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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
- 19
- 20
- 21
Compassion

"Mister Jarvis!" Sebastian calls, thumping on the door of the small house in the church compound. At least one lamp is lit inside; the glow penetrates the thin curtains.

He hears the vicar hurrying to the door, which soon opens.

"Yes? What is–" John Jarvis begins, only to break off as his eyes register what is illuminated by the candle he holds – the pale, unconscious boy in his butler's arms. "It's you! Good heaven, the earl…"

"Please help my master," Sebastian makes his urgent request.

"What happened to him?" the vicar asks, stepping aside at once to admit them. "Bring him in quickly – I'll fetch a doctor. I know one who lives just down the…"

"A doctor cannot help him," Sebastian interrupts, displacing a few cats as he lays Ciel down on a faded sofa in the area of the house that appears to be used as a living room. "Physical injury did not cause this. There is no time to explain, but he has sustained spiritual injuries. He needs someone like you to heal him. I cannot do it."

"Spiritual injuries?" Jarvis asks, bewildered, lifting another cat out of the way. "And I can heal him?"

"Better you than me. Whatever you do for those afflicted in spirit – however you minister to them – please do it. It is beyond me."

The vicar studies Sebastian's face. He is thoroughly confused about what could have happened to the Earl of Phantomhive, but he cannot mistake the butler's desperate concern for the boy.

"You are asking me to pray for him?" Jarvis seeks clarification, looking down at the small, still figure, wrapped in a coat much too large to be his own.

"Yes."

As a vicar who delivers sermons, ministers to the soul-weary and prays many times a day, John Jarvis is ready and willing to do what he can. But he is also a rational man living in an age of reason filled with wonders of engineering, medicine, science and new discoveries and philosophies from all over the world, and he cannot but wonder if he should not be running for the doctor immediately instead of kneeling beside this boy, who looks almost lifeless.

"Please help him," Sebastian pleads. "If a doctor could heal him, he would have the best tending to him this moment. If I could help him, we would not be here – you saw me before – you know what I am…"

"I will do what I can," the vicar assures him gently, sympathising with the controlled anxiety in his voice.

"I cannot remain too close to him in his present condition. I may have done enough damage already. I will wait outside."

The butler leaves the house and shuts the door after him. Jarvis unwraps the coat covering the boy, observes that he does not appear to be bleeding or broken anywhere, nor is he feverish, but he is fading away. He sees that he is not wearing an eye-patch now, and gently lifts his eyelids – the doctor he knows once taught him how to look for signs of life in an unconscious person. Both those eyes look whole and normal, but barely respond to the light of his candle.

He does not know what is going on. Somewhere in his rational mind he still wonders if any good will come of this. Nevertheless, he has been asked for help, and he will help however he may.

...

Sebastian looks in through the thin curtains of the front window as the vicar prays beside Ciel. He is concerned that if Ciel should wake, not see him, and fail to recognise the vicar, he may be distressed. But he cannot go back in, not after having spent so much time holding him in the shadow of the spell, possibly harming him.

He watches for a minute before looking towards the churchyard. His sharp ears can make out what is happening indoors, the simple, heartfelt words the man is uttering, but he does not want to listen. Prayers to anything holy make him uncomfortable, but more important than that, he thinks he will not be able to bear it if those prayers do not work.

He closes his ears to everything within the house and focuses on what is outdoors. It is the night after the full moon. That silver orb in the sky is close in appearance to, though not as big or perfectly round as the large, full, false moon under whose light he felt such despair. He still wonders whose vision it was that imposed itself on the look and feel of that nowhere-world. Whose forest were they so lost in?

A small movement to his left draws his attention to a cat slipping out through a tiny, top-hinged door built into the base of the vicar's front door. She approaches him confidently, so he picks her up and strokes her to soothe both her and himself. She assesses him coolly, then submits to the stroking and closes her luminous, green-yellow eyes.

"He dislikes cats, you know," he murmurs to the brindle-coated beauty in his arms. "He sometimes has difficulty breathing well, and cat hair aggravates his condition. But if you and your companions could make him sneeze and cough and wake up now, he should have little cause for complaint, shouldn't he?"

She lets him admire and pet her a little longer, before the smells, sounds and darting movements of field mice and moles become too irresistible. He releases her, and she trots into the churchyard, accompanied by another cat, white with wheat-coloured points, which has also slipped out of the house.

