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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
- 22
- 23
- 24
Mentor

Sebastian enjoys episodes of anarchy and destruction as much as any other demon. However, he takes pleasure also in moments of peace. Wrapping his body around Ciel's under the covers of the earl's bed, he concludes that this is a peace purer than mere silence, truer than mere solitude.

The boy is fast asleep, his breathing deep and regular. Despite his being accustomed to having a large bed all to himself, and to sleeping in his nightshirt, his rest seems undisturbed by Sebastian's proximity and their nakedness. He stirs in the devil's arms without waking, turning onto his back with his head cushioned partly by his pillow and partly by his butler's left forearm.

The demon props himself up on his left elbow and looks down at the boy with some bemusement. That he cares for this mortal is a truth he no longer questions. He knows that the strongest impetus for confirming his devotion was Ciel's self-sacrifice for him. He had, though, already been deeply interested in him before that unexpected act. Perhaps his impulsive decision to not only spare the child's life but even save him from suicide on the devils' island more than a month ago led him to find reasons to value him.

It may have begun as justification of that ilk, sharpened by carnal urges, but it has gone beyond that. At this moment, Sebastian could no more explain why he treasures Ciel than he could expound on the nature of love. What could a devil know of love? Could this, though, be something close enough?

As for why Ciel is attracted to him, he imagines the causes to be a stirring-together of adolescent curiosity, gratitude for his desperate efforts to save him from the shadow of the spell, a response to his previous attempts to seduce him, and a natural attachment to the one who has been his somewhat faithful hound for three years.

He does not expect the boy's interest to last. When the earl grows bored – or disgusted – the devil will withdraw graciously. He will not wish to leave; his own feelings will not alter. But at least he can continue to protect him from a distance, swooping in only when needed, and disappearing when he is not.

He does not want to share this child. He does not want him to marry Elizabeth. He does not want him in anyone else's arms, at any age. But those are only his devilish desires and possessiveness. The earl's wishes in the years to come may be entirely different, and Sebastian will yield, for not to do so would mean chaining the boy to him – poor repayment for Ciel's refusal to enslave him.

All that will come later. For now, he can oblige him in other ways, and admire his charms.

His lips are slightly parted; he snores very lightly. Sebastian touches a fingertip to his mouth, feeling the warmth of his breath. How simple it would be to stop those breaths forever; humans are so easy to kill. He moves his finger down, over Ciel's chin, and traces a black nail along his throat. One deep slit, and he would be as good as dead, unable to stop the blood from gushing out, unable to breathe. He moves his hand down further, over the boy's chest. There is his heart, right under the flesh at this spot, under the bones. Such delicate bones. He could drive two rigid, sharp-clawed fingers through the flesh and rib cage, and that heart would never beat again.

Sebastian smiles. It pleases him to think that Ciel's life is in his hands, because it offers the illusion that he can determine whether he continues to exist. He knows it to be no more than a false sense of security that the child will be safe as long as he is here, but no better security is accessible to him at this time. Death can take the boy in a multitude of ways, many of which he has no power to prevent. This pretence – this process of enumerating the ways in which he could destroy Ciel's body – is peculiarly comforting, because he knows that he will do nothing of the sort.

He steals a kiss from him. His breath is dry from sleep, but Sebastian, beastlike, finds the stale breath of humans he is fond of an interesting rather than offensive smell, closely associated with the promise of blood, and sex, and tender flesh.

"Mmmf...?" Ciel mumbles sleepily against Sebastian's mouth. "Is it morning?"

"Not yet."

"What are you doing?"

"Thinking."

"What about?" Ciel slurs, eyes still shut tight.

"I was thinking that I do not love you. I hope you do not mind."

Those blue eyes crack open. Though he cannot possibly see anything in this darkness, he fixes his glare quite accurately on Sebastian's face, and rumbles out his reply: "Well, I never asked you to. Stop thinking about stupid things like love and go to sleep. I don't know how to love either, you fool."

