Work Header

bring you to my hell

Work Text:

bring you to my hell

They are nearly inside the carriage when the little girl stops and asks Ciel to buy an orange.

She’s a little moppet of a thing, her wide eyes and youth lending a certain charm to the lower-class lilt of her accent. Ciel regards her for a moment with an unreadable expression, but somehow Sebastian is not surprised when the commandment comes down for him to purchase the orange.

Sebastian resists pointing out how he’s supposed to be the one handing out fruit to innocents, and gives the girl the change from his pocket. It’s more than a penny, and her eyes light up when he presses the coins into her palm. Such a simple thing, money, and how easy it is to manipulate humans with it. A smile, a war, an army -- they all have their price.

“May God’s blessing be with you on your journey,” the little one chirps, beaming brightly at Sebastian. Her soul shimmers in the depths of her eyes, a thing of soft light and gentle warmth, a thing Sebastian finds utterly unappealing -- not for its innocence, but for its faintness.

This sad little lamb, she will not lose her soul to a demon like him. No, neglect and the casual cruelty of humanity will be enough to dim her already feeble light, and the dirt and grime of the streets will strangle whatever beauty she might have grown to possess. Like a flower choked by so many weeds before it ever had a chance to bloom.

Sebastian merely smiles in response to the girl’s heartfelt blessing of gratitude, then turns and walks away. A devil’s sheer indifference is the only blessing he can give.

* * *
There is something beautiful about Ciel as he stares out the window at the countryside, the lingering traces of his earlier terror still clinging to him like smoke. Sebastian takes the orange from the windowsill, and begins removing the rind with his knife. He thinks about doing this to Ciel, peeling the bruised flesh away and getting at the succulent fruit hidden beneath.

(Demons do not need to sleep, but sometimes Sebastian does so just so he can dream of the moment when he will take Ciel’s soul, take all of that burning intensity and violent anger and swallow it whole, feel it burn down to the core of his infernal essence. He does not often indulge in such fantasies, because when he awakens he is starving, aching and hard for something he cannot -- yet -- have.)

Watching Ciel delicately taking pieces of the proffered orange with his clever fingers, placing them in his makes Sebastian’s teeth sharpen, makes him bite back an inhuman growl as his hunger grows.

By the time Ciel is finished with his snack, his fingers are sticky from the orange. The smell of the fruit is not displeasing, and Sebastian is curious as to the taste of it; most human food is unappealing to him not because of its flavor, but its texture. So he pulls his little lord onto his lap, and licks curiously at Ciel’s fingers. Beneath the sharpness of the citrus on his tongue, Sebastian can taste the slightest hint of ash.

Ciel says nothing as Sebastian sucks his fingers clean, one by one. By the time he’s finished, Sebastian’s eyes are aglow with unholy fire, and Ciel is writhing on his lap, caught up in his own hellish pleasure. Other devils might enjoy offering fruit to tempt the innocent into damnation, but Sebastian -- he much prefers sharing it with one already damned.

* * *
Sebastian is not surprised to find himself propositioned, when they return to the manor. He usually enjoys the charmingly awkward way in which Ciel tries to arrange for his own pleasure, without simply asking for it; he vacillates between bullying Sebastian outright and attempting to trick him, neither of which are necessary. Sebastian is more than happy to put his young master beneath him, to make him cry out in ecstasy -- just as he will enjoy it when it is Ciel’s soul he is devouring, instead of his eager young body.

Tonight, Ciel does not try to brattishly force his butler into licentious acts, nor does he affect artfully innocent poses in an attempt to entice; instead, he pulls Sebastian down by his tie and presses his mouth to Sebastian’s own, murmuring “I need my demon tonight, Sebastian.”

Charmed, Sebastian smiles and nips softly at his young master’s lower lip. “And you have him, my lord. Tonight, and every night, until the end. What is it you desire of your demon, young master? Tell me how I may please you.”

Sebastian knows, of course, what Ciel wants. And though he may be evil by nature instead of nurture, Sebastian is still a demon, and he likes making his young master say the words.

