Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1054781.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Kuroshitsuji_|_Black_Butler
  Relationship:
      Sebastian_Michaelis/Ciel_Phantomhive
  Character:
      Ciel_Phantomhive, Sebastian_Michaelis
  Additional Tags:
      Rimming, Snark
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-11-22 Words: 1483
****** Tea & Cake ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     Ciel gets taught a few manners. They don't really stick.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
It is late when Sebastian comes into the library, a tall three-pronged
candlestick in one hand. Ciel hears the door open distantly but doesn’t bother
to look up. The book he is reading is much more interesting, and besides it is
only Sebastian. He lifts the teacup beside him, only to notice it is empty. One
handed he reaches for the teapot, and pours without looking.
He pauses. Empty.
“Sebastian.”
“Young master.”
“I am out of tea. Also I want a slice of cake.” Ciel pauses, as though musing
over his words, eyes never leaving the book in front of his nose. “Yes, cake.”
Sebastian sets the candlestick down, looking at Ciel from the doorway. He's
curled into the largest armchair in the room, his legs tucked under him, arms
settled neatly into his lap. His shoes lay discarded on the floor, and his
frocked coat is draped over the settee near him.
“Does the young master know what time it is?”
Ciel makes a clicking sound with his teeth, and pulls the book a little higher,
blocking Sebastian from view. “Is the butler hard of hearing? Tea, and cake.
Now, please and thank you.”
Sebastian walks across the room. The library smells pleasantly of paper, a
surprisingly warm smell even on cold nights, and leather, and the sharp smell
of ink. Ciel is ignoring him, rather pointedly, although one small hand points
from the side of the book at the tea set, as though directing him to it’s
location.
Sebastian leans down, and kisses the tip of the pointing finger.
Ciel freezes.
The finger is small and smooth against his mouth, and cold, so he begins by
brushing his lips over it, in a slow, rhythmic motion, his head bobbing ever so
slightly with the movement. Ciel’s skin is smooth, so smooth, hands that have
never worked, and as long as Sebastian is here, never will. His mouth opens
slightly, just enough for the finger to slip in, and suckles lightly on the
tip, before laving his tongue across the top. Ciel’s skin tastes like paper,
and salt, and skin. Sebastian makes a noise of quiet agreement, and sinks his
mouth lower around the finger.
He hears the book close, with a soft thump, and Ciel’s breathing picks up
unsteadily. Sebastian hollows his cheeks as he sucks, nibbling gentle teeth
over the ridges around his nails. He pulls back slowly, sucking hard, tongue
wrapping around the finger as though it was trying to stay, and when his mouth
finally leaves with an audible pop, Ciel whimpers slightly.
Sebastian straightens easily. “Does the young master really not realize the
time? It is time for bed.”
Ciel lies panting on the chair, eyes wide with want, and cheeks flushing
beguilingly. His mouth is soft and red where he had bitten into his lower lip,
and when he lifts one hand, reaching out to Sebastian, the man only smiles.
Infuriatingly so.
Ciel reaches up, and traces a single finger over his curved, smirking lips.
“No, Sebastian.” And he watches that pretty face go utterly still, a sure sign
he had surprised the man. The demon. “And next time you decide to kiss
something, I have a suggestion.”
Sebastian stands there, still smiling as Ciel picks back up his book, and flips
it open, turning a page infuriatingly slow. He skims down the page, and
Sebastian can feel the smirk building in the boy, before he can see it.
A single, pale hand comes out from behind the leather bound volume, and makes a
small shooing gesture. “Tea and cake, Sebastian. And would you hurry?”
A small pause, in which Ciel pretends to read, rather studiously, and Sebastian
stands incredibly still. He had just been dismissed. For cake. Sebastian
Michaelis, Phantomhive butler, had just been dismissed, and shooed out of the
room, for cake.
This would never do. A Phantomhive butler who could not put his master to bed,
was not worth his salt, and Sebastian, in all areas was worth much more than
that.
