Archive of Our Own ^beta

Sebastian does not like Mr. Welmont.

The moment he greeted the guest at the manor door, Sebastian hated the way he smelled. Sure, he has an unassuming appearance, neatly combed brown hair that’s streaked with grays at the temples, the well-worn complexion of a man in his forties. But Sebastian still inwardly sneers at every inch of him. It takes his impeccable self-control not to wrinkle his nose and turn it up, and instead he leads Mr. Welmont toward where Ciel is waiting to converse with his newest investor.

“How does Ciel take his tea usually?” the intrud—guest asks.

Still walking in front of Welmont, Sebastian scowls. His distaste for the man only grows upon hearing him use the young master’s first name instead of his proper title. Either Welmont has never been taught his manners, or he feels he doesn’t need to use them in front of the help. Neither option looks good on him.

Sebastian repaints his face to have a more polite expression and turns around, stopping Welmont abruptly in the hallway.

“You needn’t worry yourself over the Earl Phantomhive’s preferences. I will be the one preparing his tea for your meeting today,” he explains with only a touch of irritation coloring his tone.

“Normally, yes, I see why that would be standard practice. But seeing as I’m here to discuss Funtom’s venture into the tea-packing business,” Welmon reaches a hand into his shoulder bag and produces a pastel tin of loose leaves bearing his name, “I thought we could mull it over while sipping from my own personal collection.”

If it were possible to hate a tin box more than a person, Sebastian would take that tea, shove it deep inside Welmont’s presumptuous arse, and throw both of them into the river.

But he just flashes an empty grin and says, “How spirited of you. Shall I take it to the kitchen and bring it out with lunch?”

Welmont shifts on his feet and draws the box toward his chest instead of placing it in Sebastian’s waiting hand. His eyes give him away when he looks anywhere but Sebastian’s face.

“Actually, I like to prepare it myself. Can you bring hot water and cups instead? I’ll show Ciel how it’s done so he knows all the ins and outs of the product I’m investing.”

“Of course,” Sebastian manages without a single eyebrow twitch.

He turns on his heel and brings Welmont out the back of the manor and up to the doors of the greenhouse.

With him firmly engaged in a conversation with Ciel, Sebastian returns to the manor and seeks out the other servants. There are certain things he needs to put in order.

He doesn’t intend to listen in on their meeting. To be frank, Sebastian never intends to hear anything. He simply does. Humans like to murmur in soft tones when secrets are shared, feeling secure behind a closed door and far away from any prying ears. They never assume Sebastian can hear all of it no matter how low they speak. It serves him well when he’s collecting reconnaissance for Ciel.

And it serves him well when he wants to make sure Mr. Welmont stays in line.

“What an impressive collection you have in here, young lord.”

They exchange pleasantries as Ciel tours him around inside the greenhouse. Sebastian makes his way into the kitchen to start preparing luncheon.

“My mother was fond of botany. I felt drawn to continue her legacy after she passed.”

Sebastian can practically feel Welmont itching to console Ciel. What he doesn’t know is that Ciel likes to play this card with all of his new investors, tugging on their heartstrings so they won’t notice him tugging on their wallets.

“You poor child. It must be overwhelming for you to take on the earldom while managing your own company.”

“I assure you, Mr. Welmont, my age does not restrict me in any way.”

As they move to the table set up for them in the center of the greenhouse, Sebastian slices vigorously into a loaf of bread.

“I might tell you to be careful there if I didn’t know you never slip up,” Bardroy says from the other end of the counter.

Sebastian slackens his shoulders when he realizes he’s been holding too much tension in them.

“I had been imagining this bread as our guest’s neck.” Sebastian holds up the serrated knife. Perhaps this tool would be too kind on him.

“Oy, is he that bad?”

“It’s only a feeling I have right now.” Sebastian abandons his murderous fantasies and begins assembling sandwiches.

“Is it alright to leave him alone with the young master?” Bardroy asks. His concern is commendable, but he has no idea that Sebastian would never let someone get close enough for Ciel’s safety to be a liability.

“I must say, your reputation does not do you justice,” Welmont is saying.

