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Devilish Impulses	By : Arianawray Category: > Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji ???) Views: 13948 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji or any of its characters, and I do not make any money from these writings.

Chapter List
- 1-Unwanted
- 2-Whim
- 3-Trust
- 4-Taste
- 5-Scheme
- 6-Command
- 7-Competition
- 8-Advice
- 9-Enlightenment
- 10-Sustenance
- 11-Caught
- 12-Breath
- 13-Arms
- 14-Inflammation
- 15-Imagination
- 16-Intent
- 17-Compromise
- 18-Sacrifice
- 19-Despair
- 20-Compassion
- 21-Interest
- 22-Equality
- 23-Mentor
- 24-History
- 25-Disorder
- 26-Reputation
- 27-Gifts
- 28-Admission
- 29-Watching
- 30-Bonds
- 31-Revelations
- 32-Confrontation
- 33-Struggle
- 34-Separation
- 35-Duty
- 36-Change
- 37-Together
- 38-Love
- 39-Epilogue: Heaven
- 13
- 14
- 15
Inflammation

Sebastian pushes the bedroom door shut with his foot and carries Ciel to the bed, where he seats him on the edge of the mattress.

"Young Master, I must examine your injuries," he tells him, to which Ciel only nods tiredly.

Sebastian removes all the earl's upper clothing, easing the shirt fabric over the mutilated arms to avoid chafing the cuts. Some of the cuts have wept into the white shirt, staining the fabric. Seeing the wounds again makes the butler's anger simmer, though he does not let it show. The child is his to protect, yet humans with no right to touch the boy have disfigured his flesh.

He counts twenty-one cuts on his left arm, and twenty-three on the right, each about two inches long. They are very shallow, but were inflicted slowly and painfully. On Ciel's back are seventeen switch marks and twelve passes of the knife between his shoulder blades. Doubtless there would have been more had there not been some interruption – Mrs Easton must have stopped the cutting to hit him, or have her man toy with him. The edges of each cut are swelling, and infection is Sebastian's greatest concern. The blade and switch may not have been clean; the river water too might have introduced disease to the open wounds, or into the boy's lungs.

Soft sounds outside the door indicate that Finnian and Tanaka have brought up the first of the six buckets of water he requested earlier. He ignores the muted noises as he dabs at the weeping cuts with clean linen. He can only wait to see if they become infected, for humans are odd creatures – their ailments often begin and progress unpredictably.

The butler spends a good while soothing the welts on Ciel's face with cool lavender water, pressing the linen gently to his flesh until the redness lessens. He is moving on to inspect his scalp for concealed bumps and cuts when a knock sounds at the door. He drapes a light dressing gown over Ciel and loosely knots it before admitting Tanaka and Finnian, who have by now boiled and brought up the rest of the water, along with Doctor Marshall's ointment. They carry the buckets into the bathroom in two trips, and leave quietly after casting worried glances at the earl, who does not look at them.

Sebastian locks the bedroom door before filling the tub from the two lots of freshly boiled water, and four lots of water that had been boiled, then cooled, earlier today. In the latest rebuilding of the manor, he had obtained Ciel's consent to put in modern piping. This now allows the household to get cold water out of taps carried by pipes from the stream running along the border of Phantomhive lands, collected in a tank and passed through a filter of pebbles and fine sand, then pumped up the pipes in the walls. Sebastian intends to put in a heated tank soon, but for now, the hot water must still be boiled in the kitchen and mixed with the cold.

With his master's flesh broken in so many places, however, he will not risk the use of the piped water. He wants only that which has been boiled before. He mixes the hot and cool water to his satisfaction, then leads Ciel into the bathroom and slips off his dressing gown.

"Young Master, the water is not too hot, because I do not want it to damage your skin further. But it is warm enough to make your wounds sting. Can you bear it? It will help to clean the cuts on your body."

Ciel nods wordlessly.

Sebastian kneels before him and unbuttons his shorts and drawers. He proceeds with caution, touching his skin as little as possible, not knowing how the child will respond to contact with his bare flesh after the events at the mill. But Ciel lets himself be fully undressed and helped into the bath without any unusual reaction.

"It is usually best not to soak open wounds," he explains. "But the river and the instruments that inflicted those wounds may have been unclean. I want to wash out whatever we can before I put any bandages on you."

