Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5189675.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Kuroshitsuji_|_Black_Butler
  Relationship:
      Sebastian_Michaelis/Ciel_Phantomhive
  Character:
      Sebastian_Michaelis, Ciel_Phantomhive
  Additional Tags:
      Shameless_Smut, Book_of_Circus, black_-_Freeform, Smile, Sebastian_Being
      An_Asshole, Ciel_POV, Shota, Growling, Jealous_sex, Jealous_Sebastian
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-11-11 Words: 1897
****** BLACK ******
by Silverwing26
Summary
     The circus investigation has been a difficult assignment for the
     Young Master, however the demon isn't fairing too well himself.
     Eventually one must remind one's small charge to whom he belongs.
"Nnng, Sebastian!" I cry out. My nails are reaving fissures into his back, but
I am certain he doesn't notice.
Tonight he growls and he thrusts and he pounds into me relentlessly, and I
don’t care. I want more; more of you, Sebastian. I taste blood and I realize
I’ve bitten my lips raw trying to contain my cries. I see his eyes glimmer and
his ravenous smile turns black, and I find myself melting in the heat radiating
through his uniform. When he moves like that... I think, and then the thought
is lost on me and I sink my teeth into the back of my hand instead. But the
merciless bastard pulls my wrist away and pins it to the crumpled pillow behind
my head. "Ah~ Se... Nnng..."
He lifts his head to look at me, and the hellfire burning in his eyes is
malicious and beautiful and barely human. “Shh,” he chuckles and his long
fingers entrap my other wrist, pinning it along with the first.
He is in a hurry this evening, my devil, my butler. I would almost call it
desperate. His top hat lies on the bed beside me, bounced about by the force of
his passion. It fell from his head as he climbed atop me like a great, feral
cat claiming a kill. My thighs had spread eagerly for the beast even as my
protests formed in my head. “Have you gone mad? Someone might see. Doll could
return, Joker could come looking for us! You stupid, stupid devil.” I wanted to
tell him, but the sound that let my mouth was devoured by his ravenously hungry
kiss.
I stare at his face as he breaks the kiss and hovers over me, exhaling that
hellishly hot breath over my lips. The black stripe he paints below his eye is
stark against his pale cheek, and with his eyes gleaming like embers, the
effect is somewhat terrifying, or it would be were it not so annoyingly
attractive.
"Oh! Se... Sebastian." His hands are wrapped about my thighs, and I can feel
his elongated claws against my flesh, curling around the soft, tender parts of
me. My moans spill forth as he fucks me so thoroughly it is as though there has
been a month of separation.
He thrusts and then there is a splintering sound, and the demon chuckles and
traces his hot, wet tongue along my throat. This bed is not meant for
Sebastian's fury. It creaks and shifts and the frame is in danger of
collapsing. I should order him to stop as punishment for his impudence, for
thinking he can just take what he likes - I am the master, even when stripped
from my ridiculous regalia. But I don’t want him to stop. I am losing my head
to the devil and I can barely keep quiet as it is, and then - "Ah! SEBASTIAN!"
- the talented bastard moves in just such a way that my eyes widen and my nails
dig bloody crescents into his shoulders. My fingers curl into his silken hair,
and he growls as I pull it fiercely. Oh, it is so good,too good, and I spill
all over his waistcoat.
His head swings up and those lips curl at the corners.
"Wh... What are you smirking at?" I pant. I can feel myself flush at the tone
of my voice even as he grins wolfishly at me with elongated canines pressed
against his lip. He is so inhumanely beautiful and unsettlingly wild, and I
know he is holding back. Graceful fingers encircle my hardening length and he
begins to stroke me so slowly.My head tosses against the pillows, my body
quivers under his maddeningly talented mouth, and my cock drips between his
fingers.
"Sebastian..." My hands slide along his back, slick with sweat and blood. I
pull them out from under his shirt and tug at his waistcoat buttons. "I want to
feel you..."
