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Together Again	By : CheshireCity Category: > Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji ???) Views: 2888 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler and make no money from the works of Yana Toboso.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
"Together Again"

Chapter Two

Morpho

"I scratch your sweet name

Right into my skin

You left me bleeding

But I couldn't give in.

I swallowed the poison to get infected

Give back my heart that your body rejected.

Oh no, I'll never let you go

Oh no, I hate that I need you so."

Tokio Hotel (Attention)

There was something about carriages that had always fascinated Sebastian. The way the varying pace of the horses would change the look of the landscape. How at full gallop, they made the rolling hills and dense thickets blur and turn into watercolors. Yet for him, a demon, the change was an odd mixture of being both slothly slow and humanly quick. The last two weeks had been just as prolonged and as fleeting. He had kept to himself a bit more than usual, willing himself to fade away into the background of daily life, to become a muted color at the edges of his Master's focus. The bitterness, too, had finally ebbed away, leaving in its place a horrid taint of guilt and disgust. And he felt, for the first time in a very long time, weak.

He had to, of course, stick to his aesthetics when the order had been issued. There had never been a question about that, nor doubts of his own loyalty. There was none of that. It was the sick, twisting need that had sprung up from those words. It wasn't quite carnal, but it wasn't solely emotional, either. It was the sinking, hollow realization that something, somewhere deep inside was empty and missing. The startling truth that he himself was no more than an observer within the human world he now found himself – that he only had the right to watch from behind a glass, sealed away. Untouchable and isolated. And the desperation to break those walls disgusted him. It was weak. To desire. To wish for things that would, ultimately, only kill him internally in the end.

Sebastian wasn't sure when it had happened. When he had bared the most private part of himself to this mortal world; had freely dispensed access into his personal being. To allow… to allow humans into his own heart. It was more than fool. They would come and go in mere instants to him, leaving nothing but painful memories and invisible scars. It was no different with his master. He couldn't place when obligation had morphed into respect and faithful duty, which in turn melded into appreciation and…

Ciel Phantomhive was a sickly young teenager who had sealed his own fate. By Sebastian's own hands, no less. He would die and there was no avoiding it. It was an ever-present, morbid fact that demon and earl alike openly acknowledged. Manipulated. Everything between them was a matter of business and convenience. Direct. Methodical. Sterile and straightforward.

So why… why was it that above all else, it was that person's acknowledgement that he craved? More than anything… why was it that when all was said and done, the one person whose acceptance – whose adoration, should he be so bold – he wanted above all else was his own master's. A human's. Something inside him clenched just thinking about it, and every time it did, it felt colder as the glass between their worlds grew sharper and more apparent. He had no business at all wishing for the things he could not have. Yet when that order was issued… all of the tiny cracks in his resolve, all of the little fissures that had wormed their way into his – he daren't say it, heart – had magnified and spread agape, clawing up desperately to clutch at any inkling of affection found within those scant words. He had let down his barriers. And it had betrayed him.

And in this manner, things had gone by much too agonizingly slow. He had allowed desires and hopes to thrive, only for them to expire and fester just as he knew that they would. And it made that hollow space within him ache all the more. Sebastian had tried in earnest to busy himself. The Phantomhive manor had never been as productive as it had in the two weeks that had followed what he ominously dubbed 'That Day'. He reckoned that he could temporarily open a bakery with the amount of food he had wastefully produced. Hell, he could run half of Funtom's food stores on his will and inward letdowns alone. It wasn't so much self pitying, he decided, as it was self disappointment. And no matter how hard he busied himself in his tasks and constant siege on the kitchen, he couldn't quite keep his thoughts from crashing around endlessly in his head.

Yet at the same time, time had been much too fleeting. It was an awkward combination of feelings, and somehow the days, which were usually so scheduled and decisive, had blurred into one large messy span of existence. It didn't take Sebastian long to realize that there was an air of change about the manor. A sudden pervasive sweetness that was overpowering yet pleasant all at the same time. For days, he went about in a confused but accepting state – the new scent was refreshing, if not curious. It lingered here and there: sometimes along the library shelves, mingled with the linens, the pressed shirts, and even across the backs of the couches. It was almost like having another woman in the house, and the normalcy of those implications pleased Sebastian.

Until the implications became all too clear in one crashing, blinding moment.

And that was when the guilt had kicked in. Because he had known – oh, he had known – precisely what foul he had committed 'That Day'. Sinking his fangs into that yielding, virginal neck. Because he knew that his master would have no idea the ways in which he had submitted to the demon's natural urges and needs. The need to take a mate, to have and to hold as long as they both should live. And Sebastian, true to form, had greedily and readily accepted the willing body before him.

It had been strange, the first few days, feeling a distant notion of elation or sadness that hadn't belonged to him. It was fleeting, to be sure, but still present and a constant reminder of the wrongs he had committed against his master and himself. It was this in-tune nature of the matehood that had caused his world to stutter. Sickness.

It had crept up upon him and had hit the demon full force. The sweetness, the fluctuating foreign emotions that paraded about at the back of his mind at all hours of the day, the cold sweat feelings of sickness that stole over him when he himself felt and performed perfectly normal. He had selected his mate for eternity and somehow, someway had…

'But there is no feasible way.' He thought, pushing the trolley towards the bedside. The prone form of his master stirred into wakefulness, and a feeling rose within him that he quickly squashed down. There was no doubt in his head any more. It didn't make sense, yet it seemed to be inescapably true. 'I apologize in advance, young master.' He sighed, fingers automatically twitching to work, mind elsewhere. 'I fear you'll hate me by the end of all of this.' He lingered a moment in his work, reveling greedily in the exceedingly sweet scent that bloomed as his master sat up in bed. It was soft, feminine yet not flowery. Just… just Ciel, only sweeter and more alluring. Very fertile. 'Very pregnant.'