“Oh?” Ciel returns. Sebastian can hear him suppressing a smirk, exuding innocence.

“Everyone always speaks to your intimidating, merciless nature as the head of the Phantomhive estate. To be sure, the queen’s watchdog must possess these attributes. But I rarely ever hear about how… beautiful you are, if you don’t mind me saying so. You’re as flawless and pretty as a doll. I might imagine someone could sell you on the shelves of a Funtom toy shop.”

Sebastian chops cleanly through the cutting board when he tries to slice each sandwich in half.

“It won’t come to that,” he tells Bardroy. “Though if I send him inside, I will ask you to take care of him on your own.”

“Mey Rin and Finny can’t help?”

“Call it a hunch, but I would not want that man around a woman or child.”

Bardroy frowns, but nods in understanding. “And the young master… He has the pistol on him, right?”

Sebastian listens as Ciel giggles lightly at Welmont’s shameless flirting. He almost growls, but he instead channels his energy into making the water boil faster and gathering supplies for tea on a tray.

“I am going to check on him now.”

He wheels the lunch cart out to the greenhouse and does not announce himself as he pushes through the doors.

“Not a moment too soon,” Welmont says, smiling as Sebastian approaches the table. “I’ve been dying to let you have a taste from my special collection.”

What a serendipitous choice of hyperbole, Sebastian thinks.

As Welmont bends to get the tea from his bag on the floor, Sebastian meets Ciel’s eyes. His expression flashes smug, those pretty pink lips he’s been pouting for the guest pulling up in a wicked grin. It’s gone an instant later, and Sebastian knows that look was meant to tell him that Ciel has secured the funds and then some, but he can’t help but prickle at the thought of Ciel purposefully flirting with Welmont just to rile him.

Sebastian keeps his own face neutral, eyes flicking over to follow the familiar box of tea as it’s set on the lace tablecloth.

“Oh, I do love trying new things,” Ciel says, his attention sliding back over to Welmont. He props his elbows to the table and rests his chin on his knuckles. “But I’m quite choosy about my tea. You’ll have to tell me what makes yours so special.”

Sebastian sets a plate for each of them, then the cups, then the teapot of hot water. Welmont talks around his hands, trying to ignore Sebastian’s presence. That won’t do.

“For starters, it’s grown on my own property. I can’t say I have a facility as impressive as yours here, but I take pride in my crop. I oversee the entire process, from the planting to harvesting, the drying and the packaging.”

“How rustic,” Ciel says with an amused little huff.

Welmont flushes slightly at that and pops open the lid of his tea.

The aroma that plumes from the leaves makes Sebastian grit his teeth. The scent, sweet as it may be to a human’s nose, curls unpleasantly in Sebatian’s lungs. Of course, it seems fine the way it is. Flowery. Innocent.

What sets Sebastian off is that he knows exactly what kind of effect this plant has on a person. And he knows what Welmont wishes to accomplish with it.

He stands behind Ciel’s chair, where he belongs, and watches Welmont scoop spoonfuls of tea into the pot of hot water. Ciel’s eye follows his hand, no doubt scrutinizing the way it’s being prepared, but he makes no indication at all that he knows what kind of leaves those are. Of course he wouldn’t.

They eat while the tea steeps. The more fragrant the drink becomes, the more Sebastian wants to pour it over Welmont’s eyes. Welmont talks strictly business now that Sebastian is in the room, no more comments about how beautiful Ciel is or how he wishes to dress him up to put on display. How professional of him, except for the way he doesn’t stop to consider if Sebastian can sense what’s going on under the tablecloth.

But Sebastian can see it as though there isn’t a tablecloth at all. Welmont crosses his legs, his foot brushing against the inside of Ciel’s ankle and staying there. Being the little imp that he is, Ciel doesn’t shy away from the contact. Sebastian can almost hear Ciel taunting him with the display.

When their plates are empty, Sebastian dutifully clears them from the table and places them on the cart.

Welmont lifts the pot to pour tea into Ciel’s cup. “I certainly hope it’s to your liking, Ciel. I’d hate to leave you unsatisfied.”

Sebastian wraps a hand around Welmont’s wrist, stopping him before he fills Cie’s cup. He lets Welmont blink confusedly at him, then grins.

