Ruining furniture during sex
The grandfather clock in the distant hall has chimed midnight, a dull, resonant sound that marks the end of the manor’s waking hours. The fire in the study has burned down to a deep, hypnotic cherry-red, casting long, dancing shadows across the leather spines of the books and the heavy mahogany desk. This is the hour when the house finally sleeps, and the Phantomhive butler is permitted to shed his immaculate, starched skin. Sebastian sits in the oversized leather chair of his masters study room, his long legs spread comfortably, the rigid posture of servitude melting away into a fluid, predatory grace. His tailcoat is discarded somewhere in the darkness, his waistcoat is unbuttoned, the crisp white of his shirt glowing faintly in the dying light. The silver mark over his heart pulses with a slow, steady warmth, a beacon calling you home.
You are where you belong: straddling his lap, your knees braced against the soft leather on either side of his hips. Your arms are draped loosely over his broad shoulders, your fingers tangling in the silken strands of his raven hair at the nape of his neck. For Sebastian, this is not merely a prelude to sex. This position, you elevated, supported entirely by his strength, your face level with his, is a physical manifestation of his worship and his absolute control. "You look so weary" he murmurs, his voice stripped of its crisp, professional edge. It is a low, vibrating rumble that resonates in his chest and vibrates directly against your sternum. "The world takes so much from you, my fragile little one. Let me relax you a bit"
He does not rush, he is a connoisseur, and you are a vintage he intends to savor for hours. His hands, large and cool against your skin, slide up from your waist to cup your face. His long fingers trace the line of your jaw, his thumbs brushing lightly over your cheekbones, tilting your head to the exact angle he desires. His crimson eyes, usually sharp and mocking, are heavy-lidded, swirling with a dark, liquid adoration that is terrifying in its depth. He leans in. The scent of him, ozone, old paper, and a rich, spicy musk envelops you completely, drowning out the smell of the woodsmoke.
The first touch is agonizingly gentle. He brushes his lips against yours, a soft, dry press that sends a jolt of electricity down your spine. "Mwah" He pulls back just a fraction of an inch, his breath hot against your mouth. "My love" He whispers, a slow, devastating smile curving his lips. "Did you miss me today?" He doesn't wait for an answer, he closes the distance again, and the gentle exploration shifts into a deep, consuming claim. He parts your lips with a smooth, insistent pressure, his tongue sweeping inside to taste you. The kiss is slow, wet, and incredibly heavy. He doesn't dart or flick, he rolls his tongue against yours, a languid, rhythmic dance that tastes of his favorite dark wine and ancient magic. "Schhh-luck. Mmm~"
The sounds of the kiss are visceral in the quiet room, the slick parting of lips, the soft, greedy swallows as he drinks the breath from your lungs. He tilts his head, deepening the angle, his hands sliding from your face to tangle in your hair, anchoring you to his mouth. He treats your mouth like a sanctuary. He explores the roof of your mouth, the soft slide of your inner cheek, drawing your lower lip between his teeth to nip gently before soothing the phantom sting with a long, wet sweep of his tongue. "So sweet" He hums into the kiss, the vibration buzzing delightfully against your lips. "You taste of the tea I served you earlier...and something much, much richer"
The intimacy of the position is absolute. You are suspended above him, but your center of gravity is entirely dependent on his body. With every deep, languid movement of his mouth, he shifts his hips slightly beneath you, not a thrust, but a slow, rolling grind that presses the hard, heavy ridge of his arousal against your pussy through your clothes. It is a silent, physical promise of what is to come, a heat that builds in your belly and makes you whimper softly against his tongue.
Sebastian drinks the sound greedily, he loves the little, helpless noises you make when he overwhelms your senses. He pulls back for a second, a thin, glistening string of saliva connecting your lips, his chest heaving slightly with a restrained, predatory hunger. "Are you melting for me, little one?" He asks, his eyes burning into yours, his thumb tracing the swollen curve of your bottom lip. "You feel so soft in my arms. So pliant. It is intoxicating" He doesn't give you time to recover, he pulls you back a little, his arm wrapping around your waist to crush your chest flush against his own. The kiss resumes, deeper and more desperate now, the slow waltz turning into a breathless, drowning embrace. He intends to keep you exactly here, straddling his lap in the firelight, kissing you until you forget your own name, perfectly content to be the demon who steals your breath just to give it back to you.