Sebastian watches them go in separate directions to hunt their prey alone amongst the gravestones. He is like them in so many ways, except that he has developed an unexpectedly deep attachment to one particular mouse, an odd little mouse who thinks himself a watchdog and protector of so many things that he often does not realise he should perhaps not defend. His butler, for instance.

He shakes his head as he once more pictures Ciel throwing himself in front of him in the magical dome. Impulsive child.

He must recover. He must heal. I cannot allow you to die for me.

This is all his fault. If he had not formed a new interest in the boy; if he had never shown by word and deed that he had begun to experience a different kind of affection for him... If he had kept everything as it was in their first contract – efficiently honouring their agreement while regularly mocking him for his lack of talent at anything apart from getting kidnapped, adding spice to the flavour of his soul, Ciel would not have considered shielding him. He would very likely have thought Ambrose's proposal most sensible, and damned Sebastian to his fate without compunction.

But something changed in the course of their brief second contract. It was he who underwent the change, and tempted Ciel along.

You mustn't die because of me.

He had seen himself as a mentor and king-maker, honing to perfection an aristocratic child with great potential to become all he wished to be. He could, if the boy had desired it, wiped out every successor to the throne of Great Britain until no one was left but Ciel Phantomhive. He could have made him king, emperor, lord over all he surveyed. Of course his master had never had an interest in occupying the throne – real power was to be had elsewhere. Knowing he could make that real power possible for him, he had developed a genuine interest in the child's future.

Then Agni's intervention at the Easton brothers' had in an instant turned his interest into possessive desire. Even so, things might have remained at that and no more had the incident at the mill and its aftermath not triggered a predatory lust for his master. And when Ciel had put him firmly in his place, he had slithered snakelike out of that tricky game and tried a different tactic of seduction.

If he had not done any of that, the boy would never have viewed him as anything other than a dog of war, a pawn to be sacrificed in the course of achieving his ambitions.

You should have thrown me to the wolves.

Yet, without all that, he would not have discovered the depths of his own affection for this one mortal either. He had never thought it possible. The possessiveness and lust alone were not unusual – he has had masters and mistresses he serviced thoroughly in the bedroom, with the luscious, thirty-year-old French duchess from two centuries ago, and the decrepit, seventy-six-year-old Spanish Infanta from Castile nearly five hundred years ago being memorable examples.

The fondness alone was not remarkable either – he has by and large been reasonably gentle with the humans he has formed contracts with, up until each covenant's end in blood and violence.

He cannot even say there is anything so very different about Ciel compared with other mortals shadowed by tragic pasts. The greatest distinction has been in the boy's decisions and actions, the latest of which – his astounding attempt to shield his servant – has pushed Sebastian over the edge of desire and affection into... what?

This must be like the madness called love that flames between humans. When a woman falls in love with a man, she must know he is like every other man on earth, but to her, he is like no other. A man wildly in love with one woman surely realises she is like every other woman on earth, but in his eyes, she is like no one else.

Ciel, to him, is like no one else. Sebastian does not imagine that a devil would be capable of love. But perhaps it is close enough.

Have you the least idea how furious I would be with you if you were to die for me?

He considers what he would miss about Ciel if he were no longer in a physical body, and finds himself thinking of absurd little things: how hopeless a dancer the boy is, the grumpy look on his face when he is obliged to learn a new piece of music, his love for eating sweets, how he resembles a cat when he sleeps, how he likes baths, how he has grown a little taller and more beautiful since the day Sebastian first set his demon's eyes on him.

A soul – a consciousness – could not do all that. At least, it would not need to do all that. If it did, it would only be going through the motions of its old life, clinging uselessly to the unnecessary.

I want to see you grow up. I want to be beside you as you grow old. I want to be with you when your body dies a natural death.

Would he have that privilege? Would he earn the right to remain by his side? Would it even be good for the earl to keep a devil with him? Perhaps he should leave him and keep his distance, and only protect him from afar–

The senses he has closed off to what is happening inside the house snap back to attention when the door opens. He sees the vicar emerging, his greying head of hair framing a tired face that soon brightens with a relieved smile, and hears the words: "His Lordship is awake. He is asking for you... Sebastian – is that your name?"

With the contract so damaged, he need not be "Sebastian" any longer, but he would choose no other name at this time. He answers: "Yes. Does he truly want to see me?"

"You are the first and only one he has asked for. Please come in."

Sebastian steps into the doorway. The house has no hallway, thus giving him a clear view of the most welcome sight he has seen in some time: Ciel sitting up on the vicar's old sofa, the butler's coat pooled around him. A cat occupies the other end of the sofa, but the earl does not seem to object.