“Allow me. If I cannot do this much for the young master, I’ll be of no use to him.”

Welmont, stunned, allows Sebastian to take the pot and empty the tea into their cups. It smells just as sickeningly sweet when brewed, and he’s grateful he doesn’t actually have to breathe like a human would.

“Nonsense, Sebastian. Without you around, who would keep my bed warm?” Ciel says.

“E-Excuse me?” Welmont sputters.

Ciel lifts the cup and holds it under his nose, the steam curling around his smooth cheeks. He leans back in his chair and leers at Welmont.

“By replacing the warming pans. What did you think I meant?”

“Oh, of course.” Welmont hardly relaxes, keeping his eyes trained on the cup as it gets closer and closer to Ciel’s lips. Sebastian watches his fingers grip harder around the arm of his chair.

My, he looks about to burst, Sebastian thinks and wishes he would.

Even so, he can’t resist the low hum Ciel emits when he takes his first sip, eyes slipping closed indulgently. Sebastian’s eyes track the slight bob in his throat as he swallows, already going for another small sip. He is always drawn to Ciel like a magnet.

“That’s divine,” Ciel drawls. That’s one of his favorite words to use when he’s describing something particularly sinful. He finds the irony amusing. “What did you put in it?”

A grin splits on Welmont’s face as he takes up his own cup and drinks from it. “Trade secret.”

“Your trade is buying into my name, now, Mr. Welmont. All your secrets will legally be mine sooner rather than later.”

“I suppose it’s inevitable, then. How about you have a little more, and I’ll tell you all about it?” Welmont’s gaze flicks to Sebastian, and he gestures for more, now, thank you.

Face neutral, Sebastian refills his master’s cup. The effects will kick in rather quickly, and given Ciel’s small size, the herbal concoction begins its grip on him even more immediately. He can already hear the uptick in Ciel’s heartbeat, his body temperature rising.

Ciel catches Sebastian’s sleeve before he goes back to his post behind the chair. His fingertips brush along the skin that peeks out just above the glove.

“Sebastian, you’ve never made me tea that tastes this good. You must try some of it right now,” he orders, almost breathily.

Before Sebastian can decline—Ciel knows he can’t taste human food; his mind must be slipping—Welmont interrupts.

“You shouldn’t—!” he shouts in a panic, then seems to remember himself. “Or, what I mean to say is, can we have the butler clear the dishes? He should take them back inside now that we’re done eating.”

It’s a nice try, Sebastian thinks dryly, but Welmont won’t get him to leave them alone. The guest’s forehead is beading with perspiration, and he shifts in his seat to relieve some of the pressure that is no doubt swirling in his core. That is what he gets for drinking his own tea. Or perhaps he needs the stimulant in order to perform at all.

“Sebastian, don’t go anywhere,” Ciel states firmly.

He wets his lips, his eye looking hazier and far away. Sebastian feels the buzz coursing through Ciel’s body, feels him aching, hears him calling. It begins like a simmering heat in his stomach that slowly unfurls between his hips. Ciel’s clothes and the tablecloth do nothing to hide it, not when Sebastian can read him like an open book. He is ever attentive to the things that belong to him.

“Really, Ciel, I would like to discuss more… private matters with you,” Welmont tries.

“You can say anything you’d like in front of my butler,” Ciel says, downing more of that wretched tea. “And it’s Earl Phantomhive, since you seem to have forgotten.”

“As partners, I imagine we’ll be working very closely.”

“‘Partner’ doesn’t quite fit,” Ciel muses, peering into his cup. He doesn’t finish the thought, instead tilting his chin back to get the last drops of tea. When it sets it back on the saucer, the delicate china clinks loudly. With a huff, Ciel hooks a finger in the knot of his tie and pulls it loose. “It’s warm in here, isn’t it?”

It isn’t, but the increased blood flow pumping through Ciel’s body tells him that it is. His cheeks redden ever so slightly, and Sebastian narrows his eyes at Welmont, who has also noticed the young master’s flushed state.

“Yes, why don’t we have the butler tend to the stove in the back?”

