A Fig

He is on the tips of his toes, wrist suspended over his head from an iron hook by a slender chain. It's not that the chain can support his weight; it can't. Ciel is learning restraint. In a manner of speaking.

Sebastian's got him trussed like a Christmas ham, one arm folded and tucked neatly behind his back in just such a manner that his fingertips rest in the hollow of his other elbow, and he cannot gain leverage without throwing himself face-first at the ground. His pale skin is white as paper in the cold of the 'interrogation room', and yet it pinks up like fair damask, lines twining in the sinuous creases left in his flesh by the ropes that crisscross around his chest and down his legs to the bar holding his feet apart. It keeps him open and vulnerable and barely standing. Sweat drips from his brow into his eyes, blurring the good one and stinging them both. He can hear Sebastian shifting in the shadows, ever as mysterious as he is meticulous; there's a soft, scraping pattern that fairly roars beneath the sound of Ciel's stuttered, shaky breath.

"Please, young Master, there's no need to stand on occasion for me. Rest a moment, and we shall begin soon enough." Sebastian's voice is cool and steady, like the feel of a lingering winter breeze in spring. Ciel doesn't dare sag against the chain, but arches his back and ignores the sharp pain of protest in his shoulder blades as he sinks a scant inch closer to the floor. His knees are already shaking, though whether it's fear or pain or anticipation, he can't say. He has been struck but a few times in his life, and never has someone dared to raise their hand to his bare arse in punishment.

Sebastian's gloved hand is suddenly warm against his backside and Ciel shudders, listening to the chain tinkle brightly above him. His nipples, surrounded and squeezed by the ropes until they were dizzy points of heat, now begin to peak in the chill as the very wind itself seems to wrap around him, teasing his hot blush. He wonders what he must look like. Sebastian strokes along his flank as if he were a colt that's prone to bolting, and Ciel flinches at the smack that doesn't land. Sebastian's laughter is low and mocking as he kneels before Ciel's face to show him the strange hand-shaped root that he has been carefully peeling.

Fingers wrap around Ciel's jaw, carefully--and gently, it must be said--working his mouth open to accept a pale yellow sliver of woody vegetable. He tastes linen, wax, and silver polish briefly before his tongue explodes in a fiery sweet burst of flavor. Sebastian's eyes are distant as Ciel chokes, feeling water run from his eyes, mouth, and yes, even his nose. The demon's lips curl like a satisfied cat, and he carefully pats at Ciel's face with a clean handkerchief before setting it aside. Ciel glowers back at him. "What the hell was that? I demand to know just what you thought you were doing!"

Sebastian smiles ambiguously as he moves to stand, sidling directly into Ciel's blind spot. "Surely young Master has seen the Queen's horses? Her Majesty's stable produces such elegant and lovely creatures--"

"What do the Queen's bloody horses matter a fig?!" Ciel demands sharply, twisting against the ropes until he can spy some part of Sebastian. He can see only a well-polished shoe, but he can hear the wicked grin on the demon's face, a smile of too many teeth and sinful intentions.

"Why, a fig, young Master," Sebastian almost seems to coo. His gloved hand strokes down his side, tickling his ribs. It's on the opposite side he'd expected. "Victoria's carriage is the finest carriage in the empire, and it can only be drawn by the finest steeds in the empire, yes?

"A fine steed isn't just fine for breeding, young Master," Sebastian continues idly, his voice twining around Ciel, wrapping him in darkness. "Good breeding is nothing without proper education. It is education that keeps a white horse from ending up at market a steak and a pot of glue." He punctuates his point with a pert slap at Ciel's rear, startling him. Ciel staggers dangerously in his bonds before righting himself with a glare at the stone floor.

"A stupid horse doesn't have to worry about Paradise Lost, does it? Nor is it expected to write a novel of equal size praising said heap of dung, is it?"

