Disclaimer: Nope. (Sad panda. T.T)

Author's Note: Call this crack if you like. I mean, that's probably an accurate description of what this is. But I'm writing this to cheer myself up, not in an attempt to stay true to the series.

Dedication: I dedicate this in equal parts to Ceirwy-san, for asking me to write "Kuroshitsuji" fanfiction in the first place, and Amanuensis-san, in the hopes that she writes more SebastianxCiel flavored things in the future. (With or without dead!Lizzie. X3) And also because they're both made of awesomesauce and win and totally deserve fic-dedications. :D

Warnings: SebastianxCiel (well, Ciel is on top, but—in my mind—still uke-ing it up! :3) with lemon-lime flavoring. (Not an actual lemon, but not particularly work-safe, either.) Also, written and edited LATE AT NIGHT. So, you know, if it sucks… I blame the time. (You can only write crack during the wee-hours, you know…)

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Toppings

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There were few things in life that surprised Sebastian. As the keeper of the household's agenda, he knew the course that each day would take: every event organized, every minute scheduled. As the overseer of his four ineffectual colleagues, he knew what sorts of distractions and mishaps would inevitably render his timetable useless. As a demon, he had been around humankind long enough to predict how they would react in particular situations; and as a long-time butler of the Phantomhives, he knew, in general, what kind of behavior to expect from his proud and pampered Earl.

And yet, for all of this, he had missed something. Some clue, some truth about the human condition… He must have, for there was no other explanation to be had: no other reason to explain why he was standing before a perfectly baked, sliced, and served piece of cinnamon bread pudding.

An uneaten piece of baked, sliced, and served cinnamon bread pudding.

Yes. The porcelain plate before him— full and decorative and oh, how it mocked him!— had thrown the butler for an utter loop; Sebastian was so wholly taken aback by this unforeseen twist of fate that he found himself simply staring at the pudding, wide eyed and mystified. And the boy that he served, as if in response to this, simply watched his startled servant: face lax in its customary expression of casual apathy.

A full minute passed. The air between them thickened, heavy with questions and the sweet scent of cinnamon. But as said silence persisted, it steadily grew more scornful… until it was nearly as mocking as the pastry itself. This realization did nothing to sooth Sebastian's budding annoyance; it was perhaps unsurprising, then, that when he finally broke the weighty hush, it was in a way that lacked his usual grace, eloquence, and finesse.

"You didn't finish your dessert."

From behind his ornate desk, long legs crossed and slender fingers laced, the seventeen-year-old arched his delicate brow. "My goodness," Ciel droned, his flat voice colored by monotonous sarcasm. "Nothing gets past you, does it, Sebastian?"

And now the child was mocking him, too. Lovely.

With some difficulty, the demon managed to mask his mounting aggravation with a façade of polite indifference. As was his custom. "I apologize," he returned courteously, bowing in a show of remorse. "I have simply never seen the young master refuse a dessert before. Was the dish not to his liking?"

A pause. Sebastian glanced up in time to catch the tail end of a thoughtful— and yet, somehow amused— expression as it flit across his master's pale face. "Something like that," the boy then agreed, his long lashes lowering as his thin lips quirked. "I've grown decidedly tired of pastries and pies and puddings, as of late. You serve them all of the time; the tediousness of it all has put a strain on my pallet. Tonight, I'd like to dine on something more… unconventional."

'Unconventional.' The butler blinked once, slowly. What the hell did that mean? "…I am afraid I know of very few 'unconventional' desserts," he confessed a moment later, sounding faintly confused. "Unless the young master has taken a sudden interest in sampling the cuisine of cannibals."

The Earl's nose scrunched in visible disgust. He clearly hadn't been expecting that; Sebastian was able to contain a chortle of self-satisfaction, but only barely. Ciel, in turn, somehow managed to maintain his lazy, condescending air… his poker face had certainly improved with age. "Perhaps 'unconventional' isn't the right word," he then decided in a drawl, drumming the fingers of his left hand atop the knuckles of his right. "How about 'unusual'?"

