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

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
“Together Again”

Chapter Four

Glaucopsyche Xerxes

"What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculties! In form and moving, how express and admirable! In action how like an angel! In apprehension, how like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?"

William Shakespeare (Hamlet; Act II, Scene ii)

Since their arrival at the London estate, the days had sped by like horse-drawn chariots, bleeding into weeks in a turbulent mesh of business appointments, visitations, errands, and the ceaseless comings and goings of tutors and the Indian duo. Despite his approval of the earl’s decisions to rest, Sebastian grew restless, feeling utterly displaced living as merely a guest. All of the Phantomhive’s instructors had been informed of his reclusion to the London manor and had – however chagrined – willingly come at their regular scheduled hours (much to Ciel’s chagrin). This caused much commotion at the start, with Soma bounding around like an overgrown puppy, eagerly trying to determine what a ‘proper English education’ consisted of. Despite the prince’s loud protests and propensity to endanger household items (vases were particularly endangered on account of his wild gesticulations), Sebastian couldn’t help but find the deepest pleasure in these events as he watched the helpless British gentlemen and women try their best to fend him off. They failed spectacularly every time, of course, but the butler always made sure to call the Bengal man off before his master could throw him a look that threatened complaint.

But these short-lived moments left Sebastian with far too much time on his hands, leaving him to watch with sinking feelings of failure as Agni gracefully swept about and cleaned the house. It wasn’t that he hadn’t offered his assistance – rather, he was getting so desperate that he was torn between begging and black mailing – it was simply that the Indian butler had the same unfortunate affliction as the demon, protesting that doing any less than his duty would be shameful. So Sebastian sat fitfully upon the drawing room armchairs, sending forlorn looks out the bay windows and wishing for something productive to do with himself.

It wasn’t an often occurrence that Sebastian found himself to be utterly bored. It wasn’t as if he had nothing to do at all, simply what he had to do only lasted a brief interim of time before he was plunged back into the endless monotony of nothingness. He thanked his lot in life that he had come to be a butler: he was one with a high strung personality, a being that always needed to be on the go and doing something actively. The lifestyle of a lord would absolutely have killed him.

At length he turned to fiddle at the piano – finding it horrendously out of tune – bringing it upon himself to fix, which was all too easy. Every so often he would plunk at the keys, creating a small melody before drawing the lid back down with a sigh. He then tried reading, pawing through the multiple bookshelves about the manor and looking for a spine that might catch his interest. He found that many foreign texts had weaseled their way onto the shelves as well, and on occasion he selected one only to squint and frown down at the unusual curly characters that made up the Indian text. Unsurprisingly to the demon, many of the English novels he did find were either uninteresting or ones that he had already read: he was certain if he poured over the pages of Hamlet one more time, he’d be able to start reciting lines verbatim.

In the evenings he wandered down to the kitchens, the one arena that Agni actually allowed him to participate in, constantly marveling at the butler’s quick actions and precision. “Surely the grace of your God is with you!” he would smile kindly, ignorant of the other’s blood. Sebastian would reply with a smile of his own, staying tight-lipped on the matter. Together they concocted more food than the small household could possibly consume, which neither seemed to mind very much. After the conclusion of dinner each night, the two butlers would meander back down to the pantry and Agni would instruct his companion on the benefits and uses of each of the imported spices. Branching off of his knowledge of curry, Sebastian would then while away the time creating new dishes, occasionally talking to his equal about the merits of the food from his country: moreover, the composition of French sweets that the Brits so dearly loved. And while he waited for a broth to simmer or for yeast to rise, he let his thoughts wander back to the servants back at the Phantomhive manor, fondly wondering if they’d destroyed his precious home yet or not.

But soon even the estate couldn’t appease his boredom, and he found himself slipping out of doors every second his master was occupied in a lesson, trusting the others to hold down the proverbial fort. London itself was not a stranger to Sebastian, and he enjoyed mapping out every sparse inch of it during his midday strolls. When counting royal warrants lost their appeal, he found himself slipping into back alleys, more often than not acting as an accidental police on the goings-on there. It took him only two days of this to discover where the majority of the alley cats congregated and he soon won their favour by bringing them scraps from the estate’s pantries. As they mewled and nuzzled his pant legs he contemplated what his own offspring might be like should Ciel not downright try to murder him for the conception in the first place.