"You look like death, m'lord." Sebastian noted, handing over a teacup with a little more force than necessary. The teen took it, still not quite back to the world of the living. He grunted in an unamused sort of way, letting the steam curl up from the cup, intermingling with his ever-changing scent. He shook his head in protest as his emotions spiked.

"I feel like it was well."

Sebastian frowned, sensing the waves of nausea that surged up upon his young mate. He sighed, thinking of some way to work around the apparent problem. Apparent to him, anyway. He had tried to excuse the now-routine illness open dietary changes and sudden lack of food. But he knew more than his master could ever hope to comprehend the way that appetite had failed his young mate, coming off in such strong of waves that it had affected the demon as well. The previous day he had spent time in the kitchen staring down at a bird he had freshly caught, all sense of hunger evanescing away. It was frustrating, to say the least.

"You should eat breakfast, young master. It may help settle your stomach."

"Tea is the only thing I can handle right now, Sebastian." Ciel countered. He was so resolute in these things that it was downright maddening. "I thought I informed you of this—" he broke off with a scowl. His emotions seemed to mimic it, too. It was nearly comical. "and why isn't this peppermint?"

Sebastian sighed in exasperation, all hopes for normalcy to return to his personal schedule darting away wildly into the morning light. It was bound to be a very, very long nine months for him. His eyes flicked up to watch his master throw his head back, downing the hot liquid like alcohol.

"Master, it's not vodka." Sebastian frowned, leaning over to wipe stray traces of tea off of Ciel's face. "And you are far from a drunk." 'Not that I would allow for you to be, pregnant or not.'

"I feel like one." His master muttered, sulking against his sheets. Sebastian quirked an eyebrow. 'And you would know this, how, exactly?'

"-only thing that will help." The teen concluded.

"Still, that is no excuse." The demon retorted, bussing away the food and refilling the porcelain cup. "And to answer your earlier question, it is because my lord has gone through our supply of peppermint tea like Master Lau through a bag of opium." There was just a vague amount of terseness there. Just a smidgeon. Sebastian sighed to himself; damn the sharing of being in matehood that made even him irritable and short tempered.

"What a crude comparison." Ciel scoffed, throwing back more tea.

'Really now?' the demon sighed, arching a brow. Such an unsightly spectacle. Almost as if realizing his thoughts, the earl blushed, righting himself and returning the teacup to its saucer on the trolley. "As much as I enjoy white tea, I really must insist that you go into town and refill our supply of peppermint." He supplied, trying to right the awkward moment. "It's the only thing that seems to sate this illness."

"Yes, my lord." Sebastian nodded with a bow. Instantly, the images of his master going about his day alone and unguarded brought sharp pinpricks of protest to the back of his mind. The demon was loathe to acknowledge the feeling stealing over him in waves, but knew it for what it was nonetheless. "But I must insist that you accompany me." He intoned, fighting to keep his voice clear and free from the possessive growl that fought to be heard.

"For what purpose?" the young earl scowled, extending his hand in expectation of the morning post his butler placed there. Distantly, Sebastian could feel traces of displeasure.

"With my young master ill as he is as of late, I would feel uncomfortable leaving him alone in the presence of –." He cut off abruptly, saved for once by the cacophonic sound of crashing from out in the garden, punctuated by a surprisingly loud declaration of innocence. 'From those bumbling fools who can't tell the difference between a rake and a hoe, nonetheless a friend from an enemy.' He finished to himself, straightening up to assess the damage. He watched as the young heir refolded the paper, a frown creasing his brow, coupled with the sensation of distinct worry and frustration. The demon fought down a triumphant smile. 'Even you know, young master, that they could never protect you like I can.'

"Would you be so kind as to check to see if anyone has been maimed?" the earl instructed, voice a bit strained as he poured over an article laden with grand illustrations. The demon made a mental note to purchase the copies of The Strand and Beeton's Christmas Annual that featured the works of the author addressed in the article. It figured that a detective series would queue his master's interest. He uttered a quick agreement before pacing over to the window and almost unwillingly drawing back the lace screen.

Below, two figures darted about animatedly, torn between scooping up glinting glass shards and teetering on the brink of causing more destruction. 'Stop wrecking my house! Must you be so hell bent on destroying it? …Again.' he groaned internally, feeling the possessiveness returning. "It would appear as if Finnian and Bard have managed to completely shatter another window." He said with a pained expression. He wasn't going to question how, oh he wasn't going to question–

"Would you mind killing them for me?" Ciel asked conversationally, unphased and still engrossed in the morning post. A dark grin spread across the demon's lips. Or maybe he would question how… he rolled his fingers into stiff, clawed weapons, cracking his knuckles in the process.

"That depends if you are serious or not, young master." He mused, the thrum of action coursing through him. Serious or not, the failings of the others always boded well for his demonic blood. It wasn't that he was intrinsically cruel, per se, just… pent up.

A dry laugh shook his thoughts away. "No. But feel free to discipline them in any way you please."

'That wouldn't kill or maim a human, that is.' The demon supplied.

"I'll need another few minutes to fully awaken; have a carriage ready for us in an hour."

"Right away." Sebastian practically hummed, offering a quick bow and trying to erase the impish grin that refused to go away. Before the door had finished shutting, the demon found himself leering over the incompetent cook and gardener.

"Augh! What if we paste it back together?" the small blonde cried, gloved fingers scooping together a hopelessly shattered pile of debris.

"Well… maybe we could put up a cur… tain…" Bard suggested, words failing him as his eyes widened in horror. And then he was flat on his ass, vision wavering in splotches of color and blackness. Finny whimpered and cowered in place.

"This was the sixth window this month, was it?" the demon smiled placidly, a chilling bite to his words. The servants shrank away.

"A-ah… was it?" the young gardener squeaked, poking his fingers together. "I wasn't countin', Mr. Sebastian, honest."

"I'm sure you weren't." the other replied, eyes heavily lidded but nonetheless potent. "And who was it this time?"

"A-ah, uhm, it was… sorta, uhm…"

"Well how was I supposed ta' know that it would do that?" Bard frowned, straightening himself up as the world look a bit less Monet and Degas and a bit more Millet and Courbet. A pair of garnets pinned him down to the spot.