“You do not understand,” Ciel says, fingers pulling harder at Sebastian’s tie, his voice beginning to waver with some unnamed emotion -- a rarity, that, along with his uncharacteristic eagerness for Sebastian’s touch. “I need my demon, Sebastian.”

Sebastian blinks at him. “Ah, my lord -- I am not certain I understand what you are asking of me,” he says, slowly. “Do you not wish for me to take you?” Perhaps Ciel wishes to take him, though Sebastian will eat an entire four-course dinner prepared by Bardroy, if Ciel manages to actually ask for that.

“Yes,” Ciel mumbles, face heating. “Obviously. Don’t be obtuse, it doesn’t suit you.”

“I am not being obtuse, my lord. I am simply attempting to clarify my lord’s wishes.”

“I want you to -- do that, t-take me -- as a demon, Sebastian,” Ciel manages, words tumbling in a heated rush from that succulent little mouth. “I want the demon who liberated me from that cell, who offered to make me the tormentor instead of the tormented. I want that, Sebastian. I want to see it, I want to -- to touch it, and I want it to….”

“Take you,” Sebastian supplies, his eyes beginning to heat.

“Yes,” Ciel says, determination and embarrassment warring for dominance on his pretty face.

“Why?” Sebastian asks, though he thinks maybe he knows.

Isn’t it even more demonic than a demon? Ciel asked, back at the ruins of the workhouse. And I’m the same.

“It is not your place to question me,” Ciel bites out, each word soaked in the privilege of his rank, the right to be obeyed without question. “I have told you what I want, now you will do it.”

“My lord,” Sebastian says, carefully, “I do not wish to disobey my master’s orders --”

“You cannot disobey, devil! Is that not the deal we have made?” Ciel demands, voice rising. His eye, the one that bears Sebastian’s mark, begins to glow.

“Indeed it is, my lord, but first and foremost I have promised to protect you,” Sebastian reminds him, lightly smoothing Ciel’s hair away from his face. As Sebastian expects, Ciel flinches violently from the touch, as he does when things feel good that are not first preceded by pain.

“Are you saying it will kill me? Wound me beyond repair?” Ciel gives him a scathing glance. “I had thought you possessed more self-control than that, Sebastian. You disobey me and you fail me, in one night. Perhaps you are not worth my soul, and I should find a better devil who is!”

Of course his arrogant little lord would think it a failing of his, somehow. Sebastian sighs, ignoring Ciel’s tantrum for the moment. Such displays of childish temper do not last long, and Sebastian knows well enough by now how to deal with them. “It is not a matter of self-control, my lord. It is a matter of, is such a thing possible.”

“It has to be possible,” Ciel argues, as if offended by the idea that he might want something he cannot have. “I have...there have been times you’ve…manifested attributes that are not entirely human, Sebastian, whilst you’ve been...engaged in certain acts upon my person.”

“Yes, indeed I have.” Sebastian presses Ciel back against the bed, smiling at him, showing teeth. “But that is not the same thing, my lord. My demonic form is not intended to couple with humans. It is intended to eat them.”

Ciel’s face blanches at that, then he immediately scowls and shoves Sebastian, hard, on his shoulders. “Then get as close to it as you can, Sebastian, give me that. Unless you are incapable, in which case, I must question your fiendish nature as I really do not think it should be that difficult.”

“It is not I who would encounter difficulties, my lord,” Sebastian says, irritated, his eyes glowing with hellfire. “It is you who might end this night without a soul, should you provoke the lust of a demon who wants to consume it.”

“That would void the contract,” Ciel says, and his eyes are wide but his voice is steady, even. The haunted look never quite leaves his eyes, just as that imperious tone never quite leaves his voice. “And I know you will not do that, Sebastian.”

“My lord--”

“Shall I make it a command, then?” Ciel’s eye glows again. “How disappointing. Very well, Sebastian, I --mmph.”

Sebastian places a single finger over Ciel’s mouth, stopping him before he can say the words. He leans down and says in a voice that echoes with inhuman vibrato, “If you wish for it to be brutal, my lord, you need only say so. I promise you, it can be done in this form as well as any other.”