They are poorly chosen words. I know it the moment I speak them.
The demon’s brow arches wickedly, and the bottomless pits of his pupils narrow
to feline-like slits. His hand stills, and his hips still, and then he growls
softly as he licks his lips. I shiver at the look he gives me and the hair on
the back of my neck stands on end. I know for certain there is nothing on this
earth that this beautiful, deadly creature wants more than he wants me, and I
am pinned beneath his hard body with his scent all around me. I can barely
think to call his name. "Sebastian...."
He laughs and it is deep and primal like black velvet, a bottomless sea, and
his hand about my hip tightens. Then I feel it. "Nn-Nng... Oh, oh,
Sebastian..." His cock throbs inside me. It twitches and I feel him pulse as I
squeeze around his thick, heavy shaft. I can barely stand it; it's so good, and
so deep and the absolute deviant knows exactly how and where to touch me, even
when he is deep inside me. I can scarcely breath and his hand begins to move
marginally faster. It is not enough and I am going to go mad before Sebastian
exhausts his fury.
"Fa... Faster, you bastard," I growl back at him as I tug on his buttons. My
fingers won’t obey my commands, and I can scarcely see. The seal in my eye
glows intensely and my vision is practically blurred with the force of him
fucking me. I know he will misinterpret my command this time, and I don’t much
care. I want more, I want all of him. I want to drown in his scent and know
only the sensation of the magnificent beast being atop me, inside me, all
around me. I have abandoned my pride to the devil's doorstep and he has never
been so welcoming.
Faster he moves, his hips curling into me with each thrust. My cries are loud
in my ears and I can still hear the guttural grunts he makes as his bollocks
slap against me.
I finally work the buttons open, or perhaps I merely tugged hard enough and
they popped open, I don't care either way. My hands plunge beneath his shirt,
tugging it free from his open trousers, and I am finally able to stroke my
fingers over the hard muscles in his chest. I ignore his chuckle at my actions,
my cheeks already flushed from the way his body moves inside me, from the way
his fingers trace over my wrists and down my arms and now rub against one of my
nipples. He is hot and hard and nearly as soaked through with perspiration as I
am. "Oh, Sebastian," I whisper and he chuckles against my ear, biting the lobe
and causing my back to arch with the sensation coursing down my spine.
He rolls me onto my knees but I cannot hold the position. I begin to sink,
lowering my chest to the creaking mattress, but he is there, and his talented
hand slides under my chest and pinches my sensitive nipple between his nails,
as black as the name he answers to. I feel his lips against my back, and his
sinful tongue licks a line of wet heat down my spine. My devil’s teeth are
sharp, almost as sharp as his tongue, and I feel him sink those fangs into the
crook of my shoulder. I gasp, “Se...You bastard...” and all I can smell is him
- the cinnamon and clove scent of my butler. It overpowers everything; the
smell of the animals, of the circus performers as they stumble past the tent,
even the flowery scent Doll leaves on her pillows when she wakes. It is all
gone, awash in the fires of sin, and all that remains is the heady aroma of the
devil, singed into everything he has touched - most of all into me.
"Mine," he growls over my shoulder and there is no room for doubt. I am his in
all ways I am filled with him and surrounded by him and my body is shaking as
he slides into and out of me. I whimper softly and rock my hips back against
his thrusts. "Sp...end... spend with me..."
He makes a noise against my back that raises goose flesh. Sebastian lifts me
up, flush against his chest and pushes deeply into me as he climaxes. It is
with such force that I can feel him throb with each spurt; even before he
withdraws, I can feel him dripping down my thighs. Then his hand wraps about my
neck and his hot mouth and silver tongue swallow my panted breaths and broken
words as Sebastian kisses me so deeply I think he might be devouring me, and I
find I don’t mind the thought.
