Hey guys, here's a really twisted SebastianxCiel oneshot that I got the inspiration for from a conversation on Anabaptism in my history class. The tone of this piece was inspired by some other stuff I've read on this site, most notably Maiden_of_the_Moon's works.
Warnings: If you take offensively to a negative portrayal/blasphemous portrayal of religion, please do not read this. But remember, this is just a piece of fiction, and I don't intend to hurt anyone with it.
Dislaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji. I'm not that awesome.
The Third Baptism
When he was a young, frail baby, he had been baptized by the priests of the reformed church next to his family's estate. Or so, at least he was told. Sometimes, if he concentrated enough, he could catch snippets of his memories as they flowed by.
A golden basin.
A glint of sunlight.
A wetness trickling down his forehead.
White sheets.
His mother had given him the intimate details of the event when he was old enough to care. The large stained-glass windows, the names of the people who had attended, the hymns they all had sung.
Ciel listened patiently and politely, with only one thought crossing his mind:
How false.
If being baptized meant that the soul was willingly cleansed and bound to God, why baptize children? They didn't understand the meaning behind the ceremony. And he'd had no choice on the matter.
Not that he spurned the Lord, but rather, he just wondered why. It was better to damn yourself on your own free will than to be forced to do what was right.
He closed his sapphire eyes.
White sheets.
A stained-glass sunlight.
Hymns.
False.
That had been his first baptism.
His second baptism was one of blood. He didn't need to focus to remember it- every detailed drop of horror was burned into the underside of his eyelids (the containers of hellfire).
Sometimes, when the anniversary of the day approached, he lived through it again in his dreams, again in his waking hours.
Sweat.
Dirt.
Iron bar cages.
Brutal rape in dark rooms.
The scent of burning skin- the feel of burning skin.
A pool of his own blood (in a basin, a shiny, metal basin!).
In the back recesses of his mind, he had heard a husky, alluring voice. And he had seen the pretty image of what could pass as a regular man.
"Form a contract with me, and I'll save you."
He hesitated then. Could this man (devil) be trusted? But when the sound of clanking footsteps grew louder, the boy quickly made up his mind.
"Be my servant, my loyal vassal. In return, when your duties to me are complete, you may have whatever you wish- my body, mind, and soul."
With a glowing eye and a newfound power resonating in his voice, he gave the devil his first order.
"Kill them."
As he stood watching the death and destruction and carnage, a fleck of blood splattered onto his forehead and ran down his nose.
A sense of irony struck him.
His savior had just become the devil himself. He was scorning, spurning, and mocking God and all that was holy.
He had just reversed his first baptism.
And strangely, though in his mind he knew why, he felt a wild sort of liberation.
"Young master, please do not dawdle," says the demon, "Lady Elizabeth awaits you in the reception hall."
Ciel Phantomhive is standing in front of his large bathrrom mirror, wedding attire still in place, staring at his butler's reflection standing over his shoulder.
Neglecting to respond to the demon in his sight, the earl touches his embroidered eyepatch lightly. Steady breathing echoes against the walls, in (out), in (out). Patiently, Sebastian stands waiting for a response.
Ciel drops his hand to his side.
"What will I do when Elizabeth asks to see my eye?"
"Could you not refuse her, young master?"
The boy speaks with no hesitation.
"I can't refuse my duty."
His butler's hands slide forward to grip his thin shoulders.
They make a twisted sort of portrait in the mirror, Ciel thinks- forever struggling, forever unrealistic.
"Your duty is mine, young master, and yet you always refuse me."
The boy cannot (and will not) turn around, and his eyes remain locked on the white-gloved hands upon his shoulders.
"That's different."
Sebastian sighs.
"Young master,"
Hands move to untie the earl's eyepatch.
"Look deeply into the mirror."
The eyepatch falls to the ground, and eyes close.
"You see what you wish to see."
Mismatched eyes open.
"That is what mirrors are for- deceiving."
Instead of seeing a pentagram, or the color purple, all he sees is white cloth and droplets of blood, and he gets the feeling that a third baptism is due to arrive soon.
He arches his back and makes a delicious little noise as he feels Sebastian push into him, in, out, faster, faster.
Nghh....
Ungloved hands caress the skin of his hips; a deceptively loving mouth licks and bites into his neck. He hazily remembers having thought that it was better to damn yourself on your own free will rather than be forced to do what was right. Burning, hellfire lips lock onto his.
Right now, he's damning himself thoroughly, and he's enjoying it.
Ciel can hardly contain himself when his butler's hands begin to rub and pump his cock, never pausing in his thrusts. In, out, heat, heat, heat! Ah, ngh...friction, friction.
His wife is waiting for him in the next room over...
This excites and frightens him at the same time...
He feels sticky sweat roll down his face, screams into his release, and wonders if this could be his third baptism.
He thought wrong.
He hears an angel scream in the darkness, the sound of heels clicking against metal, and the wild beating of his heart against his ribcage.
He hears a body being pierced (was it the angel's, or was it his own?).
He falls.
As he hits the surface of the freezing Thames and begins to sink, a single mocking thought haunts him.
This was his third baptism.
Fin.
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