“What I want,” Ciel says, flatly, shoving Sebastian’s hand away, “Is exactly what I have told you to do. Do not make a habit of questioning my wishes again, Sebastian. You are not contracted to give your opinion. You are my servant.”

Sebastian understands what his overbearing little tyrant of a master is attempting to do, but it makes it no less annoying to be spoken to in such a fashion. “But you haven’t told me, my lord. You have skirted around the command, you have implied, you have used phrases like engaging in certain acts upon my person. If you wish to be fucked by something inhuman, say so. Improving the clarity of your speech will greatly improve your servant’s ability to understand what it is, precisely, that his lord desires.”

Ciel’s face flushes with color, but to Sebastian’s surprise, his little tyrant blinks those wide eyes at him and says, without preamble, “I wish to be fucked by something inhuman, Sebastian.” The contract mark flares to life in his eye.

Sebastian slowly removes his glove with his teeth, the fabric whispering over his own burning seal on his hand. “Yes, my lord,” he says, and where there was once a thing shaped like a man and wearing a butler’s livery, there is now something else, something dressed in darkness, something that watches Ciel with long, sly eyes lit from within by Hell.

* * *
Ciel is a mass of contradictions, a complicated creature who wants a demon in his bed and still cannot say the word fuck without blushing, who buys oranges from street urchins mere hours after burning children alive for their own good. He is resistant to all but the most necessary of touches, eschewing even the most innocuous attempts to offer physical comfort -- and yet, when Sebastian appears in this form, a creature straight from Hell and radiating malevolence...Ciel crawls towards him on his knees, reaching out one small hand just like he did that night they made their contract.

“May I…?” Ciel’s voice is quiet but not from fear; if anything, his insistence on asking before touching is due to the manners bred into him since birth.

“You may always touch me, young master,” Sebastian says, in that voice that sounds like gears grinding together, like dark things stirring beneath the ground. “I am yours to command, your servant, as you have taken such pains to remind me.”

“How you manage to sound sarcastic even with that voice is a marvel,” Ciel says, blinking those wide eyes at him. He is peering into the darkness that is Sebastian, as if looking for something recognizable to touch. He almost, but not quite, touches the edges of Sebastian’s form. “Are you -- insubstantial, then?”

“No,” Sebastian says, offering no more than that.

“Then why can’t I feel anything?”

“Because you are too far away from me,” Sebastian tells him. His wide mouth, full of teeth, stretches into a smile. “Come closer, young master.”

Ciel moves closer, on his knees, very slowly. It is arousing, though Sebastian’s mindset is more of a predator luring its prey, the hunter closing in on the kill. What they are playing at, here, is deliciously dangerous and incredibly stupid.

Ciel bats at the feathers swirling around them, scowling. “Must they do that? Why cannot they be still, they’re wings, aren’t they?”

“They can be,” Sebastian says, and settles the feathers behind him. “This form is but a representation of my essence, young master. As is the form I wear for you. Do you understand?”

Ciel nods, and then he is there, next to Sebastian. His fingers trail over the edge of Sebastian’s form. “You feel like smoke stretched over the thinnest of paper.”

Sebastian is surprised at the whimsical nature of that description, but he says nothing as Ciel’s fingers map the odd arrangement of angles that define him.

Sebastian reaches towards him, draws a talon down the side of his young master’s face. Ciel shivers, but it isn’t fear that suffuses his scent, not anymore. He moves closer, shuffles over the bedclothes to kneel in front of him.

“Did you expect me to cower in fear?” he asks, staring up at Sebastian. “This is the form you took when you came to me. You are my salvation.” Ciel leans in and kisses the edges of Sebastian’s mouth. “I will not fear you, demon.”

Sebastian’s wings flare, wrapping around Ciel to draw him closer. Ciel is warm, so warm that Sebastian wants to open his jaws and swallow him whole. He will need to alter his form, and soon. It is not yet time for what he wants.

