Uhm... Well, first of all, nice to meet you, anyone at the Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler fanfiction archive. What I'm uploading here? Well something probably crappy, and quite plotless, but I felt the urge to write it down. What about? Well... Let's say it tries to explain, in messy thoughts from a stormy, sweaty night, why Sebby's serving his master full-time. .. Or something like that.
This is pretty much experimental, but I can always hope seriously that someone will eventually like it enough.
Any comments are more than welcome, whether cheerful, angry, sad... All criticism's a way of stretching a helping hand out, and this story certainly
needs one!
Thanks for reading in case you've come so far.
He could not blame Ciel, though.
Down and back in, full-force, thrust. Moan.
Whimper up and slapping out. Down and in, up and out…
Lightning struck, blinding, through the windows, followed with only the slightest of delays by thunder; yet it was not raining. Nature was simply giving mothers some last moments to fear for their offspring, or babies to fear for their mother's absence in a last, daring attempt to gather warmth before the downpour's strike; desperate.
That could have much depicted their very own situation, had they not been wholly alone in the world; one meant to be, the other forced.
The restless currents served the boy well, hiding high pitched, humiliating cries. Almost well enough for a demon's ears not to hear them out. Sweat, however, was there, palpable enough to give him away by soaking the finest layers of white silk.
He would have laughed at the idea of white of all colours dressing them, had he let himself.
Not like hints mattered anyway, with their hips colliding into each other's, feverishly mad. Not like they needed all those tell-tale signals of rising orgasms when their own spines were shaking more roughly that the leaves forever lost in wild blows of the freezing wind outside.
He couldn't blame Ciel, though.
It had all started unawarely.
It had, in fact, all started unforeseen, not long after they'd met each other first; not after they'd met their preys first. Sebastian had actually wondered whether he'd be serving those purposes again this time, with this human, as with most every other one. He'd got used to it by then. To their desperate pleading and pitiful cries. In fact, for whatever reason, he did not feel so bothered by the idea in this case. Perhaps because of the fact he believed the child's pride would never have him do that...
Pant. Squirm. Heat.
He'd be forever amazed by how those humans clung so desperately to that thing they called warmth.
It was still amusant. After having lived with the kid for a while, two things had seemed certain. Just as certain as the fact the sky is black... que le ciel est noir. Said certainties told the demon that the kid was obviously too young for the role he had to fulfil of his own accord, and that his soul was far, far too old, far too stained for a body so young, so light. It seemed convenient that those realities would overlap after all, now, which of them would win as regards that?
Sebastian's mocking nature and Ciel's dignity seemed to point towards a negative. Certainly, they were both to prideful to do that.
At least until the night of red. The ripper's night.
Then, these muffled moans had begun.
For that night, something had crumbled.
Down, deeper and faster; now shout.
Even Sebastian, in all of his demoniacal prominence, had had a hard time remembering how everything had unfolded to become that. What he could tell, whether he liked to admit defeat or not, was that he could not tell that apart.
He couldn not blame Ciel.
He could have not foreseen that.
He could not have stopped him, or himself, at that.
As far as he could recollect, the weather had been as sunny as that very night's. Everything had gone on as usual; it had not felt as usual, though. Back to the mansion. Up the stairs and into the main room, past all remains of the antique splendour they they'd gone; the former joy among those walls, past. Heavy, dark velvet and howling curtains waited hungrily at their road's end, to devour their only candle's fire.
Light set on the nightstand, soon to be dead, and the boy sat at on the wide bed as limply. The valet's experienced hands travelled swiftly down the line of hematite buttons and silk ties, peeling layer after layer of the blood and water drenched attire. Suddenly, though, the boy woke from his usual, yet deeper than usual –than ever, numb frame of mind.
Two sudden kicks were struck; his shoes were off.
That, somehow, had become the trigger. At least, the one to give him away inside Sebastian's mind.
They both went on indifferently after Ciel's unexpected collaboration to the demon's soon-to-change procedure for every night. Soon enough, the kid was ready and put to bed, and a quick, definitive blow from thin white lips laid to murder the candle among shadows.
Then he saw it.
Sebastian wouldn't have, even then, expected such a provide, such a treat served widely before his eyes. In an instant, ghost-pale features had jumped back to set before his bloody sight, one single indigo iris burning like a lighthouse for his lust.
His hunger, his craving for a treat before he feasted on child's substance.
Perhaps the boy had wanted to understand those women, or run after their same luck. Perhaps, he'd succumbed to the memories of nicer times. Of family. Of smiles.
Whatever the case, he was desperate, and the scent of that was mouth-watering.
For an instant, it even got Sebastian to doubt his own senses. He had thought to feel the boy's hand grasping fiercely at his suit if only for the briefest of moments, then draw back. Yet he could have very well imagined it, sunk within oceans of urge, of greed flooding his supernatural body. Only the idea of such explicit demands, though, threw unearthly shivers up his spine. This, this is why he could not be a shinigami, nor would ever wish to be such. This was the lust of a true demon.
Since that night, it had grown.
Each time more eatable, the devil had grabbed his slice.
Even if the cake's every piece was a lie. Since then, it was their sweaty, smutty lie.
Only the thinnest of sheets covered them as the tall, slim figure hovered naked over bony, skinny legs and arms, sleeping gown untidily creased above awkwardly bent knees. The wind served the kid well, though, hiding high pitched whimpers almost fully enough for a demon's hears to miss. Almost.
But not the cries, not the screams that came last.
And it did not matter; it all flooded the insides of that one eye. That one key to their feeding on turmoil as they awaited for the end to come.
Weak yet fiery hands run their nails across a back so long, so too fit to be alive. A single finger made Ciel's side bleed as an answer, proving he'd never succeed to outrun a demon's plans. Anyhow, he was already burning from the inside; and loved it.
Rhythm raced as lust took its final toll on the creature's overtaken mind. Suddenly, a stream of night's essence left his body as realization kicked in. Then he saw; and he laughed.
A demon would not love a soul, of course, as you'd not love your food. But serve them angst of any kind, and they will feast on it... Alone, of course.
And that's why he'd serve his master that.
His rhythm, though not his strength, came down to a halt. as coolly as he'd ever do, he drew away, fed on anguish enough for one night.
Each night.
- Let me sleep – Came a grunt, childish, humiliated, but never bowing down.
- Yes, my lord.
Oh I know... I suck at smut. Particularly at noisy smut.
But I really, really appreciate it if you've gotten all the way down here, so thank you very much!