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“It’s for your own safety,” the other butler says, too close to Ciel’s ear, as the click of a lock secures the leather cuffs behind his back. “You’re confused, unwell. We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”
Ciel doesn’t feel like he could hurt himself even if he wanted to. His mind is hazy, overwhelmed with truths he doesn’t want to acknowledge and lies he never thought to question. Every breath he takes smells sharp and medicinal, making it even harder to think amidst the flood of information and interrogation.
Claude rubs Ciel’s shoulders, easing the tension that’s started to build in his muscles from being bound. It’s so easy to let himself melt into the touch. So easy to let go of his worries, his fears, “your past. So easy to let my words sink into you. So easy to…” Claude’s voice drones on in Ciel’s ear, and his thoughts come in and out of focus, until he’s unable to determine what are his own thoughts and what is Claude’s voice. Perhaps he doesn’t need the former.
He’s moved from the examination chair to a cot at some point, seated on its edge rather than lying down. Claude slowly begins to remove his clothes, starting with his boots, and the image of a man clad in black deftly undoing his laces is so calmingly familiar that Ciel finds himself smiling dreamily. It’s right, it’s correct.
“It’s supposed to be like this.”
It’s supposed to be like this.
He’s stripped naked from the waist down now. Claude spreads Ciel’s legs, and he feels something wrap around his ankle—more leather, not very expensive by the feel of it, same as the cuffs on his wrists. There’s a few more clicks, and then Ciel finds himself unable to move his legs from their spread position.
His feet both lift at once, and Ciel sees the wooden rod locked into place keeping them spread as Claude lifts it, testing its strength. When he seems satisfied, he gently lowers the bar again, leaving Ciel’s feet dangling over the end of the cot, and then places both gloved hands on Ciel’s left foot. He rubs the sole with a thumb, the instep with the other, gentle pressure that makes Ciel relax even further, deeper.
Claude repeats this treatment with the other foot, melting every ounce of remaining tension in Ciel’s body, until he can’t hold his body upright anymore and lets himself lie back on the sheets, his bound arms uncomfortably trapped beneath him. Without any means of visual confirmation, however, he’s completely unprepared when Claude lets go of his foot and starts running his hands up Ciel’s bare thighs.
He shivers, but he can’t brush Claude’s hands away with his own, or kick at him petulantly, and when he tries to come up with the words to demand that this end immediately, the only thing he hears is Claude’s voice telling him that it’s fine, everything is fine, he can relax here, he can let Claude take care of everything. It’s his job as a butler, after all.
So when Ciel feels the hot breath on his cock, he doesn’t struggle, doesn’t scream at Claude not to touch him, doesn’t even have time to think about the last time he was in this much of a vulnerable position for more than half a moment before there’s a mouth around him, suckling at his soft cock, and he can feel an ecstatic moan coming from Claude’s throat.
Ciel doesn’t push himself to sit up to see the look on his face, but the pure excitement in Claude’s voice as he pops off of Ciel’s cock and breathes, “I knew it would be divine,” is clear as day, the only thing in the room that feels real. The soft fabric of Claude’s gloves is cool against Ciel’s skin as he takes Ciel in hand, stroking him to hardness as Claude sucks at the head of his cock, worshipping it with his tongue.
His hips buck up in fits and starts as Claude sucks him, shuddering steadily one moment and gone completely still the next, his body unable to decide what it wants.
“Is something wrong?” Claude asks as Ciel’s voice goes high on a heavy breath. “You seem tense.”
Ciel opens his mouth, but Claude shushes him.
“We’ve done this plenty of times. You should be used to it by now.”
What? He hasn’t done this, not with him, not—
“Just relax. I know what you like, Master.”
He can’t know—
“Relax,” Claude repeats, and his voice seems to echo in Ciel’s mind, over and over, until Ciel’s body obeys.
Claude takes him deep into his throat, and Ciel lets out an undignified whine. But it’s—fine, he’s safe, “safe with me, able to trust,” able to relax into any touch as long as it’s from his butler.
“It’s supposed to be like this.”
He doesn’t last much longer, his voice strangled as he feels his body tense up all at once, spilling into Claude’s mouth. Claude laps it up graciously, moaning with each pulse of Ciel’s cock, whispering things into his inner thigh that Ciel isn’t sure were meant for his ears, quiet as they are.
Ciel is exhausted, his arms are starting to cramp, and he wants to go home. The mansion is fuzzy in his mind, the interior shifting and warping, but he knows it’s there, knows there’s one waiting for him.
“You’ll be home soon,” Claude says, and there’s more soft clicks as he removes the device between Ciel’s ankles. “Just relax, let me take care of everything.”
Ciel does relax.
It’s supposed to be like this, after all.