But perhaps it would be all right to pretend. Just for a moment….

Sebastian moves, pressing Ciel back against the pillows as he swoops down upon him, mouth open to reveal the sharp fangs. His talons are embedded in the pillow next to Ciel’s head, and the noise he’s making is between something between a hiss and a click, and the guttural caw of a crow.

Ciel does not struggle, though Sebastian would like it very much if he did. He simply reaches up and traces the edge of Sebastian’s wing, then nods. “My salvation...and my damnation.”

Sebastian lowers his head and licks Ciel’s neck, tasting the quickening beat of his pulse. His hunger is overwhelming, making him shudder. “Ah, young master. I want so very badly to tear you apart.”

“Yes,” Ciel says, in a voice gone hazy with lust, as he spreads his legs wantonly for the monster to settle more fully on top of him. “You will enjoy that, won’t you.”

“Oh, yes,” Sebastian sighs, the sound a hiss, and he can feel Ciel hardening underneath him. What a depraved little creature you are, young master. “I will enjoy it so very much, my lord.”

“You shall take your time about it, too, I imagine,” says Ciel, staring through his lashes up at Sebastian with his mismatched, luminescent eyes. “I insist. I am a meal to be savored, demon. Isn’t that what you tell me?”

Sebastian answers him, but not in words his master will understand. His mouth is moving closer and closer to Ciel’s, dangerously so, and his lust reaches a fever pitch as the tempting little thing wriggles and writhes beneath him.

“Ah, Sebastian,” Ciel chuckles darkly. “You are nearly undone by your hunger, I can feel it.” Ciel turns his head, each breath smelling sweetly of his soul. “How close are you right now, devil, to taking what you have not yet earned?”

“Very, very close, my lord,” breathes Sebastian, as Ciel’s mouth teases his own.

“And is this how my soul shall be extracted, my hungry devil? With a kiss?” Ciel asks, pushing himself up and rubbing against Sebastian with abandon. He kisses Sebastian, gentle little pecks, one right after the other.

“Yes,” Sebastian hisses, forcing himself not to capture Ciel’s mouth, not to let the pull of it start because if it does, it will be over -- and part of him, the part that is a predator to the very core, is beginning not to care.

“I would offer you a taste of it to hold you over, Sebastian, but you are forever forbidding me to snack between meals, so it is only fair I do the same to you.”

“It would not matter, my lord,” Sebastian says, shuddering as each brief touch of Ciel’s mouth makes the pull start, only to stop abruptly as his mouth is taken away. “I would not be able to stop, once I started.”

Ciel’s arms are around him, tangling in the darkness and the feathers and the evil that is Sebastian. His kisses linger longer and longer, until the demon pulls away, staring down at Ciel with a wide, empty circle where his mouth should be, and in the places that were once eyes.

Ciel stops, his mouth a hairsbreadth away from the dreadful face that was once Sebastian, finally aware that he might have pushed his demon too far. “Sebastian. Sebastian. Enough. You will not violate the contract. Tonight you are to take me, not my soul.”

It takes Sebastian a moment to understand the sound he is hearing is his master calling his name, that the touch he feels is Ciel stroking his back, the curve of his wing. He buries his face in Ciel’s neck, breathing hard as he tries to regain some sense of composure. “We cannot -- ah, young master. How you tempt your demon.”

“That was impressively terrifying,” Ciel tells him, still stroking a hand down Sebastian’s back. “When your mouth and eyes went all round, as they did.”

Sebastian exhales, licking at the sweet skin of Ciel’s neck. “You came very close indeed, my lord, to see such a thing.”

“Close to being eaten?”

“Yes, my lord,” says Sebastian, nipping harder.

“So that is what it shall look like,” Ciel muses. “I hope I have not ruined your dinner, knowing that beforehand.”

“Ah, my young master,” says Sebastian, in a sweetly sinister voice. “There are many other things that can be done, before it happens. Merely seeing how the table is set is not enough to ruin the meal, my lord. You have not yet seen all of my tricks.”

