#drunk demon

I'd just kind of like to know what's going on in this pic. Oh, and also *ree-eealy like to know what's in the bottle to put that face on the demon.

You all would probably like to know too, right? So who can suss this illustration and it's attendant Japanese (that IS Japanese, right?) commentary.

A drunk demon is a scary thing. It is more than lust and losing his composure. Sebastian is utterly devious. A wicked little trickster. He moves the furniture around when your back is turned; pushes desks and couches across the room in under a second, flips paintings around to face the wall, assembles chairs up on top of tables, balances bookshelves on their edges, stacks vases and statues ceiling-high. There are smoky silhouettes creeping in the corner that disappear when you look straight at them. The temperature in the room drops suddenly and you don’t know why. You’ll miss the first step of the staircase and tumble all the way down, swearing to have felt a hand at your back the moment before it happened. The air in your lungs won’t seem like enough, it will feel like the room is filling with smoke or gas that you can’t breathe, and you’ll claw at the air trying to catch your breath as a dull red glow watches from the corner. The fear, the anxiety, the worry that you are going crazy; Sebastian loves to watch it, loves the scent of scare in the air.

Sebastian himself is a sight to behold. There’s a smattering of pink on his cheeks and he lumbers about in his human body without any of his typical poise or grace. Francis would have a fit is she saw that his hair is even more unsightly than usual because he keeps running his hands through it, tangling his own fingers in his sleek black locks. The uniform of the Phantomhive butler remains, though not completely intact. He takes off his gloves, loosens his tie, unbuttons his shirt, kicks off his shoes. He even undoes the belt and fly of his trousers to relieve his aching erection, because even though it’s not solely lust that defines a demon, it’s still a part of his nature. And with his inhibitions dimished, Sebastian can’t help but let his libido show.

Except his usual tact and smoothness has gone out the window. He can’t keep up with his master’s usual games. It’s too taxing, Ciel’s cleverness too demanding. Sebastian tries to keep up in their little game of cat and mouse but he fails somewhat miserably. He simply tells Ciel that he wants to dress him up like a kitten, call him his little minx. Ciel pushes him away, and for a second Sebastian forgets their contract and pushes back, hard, shoving Ciel into the wall and pinning his wrists out to the sides as he slides a thigh in between Ciel’s legs. Ciel wants nothing to do with this slovenly hellion and he is irritated beyond belief, even though he was the one that urged Sebastian to drink and let the alcohol take hold because he would not do so without his master’s permission. And now his manor is a mess and the servants are all terrified and on edge, and he could tell Sebastian at any moment to sober up and fix everything, but he doesn’t. There’s something about having Sebastian’s bare hands on him… Maybe it’s just their contract. His eye burns and radiates warmth out to his limbs and his groin. His hips move on their own, and Sebastian encourages the ragged humping of his leg as he licks Ciel’s throat like an animal.

He wants to take him right there in the upstairs hallway, not even thirty feet from Ciel’s bedroom. Ciel doesn’t protest as Sebastian fumbles with the buttons on his vest. Giving up, he rips right through the little waistcoat and shirtsleeves, tears the short trousers in two with his hands. He turns Ciel around and pushes him flush against the wall, dragging two lubricated fingers across his hole. He fully intends to fuck him right there, and Ciel has no choice but to order him to desist, at least until they are someplace more private.