Disclaimer:Nada.
Author's Note:This was originally gonna be part of a "Bicentennial"-themed sentence/mini-fic collection, but as it was such a big moment in Sebastian and Ciel's life, I figured it deserved a ficlet of its own. In any case, I'm sorry it's another somewhat-serious story. Crack and humor will return soon, I promise. Hopefully after finals season, when my mood improves, haha. XD;
Warning: SebaCiel sexitiemz. Part of the "Bicentennial" series ("Bicentennial," "Inevitable," "Five Thousand," "Timetable," "Coffee Break." "Cats and Dogs," and "Surely Someday"); takes place before"Bicentennial." Fail editing for quick writing.
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Turn
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6:42 PM
I wanted to leave. But I couldn't.
He'd strung up the linens again. It was the first thing Sebastian noticed upon re-entering their temporary nest: a back corner decorated like a laundry line, with bedclothes hanging like a partition. A cotton-walled garrison, a bitty bunker of soft white, fortified by the garish pattern of pealing paper plastered over the fractured spackling of the hotel room.
So you hid, instead?
The butler had bowed himself inside. He'd sat beside his master.
I didn't want to see you.
They'd spoken.
Why ever not?
Or, at least, he thought they had.
I hate you too much…
Cockroaches skittered between slats of wood and cement, nibbling on filth; from the distant dining room, cutlery chimed as wealthy patrons gorged themselves on red meats and purple wines. It was deafening, really. The smallest of sounds was magnified by their fabric cave. Both within and without, it was a world full of noise: the screech of rubber tires, the tinny clatter of stalling carriages, the heaving breaths of two figures—once distinctive creatures but now tangled beyond recognition.
I know, young master.
The distorted silhouettes danced like shadow puppets upon the drape of the eiderdown— desperate undulations as frantic hands ripped and tore. A whine; a gasp; a groan: childish noises of discomfort, fear, and surprise.
You know because you hate me, too.
Claws scrabbled against the lacquered laths of the floorboards: slender, skittering spiders that stretched and strained for purchase. Their scrambling echoed like white nose, like radio static, like the rushing of blood in flushed ears.
Yes. I hate you so much I cannot stand it…
When he threw his head back, those nails gouged thin trials into the hardwood planks, serenading a sharp, staccato cry.
I hate you more than words can express…
The window was open. Beyond, on the street below, giggling children were playing hopscotch and jump rope; the metrical thwap, thwap, thwapingof the twine cord was reminiscent of a more intimate rhythm, just as frenzied but half as innocent.
Then do not use words.
The once-boy was openly sobbing now—no longer attempting to hide his tears, no longer trying to pretend. The ache in his belly, his heart, his twisting insides; it was too much to mask, too much to suppress. Flailing fingers found a home in rumpled clumps of an unbuttoned top, and he keened into the ear pressed close to his temple, trembling legs spread wide in further welcome.
But I need to. I don't have anything but words. I tried to take action—I tried to get away. But I couldn't. I hate you… because I couldn't leave. I hate you because I don't think I can live without you anymore…
The declaration had been given in the faintest of whispers; since then, Ciel had lost his voice entirely. He could do nothing more than offer husky murmurs of encouragement, now: quivering lips skimming over dampened planes of porcelain flesh, tasting all the years that lingered there. All the agony and confusion, all the regret and frustration: cobwebbed remnants of hubris and an Ouroboros longing.
...it is a horrible feeling, isn't it?
He shuddered with every gasp that blustered against the curve of his neck. He bucked into each thrust that forced his hips from the ground. He coiled lanky arms around his silently-whimpering butler, squeezing mismatched eyes shut… as if that might keep the other from Knowing. Might stop him from seeing through the once-child's cracking façade— from peeking into the churning depths of his soul and learning what thoughts had taken root there.
Oppressive. Like…
Everything throbbed.
Like hunger.
A wind blew through the casement. The coverlets, like the demons, visibly convulsed; fists clenched in time with other pieces of anatomy, sounds muffled by the cordon of susurrant sheets. In tandem, the devils choked: on pride that they had yet to swallow, on the burning brunt of gratified mewls, on the instinctive confessions that they would not-dare acknowledge for another handful of decades.
Sebastian… I'm hungry.
In the aftermath, they did not know what to say— gazes hazy with pleasure but lips taut with uncertainty. Awkwardness, weighted and hushed. Sebastian's palms rested heavily on either side of his tamer's face; Ciel's hand had somehow become knotted in the billows of bedding.
I have no more souls to offer, I am afraid.
Without warning, Ciel's arm jerked. Sebastian instinctively did the same, and in that moment—as the bedclothes fluttered and fell, as the sheets swept low to swathe them, as the world they knew vanished behind veils of purity and sin, the once-earl leaned forward to press his mouth to his servant's. He lingered there for a spell, like a drop of sugared sweetness atop the tongue, before pulling away with a blush and a stare.
Then give me your body.
For a moment, Sebastian could only gawk.
…yes, my lord.
Then he could only smile.
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