The heavy thud of Sebastian’s dark core beneath the silver mark on his chest matches the erratic, racing rhythm of your own heart, separated only by the thin fabric of your clothing. He feels your fingers curling into the silk of his open shirt, gripping his shoulders as the intensity of the kiss drags you under. To him, your small, desperate movements are the sweetest form of surrender. Now he doesn't want you to just sit on him, he wants you to sink into him. His hands, which had been gently framing your face, slide down your back with a firm, sweeping motion. He traces the delicate ridge of your spine, his long fingers pressing just hard enough to coax a shiver from your skin, before settling heavily onto the swell of your hips. With a low, vibrating hum of approval against your lips, he pulls you flush against his groin. "Mmm..." The sound rumbles through his chest and directly into your mouth, a dark, velvety purr that buzzes pleasantly against your teeth.
The friction is immediate and electric. Even through the layers of your clothes, the hard, searing heat of his arousal presses insistently against your center. He doesn't thrust, he executes a slow, agonizingly deliberate upward roll of his hips. You break the kiss with a sharp, involuntary gasp, your head falling back slightly as the pressure hits a cluster of sensitive nerves. Sebastian’s eyes snap open. In the dim light of the dying fire, they are glowing, two pools of molten, predatory fuchsia. He doesn't look away from your flushed face, tracking the way your lips part and your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath. "Did I find something interesting?" He whispers, his voice a gravelly, sleep-rough drawl. He leans forward, chasing your mouth, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of your neck just below your jawline.
He begins a new, agonizingly slow path of worship. He presses open-mouthed, wet kisses down the column of your throat. Smack, Mwah. The sounds are wet and unashamedly loud in the quiet study. He treats your skin like a delicacy, dragging his tongue over your pulse point, feeling the frantic, fluttering beat against his tastebuds. "You taste of adrenaline" He murmurs against your collarbone, his breath hot and damp. "And desire. It is a potent vintage, my love" He nips gently at the tendon of your neck, a tiny, harmless graze of his elongated canines that sends a jolt of primal thrill through you. He immediately soothes the spot with a broad, flat lap of his tongue. "So reactive" He praises, his hands tightening on your hips, grinding upward again, forcing another whimpering sigh from you. "You tremble like a leaf in a storm when I touch you. Tell me...what does it feel like?"
He doesn't really need an answer; he can taste your arousal in the air, sweet and heavy. He asks because he loves the sound of your voice breaking. "Do you feel overwhelmed?" He teases softly, his thumb rubbing a slow circle over your hip bone. "Too hot? Or is it exactly what my little kitten was craving while she watched me pour tea to the young master and lady Elizabeth at the gardens this afternoon?" He decides the fabric between you has become an unacceptable barrier. With the terrifying, fluid speed that marks him as a demon, his hands move from your hips to the fastenings of your top. He doesn't rip or tear, he undoes the buttons with a surgical, blinding precision. Within seconds, your chest is bared to the cool air of the study and the heat of his gaze.
He pulls back slightly, his hands resting on your bare waist. He looks at you, straddling him, flushed, chest heaving, completely exposed in the firelight. The playful, teasing butler vanishes entirely, a look of profound, heavy-lidded, starving adoration washes over his features. The silver mark on his chest flares with a sudden, bright luminescence, illuminating the space between you. "Beautiful" He breathes, the word reverent and raw. "Utterly, divinely beautiful" He leans forward, not to kiss your mouth this time, but to press his face directly into the valley of your small breasts. He inhales deeply, a shuddering breath that fills his lungs with your intoxicating scent. He smiles fondly down to your nipples, and then giving an affectionate flick of his tongue to the sensitive nipple and a brief sucking-kiss, making you jump slightly on his lap with a blissful whimper. "Now" He growls, his voice dropping into that dark, possessive register that makes your stomach flip, his hands sliding down to cup your bare buttocks. "Let us remove the rest of these tedious layers. I believe it is time for the main course"
The declaration hangs in the warm, scented air of the study like a match struck in a powder keg. The final, flimsy barriers of cloth between you and the full, terrifying heat of his presence are peeled away with a fluid, terrifying efficiency that leaves you gasping. With a swift tug, the remainder of your clothing joins his discarded tailcoat in the shadows. You are completely, bare, shivering slightly in the cool air of the room, until he covers you again. Sebastian doesn't hesitate. His large, pale hands encircle your waist, his thumbs pressing into the soft skin just above your hips. The contrast is stark, his cool, marble-like skin against your flushed heat. "Skin to skin" He murmurs, his voice a low, vibrating hum of satisfaction. "As it should be" But the peace of the embrace is fleeting, quickly overtaken by the raw, gluttonous hunger he has been suppressing all day. He needs more than just the warmth of your skin.
