Disclaimer: Yeah, no.

Author's Note: I sort of wrote this as a joke. I was re-reading amanuensis1-san's old fic, "A Temporary Outlet," and noticed that she and noveltynovelist-san had fought, via comments, over who was going to be the first to write a SebastianxLizzie fic.

I believe I now get to say "I win." (So why do I feel like I lost? X3;;;)

Anyway… I'm off to go read copious amounts of hardcore SebaCiel now…

Dedication: For amanuensis1-san and noveltynovelist-san, of course. But written for the Kuroshi_Contest Livejournal Community. :3

XXX

Love

XXX

He does it out of love.

Pure and simple and all he thinks about, balancing before his master's wife on an elegantly crooked knee. Fondness, affection, adoration— synonyms to reflect upon as he plants teasing butterfly kisses; cool lips whispering up, up, up as lily-lace stockings are rolled down, down, down. Planes of porcelain flesh peek coyly out from beneath the flower of a bustled pink gown, eager and quivering as the butler peals back each ruffled petal.

Love. He remembers the phrase as clothed fingers stroll upward, thrusting into a different 'flower;' the word echoes once more as the young woman moans. It's a scintillating little hitch, gasp, oh… sort of sound, accentuated by the squeak of gold mesh gloves carving crisscrossing, scarlet bands into clenched fists. Oh yes, all fight (all shame) has left this wanton Earless— he hardly needs to breathe encouragement anymore: she spreads her delicate legs so willingly (so eagerly), and mmm, he loves, loves, loves. Loves that jet-green eyes refuse to flutter to a guilty close; loves that she no longer whimpers for the husband she used to pine for, yearn for, wish would acknowledge her. Loves that, instead, a half-lidded gaze follows his progress from beneath a film of emerald lust; loves that flaxen curls break free of their fashionable, impossible-to-replicate knot, like some kind of confession; loves that glossy lips now curl and purse around the name Seba… Sebasti—!

And when he answers in a purr, cooing "Lady Elizabeth," into a flushed and tender ear, he loves that it makes her come.

But that's not why he does it. That's not the love that drives him.

No, Sebastian does it (and would gladly do it again and again) because he loves the expression on Ciel's pretty face. Loves it. More than anything else in the world— this one or the next. Could there possibly be anything more beautiful? The look of creeping, ashen fury; the poorly-veiled ache of betrayal; the glimmer of envious green in his lord's azure eyes when he finds them in the sitting room, Lizzie's skirts above her head and two gloved fingers out-of-view.

All Ciel can do is stand there, speechless.

And Sebastian loves him all the more.

XXX