat.
"Do not worry," the bowing butler assures Madam Red, a smile of private amusement touching his implausibly beautiful face. "The young master and I will be together forever."
Perhaps not the kindest of lubrications, but Sebastian has never been kind.
Thin arms wrap weakly around the demon's pale throat, and a temperature-flushed face nuzzles briefly against the butler's crisp collar, and a half-delirious body curls close to the heat of Sebastian's broad chest… and in response, the servant's hold on his master tightens: hugging him fiercely, refusing to let go, and secretly wishing— his dark eyes flashing a sultry, crimson red— for the boy to be closer, closer, closer…
Eight hours, forty seven minutes, and nineteen seconds. It had taken Ciel eight hours, forty seven minutes, and nineteen seconds to do what Sebastian could in a matter of minutes, and what Aberline had done on default in the span of moments.
Still. After eight hours, forty seven minutes, and nineteen seconds, Ciel— Ciel himself—had done it. He'd managed to pull a single, solitary, but genuine chuckle from the enigmatic Undertaker. Clearly an accomplishment to be admired.
In that regard, he had thought—in some deep, hidden recess of his mind—that he might have managed to conjure up a smidgen of pride at this moment. A little self-satisfaction for a job well done. (Or, at least, a job accomplished.) After all, even if he'd only taken the task upon himself out of stubbornness and irritation, he had managed to complete this portion of the mission on his own.
And yet, what he'd had to sacrifice in order to obtain that split-second surge of laughter…
"Is it true?" the Undertaker sneered, his toothy smile widening in evident glee. "Do you really? Oh my, little Earl, oh my… in love with your own servant. In love with your own death! How deliciously amusing!"
He lifted a grungy sleeve and giggled brightly behind it, unseen eyes shining through the gloom. Ciel, round face darkening in a visual display of palpable irritation, fought the urge to glower and sulk. "It's not that funny," he snapped, crossing his arms in a childish show of fury.
The Undertaker hummed, tilting his hat-topped head. "No, it's not," he agreed, dark cheerfulness in his crackly voice. "In fact, it's not your feelings that have me laughing…"
A long-nailed hand shot out; before he could so much as blink, Ciel had been snatched by the tie and jerked forward, yanked into the teasing embrace of the white-haired man. "No," the Undertaker continued in a chortled whisper, his hot breath tickling the boy's goose-pimpled flesh, "what I find so hilarious is the fact that your affections will never, ever, ever be returned."
Despite his best efforts to remain stone-faced and neutral, Ciel felt an icy shiver shoot down his curved spine. "He is my servant," he bit back coldly, balling his fists to keep from clawing away at his temporary captor. "He has to do whatever I tell him to. If I must, I can make him love me."
Another bubbled giggle: it burst forth like a jack from its box, and was accompanied by an almost frightening leer.
"Please, Earl!" the Undertaker snickered, patting the boy's pink face. "Let's save some material for next time, shall we?"
He has formed many, many bonds in his young, dangerous life: the bonds of business that he shares with the mafia and the London underground; the bonds of holy matrimony that tie him to Lady Elizabeth; the bonds of servitude that he holds over the three well-meaning, but idiotic freaks in his employ. But most importantly—and most dangerously—, the bonds of the contract that bind him to Sebastian: their long bodies twining in the ethereal glow of the moonlit study, as if in an attempt to knot themselves together forever.
"Where are you going, young master?" the cheerful blonde asks, all smiles and giggles and unseen hearts as he hops towards his tiny employer, watching Sebastian fix the navy-blue bow of the boy's traveling cloak.
"Into the city," Ciel answers brusquely, ramming his top hat onto his head. He keeps his back pointedly facing the gardener, as if intentionally avoiding his blue-eyed gaze. "I am in need of a new desk in my study."
"Huh?" Finny tilts his head in adorable confusion, tapping a finger to his chin. "But you already have a lovely wooden desk in there, master. Why do you need a new one?"
The gloved hand atop Ciel's decorative cane clenches tightly; beside him, the black-clad butler seems to be fighting off a round of smirked chortles.
"It broke," Sebastian informs Finnian, his genial grin widening as their master graces him with a livid glare. "Last night."
"What?" Finny gawks, clearly taken aback. "But how on earth could you break a—?"
"Get back to work," Ciel snaps in way of reply, marching swiftly towards the decorative double doors. But as Sebastian bows him out, still wearing that cryptically amused leer, the chipper blonde can't help but notice that a vibrant magenta blush has overtaken his master's pale cheeks.
What was that about?
Innocent souls taste far too bland… so Sebastian takes it upon himself to taint his soul a little.
He falls back upon the rumpled sheets, panting and gasping and still soaring in the wake of the afterglow, and knows that this is the closest to Heaven that he will ever get.
Sometimes he's thankful he made the contract simply because without it, he's sure he would have gone to Hell.
24: Wish (For Ellen, haha. XD)
"I recently learned that one of the young master's birthday wishes was to sleep with his mother," the demon butler murmurs, a sultry smile upon his pretty face as he prepares the boy for bed. "And while I am no replacement for the young master's mother, might I say that I am more than willing to sleep with him, birthday or no."
His dark eyes melt into a color like that of rubies… and despite his very best efforts, Ciel can feel his face do exactly the same thing.
They say one's eyes are a mirror to their soul… and in Ciel's case, this is almost a literal truth.