Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/130788.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Fandom:
      Kuroshitsuji_|_Black_Butler
  Relationship:
      Sebastian_Michaelis/Ciel_Phantomhive
  Character:
      Ciel_Phantomhive, Sebastian_Michaelis
  Additional Tags:
      Dreams, Dream_Sex, Yuletide_2008
  Collections:
      Yuletide_2008, Finished_Works
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-01-03 Words: 2913
****** Lucid Dreaming ******
by White_Aster_(white_aster)
Summary
     Sometimes he dreams, and Sebastian, true to his word, is always by
     his side.
     (Written for Yuletide 2008, where, in my defense, my requester
     TOTALLY ASKED for hotwrong shota pr0n. Warning for underage character
     and lack of meaningful consent, really.)
Sometimes he dreams, and Sebastian, true to his word, is always by his side.
-------------
Ciel has always been skilled at controlling his dreams. Even when he was young,
he almost always KNEW he was dreaming. He could pull himself to the side if he
wished or banish the dream entirely until it ran like a charcoal drawing in the
rain.
This dream is an old one. He's had it quite a bit in the past few years, which
is hardly surprising. First, there is the blood. Not his, but everywhere. Then
there are the hands and the brand, burning like a white star against his back.
Then the long, cold darkness of the cage, giving way only to the garish lights,
to more hands restraining him, binding him to a cold stone altar.
And then the knife. Again...and again. The pain ripping through him, larger
than anything he's ever known. More blood -- his, this time -- spurting up in
front of his eyes....
In the beginning he hadn't been able to separate himself from the nightmare,
had been too lost in the anger and the pain and the panic to set himself
properly apart. Eventually, it became so familiar that the sense of deja vu
would nag, giving him a foothold to prise his consciousness from his abused
dreamflesh.
This time he wrenches himself free from the sick tableau almost immediately. He
stands to the side, watching his own dream-body manhandled, and the scene
continues to unfold in front of his eyes like a film reel, setting his torture
and murder against a field of featureless black. He cannot see his own face as
he is branded, as he screams. From this angle his tormentors look fuzzy and
indistinct, only their hands and their truly ridiculous masks sharp and clear.
The entire scene would be pathetically comical if his cries weren't so genuine,
if they didn't remind him of the bewildering, searing pain.
An odd dream to keep, is it not, young master?
The voice is indistinct, ringing in his mind rather than his ears. Ciel doesn't
turn, nor is he surprised. Surely it is only fitting that he not be alone,
after all.
One would think that you would choose to watch something more...pleasant.
Before him, the dream has run fast, until his body is chained to the altar, his
shirt torn.
"It is good to remember one's motivations, every now and then," he says, with
more icy calmness than he truly feels. Old anger crawls in his veins. It is not
even close to the conflagration of that night, but enough to...remind him.
One of his dream-captors reaches down, running a shadowy hand over his chest.
Ciel remembers that touch, clammy and repulsive for reasons he wouldn't have
been able to articulate. Words float to his ears, "Perhaps we should...violate
him."
A different voice. "Hmmm. Perhaps. Would that not lend power to the ritual, to
have such innocence defiled on darkness' altar?"
Yet another, sounding doubtful. "But then he would no longer be a pure
sacrifice..."
The voices fade into indistinct argument.
Ciel's hands clench, his stomach crawling with revulsion. He can vaguely recall
his captors arguing over something before they'd killed him, but he'd not
remembered.... "Is this your doing? Their words?"
Hmmm? I have not touched your dream, young master. Whether memory or fancy, it
is wholly yours.
Ciel isn't sure which is the more revolting possibility: that his captors might
have argued about whether or not to rape him before killing him, or that his
subconscious mind might be inserting that detail all on its own.
He closes his eyes and forces the dream into a more soothing oblivion.
----------
Another night. Another familiar dream.