"You may take your leave, Finnian." The butler said silkily. "It appears I need to have a word with Bardroy." The duo paled considerably.

"Look, Mr. Sebastian, I-I can explain, I— WHUAGH!" There was a horrible splintering sound as his words cut short, the demon pressed uncomfortably close behind him, holding his limb hostage and pinned at an awkward angle.

"Failure to exert caution in one's work will lead to most unfavorable results, no?" the demon hissed, polite for all but in tone. The chef nodded wordlessly, sweat beading on his brow. "Now make yourself useful and prepare a carriage. God help you if you manage to screw that up." A split second later, the man was alone and dazed, the demon already safely inside the foyer as inklings of guilt rose within him. Perhaps he had been a bit rougher than he intended? That snap sounded a tad too final… he sped through the manor, shoes scantly brushing the carpeted stairs as he ascended them. Humans were so frail.

'Yet none quite as frail as you, hmn?' he mused, suddenly beside his master's bed and peering into the washroom where the young earl stood, straddling the wash basin. 'And you question why I don't want you out of my sight.' He added, stomach coiling at the thought of another demon laying so much as a claw on what was rightfully his. His mate.

"Young master is as charming as ever." Sebastian purred, reveling in his wrongful prize. The young man started, turning to face his servant as he righted his clothing. It was a bit of a wry compliment, the demon admitted, given the earl's now-common appearance of disarray, but it was an applicable one, all the same. To him, at least, constantly bombarded by the sweet and alluring scent of sweetened Ciel, some unnatural euphony of strawberries and French pastries that was so distinct to the young earl. An altered scent that was, no matter how morally bankrupt, entirely his own doing. The thought brought him sheer satisfaction.

"That was quick." The other replied, fighting to keep the surprise from his voice. He had somehow become impervious to the demon's comments as of late. Sebastian wondered if thick headedness was a symptom of pregnancy, chalking it up to general belief that estrogen itself was an agent of general haughtiness and disregard.

"I'm very efficient at getting my point across." The demon supplied, fingering at his tie as he bid his master follow him. "I've set out your clothing and arranged for a carriage, just as you've instructed."

'Generally speaking, I made a chart precisely a week ago of your scheduled clothing and do so each Saturday for conveniences sake and physically manhandled and bullied our beloved chef into getting his ass in gear and hitching up a horse instead of dismantling this establishment.'

"Good." Ciel said, nodding, innocently unaware of his loyal servant's internal monologues, and allowing Sebastian to lift his nightshirt from his frame. The morning ritual went unnoticeably quicker than usual, the earl being completely unaware of the internal war that was being waged inside of his butler.

Sebastian bit his tongue firmly, feeling the blood roar in his veins as he first uncovered and then covered his master's milky smooth skin, reveling secretly for once in the gentle dips and curves in the other's frame. The elegant porcelain set of his wrists and ankles, and perfect, alluring structure of his hip bones as the skin smoothed out down, down to… The demon could taste the distinct tang of copper as he helped the earl into his waistcoat, willing the blood and his impure thoughts to disappear entirely.

"The fresh air should help to relax you, master." He uttered, trying to forcefully divert his attentions. Mate or no, they lived in two separate worlds. Human and demon, lord and servant. Moreover, there was no way in which he could transcribe the culture he came from to his master. No way to explain the feelings he felt, or the traditions he distantly knew of. There was certainly no way to explain that to any outsider. He couldn't very well justify their bond to another noble by saying that in demon standards, puberty made their union perfectly acceptable and no, he was not a pervert, thank you very much. Something panged horribly within him, but he ignored it at the sound of popping tendons. Concern flooded over him. Regardless of the others, he could at least entertain the notion of matehood in privacy.

His fingers flitted to Ciel's shoulders, gently massaging out the stiff muscles just beneath the skin. The earl started, unfamiliar with the affectionate action before melting into the touch, unknowingly slipping into his subservient allotment in his union. Sebastian laughed, trickles of delight invading him as he worked his fingers earnestly. At least he could care for him. That, at minimum, would be enough to satiate him. "Do you enjoy that, my lord?" he murmured, inhaling the gentle soaps and oils worked into the lord's hair as his lips pressed to his ear.

"Uhn." The earl sighed, eyes sliding closed in pleasure as the fingers expertly soothed out his taught muscles. "How did you get so good at this?"

"Why, it's only natural that a servant of the Phantomhive household would be able to do this." Sebastian supplied wryly, much to the chagrin of his master.

"Oh come off it." The younger retorted with the wistful smile, holding still as the fingers came up gently across his face, threading through his hair as the eyepatch was secured into place, obscuring theirother private union from the gazes of others. Sebastian discouraged himself from caressing the spot, now face to face with the young lord. 'Just further proof that you are mine and mine alone.'

"But I will admit that it is a pleasurable talent of yours." The earl continued, eyes still lidded.

The demon's lips quirked into a smirk, his thoughts spiraling southwards…

"Why didn't you inform me of this before?"

Nimble fingers ceased their movements, allowing the ribbon ends to fall gracefully among locks of dark hair. They paused a moment longer before cascading down the earl's frame with the faintest of touches, settling possessively against the vulnerable nape of his neck and the slender curve of his back, pulling the younger infinitesimally closer. "Because I knew once you knew of this talent, you would never want my hands off of you." He whispered, willing Ciel's scent to mirror his own heady desires, almost instantly welcomed with the subtle submissions of the earl's body, the willingness of his scent to be taken, touched, and thoroughly—

The harsh knock at the door instantly derailed his thoughts, breaking the pair from their intoxicated positions. A low growl pooled in the back of the demon's throat, coming out instead as a more refined sigh of distaste. He extracted himself from Ciel and strode unnaturally quickly to the double doors, stepping beyond them into the earl's private sitting room, dimly aware that said earl was at his heels.