These thoughts usually unsettled his stomach, making it churn with worry, guilt, and the faintest traces (but remarkably less of) regret, and his feet more often than not found their way to the splintering little shop that belonged to Undertaker. The bell would jingle, the fumes overpower his delicate senses, and a litany of cockney would assault him. It was certainly an odd combination of things for one to find comfort in.

“Should I tell him?” he asked, watching the other man thoughtfully suck on a biscuit until it crumbled behind closed lips.

“Well I think you ought to, guv.”

“But what should I tell him? He isn’t bloody well going to believe it, is he?”

“Well of course ‘e’s not going to Adam an’ Eve it, fragile thing ‘e is.” The other sighed, shaking his head. He rolled his shoulders back until they gave a soft pop, changing position to list across his desk at the troubled demon. “But ‘ere’s the thing: you and I both know that somethin’ is after ‘im. I don’t like it anymore ‘n you do, believe me, the way Vincent trusted ‘im to my care an’ all, but it’s too dangerous for ‘im not to know. ‘E ‘as the right, don’t you think, bein’ the one carrying it and all?”

Sebastian sighed, slumping gracelessly into his casket-couch. The mortician sent him a pitying look, turning on heel to scrounge about in his private tea collection.

“Earl Grey?” he offered liltingly.

The demon could perfectly envision the man’s teasing grin. “Don’t you even.” He warned dully, running a gloved hand through his hair.

“Only playing, guv.” The other hummed, the sound of silver spoons clinking acting as a near-therapeutic sound to the distressed butler. “’Ow about a chamomile– ?”

“Causes drowsiness.” Sebastian interjected, staring up at the ceiling and counting the numerous ways those stains could have gotten there.

“Ah hu~ I was testing you! Alright, alright, I’m making some herbal so don’t fuss.” There was the fluttering of the embalmer’s long robes as he bustled about before they drew short before the demon’s casket. Long white hair tickled his face as Undertaker keened over to look at him. “Lot on your bacon, I see.”

“On my what?” the demon scowled, righting himself to the best of his ability in the awkward shape of the casket.

“Your mind.” Undertaker translated with a fluttering of long nails. “This is really eating at you, isn’t it?”

“Course it is.” Sebastian countered sulkily. “Above all else, he is my master and as such I have the responsibility and need to care for him and keep him from harm or dismay. This present situation is harshly contradicting those needs and all the while I can’t help but feel pride in the fact that I’ve marked such a brilliant creature as my own. It’s quite sick, isn’t it?”

“That isn’t sick, guv.” The undertaker hummed, lips softening into a smile. “Loving a person isn’t sick.”

The demon jolted upright, coughing in surprise. “L- … preposterous.” He said firmly. “Completely out of the question.”

“Oh really?” the mortician queried, sounding rather insincere as he lolled his head to the side, piercing the butler with a look despite his eyes being hidden. “I don’t quite believe you.”

“Come off it.” Sebastian growled, now sitting entirely in the wooden death box. “In no universe do our worlds compliment: my inability to make proper life choices makes no bearing on that concept of… affection.”

Undertaker stooped lower, bangs parting so that his unusual chartreuse met with crimson. “Your decision to follow orders shouldn’t be misconstrued or used as a weapon.” He stated evenly. “I know you better than tha’, Sebastian. You’re not the sort to press a move, ‘specially not on the young earl. I don’t know wha’ transpired between you two, but bottlin’ it like this won’t do you any favours.”

The demon gave a low grumble of admission, eyes flickering away from the knowing pair boring into him. “Well you seem to be right on all accounts, but all the same it doesn’t mean that I– .” He blinked in surprise as a single clawed digit tapped his nose in an unusually affectionate sort of gesture.

“None of tha’!” Undertaker hummed, Cheshire smile returning to his features. “If you love ‘im – an’ I know you do, guv, don’t try an’ deny it – then you’ll let ‘im know what the ‘ell is going on. You’d be fool to not think tha’d mean something to ‘im.”