He loosens his grip on your back, letting you lean back slightly. His eyes, glowing like dying coals, track the path of your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, and the delicate line of your stomach. "Let's get you more comfortable" He states gently, he stands up with you, his tall elegant body to face the expensive furniture, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs and sit you comfortably to the chair. "Let me adore this view more properly" He guides you to lean further back against the high back of the wingback chair. Your legs are spread wide across his hips, your body open and vulnerable in the firelight. Sebastian shifts his weight and slides down. He moves down on his knees on the thick persian rug between your dangling legs, maintaining his grip on your thighs to keep you securely anchored.
From this position, he is looking directly up at the center of your desire. To him, you are a deity enthroned, and he is the devoted supplicant preparing for worship. "Oh, my..." He breathes out, a sound of pure, unadulterated awe. "You are already weeping for me, so wet..so ready" He reaches up, his long, elegant fingers tracing a feather-light path from your knee, up your inner thigh, stopping just shy of your glistening pink bald pussy he had shaved himself just three days ago. "You kept this all for me today, didn't you?" He purrs, his voice thick with a dark, territorial pride. "Every thought, every flush...saving it for the moment I could finally taste it. How very generous of you~"
He leans forward, he doesn't start with a lick or a flick of his tongue. He begins with a Kiss. He presses his soft, open lips directly against your wetness. It is a firm, lingering, and incredibly intimate seal. Smack. He breathes hot air against your sensitive flesh, sending a jolt of lightning straight up your spine. You cry out, your hands instinctively grabbing the leather armrests of the chair. Sebastian chuckles, a low, wet sound against your skin. "So responsive" He murmurs, pulling back just a fraction to look up at your flushed face. "Such a good, needy kitten for her demon mate. Let me show you what else I can do, yes?"
He extends his tongue, broad, flat, and velvety and begins a slow, agonizingly deliberate lap from the very bottom of your entrance to the sensitive peak of your clitoris. The room fills with the wet, rhythmic sound of his devotion. Slurp... glide. He hums, the vibration buzzing directly into your most sensitive nerves, turning the kiss into a full-body sensation that threatens to melt you entirely into the leather chair. The involuntary, rhythmic bucking of your hips is the absolute sweetest nectar to Sebastian’s pride. He isn't just stimulating you, he is playing you. Your soft moans and the gentle thrusts of your body are the immediate, undeniable proof that you are entirely, helplessly at his mercy.
He doesn't fight your movements, he anchors them. His large hands slide from your inner thighs to grip the curve of your buttocks, his long fingers sinking into the plush flesh. He holds you firmly against the edge of the leather chair, ensuring that every time you thrust upward, you meet the wet, relentless heat of his mouth with perfect, unbroken contact. "Yes" He growls, the sound muffled and vibrating against your slick skin. "Tell me exactly where you need me" He adjusts his technique to match your rhythm. Instead of the broad, sweeping licks, he focuses his attention with terrifying precision. He purses his lips, creating a soft, warm seal around your clitoris, and begins to swirl his tongue in rapid, dizzying circles.
Swirl... suck... swirl...suck.
The friction is intense, a concentrated point of fire that makes your toes curl against the air. You let out a louder, more jagged moan, your head falling back against the chair, your hands gripping the leather armrests until your knuckles turn white. Sebastian feels the spike in your arousal. He lifts his head for a fraction of a second, a thin, glistening string of saliva connecting his lips to your clitoris. The firelight catches the moisture on his chin, his crimson eyes blazing with a heavy-lidded, gluttonous satisfaction. "Look at you" He praises, his voice a thick, husky rasp. "Arching your back, whimpering for a demon’s tongue. You are so beautiful when you are desperate, my love" He doesn't give you a moment to recover. He dives back down, but this time, he introduces a new element.
While his mouth works you into a frenzy, his right hand leaves your hip and trails slowly, agonizingly up your stomach. He traces the line of your ribs, his cool fingertips a stark contrast to the boiling heat between your legs. He reaches your breast, cupping the soft weight of it, his thumb rolling over the hardened nipple. "Are you enjoying yourself?" He hums, the vibration of his voice buzzing directly against your clitoris, sending a fresh wave of electricity through you. "Is your Sebastian taking good care of his little one?" He asks between the wet sounds of his worship down on you, his eyes slowly closing shut while he humms in pure bliss, clearly enjoying his meal/pleasuring you.