"Come in, come in," the vicar repeats, steering Sebastian out of the doorway and into the house with a warm hand on his back.

The butler is stooping before the sofa in a second, looking deep into the boy's eyes to see if he is really all right.

"Young Master...?" he says softly. It is part greeting, part enquiry, and mostly an utterance of relief and pleasure.

Ciel gazes back at him, saying nothing for so long that Sebastian fears he is not himself.

He turns to the vicar and questions him: "Are you certain that he asked for me? He doesn't seem able to speak."

"Don't talk about me as if I weren't sitting right here," Ciel grumbles.

The butler smiles at the mixture of exasperation and resignation in his voice as he cups the boy's cheek in his right hand. "Do you feel unwell? Am I harming you by coming too close to you?"

"Harming me? Why would you... oh, you mean what Carsten said. I was mostly asleep, but I did hear him say something about the risk of spiritual damage."

"If you feel at all ill, you must let me know immediately, and I will move away from you until you heal fully."

"I'm quite well," Ciel replies after a pause. "I wasn't, earlier. I remember the spell. I thought I was dying. I remember the enormous trees... and you... and..."

The earl's eyes light on Sebastian's left hand, resting on the edge of the sofa. He sees the smudged remnant of the pentagram, and stares, wide-eyed, into the devil's face again.

Sebastian gazes back at him, shakes his head to communicate the message that he should not think about the contract now, and that they will discuss it later, before standing up and turning to the vicar.

"Mister Jarvis, thank you for this – for all you have done."

"I have done nothing except pray," the vicar replies. "God is the one who has done the work."

"Then I thank you and your God for all the good you have done," Sebastian says quietly, knowing he has no right to have benefited in any way from this situation, but more than grateful for it on Ciel's behalf.

"Are you hungry?" the vicar asks. "I have very humble fare, but it will do no harm either."

Ciel shakes his head, and Sebastian declines politely.

"Perhaps you are thirsty, then?" the man suggests.

"I am rather thirsty," Ciel admits.

"I shall put the tea kettle on," Jarvis says kindly.

"Thank you. We would be most grateful for a little tea," Sebastian replies.

As the vicar goes about lighting a small stove fire with the flame from a lamp, the butler busies himself wrapping Ciel warmly in his coat and making him lie down. The boy had been clad only in his waistcoat, shirt and shorts at the moment when Ambrose and Carsten entered the town house; he should not be exposed to the cold night air after just recovering from the disrupted spell. Sebastian watches him keenly, to be certain he does not miss any signs of discomfort, pain or illness.

Ciel looks at him once as he lies down, and looks away. He glances at him again to find him still watching him like a hawk, and a slight blush forms on his cheeks. No human would see that tiny blush in such poor light, but Sebastian does.

"I beg your pardon for staring, my lord," he says very softly. "I must watch you closely to be sure you are not becoming weaker instead of improving with each passing minute."

"Why would you care?" Ciel whispers back, looking at his butler's nearly unmarked hand.

Sebastian, noting with interest that the boy's embarrassment no longer triggers his predatory urges, answers: "Because you are my master, contract or no contract."

Ciel, blushing a little more, remarks with irony: "Idiot of a butler. After all I did to wreck the spell, you've still ended up a fawning lap dog."

"Oh, the tragedy," Sebastian replies with heavier irony, which makes Ciel scowl before he shuts his eyes for a few minutes to rest.

At last, Jarvis carries over a teapot with a strainer full of tea leaves already in it, and puts it on a coaster on the small table near the sofa after warning the cats off. A minute later, he pours out three cups and hands the first to the earl.

"Thank you," the boy sits up and receives the plain cup filled with perfectly ordinary Indian tea much more gratefully than he has ever taken any of his expensive tea blends in their fine-china sets. "I will not forget what you have done for me tonight, Mister Jarvis."

"Think nothing of it, Your Lordship. This is but a small thing I have been able to do for you after you and Mister Sebastian saved me and Tomkin that night."

"Tomkin?" Ciel asks.

"My ginger cat – there he is," Jarvis points out the well-kept, lush-coated feline perched like a loaf of bread on a chair at the back of the room. "Except for Tomkin, I named each of the cats I took in after the apostles, with female versions of those names for the she-cats. Fortunately, I do not have more than twelve at present! Tomkin was my daughter's cat, and named by her. She died a few years ago. She and her husband had no children – that cat was her child – so I took it in when my son-in-law left England a year after her passing, even though I was not particularly fond of cats at the time. Now look at me – twelve cats, and Tomkin my favourite. Although he is not named after an apostle, I have named none of the other cats Thomas, so he represents Saint Thomas."