He promptly turns his back to Sebastian and starts to slip into the world of slumber again.

Sebastian laughs inside, silently. How boldly this little fellow speaks, for someone who only two hours ago was uncharacteristically subdued in the bathroom, because he had been frightened by what he had done in the bathtub. The pleasure of his first proper sexual climax had been quickly succeeded by what the devil sensed was a feeling of shame and fear rather than contentment once he recovered his full alertness. The shadows of those earlier occasions of abuse when he was ten, and by Langton, must have had more than a little to do with it.

"The bathwater's dirty," he had mumbled, squirming out of Sebastian's embrace, pulling himself up, and climbing out.

"I'll wash you with the unused water from the pails," the butler had said, rising to quickly wipe him down with a fresh cloth dipped into the pail which still held some warm water. That done, he had washed briskly too, not caring to wait for his body to clean itself, and returned to the bedroom after wrapping Ciel and himself in towels.

"I've learnt enough for today," Ciel had stated as Sebastian patted him dry.

"Understood. I will dress you for bed, and return in the morning."

"No. Come to bed with me. But don't... do anything else tonight... if you take my meaning."

"I do."

He had reached for Ciel's nightshirt, but the boy was already climbing into his bed, scooting over under the covers to make room for him. So he had followed suit, fitting the front of his body to Ciel's back, putting one arm over him and another under his head, and in minutes, the earl had fallen asleep.

Now, two hours later, he strokes his hair and whispers to him: "Does it please you to live now? Or do you still wish to die?"

Ciel is so sleepy that he can barely form the words, but he does process the question, and cares enough to give a just-audible answer that trails off tiredly: "Life's tolerable, 'cept when you keep me awake..."

Singular brat. When he is older or less inhibited – and if he is still interested – Sebastian will teach him about etiquette between lovers, how one should not fall asleep before both partners are satisfied. For now, he will let him be selfish. He remains far too haunted by shadows from his past, and this is not the night to demand of him things he is not ready to give.

***

This day, Ciel has only one lesson planned for the afternoon. A retired banker who was a casual acquaintance of his father's comes over occasionally to give him bookkeeping and accounting pointers – enough to prevent him from having the wool pulled over his eyes by his business managers. He need not prepare for such an undemanding lesson, so he spends the morning on correspondence.

His first priority is to write a letter of thanks to John Jarvis. Next, he issues a note to Funtom's managers, instructing them to send a large number of toys and a quantity of sweets to the vicar of the Church of the Trinity in Lambeth, for the children from the poorer families in his parish. He then writes to his bank to arrange for regular donations to be made to that church, anonymously.

Ciel cannot and will not think of God. But he can do something for those who serve that God, and have shown him kindness.

As he puts the finished letters aside, Sebastian enters the study with a snack of buttery orange-shortbread sticks, half-dipped in chocolate, and a pot of Earl Grey tea.

"No more than three sticks, otherwise you will not be able to eat your lunch," the butler cautions him.

"Then why have you brought six?" Ciel asks, trying not to show that he is both pleased and abashed to be once again alone in a room with the male with whom he shared a very intimate bath, then curled up in bed with all night, albeit innocently.

"Six looked more presentable on the plate than three," Sebastian replies matter-of-factly as he pours out a cup of tea for the earl. "Besides, it is good for you to exercise self-control with snacks, so I shall occasionally give you options that you should refrain from exercising."

"Yes, Tutor Michaelis, sir," Ciel grumbles sardonically.

"What a good boy you are."

"Shut up and sit down. I have need of your tutorly advice."

"I had better stand, as I am primarily acting as your butler at this time."

"Be my advisor for this hour. Sit."

"Very well, my lord," Sebastian sighs, moving a chair from one end of the room to Ciel's desk, and sitting down beside him.