Ciel grips the porcelain rim of the bath as he eases himself into the water. The heat, though mild, sets his wounds on fire. The boy grits his teeth and hisses as he submerges each cut, completing the painful process by forcing his arms and shoulders under, hunching so the raw marks on his back will not touch the porcelain.

His butler chooses a very mild soap and steeps a linen bag of dried lavender in the tub. The lavender will help calm Ciel, and impart its gentle cleansing properties to the water. With a wet towel, he wipes the boy's hair to sponge away contamination from the river. At the same time, he resumes his inspection of his scalp for hidden injuries.

"Do keep your head above the bathwater, Young Master," he says as he strokes the dark hair with the face towel. "Let the lavender water on your face do its work. I will clean your hair this way."

Ciel has been so quiet since Lady Francis and Elizabeth left that he does not expect him to speak now. But he does, muttering: "That is an unnecessary reminder. My head's been under water long enough today to last me a lifetime."

"It has," the butler says. "Why did you try to make it your grave?"

"I thought you weren't coming back," he answers frankly.

"If I wanted you dead, I would kill you myself, not have someone else kill you for me. I shall be honest with you now that you are calmer: I always derive a thrill of pleasure from seeing a human in pain. You did look beautiful in that cage for a moment, suffering under the flowing water. But the moment passed, and I truly was as appalled as your cousin or aunt would have been when I pulled you from the river and found that you were not breathing."

"You're a sick bastard," Ciel mutters sourly.

"Guilty as charged."

"Though I believe you."

"You know I don't lie."

"Except by omission, sometimes."

"Well, yes, sometimes. I am what I am."

This exchange initially gives Sebastian reason to believe that Ciel is making a swift recovery from the torture. But the silence that follows hints that not all is well. The child of before would have gone on to ask, ironically or naively, how his mouth tasted as he was resuscitating him, thinking only of himself as devil food. Now he keeps quiet, because he has learnt things that Sebastian would not have chosen to expose him to until he was older.

It gets worse when the butler is patting him dry with a large towel – he flinches when the towel touches the place between his legs. Sebastian pretends not to notice, ushering him into the bedroom before unwrapping him so that he can start to dress his wounds properly.

Ciel himself, however, is the one who brings it up. "Is the smell of him gone from me... there?" he asks in an uncharacteristically subdued voice. "If it isn't, I want to sit in the bath longer."

"Not a trace of that worthless creature remains on you," Sebastian assures him.

"You are certain? Because it... hurts..." the boy mumbles.

"Young Master?" the butler seeks clarification, for the tooth abrasions on him are very minor, and unlikely to be causing more discomfort than the cuts and switch marks, unless... "Did he bite you?"

"I think so. Once..." He trails off, not knowing what to say.

"Where exactly?"

"Behind... near the..." Ciel starts to say, awkwardly, before it dawns on both him and Sebastian that he does not really have the vocabulary to describe where it hurts, at least not without uttering words he considers stupid or vulgar.

"Young Master, please lie down. I will have a look."

Ciel baulks. He appears almost ready to flee. Sebastian has never seen the boy in this state – embarrassed in the extreme, so uncomfortable that he is blushing under the welts and scratches while struggling to remain dignified. The butler doubts that he acted like this when Mrs Easton had him stripped and beaten – he would have been as arrogant as ever despite his nudity. But ironically, he is embarrassed now because on the one hand, he trusts the devil at last; and on the other, those thugs have taught him things he should not yet have learnt.

His quickened heartbeat, flushing cheeks, and eyes darting about in panic as his butler lifts him onto the bed trigger Sebastian's predatory instincts without warning. This is an echo of the night on the island when he denied himself a much-deserved meal because the meal behaved oddly. Now, that same prey is doing everything it ought to have done that evening – behaving exactly as prey should.

Sebastian knows he should shut these devilish instincts down immediately, for indulging them is a risk. But he perversely toys with danger, slackening the leash he keeps his true nature on. How easy it would be to tear this little body apart now, to possess the boy in more ways than one...

Every devil in a contract naturally desires to get close to its master. Through dedication of service, physical proximity, sex, or spiritual possession, and eventually destruction and consumption, the demon presses close to its temporary owner. Some even damn the consequences of breaking a contract by prematurely consuming their masters, visiting upon themselves pain, inconvenience and some loss of power after the pleasure, though it is normally survivable.

