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His young master, his debauched god, his little falsely-docile lamb.
Sebastian has very rarely allowed himself to indulge in the wisps of soul that seep out when Ciel sleeps, when he moans, when he cries softly as he snuffles into the lapels of his jacket only to feign indifference not a moment later. It drives Sebastian to near madness, trying so desperately not to rip him apart before he’s ripened to a sweetness perfectly deserving of a soul like his.
It had smelled lovely on that day so many years ago, he knows that, but even more so now as he has carefully crafted it to contain a multitude of sorrows, loves and desires.
It smells lovely still, as Sebastian bites into his own forearm to resist biting down into Ciel’s throat, the claws of his other hand sinking down into his slender hip to keep his lower back arched off the bed. He’s sure that if the cult had had their way with him, his sweet boy would’ve been perfectly trained but his lack of experience and general inability to show interest in sex had left him open for Sebastian to mould as he pleased.
Now, his little hands with his perfectly manicured fingernails dig futilely into Sebastian’s back, trying to claw but only half-catching skin and slicking with sweat. His pink lips, the same colour as a freshly bloomed bonica, are parted with his moans, sweet and wanting.
Sebastian has never seen nor experienced the appeal of drugs — his body simply burns through them too quickly to properly achieve the high, but he’s certain this is close, no, this is elevated by how much better it is. Huffing Ciel’s scent, sweet and sharp with sweat and pain.
His body just wasn’t made for this and it’s sweet, really, to make it adapt so cruelly.
The space between them is slick with oil and the metallic sting of blood from the impatient boy shoving himself down too quickly. It only aided in Sebastian’s pleasure in the end, the way his button nose had wrinkled up and how he’d squinted his eyes shut, streaks of purple still glowing angrily through his skin to highlight his pretty blue-green veins.
Their metaphysical bodies wanted so badly to latch onto each other, to intertwine the way they will when Sebastian inevitably devours his cunning boy’s soul, where he will keep him inside of him forevermore.
He’s pulled, ripped, from his thoughts by a loud yelp of pain — pure pain, no pleasure to tint or cloud the truth of it.
Sebastian grits his teeth.
He can feel his form slipping, wisps of shadows dancing around the room, smudging the edges of his body as he presses inside deeper. His little master’s head is thrown back against opulent white sheets as he whines and frowns with his hurt.
No words pass between them, he doesn’t tell him to stop or be gentle, because his little master is just as death-obsessed as the average suicidal sinner. No-one who wishes to live sells their soul, after all, only the ones who are desperate and destined to die.
Claws the colour of tar sink into Ciel’s hips, nearly to the bone and his stark blood is like paint made of cinnabar as it drips down his sides, lingering on his arching spine before it drips onto the sheets to join the mess of sweat and tears.
“What the fuck are you doing?” His voice cracks but he forces his eyes open anyway, like he can’t decide if he needs to start fighting back or not, like he can’t tell if fighting would help him to begin with.
“Enjoying you,” Sebastian murmurs, eyes glittering and glowing from beneath thick lashes, “tasting you.”
The words draw a sharp yell of pain, where Sebastian struggles to reign in the shadows that wish to nestle themselves deep within Ciel’s organs — he can feel them somewhere between his intestinal tract and stomach, the feeling must be indescribable for a human.
A sweet, sore aching but so visceral, it’s like dying, no anaesthetic in the world could ease this divine discomfort.
Ciel’s distress grows rapidly when Sebastian isn’t quite able to keep himself from slipping further. It's a thick and warm smell, sweet, like he’s trying to stop the wolf from finding out what's beneath his wool but it’s far too late — Sebastian knows what’s beneath because it feels like he’s got his fingers buried in it.
“Stop-“ Now he panics, kicking his legs out, sliding against the sheets but unable to get any traction. His ineffective nails dig into him, fear driving him to be unrelenting in his viscousness and he manages to draw blood. A spark of pride flares in Sebastian’s chest.
Christ, he’s going to love this. That soul that glows so beautifully in his prey’s chest is flashing warning colours like the dog that lives in his Ciel’s heart is bearing its teeth.
It’s so easy to wrap his arms around that lithe, little body, squeezing him into his chest as his fangs lengthen, forcing his pitifully human jaw to make room for them. He doesn’t sink them in, he just presses his nose to the top of Ciel’s head to inhale his sweet scent and sinks in to the hilt, kissing his scalp.