"Commissioner Randall's note here says that he has written to the Prince of Wales, who is now in France, to tell him what happened to the Eastons. The queen has been informed, although she has not been given all the details, and intends to return to London from Balmoral today. Her Majesty is shocked by what has happened, and His Royal Highness is sure to be just as appalled. I am trying to assess if the royal family will hold me accountable in any way, and what I ought to do about it, if anything. What do you think?"

"Her Majesty and His Royal Highness are most likely to blame the Newgate wardens for letting Mrs Easton escape, and the Tower warders for letting her and her associates in," Sebastian says. "But they will soon hear privately of the supernatural qualities of the men with her, and learn that talk has already broken out on the street that terrorists armed with explosives stole into the Tower of London, murdered members of the aristocracy, and blew a hole in one wall of the Bloody Tower. They may question why you were unable to stop the more-than-human associates of Sophia Easton. But if you explain that no one had any inkling before then that Mrs Easton had such associates, and that the Phantomhive agency moved swiftly to destroy the bulk of those associates' power, they will refocus their attention on preventing public panic."

"Then what?"

"To avoid spreading fear and frenzy through talk of dangerous magicians and demons, Her Majesty will accept the necessity of allowing Scotland Yard to release 'findings' that terrorists were indeed behind the operation – but that the Eastons and their gang were the terrorists," says Sebastian. "They will say that the Easton family was seeking to vent its anger against the crown and the authorities for exposing the brothers' corruption, and Mrs Easton's links with organised crime. Their suicide and murders will be explained as the final, desperate act of the cornered and proud."

"Questions will be asked, and doubters will speak up all the way from the public houses to Parliament," Ciel conjectures. "Those who love to hatch theories about conspiracies in high places are probably already preparing to publish and distribute pamphlets."

"Naturally. But you will advise Lord Randall that the remaining gang members loyal to Mrs Easton must be apprehended and shown to the public; the scullery maid and newspaper reporter are to sign altered confessions supporting the Easton-terrorist findings that will save their lives instead of condemning them to the gallows; and after a time, this will all become a footnote in history."

Ciel considers Sebastian's words. He largely agrees with the devil's view of how things will turn out, although he wonders if every detail will be as smooth as that.

"The Prince of Wales will not blame you for helping to expose the Easton brothers," Sebastian adds. "He will blame himself for letting them deceive and blackmail him. He will blame their mother for abducting the innocent daughter of the Marquess of Midford, then killing her own sons when thwarted. He will continue to bring you out of the shadows, for he is increasingly certain that he wants to rule a Great Britain that does not require an agency to hide the crown's misdeeds."

"I am prepared for anything to happen. Even if he blames me, I will deal with it, whatever comes."

"So you do want to live," Sebastian comments. "You were not merely talking in your sleep last night."

"Well, life is turning out to be rather interesting," Ciel remarks, trying to sound casual. He picks up a piece of shortbread and bites into the chocolate-dipped end in lieu of casting a meaningful glance at Sebastian. He knows how to play at being coy when he is working a case undercover, but when it comes to this – a deepening, genuine connection between himself and another – he scarcely knows how to act.

"Mortals who want to live are always so much more delicious," Sebastian says, straight-faced.

Ciel chokes on the shortbread and hacks up crumbs all over his desk as his advisor-demon snorts and pats his back. "Bastard," the earl croaks out between coughs.

"I ask your pardon, my lord," says the devil with a grin. "I could not resist teasing you. Oh... did I frighten you, child? Don't be afraid, now..."

"I'm not afraid of you, you dolt," Ciel snaps, swallowing some tea to clear his throat.

"Are you sure of that?" Sebastian tells him, pushing his chair back, standing up and bending over the earl to brush stray crumbs off his clothing. "You are rather tasty, you know, in so many ways."

The boy gives a little huff of annoyance. Still, he takes hold of Sebastian's tie and pulls him towards him to give him a kiss redolent of tea and shortbread and all that is exquisitely Ciel.

"I said I'd learnt enough last night," the earl draws back to say. "But it's a new day, so teach me a little more."

"How little?"

"Go along and I'll tell you when."