"Yes, Maylene?" he asked a bit tersely. The redhead quavered slightly.

"Sorry to interrupt your morning ritual, Master!" she squawked, fumbling a curtsey to the young lord before turning to the butler. "But I had a question for Mister Sebastian."

"Yes?" the demon incited, voice laced with venom. He had already accepted the fact that the moment had been lost, but the rest of him was still coping with the fact that he was definitely not going to get any. He drummed his fingers irately against the doorframe to distract him from growing his claws. The last thing he needed was to have to replace another pair of gloves. Sensing his foul mood, the maid shrunk away, the scent of doubt rising from her.

"Well, uhm." She stuttered, fiddling with her glasses and looking about to anywhere that wasn't inhabited by a sexually frustrated demon. "I—I was just wondering if Bard's arm was supposed to bend that way…?"

"Most likely not." Sebastian answered shortly, suddenly not minding his unintentionally cruel actions in light of his new losses. He cast a curious glance at his master as he obscured his mouth with a gloved hand and retreated into his bedchamber.

"Uhm." The maid tried again, shifting her weight from foot to foot awkwardly. "Can you maybe… fix it?"

Sebastian pinned her with as much derision as his eyes could muster. "I suppose." He finally hummed. "My lord?" he sighed, turning to gaze at his mate over his shoulder.

"Go ahead; I have something to attend to." The earl waved him off, stepping back into the role of a noble than as a twitterpated young demon. Reluctantly, he slunk away, following the bobbing red mass of maid through the sitting room and down several flights of stairs into the servant's quarters on the opposing end of the mansion. The kitchen smelled strongly of cooking potato and earthy vegetables as he stepped through the wooden doors. Bard sat at a stool, wincing painfully as he stirred at a pot, his other arm bent horrifically to one side. Sebastian internally winced. Overkill was never quite his style.

'And to think you assembled a carriage that way. Good show, old sport.'

There was a small squeak as Finny scampered out of the room and back into his gardens, prompting Bard to look back at the demon and chuckle nervously. "Uh… am I doin' it right?" he laughed, indicating to the broth he was making.

"For once, yes." The butler answered softly, pacing over to him. "Extend your arm to me, if you please. I'll set it right again." With a wince, the chef did as told, looking decidedly away as the joint popped loudly back into place.

"Gotta watch that inhuman strength sometime." He laughed shortly, setting his jaw to keep from reacting to the pain. Sebastian looked up at him, fighting the alarm welling within him. "Awe, come off it…" the chef smiled. "I know ya ain't human. Dunno what exactly, but I don't care, neither. We're all a bit different here, anyways…" he added, throwing a meaningful look out to the garden door.

Sebastian sighed, allowing his shoulders to go lax in a vaguely defeated manner. "So long as it's secret." He muttered, pulling clusters of ingredients closer to the chef as he resumed his work.

"'Course." The American nodded. "You're our Mr. Sebastian, yeah? We're all each other has… like… like a family." He gulped, staring into the bronze pot to hide the blush creeping over his cheeks. The demon blinked in surprise. Family… His thoughts turned back to the young man upstairs. He had never in all his years known 'family'.

"A-and it's thanks to you 'nd Master Ciel that we even have a good roof o'er our heads, so, uh…" Bard filled in awkwardly.

"I should learn to be a bit more forgiving to my family, then." The demon interjected softly. The chef stopped short and stared, agape, as Sebastian sprinkled freshly diced carrot into the pot. "My apologies for earlier. My frustrations got the better of me; I will try not to react in such a way again." A split second later, the demon stood beyond the aged doors, gazing inwards.

"'C-Course." The cook nodded, a humbled look settling upon him. "Don't worry about it." The demon dropped his gaze, filled with a foreign feeling he didn't quite know how to handle, and retreated quickly back up to his master's bedchamber, seeking out the slightest comforts of normalcy.

"I apologize for the constant coming-and-going— " he began, battling away the frustration of growing cluelessness he had been feeling the past few weeks. He frowned at the seemingly-vacant room, eyes dropping to the prone form curled into the sheets very much like a cat. "'Something to attend to', you said?" he sighed, righting his personal composure before scooping the earl up into a more decent appearance. "Young master, you'll wreck your clothing." He chided, wincing at the thought of another vexing two hours of ironing while meticulously making sure not to melt the fine lace that trimmed nearly every article of the other's clothing. Damn the fashions of the modern day and his strict desires to adhere to them when ordering his master's clothing.

His annoyance melted away as a dull blue eye peered up at him. "I think I would like a scone after all." The confidant tone returned as though with each stroke of his hand Sebastian was banishing not only ensuing wrinkles, but his frailties as well. "Plain, if you'd please." The earl amended, chorused by a low whine from his midsection. "I merely need to get something in my stomach."

Sebastian, being the dutiful servant he was, of course, had obliged to his master's wishes, but now, sitting across from the ailing lord amidst his own ponderings, he couldn't help but wonder if he should have fought the request or not.

"I'm going to vomit." The younger whimpered for the millionth time in under an hour. Sebastian had considered taking count of how many times it was said, but gave up somewhere around twelve. He sighed, willing his patience to stretch till the end of their journey, rearranging himself as gracefully as possible.

"You're not going to vomit, my lord." He said, sounding much calmer than he felt. "Just keep your head between your legs."

"That's just making the problem worse!" the earl spat, gagging a bit as the carriage hit a particularly nasty pothole. Sebastian momentarily entertained the thought of doling out Phantomhive wealth to the city for the betterment of public roads, if nothing else but for the welfare of pregnant women (and others, he supplemented) everywhere, and for the well-being of any person who should have the great misfortune of crossing him by the end of the drive. Reigning himself in, he resituated himself so he was folded neatly behind his master, fingers instinctually reaching out to massage comforting circles into the young lord's fatigued back.

"There now." He uttered softly, "Better?"