"My master and I are very pleased that we were of some help to you and Tomkin," Sebastian answers in his best butler's voice.

"If I may ask, how did your daughter die, Mister Jarvis?" Ciel asks.

"She fell ill with a fever and never recovered. She was my only child. Only twenty-two, she was then, and married but three years. My wife had passed away, also of illness, some years before that. I took it quite hard at the time, but seeing how utterly distraught my son-in-law was made me understand that there was nothing I could do to help myself or others by falling to pieces. My son-in-law never got over it – they were childhood sweethearts, you see. He left for India a year after Nellie died. He writes often, but his life is not the same; he is not the same any more."

"I'm sorry," Ciel says, and means it.

"Thank you for your compassion, but life is the way it is. There's no use railing at it, or at other people, or at God. It doesn't do a blind bit of good. I did do my fair share of railing at God at the time, asking if I hadn't served him well enough for him to spare my family. But who am I to know if He might not have allowed my wife and my daughter to leave this world fairly quickly then because He knew they might suffer greatly later, and chose to save them worse pain? I don't know. But I know for certain that there are wiser souls than I in the world, and if He who made us all is wiser even than them, who am I to say that I know better?"

"You are a wiser man than you think, Mister Jarvis," Sebastian remarks.

"Not at all. I'm still learning much. On the night I met you, I was still stuck in certain old ways, thinking that I was right in certain things and other people were wrong. But I was humbled greatly that evening, when I learnt that God may even use a devil to do some little good in my life. That is what you are? Pardon me if I am mistaken."

"I am amazed you could assume that, and still invite me into your home, and offer me tea," Sebastian says. He sounds rather amused.

"People may think me foolish, but I have learnt to consider each individual, human or cat or otherwise, on his own merits. You have not threatened me with harm or attempted to sway my beliefs, and have only sought help for a child whose welfare you appear to truly care about. Why should I not invite you into my home?"

"You are much too kind," Ciel murmurs, staring into his empty teacup. The tea may have been plain and rather rough on the palate, nothing fancy, but it had a real taste, and he truly feels fortified by it.

"More tea, Your Lordship?" the vicar asks.

"Thank you very much, but we have imposed on you for too long as it is."

"It is very late," Sebastian agrees, looking at his pocket watch. "You must have been ready to retire when I came banging on your door. Thank you for your kindness, and your hospitality, and for praying for my master far better than I ever could."

"You are most welcome," Jarvis replies simply.

Sebastian rewraps Ciel in the coat, lifts him into his arms, and steps outside. On the doorstep, he bows to the vicar and Ciel nods, then they are off, over the wall of the churchyard, over the trees and rooftops.

"Stop at the town house, Sebastian," Ciel says once they are away.

"Why?"

"The horses – they've been there all day. I can't believe the hour. It wasn't long past noon when Ambrose and Carsten surprised us, and now it's nine o'clock. Were we trapped in that forest for so long?"

"Perhaps we perceived time a little differently in the rift that opened when the spell was disrupted," Sebastian replies. He does not say that every second there felt like an hour. "Are you sure you want to collect the horses?"

"It wouldn't be right to leave them there overnight with no water or food. They are in the stalls, aren't they?"

"Yes. I didn't know how long you would look at those papers, so I unharnessed them."

"At least they haven't been strapped to the carriage all day."

"I must warn you that if I detect so much as a hint of Ambrose or Carsten near the town house, I will turn right around and head for the manor at once, without the horses. At least the other servants can help look after you there. I suspect that Finny, with his ridiculous strength, would not be held back by any spell, however powerful."

Ciel allows himself a tiny smile as he pictures the gardener cheerfully tearing loose from everything Ambrose throws at him. "I should have listened to you this morning when you recommended returning to the manor instead of going to the town house."

"Oh – is that an apology, my lord?"

Ciel gives a little growl, but does not deny it.

"So you will heed my advice this time if I should sense either of them nearby?"

"Hmm."

"I shall consider that as a 'yes', which you are failing to articulate because the trauma you have suffered has numbed your tongue."

"Shut up."

They reach the town house, and Sebastian sets Ciel down on his feet at the gate.

