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The Butler, Summoned

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Ciel takes the time to draft a few letters and take a cursory glance at his schedule for the morrow, before ringing the little gold bell that sits on his desk.

Scarcely a breath passes before the door creaks open. "You rang, my lord?" Sebastian sinks into an elegant bow. His shadow is thrown black and hulking onto the wall, his presence disturbing the candle flames.

"Dinner left much to be desired tonight, Sebastian," Ciel hums, drumming his fingers on the desk.

"My lord?"

"I found it utterly repulsive."

Sebastian folds his hands contritely. "Well, yes, young master. It is true that such richly spiced food is not to everyone's taste, though India is renowned for its many fine dishes. I simply thought you might wish to expand your palate--."

"I have absolutely no desire to expand my palate, Sebastian," Ciel interrupts. "And I find it presumptuous of you to assume."

Something flickers over Sebastian's face, the slightest tightening of the brow. It's as if he longs to put voice to something, to raise his hand against his master. Ciel shudders at the thought, at the knowledge that the only thing keeping him safe is the contract, how quickly Sebastian could rip him apart. It makes something coil low and hot in his stomach.

He knows that, if he asked him to, Sebastian would make him hurt.

He feels the low rush of satisfaction as he orders, "Remove your clothes."

The expression on Sebastian's face becomes smooth once again, lips curling up at the edges.

"Why, my lord, and without even an 'if you please'?"

"I hardly care if you please," Ciel says. This is an old game. "It would please me, and that is all that matters, is it not?"

"Of course, my lord."

He starts with his gloves, pulling off one finger at a time, letting the white linen flutter to the floor. His hands are quick and thorough, flicking buttons out of catches, pulling his belt out of his trousers with a snap. He smiles as he loosens his tie, and the candlelight glints white off his teeth as he drops his waistcoat. The breeze from the open window makes his shirttails flap as he pulls them out of the top of his trousers.

"Would you like to assist with the remainder, young master?" he asks, and there is something in his voice that sends shivers up Ciel's spine.

He makes sure his glare is unimpressed. "You are usually so adept at following orders, Sebastian. When I ask you to remove your clothes, I expect you to remove all of them. Without hesitation."

Sebastian bows again, a hand to his chest. "Of course, my lord. My apologies."

He slows down substantially, taking care with each button, as thorough with this as he is with everything else he does, whether it be pouring tea or making Ciel's bed in the morning. His fingers are slender and pale, and the rest of his body matches. Completely disrobed, he often reminds Ciel of Roman statuary, the sort of thing you'd find in the kind of book a respectable young gentleman shouldn't be perusing.

Ciel hasn't been respectable in a long time, but he has no need to go to such silly measures in order to get himself a taste of evil, of vice. He has a perfect specimen right here, in the flesh.

Sebastian doesn't take his eyes off him as he finishes with his trousers and tosses them aside. He takes absolutely no care with them at all, and that, more than anything, is what gratifies Ciel so very much. Sebastian's desire to be neat and have everything in its place trumped by his willingness to do anything and everything that his master commands.

Sebastian moves closer, utterly unabashed at his nudity. "Finished, my lord."

Ciel makes a sound of approval. Between his legs, Sebastian's cock hangs limp and pale, though Ciel knows he would harden in an instant if he commanded it.

"Is there any particular place the young master would like me?" Sebastian asks lightly.

Ciel spins his chair away from his desk. "On your knees."