Sebastian was still at a bit of a loss. And he found that highly frustrating, as it was obvious that his master was after something specific. These little games of his could be quite tiresome… "Shall I take the liberty of listing dessert ideas alphabetically?" he offered, his perpetual smile gaining an exasperated edge. "Or does the young master already have an idea in mind?"

Ciel hummed, bopping a high-heeled foot to a leisurely, unheard tune. "I do already have something in mind," he admitted slowly, unperturbed by his demon's palpable irritation. In fact, his grin only seemed to be widening in response… "I am in the mood for chocolate sauce."

At least we're getting somewhere. "Very good," Sebastian nodded, relaxing slightly as the conversation took a more predictable turn. "The young master, as always, has impeccable taste. Might I suggest fresh strawberries with a chocolate sauce glaze? I recently went to market and t—"

He cut himself off abruptly. The boy was already shaking his head 'no.'

"…very well, then." A momentary hesitation; Sebastian racked his brain for another dessert that utilized chocolate sauce without being a part of the pastry family. "Perhaps an array of shortbread dipped in—"

"Are you having troubles with your ears, as well as you eyes?" Ciel interrupted coolly, propping his chin atop his interwoven fingers. He was looking very entertained, now… Yes, he was still a child at heart, and his favorite game would forever be playing with Sebastian. "I already told you what I want. I want chocolate sauce."

Sebastian stared. The boy stared back, undeterred.

"…chocolate sauce," the demon repeated: toneless, flat-faced, and noticeably incredulous.

A languid smile. "Yes."

Brown eyes met blue, one gaze sharp with mounting skepticism and the other stare full of idle laughter.

Finally, the butler sighed. "As the young master wishes," he decreed, tilting forward a fraction to show that he understood. But as he did so, he allowed his low voice to drop a full register, oozing the sarcasm he didn't normally express. "Shall I bring the young master a bowl and a spoon, or would he rather eat it from the jar with his hands?"

The bitter tone wasn't lost upon his contractor; Ciel snorted, his elbows dropping atop his empty desk with twin thuds. "Good heavens," he retorted delicately, upper lip curling in airy distaste, "don't be disgusting. Of course I don't want to eat it plain."

Thank goodness for small miracles. "I should say—" Sebastian began, the reassured words not even fully-formed before they were briskly cut off, silenced by the Earl's continued declaration:

"What I want," Ciel informed his butler coolly, "is to eat said chocolate sauce off of your chest, Sebastian. More specifically, off of your chest, your stomach, and possibly even your lower extremities."

A thin eyebrow shot upward. If this was a game, his master was winning: this was twice in the past three minutes that Sebastian had been caught completely off guard, left blinking and baffled. It was long-past time to step things up, on his end. But first, just to make sure he hadn't misunderstood… "… by 'lower extremities,'" the butler clarified, in a tone one might use to double check that two and two made four, "I take it you do not mean 'feet'?"

The boy offered him a pleasant smile. "No, Sebastian. I do not."

Silence.

The demon allowed this announcement to roll around in his mind for a few moments, mentally studying the order from as many metaphorical angles as he could come up with. And yet, in the end, the reality of the situation was clear: his master was making a highly sexual advance. Calmly, articulately, and fully conscious of what he was doing.

How unexpected.

But he was digressing, now. Returning his attention to the job at hand, Sebastian cleared his throat with a quiet cough. "Perhaps the young master is unaware," he informed lightly, folding his hands behind his back, "but chocolate stains are quite difficult to wash out of clothing. Particularly clothing made of pale fabrics, such as my white shirt."

Ciel hummed, lounging languorously in his gilded chair. "Indeed," he commented, steepling his fingers beneath his pointed chin. "And costly to replace, if I recall correctly. Therefore, in order to save us both time and money, might I suggest you take your shirt off prior to my chocolate sauce consumption?"

His mouth said 'suggest,' but Sebastian heard 'command.' And the hidden seal upon his right hand emphasized the difference: burning deliciously beneath the scarred star on his skin, sending shivers of pleasure up his spine.

