Hm. And what if it happened while Sebastian was eagerly observing … hm ….

“Lie over my knee.” He instructed.

A lapful of warm, squirming little boy followed soon after. He could feel the sharpness of the boy’s ribcage digging into his kneecaps as he wriggled to get comfortable. Felt the gusty exhale, a dip of the thin belly against his thighs, once he was settled and the realisation that he was going to be spanked in front of his daddy’s best friend sunk in. 

Spanking his little boy felt like something close to ecstasy. A whirling high. A white-out of his senses. Fever-pitched. Addictive. 

Having his best friend watch as he punished his kid only heightened the euphoria. And Vincent rather thought he might be in too deep. A swift descent into depravity. No return ticket. Sulphur-scent. Hell-bound.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/87349401

Thank you so much for the ask!  💖

Yes, I love this HC so much too. X3

*Sebastian took the form of a dog at Vincent’s request. 

*Not only because Vincent seems to have a penchant for deeming those in his service as “dogs” (poor Diedrich), but because it is unassuming to have a dog by his side, and most wouldn’t think twice about it, especially if he needs to go into protection mode. It was not uncommon for nobility to have large “manstopper breeds” for their estates, such as mastiffs. But I feel like his Borzoi (sighthound) shape was an aesthetic choice to maintain elegance and swiftness.

*Sebastian would have been given the option to shapeshift if necessary as well, especially if it were to protect the twins, which I think would have been one of the tenets of his and Vincent’s contract. But he was careful to never let the twins or anyone else except his contractee to see him change.

*I believe Undertaker would have been the only one to see through the ruse, and because of this, Sebastian did not like him from the start. Undertaker was little too handsy with Vincent and if Sebastian is anything, it is possessive.

*Sebastian was not “picking” on our Ciel when he was a child, but protecting him. When he leaned out the window to watch his brother and Elizabeth play outside, Sebastian was trying to discourage him from leaning out too far, which was dangerous. When the manor was under attack, Sebastian tried to prevent the boy from running across the bodies that would have frightened him. At his age, though, he wouldn’t have understood that he was doing what he was doing for the boy's benefit.

Firstly THANK YOU SO MUCH for this ask, I adore it so damn much!! ⋆˙⟡♡ I hope you enjoy what I managed to write for it, lovely <3

Vincent needed a moment alone. A reprieve from the blaring television – some action movie Ciel was half-heartedly watching while he scrolled his phone – and the nettling, caustic churning of his thoughts. 

Work obligations – because life didn’t stop when shit hit the fan – and the washing machine was making a concerning noise as of late, and he had the gardeners coming Monday. Most of all, the corrosive, grating, aching crux of his brewing headache tonight was the Abernathy case; paperwork and court dates and trying to understand the jargon of his attorney.

It was an abso-fucking-lute shitshow. A maelstrom of appointments at the courthouse, visits to his home, too, of recounting – over and bloody over again – the series of events that landed him in the messy aftermath. Of reliving seeing his little boy hurt and humiliated at the hands of the malevolent, fucking iniquitous aristocrats. 

Sebastian is of course more than horny happy to take Vincent’s sloppy seconds. No complaints there

Okay okay okayyyyyy I’m FERAL over this!!!! (also, apologies for taking so long to answer this, my ask box is stuffed and I’ve been terrible at replying, but I need you to know I’ve thought about this ask every day since getting it~) like can you imagine Vincent being absolutely out for the count, sated and more than ready to call it a night (such a grandpa at heart) and Ciel is just nagging him for more daddy. But Vincent can’t.

There was a heaviness sitting bold behind his brow. The tender bloom of a headache, tightly-wound. At odds to the looseness in his limbs; a lazily sprawled thing he was. Sweat-damp sheet sticking to the line of his back and shoulder blades. The scent of heat and musk and aftermath.