Finally his hand teasing my length speeds up and strokes me with lecherous
skill, and he runs his thumb over the sensitive head. His touch is decadent,
fiery, soft and possessive and when I open my eyes to chance a look at his
face, I see him staring at me and his gaze is so completely lascivious that I
cannot take it any longer. I spill over his long fingers and my own stomach and
I collapse back against him in exhaustion.
He lets me rest against him, holding me up in his arms until I can move my
limbs on my own again. “You beautiful, evil bastard.”
He smirks against my hair and all he says is, “Yes.”
I am exhausted and my body aches, and there is no viable way to excuse myself
to Joker and the others. Sebastian settles me against his chest, his shirt open
slightly and his waistcoat missing a button or two. His fingers - properly
manicured once more - stroke through my hair and smooth it away from my sweat-
drenched forehead.
I don't know how we weren’t heard, but no one has come to check on the noise.
Even Doll - thankfully - has not come back to the tent. I almost can’t think of
her at all; her name is hard to recall, and I can’t picture her face clearly. I
am too worn and pleasure drunk to think of much else besides the infernal
damnation that bathes my soul in the salvation of sin.
I shall never be able to be lie in this bed again, and not smell the spicy
sweetness of the devil or our sweat soaking the blankets, no matter how many
excuses Sebastian finds to wash the sheets. I will still smell it; I will still
smell him. "Oh..." I say drowsily, and my lips curl into a soft smirk.
"Hmm?" he asks and strokes his fingers down my back.
"You stupid devil," I whisper softly and I feel his lips against my own. "...No
one, but you..." I am drifting off as the words leave my lips. I shall scold
him for his jealousy and impertinence later. For now I want to know a moment of
peace from this awful assignment. So I curl my hand inside his shirt, and
breathe in the scent of cinnamon and clove, and I listen to the soft, rhythmic
growling in the devil's chest. I know I am his as fully as he is mine, and the
devil doesn't share.
~fin
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h of Dean’s body,
tracing the contours of the imperfect vessel he was born into. His back arches
when Sammy’s teeth nibble at Dean’s lower lip and the nails on his hands dig
into the sensitive skin of his ass.
They aren’t gentle. This is love making. This is desperation. Release and
reassurance. Sammy’s prep is cursory, his thick fingers move quickly and before
Dean can catch his breath, Sammy’s pushing in. His body stretches as it gives
way to Sammy’s invading dick and even though it hurts more than Dean had
anticipated, he’s not going to stop this.
Sammy’s eyes flutter closed and his head falls onto Dean’s shoulder when he
bottoms out. Dean groans. He’s torn by the perfect feel of Sammy blanketing his
body and the pain that he’d never associated with his brother but is more than
his due. He wraps his arms around Sammy’s thick neck and uses it as leverage.
A breathy groan that he’s learned to make sexy rather than painful, he rolls
his hips along Sammy’s and moves the dick within him. It’s teasing. Mr.
Somerset used to tell him that he was perfect at this. That he knew exactly how
to clench his body and move his hips to create the best ride. Because he was so
good at it, Mr. Somerset had always said he was made for it.
Dean uses his only talent as a whore to bring Sammy over the edge. His long
body shakes and his hazel eyes fall closed as he clings to Dean and fucks into
him. Dean kisses his brother with a hunger designed to distract and rocks down
onto Sammy. When he’s buried as deep as he can go, Dean clenches his muscles
and reverses his movements, dragging the vice grip along the length and
stopping at the head.
Sammy groans hot and dirty into his ear and explodes.
Dean breathes a contented sigh and relaxes as Sammy does. He doesn’t need to
get off. He didn’t really want to. Sammy’ll be pissed about it, but Dean
doesn’t care. He wanted to be broken open on Sammy’s dick before the demons
came to take him.
“Fuck Dean,” Sammy groans as he pulls his slowly softening dick free. They
stand forehead to forehead for a long minute while Sammy regains his breath.
