
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10164017.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Kuroshitsuji_|_Black_Butler
  Relationship:
      Sebastian_Michaelis/Ciel_Phantomhive
  Character:
      Sebastian_Michaelis, Ciel_Phantomhive
  Additional Tags:
      POV_First_Person, sebastian_POV, Shota, uncharacteristically_tender_sex
      explained, Sebastian_playing_with_his_food, Companion_Piece, Underage_-
      Freeform, Riding, the_two_do_enjoy_their_games, Sebastian_is_rather_wordy
      when_it_comes_to_praising_his_young_master_evidently
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-03-07 Words: 3172
****** Admiration ******
by gxlden
Summary
     What was going through the butler's mind as he held his young master
     so carefully, embracing him so tenderly? A peek into a demon's mind
     as he takes his time with the earl of Phantomhive. Companion piece to
     "Wonder."
Notes
     This is a companion piece to my other fic, "Wonder," which is written
     from Ciel's POV. This time, we get to see what Sebastian was playing
     at. Please enjoy.
See the end of the work for more notes
My master is a troubling individual. He claims he is not a child, and this may
be true, but he is certainly not an adult. Prideful and precocious, goading and
enticing in every way, he wears away at my self-control day after day until I
am in danger of shattering this human façade and devouring him like the hungry
beast that I am. But I would not have it any other way.
He called to me all day long, for the most trivial of matters. I was rather
busy preparing dinner for our guest, and the young master knew this, but he
still called me to him incessantly for this or that. At the beginning, I took
it to be simply another one of his games, but as the day progressed, I became
somewhat certain that is not all it was -- it felt as if he needed me, craved
me, my attention, but was at a loss as to how to get it. So he called me to
retie the ribbon at his neck, or prepare a fresh pot of tea because he had
waited too long to finish his first cup and the drink had grown tepid and
undrinkable. How badly did I wish to take his cherubic little face in my hands
and kiss those luscious little lips and reassure my little master that I am
here, for him, and I will be, until the very end. There is no need for him to
worry.
Regardless of whether or not he really wanted me, needed me, I spent all day
tending to his frivolous demands, and spread myself rather thin, even by my
standards. And now, it is time for me to take my reward. It is nothing so
malicious - my young master calls for me tonight as he usually does, and I will
service him as I usually do, but this time, I will do it my way.
What is the expression -- to kill two birds with one stone?
I can take him how I want him -- carefully; slow and deep so that he may really
feel every inch of me inside him, and I may truly revel in how marvelously warm
and tight my young master is. And at the same time, it will drive him mad, for
I know that is not how he likes it -- the wonderful little tyrant prefers me
unhinged and inhuman, with my teeth against his skin and his trim little
fingernails raking down my back to leave red furrows beneath my shirt in his
wake. With the mood he is in, he will not give in to me so easily, and tell me
that he needs me. He will cling to that noble pride of his and take whatever I
give him, not stooping so low as to beg for me to ravish him, to devour him, to
deliver him to the ephemeral plane of pleasure and desire to which only I can
take him.
It is wonderful to watch the little imp furrow his noble brow at me as I undo
the buttons on my waistcoat, and then on the shirt underneath. He raises an
eyebrow as I pull the garments from my shoulders, undo the belt and buttons at
my waist, and let them all drop to the floor at my feet. Surprisingly, that
petulant little mouth stays closed. Have I stunned him into silence somehow?
Perhaps my nudity is strange -- it has been quite some time since I last
presented myself before him in such a manner.
Even better for this occasion then.
The young master is already naked, his nightshirt crumpled and discarded at the
edge of the bed, and I can see the perspiration collecting and gleaming on his
porcelain skin. He is hot and bothered and it is oh so delicious. His need is
palpable and I can see it reflected in that beautifully marred eye -- how badly
he wants me to touch him, to taste him, to force my fingers into him and spread
him open for me. He finds some strange pleasure in knowing how badly I desire
his soul, and the somewhat brutish way that I handle his naked form in my
aroused state is utterly exhilarating to the boy.
Every minute my hands remain on him, wandering over his delectable body without
slipping inside is torture to my young master. But what fun it is to drive him
mad like this! To watch him sweat and stare at me as I continue my
ministrations, his frustration flooding through his body and making him tingle
beneath my fingertips. Looking at his slender form quivering under my hands
gives me a sudden pause -- my master is so fragile, so undeniably human. I
could easily break this boy in two with these hands, we are both aware of this,
but he never falters, never hesitates. Always, he asks for more -- begs for it,
demands it. Of course I oblige, giving him exactly what he wants. My young
master always gets what he wants.
Except for tonight. I know he is frustrated, unsatisfied with the pace I have
set and the way I clutch him to me so tenderly. The look on his face is too
valuable to let slip away by giving him exactly what he wants. I can see the
gears working in his head as he tries to figure out what it is I am playing at.