This one, mercifully, picks up after the pain. The sense of a cold stone slab
against his back fades, and Ciel floats vaguely downward. Warmth pulses out of
him, and there is a slow, steady rushing in his ears, growing louder. He is
dying, and he is enraged.
How dare they? How DARE they?
He doesn't care that his life seeps from him with every heartbeat. He doesn't
care that he can't see anything but the slowly deepening darkness. His anger is
huge, all-encompassing.
He will make them pay. He will kill THEM. He will KILL them!
And with that thought, with that incredibly potent purpose, Ciel's slow
downward spiral stops.
Oho. Well, aren't you a very small master?
There is a presence in the darkness. Ciel has an impression of red, slit-
pupilled eyes. They, like the voice, exude an air of lazy amusement.
You have summoned me. That fact will not change for all eternity.
Ciel is almost cold, almost hot. This...this presence is growing stronger, like
a swiftly-gathering fog. The tang of power mixes with the bitterness of
revenge, hot on his tongue, and the taste is oddly sweet. Ciel fights to stay
aware as the darkness and this new presence threaten to bury him. "I...I did
not. It was THEM."
What has been sacrificed will never be returned, the voice chides, its voice
sly, almost conspiratorial. What is it trying to--
The answer comes to him like a lightning bolt out of the darkness. His captors.
Their "ritual". Those IDIOTS. They had bungled it. They had gotten this...this
DEMON's (for what else could it be, making his bones shiver and his skin burn
with its mere aura?) attention, but it is instead here, focused on HIM....
The realization further draws the demon's attention. Ciel can feel its regard,
like an almost-painless fire along his skin. It smiles, its fangs bright in the
darkness. Now. Choose.
Ciel almost laughs. Choose? There is no choice to be made.
"Yes." He will give whatever it takes. After all, isn't he about to lose
everything anyway? A painless flash of light in his right eye drowns his vision
in red.
Choose.
The demon needs a form...a name. "...Sebastian...." Clawed and fanged, fearsome
and black as the night. Loyal and obedient, strong and steadfast....
Choose. The voice is stronger now, closer, echoing in his ears.
But he needs more than a mere dog. He needs a servant. Clever and capable, to
be his eyes and ears and hands....
The darkness recedes, the light in front of his eyes taking shape and color.
There is noise: the familiar, hated voices. But they are raised in fear this
time, and the sound of their terror is music to Ciel's ears. He smiles, his
strength returning. It flows to him from the presence behind him, a black cloud
at his back, black-clad arms supporting him until he can sit upright on the
altar still dripping with his own blood.
"Choose," a deep voice purrs in his ear.
"KILL THEM," Ciel whispers.
Yes, my lord.
And then the demon lashes out like black lightning, and the screaming begins in
earnest.
Off to the side, Ciel sighs. "Stop that."
I rather like this dream, young master.
"You would."
You make it sound as if I am the only one.
"Don't be impertinent." His voice is not as steady as he would like, though.
Just to prove his point, Ciel lets the dream fall to nothingness around them.
----------
Another night. And the dream is new, this time.
So new that he's not entirely sure it's a dream.
He is lying in bed, as he was just a few minutes ago. Now, though, the
candlestick is back by his bedside, the candles' flames warm against his half-
closed eyelids. It's winter, and there's a bit of a chill in the air. There
probably will be snow by morning. He is comfortable, though, as one can only be
when one is snuggled under sheets and heavy comforter on a cold night. He turns
his face into the pillow, settling further into his warm hollow.
Sebastian is there so gradually, so naturally, that Ciel doesn't register his
presence until he sits on the bed. Ciel can feel a sliding pressure, as if
Sebastian is stroking Ciel's shoulder through the comforter. He wiggles a bit
out of grumpy reflex, but he is tired and the motion is soothing. So soothing
that he drifts, and when he returns the covers are gone and the stroking is of
his nightshirt-clad back.
Still, even without the blankets, he is warm, perhaps even moreso now, so that
is fine.
"Are you well, young master?"
"Mmm." And he is. Even, perhaps, a little content.