When his eyes slide open, Dean knows the minute he sees. “Dean?” Sammy asks
with confusion and fear in his shaky voice.
“I wanted it!” Dean protests. “I wanted you.”
"You’re not… Dean, you weren’t hard. You didn’t get off.”
“Yes I did. Just, not like you. ‘M’a whore. Getting you off like that makes me
happy.”
“It was never supposed to be like that!” Sammy protests as he wraps his long
arms around Dean’s body. Dean holds him, comforts and protects like a good big
brother should.
There are sixteen hours and forty nine minutes left before the Hellhounds come
calling.
***** 4 *****
The first night Dean sleeps after his miraculous return from Hell, he wets the
couch. Bobby was more than generous in giving him clothing, food, and rest and
Dean ruined the gift by pissing himself like a toddler.
He's not sure what he's supposed to do so he improvises. He strips the couch
carefully and leaves the damp cushion leaning against the door. How he'll get
clean he doesn't know, but he has to try.
Bobby's been too good.
When Bobby wakes in the morning, he finds his couch stripped and the cushions
sat carefully around the first floor. And finally, he finds Dean, curled naked
in his tub with a blanket for a pillow.
Dean knows he should feel ashamed about what happened, and he does. But
stronger than even that, Dean is terrified he's back in Hell. He waits for the
proverbial shoe to drop. For Alistair his lord and master, to take him in hand
and remind Dean of his place.
It doesn’t happen. Instead, Bobby calls him an idjit and covers him modestly
with a towel. Dean is left reeling. He doesn’t talk, unsure of himself after so
long. And Dean is a good boy.
“Dean,” Bobby says carefully. “You know you’re top-side. Ain’t nothing
happ’nin’ less you want it to.”
Dean just nods. Sometimes, it’s just easier to do what the illusion says. He
wraps his bare arms around his naked chest. A gasp escapes as his hand finds
the cut in his left arm. It isn’t unbearable pain. In fact, Dean could ignore
it completely if he chose.
In Hell, his whole arm would've been ripped off.
"Bobby?" he asks softly, desperately.
The older man sighs wearily. "Tha's right, son. C'mon back."
"M'sorry," Dean whispers, gesturing behind himself at the covers. His voice is
full of fear and shame and self-loathing.
“Not the worst thing that’s ever spilled on ‘em,” Bobby reassures gruffly. “Get
dressed and we’ll find Sam.”
***** 5 *****
The first time Dean tries to have sex after Hell is a spectacular failure. He
knows he doesn't deserve any special favors. He was a whore once and it should
be easy to pick it up again
He finds a man who's interested. He's been drinking far too much and isn't
thinking very clearly. He doesn't want to be fucked by this man aliased Peter.
But he needs to know he can secure funds.
So he lets Peter escort him to the bathroom. Let's the man shove his pants down
to his ankles before opening his own. Peter's dick is hard. Flushed red at the
tip and long enough that Dean knows he's going to feel it.
There's an almost crippling rush of fear at what he's about to let happen, but
he won't back down. Peter's hands on his hips ground Dean even as they turn
him.
Peter doesn’t care that Dean is terrified. He doesn’t care that Dean doesn’t
want this anymore. When he’s satisfied with their states of undress, he pulls
Dean back, ass to dick.
Dean shudders at the reality of his situation. He’s consented, even if he’s
hesitantly terrified now.
Peter rubs along the crease of Dean’s ass, hot hands wrapped around his hips.
Dean knows he should stop this. He keeps seeing Alistair, pressing tight and
hard and impossible against him on the rack.
Mr. Somerset pushing his small body into a wall at the end of the school year
and using him mindlessly.
All the countless men who have just used him, the broken and fucked out toy
that he’s always known himself to be. It comes as no surprise when Peter starts
to push his slick dick into Dean without prepping him.
They’d made advances at each other all night. Dean braces himself against the
bathroom wall and hangs his head. He doesn’t want this, but it’s too late.