“Clever devil,” says Ciel, shifting beneath him again. “Then I would have you show me other ones, now. Tricks that do not result in my end.”

“Those that end in la petite mort instead of la mort, is that what you mean?” Sebastian asks, laughing at Ciel’s sudden bright flush. “You teased a demon nearly past the point of no return, and yet to speak of sexual pleasure makes you blush.”

“Sebastian, my command was for an inhuman creature to bring me pleasure, not to be nearly eaten and then taunted with euphemisms by my insufferable French tutor.”

“And now you see why I suggested your orders be given in a clear and concise manner,” Sebastian murmurs, leaning down to kiss him. He lets his teeth elongate again, lets a trickle of that discordant echo back into his voice. “But I should warn you, young master, you teased your devil quite mercilessly -- and your devil is of a mind to repay you in kind.”

“Time to Il faut donner au diable son dû, hmm?”

Oh, young master. This devil is due so much more than your delectable little body, but if I didn’t take the opportunity to lead you into sin, what kind of fiend of Hell would I be?

“Yes, my lord,” Sebastian says, eyes ember-bright in the dark, hungry now for different things.

* * *
Sebastian has Ciel on his hands and knees, his slender neck grasped between the talons of one hand as he fucks him, harder and harder, listening in pleasure to the needy, panting whines that spill from his young master’s lips.

He made his demanding little lord wait for it, teased him and made him ask for all manner of debauched things, wrapping Ciel in the tendrils of his diabolical lust until Ciel would scream his desires from the top of his lungs, if only Sebastian would grant him release.

Three times he has driven Ciel to the point of release, only to pull back and watch him suffer in sadistic enjoyment, thrashing on the bed beneath his devil, tormented by ecstasy so cruelly denied.

Twice he has kissed Ciel with a mouth full of sharp teeth, tasted blood and murmured perhaps I will let you come, this time -- yes, call your devil’s name, see if he is pleased enough to allow it, as he worked Ciel’s cock with a hand tipped dangerously with sharp obsidian.

And twice, he denied Ciel at the crucial moment, content to lick his talons as he licked Ciel’s fingers in the train, tasting the boy’s suffering with every long, slow lick and enjoying the barrage of filthy, angry words hurled at him by his spoiled little master, who was aching now with a hunger of his own.

And once he sprawled on his back, one hand locked around Ciel’s fragile throat to keep him still, the point of a talon resting warningly against his artery while Sebastian stroked himself with his other hand -- simply so he could watch Ciel’s face when he found release, when he arched his back and came with an inhuman noise and a flutter of black feathers. Ah, how angry his little master was, watching Sebastian shudder in the throes of ecstasy he himself was denied.

How angry, and how helplessly, utterly aroused -- for he could not hide that, either, not from a creature who was born of sin itself.

“Tell me how you want your devil to fuck you,” Sebastian purrs, finally, when he has Ciel trembling before him on hands and knees, stripped of his inhibitions and entreating his demon to fuck me, Sebastian, fuck me now.

Ciel stares at him over his shoulder, panting, lust burning in his eyes and the contract mark glowing with every word he speaks, every demand he utters that his demon is all too eager to fulfill. “I would have him fuck me like I would have him take my soul,” Ciel says, looking straight into Sebastian’s eyes. “Without mercy.”

Sebastian smiles and traces the edge of his Ciel’s mouth with his talon, eyes flashing when Ciel takes it into his mouth and sucks, licks at it with his clever little tongue, gaze still locked on his demon. “Without mercy, my lord,” Sebastian promises, pushing inside with one long, brutal thrust of his hips. Ciel cries out in pain but he pushes his hips back demandingly, and his mouth closes tightly over Sebastian’s talons, sharp teeth biting delightfully as he moans.

Sebastian curves himself over Ciel’s spine, his voice like disjointed bells chiming in terrifying disharmony, suffused in reverence for this being that belongs to him, this soul that burns so bright, it hurts the hellfire of his eyes to look upon. “Show me how hot you burn, my master. Show me that warmth that will sustain me, even in the darkest depths of Hell.”

