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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
- 20
- 21
- 22
Interest

The minutes following their return to the manor pass in a haze of sound and movement for Ciel. He slips his hand out of Sebastian's as they enter the driveway proper, and the butler whips out a handkerchief to tie over Ciel's face as a makeshift eyepatch. Although both his eyes look fairly normal now, that makes it all the harder to explain why he has covered one for three years. Sebastian dons a spare pair of gloves he keeps in a pocket, to hide his black nails.

A flurry of activity washes around the earl like a wave once he is lifted down from the box seat, as Finny hastens to carry out Sebastian's orders to give the horses water and food, Mey-Rin squeals over the new eyeglasses through which she realises – by the light of the lamp Tanaka holds – that Sebastian is much handsomer up close than she had hitherto realised, Baldroy asks why they are so late when they had said earlier that they would return by dinnertime, and Tanaka tries to discreetly observe if the young master has been injured again in yet another adventure.

Ciel is fussed over by a grateful Mey-Rin, unwrapped by Sebastian from his oversized coat, smiled at by Tanaka once the old man sees he is moving easily and looks unharmed, and scrutinised by a less trusting Baldroy who is not as readily convinced as the steward that nothing is wrong with the earl.

But all he can think about is what it really meant when he put his hand into Sebastian's. He knew when he did it that he was saying he accepted the way things were now, he was no longer angry with him, and he trusted him. However, he is vague about the details of his unspoken message. Has he given tacit approval to his butler to take further the little touches he had given him before? He colours at the memory of Sebastian's blunt admission about the prostitute last night – was it only last night? It seems a world away.

Nervousness and curiosity clash in him as he wonders what it will be like upstairs tonight – how the devil will undress him, bathe him, and touch him... he has never felt this ambivalent anticipation about interacting with Sebastian in his bedroom, though his uncertainty makes him all the keener to know. He wants to know–

"Baldroy," Sebastian's warm voice breaks in on Ciel's thoughts. "Would you please help His Lordship with his bath tonight, while I prepare his supper?"

Ciel stares at Sebastian.

"Sure," the chef says cautiously, knowing how displeased Sebastian was to have been displaced as valet last night. "Though I could just as well prepare the food while you see to the master's bath."

"I will see to the master's meal. Your cooking has improved, but not as yet to the level I expect for making a light, yet palatable and nourishing dish for His Lordship. Young Master, you have eaten nothing solid since the bread rolls in the carriage this morning. I must make you something. Please allow Baldroy to be valet again tonight."

The earl is surprised, but refrains from showing it. He feels disappointed. He had been wondering what it would be like...

"Come on, Your Lordship. You're stuck with me again," Baldroy, half brightly, half self-deprecatingly, as Mey-Rin runs for hot water from the kitchen.

Ciel nods, says nothing, and goes upstairs as if it matters not to him either way. Once in his room, he replaces Sebastian's handkerchief with one of the spare eyepatches from the drawer of his bedside table before he allows Baldroy to start undressing him.

The man is conscientious and cheerful in an understated way – and nothing at all like Sebastian. No deeper layers of meaning rest behind the way he takes off Ciel's coat, and works his way down through the waistcoat, shirt, cravat, suspenders, vest, shorts, drawers and stockings. Everything is what it is on the surface. He is purely a man who is loyal to and fond of him, but has no particularly profound interest in him beyond the wish to protect him from harm, serve him well, and put years of lost smiles back on his face.

In short, Baldroy is not attracted to him. Not as a potential meal, or as a show horse to be groomed to triumph over others, or as a lover. He is merely a grown man who would cheerfully give a boy a bath because he occupies a world where it is perfectly natural for men and boys not to care about one another's nudity as everyone has the same "things"; a world where the worst scandal would be for a man to see a respectable woman in a state of undress.

He saw the brand-mark on Ciel's back last night, but said nothing about it. The servants know that the original manor was destroyed in an inferno in which Ciel's parents perished and from which Ciel himself was stolen, so he probably assumes that the mark comes from his having fallen against something metallic and hot in that same fire. He most likely asks no questions about it because he does not wish to reopen old wounds. The earl hid that mark from everyone except Sebastian for three years, but Mrs Easton saw it, and her men saw it, and in the end, it meant nothing any more that they had – it has become an old matter, as dead as the renegade angel Ash who answered neither to heaven nor hell.

