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silverfoxflowerTitle: The Butler, Bought and Paid For
Fandom: Black Butler/Kuroshitsuji
Genre: Slash
Word Count: ~1500
Pairing: Sebastian/Ciel
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Underage (Ciel is sixteen)
Notes: Fills the Prostitution/Sex Work square on my![[info]](https://silverfoxflower.livejournal.com/img/community.gif?v=3)
kink_bingo.
Summary: The Earl of Phantomhive is a teenage boy. With needs. Luckily, he has a butler who always provides.
Disclaimer: No ownership was claimed in the making of this porn.
By the dawn of Ciel’s sixteenth year, all of Phantomhive manor had long accustomed itself to his increasingly taxing adolescence. The young master was growing faster than the tailor could stitch, and no sooner than one set of clothing arrived for his appraisal then he was sending out for another. His appetite became voracious, especially towards sweets, and more than once he had driven the Chef into a frenzy over demands for desserts made with oranges from Italy, or fresh cream from France, ready by suppertime. And where before they had been whimsical at best, the young master’s moods became positively mercurial, and the staff found themselves forever walking on eggshells in anticipation of their master’s newest conspiracy, ultimatum, tirade or craving.
But there was one factor of natural development with which Ciel appeared to be almost troublingly lacking: he had no undue interest in women. It certainly wasn’t caused by a lack of opportunity, for his pretty boyhood had transitioned quite well into broad shoulders and long-legged grace, with none of the gawky adolescence so often seen in between. Predictably, many young ladies, his fiancée Elizabeth notwithstanding, flocked to his arm on the rare occasions he could be bothered to make an appearance at social events. Even young widows and married women began throwing him seductive glances over their bare shoulders, as if trying to lure him into scandal. Last month, a young actress, the toast of London, who had her pick of rich and powerful patrons, sent a perfumed letter after Ciel during the intermission of a performance.
To anybody’s knowledge, he never bothered to reply.
And so it was speculated in social circles that the Earl of Phantomhive was either secretly deformed under his clothing, unnecessarily loyal to his future fiancée (and if the rumors of what she has gotten up to are true, highly unnecessarily), or merely very, very discreet.
Only the servants of Phantomhive manor had the rather dubious honor of knowing the truth.
About once a week, but never truly by routine, the young master would call for a carriage in the dead of night. This shouldn’t have been unusual, as Ciel was primarily nocturnal and possessed the habit of running about to all sorts of danger and mysterious adventure when it turned dark. However, on those certain nights he would command his carriage to stop in the middle of the city, always on the same street. It was an ambiguous part of London, not quite posh, but clinging to a shabby respectability that offered Ciel little danger as he walked alone.
After the carriage had pulled out of sight, Ciel would signal a hack and order it to take him to a decidedly less savory part of town.
Sometimes the driver would glance knowingly at Ciel’s fine clothing and draw his own conclusions about young lords and their peculiar tastes. More likely, he wouldn’t care, for he had had so many similar customers before, swathed in sweeping dark jackets with their faces shadowed by the brim of their hats. Once, the driver was an accomplice in a ring of muggers who preyed on drunk and vulnerable rich men. Ciel dispatched of him quickly, and called another hack before the man’s blood had tried on his hands. The second driver made it very clear that he was keeping his attention where it belonged.
After the hack had dropped him off, Ciel would make his way to a shadowed, rather shabby building which made no attempt to hide the fact that it was a brothel, if the gaudy trim and the dubious name etched above the doorway gave any sort of evidence.
It was a very specific sort of brothel, however, and not all were welcome.
On this particular night, Ciel had been granted admittance as always, and had his coat and hat whisked away as he was shown to a parlor far richer than the shabby business should have been able to afford. A ginger-haired young man came to his side and bowed deeply.
“Black is ready for you in his chambers, my Lord.”
Ciel did not speak, merely tilted his head and followed the boy up the stairs. Under the thick, expensive carpeting, the wood was rotting away, creaking distressingly under Ciel’s steps. They turned into a hallway, lit sparingly with brass candleholders affixed to the walls. Ciel could see wallpaper curling in the corners, where the circles of light couldn’t quite reach.
Passing the rows of doors on both sides, Ciel could hear no groans, laughter, or creaking of bedsprings. Just the occasional muffled thump, and once, ominously, a scream.