Sebastian tries not to feel so proud when Ciel grabs his gloved hand to make him stay.

“I’ll call the gardener for that. But first…” Ciel trails off again, lifting Sebastian’s hand to his mouth, and pulls the glove off with his teeth pinching around the tip of one finger.

It’s his left hand, the one that bears the mark of their contract. Ciel has either forgotten or simply doesn’t care about flashing it to the guest as he raises Sebastian’s palm to his forehead to check the temperature.

Across the table, Welmont gawks. His own face is turning red up to his hairline, and Sebastian would venture to guess that no matter how shocked or confused he is at seeing the mark of a devil and black nails on his investee’s servant’s hand, Ciel is too enticing to look away from. His blue eye closes, and he hums from Sebastian’s gentle touch. His fingers remain wrapped around Sebastian’s wrist as if Sebastian would even think about leaving his side.

“Am I warm, Sebastian?” Ciel blinks up at him, lips parted.

Sebastian smiles fondly. “You’re burning up. Your investor here must have slipped something into your tea.”

“You would have told me if it was poisoned,” Ciel states, and it’s the absolute truth.

“I-I would never…” Welmont stutters. “It was probably the food.”

Ciel shoots him a glare. He releases Sebastian’s hand and plucks open the first few buttons of his dress shirt. After, he reaches up and slips the eyepatch off with a huff. Both of his eyes level Welmont with a single look.

“Your eye…”

“Isn’t it interesting how I’ve never gotten sick from what Sebastian feeds me, but I feel feverish after tasting your mysterious tea for the first time? You still haven’t told me what’s in it.”

Welmont looks uncomfortable for more than one reason. His eyes drift off to the side, like he just now realizes his plan to drug Ciel and get him alone has backfired. If only he knew he was doomed even before he stepped out of his carriage.

He opens his mouth, whether to tell the truth or to dig himself deeper, they’ll never know.

“Mr. Welmont, sir, someone’s telephoned for you,” comes Bardroy’s voice from the greenhouse entrance.

Welmont’s spine straightens, and he turns shakily to look at Bardroy. “Who?”

Bardroy exchanges a glance with Sebastian, and Sebastian’s nods.

“They didn’t give a name, just said it was urgent.”

“Mustn’t keep them waiting, then,” Sebastian says, striding over to the other side of the table.

Welmont jumps when Sebastian appears next to him. His chair creaks when he gets up from it, his eyes darting between the earl, the butler, and the cook. Bardroy has a lit cigarette hanging from his mouth, which is set in a frown.

“Bardroy will show you to the telephone,” Sebastian tells him cheerfully. “And he will be sure to give you the full Phantomhive hospitality.”

“Right,” Welmont says, sending one last glance over his shoulder. “I’ll be back shortly, Ciel.”

“You won’t,” Ciel responds, though Welmont is out of earshot by now. The greenhouse door closes tightly behind him and Bardroy. “Swine.”

Alone, the greenhouse feels pressurized. The weight of Ciel’s gaze on Sebastian’s back is heavy. Sebastian counts his short breaths, the excited thump, thump of his heart.

“What the hell was in that tea?” Ciel demands.

Finally turning around, Sebastian finds Ciel standing from his chair, hands pressed flat to the table.

He plasters a grin on his face when he says, “Welmont added a few extra ingredients in the hopes of, ah, loosening you up.”

“Don’t mince words, Sebastian. My head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton.”

Sebastian approaches the table, absorbing the heat that Ciel is radiating. It thrums and pulses, thick and slow. Ciel rises up to meet him, placing a knee directly on the table so their faces are inches apart.

“An aphrodisiac, my lord. He wanted you to spread your legs for him.”

Growling, Ciel yanks on Sebastian’s tie and pulls him the rest of the way in. Their mouths crush together, Ciel going for him with teeth and tongue and none of that coy grace he usually possesses when he kisses Sebastian.

The taste lingering in Ciel’s mouth makes Sebatian growl right back. He’d been holding it in ever since he laid eyes on Welmont, ever since he smelled him. Behind his closed eyelids, he pictures the looks Welmont was giving Ciel, the things he knows Welmont wanted to do to Ciel once they were alone. Sebastian doesn’t have to hold back anymore, not when it’s only him and his little lord. His little lord. He exhales another growl, reaching deeper into Ciel’s throat to taste his desire and his heat and his soul.