"That is good. I am particularly glad that you enjoyed dinner."
Ciel has a memory of a fragrant venison stew, rich with meat and broth, garlic
and onions.... He nuzzles into his pillow. "Mmmm. Smelled good."
"Indeed. It was almost enough to tempt me into a bowl." Sebastian's hand
continues to stroke, long and firm along his spine.
Ciel yawns. "You never eat anything." And it is true. Demons, evidently, do not
need to eat.
Sebastian's chuckle is wry. "Perhaps not 'never', but yes, certainly 'not
lately'." There is a rustle of cloth, and Sebastian's next comment comes from
considerably closer, as he leans over. "Human food does not appeal to me."
Ciel stretches, then goes boneless. None of this dislodges the hand on his
back. "And what do demons eat? Or should I ask?"
He can hear the smile in Sebastian's voice. "Haven't you guessed? Souls are the
pinnacle of demon cuisine. Though of course, some souls are of...higher quality
than others."
Ciel huffs. Despite having, he assumes, bartered away his 'soul', he has never
been truly convinced that the thing even exists. "They must be rather
tasteless, airy things that they are...."
"Never." Now Sebastian is closer than ever, his breath stirring the hair at the
nape of Ciel's neck. And this must be a dream, because Ciel's clothes quite
simply disappear. Sebastian's hand--his bare hand, and the novelty of that is
enough to make Ciel stir from his warmth-induced torpor--rests against
Sebastian's bare skin, somehow both cool and hot at once, as if his skin is
cold but wrapped in shivering heat.
"Souls are the true delicacies of the universe." Sebastian's hand slides
downward, circling the knobs of his spine idly. The touch is different, with no
thin barrier of cloth between them, and Ciel shivers. Sebastian sounds as if
he's smiling. "They are not something to be chewed and swallowed and digested
in the vulgar human sense. They are, like fine art, to be experienced.
Savored." Something hot and wet slides over Ciel's spine, and he starts, until
he feels the brush of hair against his back and realizes that Sebastian has
(tasted)
licked him. The realization makes Ciel's heart speed up with something he tells
himself is outrage.
"A fine, strong soul is one of the true delights of existence, especially if
freely given. It is not corporeal, not limited in what it can and cannot be. It
can be a library of secrets, a glass of fine wine, a jewel of incomparable
brilliance, or a body of surpassing loveliness...." The fingers dip lower,
settling across the small of Ciel's back, even as Sebastian's mouth travels
upwards, lips trailing across Ciel's shoulder until they brush against his ear.
"As such, its knowledge can be reveled in, its experiences brought to light and
savored one by one. It can be tasted," --a lightning-quick flicker of that hot
tongue again, this time at the lobe of Ciel's ear, makes Ciel gasp quite
against his will -- "and savored, sip by sip. It can be admired, set to shine
in the sun, or to cast its brilliance on its surroundings...."
Ciel's breath comes fast, and he doesn't know why. It is not fear he feels, as
Sebastian's hand slides lower, to cup his rear, but it is something akin to it.
He means to tell Sebastian to stop, to order him to stop, but Sebastian's words
distract him.
"And of course, it can also be enjoyed in more...sensual ways."
Ciel's hands clench in the sheets. "Pervert," he mutters.
"If you like," Sebastian answered mildly. His other hand comes down beside
Ciel's head, as he leans further over Ciel's body. Ciel can see the contract
seal black and stark against the fairness of Sebastian's skin. "Sex is...an
incomplete metaphor for such use of souls, though the concept is essentially
the same. One must gentle the soul and prepare it properly, lest one unwary
movement damage it beyond repair...."
Sebastian's fingers slide between Ciel's cheeks, and Ciel buries the sound he
makes in his pillow as those cold-hot fingers slide over his hole, circling it
in a truly lewd manner. His whole body shivers, and he tries to move away,
tentatively, but that only succeeds in pressing his groin into the bedcovers.
He is embarrassed to find that he is achingly hard.