You can only gasp, a breathless, incoherent sound of affirmation. "Use your words" He commands softly, playfully nipping at your inner thigh before returning to your wet dripping pussy. "Tell me who is making you feel this good. Tell me who do you belong to?" He increases the suction, drawing you deeper into his mouth, his tongue flickering with a speed and precision that is entirely inhuman. He isn't just trying to make you climax, he is trying to extract every ounce of stress, every lingering thought of the day, and consume it. The deep, engine-like rumble in his chest intensifies. It resonates through your pelvis, relaxing the muscles that are trembling with tension, forcing you to melt even further into the chair.
He swallows audibly, savoring the taste of your arousal as if it were the finest vintage. "So tasty" He murmurs between wet, smacking kisses to your labia. "Like honey and rain, I think I want to drink you dry" He senses you hovering on the edge, your breathing ragged, your body taut as a bowstring. He tightens his grip on your breast and your hip simultaneously, pinning you in a circuit of sensation, ready to push you over the precipice with one final, masterful stroke of his skillful tongue. The abrupt cessation of the agonizingly perfect rhythm hits you like a shockwave. The wet smack of his lips parting from your saturated flesh is a sudden, sharp deprivation of heat. Your body arches off the leather chair with a ragged, frustrated whine, your hips instinctively chasing the warmth that has just vanished.
Sebastian stands up, uncoiling his long, powerful frame from the floor with slow, deliberate grace. The firelight dances over the pale musculature of his torso and the prominent, angry flush of his arousal. He is fully erect, heavy and throbbing, the tip glistening with a bead of clear, slick pre-cum that catches the amber light. He looks down at you, flushed, panting, and suspended on the absolute edge of climax with an expression of profound, terrifyingly arrogant satisfaction. "Patience, my sweet thing" He murmurs, his voice dropping into a register so low it vibrates in the floorboards. "A masterpiece cannot be rushed. And you...you are too beautiful right now to simply let fall without catching you properly"
He steps into the V of your spread legs, his thighs brushing the sensitive skin of your inner knees. The sudden proximity of his heat is a tangible force. He reaches down, his large, cool hand wrapping around the base of his own rigid length. He doesn't look at himself, his glowing crimson eyes are locked entirely on your face, watching the confusion and desperation warring in your hazy gaze. "You taste of the sweetest nectar" He whispers, his thumb spreading the moisture over the broad head of his cock, prepping himself with the very essence he just coaxed from you. "But I find that tasting you...is no longer sufficient"
He aligns himself perfectly with your slick, swollen entrance, he doesn't thrust. He simply rests the blunt, hot tip against you for a agonizing second, letting you feel the impossible size and the pulsing heartbeat of his desire. "Look at me" He commands softly. As your eyes meet his, he begins the descent. It is a glacial, liquid slide. Because you are so incredibly wet from his oral worship, there is no friction, only a sensation of deep, stretching, overwhelming fullness that steals the breath straight from your lungs. He sinks into you millimeter by millimeter. "Ohhhh~" The sound that rips from his throat isn't a word, it is a raw, jagged groan of absolute, soul-shaking relief. His head falls back for a fraction of a second, the muscles in his neck cording as he pushes deeper. "Yes" He hisses through clenched teeth, his free hand flying up to grip the back of the leather chair, anchoring himself as he finally bottoms out. "Oh my, you are...you are magnificent. Like tight, hot velvet"
He is fully sheathed now, his hips pressed flush against yours. The contrast of his cool skin and the searing heat of his penetration is dizzying, he doesn't begin to move immediately. He stays perfectly still, letting your internal muscles flutter and clamp around his girth, savoring the feeling of being completely enveloped by you. He leans forward, bracing his weight on his arms on either side of your head over the chair, boxing you in. "You were begging for release" He murmurs, his lips brushing yours, transferring the taste of your own arousal back to your mouth. "But I think...you prefer this. Filling you, being anchored to is your deepest secret place by me"
He grinds his hips, a slow, rolling, agonizingly deep circle that hits the exact spot his tongue had been torturing moments before. "Tell me" He demands softly with deep red flushed cheeks, kissing the corner of your mouth as a loud, helpless moan escapes you. "Tell me who is filling you, tell me who owns this wonderful little gem of yours!"