Small fingers card through his hair, tugging on it so their mouths separate mere inches. Saliva collects in the corner of Ciel’s lip as he pants.

“If it was drugged, why did he drink it himself?” he wonders, voice gruff and distant.

“He had only a few sips. Not the two cups you so greedily sucked down,” Sebastian answers, angling his head when Ciel goes for his throat. “I imagine it was just enough for him to rouse the rooster.”

“Ugh.”

Sebastian chuckles, and Ciel bites harshly over his Adam's apple. Desperate fingers work at his tie at the buttons of his shirt until Sebastian takes pity on him and loosens his uniform himself.

“Why didn’t you stop me from drinking it if you knew what it was?” Teeth scrape down the hollow of his throat, over his collarbone.

“You weren’t in danger.”

Ciel pulls back to glare at him, his mismatched eyes struggling to focus. “You wanted me to drink it. So I’d get like this.”

He grabs Sebastian by the wrist, moving his hand to cup between his legs. Sebastian needs no encouragement, already rubbing the hard bulge. Ciel rocks into him, one hand fisting the rumpled collar of Sebastian’s loosened shirt.

“I promise I wish he hadn’t done this to you.” Sebastian doesn’t need Ciel drugged to get him like this anyway. If he wanted his master to melt under his touch, all he’d need are his fingers and a few whispered words.

“But you’re not unhappy that he did.” Ciel pulls him in by the lapel and brings his lips to Sebastian’s ear. “I could feel your hatred for him rolling off of you. Did you hear him when he called me a doll? You always get so worked up when men make it known how much they want me. I had hoped you would hate the way I indulged him so that you’d end up like this. Now look at both of us.”

Sebastian’s chest rumbles with something deep and possessive. He rubs harder at Ciel, his other arm curling around his small waist to keep him close.

Ciel continues, his lips brushing Sebastian’s ear when he speaks. “Did you think about what he might have done if you weren’t here? Very bold of him to want me right here in the greenhouse, surrounded by nothing but windows. I’m sure he wanted me on my back, my legs spread for him like you said. I’d cling to him, cry for him, as he showed me what a real man can do.”

Sebastian hates the images Ciel puts into his head, and he hates the pretend-Welmont almost as much as the real one.

“Such a brat, my lord,” Sebastian says with a click of his tongue.

“Shame he’ll never know I’m ruined for everyone else.” Palm moving to the center of Sebastian’s chest, Ciel pushes him back slightly. A smile as devious as the little lord himself spreads over his mouth. “On your knees.”

Sebastian follows the order the same as always, kneeling in front of the table as Ciel shuffles forward on his knees to the edge of it. The dishes rattle with the shaking of the table, and the toes of Ciel’s heeled shoes scuff the pristine white cloth.

He works open the front of his shorts, pushing them down just enough to expose himself. The heady scent of Ciel’s desires fills Sebastian’s lungs when he sees how flushed and wet he already is. If Sebastian didn’t know there was a strong aphrodisiac currently filtering through his system, he’d say Ciel is not that much different from how he usually is—demanding and sensitive and sometimes rough.

But the scent of the tea still lingers in the air, seems to be spilling directly out of Ciel’s pores. Sebastian can tell it won’t be expelled so easily as he parts his lips and lets Ciel feed him his cock.

Both of Ciel’s hands rest on the sides of his head, holding him in place as he slides in all the way. The hiss he lets out is delicious, finally getting what Sebastian knows he’s been craving since his first sip. He fills Sebastian’s mouth, the head of his cock hard against his tongue. Ciel stays there for a moment, absorbing the heat, pulsing in pleasure, before dragging back and thrusting inside again and again.

Ciel is not gentle with him but never needs to be. Sebastian dutifully takes all he is given, not breathing, not choking, only providing a wet and hot hole for his master to use. Bitter drops of fluid slide over his tongue, mixing with the saliva and making it easier for Ciel to move. Sebastian swallows it, and swallows some more that squeezes out when he sucks harder.