Sebastian gave a small sigh of defeat, giving the man an imploring look as a cat might appeal to pity with its ears drooped. “Alright, you’ve convinced me – though I am not admitting to any suggestion of yours. …How does one tell a male that they’re pregnant?”

“Do your best, guv!” the mortician smiled all too cheerily, wrapping the demons fingers around a steaming cup of tea. “An’ if ‘e tosses you out, you can sleep in one o’ these coffins for a night or two.”

“Don’t even joke.” The demon groaned, bringing the hot fluid to his lips. “It’s bad enough that he’ll think me a liar and a seducer. I won’t have much dignity left by that point.”

‘Not to mention the thought of leaving him alone would about break me.’

“Don’t fret over it too much.” Undertaker said kindly, swirling his own beaker of tea. “If ‘e’s your mate as you think, then ‘e wouldn’t want you any further from ‘im than you would. ‘S’long as you keep ‘im safe.” He sent the butler a sidelong glance, finally catching his attention when he managed to slide a biscuit into the other’s mouth. “Ah cheer up, sport. You’ve always been impeccable with your phrasing an’ you know ‘e trusts you more’n anyone. Can’t be so bad, can it?” Sebastian gave him a baleful look around a mouthful of cookie, unable to fight down the blush that rose as a result of the compliment. Undertaker took this as a sign of success and grinned, fetching a stack of mug-stained papers and hauling them over to his friend. “Now, about that factory fire.”

For an hour they passed the time pouring over the records of the incident, trying to determine what sort of being might have formed an agenda while Sebastian felt the squirming apprehension of his insides fade away. By the time he had collected himself to leave – stuffed with biscuits and tea – he had put out much of his worries, feeling lighter than he had in days with the blossoming appreciation that he had at least one good friend in London.

The pleasant feeling that the day’s conversation had brought him lasted all the way through dinner, giving Sebastian the distinct feeling that he was most likely smiling into his chicken, drawing the eyes of the rooms’ occupants. If he was, they made no comment on the matter and conversed about the onset of November and the snowfall that was bound to come. He paid them little notice, wrapped up in his own slightly unburdened mind. Feeling quite unwound, he went through the paces of his obligations as butler, leading his master into the bedroom prepared for him and easing him out of his day clothes.

Ciel’s scent had grown sweeter still, the note of fresh éclair that no doubt belonged to the kit growing within the teen standing out more remarkably than before. Sebastian did his best to curb his instincts, fingers lingering almost too long across the pale expanse of stomach or against the delicate curve of the earl’s neck. Doused in the arousing scents of his unknowing mate, the butler watched almost impatiently as Ciel crawled into bed, burying himself and his alluring essence into the warm sheets. Satisfied that the lord was comfortable, Sebastian slunk down to his own chambers, absorbed in the thoughts that he hadn’t paid himself much mind lately.

He locked the door behind him, hardly bothering to undress himself, his belt and blazer pooling at his feet followed shortly after by his gloves. On a normal night, he wouldn’t have dared to be so careless, but the fire rushing through his veins from the brief encounter with his mate caused him to act otherwise. He hummed deep in his throat as he approached the bed, half purring as he eased onto it, stretching luxuriously over the comforter. The mattress melted around him, relieving the stiffness in his spine and he closed his eyes in pleasure as a stray hand roamed across his chest, fiddling with and popping open the topmost buttons.

He called to mind the way his mate had smelled upstairs, fertile and alluring and altogether surrendering and covered in the very faintest brushes of himself. He smirked through a shiver as his fingers worked down to his sensitive hips, tracing feather light patterns across the hallows of his bones. He fantasized how the lord might digest such information, how his own slender hands would feel experimentally smoothing over the planes of his stomach, down over his hips… The demon hummed deeply again, pressing down further to toy at the waistband of his trousers, pricking electrified currents of anticipation wherever the pads of his fingers brushed. He thought of how the earl looked in his nightshirt; improperly short for a teen on the cusp of turning seventeen. How wickedly short it was, barely covering the maturing sculpt of the Phantomhive’s legs, which the demon already knew were quite strong and sensitive to the touch.

