Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji belongs to Yana Toboso, and Phobia to the queen of sexual tension, Neneko XD

Warnings: Yaoi.

AN: So long as Neneko keeps creating such gorgeously suggestive images, I doubt I'll be able to stop turning them into one-shots, lol.

Distraction.

Charade.

Pleasure.

Such is the routine set in motion by Priscilla, whom Ciel is now mildly grateful to be housing within his mansion.

A list of her shortcomings could go on endlessly: She is rude, coarse, and hardly the picture of a lady. Her blonde hair is too short, he thinks, too messy. The quality of her dresses mean nothing, for they never seem to flatter her figure, or lack thereof. It agitates him to think that his rooms might be desecrated by her shameless harlotry with the unkempt butler whom she calls her 'pet'.

A single benefit is all that keeps the beautifully reconstructed roof of his home above her head- Priscilla commands Elizabeth's attention expertly, in a manner that Ciel never thought possible, and has almost come to admire.

They sit at breakfast, Ciel the first to arrive to a steaming plate of eggs Benedict, scones, dollops of fresh cream-cheese, and artfully folded slices of lox. The tea of choice is mint this morning, the scent wafting throughout the expanse of the dining room like an invisible fog, distinctively aromatic. He ignores it in favor a cool glass of water, watching the one large piece of hand-chipped ice sloshing about as he sets his cup down and pierces his eggs with the prongs of a fork.

Lizzy arrives soon afterwards, lovely in a sunny dress that compliments her own tresses beautifully. Her gait is as poised and bubbly as ever as she enters, pausing to assess the meal, predictably impressed by the variation that is provided each and every day.

"Good morning, Ciel!" she smiles at him, and Ciel looks up from the hand gripping his beverage.

"Good Morning, Lizzy," he echoes. What scarce bit of conversation they might have engaged in is effectively prevented by the arrival of another of the manor's inhabitants.

"Lizzy!" the guest squeals as she attacks his fiancé from behind, wrapping arms around her waist. Linked hands form a ring of flesh around flowing buttercup cloth, and the gesture is nearly possessive.

"Pris! Good morning!" Elizabeth chirps happily, eyes training over her friend's ensemble. White and sky blue gingham, sleeveless and accented by coiled ruffles of lace and bows that rest at the center of her chest. Tight at the waist, granting her slight frame curvature, but just barely, Ciel observes passively.

As they chatter on in a habitually feminine way, he watches as the ice continues to thaw, beads of water dewing along the rim of the glass.

The clear, shining stone is losing to the heat that continues to wear it away. Ciel begins to ponder his own similarly dwindling resistance towards a certain matter, and then ceases, knowing better than to lose himself in such thoughts. Now is not the time or place to treat himself to those coveted mental indulgences…

"Such a cute dress!" Lizzy praises, turning to face Pris while handling the hem of the garment gently. "Your father's work is amazing!" The little imp frees a buoyant laugh as they take their seats beside each other. "I'll have to have him sew one for you someday."

"Really?" The delight in Elizabeth's verdant eyes is a gleam that cannot be missed.

"Of course, silly!" Pris assures. "Let's go out to the gardens for lunch today! Just us two girls, hm?" Her brows arch with the rise of her lips.

Lizzy falls for the inviting smile instantly, her reaction akin to that of a puppy being beckoned by its master: a bright grin given as answer, enthusiastic and adoring, oozing of the unyielding loyalty characteristic of a canine. Ciel imagines perked ears and a sweeping tail. They would suit her well enough, he decides, minimally amused. She then turns to face him.

Elizabeth's gaze has changed, the earl notes. What was once a fierce demand for attention has become a request for permission to leave his side. As if some tether binding her to him is slowly uncoiling and anchoring itself to Priscilla, instead.

Ciel does not protest this in the least.

"Do you mind, Ciel?" Lizzy asks meekly. She looks up at him from beneath her lashes, the image of a guilty puppy reinforced by her pout and the way in which her curled pigtails seem to be drooping ever so slightly.

"I have work to do in the office," Ciel says emotionlessly, "so I don't mind."

"Wouldn't want to be stuck watching him file papers all day, would you now, sugar?" Pris teases as she sticks her tongue out and rolls her eyes in a mocking display of boredom. Behavior that defies her claims of high social status, though no one mentions that fact at all.

"I suppose not," Lizzy agrees. There is a hint of longing in her voice, but it disappears as Pris adjusts the white bow cascading over the pigtail within her reach. "It'll be fun! We can have a tea party!"

The childish suggestion is all it takes to capture Elizabeth's attention. "Yes, let's!" she concurs earnestly.