Bruised thighs spasm around his waist, the rest of his body so quickly slipping from his control as he freezes up. He shakes but it’s clearly beyond his ability to stop, eyes wide and glimmering with a layer of tears.
“Going into shock, my Lord?” The question goes unanswered as more and more of Sebastian’s form unravels, his own voice shaking slightly as he begins to pant.
His form, the one beneath the suit, is so much more sensitive here in its fluidity.
Fingers slick with blood and eyes wide with betrayal watch him, but his fear is not of the form that the demon has taken — rather, he’s scared of what this means, of if he’s being abandoned, anger just beneath at the thought of being taken advantage of when the deal hasn’t been fulfilled.
“Don’t worry, dear boy,” Sebastian scents him, unsurprised that with another roll of his hips, his bladder finally grows too weak and the acrid, sharp smell of urine fills the space between them, adding to the mess.
“I will not leave you in that place for long.”
He could stop, maybe, but there’s an urgency within him, something like the itching of nerves within teeth. It’s impulsive, really, and frightfully human but he gives into anyway.
A broken body is pinned by the shoulders to ruined sheets, weak legs dangling against hips that are only held up by twine-like shadows. His thrusts are deep, hard enough to send little hairline cracks through the fragile pelvis bone and spine.
Ciel’s slowly losing his ability to make noise, squeaking whimpers leaving him, only remaining conscious because of the rushing adrenaline that did nothing to dampen the pain.
A noise, weak and broken, slips through Ciel’s pale lips — whitened from that beautiful, doll-like pink by blood loss.
It’s the noise a dying fawn makes, when the hunter guts it alive, and a low, steady growl reverberates through the air. It’s a rumble that vibrates the cup of tepid water on the boy’s bedside table, that makes the hound dogs outside bark and yip.
The next press of his hips has the boy’s sunken belly distending, turning dark with the shadows that writhe beneath the skin and wriggle angrily like they’re trying to escape him, a grotesque mimicry of sanctified childbirth.
The thought slips in and it would be beautiful, really, to watch Ciel’s body split open as blood and gore poured from him.
He presses a fissure through a few layers of muscle, just to test how it’d feel, and the boy finds a second wind. He screams, so loud that Sebastian briefly wonders if he’ll need to kill the rest of the staff in case they decide to come investigating.
“Sweet boy, your body is so fragile.” The words are as close to a compliment as the demon can string together, breathless, without his eloquence as he fucks deeper into the boy.
Ciel coughs, blood and shadow leaking from his mouth and nose. His eyes are slowly turning bloodshot, beginning to seize as he dies, unwilling and stubborn as he is with all things.
Sebastian can’t stop the moan that slips past his lips, his body is twitching and squeezing around him and it’s perfection, even better than watching the blood sizzle and foam pink with saliva and vomit at the corners of his mouth.
His eyes roll back, the glow of his seal dimming.
Sinking closer, forcing his broken body to bend, he kisses him slowly, gently. Licks the pain and mess from his mouth before he begins to speak softly.
“Don’t worry, Ciel, I will not leave you in that place.” His breath stutters as the heart in his boy’s chest starts beating erratically, they’re connected, after all, he can hear him. It’s enough to have his eyes, all of them, fluttering, enough to have him ripping through fat and flesh on plush thighs.
“I shall bring you back and let your divine fury have me.”
Ciel’s head falls limply to the side and Sebastian’s orgasm is —
It’s better than he’s had in centuries, mouth open to let gushing blood catch against his tongue, squeezing so hard around his boy’s little ribcage that it breaks and crushes his lungs.
His stomach can’t hold the shadows, cum leaks out with blood and stomach acid around the intrusion between his thighs, blood spraying when they force their way through layers of muscle and fat.
Even broken and dead, his young master is beautiful.
The best he’ll ever have, until his delicious soul fades from his tongue.
His eyes slip open, reaching to quickly grab and cradle that spark of light that immediately burns at his skin, drawing a smile to his face. Even dead, his master had a way of showing his indignation.
“Do not worry,” He brought the soul up closer to his face and pressed a gentle, closed mouth kiss to it, “you are safe, little one.”
The next morning, the servants of Phantomhive Manor watch their little master sit at the breakfast table. He looks tired, worse for wear, with purple bruises that speak of a sleepless night beneath his eye.
He ignores their worried looks as he sips the tea Sebastian sits before him. The butler is quiet, looking as close to worried as the others have ever seen him.
They don’t ask about the burning, bloodied sheets in the furnace.