Dark eyes flashed red, glittering like twin rubies.

"A timely suggestion, young master," the butler murmured, an intentional huskiness sugar-coating the innocent response. "Though I'm afraid there is still a slight problem: through years of servitude, I have come to recognize that the young master is a notoriously messy eater. I fear my shirt will not be the only thing to stain..."

He trailed off, allowing the insult to linger between them; the teenager scowled at the crack, wishing to defend his impeccable manners but knowing that he couldn't if he wanted to continue. Another point to the servant. "…very true," Ciel finally agreed (albeit through gritted teeth), as his annoyed grimace melted into a saccharine smile. "Let's nip the problem in the bud, then, shall we? The pants will have to come off too, just in case."

Sebastian smirked. "Of course," he purred, tilting forward: falling into a bow that placed him directly before his young master, eye to eye and nose to nose. Neither blinked, or started, or flinched away. They were both too stubborn and prideful for that. But the demon could sense his prey cracking beneath his mask of imperial boredom… "But if I might take the liberty," the black-clad devil continued in a whisper, teasing the boy with his hot, sweet breath. "As the young master seems to have an unusual fondness for toppingstonight… Shall I offer him a helping of cream, as well?"

A noted inflection, an intended entendre. When he was younger, the child surely would have blushed. But now—older, wiser, and more experienced— the teenaged Earl merely leered; leisurely unlacing his fingers, Ciel allowed them to drift forward, toying meaningfully with the demon's silk tie. "That depends," he murmured, catching his butler's crimson eyes with a coy glance from beneath coiled lashes. "Is it sweet?"

Large, gloved hands slid onto the desk; Sebastian leaned closer, bridging over the wooden tabletop. A heady chuckle— an evocative grin. "If the young master wishes it to be."

The fist around his necktie tightened. And with no further warning, Ciel stood, sneered, and used the leverage he'd gained to twist his servant around, pushing him back-first onto the mahogany desk. Sebastian hit the tabletop with a loud thump and a hum of mild surprise, never once resisting the strength that his contractor was exerting over him. After all, this was his master's game, and he was just a willing player…

Very willing, at this point.

Warm, thin, and (ironically) cream-colored thighs called Sebastian back to the moment at hand; he blinked upward, his view of the ceiling suddenly obstructed by the Earl's smug face. There was a hot, hard, and almost-distracting pressure teasing the front of his pants, and Ciel's fragile fingers had worked themselves around his lapels, refusing to let go.

Sebastian lifted an eyebrow. "So impatient," he commented calmly, even as his own hands slid upward, cupping that far-too-tempting ass. "I haven't even had a chance to fetch the young master his chocolate sauce, yet."

Ciel snorted, pointedly grinding their hips. "I have changed my mind," he announced— almost imperially, his swirling emotions and sub-textual amusement veiled by his usual unfazed expression. That mask, too, mocked Sebastian, daring him to try and break it… "I shall forgo the chocolate for now, and feast only upon cream."

"Is that so?" Slithering fingers danced upward, loosening the teenager's cravat. "But without the imminent threat of chocolate stains looming over me," the demon breathed, humor in his snaring words, "what incentive do I have to take off my shirt and pants?"

Mismatched eyes narrowed. "Oh, but cream makes a very sticky mess," the clever Earl warned, forcefully popping the first three buttons of his butler's once-pristine top. "And there will be a lot of it, for I am quite hungry."

Neither missed the unspoken decree; it rang between them like any other order, soft and sharp and seductively powerful: I want what I want and I want it now. As always, the juvenile demand brought a leer to the demon's pretty face, and a purr to his promise-laden voice.

"Understood." His sultry smile widened, and with a pointed pull at both loosened ties, the butler submitted himself to his ravenous master and his perverted demands. "Say your prayers and let the feast begin, my lord."

Ciel didn't need to be told twice.

And for once, Sebastian didn't deny him seconds.

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