"You Sebastian!" You moan loudly with one eye closed from the intense pleasurable sensation. The loud, uninhibited declaration acts like a lit match to gasoline. The sound of his name, wrapped in such a raw, desperate moan, completely shatters the last remaining shreds of his polished composure. Sebastian’s crimson eyes flare, the pupils dilating into pitch-black voids of pure, predatory ecstasy. A sound that is half-growl, half-purr tears from his throat, vibrating fiercely against your jawline. "Yes!" He hisses, the word a ragged, triumphant exclamation. "Only me, always me" He tightens his grip on the leather arms of the chair, his knuckles turning white as he braces himself. He doesn't pull back for a slow, teasing slide this time. He abandons the gentle roll for a sudden, devastatingly deep thrust.
The impact is loud, a wet, heavy smack of his pelvis colliding with yours that echoes through the quiet study. He drives into you with a force that knocks the breath from your lungs, burying himself to the absolute hilt. You gasp, your single open eye widening as the sensation hits a peak that borders on blinding. You instinctively reach up, your hands finding his broad shoulders, your nails digging into the pale, hot skin in a desperate bid for stability. Sebastian leans into the sweet sensation of pain, welcoming the scratch of your nails as a physical manifestation of your need. "That's it" He growls, his voice thick and distorted by lust. He sets a punishing, relentless rhythm, slam, drag, slam, drag. "Hold onto me. You are shivering so beautifully for me, scream my name until the roof comes off"
He is no longer patient, he is the starving demon at a banquet, and he intends to consume every drop of the pleasure you are offering. The room is filled with the chaotic music of the act, the creak of the heavy leather chair protesting under his strength, the wet, slick sounds of his repeated, forceful entry. And over it all, your high, broken moans intermingling with his deep, guttural grunts. He keeps his face hovering just inches above yours. He wants to watch you unravel, he watches your eyes squeezing shut, your lips parting in silent screams, the flush of blood turning your chest and neck a deep, mottled red. "Look at you" He pants, his hot breath washing over your face. He slides a hand from the chair arm to cup your cheek, his thumb roughly but affectionately swiping at the corner of your mouth. "You look like a masterpiece of ruin. Completely undone by me"
He knows you are teetering on the very edge of the climax he denied you earlier. He decides it is time to push you over, but he refuses to let you fall alone. He changes the angle of his hips, grinding his pubic bone directly and continuously against your oversensitive clitoris with every deep thrust. The dual stimulation, the relentless pounding inside and the crushing friction outside, is a sensory overload that shorts out your brain. "Come for me" He commands, his voice dropping to a dark, hypnotic roar. "Shatter right now, my precious mate. Break into pieces for your Sebastian. Give it all to me, now!" He feels the telltale fluttering begin deep within you, the initial, desperate clenching of your internal muscles as the orgasm takes hold. A manic, breathtakingly joyful smile splits his face. He abandons all restraint, his hips becoming a blur of motion, determined to ride the wave of your climax and wring every last ounce of ecstasy from your body while he chases his own explosive release.
The final ten seconds are a masterclass in shared oblivion. The air in the study is crackling, charged with an almost physical electricity as the dual friction of his body and your hypersensitivity spirals out of control. Sebastian’s eyes roll back, the glowing crimson swallowed by the darkness of his pupils. He is no longer a separate entity, he is a force of nature pouring himself into you. His hands, gripping the arms of the leather chair, tremble with the strain of keeping you pinned beneath his relentless, pounding rhythm. You are completely lost, your voice tearing from your throat in a continuous, high-pitched wail that bounces off the mahogany shelves. "Seven...eight... nine..." He pants out, his voice a jagged, guttural countdown, his breath ghosting over your lips. He knows exactly when the dam is going to break. "Ten!"
It hits you both with the force of a collapsing star. A sound that is neither wholly human nor entirely demonic rips through the room, a perfect, chaotic harmony of your high, desperate cry and his deep, roaring groan of absolute surrender. Good thing his shadows have created a magic shield to soundproof the study room a while ago. The climax is not a tremor, it is an eruption. Your body convulses violently against the leather, and the pressure you have been building for hours finally, explosively, gives way. A sudden, hot, and copious fountain of your essence bursts forth, a literal spray of pure pleasure that splashes indiscriminately between your violently joined bodies. It coats his stomach, your thighs, and drips onto the dark leather of the chair in a glistening, messy testament to your shared ecstasy.