"This is not a drink we're pouring."

"I know."

Still holding Sebastian's tie, he seeks his lips again in a manner both eager and shy. The demon lifts him off his chair without breaking the kiss and takes the seat himself, positioning the earl on his lap. Ciel is bolder this time, exploring Sebastian's mouth, running his tongue over his fangs, testing their sharpness and unevenness, unconsciously giving soft hums and murmurs in response to the pressure of the devil's lips.

Sebastian tastes his interest, and arousal... and trepidation. He draws back to caution the boy: "You want to be ready to learn more lessons. You think you are ready. But you are not. You will be frightened as you were last night."

"I was not frightened," Ciel answers indignantly.

"You are very good at pretending not to be afraid, but I know when you are."

"I was not afraid. I want what you want. We both know what you wanted to do to me and with me when I was ill, and when you made someone else wear my jacket. I want all that."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"Tell me: why did you ask me to go out and feed myself last night?"

"I didn't want you to be hungry."

"Why not?"

"I wanted you to be as content as I was."

"What else?"

"I... didn't want you to mistake your hunger for food for your hunger for me."

"That was what I thought. I, likewise, do not want you to mistake any gratitude you may feel towards me for saving your life while uncontracted, or your possible need of me, or the frisson of danger and fear you experience in my inhuman presence, with your desire for me."

"I'm not confusing them."

"Your search for clarity is clouded by the terrors of your past."

"I'm not afraid of anything," he snaps. "It's just unfamiliar to me. I'll grow accustomed to it." He wriggles into a better position on Sebastian's thighs and nips the demon's left earlobe with his lips, warming the contours of his ear with the heat of his mouth, making his butler purr.

"Very well," Sebastian says, turning his head so that his own lips touch Ciel's. "Write your next letter while you sit in my lap, and I'll teach you more. Give Randall our suggestions about what must be done with regard to the affair in the Tower."

"I can't write like this," Ciel grumbles, but only half-heartedly.

"Try. This is a new day, after all, a day to learn new things."

"If Finny scales a ladder to clean the windows now, we'll have the devil of a time trying to explain ourselves," he mutters, squirming around on Sebastian's legs to face the desk so he can work on the letter to the Commissioner.

"As I am a devil, I shall be very much at home having the devil of a time explaining it. I shall tell him honestly that you were much too edible to resist taking a nibble from." He nips at Ciel's right ear. "Start writing."

Ciel shivers at the touch of those lips to his ear, an instant physical reminder of what took place in the bath last night, bringing a flush to his cheeks. He only makes it to the third line of the note to Randall before Sebastian leaves off his ear and starts paying attention to his neck. The tingling sensations through his body make his penmanship shaky, and the tails of his "y"s and "g"s wobble as he writes: "...we should thus be completely honest with His Royal Highness..."

"I will go only as far as you permit me to," Sebastian murmurs his assurance against the nape of Ciel's neck as he turns his collar down to expose the skin. "At any moment, if you wish me to stop what I am doing, say the word, and I will do no more. Do you hear me?"

"Yes," Ciel whispers back, concentrating hard on forming his letters properly: "...when Her Majesty is given the full facts of the case, she will see that it will be better..."

He almost inserts a "yes" by mistake into the middle of that line, so hard is it to focus on three things at once – writing a letter that will make sense to Lord Randall, responding to Sebastian's touch, and answering Sebastian's questions.

"Do you want me to continue?" the advisor-butler asks, untying the ribbon around Ciel's neck. The boy is not wearing a jacket or waistcoat this morning, so undressing him will be very easy indeed.

"Stop asking stupid questions – haven't we agreed that you'll carry on until I tell you to stop?"

"Yes, my lord," Sebastian replies with a smile in his voice, undoing the buttons of the earl's shirt by touch alone, and pulling down the collar of that shirt to expose the bones of his spine beneath the pale flesh. The demon presses his lips to each visible peak of that line of bones, moving down, down, down, until Ciel wriggles his left arm free of the shirt so that his right sleeve will not keep pulling his arm back and interfering with his writing.

