Couldn't Help Falling
Customary Disclaimer: Any and all recognizable Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler characters (c) Yana Toboso.
Inspired by Can't Help Falling In Love sung by Andrea Bocelli and Katherine McPhee.
A head hitting a large cherry wood desk.
"Young master, what exactly are you doing?"
"Trying to either wake myself up or knock myself out," came the reply.
A raised eyebrow. "May I inquire as to the young master's reasons for doing so?"
Sapphire sliding to glare at crimson. A huff. "Work is tedious when one is fatigued. If I can't make myself concentrate, I may as well not be conscious."
A smirk. "Ah."
"Did you need something, Sebastian?" Clipped and cold.
"No, my lord."
Roll of sapphire. "Then you may go."
A gloved hand sliding under a pale forehead as it went for another hit.
"That can't be pleasant, bocchan. Are you sure you're feeling alright?"
Another huff followed by the crossing of slender arms. "If I were, I probably wouldn't be doing this." Grudgingly admitted.
A frown. Long legs kneeling beside a large plush chair. "Would you like something, bocchan?" Softly inquired. "Tea? Warm milk? Perhaps young master would prefer to retire?"
Contemplation. Then a small nod. "I believe I'd like to bathe and retire for the evening." A decision.
A short walk to the bathroom.
The porcelain tub filled with steaming water.
The disrobing of garments and a soft sigh as heat started to work into tense muscles.
The gentle lathering of soap rubbed into ivory skin, softer than silk.
Thoughts swirling madly in a slate-haired head, totally out of character.
Why am I feeling this way?
How did I manage to fall so hard?
A soft sigh, sadder than normal.
"Young master, are you alright?"
I'm not alright.
Nothing is right, Sebastian.
I've fallen for you.
A deeper sigh, resigned.
Rinsing of limbs and locks, and the draining of the tub.
A soft white towel drying the small body.
A frustrated huff. "Please, young master. I can tell something has upset you. What is on your mind, bocchan?"
Worried crimson gazes into faraway sapphire as a nightshirt is slipped on and buttoned.
"Bocchan?" Concern lacing the one word.
Sapphire staring into crimson – a crimson so deep he knew he was lost and would never find the way out again.
I couldn't help it.
Slender arms suddenly wrapping around a larger upper torso, pulling the crimson closer.
A pale face burying itself in a pale neck.
"I couldn't help it."
Shock at the action, and again at the words.
"Couldn't help what, bocchan?"
Confusion. "Falling, bocchan?"
"When did you fall?" Carefully asked, hands resting on small shoulders.
A small smile, barely an upturn of the lips.
"I'm not quite sure."
A pause and purse of the lips.
"This was not a literal fall, was it?"
"It feels like it, but I suppose not."
Gloved hands pushing the small frame back before cupping a soft, delicate cheek.
A tilt of the head, raven locks falling into crimson.
A sad, contented sigh.
Sapphire gazing into crimson.
Impulse: smaller lips crashing into larger ones, covering them in tenderness and desperation, rushing into the moment.
Small hands threading through dark locks as larger arms wrap around the slender waist.
A small moan and the grip tightens for both parties.
A tongue gliding across a bottom lip, granted access and exploring, coaxing the other appendage into a duel for dominance.
Pull back for air, gasps ringing through the quiet room.
Small hands pushing off a tail coat, working buttons on a vest and adding it to the pile on the ground.
Another kiss, initiated by the larger lips.
Breathy moans filling the silence as a crisp white shirt hits the ground.
"My, my. Impatient, are we, bocchan?" A soft smile.
A small chuckle of agreement. "A fool, aren't I?" Quietly mused as lips came together again, thin nightshirt joining the steadily growing pile.
Nips down a soft neck. "Why would you say that, bocchan?"
Small fingers running through midnight strands. "Only fools rush in," muttered, subdued.
A gasp of pleasure from a harsh bite, quickly soothed by a tongue.
Arched back as a nipple was sucked on; quiet gasp.
"Perhaps," muttered in agreement. "Though if that's the case, we are both fools."
Lower garments added to the pile; arousals rubbing together, coming to hardness as each is thoroughly stroked in turn.
Gasps and moans.
Groans and pleas for more.
Names whispered softly.
Fingers lightly traced smooth skin, learning every facet.
A heated kiss, a battle of tongues for dominance.
A break for air, gasps louder in the growing dark of the night.
Fingers held up, enclosed in a hot mouth. Coated liberally.
Trails down the small body of kisses, nips, licks, and wet fingers – the fingers prodding at the entrance.
First finger in; a gasp of shock.
That feels weird.
Second finger in; scissoring motion, and a slight burst of pain.
A gasp of discomfort.
That's a bit less pleasant.
Third and final finger; a wave of discomfort and a burning sensation as they slowly moved in and out.
"Ah!" A groan to signal severe discomfort.
Hissed breaths through teeth; clenched eyes, tears streaming down flushed cheeks.
Feather kisses on the tears, free hand tugging at the aroused member of his bocchan; distracting.
A spot soon hit, pleasure coursing through veins and a low moan signaling the discovery.
Preparation done; hard arousal lined up and thrust in slowly, gently.
Hisses of discomfort once again, followed by soft kisses and murmurs of reassurance that it would be better soon.
In to the hilt; a cease of movement as adjustment takes place.
A small nod and gentle slow thrusts.
Small hands pulling the raven in for a kiss, passion of the most tender kind expressed through the connection as hips start rocking into his demon's thrusts.
A silent plea for 'faster.'
Increase of speed, and the spot is hit once again.
A long, low moan of pleasure from the small, fragile body; a low growl of lust and passion in response.
Movements synchronized, pleasure building and peaks almost reached.
Extra stimulation as a large hand begins stroking the neglected arousal, causing more moans of pleasure.
A scream of his demon's name, his essence covering both chests as the tight coils of fiery pleasure reach the zenith and overflow, leaving him in a state of utter bliss.
The soft cry of his bocchan's name in the quiet, pleasure-scented room as his climax is reached and his essence marks his bocchan on the inside, forever binding them together; the bliss overwhelming.
Heavy breathing evening out, sweat rolling down foreheads and necks and chests, small fingers playing in raven locks; black-nailed fingers stroking mindless patterns through the pleasure-covered chest of his bocchan.
A contented sigh. "I'm glad I couldn't help it."
A raised head of dark midnight and crimson.
A smile brighter than any sun.
"Seems I couldn't help falling either, bocchan." A nuzzle in the crook of the delicate neck. "My bocchan."
A small chuckle. "My Sebastian."
A shift of positions to get comfortable: the larger laying on a pillow, the smaller tucked into the side of the larger, pillowing his head against the strong chest.
Sapphire and crimson gazing into each other before sleep claimed sapphire, and crimson tightened his grip.
Wise men say only fools rush in, but I couldn't help falling in love with you.