Oh, young master, there is no game so obvious here. Always, I think of you, of
your well-being, but for once (and I hope you will forgive me for this), I am
thinking of myself. Thinking of how wonderful it feels to have this warm,
pliable body wrapped around me; his skin, still smelling of lavender from his
bath, unbelievably soft beneath my touch. The young master’s body is much more
honest than he ever is, and while he struggles to keep quiet, to remain focused
on solving this mystery, I can feel that he likes it, and that this fact is
driving him mad. He does not want to like it, does not want to enjoy the way I
kiss him so tenderly and dare I say lovingly, but he does not want to stoop so
low as to ask me for what he really wants me to do to him, not tonight.
Burning brighter than the sun, this tumultuous soul nearly threatens to blind
me, more so than I already am. I cannot deny this boy has me wrapped around his
finger, and I am not displeased with this; there is nothing I would not do for
this one, if only to ensure the highest quality of my meal. This one is
special, I knew it the moment he assumed his title and leapt headfirst into the
dark abyss of depravity and revenge. Even as he squirms in my grasp, unsettled
by my slow intrusion into his warm, welcoming body, refusing to ask me for what
he wants, I know that there will never be another like him.
In that deceivingly sweet voice, like that of an angel, he calls to me. The
inhuman sound that escapes me is not one I am proud of -- I am holding back,
I’m sure we are both aware, and as my resolve wears down I cannot help but moan
against his neck, every fiber of my being straining to keep me in check. My
little lord feels so good, and every one of my ascribed human senses is flooded
with him. The sound of my name on his lips, his whimpers and gasps as I slide
my cock in and out; the taste of him on my tongue; the feeling of his skin on
my cheek, my hands; the mere sight of those large wondrous eyes, staring at me
as they fog with pleasure. And then, he is calling to me again, over and over,
my name the only coherent thought he can form.
“Sebastian.”
It is strange to not answer, and my nerves are strumming out in protest with
the strength of our contract. Yet I am right here, my arms wrapped around him,
his breath dancing over my fake human skin as I fill him so thoroughly and
deeply I fear we may be lost in one another. His skin is so soft against my
cheek, but I withdraw far enough that I may look into that cherubic face as he
speaks to me. I am glad that I do so. When I lock onto those big, round eyes, I
see him falter, ever so slightly at first, and then his face crumples
completely; he licks his lips and opens his mouth as he moans and whimpers,
tossing his head back and tugging harshly on my hair, dragging his nails down
my spine.
His voice is so alluring and sweet -- a lesser being would have given in long
ago. Despite my appearance now, I am no ordinary man lost in the throes of
pleasure. I am an ancient and mythical creature, a monster that thrives on
despair and depravity, a rabid beast from the pits of hell, and still I cannot
help but groan as this appealing little boy calls to me in such a way. It is
taking everything within me not to turn him over and ravage him like the
monster that I am.
He asks me what has gotten into me, and I am not lying when I shrug as if I do
not know, for I myself could not exactly describe what has come over me. I can
understand why this confuses him. Though it is not an extremely challenging
feat for me, acting in such a gentle way is simply not in my nature. I as well
prefer to take my little lord fast, and hard, and as deep as his body is able
to handle, but I can make this transition without a problem. No matter which
way I take him, the young master always feels incredible as he twines his legs
about me and buries his hands in my hair, his inner muscles gripping me as if
he doesn’t want to let me go.
I feel as if I must be gentle with him now, taking my time to caress and admire
him. Why, it is indeed a wonder. Every minute of my every day is filled with
him -- dressing him, bathing him, feeding him, serving him. When I am not with
my young master, my thoughts still center around him -- what clothing he will
wear tomorrow, which lessons he has yet to learn, what tea he will drink and
what he will eat and on what dishware.
I kiss him, quite feverishly, drawing the air from him as if every breath I
deign to take while masquerading about this mortal coil must begin and end with
him.
He is nearly delirious beneath me, his body straining against me as I slide in
and out of him with slow, purposeful strokes. I hear his voice drop as he
murmurs out a simple, "Please," and this is the only time I see him waver. I
can taste his agitation and his ecstasy when I kiss his skin, damp with
perspiration and tingling with unfulfilled need. The same tingle runs along my
extremities and burns in my left hand and I open my mouth to push him just a
little bit further.
I tell him he is beautiful, which he is, and one of those small, ineffectual
hands disentangles from my hair to slap me across the face.
“Enough,” he says. It is a wonder I am able to maintain my composure as my
little lord continues to surprise me. I wait with bated breath for him to give
me an order, to demand that I stop this nonsense and take him like I mean it.
Instead, he commands me to stop moving altogether, and I can feel both of our
bodies treble with confusion as I do so. But he has given me an order -- what
choice do I have?
His imperious little hands grab onto my shoulders, pushing with all his might
until I withdraw and allow him to roll me onto my back. With a judicious
glance, flashing those beautifully mismatched eyes at me, my young master huffs
and clambers onto my lap. Despite my attempt at slow, gentle movements, the boy
is still panting, though not hard enough for me to worry, and he is
surprisingly sweaty, I must admit. I make a mental note to myself to watch my
own body temperature so I do not overheat him before he braces himself and,
still holding me in that vicious blue gaze, resettles himself on my length.