"Can I write this letter later?" the earl asks a little breathlessly, as Sebastian pushes him forward slowly and gently to reach the middle of his back.

"No," comes the firm reply. "Finish it."

"...root out and arrest the remaining members of Mrs Easton's gang and expose them to the public as..."

By this point, Ciel is leaning across his desk, writing at the far edge, while Sebastian unbuttons his shorts and drawers and eases the garments past his hips to keep planting that row of kisses along the small of his back. Ciel shudders his way through the final line and the sign-off, then nearly yelps when Sebastian flicks his tongue into the crevice of his buttocks. He drops the pen, twists around in his devil's lap, and finds himself quite trapped and bare, shorts and drawers skewed tight around his knees, shirt hanging only from his right forearm.

"I do want you to learn a little more today," Sebastian says, picking up a long wooden ruler from the desk and deftly using it to flick off the curtain tiebacks from the window behind them so that the drapes fall, plunging the study into shadow. "But not what you could learn from any skilled lover, at any time of your life. We should clear some of the shadows first."

The boy looks at him, puzzled, as Sebatian lifts him easily onto the desk.

"Do you trust me?" the devil asks. "Do you trust that this is a desk I am putting you on, and not a sacrificial altar?"

Ciel's words catch in his throat, choked off.

Sebastian lays him down on the smooth wood, then leans over him to cap the ink pot and put it carefully away into one of the drawers, along with everything else on the desk – papers, pens, teacup, plate – slowly, methodically, until the table surface is empty of everything except Ciel.

The earl shivers, partly from the cold spring air in direct contact with his bare skin, but mostly from the realisation that he is stretched out now on a hard slab – it matters not that it is oak rather than stone. All he knows is that he is laid on it the way he was on the day he accidentally summoned Sebastian at the point of what would have been his end at the hands of the occultists.

"Do you understand that I would not consciously harm you?" Sebastian asks, standing beside him, looking down at his all-but-naked form from his imposing height.

Ciel is breathing too hard to talk – his chest heaving not from arousal but the beginning of what could be a descent into terror and fury.

The demon bites his right glove off his hand and traces a gleaming black fingernail down the centre of the boy's exposed body, from his throat to his crotch, while his left hand covers Ciel's eyes. "Do you know that you were as innocent a child as any before the day you unwittingly summoned me? Do you know that what happened to you happened not because you committed evil before then but because others did?"

The child's lungs are gasping for more air; he is poised on the precipice, unable to see, hardly able to think.

"You can rage at me, claw at me, hate me for this," Sebastian whispers, bending over him, his mouth almost brushing his left ear. "But I am too closely wound up in the horrors of your past, and I will not have you twisting your nightmares into the thread of your desires."

For a long minute, the only sound in the room comes from Ciel, gulping for air not because his respiratory passages are closing, but because he is seized by terror. Another child who had been through what he went through three years ago, put into this position now, would begin to scream. But the Earl of Phantomhive only clenches his fists, letting his terror peak as his entire body heaves and trembles violently.

"Do you believe that I would never do to you what they did to you? That I would battle heaven, hell and earth to prevent anyone from doing such a thing to you ever again? Now that I am uncollared, if I ever discover anyone attempting to harm you – whether it is that disgusting red-haired soul reaper, or Carsten, or the queen, or even your wife-to-be, I will hunt that person down and tear him or her to pieces. I will protect you till the day you die of old age, or ill-health, whether you are my lover or not. Do you understand?"

Ciel hears, absorbing the demon's promise of protection. His breathing slows and deepens, and he ceases to struggle against himself, against his memories, against his fears. He lies there, drawing warmth from Sebastian, who is still bending over him, arms on either side of him, covering him with his coat, his hair, his body.