There was a vague nod as the sweet smell of appreciation and relief piqued, only to be marred again by a sharp dip in the streets below them as dirt abruptly gave way to jarring cobblestone. Sebastian's eyes narrowed in annoyance as the Phantomhive fortune teetered dangerously towards the prospect of city upkeep.

"Stop the carriage!" Ciel cried out, seizing. The hired coachman let out a gruff 'whoah', drowned out by the obedient whinny of the tethered Cleveland Bay's as the carriage ground to a halt. The earl leapt from the compartment, shakily steadying himself against a nearby tree whilst his breakfast chose to make an encore appearance. Sebastian stood sentinel beside the carriage, assuming the role of footman all the while astutely assuring himself that his young mate was, indeed, healthy, all things considered. He coughed and sputtered, still shivering against the violent tremors and pressing a handkerchief to his lips. He turned back to his ride and butler, a foul visage upon his features as if scathingly asking why on earth the demon had demanded his assistance.

'Because I can't bear the thought of you parting from me, my lord.' The butler whispered to himself, offering instead a calm smile. "Better?"

"Sod off." Ciel seethed, clambering back into the carriage with as little assistance as he could afford.

'You can't pretend to be so rebellious and independent when you can barely mount a carriage on your lonesome.' The demon thought bemusedly. "Do you believe you'll be well enough to make tomorrow's appointment with Miss Elizabeth?" he asked in smooth retort. The earl's face crumpled into a grimace.

"Don't make me vomit, again, Sebastian."

The demon frowned, torn between glee and disapproval. "Master." He admonished, lowering his voice warningly. Before he could begin on the proper treatment and etiquette of courting women, he was waved off by an irritated earl.

"I'm hardly in the mood, Sebastian." He huffed, sulking childishly in his seat. "And to answer your question, I'd prefer to rest for the next several days, rather than go to meetings. They only seem to worsen my condition."

'Yes, responsibility is just oh so horrid for pregnancy, isn't it?' Sebastian mused, stifling a laugh and choosing to hold his tongue and direct his attentions elsewhere. London continued to blur, melting quickly from countryside into city, crowded up with uniform houses and bustling shop fronts, declaring their wares from freshly painted wooden signs and framed by the occasional streetlamp, wicks long extinguished in wake of morning light. It wasn't too horribly different from the London of his own childhood. Busier, yes, but in ways just as spirited and cultured as before, now dressed up with the finest of lace and decorum. At length, the carriage eased to a halt at the curbside of their destination, a sign mindfully painted beside the door, bearing the address "192 Baker Street", below which was written in fanciful green script, "Adler Emporium of Tea".

The driver dismounted and opened the door for the two riders, extending his hand to the earl. A shiver of distaste ran up the demon's spine, and he caught the man's hand with the politest look he could bear. "If you would be so kind,"

' –to keep your paws away from what does not belong to you –'

"As to pick us up in two hours' time, it would be greatly appreciated." He finished, leaving the coachman to stare in dumb shock at the fifty pound note that had seemingly materialized in his still-outstretched hand. "My lord?" the demon quipped, gently gathering the young earl up by his waist and depositing him safely upon the clean sidewalk. The cabby took the opportunity to tear his gaze from his filled hand to the butler, finally registering that the man had managed to get outside the carriage without his notice.

"I would appreciate it," Ciel ground out, ignorant of the spectacle playing out beside him and stalking towards the shop door, "If you refrained from carrying me around like a sack of rice in public." Sebastian supposed that the words were meant to be threatening, but he couldn't help but smile in amusement at the lords antics, holding the door open from him as they entered the shop with the faintest jingle of bells.

"But young master," he protested coyly, following into the aesthetically overwhelming emporium. "I didn't even toss you over my shoulder." Noticing the tightening of the earl's grip on his walking cane, he added a brief, "This time", reveling in the blush that Ciel thought he had contained.

"Be with you sirs in a second!" a voice called out, followed immediately by a low groan. The butler perked up, sensing all too clearly the nausea that had cascaded upon his young mate.

"The smell is too strong." Ciel stated, refilling around for his handkerchief before recalling, belatedly, that it had already been used. Imperceptibly, Sebastian exchanged the linen for his own; gently bracing the younger's shoulder. "I'll go stand out front while you purchase the tea."

"Yes, my lord." The other replied naturally. "How much would you like me to purchase?"

The earl paused a moment, hand grasping the doorframe, cogs visibly turning in his head as he gave a deranged laugh. "All of it." He grinned manically, before near as traipsing (or as best as one could when ill from unnatural pregnancy) out into the streets of London. Sebastian stared after him a moment longer before resigning himself to the odd request and turning back to the counter just as an apron-donned man approached, dusting his hands together.

"For you, sir?" he asked humbly, flipping open his ledger and casting about for a pen.

"Ah… well…" Sebastian paused, feeling a bit dazed.

"Ah, I see, not used t' me, eh? Me daughter's out 'nd 'bout, God bless her soul." The shopkeep laughed awkwardly. "Always gettin' in trouble somehow, Lord help her. Got an eye for adventure tha' one, jus' like her mother, now, erm…" he broke off, suddenly aware of his surroundings. "Fine man like yerself… you here for tea 'r her hand?"

"Ah…" the demon blinked, taken aback.

"Ahhh, I see now. No worries, you look like a respect'ble gentlemen, now I— "

"My master requests all of your peppermint tea." The butler blurted out, staring at the inkwell determinedly.

'Damn it, stop acting like such a fool! Why are you blushing?'

"Ah, shame then." The human laughed, scribbling in his book. "My Irene could use a fellow such 's yerself. No need t' be so 'mbarrassed." He smiled, lugging out a ridiculously large tin from under the cabinet.

'I can't help that I'm not used to sincere, direct compliments…'

"'Ere ya are, sir. Seems yer master had got quite a tongue fer this stuff, eh?"

"He has a taste for genuine product and a stomach for an aide, and I an eye for fine wares when I see them." He replied, awkwardly more formal than necessary. The keep chuckled and accepted the small purse of money, waving him off as the butler exited with a tinkle of bells.