A shivering sigh tumbled from his lips as he slowly continued to tease himself, gathering the scraps of his rational mind to conjure the feelings of his mate several rooms above. The effect was better than he had expected and a purr of pleasure tore through him, feeling for all the world that the object of his affection were right there beside him. But the stronger he focused on the earl, the less aroused he became, feeling the pinpricks of fear and shame enter his person. Concerned (and marginally disappointed), he sat up, letting the emotions fill him up until he was quite sure that his master had fallen victim to another nightmare.

Not minding to collect his discarded garments he padded up the stairs, stepping through the bedchamber doors just as the summons was uttered.

“Sebastian.”

“My lord.” The demon whispered, overcome with worry for the well-being of the clearly frightened teen before him.

“Sit on the edge of my bed.” Ciel said, voice small but steady. The butler thought back to what he had been about to do on the edge of his own bed and blushed with guilt as he did as instructed, thankful that the human species had weak eyesight in the dark. He tangled his hands through his hair, hoping himself presentable as he recalled the discarded blazer. Not knowing what else to do, he folded his gloveless-hands before his lap, awaiting some sort of instruction.

“I want you to stay in here with me at night.” Ciel said, wriggling under the covers as if they were shielding off his embarrassment. Sebastian blinked in shock, every ounce of demonic blood in his veins roaring with gratitude. “Only leave if you need to use the lavatory or if there is an emergency. Understood?”

“Yes, my lord.” The butler replied softly, intent upon the form of the most precious being in his life. He yearned to reach out and provide a soothing caress, to nuzzle in reassurance and support, but his hands remained poised neatly in his lap, eyes misting with relief that his presence was finally wanted. Ciel tilted his head curiously, taking in the gentle glow of his butler’s eyes before lowering himself back down to the mattress and succumbing to sleep.

Sebastian watched the shallow waves of his mate’s chest rising and falling beneath the blankets, noting the hands curled comfortably over the hem of the pillow, a smile resting across his features. Now there was nothing but the sensations of serenity and trust flooding his senses, warming his chest with notions of acceptance and worth. Careful as not to wake his master, the demon toed off his shoes and crawled up behind the slumbering count. Tenderly he toyed with the dark strands of hair that spilt over the bedding, nuzzling the crook of the teen’s neck and allowing his lids to flutter shut. It was utterly peaceful and right, their bodies melded together in the purest of ways. The hand emblazoned with the contract sigil rested over Ciel’s upturned hip, for once not in lust but in chaste reassurance that the demon would never leave the side of the one he did in fact love.

It was no time at all before the boredom of civility bore into him, a whispering creature whose claws latched themselves firmly in his chest. For a demon masquerading amongst humans, London was no more than a den of sleepless eyes. A cluttered conclave of twittering voices, pecking up the smallest oddity or rumor like it were shiny tinsel to brighten up the dullness of the daily existence. Humankind was dimwitted on the whole, to be sure, but it made them all the more prone to believe in the incredible simply because they desired to. So the demon continued his restrained lifestyle, feeling more and more like some macabre exotic pet in the meticulous suffocation of the city.

Domestics had left him utterly useless. Everything within the manor already sparkled; nothing was left to be polished yet another time, no silverware left to straighten. The gardens were the most weed free they had been in years, the hedges were smoothly shorn, beds of fresh seeds lay sleeping. Meat had been salted, wine catalogued, books gone weak with pages that had been flipped with too much vigor. The entire place was little more than a giant mausoleum.

Tutors flitting to and fro, the constant presence of foreign friends, the bustle of curious local aristocracy, the opium laced scents of businessmen. Humans in the house, the streets, the shops. It wasn’t as though Sebastian was unaccustomed to keeping up appearances, but he had learned to ignore the incredulity of the other servants, who were content with keeping their suspicions to themselves. There was a sense of comfort in the isolation of the main estate, a sort of privacy that was no doubt intended by the earliest of the Phantomhive line. It hadn’t taken the butler long to realize the musky scent that clung to even the oldest heirlooms belonged to the undertaker. He often wondered what the peculiar man truly was, but it was clear from his ongoing presence that at the very least, the butler himself was not the first (nor, he contemplated, would be the last) demon to waltz across the threshold. For whatever reason, the Phantomhives had long since harboured the world’s other sentient beings and had structured their property to match their needs. Sebastian yearned for that security.