Ciel rises from the table, eager to leave the pair to their own devices. "I'll see you later at dinner," he says to Lizzy, who simply nods.

"Have fun," Priscilla wishes airily. Ciel remains silent as he walks away.

He never sees the knowing smirk that graces the girl's face.

"That is hardly a reason to ask for that amount of pounds," Ciel murmurs in agitation as he tosses a pile of papers over the edge of his desk. "Do they honestly think I would be foolish enough to hand out money simply because it is asked for?"

If only life were as easy as that, he thinks sarcastically.

"But it isn't," he answers to himself quietly. "Nothing is."

"Nothing is what, Young Master?" wonders the velveteen voice that Ciel recognizes immediately. It is the only sound that makes his heart leap frantically, and an unstoppable veil of pink flood his cheeks.

Sebastian.

"Mind your own business, Sebastian," he snaps.

A crown of ebony hair falls forward in an elegant bow. "Forgive me. I was not aware that you were having such an important conversation with yourself."

A delicate brow raises as Ciel releases a soft 'tsk' of disregard. "As if one with you would be any better."

The butler edges closer, a shadow slinking across the room. A solitary blue eye appraises Sebastian's uniform, searching for the smallest indication of the curves of muscle that his hands know all too well. They are terribly confined, he concludes sourly, remembering the few times in which that lusciously pale skin has been on display.

Not enough for his own liking.

"Have you made yet another mess for me to take care of?"

The papers on the ground lie in a mismatched heap of hastily scrawled proposals. Rejected requests etched in ink. Though disarray was not his original intent, Ciel affirms it with a cold, majestic nod.

It is becoming difficult.

Maintaining the composure of an uncaring master has become yet another demanding chore. Ciel knows why it was so easy before. Why the relationship in which he used his sin-stained pawn without a care has become something so unpredictable and twisted. He refuses to make it tangible with words, but he can still feel it. As Sebastian pouts at him jokingly and reaches down to retrieve the pages, he feels the familiar rush of blood that makes his composure soften.

Ebb away by a touch of warmth, slowly, like a stubborn bit of ice.

The young earl watches closely, stringing this moment to many others. Some are fleeting; risqué endeavors hidden only by discretion. Most are extensive, bred by the seclusion of nightfall.

How many times has the flesh of his calves pressed to the curve of that backside? Ciel wonders scandalously, barely aware of how his nails are digging crescents of carnal interest into the innocent wood of his furniture. A deep breath is taken, a feeble attempt to push the notion aside, but the inhalation that follows is overflowing with Sebastian's indescribably decadent scent. That alone coaxes a sigh, soft enough to escape detection from a human, but never the devil just a few feet before him.

Documents neatly stacked between gloved hands, Sebastian rises and asks, "Are you in good health today?"

"Why do you ask?"

Twin discs of crimson are fixed upon him, accusing, "You seem short of breath." And how could the earl not be, with a creature beaming so mischievously that it causes him to forget the assumption of his classic state of irritation?

It might be desire that emboldens him, Ciel thinks. That, or the scorching heat that begins to seethe whenever he and Sebastian find themselves alone.

Whatever the case may be, he rises from his seat and walks the short distance around his desk, hoisting himself up as fluidly as he can. One leg crosses over the other, and Ciel feels nothing less than enticing in the outfit that he has been dressed in: A ruby shirt and pants, copious amounts of white lace peeking out at every hem. Then there are the stockings, which he never forgoes, pristinely white and held in place by a pair of black garters that end with a flourish of bows.

Ciel has worn many things similar to this. The best were scant and wrinkled by hands that gently love him during slumber's quietude. This is close. Quite close, thinks the earl as the pull of his garter straps only help to compel his increasingly sultry mood.

There must always be a pretense, he thinks to himself as he beckons Sebastian closer.

"You could check for yourself, if you're truly so worried."

That's all it ever takes.

Whether deeply cloaked or daringly explicit, Ciel's tempting words are always the catalyst to their hushed liaisons.

"Shall I begin with your pulse?" The demon asks gently, but there is no hiding the fire raging in those eyes. Ciel inhales sharply as Sebastian graces the floor with the stack of paper, arms returning to form a barrier at either side of his body. His heartbeat is then evaluated by the smooth press of lips resting precisely over his jugular. Can Sebastian see each and every vein with that inhuman vision? Perhaps, as endless paths are traced by the flutter of lashes- the wingtips of a butterfly fashioned out of darkness.