Sebastian doesn't flinch away from the mess. He drives himself to the absolute hilt and locks his hips, freezing his body in place to absorb every single spasm of your release. He throws his head back, his cords of his neck standing out in sharp relief as his own climax hits. He pours himself into you, a thick, endless, pulsing flood of demonic heat that feels like liquid fire spreading through and fills up your womb completely. "YES!" He roars, the sound ragged and torn, his hands leaving the chair to grip your hips, pulling you impossibly flush against him. He is drowning in you, both internally and externally. The feeling of your warm, sweet nectar splashing against his skin as he empties himself into your core is a sensory overload that shorts out his ancient, composed mind completely. He is nothing but demonic instinct and satisfaction.
As the final, shuddering aftershocks begin to wane, the adrenaline crashes, leaving you both heavy, breathless, and utterly spent. Sebastian slumps forward, his massive frame collapsing onto you with a heavy, wet squelch of skin and fluids. He doesn't crush you, but he envelops you completely. He buries his face in the crook of your sweaty neck, his chest heaving painfully against yours. For a long minute, the only sound in the study is the harsh, synchronized rasp of your breathing and the soft, settling crackle of the fireplace. He slowly, weakly, turns his head to press his cheek against your flushed, damp skin. A low, exhausted chuckle rumbles through his chest, vibrating into yours. "My word..." He slurs into your neck, sounding intoxicated and hopelessly fond. "You truly are a natural disaster, my love. My beautiful, soaking wet, perfect little monster"
He turns his face to press a soft, lazy kiss to your shoulder, his eyes closed in absolute, sloppy contentment. "I believe" He murmurs, his hand sliding up to weakly stroke your hair "that we have successfully ruined the upholstery. A worthy sacrifice for such a...spectacular conclusion" The scent of the study is a chaotic, potent blend of old paper, leather, and the heavy, sweet musk of your shared exhaustion. The antique chair, an heirloom of the Phantomhive estate, is unquestionably ruined, soaked through and marked by an act of absolute, demonic indulgence.
To Sebastian, this is not a concern, it is merely an item on tomorrow's to-do list. He doesn't scramble up or show any sign of haste. The transition from the frenzied, primal lover back to the composed, protective guardian is slow and fluid. He lifts his head from your neck, his eyes still half-lidded and glowing with a soft, sated warmth. He presses a lingering, wet kiss to your pulse point before slowly withdrawing from your body. The sound is a loud, slick schlorp that echoes in the quiet room, a final, carnal reminder of how deeply he was buried in you.
You let out a soft, sleepy whine at the sudden emptiness and the chill of the air hitting your damp skin. "Hush" He murmurs, his voice a low, vibrating purr that immediately soothes your nerves. "I have you" He stands, his pale, immaculate form a stark contrast to the mess he just created. With a casual flick of his wrist, he summons the shadows from the corners of the study that were soundproofing the room just a few moments ago. The dark tendrils slither across the floor like obedient serpents. They gather your discarded clothing and his own ruined garments with silent efficiency, rolling them into a neat, invisible bundle.
A thicker tendril retrieves his discarded black tailcoat. Sebastian takes it, shaking it out with a snap. He leans down, scooping your boneless, exhausted body from the ruined chair and into his arms. He lifts you effortlessly, cradling you against his broad, warm chest. He drapes the heavy wool tailcoat over your shivering shoulders, tucking it securely around you like a protective cocoon. The coat instantly chases away the chill. His nose brushing your hair as he turns toward the door. "The chair is a casualty of war, my love. A small price to pay for such a...spectacular victory. I shall replace it before the young master even finishes his morning tea"
He carries you out of the study and into the cavernous, dark hallways of the manor. The house is dead silent, asleep under his watchful presence. He walks with a slow, measured stride, ensuring you are not jostled. You are a heavy, pliant weight in his arms, your head resting against the steady, eternal thud of his heart beneath the silver mark. "You were magnificent" He praises softly to the empty corridor, his voice a dark, melodic hum. "Such stamina. Such beautiful, noisy surrender. You have thoroughly exhausted your demon. However I am not surprised I have trained you well for the past few months, it's only natural but you have slowly improved mating skills"
He reaches your shared chambers, pushing the door open with a nudge of his shoulder. The fire in the hearth has burned down to glowing embers, casting a soft, red-gold light across the vast nest of black furs. He lays you down in the center of the bed, arranging the pillows around you. He doesn't pull the covers up yet. "One last duty before you go to sleep my darling" He hums, kneeling at the foot of the bed. He parts your legs gently, he extends his broad, velvet-soft tongue. He licks you with long, slow, methodical strokes, cleaning away the sticky remnants of your shared climax. His magical saliva acts as a cooling, soothing salve on your overstimulated nerves, melting away any soreness or lingering tension.