The boy led him to the end, looking at Ciel expectantly until he dropped a pound note. Then he left the young master to stare after the last door of the hall, painted black but free of any other indicators.
Ciel turned the handle to a lit bedroom, a table set for tea, and a man dressed all in black.
“Master,” the man bowed, the lights of the flickering flame catching in his hair.
“Sebastian.” Ciel said, moving forward until a chair was pulled out for him. A plate of freshly made lemon cake was sitting in the middle of the table, and a thick wedge had already been cut and set at his reach. Ciel watched Sebastian pour him a cup of tea and serve it with three sugars and one cream, just the way he always took it.
Under Sebastian’s watchful eye, Ciel lifted his fork and cut a small piece of the cake. Extraordinary, as always, nearly melting on his tongue. The cream was the lightest he had ever tasted, contrasting beautifully with the surprising tang of lemon filling. Ciel took a sip of his tea to cover his helpless moan.
“It is fine, Sebastian.”
“Very well, My Lord.” Sebastian dropped to his knees, neatly unbuttoning Ciel’s cock from his trousers and palming it in his gloved hands.
Ciel took another deliberate bite of cake, the same time Sebastian ducked his head and flicked his tongue over Ciel’s swelling cockhead, tasting the young master like he was the delicacy on the table.
Sebastian was skilled, there was no denying that. He sucked Ciel to the root without gagging, making no obscene noises and keeping all of his saliva in his mouth. His gloved hands rested on Ciel’s thighs lightly. Meanwhile, Sebastian’s devilish tongue was doing all the work, running up and down Ciel’s cock, curling around the bottom of his cockhead, and managing, somehow, to tease his slit without having to pull back at all.
Ciel continued taking his tea, although his fingers began trembling just the slightest, rattling the porcelain. A drop of sweat rolled down the young master’s cheek, soaking into his collar. He took one hand off the table and gripped his armrest so tightly his knuckles turned white.
His panting rang loudly in the silent room.
Sebastian switched to sucking in long, hard pulls, not a hair out of place as he ruthlessly worked over Ciel’s cock. The young lord dropped his head to the back of his chair, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to retain control.
“Sebastian.” He broke.
Almost gently, Sebastian pulled off of Ciel’s hard cock. His lips weren’t even swollen or shiny, bore no evidence of his activities. “Yes, my Lord?”
“I need to come,” Ciel squirmed petulantly.
“Not until you finish your cake, my Lord.”
Ciel glared but didn’t argue. In three quick bites, he cleaned his plate, barely tasting the delectable lemon cake as he opened his knees wider in expectation.
“Very good, my Lord.” Sebastian smiled, cool and mysterious and forever removed. He sank downwards once more, this time putting one of his gloved hands to work. With an expert twist of wrist and scrape of teeth, Ciel came, gasping as if his orgasm had been ripped from his stomach instead of spending itself in long pulses down Sebastian’s throat.
When Sebastian pulled away, Ciel was as wrecked as he had ever been, panting in his slightly-rumpled clothing, his face flushed beautifully in the candlelight. Sebastian patted his own mouth delicately with a handkerchief and stood.
“You know,” Ciel said accusingly, glaring at Sebastian through his eyelashes. “I don’t quite think this is how prostitutes function at all.” He had broached to subject to Sebastian two months ago, trying to get a rise out of his inscrutable butler by idly expressing the desire to visit a brothel. For curiosity’s sake, of course.
To his surprise, Sebastian had approved immediately, and by the end of the week, Ciel had an appointment in a shady brothel for a specialist calling himself Black, who worked out of the room at the end of the hall.
“Shall I pack up the cake for tomorrow’s tea?” Sebastian questioned, swiftly undressing Ciel and picking up several lengths of rope from underneath the bed.
“Leave it.” Ciel replied airily, lifting his arms to be tied to the headboard. His ankles were similarly bound, spread wide as they were attached to the bedposts. “I have a taste for strawberries tomorrow, first of the season.” Ciel’s cock, valiant in its youthful refractory periods, began to thicken as Sebastian worked.
“Very well, my Lord.” Sebastian viewed his handiwork with a small smile. From the side of the bed he retrieved a shallow dish of oil which had been warmed over candlelight. “Whatever you wish, of course, is my command.”