"My regards, then!" he called merrily, leaving Sebastian unusually flattered and with the resolve to set the man up for a Royal Warrant.

"Young master?" he called, fixating on the slender form of his master, who was staring with dogged intent across the way. "Do you see something interesting?" The earl's eye darted back across the road, and Sebastian lost his gaze in the maze of buggies and women in their weekend best.

"Nothing important." Ciel replied a bit distantly. "I believe I was just recognized by a civilian."

"Of course." Came the automatic reply. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, not dumb to the odd tones in his master's voice. Something out of place had lingered there, making his instincts prickle uneasily, yet there was nothing out of the ordinary to be seen… "Well, we still have just less than two hours to kill before our carriage returns. Any requests?" he posed, shifting the obnoxiously large container of tea out of his vision.

"None in particular." The other shrugged, resuming a more casual composure. "I would enjoy a bag of roasted chestnuts, however." He corrected, staring down the road at a vendor with glossy eyes. Sebastian fought the urge to scowl.

"Ill one moment and hungry the next." He sighed, dropping his voice. "And about as fickle as a woman, too."

"You can be replaced." The young lord retorted, glaring up at his servant. The threat had the adverse affect, a proud smirk coming to his butler's lips.

"With all due respect, I highly doubt that, young master."

La maison de Brun was far from as plain as the humble name suggested. It sat squarely between a boulangerie and an apothecary upon the avenue de Friedland, unassuming and refined on its exterior. It had, as most Parisian mansions were wont to have, crème colored walls festooned with elaborate scrolls and cherub gargoyles bearing shields; wrought iron balconies embossed with gold leafing and teeming with boughs of creeping pastel flowers.

But inside, a part from the bustling streets and whirring life of the Place Charles de Gaulle, was another existence paraded around in gaudy swathes of pink. She sat cloistered up upon the third floor, sprawled gracelessly over an ornate divan, loose curls splayed out like a halo. Oriental rugs chorused about her in vivid swatches of reds and golds, contrasting garishly with the swags of mint green which dressed the windows. A maid sat within the window seat, mending a skirt with flickering fingers, all but fading away into the wallpaper were she not illuminated by the light from the window. A dusty copy of The Swing sat in its gilded frame above the mantle, bordered by ivory tapers whose wicks were burned down at asymmetric angles.

The lounging woman sighed, admiring the face of a porcelain doll with equally fragile looking fingers, tracing over the lips and brushing through the hair. It was an unfinished piece, only half painted, but he was, in her opinion, her finest piece yet, and soon he too would become another pair of frozen eyes to fill the glass case lined walls. An ornate black card lay beside her on a marble table, detailing the mournful tidings of M. Crémieux, but her fingertips brushed passed it in favor of the open tin of apple flavored aniseed candies.

"Une pitié, non?" she announced, startling her maid into alertness.

"Pitié?" the mousy woman echoed.

"Oui, qu'il n'a pas l'amour moi." The younger pouted, pale cheeks growing rosy. "Mais," she said with a dramatic sigh, pressing the doll to her chest. "Maintenant, il ne me quittera, non?"

The maid started and set back to her sewing, unnerved at the thought that the only pair of living eyes in the entire room of hundreds were the grey ones from the couch. "Pitié, oui." She nodded frailly.

There was a pause where both women immersed themselves in their own thoughts, once again punctuated by the younger's outburst. "Il tint a une porte pour moi, une fois. Lors d'une fête." She added in earnest. "Qui était quand j'ai su que je l'aimais. Il était parfait."

A dozen more lovers stared wordlessly back.

The maid jumped again as the telephone rang shrill throughout the whimsical apartment, fumbling with her work to answer it as her mistress let out an excited exclamation of, "Téléphone pour moi!"

"A-Allô?" she stuttered, gripping the receiver. "Cette la maison de Brun."

A voice replied on the other side of the line, and the mistress of the manor leaned in intently to catch a trace of it. The maid blinked, taken aback by the caller's words.

"A-Ah! Qui est à l'appareil?"

The caller's tone grew more confidant, and the young mistress squealed in delight, springing from her throne and all but throwing the fragile doll away from herself. She seized the receiver in her fit of joy, casting the maid off much like a doll and ignoring the pained scream that resulted.

"Leona, my sweetness!" the brunette cooed in liltingly-accented English. "La, I haven't heard from you in ages!"

"Cosette Brun, how are you?" the caller purred back, voice feminine and honeyed. The young mistress giggled, nonchalantly wrenching away the pesky foreign hand that still held on to the receiver.

"Oooh, I could ask you the same thing, Leona! How long has it been? Twenty-three years?" she sighed pleasantly, finally extracting the stray appendage.

"Dearest, the last thing I want is to offend you;" Leona frowned through the phone, "But I believe you just killed your servant in a fit of joy."

"Oh?" the brunette blinked, suddenly letting go of the mangled hand as the maid's fresh corpse crumpled to a broken heap on the rug, head lolling insignificantly to the side. The porcelain dolls around her looked upon her with equally owlish apathy as their mistress. The woman giggled to herself as she turned back to her conversation, toying with a stray curl and flipping the rest carelessly over her shoulder. "Oooh, la! You know how I get when I hear from you, Leona." She dismissed girlishly. "Now! What have you been up to?"

"Just the usual." Came the casual reply, as if the woman on the other line had become suddenly disinterested. "But I have a small problem that I may need your help with, Cosette."

"Oh?" the young mistress cooed, head cocked curiously.

"Yes, it specifically requires your… expertise." The blonde intoned, voice dropping. Cosette quieted, eyes flitting across the fanciful room to her first two dolls ever made: a handsome black haired male and a petite ginger female with obtuse triangles extended from her head, a white-tipped pelt protruding from the back of her dress. Cosette withdrew her gaze, skimming determinedly past the out-of-place ladder that accessed the attic above her. Forcing her thoughts back around, she uttered a low hum, weighing the odds.