It is not sexual, it is purely affectionate. It is a slow, rhythmic lullaby of touch that pushes you deeper into a state of heavy, dreamless relaxation. When he is satisfied that you are pristine, he presses a final, soft, closed-mouth kiss directly to your clitoris, a sweet, smacking seal of the night’s work. "Perfect" He whispers into the quiet room. He crawls up the length of the bed, his body sliding against yours. He pulls the heavy duvet up, tucking it securely around your shoulders. He slides in behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling your back flush against his chest, locking you into the safety of his embrace. "Now, go to sleep" He commands gently, his purr starting up again, vibrating through your spine. "The world is locked out. You are clean, you are full of my cum, and most importantly...you are all mine"
The morning light of the Phantomhive manor was crisp and unforgiving, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the high, arched windows of the study. The grandfather clock ticked with its usual, ponderous rhythm. At his desk, Ciel Phantomhive sat surrounded by a fortress of paperwork, his brow furrowed in a permanent scowl. The heavy oak doors opened with a smooth, silent glide. Sebastian entered, the very picture of immaculate servitude. His tailcoat was flawless, his white gloves pristine, his posture an exercise in geometric perfection. He carried a silver tray bearing a steaming pot of Earl Grey tea, a porcelain cup, and three, perfectly glazed scones.
"Your morning tea, My Lord" Sebastian announced, his voice a smooth, cultured baritone that betrayed none of the feral, roaring beast that had occupied this very room just hours before. He crossed the study, his steps making no sound on the intricate persian rug. He set the tray down beside Ciel’s elbow with a delicate clink. Ciel didn't look up from his ledger. "Finally. Is the carriage prepared for the afternoon meeting with Lord Sterling?"
"It is, My Lord. The horses are watered, and the route has been cleared of... obstructions" Sebastian poured the tea. A thin, fragrant ribbon of amber liquid arced perfectly from the spout to the cup. As he poured, Sebastian’s eyes drifted upward. He looked across the desk. There, sitting exactly where it had always sat, was the heavy leather wingback chair. It was magnificent. The mahogany legs were polished to a mirror shine. The brass studs gleams. The dark green leather was supple, uncreased, and smelled faintly of fresh wax. It was, by all mortal accounts, the exact same antique chair that had been in the Phantomhive family for three generations. It was also completely, entirely, one hundred percent fake. Sebastian had spent thirty minutes before dawn weaving it into existence from shadows, a stray piece of old wood, and a healthy dose of demonic transmutation. The original chair, the one that had borne witness to a chaotic, screaming, fluid-soaked symphony of defilement, was currently ashes at the bottom of the manor's incinerator.
A slow, wicked smirk touched the very corners of Sebastian’s lips. It was a fleeting, private expression of absolute, arrogant amusement.
He looked at Ciel, who took a sip of the tea, completely oblivious that he was sitting three feet away from the epicenter of a demonic mating ritual. "Is the tea to your liking today, My Lord?" Sebastian asked politely, adjusting his immaculate cufflink.
"It’s fine" Ciel muttered, turning a page of the ledger. "Though the room smells slightly...different today. Did you change the polish on the wood?"
Sebastian’s smirk widened just a fraction of a millimeter. His crimson eyes flashed with a dangerous, hidden mirth. "I did, My Lord" He lied smoothly, bowing from the waist. "I felt the study required a...deeper clean. A more thorough scrubbing of the foundations, if you will. To ensure everything is in its proper place" He straightened up, his hands clasped behind his back, the perfect, loyal servant guarding the most scandalous secret in the manor. "I assure you" Sebastian purrs, the double meaning known only to him and the shadows of the room, "everything is in perfect, immaculate order"
The faint, acrid scent of Earl Grey tea and ink was suddenly overwhelmed by a different sensation entirely. Sebastian was in the middle of aligning a stack of invoices on Ciel’s desk when it hit him. It wasn't a sound or a smell; it was a surge of golden warmth that bloomed directly over his heart. The Silver Mark beneath his crisp white shirt flared, sending a pleasant, electric pulse through his ribcage.