Fandom: Black Butler/Kuroshitsuji
Genre: Slash
Word Count: ~1500
Pairing: Sebastian/Ciel
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Underage (Ciel is sixteen)
Notes: Fills the Prostitution/Sex Work square on my
kink_bingo.Summary: The Earl of Phantomhive is a teenage boy. With needs. Luckily, he has a butler who always provides.
Disclaimer: No ownership was claimed in the making of this porn.
By the dawn of Ciel’s sixteenth year, all of Phantomhive manor had long accustomed itself to his increasingly taxing adolescence. The young master was growing faster than the tailor could stitch, and no sooner than one set of clothing arrived for his appraisal then he was sending out for another. His appetite became voracious, especially towards sweets, and more than once he had driven the Chef into a frenzy over demands for desserts made with oranges from Italy, or fresh cream from France, ready by suppertime. And where before they had been whimsical at best, the young master’s moods became positively mercurial, and the staff found themselves forever walking on eggshells in anticipation of their master’s newest conspiracy, ultimatum, tirade or craving.
But there was one factor of natural development with which Ciel appeared to be almost troublingly lacking: he had no undue interest in women. It certainly wasn’t caused by a lack of opportunity, for his pretty boyhood had transitioned quite well into broad shoulders and long-legged grace, with none of the gawky adolescence so often seen in between. Predictably, many young ladies, his fiancée Elizabeth notwithstanding, flocked to his arm on the rare occasions he could be bothered to make an appearance at social events. Even young widows and married women began throwing him seductive glances over their bare shoulders, as if trying to lure him into scandal. Last month, a young actress, the toast of London, who had her pick of rich and powerful patrons, sent a perfumed letter after Ciel during the intermission of a performance.
To anybody’s knowledge, he never bothered to reply.
And so it was speculated in social circles that the Earl of Phantomhive was either secretly deformed under his clothing, unnecessarily loyal to his future fiancée (and if the rumors of what she has gotten up to are true, highly unnecessarily), or merely very, very discreet.
Only the servants of Phantomhive manor had the rather dubious honor of knowing the truth.
About once a week, but never truly by routine, the young master would call for a carriage in the dead of night. This shouldn’t have been unusual, as Ciel was primarily nocturnal and possessed the habit of running about to all sorts of danger and mysterious adventure when it turned dark. However, on those certain nights he would command his carriage to stop in the middle of the city, always on the same street. It was an ambiguous part of London, not quite posh, but clinging to a shabby respectability that offered Ciel little danger as he walked alone.
After the carriage had pulled out of sight, Ciel would signal a hack and order it to take him to a decidedly less savory part of town.
Sometimes the driver would glance knowingly at Ciel’s fine clothing and draw his own conclusions about young lords and their peculiar tastes. More likely, he wouldn’t care, for he had had so many similar customers before, swathed in sweeping dark jackets with their faces shadowed by the brim of their hats. Once, the driver was an accomplice in a ring of muggers who preyed on drunk and vulnerable rich men. Ciel dispatched of him quickly, and called another hack before the man’s blood had tried on his hands. The second driver made it very clear that he was keeping his attention where it belonged.
After the hack had dropped him off, Ciel would make his way to a shadowed, rather shabby building which made no attempt to hide the fact that it was a brothel, if the gaudy trim and the dubious name etched above the doorway gave any sort of evidence.
It was a very specific sort of brothel, however, and not all were welcome.
On this particular night, Ciel had been granted admittance as always, and had his coat and hat whisked away as he was shown to a parlor far richer than the shabby business should have been able to afford. A ginger-haired young man came to his side and bowed deeply.
“Black is ready for you in his chambers, my Lord.”
Ciel did not speak, merely tilted his head and followed the boy up the stairs. Under the thick, expensive carpeting, the wood was rotting away, creaking distressingly under Ciel’s steps. They turned into a hallway, lit sparingly with brass candleholders affixed to the walls. Ciel could see wallpaper curling in the corners, where the circles of light couldn’t quite reach.
Passing the rows of doors on both sides, Ciel could hear no groans, laughter, or creaking of bedsprings. Just the occasional muffled thump, and once, ominously, a scream.
The boy led him to the end, looking at Ciel expectantly until he dropped a pound note. Then he left the young master to stare after the last door of the hall, painted black but free of any other indicators.
Ciel turned the handle to a lit bedroom, a table set for tea, and a man dressed all in black.