He will tell Sebastian to stop. He will, but he can't quite catch his
breath....
"Coaxing the soul, even making it open itself willingly to you, is a challenge
that lends spice to the experience..."
One finger presses forward against his opening, gently, then retreats. There is
a pause, then another push, another retreat. And another. Ciel finds himself
stirring against the sheets. His mind insists that this treatment is unnatural
and inevitably painful, but his traitorous body is eager. Were this not a
dream, he would...he would....
Sebastian's voice is hot and purring against his ear. "And of course, when the
soul is properly prepared and all but vibrating with welcome, the only thing
left to do is to slip inside."
Another press, firm and insistent this time, and Ciel cries out. The haze of
almost-pain as he is stretched and filled is unlike anything he's ever felt.
Sebastian's long finger slides impossibly far into him, then retreats, then
plunges forward again.
"The soul will tremble with the stress, for it is not the most natural of
states, but oh, ravishing a soul is sweet. It is hot, pulsing with life, and oh
so very responsive to your every movement."
Sebastian's finger crooks, and Ciel moans as a bolt of true pleasure spikes up
his spine. He can't keep his hips still, the invasion unnatural and arousing
all at once.
"Upon the initial breach, of course, you can have the soul however you would
like. Delve deeper and deeper, to find its secret heart. Pleasure it so that it
all but melts against you. Slide more and more of yourself into it, to better
pleasure yourself...."
Ciel grits his teeth against a whimper as another finger joins the first,
stretching him wider, pressing inside him in new and shockingly good ways. The
fingers thrust in and out, making Ciel's face burn at the very thought of what
he must look like, writhing on the bed like this.
Sebastian's next words are spoken, it seems, directly into Ciel's mind. Your
soul will be a sweet prize, Ciel Phantomhive. A treasure to be savored for
eons. And after so long in this human body, you had best prepare to sate some
very...human appetites.
Ciel's body bows with the force of the mental images that stream across his
mind's eye: him as he must look now, pressing back into the hard invasion of
Sebastian's fingers. And other scenes, more graphic, more perverse: him chained
to a bed, spread-eagled and defiant; him on his knees, his head tipped back by
Sebastian's grip in his hair, his lips stretched wide by Sebastian's cock; him
bent over a chair arm, being roughly, thoroughly sodomized....
The images make Ciel's belly clench in what should be fear, or anger, or
revulsion but which is none of these things. "You...you would dare...," he
gasps.
Dare? The fingers stab forward, faster now, almost in cadence to Ciel's
galloping heartbeat. To take what is due to me? To use your services as you
have used mine? To feel you struggle and fight and finally submit? To strip
away your pride and feel this sweet body of yours yield to me in the basest of
manners? Yessss....
Ciel cannot reply, lost as he is to the fire in his cock, the fingers inside
his body. He bucks desperately, almost there, rubbing himself almost raw
against the bed and panting at every hard thrust that is
not...quite...enough....
Sebastian's voice is a hiss, a dark promise curled around his brain. I will use
you in ways you have never dreamed, mortal child. You shall scream my true name
a thousand times for every "Sebastian" I have had to endure.
The pleasure is almost pain, clawing up from his belly and spreading like
wildfire, spilling out of him, forced out of him by the dark, demanding
presence hovering at his back, pounding into him--
You will call me master for all eternity.
"No!" Ciel arches, comes, strikes out in defiance--
--and wakes in a sticky mess of nightshirt and sheets in his dark bedroom, his
heart pounding.
Ciel catches his breath after a long moment and scowls. He shimmies out of his
nightshirt, leaving it crumpled in the wet spot, and scoots over to a colder
but drier part of the bed. He pulls the covers tight around him and glares out
into the darkness.
The house is quiet around him, to all appearances sleeping peacefully in the
long winter night.
A dream. Only a dream. And even if it was not....
"Not yet, demon," Ciel murmurs as he closes his eyes. "Not yet."
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!