The countryside was the demon’s only respite. Beyond the perimeter of manicured lawn, the grass grew in springy tufts, cloven by tiny paws and pocked by the burrowing of snakes. Nature had reclaimed its old haunts, embracing the weathered wood of forgotten sheds and cottages. Here, a groundkeeper had made his home, the stone walls now forming lichen covered nests, there, the splintering remains of a derelict barn leaned into an unsteady hutch, home to the mangled carcasses of grassland hunts. By December the matted fur would be stripped clean, leaving delicate eggshell bone that the demon planned to sell to the undertaker.

He had found the unique cameos, the mobiles made of brittle bird bones, the etched and painted spines: all gifts to a once whole family. If there was anyone who could appreciate the demon’s rodent genocide, it was likely to be the mortician. Each limp, warm form helped the infernal being release the tension in his chest, the hammering in his head. Boredom was keeping him like a caged creature, complacent enough to daydream about the feel of silken cravats unraveling in his palms, claws finding purchase in yielding skin… their lame alternatives heaped beneath the shade of the barn, piled in twisted clumps of stiff paws and broken jaws. His younger self would have deemed it a waste, but his distracted and anxious mind could care less about the pilfering foxes and moor cats that filched the prey he had slaughtered.

When not even this could satiate him, he would turn and venture further. After a time, the impressions of humankind’s mark faded away; the ambling trails petering out into marsh, squared off fields melting into wooded hills. Here the air was free from the smolder of hearth fires, instead impregnated by the crispness of November air, mist-laden and expanding the lungs with a burning chill. Breaking through a copse of trees, Sebastian came upon a lush hill, atop which was a gnarled old oak, aflame with the golden progression of autumn. Years prior the place had become his favourite escape.

It had been spring, then, and he had still been in a phase he often looked back to as being his adolescence. That particular chapter of his life had been cut unexpectedly short by his introduction to the Phantomhive, or, rather, the former house steward. The temporary staff had kept their heads down, soft whimpers of fear escaping their lips whenever the uncouth butler crossed their path. They had been paid handsomely for their brief duration of service, the only encouragement needed for them to keep their silence about the peculiar disturbances they had been subjected to, compensations paid in full for damaged property or impossibly broken bones.

“It’s still too hot, you ingrate.” The child grit out through clenched teeth. The demon gave an apathetic shrug.

“Don’t be so damn picky about your baths.” He shot back. “Do you want to be sterilized from that filth you’ve been slutting in or not?”

The leer vanished as soggy fabric lashed against his skin, leaving an angry red welt below his eye. He gave the half damp towel an incredulous look, slowly collecting it in his gloved hands. The earl stood over him, naked and shaking. The eyes that returned his gaze still held their glassy indifference, but beneath the pool of lilac something akin to emotion stirred, the inklings of anger and shame. The demon glanced away as something uncomfortable uncurled in his gut. The shadows of afternoon light licked at the hollows of the boy’s sallow skin, accentuating the frail wrists and atrophied legs, kneecaps and collarbones jutting out painfully. Distorted over the valleys of his ribs the possessive brand puckered, blistered pink by the steam of the bath.

“Is that what you saw?” the raspy voice challenged him. It was barely louder than a whisper, but the demon flinched under its bite.

The cracked altar, the blood-slicked iron bars. The forceful purple garters of fingerprints that even now clasped resisting thighs. No, there was no consent there.

“Are those your assessments,” The earl broke off with a short gasp, crumpling to his already scabbed knees upon the hard tile. He chocked, piteously unaware of the tears bubbling over dirt streaked cheeks. “Or are those the recycled words of someone else?”

The demon recoiled, the water upon his face scalding with memory, words – sharp little knives – spreading open the neatly folded things he’d tucked out of sight. The shrill, passionless laughter, the crashing of china over his skull that cascaded in lacerating cuts over his shoulders, the angry grasp around his forearm, bodily dragging him down the halls, battering him against walls, doors, bedposts… He growled against the barrage of images, glaring down at the boy who had provoked them. The other looked up with nervous claret eyes, triangular feline ears tattered and bloody.

