Yes… Mr. Wordsmith decided in his private thoughts, it was astonishing how much shapeliness was present in the butler's mysterious, outer features and how unbridled charisma seemed to radiate from every little gesture he took upon. Just as if the tall, handsome man had acquired supernatural abilities and formed them for the sole rationale of materializing straight from a novel by Oscar Wilde.
"Oh?" The butler named Sebastian tilted his head, a queer smile stretching his long mouth. "I had the pleasure of meeting him long ago. What an extraordinary mind… and his bedside talents… well…"
"Sebastian likes his little jokes," Ciel said dismissively.
Out of the corner of his eye, Mr. Wordsmith caught a silent, contemptuous exchange of glances.
"Don't pay any mind to him."
He laughed weakly at this, entirely discomfited with his verbal slip-up of exposing those "private" thoughts. His laughter budged up in his throat as Ciel leaned over from his sitting position on the other side of the mattress, placing an earnest hand on the adult's knee. Gesturing like an old, intimate friend. Despite himself, he felt his cheeks heat at the contact. "…E-Earl?.?"
"…It seems you were eavesdropping earlier on our conversation, Mr. Wordsmith…" Ciel smiled politely and ignored a meek, stammered apology. "Do you speak French fluently?"
"A-A little… I had some practice with my older sister Nessie who travelled often—" His nervous ramble was interrupted by pudgy, boyish fingers pushing firm against his lips. Mr. Wordsmith watched with wide eyes as Ciel turned away from him and started talking rapidly to his butler, seeming to give him a strict order… and then, one word spoken chilled the blood in his veins. One single word.
The passing of time had been (strangely; when had he spaced out?; very strangely so) hazed out… Mr. Wordsmith soon found himself — without a proper explanation — tied to the guest bed that evening, legs crooked open, wrists hanging above him and together with his own silk tie. Also appearing out of place in this scene change were his unbuttoned trousers… slipped down to expose his naked rump and private parts, and the clear fact that both of his companions staring at them did not find a speck of idiosyncrasy about this.
Ciel stood up from the mattress, and made for the nearby desk. With purpose, he snatched up a quill feather, and headed back for his victim.
"You publish such magnificent words in your works…"
He mused, brushing the very tip of the man's penis with the feather until it began glistening, "What words will you create under these conditions?"
Without further hesitation, Ciel handed the feather to Sebastian who obeyed his unspoken command, and the boy perched himself on the desk chair barely two feet away. When his pale, pretty legs crossed themselves primly, they exposed from the long nightshirt. The boy's hands poised themselves with gentle patience in his lap, awaiting the show, awaiting the reactions he expected from his players.
A helpless whimper. Mr. Wordsmith again felt the sensation of his further engorging penis lifting to meet the strokes of cloud-soft, feather edges. As it reddened and shuddered under Sebastian's undivided attention, Ciel's smile inched up higher in (sadistic, sadistic, sadistic; Mr. Wordsmith bemoaned) unconcealed amusement.
At the rate he was going… he would… in front of them…
"That is enough," Ciel ordered then sharply. To Mr. Wordsmith's blotchy haze of both a near-orgasmic state and mounting horror, Sebastian pinched the dusky-rose, weeping tip with harsh fingertips. The other man soundlessly gasped, jerking his hips upwards, but not causing the gloved fingers to slide away anytime soon.
Swabbing a dollop of opalescent semen around his gloved, index finger, the butler half turned towards his young master who parted his lips and teeth to accept the liquid offering. Ciel's tongue peeked, the pink, delicious muscle sluggishly swirling around Sebastian's clothed-finger, sucking it like a newborn kitten. When the boy released a soft, gurgling noise, wrapping his hands around his offering, at the same time — Sebastian's expression crinkled with a wicked grin. Mr. Wordsmith's erection trembled harder.
"Do you desire more, Young Master?"
Ciel shook his head, letting the finger retract from his beautifully moistened mouth.
"It isn't sweet… but not terrible…"
He glanced at the other adult, with his blood-red wrists, with his blood-red, aching penis, asking as he folded a hand under his chin, "Have you nothing to say, Mr. Wordsmith?"
When dumb silence greeted him, Ciel sighed at him, smiling again that polite smile.