Ciel cries out, his voice scattering between the leaves of the plants around them and bouncing off the glass walls and ceiling. He plunges faster down Sebastian’s throat, more desperate, more impatient. Sebastian can tell by the way he responds to a low hum around his cock that the aphrodisiac makes him even more sensitive than usual.

Delectable.

He knows it’s happening before Ciel does. His heart skips a beat, the muscles in his abdomen clench, his cock throbs on Sebastian’s tongue, and then it all becomes too much for his little lord. Even this small bit of pleasure that doesn’t last long at all, it’s too much for him.

Sebastian cannot wait to see what other demands Ciel’s body will make of them.

Ciel pulls harshly on Sebastian’s head, drawing him in until his nose meets the smooth skin of his belly. With an unbidden moan, he releases everything he has into Sebastian’s mouth. His poor lungs struggle to keep up.

Sebastian swallows around him and gives a few more sucks, just to hear the broken sound Ciel makes. Ciel weakly shoves him back, heel of his palm pressed to Sebastian’s forehead. His oversensitive, flagging cock slips out, dripping saliva and other things.

He should have nothing left to give, but Sebatian senses the stirrings of lust begin again just under his skin.

Sebastian licks his lips and watches Ciel watch his tongue. “That tea is dizzyingly potent. If only I could get you to take your medicine as easily as you took down the tea.”

“Could you taste it on me?” Ciel wonders, dragging his fingertips over Sebastian’s lower lip. “Will it affect you too?”

“You are all the drug I need.” He licks at those fingertips, tasting what Ciel had for lunch and the salty sweat that wells up from under his skin. Yes, that is all it will take for Sebastian to crave more.

Ciel draws in a soft breath, eyes fixed on Sebastian’s mouth. His eyelids lower, both of his pupils dark and wide. Without looking, Sebastian knows he’s already filling up again. A kettle about to scream.

“How else may I serve you?” Sebastian speaks against his fingers, flashing a hint of his fangs.

Then Ciel moves, sweeping an arm across the table and knocking everything to the stone floor. Cups, dishes, cutlery—it all crashes loudly, china shattering. The pot that holds the rest of the tea breaks like a delicate egg, spilling its contents like freshly let blood. The last of the horrible, wonderful tea seeps into the cracks and sinks into the earth.

When he has room, Ciel sits on the edge of the table, which wobbles on its legs, and persuades Sebastian closer with two small hands cupping his face. Gloved fingers pinch the rumpled fabric of Ciel’s shorts and discard them. Ciel’s legs, dangling over the tablecloth, are covered in nothing but his heeled shoes and the stockings that stop at the knee.

Sebastian leans in, between Ciel’s thighs, and meets him with a kiss. His hands wrap around the edge of the table on either side of Ciel’s hips, caging him in. Ciel’s kiss is hungry and loud. He sighs and whimpers and calls Sebastian’s name over and over. He doesn’t need to. Sebastian can hear him without words, can feel him without touch. Always, always linked to his master.

If Sebastian didn’t need souls to sustain his existence, then he would live solely off of the needy gasps of Ciel’s breath. These little hands clutch the sides of his face like Sebastian is a lifeline thrown to Ciel out at sea. Perhaps it’s the drug worming its way into Sebastian’s head, but these rushed, wet kisses are making his trousers feel tight.

This time, Sebastian moves. Without breaking the kiss, he gets to his feet and leans over Ciel, coaxing him to lay on his back across the table. Between them, his fingers make quick work of Ciel’s shirt, unbuttoning it until he can slide his arms out of the sleeves. Those arms go immediately around his neck when he’s done, as though Ciel physically cannot tolerate a second without touching him.

“Already so wound up again,” Sebastian murmurs against his mouth.

Ciel growls at him, nails biting into the back of his head, as he lifts his hips to grind against Sebastian’s stomach.