And still his little boy wasn’t satisfied. Kneeling at Vincent’s side. His slim thighs pressed together, a squish of milk-pale flesh. The small slink of his baby-cock half-erect, warm at the rosy tip, stirred by some scintilla of thought or impression or need. Spine straight, jaw jutted out primly, a very clear little statement in the kids’ pretty eyes; more, please, daddy. Now! 

Eager little love.

Vincent couldn’t, however. His cock soft and sated and sticky with cum and lube and his little boy’s spit. Ah, but it had been wondrous, taking the wet, sulky mouth. A hard series of thrusts over the wet writhe of the boy’s tongue. Sharp pistons of his hips against the soft palette. Priming himself to a fever-pitch. 

Made better by the noises Ciel had made. Choking, gasping, hitching wet sounds as his daddy defiled his mouth and throat. 

“I can’t go again, honey.” Breathed out on a tired exhale. The backs of his thighs felt tight from the act of kneeling and rutting into his little boy’s willing body. His fingers stiff from gripping the narrow cinch of the boys’ waist and hips, dragging him back against the snap of his hips harder and faster, a series of erratic, staccato thrusts at the end as he’d found his release inside the warm little arse. He’d left bruises, reddened fingerprint marks on the porcelain-pale skin. It was inevitable. But Ciel’s school shirt would cover the marks. Hide the evidence.

Conceal the slick of sin he and his little honey indulged in.

A disagreeing sound from Ciel; low in his throat. A dismissal of Vincent’s words, more to the point. Vincent glanced over, catching sight of the pouting bottom lip. Tsk. Small boy. Greedy baby. Seeking what he wanted without care to anyone else around him, as most little children were wont to do.

“I still want it.”

“I know, but I’m all out of energy.” And cum. Even if by some miracle he could get it up for another round, he doubted there’d be a chance of ejaculating. How thoroughly his kid had demanded his attention this evening.

“Just once more?” soft-edged, that question. A dip of Ciel’s chin, a lowering of his eyelashes. Oh, little minx. He knew how to charm. Knew how to play to Vincent’s tastes – how to play to perverted men, come to it – and it struck Vincent low, a heady thing burbling inside his stomach.

A fizzle of half-hearted arousal. It would not spark into an inferno, however. A wet-match. Low-burning cinders. 

Omgggg LOVE LOVE LOVE the idea of this ask~

Anddddddd then Ciel gets demanding and tries to stir Vincent’s arousal, his clammy, sticky fingers fumbling for his daddy’s cock. Warm, flaccid length. Soft and unstirring no matter how much he rubs it – a hiss of sound between Vincent’s teeth at the sharp, over-sensitive pleasure; too bold, erring on the cusp of pain – and eventually Vincent reaches down, pulling the boys’ hand away from his crotch.

“It’s no use,” kisses to the tiny knuckles, in apology as much as to soothe. His scent and the boys’ own lingering on the moist little palm when he kisses there too. A thrumming heartbeat at the thin wrist when he moves his attention there. Open-mouthed kiss. The lave and suck of his tongue and lips.

Perhaps it's cruel of him to tease the boy. 

A childish whine from Ciel, shifting restlessly on his knees. “But I need it, daddy.”

And as if by divine intervention Vincent’s phone chimes. He knows who it is even before he checks the screen; there’s only one person who texts him on a Friday evening.

Sebastian: drnks tonite? I’ll bring masseto.

Vincent texts back, tiptap keyboard sounds – he needs to remember to ask Ciel to turn that off again, tsk – and his stomach turns over, a slushy sensation. A little like apprehension. A little like heat and the burgeoning hiss and spit of something less easy to define. 8? See u soon.

Though, he thinks – much later, once he’s had his fill of masseto and his head is unspooled just enough to allow blunt honesty to seep in warm and bright without being mopped up by the insistence of his ego – that maybe, just maybe that fizzing, heated emotion had been the frayed-edges of a most insidious lust.

From upstairs he hears the high, breathy sounds of his kid and the rougher, lower noises Sebastian makes as he takes his turn with the child. 

