Leatherbound Lechery (a sebaciel fanfic)

Leatherbound Lechery

Sometimes when he looks at me, I can see a glint in his eye. The rational part of me knows it's a hunger that will only be satiated when I meet my end. The rest of me wants to believe it's more, and that he would seduce me into bed with him. By now my ache for him has grown so intense, he'd need do little more than offer and I would let him into me. Perhaps that's the thing. The reason why I can't love her the way she deserves. She can never fill me the way he can. The root of my desire, the longing, the ache within me that she can never touch. But if he would only hold me, cradled in his bare hands, and let me take him into me, I could be satisfied. I burn for him, and so many times woken in the night to satisfy it on my own; even then I want so badly to whisper his name. The moment I let myself say it, he will be here, he will know my shame. An Earl longing to be taken to bed by his Butler? Humiliating.

But how can I be expected not to? The form he took on, he took on for me. To please and comfort me. And when I think back on that terrible night, the first time he took my hand and made his offer to me, did he not offer me pleasure? Riches, pleasure, death and calamity. I have three of those already. But pleasure? Did he know even then that I would desire him, when I was far too young to know my desires? Did he foresee my lust?

I often wonder if he was observing when they ruined me. Did he witness my defilement? Did he watch in silence while my innocence was stolen away? Did it please him to see me taken? He is a demon after all, it would be no surprise if he had taken delight in it. But then, if that is the case, why is he so gentle with me? Why does he handle me with such a delicate touch? Is it for me, or for himself, that he keeps his hands gloved?

When I lay in bed at night, long after he has left me to myself, I catch my mind wandering back to him. Sometimes my dreams betray me, and I wake breathless, aching for his hands on me. Satisfaction by my own hand is hardly satisfaction at all; not when my hands are so much smaller than his. I imagine watching his hand wrap around me, so much larger and more skilled than my own, handling me so deftly and even now I find my own grasp to be a poor substitute. I wonder if he does the same. What images arouse his desire? Are they the same images that arouse mine?

I wonder, too, if he would act on it. If there were a way I could suggest it without seeming indecent, but then, what is decency to a demon? Are there taboos at all? If I were to proposition him, would he deny me? And how would I even do such a thing? In my dreams there is no need, he comes to me. His crimson eyes roaming over me, bare hands quick to join them and he takes me, filling me completely. To feel him move inside me would be maddening, and I crave it.

Even now, if I were to say his name, he would come to me. In the blink of an eye, he would be here, to serve my every whim. Well, perhaps not every whim... I could certainly order him to give me his body, but as many times as I've considered it, it wouldn't be enough. What would be? Demons do not love; he cannot love me. And that hurts in a way I can't quite describe. Or perhaps I can and I'm just not willing to do so. Instead, I focus on the most trivial of details. Surely, if he cares for me so, he cares for me, as much as a demon can care. I try to be satiated with such comfort I can be granted by a gloved hand stroking my hair, but what I want, what I need are his fingertips against my skin.

I want to see him the way he has seen me. I have felt his strength, wrapped myself around him for protection, and felt his firm, slender body in my arms; but I have never seen him. I have never once been granted more than a glimpse of his bare skin, surely pale and smooth. His hands: those I have seen. Pale, slender and shapely. The few times they've touched me they were cool, and I found myself wanting to warm them in my own. What flashes of his bare flesh I have been granted draw up a tension in my spine and makes me yearn for him. I have been pressed against him, cradled in his arms, and wanted so fiercely to linger there, to feel his lips against my skin and let him use me for his pleasure. I fear should the opportunity ever arise; I would brazenly throw myself at him. My lust would beg him, plead for touch, his kiss and his most intimate embrace.

Shameful. What type of Lord would I be if I allowed myself to do this? And what ridicule it could bring? Unthinkable. I could never damage my reputation, entangling myself with him further than I already have.

Although, I have crossed a line already, haven't I? I've never asked him what he'll do with my body when he's taken my soul. Perhaps I could start there. If I could insinuate without revealing my motives; but he is far more skilled in seduction than I. Oh, how much easier would this be if only he would make a move! Any move. A pawn, a knight, bishop, anything! I can't be the one who strikes first, but if he would only make that one move, I could reciprocate. I would let him have his way with me, and then some, if only he would once again offer me the pleasure I was promised. It was his promise, does that not make it mine by right?

He is rightfully mine. My loyal butler: property to do with as I see fit. I would be well within my privilege to lay him down and take him. I could order him to come to me; show himself to me and finally be granted more than a glimpse at the strong body I have so often felt against my own. I wonder how much of him there is, and how much of it I can take in before he fills me; how deep before I scream his name? His name. And he would whisper mine. My name. Not "My Lord", not "Master" (although that has its own lecherous connotations), not Bocchan. I would spill myself in his hands if he would but touch me and whisper my true name. The sweetest words from his demon tongue, all the whispers of a lecherous devil and what that skilled tongue could do elsewhere. Better than his sweet whispers, the soft embrace of his lips around me; the pleasure that alone would bring is too much to contemplate here. Best dwelled upon in solitude and darkness, where I can imagine bright crimson eyes looking up into mine. Would they glow so brightly if I were to wrap my own clumsy lips around him? Would his taste be as sweet as I imagine it to be?

 ***

There was a quiet knock at the door and Ciel looked up from his journal quickly. He shoved it into the top drawer of his desk unceremoniously and slipped his hand into his shorts to adjust his throbbing erection, doing his best to hide it. Sebastian popped into the room, offering a quick bow as he approached the desk with a teacart.

"Young Master, I've prepared your tea." Ciel glanced at him quickly, nodding. "Your cheeks are flushed. Are you feeling alright?" Sebastian slipped off a glove and reached towards Ciel's face, ready to test his cheeks and forehead for signs of fever, when Ciel brushed the bare hand away.

"I'm fine." Mismatched eyes watched intently as Sebastian pulled his glove back on, nodding.

"If you say so, my Lord." Silence fell between them, Ciel pretending to fiddle with paperwork as Sebastian prepared his tea. "You needn't hide it from me, you know." Ciel looked up at him, panicked, and felt his cheeks darken.

"Hide what? I have nothing to hide." He answered quickly, and Sebastian laughed.

"No. Of course not." With a coy smile, Sebastian placed the tea lightly on the desk before Ciel. Feeling exposed, Ciel's hands shook gently as he took the cup, doing his best to keep it from rattling against the saucer as his eyes roamed over the object of his desire. "Perhaps soon you'll realize there is no reason for clandestine fantasies, when everything you desire is within your grasp." Sebastian offered a polite smile and bowed deeply, crimson eyes flashing brightly as he looked up at Ciel. "If you'll excuse me, Master." Ciel blinked several times, watching him go. Speechless, he leaned back in his chair as the door closed, pondering the meaning behind Sebastian's words; wondering if it was time for him to find a new hiding spot for his leatherbound lechery.