"Are they gone?" the earl whispers.

"There is no sign of them, or of their magic, except for remnants of the disrupted spell."

"Are you sure?"

"Very sure. Whatever traces of magic remain in the house are broken elements. A lot of damage has been done – not just to the spell Ambrose wove. I believe Carsten has torn loose from his chains. What scent of that devil lingers here is strong, different from what it was before."

Sebastian does not let Ciel leave his side as he leads the horses out and harnesses them to the carriage. He keeps him closer when they enter the house briefly to glance round the foyer – the spot from where they were sucked into the shadow of Ambrose's spell. He picks up the box that holds Mey-Rin's new eyeglasses and slips them into his coat pocket, grabs the earl's coat, then ushers Ciel out of the house and locks the door after them.

He leads the horses out past the gate, helps his master into his coat, sees him into the carriage, secures the gate, and quickly drives away. The whole time, he keeps his senses tuned to any scent, sound or shift in the magical or spiritual elements around them that might indicate the presence of either Ambrose or Carsten, but nothing emerges to trouble them.

To his surprise, when they are halfway across the city, what does interrupt his drive is the voice of the earl from within the carriage: "Sebastian."

Convinced that the boy has been seized by a sudden return of sickness, Sebastian veers to the side of the street, pulls on the reins, jumps out of the box seat and opens the carriage door. "What has happened? Are you unwell?"

But Ciel only looks calmly at him and says: "Let me out. I want to sit in the driver's seat with you."

"Why would you want to do that?" the butler asks, curiously.

"I want... to talk."

"Can it not wait till we return to the manor?"

"Yes, but we have time now. I would prefer to talk as we drive."

"You will attract unnecessary attention by doing that. We are still along a rather busy city street, and it is not a foggy night. What would people think, seeing a young nobleman riding in the box seat beside his driver?"

"Let them make of it what they will," Ciel replies.

"Very well. But it will be cold for you up there. I cannot have you falling ill again. I must put my coat over you."

"What would people think, seeing the Phantomhive coach go by driven by a butler in only his waistcoat and shirt?" Ciel asks.

"Let them make of it what they will," he echoes with a smirk. He bundles the boy into his coat and carries him up onto the driver's seat, where he places him carefully beside him, on his left.

"Things look so different from here," Ciel murmurs, looking around at other carriages and hansom cabs and people on foot on the pavements.

"So that is what you came up here to say?" Sebastian remarks archly.

Ciel clicks his tongue in annoyance. "I am beginning to wonder if I shouldn't have let Ambrose do as he pleased with you after all."

"Shall we look for him and ask him to reconcoct that spell, Young Master?"

"Idiot."

Ciel is quiet for some minutes, looking out curiously from this new vantage point at the London streets by night. Not wishing to disturb his observations, Sebastian refrains from provoking him, and they sit side by side in peaceful silence until Ciel at last feels ready to say what he wants to:

"I told the vicar that I would not forget what he did for me tonight. He directs the praise towards God, but I chose to forget God three years ago, and I do not know how to regard this sign that He has not forgotten me. I cannot deal sensibly with something like that. I can only do what is within my power to thank the vicar, who has not rejected God despite his own grievances. So I simply say that I will not forget what Jarvis has done tonight. I wish also to say to you that neither will I ever forget what you have done for me tonight."

"I was able to do very little. You should not be speaking thus to someone who was so incompetent."

"You did everything you could. I know you did. I heard some of what was going on while half-conscious – I felt what you felt. I didn't know you could feel that much."

"You only heard snatches," Sebastian remarks, recalling his own despair and wondering how much the boy really remembers of their hours in the nowhere-world. "How do you know that the rest of the time, I wasn't making wicked deals with Ambrose and Carsten to prepare some worse fate for you?"

Ciel glares at him and mutters: "Because I know you wouldn't. Not any more. This tells me all I need to know."

To the butler's surprise, Ciel reaches out and takes his left hand. The devil transfers the reins to his right hand and lets him hold his left. The boy examines the back of that hand, the dark fingernails and the near-complete absence of the familiar symbol from the skin.

"What does it tell you?" Sebastian asks, looking ahead at the road, refraining from glancing at the dark head beside his left arm.

"It tells me that you stayed with me because you chose to, not because you had to, and not to hurt me or use me, but to help me when no one else could or would."

Ciel holds that pale, warm hand for a while before becoming aware of how long he has been studying it. Once more, he colours, and quickly lets go. He stares straight ahead, forcing himself not to turn and look at his butler.