Alistair, Mr. Somerset, and Dad have all drilled it into him to finish what he
starts. And he’s terrified, but he’ll finish this through. Even if it rips him
apart. Peter pushes deep and it’s too much for Dean. He groans and unwillingly,
his body tenses, reacting instinctively to the pain.
“C’mon sweetheart, relax,” Peter begs. He can’t hold himself still and his hips
continue to thrust shallowly as he rubs Dean’s stomach, his back, and his
strained shoulders.
Dean’s ashamed of the tears tracking down his face. He wants to pull off and
gut this unobservant asshole, but he won’t. His saving grace comes
accidentally.
Some drunken man stumbles into the bathroom. He takes a good long look at
Dean’s face and the heavy man behind him before he puts placating hands up
before he stumbles back out, stupid grin on his face.
It feels like an eternity, and Peter has worked himself in deeper, before
somebody else comes in.
It’s Sammy, and he’s pissed as hell.
“Be real easy and pull out of him now,” Sammy growls as he invades their space.
Strong arms wrap tight around Dean and pull him against the solid chest of his
baby brother and former lover. Dean goes willingly enough. He’s done here, has
been since it started, but Peter wasn’t.
“We’re just starting,” Peter whines breathlessly.
“Rape.”
The word echoes around the room. Peter’s body tenses and he puts his hands low
on Dean’s body. “He consented. He hit me up.”
“Well he ain’t now. Pull out and get gone.”
He’s none too gentle as he hurries to obey. Dean can’t blame him. Sammy’s voice
is deep and intimidating. He is a frightening visage. Dean flinches as the head
of Peter’s dick pulls out.
Sammy makes a disgusted noise and pulls Dean completely against him in a tight
grip. “Were you too stupid to wear a fucking condom? If you’ve got something, I
will hunt you down,” Sammy promises darkly. Dean flinches against Sammy’s
chest.
Peter says nothing. He buttons himself up and grunts something disgustedly
before he stalks out of the bathroom.
“Damnit Dean,” Sammy sighs angrily. “What were you thinking?”
Dean doesn’t answer. He clenches his hands in Sammy’s shirt and bows his head.
There’s far too much to say and not enough words.
“I thought you didn’t want to fuck anymore,” Sammy murmurs softly. “You have to
talk to me.”
“M’gonna throw up,” he mutters. Sammy lets him go and he stumbles into a stall,
retching.
Sammy comes in behind him and rubs his back. He pulls his pants up as much as
he can at this angle and offers him the smallest amount of dignity that he can
offer his brother.
Sammy comforts him as much as possible. Strokes his hair, and his back. He
kisses Dean’s shoulder and back.
“Fuck me,” Dean begs. His voice breaks and trembles as he speaks to the toilet.
His body shivers as he braces against the floor, holding himself up shakily.
“Not until you’re ready.”
“I’m fuckin’ ready,” Dean sobs.
Sammy slides a hand up Dean’s back and into the hair at the base of his skull.
He grips tightly at the short hair and pulls Dean back.
They cuddle together on the bathroom floor. Dean’s obscene with his jeans low
on his hips, limp dick exposed against his denim covered thigh. He doesn’t let
it stop him from leaning into Sammy’s comfortingly familiar embrace.
Sammy falls back to sit on his ass and pulls Dean into his lap. Long arms wrap
around his chest and hold him. Sammy’s not hard against his ass, and even
though he’s demanding to be used, he can’t deny that he’s relieved.
“Let’s go,” Sammy breathes against Dean’s ear.
***** 6 *****
The first time he and Sammy have sex after Hell, Dean is happy to admit that
he’s excited. He’s into the prospect and the idea that he’ll be able to ride
Sammy’s hard dick again. He wants to be split open in his brother’s lap, held
tight and moved forcibly with the power of Sammy’s body.
He can’t remember the last time he actually wanted to be fucked. It seems like
an eternity ago.