"Well, it depends if he stayed by her side or not." She explained, twirling her hair a bit more roughly than necessary. "If the male is out of the picture, then it's a simple procedure; but I take it he's stuck around if you've called from all the way out there." She pouted with a sigh. Oh, how she hated instigating such work.

There was an ironically pregnant pause before Leona continued, tone laced with gossipy glee. "Oh no." she corrected. "It's not a she."

Cosette sat back on her heels, frowning in confusion before the thoughts all clicked together. Instantly, she erupted in a pitchy peal of shrieks, throwing an arm about her sides ungracefully as she laughed. "A man?" she cried. "A man!"

"What's more is that he's a fairly well-to-do Earl." The other woman explained around Cosette's gasping laughter. "One of the queen's watchdogs, I believe."

"Ohhhh, la!" she exhaled heavily, sides still aching with raw amusement, a deranged smile plastered across her innocently painted lips. "Oh, Leona. I haven't heard anything this juicy in at least three hundred years." She tittered, fruitlessly trying to recount the events of their kind on her fingers.

"I haven't even gotten to the best part." The distant blonde whispered secretively. "Our incubus in question," There was a dramatic pause as Cosette held the receiver closer, as if its mere presence would explain all. "Belongs to the earl."

The brunette reeled back in surprise, mouth forming a perfect little 'o'. "Belongs?" she gaped excitedly, a hand cupping her cheek and smearing it ever so slightly with scarlet. "By contract, you mean?"

"By contract." The other replied matter-of-factly. "I could smell it from all the way across the street – along with the sickly sweet smell, of course."

The younger woman wrinkled her nose in mock disapproval. "I can see why you called me up, then!" she said with a small tut. "Oh dear, I have a feeling this will prove to be quite a mess." Her face crumpled at the thought as she strode over to her coffee table, setting about for her fountain pen and day planner, written in the various hands of short-lived maids.

"When do you think you and your feathered friend will be able to come to town?" Leona asked, almost on que. Cosette gave a resigned sigh, keeping her eyes from floating up towards the ceiling by burying them in the scribbled whirl of dates.

"Vendredi… non, cinq… no, today is the eighth… août, September, ah, here we are, octobre, samedi le huitième de octobre, year of Our Lord –" she paused with a breathy giggle. "— 1892, alors…" she trailed off, running a finger down the ledger of dates before tapping upon the seventeenth with finality. "Well, if you'd like me to bring him along…" she sighed theatrically, ticking off dates once more. "I'd say Monday, at latest."

"Knowing you, it will be Tuesday." The other replied flatly.

"Oh, poo! I'll be there when I'll be there, Leona!" the brunette scoffed, painted face creasing into a pout. "And you're very welcome, by the way!"

"Of course, of course." Leona replied in an eerily dismissive way. "I'll make sure to have the most comfortable arrangements for you two." She supplied, voice inflated and honey-sweet once more.

"Be sure to get plenty of those bath salts I like!" Cosette ordered shrilly, impervious to the charms of words. "You'll give them the usual message, then?"

"I'll be sure to do both." The woman replied patronizingly sweet. "Goodbye, darling. I'll see you on Tuesday."

"Monday!" the brunette squawked as the line cut out, leaving her alone in the rocaille house with naught but still dolls and a corpse.

The parlour room was musky, lit only by the dwindling firelight from the brick mantle. The silhouettes of the two human occupants stretched out in slants against the carpeting, as the third form remained still.

"Gone." Ciel repeated flatly, knuckles white. "Completely gone overnight? And just this building?" He bubbled irately with the aroma of boiling strawberries, inciting the lurking demon against his better judgment. It was not so unlike the heady scent of the young lord's arousal, causing the blood in the demon's veins to pound much harder than it had any business pulsing. Claret eyes raked over the elegant – if not sulking – form, wishing dearly that the other occupant would vanish on the spot. But Fred Aberline was just as obnoxious as he was determined, and that, apparently, applied to both the man's conscious and unconscious actions.

The young policeman was nodding with false bravado, hands betraying his true feelings as the tea cup trembled to his lips. "If you keep reading, you'll find that there was minimal damage done to the surrounding buildings; the fire department was able to contain the fire by the time they arrived. We have solid evidence that it was arson."

"No doubt." The earl bit back, sinking with frustration into his armchair. The scent piqued as he shot a frustrated look across the tea table. "How many were killed?"

The brunet paused in thought. "Since it was the night shift, there were only seven confirmed dead." He recalled, brushing back his hair with a gloved hand. "Two security guards as well as several workers doing overtime—." He cut off with a wince. "But those are only the bodies we've recovered thus far." Aberline amended, thumbing the handle of his cup uncomfortably.

"Sebastian." The earl commanded decidedly. The demon peeled himself away from his unassuming corner and crowded to his master's side, ignoring completely the stunned look of the young policeman's face at his sudden apparition. He bowed faithfully and accepted the folder he had calculated would come. "Track down the employee files of these people and send their families my personal condolences."

"Right away, young master." The butler hummed, fleeting down the hallway the second the doors swung to and slipping inside his personal study. His blood seemed on fire, pricking at him and urging him to return back to his master's side as soon as possible. Just to see him, to know that he was unharmed. To physically stand as a barrier between any leering eyes or lewd behaviors and… no, not so much what was 'his' as it was what was increasingly sacred to him. His fingers twitched over the spines of ledgers new and old; some in the stick-like lettering of Tanaka's hand, others in the flowing cursive of his own.

It wasn't as though the jumpy Yard worker could ever pose a threat to him, nonetheless his mate, he consoled himself as he removed a tome from the shelf. He spread it open and quickly jotted down the prior addresses of the departed. It was just the sheer notion of another man being alone with his master that made his skin crawl unpleasantly. That, and the faintest feeling that he was missing out on crucial information that his lord simply wouldn't – or, for that matter, couldn't – comprehend due to his ignorance. He allowed himself a disgruntled groan before returning the ledger to its place between a catalogue and bookend. Engrossed in his thoughts, he scrawled out the letters as quickly as he could, distantly thankful for the irritatingly long training sessions the previous house steward had given him when he had first joined the Phantomhive Estate.