"And young Master will not be used to stick together the bindings of said heap of dung if he fails at his education," Sebastian agrees, stroking his hand over Ciel's ass before smacking again. Ciel yips and turns blindly to berate him, but the demon isn't standing where he was expecting. A warm puff of laughter next to his ear sends him reeling again as Sebastian leans in next to him. "No, I will agree that education is not quite as important for you as it is for a horse, though that doesn't give you permission to behave as though you were a stupid animal."

"Wha--"

"You threw a book at the head of your tutor, and with remarkably good aim. He has gone home to rest; perhaps he'll come back. In the mean time, I have undertaken the task of teaching the esteemed Count Phantomhive a lesson he won't soon forget.

"Now, young Master, sometimes the horses in the Queen's stable wake up and they don't want to drive the coach today. A horse might wake up and think, 'Why, I believe I'd like to lie in today. The Queen can walk just as well as I, and besides, there are plenty of other horses, better trained and perhaps older and more experienced than I, and I believe that today I shall leave them to it.' But a horse cannot take a day off, young Master." Sebastian pauses, thoughtful. "No, without each horse doing just the job it's meant to do, the whole day becomes askew. The horse knows this, I think, deep down, and so he leaves the stables to head the Queen's procession."

"Will you get to the damnable point?" Ciel jingles the chain irritably.

"You know, young Master," Sebastian smiles. He can hear it. "It is admirable that the horse puts aside its selfishness for the good of the empire. Still, a sullen horse makes for a terrible parade, and so...."

Ciel is suddenly acutely aware of something cold and wet pressed against his most intimate of secrets. He squawks as it is firmly seated within him, but its light weight and smallish size are only slightly uncomfortable. He half wonders if Sebastian has led him down here for the express purpose of pushing things up his bum. Ciel harrumphs, backside wiggling in annoyance. He is about to demand to be let go when Sebastian appears in front of him, a truly frightening smile stretched across his face.

"...And so, there are ways of teaching that horse to put its best foot forward. Hoof, as it were." A cold trickle of fear shivers down Ciel's neck. Sebastian disappears behind him again, but Ciel has barely enough time to sag in his bonds before the force of Sebastian's hand against his rear jolts him sharply, the chain ringing out its cheerful melody as Ciel shakes with the effort to stay standing.

Another slap rings in the air, and then another, until Ciel is sure that his face could only be half as red as his arse, only half as hot...both inside and out. The thing inside him, so cool and strange, has lit up with heat, burning with a terrible pain that only seems to get worse as the punishment continues. "Please!" The word tears out of his reluctant chest as if someone else has said it. The spanking stops as wicked fingers dip between his cheeks to press the plug of ginger deeper, twist it meanly, scrape and press it against his insides until his knees threaten to give way, melted. Sebastian's removed his glove--to keep it clean, some vague part of Ciel's mind suggests in the tone of someone who can't quite believe what he is experiencing--and he can feel the gentle scratching of fingernails made torturous by the damned root.

When the spanking begins again, Ciel realizes the twisted plan the butler has employed: the ginger's burn stings worse than the spanking ever would, but in the spanking is his downfall; he tenses each time Sebastian's hand strikes him, and each time he tenses, his muscles squeeze the root and freshen the burning. He can barely bite back the mewling whines of pain, already beyond the point of caring about pride or dignity. "Please!" he cries, eyes wet with tears. "Please, Sebastian!"

He trips against the ropes, half expecting the crash of stones against his face, only to find himself surrounded by black gabardine and the butler's delicate cologne. An arm supports him while another reaches behind to tug the ginger free. With a docility that surprises even himself, Ciel watches Sebastian carefully untie the knots that bound him, precisely coil the rope, and undo the cuffs that his arms. He looks at Ciel expectantly, but Ciel can't think of what to say, so he sighs and wraps the boy's shoulders gently with a blanket.

A warm bath and a good night's sleep later, Ciel pretends it never happened at all, but a residual heat brings warmth to his pale cheeks and keeps a civil tongue in his head, at least until the kitchen's stores can be replenished.