Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author's Note: I wrote this AGES ago. Seriously. AGES. For Alex, in a sneaky attempt to get her to acknowledge my existence, back before we were friends. I dunno why I never got around to posting it here… It's been on tumblr for ages. Like I've mentioned a few times. Oh well… Here it is now!

Warnings: SebaCiel. Kuro II references. Written totally in response to a post Alex made, daring someone to write about Sebastian and Ciel trapped in a box. You can see her art and challenge (and my response) here: http (colon) (double backslash) alexbeoulve .tumblr. com(slash) post (slash) 20865639418




"How does it feel, then?" Ciel taunted snidely, sneering at his butler as said servant squirmed and shifted. The latter's shoulders were scraping against the locked lid of the wooden crate; the angle of his head made his neck look broken. Not that his master cared. After all of the contortion and torture that Sebastian had put his own body through, one or two cracked vertebrae seemed the least the devil could suffer. That, and a good blow to his pride. "It's not much fun, is it? Being stuffed inside these blasted boxes all of the time."

Sebastian grunted through grit teeth, brow furrowing as his right eye gave a tic. "My lord," he said— as smoothly as he was able, "you are being unfair. You were not conscious during your stint in that first trunk, and the second was decidedly more spacious than this. And neither did I force you to share that space with another," he tacked on, voice pointed, as if questioning Ciel's decision to sit in this box with him. It did seem a rather funny thing to do, if he hated being in trunks as much as he claimed.

In return, the earl snorted. "I couldn't very well watch your agony from beyond, now, could I? I'm not able to see through wood. In any case," he pressed on with a regal toss of his hair— or a shift of his head, as it were; there wasn't much room for hair-tossing, here—, "You're not in any position to tell me what is or isn't fair."

"I am not in a position to do much of anything, as is," Sebastian agreed wryly, growling as his torso gave another unpleasant ache. The strain of the lid— its locks fortified by the layers of cement that the crate had been slathered in ("Just enough to make escape difficult, not impossible;" oh, that little brat)— was forcing the demon's body to sink lower and lower, until certain parts of his anatomy had lined up with his master's. In turn, Ciel's legs were forced to reposition themselves, and fill whatever new spaces they could. Before long, his lithe limbs had wrapped themselves firmly around the demon's lower back, and two sets of elbows were bracing themselves against the crease of the corners.

"…no." The young nobleman leveled his servant a glower, features pinched in blatant warning, despite his growing blush and heady gaze. No, this was a punishment. No fun was allowed. He was not in the mood for fun. (But was it getting hotter in here, or…? Dammit…) "Don't even think about it."

A sultry chortle; a shift of clothed hips. "But if I cannot escape through the lid, it seems only natural I should be forced to pound you through the sides," Sebastian retorted sweetly, his own expression growing lighter as the other's darkened. Because yes. Finally. There it was— the key. Not the key to the outside, nor the key to the box. But the key to victory. To Ciel's undoing. (Or, at least, the undoing of Ciel's trousers.)

After all, though they weren't in a position to do much of anything, they could, at least, do each other. And that, for Sebastian, was enough.

…to bring the walls down.