“I’m not a slut…” he said brokenly.

The demon lurched backwards in horror, upending a vase and shattering it upon the checkered floor. The very human Ciel gave a curious look through tear clouded orbs as the door burst open. The steward turned from the prone form to the demon pressed up against the wall, examining him critically. Without meeting the steward’s accusations, the butler shoved the towel into his hands and brushed passed him into the darkening hall. He didn’t know when he began running, flitting beyond the ghostlike visages of gloved ladies, of gentlemen with canes and hard looks, of a girl with loose hair tangled in ribbon.

He wasn’t sure how he came to the magnificent oak. He had thrown himself between the breaching roots, warm grass dappled with sunlight. He wasn’t certain how long he lay there, an hour, two, six. Blankly he had considered finding a new master, or of returning to his boundless life. Getting money where he could find it – or where it found him – and existing as the bane of farmers and fathers. But when the toads began singing under the silvered moon, the demon had wordlessly picked himself up and slipped off in the direction of the manor.

Now the boroughs of roots were stuffed with leaves and the shells of fallen acorns. Downy feathers belied the nest of tawny breasted owls cradled above. Sebastian trailed his claws across the aged bark, slipping the spotless gloves into the front of his vest. He had been filled with shame that day, queasy with recollections and regrets, but too prideful to voice any of them. Casting a look in the general direction of the manor, he apologized for his past transgressions, knowing unsatisfactorily that none of them would matter, the trauma having erased months of the young earl’s life from his memory altogether. The Phantomhive had only ever known him as perfect, whipped into shape by Tanaka’s reinforcements, language neatly curtailed of its usual obscenities. The false impressions were almost worse than the boy remembering the way things had truly been, but the demon supposed that such a cruel internal turmoil was what he was due. For a moment he stood and calculated his senses: an order could reach him anywhere, yet the succulent sweetness of his master’s scent could only carry as far as the boundary of the demon’s tree. Certain that he hadn’t drifted too far, Sebastian relaxed, releasing the electric need to protect and please the Phantomhive. Granted, the earl would soon have reason to look down on him once again.

With a burdened sigh, the butler slumped down against the trunk of the tree, staring out over the crest of the hill to what made the spot his favourite. Below spread a wide valley, a flat, glassy lake collected in the bottom of the basin, calmly mirroring back the sky and earth that encapsulated it from all sides. Above and below the sky was a wooly grey, the occasional swath of clear blue peering through the blinds of fleece. The water beneath reached up and caressed its shy visage, married together by flawless reflection. The equally ageless hills stood silent guardian, captured by the water’s embrace. Its sloping pines extended towards the heavens, beckoning them to join hands with the lake, entrusting them to the other’s care, rooted to the earth that governed them. There was a beauty in the helplessness of nature.

“My, you look depressed!”

The demon jumped up with a hiss, senses suddenly overwhelmed by the natural perfume of candied apples and roses and reaper. Fangs nipping into the flesh of his lips he did his best to suppress the growl rising in the back of his throat. “What do you want?” he snapped, glaring down at the being pressed against his chest.

“Mn~?” the reaper crooned in faux innocence, pointed grin ruining the illusion. “Moi? I happen to be out on business, you know.” He huffed as he was forcibly pushed away.

“Get off my person.” the cat demon grumbled darkly. “And I doubt the validity of your business, reaper. Why else would you have snuck up on me?”

Grell blinked confusedly at the butler, slowly looking down to the cumbersome chainsaw dragging at his side. “Have you ever tried to sneak anywhere with a Death Scythe before?” he whined. “It can’t be done, Sebby –.”

“Sebastian.”

“– especially for a delicate woman like myself!” The reaper pouted at the resulting scoff, crossing his arms across his chest defensively. “But I am here on business, you see. Well, of course there was that factory business, but I trust you know all about that, of course. A Funtom factory, my, my.”