A Ciel Phantomhive blushing, all but shying away, unclothed, cut up, the scent of blood rising from his arms and back, is a prize any devil would risk shattering a contract to seize. Sebastian hovers over the boy as he lays him down on the bed, all his predatory urges aflame, garnet eyes on the verge of glowing like coals, fangs about to be bared. No one but himself should touch the child intimately, yet someone did this very morning. His beast-like inclination now is to own the boy fully before anyone else can lay their hands on him. He wants to open him up, take him, make him his in ways no one else has, then possess him in the most irrevocable way by killing him and claiming his soul.

It would be so easy...

So very easy...

...except that he has greater self-control than that.

Not to mention that his regaining of the child's trust after much effort makes him worth more than a means to immediate gratification. The thrill of seeing the final horror of betrayal in his eyes would pass all too swiftly, and be far too small a reward when judged against years of potential. Then there is the significant peril of violating this contract which was sealed by his own demonic blood – he would pay a painful price for breaking it. So he arrests his instincts and reels them in before his master notices the unseemly slide of his facade.

"Lie back. I won't harm you," he murmurs throatily into Ciel's ear as he regains power over himself, compelling himself to mean what he has just said, remembering that he promised the boy not an hour ago that he would not hurt him for the world.

The butler is certain that Ciel would have observed the momentary alteration in his demeanour were it not for his own embarrassment. He is as self-conscious as the devil has ever seen him, and nervous, which he rarely is.

Sebastian rolls his shirt sleeves past his elbows so no fabric will chafe Ciel, slips his bare arms under the boy in a way that will not hurt the broken skin, and pulls him down towards the edge of the bed without dragging the torn flesh of his back along the covers. He crouches next to the bed while gently bending both those slender legs at the knees, moving them up and back for an unimpeded view of the area that appears to be giving him discomfort.

Sebastian examines the boy's organ with his bare hands and inspects the scrotum until he finds, at the base of the sac a half-inch from where it joins the flesh before the anal opening, a nasty gash from the offender's teeth – probably his lower front teeth. It is not a long mark, but is deep enough considering how delicate the skin is there. The man may have inflicted it unintentionally in his hurry to remove his mouth from the boy, or to shift his attention from one spot to another.

"Don't move," Sebastian says, leaving Ciel for a moment to get the doctor's ointment from the cabinet where Tanaka left it. He uncaps the jar and sniffs the contents, identifying concentrated essences of herbs with medicinal properties, blended with partially solidified vegetable oils into a balm. Nothing here will harm the boy. It may even help prevent certain infections. However, its infection-fighting qualities could irritate open wounds and affect the way they heal.

He compromises. From the cabinet, he takes out his own concoctions, which he regularly makes and keeps fresh stores of because his master is so prone to abduction and injury. The doctor's ointment is stronger and more balanced than his – unsurprising, for healing human wounds is hardly a devil's speciality. But his are less likely to inflame broken skin, so he takes some of the doctor's ointment and mixes it with one of his bland creams, making it gentler for use.

He returns to the bedside with the blend and crouches between Ciel's legs again. Ciel truly does not know where to look as his butler peers closely at him and applies a tiny amount of the diluted ointment to the wound, rubbing it in carefully without causing further injury to this sensitive part of his anatomy.

"Is there any other discomfort you would like to bring to my attention while I am down here?" he asks pleasantly. He knows full well that the question will make Ciel want to die of mortification, but he cannot resist some mischief after having exercised such commendable self-restraint by not sinking his teeth into the tasty little lap dog before him. Besides, if he can rile the boy enough to rouse his temper, he may steer him out of the depths of his trauma.

"No," Ciel says shortly.

"Are you certain? I see a small wound right here –" Sebastian dabs a spot of ointment on a crescent-shaped puncture mark between the boy's buttocks, close to the anal opening, apparently left by one fingernail of the worthless human who dug too deeply with his hands while holding the child.

Ciel jumps when Sebastian's finger touches him there. But he settles back down again, lets the butler finish the job, and gathers the shreds of his offended dignity the best he can. By the time Sebastian lifts his head from between his master's legs and helps Ciel back into a sitting position, the temporary madness has passed for them both. The boy is no longer behaving like prey, and the butler has imprisoned his fleeting urge to tear open his flesh. Sebastian in fact has to resist the urge to smile when he glances at the child's sulky face, and meets that annoyed glare coming out of that pair of mismatched eyes. Better. Much better.