Though he has not moved from the desk, he feels as if his entire self has collapsed through several feet of tense space into a state of relaxation as complete as that he felt for a handful of seconds after he climaxed in the bathtub under his butler's skilled hand. This calmness is not fleeting like the other, but penetrates his whole being, till the pace of his heart becomes steady and regular once more.

Sebastian uncovers his eyes, picks him up and holds him close. "I would defend you even against myself, do you know that?" the devil asks.

Ciel recovers his powers of movement at last, wraps his arms tightly around his butler's neck, and whispers back: "You are such a complete and utter bastard."

"I know."

"Damn you," he murmurs numbly, without a hint of malice.

"Alas, Young Master, I was damned a long time ago."

***

For four days afterwards, Ciel does not ask for "lessons" of any kind from Sebastian. He does not ask him to undress, or to bathe with him. He lets him into his bed each night, but tells him to wear a nightshirt, and keeps his own on. For days, he sifts through his thoughts and emotions, practising the discipline of remaining still instead of charging ahead. He has always been impatient, and has held the belief since the day he summoned the devil who now lives with him that staying still is for the dead, not the living.

Now, however, he learns to "play dead". He quietly interrogates himself as he lies in bed with Sebastian, keeping a space of two feet between them, if he is seeking a replacement for the simple joys he lost as a small child. Is he yearning for a return to his parents' bed, the security he had on stormy nights when he would pad down the passageway to their bedroom and be welcomed by them with open arms? Does he just want to snuggle down between them again and feel safe once more? Would he be content if all he ever did was to lie beside Sebastian and be protected, then some years later, lie beside Lizzie and be loved, and perhaps protect his own children from their fears of thunderstorms in time to come? Is that all he wants? Simple security? Is he confusing it with a desire to be this demon's lover?

By night, he ponders such thoughts; by day, he engages in the normal routines of his life. John Jarvis has written back to thank him for the toys and sweets, saying that they have delighted many children in his parish who would never have been able to afford them. Lord Randall sends word that he has carried out parts of Ciel's advice, and arrested several of Mrs Easton's people. Then on the morning of the fourth day, as he eats his breakfast in the morning room, Sebastian brings to the table a letter addressed to "C. Winter".

In recent months, there has been only one person to whom Ciel has given a card with his initial and part of his family's original name, Winterbourn. That would be William Thompson, the last human being known to have been attacked by the succubus controlled by Percival Ambrose fifty years ago.

From its mark, the letter was posted in Central London last evening. It reads:

"Dear Mr. Winter,

"I hope this letter finds you well.

"You visited my home in Holborn a little over three weeks ago, to ask me about the mysterious event that I experienced fifty years previously. You gave me your card, and asked me to write if I remembered anything else.

"I write now not because I have recollected more details, but because I have seen the man with the silver hair again. I saw him not three hours ago, when he passed me on the pavement along High Holborn, as I was walking to the shops. I am certain it was he. He looked a little older than I remembered, but it was the same man. If truly it was not, then he must have been a son or grandson. The man I saw fifty years ago looked no more than someone in his middle twenties; today, he appeared perhaps to be halfway between thirty and forty. He did not seem to be in good health.

"I am confounded as to how a man could apparently age only ten years or so in half a century, when I have become old and frail in that time. But he could not have been merely human when I encountered him that first time, and surely such people have abilities I know nothing of.

"As I declared before, I have no desire to be involved with this person or his deeds again. I only wish to tell you what I saw.

"Yours sincerely,

William Thompson"

Ciel ensures that none of the other servants are around before showing the letter to Sebastian, saying: "How sharp Thompson's memories and vision are we do not know. But when we saw Ambrose, he looked no more than twenty-five. If he is now noticeably older and unwell, the loss of Carsten's powers for sustaining his unnatural long life must be telling."

"He will not last much longer. He said he was three hundred years old. He may have a store of demonic sustenance culled from Carsten and possibly other beings through his magic, but it will run out unless he enslaves another, and he said to us that he wished to die soon, did he not?"

