Title: Bathed in Sin
Fandom: Kuroshitsuji
Pairing: Sebastian/Ciel
Warnings: Contains yaoi, slash, BoyxBoy, MalexMale, anything else you wish to call it. If you don't like it, please, don't read it and save us both a headache.
Length: 1,074
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me, all credit goes to Toboso Yana 3
A/N: I haven't written, let alone posted, any fanfiction in a long time. While I'd like to think my skill has grown and matured, I'm still rusty. No names are mentioned in this, because I prefer alluding to the events. Hopefully it isn't too confusing. Enjoy.
Mismatched eyes lay closed as fire kissed fingers ghost over his skin, dipping in and out between the fabric, gliding over paper thin skin and knobby knees; always close but never touching. After the last button had been guided though the hole, the last garter fixed in place, the knot on the eye patch perfectly tied, the hands lingered perhaps just a moment too long (but perfection always required the most astute of attention, he would always say). A cerulean eye gazed down upon the black form that kneeled before him, and the dancing garnet eyes and smirking lips would return the gaze before the raven head bowed and the black form stood to his true height towering over his delicate master.
Not a word passed through delicate pink lips, pressed into a thin line as spindly fingers poised themselves at his temples in a futile attempt to calm the raging headache underneath. The tea sat untouched and cold at the corner of his desk, the sweets lay beside it, neglected aside from the imprint of small teeth marks that had scrapped at the surface before it was abandoned. But while the afternoon tea and snacks lay ignored, the paperwork that sat on the desk made its presence known as the soft delicate scratch of the ink on the paper sifted through the air, extravagant blue words bleeding into the paper as the calls for dinner were sent away and the moon crept into the air. Nothing but the sweet and deceiving promise of a soothing bath would rouse him from his office.
He lay in the porcelain bath, the water sliding over his skin as his head rested on the edge of the bath, his eye patch discarded and mismatched eyes stared dully at the ceiling. The room was nearly silent aside from the soft sound of the water gliding down his arms to his hand and his fingers, before collecting at the tip and falling sweetly into the bath once more. He heard rather than saw the man moving about the room, taking off his tailcoat, folding it perfectly and setting it aside. The smell of lavender bath salts coated the room pleasantly, soothing the boy's weary mind as he let his eyes slide close as the man came closer.
A gloveless hand hooked around a too-thin ankle, delicately raising it from the water as the honey scented soap was glided over the smooth skin by the other hand; the movements were calculated and careful, not missing a single spot as it traced its way from the curled toes to the knobby knee before returning it to the water and lifting it once more. The hands returned to clean the beautiful and perfect thighs, fingers straying and touching the porcelain skin (nothing but an accident, he assures with an innocent smile) as a soft gasp is elicited at every touch before being covered with a sigh as embarrassment creeps in and pink powders soft cheeks and his breathless voice snaps at the smirking form to be more careful (he is left unassured as the smirk grows wider behind a whispered apology).
The hands abandon the feminine legs in favor of his arms, black-tipped fingers curling under a flawless palm, hands embracing in an unattached manner as the soap is trailed up to the bony shoulder and down a bare chest and a flat stomach, abdomen muscles curling and clenching under the touch and a shiver crawling under the skin, but neither says a word, neither acknowledges it as the hand retreats and the black form announces that it's time for the young master to have his hair washed. Obediently, the boy with the mismatched eyes, feminine face and soft hair sinks under the water (and for a moment he wonders if he should ever come up).
As he resurfaces, eyes closed with water streaming down his face, mouth open in a silent pant as he breathlessly, greedily breathes in the air; and the man with the garnet eyes can't help but to think how beautiful he looked at that moment, vulnerable and weak, and completely his. He knew better than to voice these thoughts, so he settles for a smile as he rakes his fingers through the boy's hair feeling him relax under his touch, and he knows that the boy will always belong to him.
After the bath is finished, he's led to his bed and tucked beneath the covers and left in the room alone. Thin arms coil around the pillow, hair fanned across it as he struggles to sleep, and unease remains slithering in his stomach. Before he knows it, his hands are wrapped against the cord next to his headboard, tugging on it carefully (all he wants is warm milk to sooth him, he says, as though saying it would help him believe it). And just as every other night, the black clad form is by his bed, cradling a glass of warm milk in his hands, and not-so-innocent murmurs of other remedies for sleeplessness are spoken. Mismatched eyes stare into garnet, silently giving him permission as the milk is left forgotten on the night stand.
Porcelain hands are left pressed against silk sheets, entwined with black-tipped fingers, toes curling in anticipation, desire and need. His back is arching as breathless sounds slip through his parted pink lips, one name lingering on his tongue as the raven hair brushes over his skin, and his body breaks out in feverish shivers as the fingers trace over his skin like fire, his face tingling with heat; and the garnet eyed man decides that he is no longer beautiful, but instead he is perfect this way; he tells him so and is rewarded with an enticing cry as tears spill out of mismatched eyes.
Together they were anything but perfect, they were sinful and so very wrong, but the way their bodies fit together and the bond they shared told them that it was right. The taste of sin upon their lips couldn't be taken back and they knew that the path they'd chosen would never have a pleasant ending, so they lived for the next glance, the next whisper of hot breath over cool skin, the next word, the next cry, relishing in the wrongness of each of these moments. They had chosen their path, for better or for worse, and they would follow it willingly wherever it may lead.