He dips a different finger into the ointment and begins to smooth the blend gently over every cut and scratch. As he traces each mark, his anger with Mrs Easton rises anew, and he vows to himself that no one will ever harm the boy like this again. He realises as he makes the silent vow that he must protect his master as much from his devil's impulsive urges as from everything else – but that at least falls within his own control.

When all the wounds are covered in a light film of ointment, Sebastian wraps Ciel's arms from wrist to armpit in lengths of soft, clean linen bandages. To cover the cuts between his shoulder blades, he criss-crosses the strips over each shoulder and down under each arm. More bandages go horizontally around his torso and waist to shield the switch marks on his middle and lower back. The earl looks half-mummified when Sebastian secures the final trailing end, but now the cuts will not be chafed by his clothing or his movements in bed. The nightshirt and drawers Sebastian slips over him conceal most of the bandaging.

"I shall prepare a light lunch for you now. You must eat if you are to heal and recover properly. If you like, you can sleep for a while – but I will have to wake you when your meal is ready."

"I will read while I wait."

Sebastian hands him a volume of Coleridge's poetry from his nightstand, saying: "Avoid Kubla Khan, or you may doze off and be rudely awakened by me, like the poet by the man from Porlock."

"The man from Porlock?" Ciel asks, frowning.

"Do you not know how Coleridge claimed to have been interrupted by a man from Porlock while dreaming of Xanadu? It is only a short anecdote, probably an untruth on the poet's part. You may find an account of it in that book. Now, I shall send Finnian up to sit with you. If anyone else breaks into the manor to steal you away, we shall at least have the gardener here to sound the alarm, and break a few of the intruders' heads."

"I suppose you think it's funny to make regular jokes about my abductions," Ciel mutters, slipping his eye patch on in anticipation of Finny's arrival.

"Well, they are very regular, are they not, my lord?" Sebastian remarks good-humouredly, not giving Ciel a chance to reply before leaving the room.

While the gardener sits upstairs with the earl, the butler checks the larder and ice box. As deliveries were stopped two days ago in preparation for what they had thought would be an attack on the manor by Mrs Easton's mercenaries, none of the meat is as fresh as Sebastian would like it to be.

The vegetables are fine. It may be winter, but they have greenhouse carrots, cabbages, potatoes, imported onions and some rosemary. The master needs fresh meat, though, for his health. Fortunately, they have poultry on the grounds, so the butler goes outside, catches one of the less productive hens, carries her into the kitchen, and breaks her neck quickly. He plucks off her feathers, cuts her open and removes her innards, cleans the flesh, and eases the carcass into a pot of boiling water. There is no time to season the meat, but the hens on the estate are naturally sweet, and that must suffice. He imagines Agni here, cooking with "love", but he cannot rival the Brahmin in that respect, so he settles for cooking with "care".

When the flesh of the chicken is ready, Sebastian scoops the bird out of the pot and peels the meat off the bones. He returns the bones to the pot with the chopped vegetables and a sprinkling of rosemary, reduces the heat, and waits. An hour later, he strains some broth into a fine bowl for his master, adds fine slices of the potatoes, carrots and cabbage, and hand-shredded chicken meat. He is pleased to find, upon his return to the bedroom, that his master has neither been kidnapped by more thugs nor accidentally smothered by Finnian.

"Which of the poems have you been reading, Young Master?" he asks after dismissing Finny, setting the bowl on the bed tray carved from solid wood, so the boy can eat right where he is.

"The Rime of the Ancient Mariner."

"Oh? Have you not had enough of water today?"

Ciel scowls, but deigns to reply: "I began reading Christabel, but did not like it."

"Christabel is in my opinion more sophisticated than The Rime of the Ancient Mariner," Sebastian remarks as he carefully arranges the tray over his master's lap. "But I may be biased, as the Lady Geraldine seems to be modelled after an old acquaintance of mine. I wonder if Mister Coleridge knew her? It also has an unhappier ending for the humans involved than the tale of the mariner, so perhaps the watery rime was a better choice for you."

Sebastian busies himself tidying the bathroom and the bedroom while keeping an eye on Ciel. He is eating well, but does not complain about the blandness – an indication that he is not as alert as his butler would like him to be.

"Now you must sleep," he tells the boy when the last spoonful of soup and food has been swallowed.