"Yes. I doubt he will chain another devil or ghoul to himself now. I hope he does not. He has done more harm than he knows."

"But some good also," Sebastian remarks.

"How can you say that?" Ciel growls. "He wished to condemn you to serving me mindlessly for as long as I would want."

"He was trying to do something for you."

"I don't need that kind of help."

"His high-handedness also helped to affirm how important you were to me," admits Sebastian.

"You would eventually have come to that point yourself, without such uninvited assistance. We want nothing more from him."

"Let us tell him that to his face, so that he does not try to bestow any more 'gifts' on you."

"I don't wish to see him again."

"No? Oh dear, but he is approaching the manor as we speak."

"What?" Ciel gasps, springing to his feet.

Sebastian bows playfully, takes his hand and kisses the backs of his fingers. "Have no fear, my lord. He is alone, and I sense that his powers are a fraction of what they were before."

"But–"

"He won't harm you."

"Of course he won't harm me on purpose – it's you I'm worried about!" Ciel cries angrily, realising how terribly badly he does not want Sebastian to be irreversibly damaged.

"I won't be caught off-guard by him again. Would I allow myself to be turned into an empty shell of a devil before you have had the time to learn exactly what you want to do with me, Young Master?" the butler asks with a smile that almost dazes Ciel, so mysteriously beautiful does it render his face.

Ciel grips Sebastian's hand. "Don't go to the door," he orders him sternly. "Get away from here. The servants and I will handle him – he has no reason to hurt us, so we'll be safe. But you..."

"There is nothing to fear."

"Sebastian, I command you–" Ciel begins furiously, only to halt his words mid-stream as he remembers with dismay that he no longer has that kind of power over the demon.

The butler returns the pressure the earl is applying to his hand, conveying to him the need for steadiness and sense. "Don't be afraid for me," he tells Ciel. "Unless I am greatly mistaken, what I detect of his energy and mood from this distance suggests that he is simply here to talk. Granted, he may spit in my face, but he is primarily here to see you. Come."

Sebastian leads Ciel out of the morning room, towards the entrance hall. They pass Baldroy and Mey-Rin, and though the chef and housemaid stare at the sight of the butler holding the earl by the hand, Sebastian does not release his young master.

"Baldroy, Mey-Rin, we have an unwelcome visitor," says Sebastian without breaking stride. "Arm yourselves, but be aware that he may use magic against us. Call for Finnian."

"Already armed, Mister Sebastian," Baldroy drawls, pulling out a pistol from under his apron. Mey-Rin hitches up her skirts with a tab and draws two revolvers from their holsters strapped to her thighs before yelling for Finny.

"I thought you said he was only here for a talk?" Ciel snaps.

"Well, extra precautions never hurt," Sebastian grins.

Ciel glares up at him, then quiets his racing emotions as they reach the foyer and the front door. "I won't let anything bad happen to you," he states at last, very calmly.

"The very words I was about to say to you," Sebastian smiles, opening the door.

A hired brougham almost as smart as the Phantomhive growler rolls up the driveway and stops before the stone steps. The driver opens the door of the conveyance as Ciel and Sebastian walk out of the house. Ambrose steps down from the carriage. He still appears youthful, but anyone who saw the beautiful young man of only days before would now find him shockingly aged. Mey-Rin and Baldroy set the sights of their firearms on him from behind the stone balustrade, while Finny comes round one corner of the house armed with what looks like a dead tree trunk. The visitor ignores them all as he climbs the stairs, eyes fixed on the linked hands of the earl and his demon until he stands level with them.

Shifting his cold glare from those joined hands to Sebastian's garnet eyes, Ambrose murmurs in a voice heavy with resignation and distaste: "Heaven help us all. Have you gone that far already?"

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

Notes:

Fire Demon, Sebastian did not do anything when he saw the rose on the bedpost; he just took note of it.

Meyham, you've written such wonderful comments about this story on your rec list! Thank you! I shall certainly be checking out the other stories on that list.
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Devilish Impulses