The transition in his demeanor was instantaneous, though invisible to the untrained eye. The rigid, cold perfection of the Phantomhive butler softened. His shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch. His jaw unclenched. The bored, flat crimson of his eyes sparked with a sudden, vivid luminosity—a flash of pure, unadulterated joy that he quickly hooded beneath his dark lashes. He could feel your sleepy consciousness stretching out. He felt the heavy, satisfied ache in your muscles, his handiwork from the night before and the slow, reluctant shift of your weight against the furs of the nest as you prepared to throw off the covers and face the day. No, his mind hummed, a possessive, territorial instinct warring with his duties. She's too warm to leave the nest yet. And I have not yet tasted her morning. Sebastian stepped back from the desk, his movements fluid and suddenly urgent. "Young master" He said, his voice smooth, but carrying a distinct, non-negotiable weight. "If the immediate correspondence is settled, I must request a brief leave of absence from the study."
Ciel paused, his pen hovering over a ledger. He looked up, his single blue eye narrowing in annoyance. He took in Sebastian’s posture, the slight lean toward the door, the intense, almost distracted gleam in those demonic eyes. Ciel was young, but he was not stupid. He knew exactly what that look meant. He knew the source of that sudden, radiant energy. A deep sigh, heavy with the burden of employing a lovestruck monster, escaped the young Earl. "And how long will this... absence...be required, Sebastian?" Ciel asked, his tone clipped, masking his irritation with boredom.
Sebastian bowed, a gesture that was more a formality than a sign of subservience. "No more than thirty minutes, my lord" He stated effortlessly, knowing full well he would stretch it to forty-five if you were particularly compliant. "There is a... domestic matter in the east wing that requires my personal, immediate attention. A delicate...restorative task"
Ciel waved a dismissive hand, returning to his paperwork with a scowl. "Thirty minutes, not a second more. And if Bardroy burns down the kitchen while you are...restoring...whatever it is, the damages come out of your non-existent salary"
"Perfectly understood, my lord. Your generosity is boundless." Sebastian practically evaporated. The heavy oak doors clicked shut with a soft snick, and he was gone. He moved through the corridors of the manor not as a servant, but as a king returning to his queen. His stride was long, eating up the distance, his coat tails snapping around his legs. He bypassed the main kitchen entirely, stepping into a shadow in the hallway and emerging in his own private, magically-sealed pantry. His hands were a blur, a silver tray, a delicate, bone-china teacup filled with a blend of chamomile and rose (to soothe the nerves). A plate of warm, flaky croissants, buttered precisely, alongside a small crystal dish of sliced strawberries and thick cream. He arranged it all in seconds, his mind racing ahead of his body, already picturing you tangled in the black furs. He reached the heavy doors of your shared chambers. He didn't knock, this was his domain. He pushed the doors open silently and slipped inside, the silver tray balanced effortlessly on one hand.
The room was dim, the curtains still drawn against the morning sun, lit only by the glowing embers of the fireplace. And there you were. You were sitting on the edge of the massive, circular nest, your hair a beautiful, chaotic tangle. You were wearing one of his discarded white shirts from days ago, the fabric dwarfing your frame, slipping off one bare shoulder to reveal the faint, reddish-purple bruises he had left there the night before. You were shivering slightly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, preparing to stand up and face the cold floors. Sebastian’s breath caught in his throat, the tray was set down on the bedside table with a soft clink. "And where" He murmured, his voice a dark, velvety rumble that filled the quiet room, making you jump slightly, "do you think you are going my little one?"
He closed the distance between you before you could even turn your head. He didn't just walk up to you, he sank to his knees right between your parted legs as you sat on the edge of the mattress. He reached out, his large, warm hands instantly covering your bare, chilly kneecaps, grounding you in his heat. "The garden is full of mud and insects" He purrs, looking up at you with eyes that were no longer the flat crimson of the butler, but the brilliant, glowing fuchsia of a starving, devoted lover. "And you...you are still so full of me. You are not meant for the dirt today, my little flower" He leaned forward, pressing a slow, deep, open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, right below the hem of his shirt. "I brought you breakfast" He hums against your skin, the vibration sending a jolt of electricity up your spine. "But I must insist...that I am allowed to have mine first" His half-lidden lustful eyes look down between your spread legs and then back up to you, licking his upper lip and a wedding in anticipation for your permission to start eating... you.