“He never would have been able to keep up with you.” Sebastian allows himself one more insidious image of that foolish man between Ciel’s legs. His Ciel. Thinking about what never would have happened still gets Sebastian to bite down harshly on Ciel’s lower lip, and he smooths over the small tear with his tongue, tasting his sweet blood. He banishes all thoughts of Welmont after that. Except for perhaps the glorious truth that he is currently at Bardroy’s mercy while Ciel is stuck writhing and panting under his.

Ciel’s little arms, though valiantly attempting to crush Sebastian against him, are in the way. Sebastian’s fingers circle around his wrists and pin Ciel’s arms to the table. So very unlike himself, Ciel arches his back and whines at the loss of touch.

“Then keep up with me,” Ciel orders breathlessly, twisting in Sebastian’s hold. “Fuck me, Sebastian. Please…”

Sebastian has never seen him like this. It usually takes much teasing, coaxing, a withheld orgasm, before Ciel starts begging for him. The aphrodisiac has fully sunk its teeth into him.

Just because of that, Sebastian might want to drag it out even more.

“Let me take care of you,” he coos, holding his fingers up to Ciel’s mouth.

He traces along his bottom lip, a bit of blood from the earlier bite soaking into the white fabric. Ciel takes the tip of one finger between his teeth and tugs, getting the last glove off.

Ciel’s eyes lock with his, intense, alluring, and Sebastian almost want to pause and admire the sight in front of him. His now bare fingers slip past Ciel’s plush bottom lip and slide over his tongue. Ciel’s mouth closes around the two digits, and he sucks on them without taking his eyes off of Sebastian.

The feeling is mutual. Sebastian can’t look away.

He does when Ciel arches his hips up again, urging Sebastian to do something when he can’t find the friction he needs. Blowing a laugh out through his nose, Sebastian finally tears his eyes away and lowers his free hand between Ciel’s parted legs.

Just like his mouth, Ciel’s body sucks him in. Sebastian slides two slick fingers into him from the beginning, pushing Ciel’s limit, knowing he can take more. Under that tea’s heady influence, Ciel might not even feel the stretch of his rim. With his small hand wrapped around Sebastian’s wrist, keeping his fingers in his mouth, he rocks down and moans, eyes slipping closed.

His master takes him so well, filled from both ends and still aching for more. Even if his current state was brought on by outside forces, Sebastian believes Ciel would be like this for him and only him.

He spots movement out of the corner of his eye. Ciel’s free hand creeps down his body, reaching for his leaking erection. The skin still glistens with Sebastian’s saliva.

He can feel how close Ciel is, the heat in his body rising and throbbing. Like an invisible string that ties them together, Sebastian feels it tug and grow taut. He doesn’t let Ciel touch himself, instead guiding his hand away. With his mouth full, Ciel whimpers from being denied what he so feverishly needs.

“If you think you’re going to come, my fingers will be enough,” he says gently, emphasizing the way his fingertips press deliberately against Ciel’s prostate. “But you still won’t be done after that, will you?”

Ciel shakes his head weakly, both of his hands now around Sebastian’s wrist. He keeps sucking on his fingers, saliva dripping down his cheek.

Sebastian quite likes him like this, too drunk to argue, obedient as a puppy.

He massages Ciel’s tongue in circular motions to mirror what he’s doing to him on the inside. Ciel makes more clogged, wet noises as his hips thrust feebly on the hand pumping into him.

It’s over rather quickly after that. Spine going rigid, Ciel turns his head away from Sebastian’s hand and cries out. Lines of white stripe up his pale stomach, his cock throbbing with the force of it. The little lord pants harshly, even though he’d done none of the work and reaped all of the reward. He goes soft, but his hips don’t stop circling on Sebastian’s fingers.

Not over with entirely, it seems.

Still, Sebastian takes his fingers out and lifts them to his mouth. Ciel watches him lick the taste of his master off.

“No comment about how I’m a vile, loathsome creature from hell with no manners?” he asks through a smirk.

Ciel, having been caught staring, huffs and rolls his eyes. “Sounds like I’ve trained you well enough that you already know.”

“Oh, I do know.” His hands go to the front of his uniform pants, undoing the fly. “I know exactly what you think of me, how you feel about me.”

When he leans down over his master, Ciel looks away. Though his cheeks are already flushed from the two orgasms Sebastian has wrung from him, his skin goes a shade pinker.