“Master,” the man bowed, the lights of the flickering flame catching in his hair.
“Sebastian.” Ciel said, moving forward until a chair was pulled out for him. A plate of freshly made lemon cake was sitting in the middle of the table, and a thick wedge had already been cut and set at his reach. Ciel watched Sebastian pour him a cup of tea and serve it with three sugars and one cream, just the way he always took it.
Under Sebastian’s watchful eye, Ciel lifted his fork and cut a small piece of the cake. Extraordinary, as always, nearly melting on his tongue. The cream was the lightest he had ever tasted, contrasting beautifully with the surprising tang of lemon filling. Ciel took a sip of his tea to cover his helpless moan.
“It is fine, Sebastian.”
“Very well, My Lord.” Sebastian dropped to his knees, neatly unbuttoning Ciel’s cock from his trousers and palming it in his gloved hands.
Ciel took another deliberate bite of cake, the same time Sebastian ducked his head and flicked his tongue over Ciel’s swelling cockhead, tasting the young master like he was the delicacy on the table.
Sebastian was skilled, there was no denying that. He sucked Ciel to the root without gagging, making no obscene noises and keeping all of his saliva in his mouth. His gloved hands rested on Ciel’s thighs lightly. Meanwhile, Sebastian’s devilish tongue was doing all the work, running up and down Ciel’s cock, curling around the bottom of his cockhead, and managing, somehow, to tease his slit without having to pull back at all.
Ciel continued taking his tea, although his fingers began trembling just the slightest, rattling the porcelain. A drop of sweat rolled down the young master’s cheek, soaking into his collar. He took one hand off the table and gripped his armrest so tightly his knuckles turned white.
His panting rang loudly in the silent room.
Sebastian switched to sucking in long, hard pulls, not a hair out of place as he ruthlessly worked over Ciel’s cock. The young lord dropped his head to the back of his chair, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to retain control.
“Sebastian.” He broke.
Almost gently, Sebastian pulled off of Ciel’s hard cock. His lips weren’t even swollen or shiny, bore no evidence of his activities. “Yes, my Lord?”
“I need to come,” Ciel squirmed petulantly.
“Not until you finish your cake, my Lord.”
Ciel glared but didn’t argue. In three quick bites, he cleaned his plate, barely tasting the delectable lemon cake as he opened his knees wider in expectation.
“Very good, my Lord.” Sebastian smiled, cool and mysterious and forever removed. He sank downwards once more, this time putting one of his gloved hands to work. With an expert twist of wrist and scrape of teeth, Ciel came, gasping as if his orgasm had been ripped from his stomach instead of spending itself in long pulses down Sebastian’s throat.
When Sebastian pulled away, Ciel was as wrecked as he had ever been, panting in his slightly-rumpled clothing, his face flushed beautifully in the candlelight. Sebastian patted his own mouth delicately with a handkerchief and stood.
“You know,” Ciel said accusingly, glaring at Sebastian through his eyelashes. “I don’t quite think this is how prostitutes function at all.” He had broached to subject to Sebastian two months ago, trying to get a rise out of his inscrutable butler by idly expressing the desire to visit a brothel. For curiosity’s sake, of course.
To his surprise, Sebastian had approved immediately, and by the end of the week, Ciel had an appointment in a shady brothel for a specialist calling himself Black, who worked out of the room at the end of the hall.
“Shall I pack up the cake for tomorrow’s tea?” Sebastian questioned, swiftly undressing Ciel and picking up several lengths of rope from underneath the bed.
“Leave it.” Ciel replied airily, lifting his arms to be tied to the headboard. His ankles were similarly bound, spread wide as they were attached to the bedposts. “I have a taste for strawberries tomorrow, first of the season.” Ciel’s cock, valiant in its youthful refractory periods, began to thicken as Sebastian worked.
“Very well, my Lord.” Sebastian viewed his handiwork with a small smile. From the side of the bed he retrieved a shallow dish of oil which had been warmed over candlelight. “Whatever you wish, of course, is my command.”
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Date: 2011-08-29 09:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-29 11:07 am (UTC)The twist of the story is that Ciel has no idea what a prostitute does, so Sebastian just services him, then services him like always XD
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Date: 2011-08-29 02:08 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-08-30 03:35 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2012-08-20 04:39 pm (UTC)