A small one shot for Sebastian and Ciel. If you don't like boy on boy, don't read.
Disclaimer: The young master and his amazing butler belongs to Yana Toboso. Not me. Don't sue.
[One Shot : The Scent]
It always seemed like a dream to him whenever it was over. Exhausted, yes, but calm in such a strange way that he felt whole again. After so much trouble and so much pain, he was there, naked like the first day he was born, in the warmth of his bed not so different from a mother's womb.
But there was a big difference, though he wasn't sure why he was so positive about it. This place didn't smell like a womb. There were scent of sweat, of lust, and of many other things, but there was no scent of blood- the smell he was so sure was the scent of the womb.
Right here, on the pillow just under his nose, was a rich sweet scent. He didn't really know what it was or particularly care for an explanation. He just loved the way it lingered on his skin, his sheets, his pillows, and the way it made him sigh in relief and put him to sleep. He can't think of anything else that could be this gratifying. He wished against wish that it will never fade.
When he opened his eyes, he knew instantly where the scent came from, though not quite in the mood of admitting it to himself. Where else could it come from if not from the man sitting on the edge of his bed fixing the unbuttoned shirt and putting on the shoes?
Yes, the scent, deeper than fine tea or dark chocolate, sweeter than golden honey or white icing, and seducing him more than any wine or brandy. He could lay there for hours drowning into it. He had always wondered why he was so addicted.
His whole body went stiff when the man turned. He was supposed to close his eyes and pretend to be sleeping. In any case it was too late. The other had caught him watching.
"Shouldn't you be sleeping, Young Master?"
He didn't nod nor shook his head. All he did was staring, drinking in the sight of this tall young man. His eyes on the line of the jet-black hair falling around the porcelain face. And the smile, always perfect, always charming, always mocking, would stir him out of the cold sense of duty he tried so hard to bury himself into.
So much for pride.
"Devils don't have scent, do they?" he asked.
The man seemed a bit lost at first, but still retained himself like any well-disciplined butler, "Are you suggesting something, Young Master?"
He sat up, and with a small move, buried his nose just behind the man's neck. "Strange enough, I smell you."
And the scent was as sweet as ever.
-fin-