“And what exactly is that?” Ciel asks in the brief clarity he has through the drug, before Sebastian intends to fog him over a third time.

“Among other things, you’ve allowed yourself to become completely dependent on me for your pleasure.” Sebastian takes Ciel’s smooth thighs in his hands and pulls him across the tablecloth, close enough so his legs fit snugly around his waist. “I’d say you haven’t lifted a finger, metaphorically speaking, for your own pleasure since I’ve entered your life. Since I’ve slithered my way into your bed.”

“Slither is the appropriate word for it,” Ciel says with a glance down at Sebastian’s exposed cock.

He parts his legs more, hands going under his knees to hold himself open. And Sebastian didn’t even have to ask. Perhaps he can store some of this precious tea in the cellar and bring it to Ciel whenever he needs some… rigorous attention before bed.

Licking his lips, Sebastian slides forward. When the first breach of his cock makes Ciel gasp, Sebastian seals their lips together and tastes the inside of his mouth.

Were he an ordinary human, the heat would make him melt. Ciel is too good for anyone else, and no one but Sebastian is worthy of him in return. He curls his body around his charge, wishing to fill every empty space within him, carve his demonic name into his flesh, imbue him with a scent that leaves no room for doubt: this luxurious boy has already been claimed.

Ciel sighs and whispers his name like it’s the truth. He releases his legs in favor of wrapping his arms around Sebastian’s neck, fingers in his hair. Sebastian thrusts into him, deep and slow. The delicious pull of Ciel’s walls around his cock is second to the voice in his ear and the rabbiting of a human heart, beating with excitement and lust and something Sebastian cannot think of a name for. Whatever it is, Sebastian knows it’s as irrevocable as their bond.

The body under him sings like the strings of a violin under a bow. Ciel’s hand pushes at the back of his head, encouraging Sebastian’s face to press into his neck. He buries his nose in the skin, above the quick and solid pulse underneath, and drags his teeth along it. Not biting, not leaving a mark. He only tastes. Yet another of his countless appetizers before the last supper.

His thrusts push Ciel’s body up on the table. Sebastian presses a knee next to his hip and follows him, tangled in Ciel’s limbs as he is. The tablecloth wrinkles underneath them, rippling like satin around Ciel’s head and elbows.

Ciel’s third orgasm hits him harder than the last two. He all but screams in the silent greenhouse, clinging to Sebastian for life. Quite ironic.

The way he flutters and squeezes around him is enough to tempt Sebastian over the edge as well. Given that Ciel is not in his usual state of mind, he takes the liberty of filling his insides as the pleasure shoots through his body.

He stays inside for as long as he’s allowed, fantasizing about crawling into his master to live out the rest of his existence, until Ciel’s tell-tale grumples let him know it won’t be tolerated for much longer. He relishes in the wet, sticky glide as he pulls out and glances down to see what a thorough mess Ciel has made.

“Have you expelled the last of the tea with this one?” Sebastian wonders, dipping his fingers into the white on Ciel’s stomach. The muscles under his skin twitch.

Ciel groans. “I’m exhausted.”

Sebastian cleans his fingers off with his tongue, then bends down to clean the rest. Ciel’s hand pets idly at the hair on top of his head.

“Another cup, then? Mr. Welmont so kindly left the entire box here for you.”

Ciel throws him an unamused look. “I am not going through that again.”

He says so now, but Sebastian suspects that this won’t be the last time they discuss it.

“Come now. Aren’t you curious to find out just how many rounds you can go?” He laughs as he says it, his breath spreading across Ciel’s stomach and chest and raising goosebumps.

“I think you are the only one debased enough to wonder.”

Sebastian makes his way up Ciel’s torso until he’s high enough to press their lips together. Ciel tastes nothing of the tea anymore, just his honey-sweet and spiced self. All of it has left his system now.

“Indulge me further,” Sebastian says when he parts from the kiss.

“What.”

“I’m eager to see what kind of warm welcome Bardroy has cooked up for your guest.”

A smirk pulls at Ciel’s lips.

“If I didn’t know you better, Sebastian, I would say you’re jealous.”