Ciel let out a squawk, as he was lifted bodily from the chair, dropping his
book in surprise. The book, fell onto the side table, took out the empty
teapot, before finally settling on the floor. In the meantime, Sebastian has
bent Ciel over the side of the armchair, and pulled his trousers down to his
knees, his shirt rucked up, so the man could see the delicate knobs of his
spine, and the large marring mark on his back.
“Sebastian.” Ciel says, as calmly as he can with his bum sticking out in the
air, and the feeling of Sebastian casually licking his spine. “What exactly are
you doing? This is not even slightly close to cake.”
“No, but young master said he had another idea of a place for me to kiss. I
assume he is too refined to have specified that he meant it a little lower?”
Ciel can feel Sebastian’s smirk curving at the base of his back, and begins to
feel slightly nervous. Yes, he had meant to provoke the man, but he hadn’t
meant to- to challenge him. That usually ended badly for them (or for Meylene
who had to clean up the stains) and ended with him getting nothing done.
“Yes, well, I didn’t mean you had to do that, right this- ohfuckgodSebastian-“
Ciel hangs his head down into the seat, right as Sebastian raises his own, from
where it had been pressed. “Yes, young master?”
And then before Ciel could respond, his head dips back down, tongue sliding in
a slick, hot line between the smooth white curves of Ciel’s ass to lap at his
entrance. Ciel’s back arches into a painful looking curve, his head flinging
upwards, teeth sinking into the soft pout of his lower lip. Sebastian’s tongue
slides into an abrupt point, and Ciel stiffens further, before groaning.
“Sebastian, what are- what-“ He shudders, his hips pushing involuntarily
backwards, greedy for the feeling, the intense, spiraling sensations his
butler’s tongue is causing. He can feel himself, hard and aching, the length of
his cock pressing heavily into the leather armchair Sebastian has him bent
over, and he doesn’t know where to move. Every twitch of his body makes him cry
out, and when Sebastian slides a finger into him, he shudders and rolls his
hips.
Sebastian smirks, and lifts his head, and Ciel doesn’t have to see him to know
his eyes are lit with all the fires of hell, his smirk just as wicked. “I am
just fulfilling the young master’s order. Did the young master wish me to
stop?”
Ciel lets his forehead rest on the arm of the chair, body still wracked through
with tremors. He feels loose, and wet, and ugh, down there, and he's still
painfully hard. He shudders again, and his hips push weakly into the armchair.
But, but he has pride. He is Earl Ciel Phantomhive, and no butler can win
against him. “Actually,” Ciel pants, and raises his head from where it was
resting against his arms. “I believe I asked for cake, Sebastian, not- nng…”
Sebastian looks back up, and smiles, his eyes crinkling into merry curves.
“Sorry, young master, I cannot hear you. Try speaking louder?”
Ciel, however, is beyond speaking. Sebastian is pushing at him so earnestly,
and every wicked slide of his tongue makes his breath catch. His thighs are
trembling, mouth red and gaping as Sebastian’s tongue flickers into him,
pausing to rub in a teasing circle, to stiffen, and try to spread him as far as
his mouth can.
One gloved hand slides from a pale cheek, to the curve of his hip. And then,
slides just a little lower.
“Se-Sebastian!” Ciel thrusts deliriously forward, back arching desperately to
keep Sebastian as close to him as he can, in all ways. He feels like his brains
are dribbling out through his ears, and his legs quake, muscles straining and
aching, every breath coming in a rushing pant.
“Young master.” And Ciel moans anew at that silken voice so close to his ear.
“Come for me, please?”
“Sebastian!”
Sebastian steps back, a pleased smile on his face, and removes his soiled glove
with his teeth. His young master looks debauched, bent over a leather chair, a
mess staining the floor, and trousers around his ankles. It' delicious.
It's infuriating, Ciel thinks, and grits his teeth, as his breath began to
return to him. He stands, a little shakily, and pulls his pants up, wincing at
the feel of how sticky he is. Well. No matter. He has a point to prove.
Ciel sits gingerly in the leather chair, picks up his book from the floor
beside him (making sure to avoid the broken teapot) and opens it pointedly with
shaky fingers. Then he smirks.
“Tea, Sebastian, and cake. And please, clean up the mess you made.”
Checkmate.
End Notes
     Prove your point. Or submit a request.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!