Ciel's mind drifts as he is wrapped in the bathrobe while Mey-Rin mixes the hot water from the kitchen with the cold from the tap. He drifts further into thought once she withdraws, and he steps into the bath. As Baldroy washes his hair without displacing the eyepatch strings, Ciel recalls his recovery from what had felt like the brink of death.

He had been asleep in the worst way – unable to move or speak, but drifting into and out of awareness of sounds and movement. He had felt Sebastian's urgency and protectiveness. But at the same time, as if his eyes were turned inward, he had seen a gaping hole inside himself where the lance had pierced him, and his life leaking from it. Sebastian's naturally dark energy, despite its absence of malice towards him, was nonetheless draining life through the hole in his soul, or spirit.

Then darkness.

After what felt like an age came a gradual lightening. His eyes looked inward again to find Sebastian's dark energy gone, the hole closing up, and his life force being drawn back into himself, as his ears became aware of someone speaking over him softly. Gentle words. Simple words. Strings of words and phrases he had never known as part of his own life, but had heard second-hand, or from a distance. Heavenly Father, I do not know what ails this child, but if you will, please help him. You have the power, not I. I ask for your mercy for him...

The same essential request couched in different ways, over and over, until the words, or the feeling behind them, seemed to loosen the unseen shackles that paralysed his body and tongue. Or perhaps it was the mere absence of Sebastian's dark aura that naturally brought about healing – he could not tell. His eyes then seemed to turn outward as the hole inside him was slowly repaired, and he blinked to see a vaguely familiar face. His movement prompted the man to open his eyes also, whisper a Thank you, Father, and to ask him: "How do you feel?"

He had stared at the man, stared hard until he placed that face, and asked: "Where is Sebastian?"

"Do you mean your butler, Your Lordship?" Jarvis had responded. "He brought you here. He was most anxious for you."

"Has he left? Did he leave me?"

"I believe he is waiting outside. I shall call him in momentarily. But before I do, please assure me that it was not he who caused you to fall into that dangerous slumber. If he harmed you, I will turn him away from my house."

"With what? A broomstick?" Ciel had sighed. "Mister Jarvis – it is Mister Jarvis, is it not?"

"Yes."

"You couldn't turn him away with an army. But he wasn't the one who hurt me. He tried to save me."

"I had to ask, because of what you said to me that night, about not trusting him."

"Things have changed."

"Then I shall bring him in at once."

Ciel had felt convinced that the vicar would go out to find Sebastian gone – gone forever. But he had returned with him, and for a good few seconds, Ciel had not known what to say...

His attention is drawn back to the present by Baldroy working the washcloth over his back. He senses that the chef is discreetly ascertaining that nothing in him is broken or damaged.

"I'm fine, Baldroy," he mutters.

"Well, Your Lordship, I had to be sure – you often don't say when you're not."

"Nothing was damaged that wasn't fixed within hours."

"Good to know," the man continues wiping and washing him, without the least suggestive intent in his touch. A wipe is a wipe, a touch is a touch, no more. With Sebastian, a wipe could be a caress, a touch the careful stroking of the most fragile bird or rose petal, a hint of more to come.

Ciel realises that he misses that very intent in Sebastian's touch. It has been absent for some days, since he said "No" to his advances. But why does he want it now?

It comes to him – not a recollection of words alone, or deeds alone, but a wave of sensation flooding his psyche and emotions with how desperately Sebastian had tried to save him. He was unconscious through much of it, but he cannot forget nor can he mistake the passionate words he heard, the way the devil held him close as if he meant everything to him.

He has a powerful sense of having been protected – not in the dutiful but mocking way of times past, when Sebastian would make fun of him for being absolutely useless even while he was whisking him away from danger. No, this was different. He was protected fiercely, uncompromisingly, with every fibre of his butler's demonic being.

The details are vague, but his awareness of Sebastian's emotions is clear, and he wants that passion. He does not know what the final upshot will be – what exactly it means – but he desires it.

He suddenly wishes to see Sebastian now. Here, with him. He could try summoning him, to see if what remains of the covenant still links them that way, but he is half-afraid to know the truth. So he chooses not to vocalise his name, or call to him in his mind.

He waits until his bath is over, and Baldroy has dried him off, wrapped him up and dressed him in his long nightshirt and drawers. As the man cleans up in the bathroom, the bedroom door opens, and Sebastian enters. Ciel is torn between not taking his eyes off him and looking away self-consciously precisely because he had been aching to see him.