A gloved hand inches along the renewed gloss of his hair, and Ciel remains still as it quests higher, stopping to remove his eye patch. It joins the paper and ground beneath them with a muted sound that is quickly forgotten. Digits creep, wraithlike, until they find the subtle rise-and-fall of a heartbeat, and Sebastian's voice is thick as he instructs.

"Deep breath now, Young Master."

Ciel complies, staring up with lovely mismatched eyes as he draws in a breath of air. The release startles them both, lungs freeing a sound that ends in the softest of moans. It sends a visible shiver over the length of Sebastian's body.

The earl glares at the demon, newly aware of the reason for such an embarrassing utterance; a tender stroke at the base of his neck. Incessant circles engraved by a clothed thumb.

"Stop that," Ciel commands, horrified at how weak he sounds. So vulnerable. A nose skims along his cheek, and he cranes his neck at once, starved like a fledgling chick for a kiss that never arrives.

"Sebastian," he begs, clasping the sinew of Sebastian's forearms with delicate hands. Instead the demon paints his skin with his mouth, everywhere: his temples, his brow, eyelids, the bridge of his nose, the searing rogue of his cheeks…

Lips are surpassed once more as the exploration continues, resting over chin, brushing the curve of a jaw, and Ciel whimpers his frustration. Limbs cage the man in as much as they can, and enough strength is unearthed to drag Sebastian backwards.

Ever the careful butler, Sebastian halts the fall onto the solid expanse of wood and then lowers Ciel the few millimeters that it takes for the small frame of his back to touch against it.

Ciel adores him then, as his breathing becomes ragged, his sight hazy. Nothing could be sweeter than the tiny kiss that Sebastian presses to the heel of his hand, an apology that he does not understand, but accepts wholeheartedly.

Nothing compares to the sting of this want.

What if they were bare? What if Sebastian stopped being so elusive, and fed him mouthful after mouthful of that demonic nectar that drips from his lips? What if they both forgot everything but each other?

Ciel cocoons himself in these rhetorical questions, knowing that the answers to all of them is one and the same.

Suddenly his ears are keen upon the high peals of laughter just outside. In the garden. Priscilla. Elizabeth.

Reality.

They can't.

His wishes won't be fulfilled because they are hindered by too many things. Too many consequences that Ciel is not prepared to face.

Sebastian demonstrates his own skill with distraction as he presses both hands to the fabric that covers the plane of a quivering stomach, the touch making the muscles there stiffen. They slide away to grip Ciel's hipbones firmly, and at this Ciel allows his thighs to return the gesture, rubbing at the demon's sides impatiently.

It could be so much more than this.

Ciel knows exactly how much more it could be. There could be licks, nibbles, hands gripping the throb between his thighs. Tightly but gently, he remembers, panting as Sebastian nuzzles him anywhere he dares.

The ache is solely for Sebastian, Ciel knows, whimpering as he thrusts up. He is delighted that perfection has slipped, miscalculating their distance. The reward is a single burst of friction.

"Mmmm!" he mewls. Loudly. Later he will be grateful that the windows of the study were shut, aiding in the secrecy of their passionate meeting.

At the moment, it is the furthest thing from his mind.

Ciel knows only the sparks that sear every nerve as he sings a pleasured melody just beneath the lobe of Sebastian's ear. It feels so good, so wonderful that though he knows there will be no mistake like it for some time, he feels victorious, obliged.

Thanks is given in the single caress that Ciel applies- one line down Sebastian's back. Certain that the churning feeling in his stomach is signaling the end of the encounter, he gifts Sebastian a final, kittenish purr against his neck. Then he lays his head against the desk once more, and the moment that his scalp feels its frigid touch, the spell begins to recede.

He has managed to avoid dissolving completely.

They stare at one another for quite some time. Ciel allows himself to admire the subtle glow in Sebastian's eyes, an impending violet that is being reigned in carefully. They touch each other gently, fleetingly, until the gestures are purely platonic.

And that is when it truly ends.

"You're in perfect health," Sebastian deems in a miraculously steady tone. He takes a hand in each of his own and pulls his master into a sit.

"As I thought," Ciel whispers. He is both thrilled, and bitter.

"Then it is safe to let you finish your work, yes?"

"…Yes."

Before exiting the room, Sebastian turns to ask, "Might you like a snack, or something to drink, Young Master?"

Ciel mulls it over, and asks for the only thing that he is certain will aid his feverish state. "A glass of water. Plenty of ice."

"Right away, then," the demon nods, and takes his leave.

If his opposition to this madness is indeed like ice, then it is wearing dangerously thin, Ciel realizes. He knows that he can no longer help it.

One day they will reach a point of no return, and he will give in, and beneath the blaze of Sebastian's hands…

He'll melt.