Sebastian grasps the reins with both his hands again to steer the carriage smoothly through an intersection and up another road that takes them out of the busiest parts of London. The streets grow quieter, and the gas lamps dimmer, and the carriages they pass fewer.

"Why did you do what you did to protect me?" Sebastian asks.

Ciel takes some time to answer, saying at last: "I didn't want you to suffer as Carsten did. I didn't want you enslaved like that."

"Why not? It would have been to your advantage, and in the eyes of mortals, one such as I would deserve no better."

"You didn't lie to me even in that dire moment, when anyone else would have lied to save themselves. You hid some things from me before, but you didn't lie. I could not accept Ambrose's belief that you deserved nothing more or less. You can be the filthiest, most untrustworthy bastard, but you are the only one I would trust in the worst of times. At that moment, I realised that even if it would mean my destruction, I wouldn't want you any other way than the way you have always been."

"Do you think so even now, when our contract hangs by a thread?"

"All the more now, knowing that you saved me when you were under no obligation to."

"So, my lord, will you retain my services as they are, or do you wish to restore this tottering covenant by re-entering a contract with me?"

"Are you going to issue any more threats like those you uttered on the devils' island, to tell me how my life would not be worth living if we were not in a contract?"

"No," the devil replies softly.

"And why would you stay with me when you do not have to?" Ciel questions.

"I am still employed as your butler, am I not?" Sebastian asks mock-seriously. "Surely you would not dismiss me over something as trivial as a contract."

"Trivial?" Ciel gasps disbelievingly.

Sebastian ignores his little outburst and continues: "Besides, what would you do without me? I believe I would be hard to replace, as I am also your valet, bodyguard, housekeeper, head chef, regular driver, chief gardener, and – considering Mister Tanaka's condition – your acting steward as well."

Ciel glares at him out of the corners of his eyes and asks suspiciously: "Are you asking for an increase in your wages?"

"Perhaps I am," Sebastian muses playfully. "Is it negotiable?"

"Are we discussing money wages?"

"Are other kinds of wages under consideration?" the devil questions in a light voice. "Surely you are not proposing that you should sell me your soul?"

"I suppose you think that's a joke."

"I beg your pardon if you find my sense of humour disagreeable. Carsten may tell better jokes than I do. Shall I ask him to enter your service?"

"If you do, I shall be sure to make you under-butler to him," Ciel retorts.

"Oh, the horror," Sebastian intones, tongue-in-cheek.

"Hmph," Ciel huffs, sparing him a sideway glare before staring determinedly up the road.

They gradually leave the city proper and enter the quiet country and forest roads that will take them towards the Phantomhive manor. While ensuring that he keeps his senses attuned to danger, Sebastian also remains keenly aware of the spiritual aura, physical breathing and tiny movements of the boy beside him.

When he judges that the moment is right, he asks: "Do you remember reaching up to touch my face when we were trapped in the world behind the spell?"

That Ciel does not answer for the longest time tells Sebastian he does remember.

"Were you trying to hit me, pat me like a dog, or caress me?" the butler queries.

"I was trying to flick a fly off your face," the boy replies, deadpan.

"Liar. There were no flies in that place."

"It must have been a beetle."

"Dreadful liar."

If Ciel were the kind of child who knew how to chortle and snicker cheekily, he would be doing it now. But mirth has become such a stranger to him that he only knows how to twitch the corners of his mouth in a minuscule smirk laced with a touch of embarrassment.

It is enough for Sebastian. He lets their latest exchange sit in the charged – but not uncomfortable – silence between them for a while before he transfers the reins to his right hand again and holds out his left to the boy, palm up.

Ciel gives no indication that he has noticed the gesture. He neither turns his head nor moves his eyes. But as the carriage goes smoothly round a bend, he slips his right hand into his butler's left and leaves it there.

Sebastian closes his fingers gently but firmly over the small hand in his own.

"You told Jarvis you would not forget what he had done for you tonight," says the devil. "You told me you would not forget what I did for you tonight. I now wish to tell you that for as long as I exist, I shall not forget what you did for me today."

He lifts Ciel's hand to his lips and presses a kiss to it. He expects the boy to pull away, but he does not. On the contrary, he shifts on the box seat to be closer to Sebastian, so that when the butler lowers his arm again, those clasped hands rest half on Sebastian's left thigh and half on Ciel's right knee, and there they remain, together, for the rest of that ride.
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Devilish Impulses