"Young Master, I hope this will fill you adequately without disturbing your sleep," the butler says, placing before him a flawlessly fluffy omelette with an aroma that tells of cheese, butter and nutty-flavoured mushrooms melting within its folds.

Ciel discovers how very hungry he is as he takes the first forkful of the omelette. It is smooth, rich enough without being cloying, light without being insubstantial, and as satisfying as the finest, cream-filled savoury crepes Sebastian has ever made him.

Baldroy emerges from the bathroom with empty pails, nods as he exits the bedroom, and closes the door. As he leaves, Sebastian pours a cup of chamomile tea for Ciel and sets it on the small table. "Is the omelette to your liking, Young Master?"

"It's perfect," he answers, putting away another mouthful.

"I made you no sweets tonight because they would interfere with your sleep. But I shall make you all the dessert you want tomorrow."

"Chocolate cream truffles dusted with cocoa powder?"

"Chilled and ready in time for elevenses."

"Meringues – crumbly on the outside but chewy on the inside."

"Enough to last you all day."

"A cake after dinner. Anything. Surprise me."

"Of course, my lord."

Ciel finishes the omelette and drinks half a cup of the tea, and Sebastian removes the small table with the plates on it from the bedside.

"What did it really mean, when you held your hand out to me?" Ciel asks, suddenly.

"You took my hand without knowing what it meant?" Sebastian teases, placing the used crockery and cutlery on the wheeled server.

Ciel flushes. "I meant it as a gesture of peace. I did it to say I wasn't angry with you any more for... last night, and I would be pleased for you to remain with me whether we are in a contract or not."

"Then that is just what it meant," he replies.

"Is that all?" Ciel asks.

"Do you want there to be more?"

"No – I mean... I just wanted to know."

"In this matter, your wishes are mine," he says, removing the eyepatch whose strings are soaked from the hair-washing. "I know better now than to attempt to seduce you to my way of thinking as I did before. That is part of a devil's arrogance – the assumption that it is not only possible but fitting to woo another to accommodate our desires. Think no more of it. You are significant to me in other ways besides that which I alluded to."

"But..." Ciel begins, stopping himself when he thinks he might sound like a whining child.

"Young Master?"

"Nothing. Is everything secure around the manor?"

"I am keeping my senses tuned to anything that may approach. I was complacent on the day Vanel's men abducted you, but I have been alert since then. Have no fear. Neither Ambrose nor Carsten will come near us tonight without my knowing it well before they arrive."

"What will you do even if you anticipate their arrival? We were helpless against them today."

"I am certain that they have parted ways. Carsten will not let himself be recaptured so easily. Without him, Ambrose's power is significantly reduced, and I am confident that I can take him on one-to-one. Besides, he may not live much longer without his devil to draw supernatural life forces from. As for Carsten, free of Ambrose's control, why would he bother us at all? So sleep well, and soundly. Before you know it, you will be opening your eyes to the daylight and your morning tea. Shall I stay here with you until you fall asleep?"

"I... no, that's not necessary," Ciel says, hiding his mixed feelings about things simply returning to the way they were before – before the spell, before the heated exchange in the laundry room, before the little touches, before the four kisses and one slap... "If anything happens, I can always call for you. Or is the contract too damaged?"

"It may have weakened, but it is not destroyed. I still feel the essential link between us. If you call for me, I will hear you, and be with you in an instant, wherever you are."

"But the connection isn't as strong? You won't know what I'm thinking."

"I've never known what you were thinking. Devils do not have the power to read minds. If we did, we would be omniscient. I have never been able to read your mind, except that the contract allowed me to know when you were summoning me. Everything else I know about you, my anticipation of your actions and thoughts, has been no more than an observant human with good instincts attuned to your character would know. What I know about your mind comes from centuries of observation of your species, years of knowing you as an individual, instinct, and intelligence. So nothing is lost. Call for me, and I will be there. That much of the contract remains intact."

"I see."

"Perhaps you should sleep with this?" Sebastian remarks, stepping away from the bedside to take something out of the oak cabinet. It is one of the toy rabbits that the Funtom company sent over as samples for approval. The baby rabbit.

"I thought those samples were sent back to the company," Ciel says.