He’s somewhat clumsy as he brings his body down onto me, but I slide back in
with ease, seeing as I’m still quite hard and he is still ready to accept me,
both of us slick with warm almond oil. I can’t help but stare – the sight is
transfixing, how his petite little body swallows up so much of me. He must feel
me twitch inside him – he glares at me as he begins to move his hips. I lay
still, my head tilted forward so I can see it all as he rides me, bouncing up
and down on my stiff cock. My young master, brilliant and vexing as he may be,
has next to no sense of rhythm or pace – he speeds up, he slows down, he
swivels those damnable and delicious hips this way and that. Typically, I guide
him as he rides me, my hands wrapped around that perfectly trim waist, lifting
him up and down in time with my own jerking hips so that I am sure to strike
him inside in the most pleasing of ways.
But tonight, I am content just to watch, letting him take control, take what he
wants, though my hands stay locked about his waist. It is such a marvelous
thing to watch him come unraveled; I can see he becomes more frustrated with
every other thrust, grunting over and over until he releases such a delicious
squeal I must be careful not to consume him right there. He’s found the spot,
the angle at which I penetrate and fill him so perfectly, never mind that I was
made for him. I realize that I have let my nails grow long and pointed, and
they dig nicely into his skin, though I doubt he has noticed – he’s already
begun to touch himself, and what a treat it is to watch.
The way he slips his hand around his shaft, spilling a little onto his fingers
as he plays with the tip; how he squeezes and pumps his hand, growling and
biting his lip as the pressure builds and he grows slightly frantic. He may be
angry with me that I’ve left him to his own devices, chasing that exuberant
high all on his own as he rides me so delightfully, but he says nothing, and
forgoes glaring at me to close his eyes and toss his head back, moaning around
the sounds of my name. I want to sit up and sink my teeth into that perfectly
shaped neck, pierce the soft fragrant skin and drink until I’ve had my fill. I
can feel his excitement growing, sense him as he gets closer to his climax,
trembling on top of me until he finishes with a beautiful whimper and spills
into his hand, dripping some of the sacred fluid onto my stomach.
What a good boy.
He is so beautiful when he comes, so tempting with his cherubic face scrunched
up with pleasure, emanating an aroma of arousal and depravity that makes my
mouth water. I watch as he goes limp, his legs come out from under him, and he
leans back, ready to crumble and fall between my legs, and I decide that we
have both had enough of this game. In an instant I have him in my clutches,
wrapped securely in my arms, my twitching cock still buried inside of him. I
can’t help but laugh as I clutch him to me. He is mine. In case he does not
already know, I share with him how lucky I am to have him, such a vibrant and
tyrannical little prince, as my master. I exist because of him, and I do not
need to tell him this, because he knows it to be true; he, too, exists only
because of me.
It is easy to turn us over, back to how we began, with the little imp on his
back and myself looming above him, without ever pulling out. I bite his lip,
sharp how he likes it, and push his thighs up into his chest, his ankles at my
shoulders to allow for deeper penetration, which I also know he likes.
“You never fail to surprise me,” I growl. I admire his tenacity, how he refuses
to beg for me though we both know his body and mind are screaming at him to do
so. The flinty little boy took matters into his own hands, quite literally, and
it was a beautiful thing to witness. To reward him, I move my hips in the way
he favors – quickly, withdrawing until just the tip remains inside and then
driving in, deeply, to satisfy the tingle I’ve built up with my teasing. His
hand fits so perfectly in mine; I scoop up his little fist, wet with his cum,
and bring it my mouth so I can have a taste. Through his lashes, he squints up
at me, breathing hard as I drag my tongue over his palm, the tips of his
fingers. Thankfully, he removed his rings before his bath earlier, so I do not
have to worry about soiling the precious metal adornments with his seed or my
saliva. I chuckle as I slide his thumb into my mouth and I notice his cock stir
once more. To my surprise, he tugs his hand out of my mouth and grips my face,
curling those delightfully warm and prodding fingers around my chin. I let him
turn my face this way and that, letting him examine my features, as if there is
some great secret hidden there, the reason for my unnatural behavior written
into the line of my jaw or the curve of my carefully contrived cheekbones.
No, young master, there is no such message for you here. There is only
admiration, delight in my scarlet eyes at having you as my master. You, who
never fails to surprise me, who changed me from a rabid beast to a butler, who
enthralls me each and every day as we play this game of master and servant; you
who strides stoically into hell, never once looking back, simply entrusting me
to guide you down this path of darkness to your final destination. My young
master, for you, I will do this and so much more.
End Notes
     Thank you for reading! I appreciate any and all feedback. You can
     drop me a line on tumblr too nominalbutler.tumblr.com
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