Ciel comes with a loud cry, his whole body shivering and bucking beneath the twisted, demonic form atop his own. Sebastian finds his own release, spending violently and making a harsh, fierce sound like a raven’s call as he does so. For a moment Sebastian is lost to the pleasure of it, his consciousness fading briefly and leaving only the essence of what he truly is; malevolence incarnate, a thing that exists only by smothering another’s light with its own vile darkness.

Sebastian comes back to himself when Ciel elbows him sharply and says, in a voice made slightly less demanding by his obvious satisfaction, “So much for smoke stretched over paper. You’re heavy, demon. I would not meet my end smothered by my bedcovers.”

Sebastian obligingly rolls off of him, settling on his back and letting his form bleed back into the familiar lines of the Phantomhive butler.

“You don’t even look disheveled,” Ciel accuses him, all messy-haired and flushed, with bites marking his neck and back, criss-crossed with thin, red lines from Sebastian’s talons. He also has a split on his lip, which is bleeding rather profusely. Sebastian leans down and licks at the blood, purring like a satisfied cat.

“If I couldn’t ravish my young master and remain properly attired, what kind of butler would I be?” Sebastian asks, pulling away at length. “You, on the other hand, look quite deliciously debauched. Sucking on my talon, my lord? How thoroughly animalistic of you.”

“Shhh, Sebastian, really,” Ciel mutters, blushing predictably. He rakes a hand through his tousled hair, tugging at the blanket to cover his nakedness without Sebastian noticing. “It is not necessary for you to...refer to recently completed events, thank you.”

Sebastian smiles at his young master’s staunch adherence to prudish decorum, mere moments after being fucked by a demon -- at his own insistence, no less. But he is sated enough to let it go for the moment, and instead he rises to his feet, adjusts his tie and says with a low bow, “I shall prepare young master a bath at once.”

“Yes,” Ciel says, drawing his knees to his chest. He looks very small, curled up so in the middle of that impossibly large bed. “See that you do so. And Sebastian -- I would like a cup of warm milk, please. With honey. For afterwards.”

“Of course, my lord,” Sebastian says, bowing again.

“But do not prepare it until after my bath, or it shall be cold. And no amount of honey makes lukewarm milk tolerable, Sebastian.” Ciel pauses. “If you are truly carrying me into Hell, shall I be condemned to lukewarm milk for all of eternity?”

Sebastian, recalling his words spoken at the height of his pleasure, is now the one fighting off a blush. “Ah. I do not believe there is milk of any kind in Hell, my lord. But if there was, it would not inherently be lukewarm.”

“I suppose not,” Ciel says, looking somewhere over Sebastian’s shoulder. “One man’s lukewarm tea is another man’s ambrosia. Perhaps for me it would be lukewarm, and for another, too hot to sip without scalding one’s tongue.”

“My lord misunderstands,” Sebastian corrects. “There is no milk of any kind in Hell, because its denizens do not consume it. Humans view Hell as a catch-all for their fears and lustful urges, my lord, or as a convenient place to banish gods who have outlived their usefulness. Rather like a storage closet in the cellar, or a cobwebbed corner of an attic. But it is not an oubliette, nor is it a place of eternal torment.”

“Then what is it a place of, exactly?”

Sebastian thinks on this for a moment. “Darkness,” he says, with a graceful shrug. “I cannot think how to explain it better than that, my lord. It is a place of darkness, in which all light is drowned by shadow.”

“Even mine, burn though it shall in the belly of my very own beast?” asks Ciel.

Sebastian smiles at him. “Yes, my lord. Even yours.”

Ciel does not smile, but then again, he never does. There is something that looks a bit like relief in his expression, but it quickly gone beneath his usual imperious expression. “My bath, Sebastian. I am quite sticky. And the milk. Do not forget the milk.”

“Of course, my lord. I shall never forget my master’s orders to me. Not a one.” Sebastian bows, and leaves him lying there in the darkness that he does not fear, amidst the shadows of the things he does.

* * *


Il faut donner au diable son dû = "give the devil his due"