Sammy can’t deny him this time though. He doesn’t want to repay a debt in the
best way he knows how. He doesn’t want to make amends for some perceived wrong.
He just wants to be held down- or pushed against a wall- and fucked. He wants
to be ridden hard and put up wet.
When Sammy comes back to the hotel after a food run, Dean is naked. He’s
splayed wantonly on the bed, knees lifted as he shows his body off. He’s gained
the weight he lost when he tried to kill himself drinking. His muscle tone’s
back to what he’d like to consider normal. He knows he looks good. He hasn’t
been blind to the want in men and women’s eyes. He’s got a hand behind his
head, so his chest and his muscles are shown off, and the other hand is low on
his stomach, resting just about the jut of his semi-hard dick.
“Fuck,” Sammy groans.
The food is discarded thoughtlessly atop the complimentary table in their motel
room and Sammy pulls his shirt off. His chest and stomach are sculpted
perfection and Dean wants to trace each dip and ridge to his satisfaction. He
wants the taste of Sammy to explode across his tongue. He wants it to be the
only thing he remembers.
“That’s the idea,” Dean grins cockily. He pulls Sammy down tight against him,
rocks his hips demandingly up into Sammy’s body and lets the situation speak
for itself.
“You’re sure?” Sammy asks, breathless. Moving as he speaks above Dean.
“Fuck me,” Dean whispers as he drags his lips across Sammy’s neck and shoulder.
There are little words left after that. Sammy presses Dean down into the bed
and claims his mouth. The kiss is hungry. Sammy more than kisses, he devours
like he wants to taste every nuance he can find in Dean’s mouth. His hands roam
Dean’s naked body and encourage silently as his brother arches and moans into
his mouth.
Denim covered hips rock against him and Dean blindly searches for the button
and zipper, intent on pulling the offending material off. Sammy can’t fuck him
if he’s clothed. He pulls Sammy’s dick out of the confining fabric and rubs,
hard and teasing. He wants Sammy now.
“C’mon,” he begs with no small amount of desperation in his voice. “Fuck me
hard,” he demands. He pushes his hips up into Sammy’s and grunts at the feel of
them being dick to dick again for the first time in four decades. He wants it
too much. “I’m ready. Just, push in.”
“Dean,” Sammy pants against his lips. “Prep. Lube. Don’t wanna hurt you.”
“Did it already. Wanted to be ready,” he answers. He arches his back the way he
knows Sammy likes it, cradles his little brother’s hips in his spread legs, the
way he knows Sammy likes it, and demands satisfaction the way he knows Sammy
likes.
“Fuck Dean,” Sammy groans. He’s too gentle when he grips himself at the base of
his dick and holds the firm globes of Dean’s ass apart with the other. The
entry is a slick, tight glide of coming home. Dean’s eyes slide shut in
perfection as he rocks into the tentative thrusts that breach him. Sammy
doesn’t want to hurt him, has never wanted to seriously hurt him. But Dean
needs harder. He won’t demand it though. He knows that Sammy is doing his best.
They rock together, hips knocking together as they race toward the finish. Dean
won’t last long, and he knows Sammy won’t either. Dean wraps a hand around his
own dick and strokes in tandem with Sammy’s thrusts.
It’s over almost too quickly. Dean hasn’t been with anyone since his return;
Sammy since Ruby’s death. Sammy’s seed is hot as it coats him. Brands him.
Dean grunts as he arches his back and comes, filling the space between them
with the hot slick of his own semen.
When he can breathe again, Dean clings to Sammy. He holds him tight, lets him
know that he’s relieved to have had this moment. That he has his lover again.
The tears come unbidden and completely without permission. He trembles as he
clings to his brother, holding tight to him as he lets go. When he’s done he
feels not whole, but definitely on the way in a positive direction.
“Love you, jerk.”
“Bitch,” Dean mumbles into Sammy’s shoulder.
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