He removes the tray and covers Ciel up to the chin with the blanket, slips his eye patch off and waits till he closes his eyes before putting the tray, serving stand and empty buckets from the bathroom out in the corridor for Finny. By then, his young master is already deep in sleep, his little body exhausted by the trials of the morning.

Sebastian watches him all afternoon, not stirring from the bedside despite not having changed out of his bullet-riddled clothing. While not at ease with the boy's slightly fitful rest, his ears hear no disorder in the lungs, and his nose detects no damage that was not already there in the wounds. Then again, he is hardly skilled in the arts of healing, and some kinds of sickness take time to develop.

He leaves his master just before evening to prepare dinner. Baldroy has not only returned from the Midford mansion, but also brought fresh supplies of meat and vegetables. While Mey-Rin sits upstairs with Ciel, Sebastian changes out of the rags his clothes have turned into, and sets about whipping up an Oriental-style dish of minced beef steamed with finely chopped ginger. The master does not like food that is too spicy, but this should be warming and restorative rather than too hot.

He boils the julienned carrots and glazes them with a light fruit syrup, so they will be easy to swallow. The kitchen has no Oriental rice at present, but he makes do with some of Agni's Indian basmati rice. Leaving Baldroy and Tanaka to serve the rest to the staff, Sebastian takes enough for the master and carries it upstairs, where he relieves Mey-Rin of her duty.

Ciel is very tired when awakened, despite having slept all day. When Sebastian asks how he feels, he says his arms and back are stiff and aching. The butler unwraps the bandages and finds one of the cuts on his back, and one on his left arm, redder than ever and discharging clear fluid mingled with blood. He cleans all the wounds and reapplies the ointment, then wraps fresh strips of bandages about him.

"I must check those other wounds as well, Young Master," he says in the most neutral tone he can modulate his voice into, for he does not want the earl to think he is making fun of him.

That the boy does not even scowl, but groggily lets Sebastian turn him over to inspect his bottom, is not a good sign. He is obviously unwell, though the bite and fingernail marks show no signs of infection, and the lungs sound unhampered. Only the cuts on the back and left arm may prove dangerous – Sebastian has, over centuries, seen the least significant wounds on mortals turn fatal once infection and gangrene set in.

"Good," he says, pulling the boy's drawers up and refastening them. "Now eat as much as you can."

Ciel struggles valiantly, but manages only half of what Sebastian dished out for him before putting his spoon down and dropping his arm. He has been able to eat this much only because of the appetising qualities of the ginger, and the softness of the carrots and rice.

"A little more," Sebastian says persuasively, seating himself on the bed to feed Ciel.

The boy takes three more mouthfuls from the spoon the butler lifts to his lips before shaking his head and sinking back onto the pillows. Sebastian removes the tray, wipes Ciel's mouth, and presses his palm to his master's forehead. He is slightly warm, but not so much that he would call it a fever. It is more likely the result of having lain in bed all day. Sebastian helps him sit up again so that he can drink some water. Ciel gulps it greedily.

"You should use the chamberpot before you sleep again, Young Master."

Ciel agrees, but Sebastian has to help him onto the pot, wipe him clean, and lift him back into bed. He washes his hands thoroughly to be particularly safe about not spreading further contamination to Ciel even though his devil's body cleans itself. Then he uses fresh washcloths to give Ciel a sponge bath wherever his skin is not covered in bandages or ointment. The boy is in no condition to sit in the tub, so he hopes this will help him feel more comfortable.

But as the evening progresses, Ciel's sleep proves restless. He tosses, kicks the blankets and mumbles about water everywhere, dead birds, sunless seas, demon women, and men from Porlock. Sebastian checks his temperature again; it is no warmer than would be expected for a boy under layers of winter bedcovers for hours.

Coddling humans does not come naturally to him, but Ciel is the only master he has willingly bound himself to on a whim. And he would never tell the child this, but he rather resembles a cat, despite his stated preference for dogs. As the devil does coddle cats instinctively, it is easier to reach a hand towards this kitten-like face and stroke his soft, dark hair until his sleep grows calmer. Perhaps, Sebastian thinks, it is what his mother used to do for him.