"I retained them, at least for now, because I thought even at the time what a pity it was that you had no toys at all. You must have had many only three years and three months ago. I apologise for having tried to make you grow up too fast. On the contrary, I should perhaps have encouraged you to regress a little."

Sebastian tucks the baby rabbit under the blanket along with Ciel, and the earl glares at him. "Do you not think I would have to regress a lot to be young enough for this?"

"Even when you are ninety-nine years old, you will still seem too young for too many things, to one such as me. There is no hurry. I will wait for whatever you wish to share with me, if at all. Good night, young master."

The butler snuffs the flame in the glass lamp, wheels the serving tray out of the room, and leaves. Some flames burn in the fireplace, but they will die soon. Ciel picks up the toy and stares at it. Tucking him in with a plush baby rabbit? An unpardonable insult. If that devil thinks he is going to be a meek little child from now, he should think again. Sebastian is doing this years too late. Ciel Phantomhive knows how to sell toys that delight countless children across the globe, but all the toys in the world cannot bring back what was lost of his own childhood. All he can do is to move forward, and make his future better than his recent past.

He puts the rabbit down and gets out of bed.

***

Sebastian closes and locks the door of his own bedroom. His instincts are hissing at him to never let Ciel out of his sight again, to remain with him every day and every night. But once he sensed that Ciel wanted him to stay in his bedroom, he quickly decided to resume their normal routine at once. Left to its own devices, his possessive inclination would be to press endless kisses to the boy's hair, face, lips, throat, everything, everywhere.

He can wait for him. He has all the time in the world to wait.

He sheds his butler's guise and transforms into his naturally unnatural self – that which no one looking upon could mistake as anything other than completely demonic. He paces his room in his sleek boots with their sharp heels, stilling his urges. Ironically, he cannot so easily be surprised by his impulses when he is wearing no facade; perhaps not having to pretend to be something other than what he is gives him fuller control over himself.

He must not stay in the boy's bedroom all night. Who could say what would happen if he did, now that Ciel appears keen to be in his company? He must not woo him further. Let that kiss on the back of his hand be no more than a kiss of allegiance; their sitting close together on the box seat nothing more than a promise of protection...

Sebastian abruptly stops in his tracks and swivels his head towards the closed door of his bedroom as his senses alert him to something completely unexpected.

Why is he here?

***

Ciel, in a pair of velvet carpet slippers he did not even know he owned until he started digging about the bottom of his wardrobe to find something less noisy than his usual shoes but warmer than socks, moves quietly through the below-stairs corridors.

When he was small, he had often played hide-and-seek with Lizzie and Sebastian the hound, and sometimes a mischievous Aunt An, in the rooms of the house that the earl's family were supposed to not even know the locations of. Noblemen, their wives and their children would ordinarily never be expected to know where their own kitchens, laundry rooms, pantries and servants' rooms were located. They ceded governance of those domains to their butlers and housekeepers. But children would be children, and Ciel had played where he could get away with it. In the first and second rebuildings of the manor, he had specified to Sebastian that everything must be the way it had been before, and personally approved many details. He is therefore aware of the position and function of every room in his mansion, upstairs and down.

As he approaches Sebastian's isolated bedroom at the end of the passageway, he senses a dark flow of energy – the same he had felt while he and the devil were trapped in the "shadow of the spell", as Carsten called it. He has never been able to detect such energy before, and wonders if he has established some unusual connection with Sebastian since their experience in the nowhere-world. It is a dark force, but like before, it appears not to be aimed against him.

Boldly, he walks up to the room and is about to knock when the spiritual darkness vanishes, and his butler opens the door.

"Did I fail to hear you summon me?" Sebastian asks the boy, with genuine surprise.

"No. I didn't summon you."

"Then why are you here?"

"I thought I would go to you, for once, instead of having you come to me."

"You should have called for me. You will catch a chill wandering about like that."

Ciel only has a light dressing gown over his nightshirt and drawers.

"Let me take you back upstairs at once."

"No. I want to be here. With you."

Sebastian considers the small figure on his threshold, then lets him in. He locks the door, sits him down on his simple bed, and drapes the blanket over his shoulders to keep him warm. The butler's bed is lower than the earl's, so when his thin legs dangle over the side of the mattress from the knees down, his toes nearly touch the floor. Nearly, but not quite. Enough of a gap remains for the carpet slippers to fall off his feet and drop softly to the boards.