"Back when I was a delinquent." He mused to himself, cleaning the nib of his pen before folding the papers into envelopes and sealing and pressing them with iconic wax. "Funny how long ago that seems…" he frowned, his instincts growling at him to return to his mate's side. He caved with a sigh, collecting himself neatly outside the door, a hand levitating just above the brassy knob. But something held him back. Something faint and delicate, yet chillingly… wrong. His brows knitted together as he wracked his brain, trying to pinpoint the precise scent. It was definitely foreign, yet at the same moment hauntingly familiar. The voices beyond the door played on unknowingly in a muffled strain that was all too clear for Sebastian and his finer senses.

"—it could be a number of people. A business rival, an old 'family friend'." There was a bitter pause in that statement, before the earl continued, more contemplative. "One of which I'll be having a discussion with in the near future. You took the bodies to the usual place?"

Sebastian's nose wrinkled in distaste, knowing precisely where he would be finding himself by the end of the week. He hated the stench of decaying flesh and embalming fluid above sickness and death itself. It was chemically overwhelming and made even his own strong stomach twist and knot unpleasantly. It was almost logical to him why Undertaker would request jokes for payments in such a horrid place.

Ciel was finishing up his thanks as Aberline replied in fractured sentences. "Things were busy—we were attempting to keep the arson under wraps from the press and general public all day, so I apologize for the delay—."

Sebastian scoffed, wondering how on earth one would explain away the absence of an entire factory to so much as a small child.

"No need." Ciel interjected his scornful thoughts. "I would've preferred to investigate personally once I heard this morning—. Yesterday morning. But I have been feeling under the weather as of late."

The demon ignored the frantic apologies of the policeman as twin spirals of satisfaction and guilt curled in his gut. 'Under the weather' wouldn't even begin to cover it in a few months' span. He halted his thoughts abruptly before he could worry too heavily on the future implications laying in wait just down the road.

"I assume you can show yourself out?" the earl instructed. "My only reliable servant is busy and I fear Maylene will run into a wall if she attempts to do so." The butler smirked pridefully at the opaque compliment.

"Erm. Of course." The other man agreed awkwardly, heading for the opposing set of double doors and blundering obviously down the proceeding hallway. Sebastian shook his head ruefully, the feeling of elation stealing over him as he reentered the room, alone this time with his master.

"You should be getting to bed, my lord." He advised, dimly aware how clearly inhuman he must appear as he readjusted to the light, slitted irises aching as they resized themselves. He could sense the earl's eyes upon him, and the uncertainty of what they beheld unsettled him. The gaze eased into a sleepy haze. "However, these need to be signed before I seal them, master." The demon prodded gently.

"I'll attend to it in the morning." Ciel dismissed through a yawn, straightening his spine and eliciting a series of pops from his neck as his muscles relaxed. "If I don't get to sleep now, I'll never be able to wake up in the morning."

"You slept nearly 'till ten this morning, my lord." Sebastian cocked a brow. 'Unless you consider that the norm, now?' He shadowed the earl quietly for a period as the younger male proceeded up the flight of stairs towards his bed chamber. It was a set and determined march, but Sebastian could detect the leaden way in which they trod towards the room. Perhaps he was pressing himself too hard for his condition? "I'm truly beginning to fear for your health." The demon frowned.

"Liar." The earl scoffed, entirely missing the rare, genuine look of hurt that crossed his servant's face. An icy grip seized the demon as he was plunged back into the sinking sense of reality: no matter their blood differences, he was no more than a pawn, and he had been used. It was his duty, and he should expect like treatment and mate or no, the young earl was completely ignorant of their bond and perhaps, for their own well being, it was better that way. Distinctly separate in their own distinctly set worlds. His chest clenched at the thought as he held open the door to the private sitting room for his master.

"It will be cold tonight, my lord, so I have prepared your bed with an extra down comforter." He informed him as they proceeded into the toasty room, kept warm by the miniature hearth that crackled dimly with life. It heated the earl's skin, rousing it to a healthier pink as he stared longingly at the bed with a fixated, albeit manic, look.

"You have no idea how comfortable that bed looks to me." He sighed throatily, drawing a chuckle from the demon as his fingers traced sensually over the quickly vanishing clothes, ghosting a bit lustfully where they oughtn't to.

"Oh, I can imagine." He grinned huskily, thoughts recapitulating themselves back to the scent of heated strawberries, both from that evening and from when… A dark smirk overtook him as he reveled in his own scent clinging to the sheets, holding steady even after several washings. There was a small glint of satisfaction in knowing that scent encased his master each morning and night, protectively. Possessively.

He turned back into the room, nightshirt folded over one arm. "So would my lord like to—?" He froze in surprise as a mostly-naked Ciel slunk under the covers he recently exalted. "May I ask what in the world you're doing?" he queried, cocking his head in catlike confusion.

"Sleeping." Ciel replied shortly, sidling beneath the thick comforters. The butler stared after him a moment before sighing in derision, damning the antics annoying even as the vaguest part of him deemed it 'cute'.

"My lord, your nightshirt." He pressed, peeling away the covers that had become fixed to the spot. Ciel glared up at him with one ineffective, dozy eye as his servant leaned over him to gently remove the patch and tuck him into his garment, fingers ghosting almost tenderly across his slight frame. Denying the demon further access, he wriggled back into the warmth of the blankets with a slight mewl of distress before settling in an ominous lump beneath their bulk, apparently content.

Sebastian backed away, a foreign feeling of fondness settling over him at the spectacle. "You've been acting quite bizarre of late." He said more to himself than anything as he straightened up the room. A distant warm buzz of gratitude and comfort washed over him, warming his usually apathetic eyes to a kindling ruby. "Though that's to be expected, hnn?" he uttered softly, words lost upon the sleeping earl.
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Together Again