He becomes aware once more, as he did when talking with Agni in the town house kitchen about cooking with love, that he lacks a vital tool for performing his duties to the highest standards. But he can to some extent imitate what he lacks. So he continues to stroke the boy's hair soothingly until his breathing becomes deep and regular, and he stops tossing and kicking. To complete the illusion, Sebastian bends down and presses his lips to Ciel's hair, giving him a kiss on the temple that he imagines his mother might have given him, in the best mimicry of maternal devotion that a devil's lips can possibly craft.

It earns the earl two hours of peaceful sleep. But soon, no soothing touches can win him rest, for he begins to have nightmares, starting up in bed every half-hour or so, first commanding Sebastian to get "that disgusting man" off him, then forbidding Sebastian to touch him, and finally, to the butler's dismay, accusing him of attempting to murder him.

"Young Master," Sebastian assures him, holding him down as he struggles, doing everything not to hurt him. "I won't harm you."

"You wanted me dead – you smiled at me and left me to die!" Ciel hisses, pushing against him.

"No, my lord."

"Then what do you want?" he raves wildly. "You want something – devils always want something – do you want what that filthy man wanted? Is that what you wanted from me all along?"

"No, my lord. Not like that."

"Did I look dirty to him? Was that why he did that to me?" Ciel demands.

"No."

"It's all disgusting. It's all ugly..." he mumbles, falling back into a sleep that Sebastian is now certain is racked by fever and delirium. His forehead feels very hot. The butler must do something to bring the temperature down.

He pours cool water into the washbasin and starts to sponge Ciel down, leaving the damp, folded towels on his forehead and against his neck, armpits and groin. They heat up quickly against his scalding skin, and he rinses and replaces them whenever they become too warm to be of use.

To his relief, his master's temperature drops after an hour, and the next time Ciel opens his mismatched eyes, the wild look is gone from them. Instead, they look painfully conscious of what has transpired. In the light of the bedside lamp, the boy blinks slowly at his butler and sits up to accept the offer of a glass of water. After draining the glass, he lowers his head to the pillows and looks at Sebastian with shame.

"I don't know why I said all that," he murmurs. "I didn't mean any of it. It just came out of my mouth."

"You remember what you said?" Sebastian asked, curiously.

"Mostly, but it was like I wasn't the one saying it."

"It was the fever talking."

"Didn't mean it..." Ciel mumbles, drifting into sleep again.

The fever is gone, and he rests soundly. Sebastian stands by the bed and watches him sleep. He muses that he was as truthful as he could have been when he answered the boy in his fevered ravings that he had not wanted what Mrs Easton's man had. After all, he had come dangerously close to taking him, body and soul, in his earlier predatory impulse. But saying so would only have distressed him further. A truth of sorts it was, then, with an omission.

Is this child really worth all this work? Such a troublesome creature. Any other demon would by now have sunk his fangs into the nape of that fragile neck and drained the life from him while satisfying himself sexually in the depths of that snug little behind, revelling in his delightful screams before worrying about the price to pay. Any other devil but him. Somehow, somewhere, he has chosen to bother with this fiddly burden named Ciel Phantomhive.

So in the dark of that long winter night, when Ciel stirs again and opens his eyes to gaze at him by the guttering lamplight, Sebastian is unexpectedly pleased when the boy murmurs: "You saved my life."

"Did I, my lord?" he asks softly.

"Yes. You breathed life into me when I was dead," Ciel smiles.

"When I pulled you from the river?"

"I came to life to the feel of your mouth on mine. Did you like the taste of me?" the boy asks, still smiling, raising his head and upper body from the pillows.

Sebastian, aroused by the warmth and invitation in his master's voice, replies: "Yes."

"Do it again. Breathe life into me once more, like you did by the river."

The devil half-slinks onto the bed, leaning towards his master with a degree of interest that surprises him, fired by the knowledge that he has already denied himself this child's soul twice and deserves at least the reward of a proper kiss. He had never intended this before, but as the boy has had an awakening through his experiences at the mill, he may as well be the one to guide him. He feels Ciel's arms circling his neck, and lowers his face to the beautiful one beneath him, ready to press his mouth to his to taste all of his tainted humanity and uniqueness – until his senses alert him to the fact that something is wrong.

"Young Master," he says suddenly, stopping and drawing back. "You do not know what you are doing."

"I do."

"You do not," he says firmly, though with considerable regret, as he takes Ciel's arms and lowers them to his side, gently compelling him to recline against the pillows once more. "You have no idea what you are doing, because you are burning up."

The fever has returned.
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Devilish Impulses