"Are you here to complain that Baldroy did not do a good job with your bath? What has he forgotten to wash?" Sebastian teases as he checks behind Ciel's ears.

"Stop that," Ciel grumbles, batting his hands away.

"Or did he perhaps do much too good a job? Did you get lost on your way to his bedroom to tell him that he would replace me as your valet from here on?"

"Don't be absurd," Ciel scowls.

"No fever?" Sebastian asks, resting his hand against Ciel's forehead.

"No," the earl mutters, remembering how he had offered to kiss Sebastian the night he was sick and delirious, and instantly becomes self-conscious as he suddenly wishes he knew what that would be like...

To deflect attention from himself, he quickly adds a question of his own: "What were you doing before you opened the door to me? I could feel this strange energy."

"And you were not afraid of it?" the butler questions.

"It was dark, but not malicious. Not towards me, at any rate. Like in that strange forest – darkness affecting me, without intending to hurt."

"You were never able to sense it before that?"

"No. Has something changed because of what Ambrose did?"

"Perhaps."

"So what were you doing?"

"I was being myself."

"You mean..."

"Do you remember when I first came to you? I have not appeared before you in that form since we entered a contract, as I thought it unseemly to present myself thus before a master who demanded only perfection. But if you want to remember what I am, to know what you are keeping around you, you may wish to look upon me with open eyes."

"Show me."

Sebastian transforms, shaking off his mortal facade, and stands there before Ciel with his glowing, wine-red eyes whose irises are feline slits; his skin-tight, glossy, black leather-like costume tapering into boots with high, pointed heels; his mouth full of tiny, uneven fangs; an airy, shifting cloak of dark feathers.

Ciel's breath catches as the demon walks towards him, heels clicking smartly on the floorboards, and stops beside the bed, then crouches before him so their faces are level.

"Well, little master?" the devil asks. "Little one who holds me by a covenant that hangs by a thread, but a thread so powerful that I find myself chained to you by my choice and will? Do you want me in your house, in your life?"

The earl gazes back at the beautiful, terrible thing before him, then answers by leaning forward to touch his lips to his mouth. He trembles as he does so, but brings the frisson of nervousness quickly under control.

The devil savours that brief contact, one mouth to another, and comprehends what it means, why the boy is here. He smiles as he transforms back into his butler's guise.

"No slap to follow?" Sebastian asks, understanding that he now has permission to proceed with what he had thought he would have to wait longer for.

"Are you asking for one?" Ciel retorts, with slightly more confidence than he feels. He wonders which of the demon's two personas he prefers. Sebastian the butler is more familiar and easier on the eyes, but the cat-eyed devil in the skin-tight leather and heels is intriguing and seductive.

"I did promise while you were unconscious that you could hit me all you pleased when you recovered," he says.

"I begin to suspect that you enjoy being struck," the earl remarks.

"I assure you that is untrue. I very much prefer being the one to mete out the punishment. Indeed, if you were not my employer, I would punish you for being reckless enough to throw yourself in front of that lance for me. To make certain you would never do such a thing again, I would take you over my knee and spank you for your impulsiveness." Sebastian flickers between his butler's and leather-clad demon's selves as he speaks.

"You would be wise not to attempt any such thing," Ciel declares, drawing himself up and glaring at Sebastian with a good deal of haughtiness and a hint of alarm. "Don't you ever dare strike me, or I will dismiss you at once. What would you do with no wages to pay prostitutes with?"

"You are striking fear into my heart," this spoken sardonically by the butler.

"Says the heartless devil."

"If I were heartless, you would not be here."

"If you had a heart, you would not have considered destroying me before."

"I considered it as you no doubt have considered strangling people you care for in moments of frustration. I did not, in the end, do it."

"Good thing too, or you'd be out of a job by now."

"If I were so inclined, I could find new employment by morning. You, however, would take at least six months to hire enough staff to replace me."

"Six months of hiring would not deter me from giving you the sack, if I feel justified in doing it."

"Really? Not only would you need a butler, housekeeper, valet and army of bodyguards to replace me, but another steward as well. Tanaka simply cannot cope."

"Oh? Then what was that absurd suggestion last night about training Tanaka to see to my baths and dressing? Apart from his absence of mind, he's the Phantomhive steward. In the strictest sense, he's not really even considered a servant, unlike you. A valet's tasks would be beneath him."

