Author's Note: My first Kuroshitsuji fic. For Talon-sama.

Warnings: Necessary shouta.

Dinner Discipline

"Young Master, your staff has labored long and with unusual efficiency through my strong guidance to offer you this special meal in your private garden, and yet you have not touched a bite. You remain unmoved by the costly meat that Bardroy did not burn, the gold-leaf china that Maylene brought and placed without dropping, Finnian's work on the lavish flora of the garden and in the vase upon the table, the tea that Tanaka chose, and even the chocolate torte I prepared and served with this sumptuous dinner. Why is it that nothing can tempt you this evening, Young Master?"

"Stop talking so much, Sebastian. I'm just not hungry, that's all." He pushes the food around in his plate a bit but can't bring himself to put it in his mouth.

Sebastian frowns. "This is the second day you have eaten next to nothing, Young Master. I cannot continue to allow this and fulfill my duties properly." He reaches out and takes Ciel into his arms, then slips beneath him to put the boy in his lap.

"What are you doing! Let me go!" Ciel commands in a high, sharp tone.

Sebastian responds with a calm smile and an arm close around his waist. "Come, eat," he says evenly, raising a forkful of the tender beefsteak to Ciel's lips.

Ciel pouts, refuses to open his mouth, struggles in Sebastian's tight grasp.

Sebastian does not move. "Must I use sterner measures, Young Master?"

Ciel shakes his head the tiniest bit. He licks his lips. Why is it he is suddenly hungry…only when Sebastian holds and offers to feed him? He's not a baby. He won't put up with such treatment!

"Very well," Sebastian purrs, able and willing to read the boy's mind but not needing to at such a moment. He puts the fork down, pushes the chair back from the table, and flips Ciel neatly over his lap in one smooth movement.

Ciel gasps at the speed and use of his body. "No," he commands, but his command goes unheeded.

Sebastian reaches beneath to unfasten his master's trousers, smiling at Ciel's passivity. He does not attempt to rise. Once he has pulled down the short pants and exposed his pretty little pale bottom, Sebastian pats it once gently, then removes one glove with his teeth, drops it beside them, and apologizes for what he is about to do: "Young Master must not be allowed to let his health suffer. He has vengeance to bring, and I cannot allow anything to intervene, especially pointless stubbornness."

"Sebastian," Ciel whines.

The pleading sound is sweet to Sebastian's ears as he raises his hand to strike. "Count," he commands. A swift smooth swipe that ends in a bright, high sound and a delicious tingling in his fingers. This form suits such pleasures so well.

"One," whimpers Ciel.

He raises his arm again and brings it down harder.

"Two," the young master cries.

Three, four, five, then six through eleven pass swiftly and pleasantly for Sebastian and loudly and with increasing tears for Ciel. As he lifts to strike a twelfth time, he commands, "In French now, Young Master," his voice calm and even. No reason not to use this opportunity for more than one type of educational practice.

At twenty, Ciel has been reduced to a tearful, red-faced creature of self-pity, and Sebastian cannot resist turning him back over and into his arms. He cradles and coos to him, wiping his wet eyelids gently with the hand that still bears its clean white glove and kissing his lips softly.

"That wasn't fair," the sniffling child whines, though he does not pull away as Sebastian pulls up his pants and fastens them again, then rises and replaces Ciel alone in his chair.

"No, Young Master," Sebastian concurs.

Ciel fidgets, pouting. "Now the chair is uncomfortable to sit in, Sebastian."

The demon nods solemnly. "Yes, Young Master. Allow me to fetch a pillow." He turns to go.

"No," snaps Ciel.

Sebastian pivots, all attentiveness and solicitude.

"Stay…and feed me."

Sebastian lowers momentarily to a knee. "Yes, My Lord."