Vincent feigns interest in the dregs of his drink, ruby-red and glittering prettily in the lamplit living room. He pretends the French film playing on the television is interesting. He doesn’t quite allow himself to get up and drift upstairs, pulled by an invisible string, hooked and reeled in by the noises his baby boy makes, a need to witness, a shadow lingering outside Ciel’s bedroom door, a watchful thing. 

But he can’t quell the bloom of arousal that strikes him hard and brusque when he hears his kid cry out, high and weeping, finding yet another shivering climax – sweet little boy – but now it’s the alcohol in his blood that’s dampening his ability to get hard. 

First thought, unguarded: yum.

Second, I honestly believe Vincent would be truly clueless at some tech tasks, especially after an update and things are slightly altered, a shift of icons or a setting hidden somewhere else, and he'd loathed the need to ask his son for help. Too proud to lower himself to need the help of an eighth-grader. His work laptop is always consistent. Few updates, it's older. It's familiar. Yet, his phone (the best model, the newest) changes too frequently and it frustrates him. Though, he appreciates Ciel's ability to take one look at it and know precisely what to do.

A tech cleverness that Vincent himself doesn't quite possess. Though, he could command a business meeting with expert flare. His son could not. Too effete for such an undertaking (or so he assumes, sheltered behind his ego).

Sebastian, however, knows tech. He's much more in tune with the advances. He'd purposefully misunderstand it so he could employ the pretty boy's aid. Sequestered away in the dim of the boy's bedroom, huddled at his desk, nail polish bottles and childish ornaments, the sweet vanilla scent of the boy. Bubblegum-scented shampoo underneath it all.

He likes to allow the child to feel useful. Sebastian leads a lot of their interactions. The initiator in many things. In this, he lets the boy feel out a sense of dominance. Feigns stupidity when he's entirely capable. He's different from Vincent, he likes to make Ciel feel competent. Vincent, even if it's entirely unwittingly, makes his kid feel perpetually under thumb. A child. Useless. Even when he's handing over his phone, muttering under his breath about the update breaking it.

And, softly, the boy would reply, "It isn't broken. It's just different. Changed." Ever patient with his father. Too enamoured, rather. Sebastian knows well the child's ingrained, imbedded need for his daddy, after all.

And Sebastian sees the desire, gleaming and liquid and unanswered, in the child's eyes; a longing to have his father's approval. His pride and not the stark, caustic reproach he's usually levelled with. But Vincent is too wrapped up in his own grating self-consciousness, warring over the inadequacy he feels in having to seek help from his kid in the first place.

So, in conclusion, I think they have varying approaches. And I think Ciel would call them daddy. Syrup-voiced. A veiled look underneath his eyelashes. He knows they like that, after all. And it pleases him to say it, to admit his own need for it. If he's being impetuous, perhaps spurred on by his father's irked mood at having needed help, he might throw in "unc" because he knows it'll snare and catch and annoy his father. Sebastian would find it endearing, perhaps.

I just imagine him lurking around whenever his daddy has Sebastian over, tiptoe steps on the stairs so as to not give himself away, and eavesdropping on their conversation (which is likely either laidback or heated; see: Vincent under Sebastian in some capacity or another 👀) and just willing them to do something naughty.

He’s absolutely a fanboy of them. Even more so when he’s the center of attention and gets them both to himself (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)

ᝰ🚬

• Ren. Some may say unsurprisingly Ren. ☜╮(´ิ∀´ิ☜╮)

• wincest shipper! Sebaciel. Hannigram. I mean, the list could go on!

• coffee lover ☕️ caffeine is a necessary requirement to function at this point. The stronger, the better.

• writing keeps the insanity at bay 😮‍💨

• used to be here before but life pulled the rug out from under me and I went MIA to cry for a bit. But I’m back! So if I had been following you before, interact so I can re-follow!! ❤️

• ao3: UnsurprisinglyRen (mostly explicit content for both Supernatural and Black Butler 🤌🏻)