"Your Lordship, I handle almost all of his steward's duties. I do not think it would be too much to ask for him to take over some of mine. He was quite pleased to help prepare breakfast that day when the Easton gang was laying siege to the manor, so I did not think he would mind washing and dressing you until we could find a suitable valet."

"Ridiculous. He would probably forget what he was doing, imagine I was a plant he was soaking, and end up drowning me in the bathtub."

"Fear not. Baldroy will surely come to your rescue. You would like that, wouldn't you?"

Ciel stares at him. The stare turns into a glare, which finds further expression in a growl and a throwing-off of the blanket over him. "Fine," he mutters. "If that's how you're going to be, I shall impose on you no longer. I am going back to my room–"

"Not until you do what you came here to do," Sebastian purrs, keeping him seated right where he is by planting his hands on the bed, on either side of him.

"I did do what I came here to do," Ciel protests, perched on the edge of the mattress.

"No, you did not. I believe you came here to give me a kiss."

"Which I did."

"That wasn't a kiss. That was a peck."

"It was a kiss," Ciel growls.

"Nowhere close."

"Then what is?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Why else would I ask?"

"Try again. I'll tell you if it's a kiss or not."

Ciel glowers at him before he leans forward once more and touches his lips to Sebastian's, pressing a little harder, lingering a few seconds more. Then he draws back, naively saying with a self-satisfied air: "There – you can't tell me that wasn't a–"

He is cut off as Sebastian covers his mouth with his in a manner quite different from his own restrained offering. One hand cradles his head, the other the small of his back, pulling him firmly towards him. Ciel almost squeaks in surprise, eyes wide open, staring fuzzily at Sebastian's impossibly close face. His eyelids fall as his head starts to swim, but a flick of the devil's tongue against his lips makes his eyes fly open again. He emits a stifled gasp, and feels that tongue probing, asking, until it is inside his mouth, tasting him, teasing him into answering with his own tongue – cautiously at first, then curiously, then with a determination to respond in kind. That is when he feels it – a deep stirring of pleasure that provokes a startling reaction in his groin. He feels himself stiffening down there, becoming so tense and tight that he wants to press himself against something – no, not just something but specifically Sebastian – and not only slips his arms around the demon's neck to pull him closer, but even wraps his legs around his waist.

It is Sebastian's turn to exhale a low murmur of surprise into Ciel's mouth. Both his hands dip under the boy's bottom and lift him up and back towards the centre of the bed, while his own body follows, until he is partially lying on top of Ciel, taking the weight of his torso on his elbows while keeping his feet on the floor.

Ciel's hips thrust upward, eagerly pressing his hardness against Sebastian's belly. He has sometimes felt his private parts stiffen in the mornings when he wakes up, or in the night, but only in the most normal way that his father had once very briefly told him about when he asked: It happens to all little boys, and men. It has never felt anything like this – this urgent need to rub his penis against his butler, even crush it between his own body and that of the male on top of him.

Sebastian is the one who tears his lips away from Ciel's, whispering: "Slowly, Young Master. There is no need to rush."

"Mmm," Ciel protests breathlessly, disengaging neither his arms nor legs from the demon.

"Now that was a kiss, was it not?"

"Mm-hmm."

"You liked it, then?" the butler asks with a knowing smile.

Ciel whispers back his simple and direct order: "Do it again."

"It was not in my plans to kiss you at all tonight. I thought I explained that I was in no hurry?" Sebastian murmurs.

"But I am," the earl says, surprising even himself with his clarity and certainty. "Humans are an impatient race. We have so little time."

Sebastian kisses him again with a curious sense of sadness, tasting the sweetness, spiciness and brilliance of him, tainted by the inevitability of death, for mortals never last very long when their years are measured against the lifespans of demons.

=================

Note: To everyone who's been reading this, and commenting or not, thank you once again.

In answer to Meyham's last question: There's no big secret to it other than meticulous and repeated editing and proofreading. I constantly go over and over the things I write, whether it's one paragraph of fanfic, a 400-word newsletter article, or a 10,000-word thesis, before submitting them. It's the way I am. But the law of the universe seems to be that even if I recheck something until I am heartily sick of it and the words are coming out of my ears, I will almost always find a typo or factual error after I have put up the chapter. Then I scramble to correct it. I've even found typos, or realised things could have been better written, months after posting chapters. Nothing is perfect!
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Devilish Impulses