Ciel Apologist

“you’re quite lively this morning, my lord.”

but ciel will look him straight in the eye and simply say, “deal with it.”

“pardon?” sebastian will even be taken aback, because, yes, he dresses and bathes him every day, but this is a different sort of task, one that certainly doesn’t fall within a butler’s duties.

It hadn't always been so: when he was small, his brother demanded. He asked, polite and sweet, delighted when his desires were met — a shy counterpoint to his twin's confidence that the world was his for the taking. (...He'd wondered, yesterday, as they left Diedrich's estate, how much the man knew. How closely he'd minded the twins when they were both alive. If the Undertakers mention of this other Earl had triggered any latent suspicions of his own performance.)

...But even if he remembered how to ask, what would he ask for, now? A quarter-hour prior he'd laid on his belly in this same bed and teased his butler for the thing's monstrosity. Don't pretend you understand emotions any better than I do. We're both terrible and you're a beast who will commit any atrocity he's ordered — But he hadn't been lying. His words were not criticism. If anything, the criticism he felt was toward himself, for desiring the creature's obedience as much as his brutality.

And there was the crux of the issue — for the brutality he desired was that directed toward himself, as well.

The moonlight casts long shadows across his bedroom, and for a second he's convinced he can see them anew: a shivering blossom of dread tendrils, darkness incarnate, twisting like the many writhing arms of a sea monster. He can still feel them choking him, wrapping him tight, squeezing him like a giant snake of the Amazon might crush its prey. Pressing into the spaces between his toes, slinking into the shell of his ear, throbbing thickly down his throat, fat on his fear. Slipping between his thighs. He exhales and turns over, twisting the sheets around himself. Belly down again, pressing his hips into the mattress, the source of his shame hot and stiff between his legs. Sebastian couldn't lie to him. So if he said he was only mostly truly determined to consume Ciel in that moment — no, it was useless to try to untangle the wicked thing's words.

He must be mad, to think of the moments preceding his untimely demise with anything akin to desire. And yet... He twists in the sheets again, grinding his teeth, pressing a palm to his groin, equally repulsed by his hunger and aroused by his fantasies.