The demon stilled, irises narrowing as he caught the shift in the other’s tone – a rare note of seriousness. “Naturally, yes. You seem to have bothered to remember the specifics, I see.” He tossed out, inwardly bracing himself for the sappy, love struck reply that didn’t come.

“As should you. You’re smart enough to know when you’re being targeted.”

The demon’s hackles rose and when he spoke, his voice glimmering with suppressed feral warnings. “If you know anything about the matter, you’d better speak it now. I’m sure your superiors won’t appreciate the mess they’ll have on their hands if I find out you’ve withheld something just for the sake of fucking around with me.”

“Oh! You’re quite uncouth when you’re off your leash, aren’t you?” Grell admonished with an excited flush. His scent rippled with a prickle of fear. “But I’ll take you seriously for now, ah hah… ” He cast a sad look to his weapon as if personally disappointed with it for not being a more adept reaper that could protect him.

“Then get to it.” Sebastian prodded, tone smoothing oddly. “The loneliness is dripping from your already obnoxiously flamboyant scent.”

“I am not! How dare…” the reaper flailed uncomfortably, drawing the chainsaw closer to his person. “And I am not about to divulge anything that will get me into trouble – erm, more trouble… - with my department, so don’t try to press your luck, cat.” When Sebastian gave a stiff shouldered shrug he continued. “Well for starters, you do know about the harpy, don’t you?”

“I’m surprised you knew the term.” The demon retorted, vaguely annoyed that the answer had seemingly come so easy to the other. “What, is this some trivia that reapers are generally aware of?” He thought back to the mortician and dismissed the notion. “Then again, I haven’t the faintest what he is, what with his scent muddled in chemicals day in and day out. I still can’t tell if the fresh soil and pines are natural or a consequence of his work.”

“We’re thoroughly briefed.” Grell replied in a clipped tone, no doubt recalling a certain industrious coworker. “But you ought to know, too, that those birds don’t work on their own. They don’t have the mental awareness to choose targets. Hell,” he continued, brows knitting together. “This one seems to be huge from the size of the claw marks we’ve discovered. It’s a wonder it’s even made it to this size without destroying itself.”

The demon winced against the memories of decaying flesh and mottled feathers. “So someone’s been nursing it, then?” he clarified, thoughts beginning to race. “If that’s the case, then it can heal much faster than I originally anticipated. It may not matter if some of its senses are dulled, either: if its caretaker is really that determined to seek out my mate… ” Anxiously, he set his eyes on the line of trees that obscured the hazy outline of the manor.

“Regrettably.” Grell said, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “What’s more, we can’t pinpoint what is guiding it: the scent is heavily obscured, it’s quite peculiar. But, would you believe it? They have the gall to gallivant all over the place, leaving their musk everywhere, dropping bodies all the while!”

“Musk?” Sebastian echoed, thoughts grinding to a halt.

“Erm, well, yes, I think so, anyway.” The reaper quailed, as if suddenly self-conscious, a loop of hair winding between his gloved fingers.

The demon paused, as though seeing the reaper for the first time. Trust Grell to appeal to non-natural aesthetics. “That’s brilliant.” He mumbled in disbelief, tingeing the reaper’s cheeks a brilliant pink, floral scent spiking. “Roses.”

“Eh… what?”

“Roses, part of your natural scent is roses. That’s what was throwing me off.”

“I’m… sorry?” the reaper recoiled, hurt.

“No, the scent, see?” Sebastian continued, more to himself than to anyone else. “We’re so used to trying to find the natural aroma of a being; she’s wearing Creed, it’s musk and Bulgarian rose. The bitch has thrown us off her trail by using so much perfume.”

“Ah!” the other gasped, eyes widening. “That’s so tactical. Then… these killings haven’t been random. We’d expect that of the harpy, but its stench hasn’t been anywhere near the drops, so she’s trying to mimic its natural actions–.”

“Exactly; she’s keeping your lot and the Yard away from the Phantomhive properties. She doesn’t want anyone to interfere with her plans.”

A familiar iciness sunk in the demon’s belly, stinging worse than any mint or sorbet could manage. The pair looked pointedly back towards the hub of London, to where the earl was holed up, ignorant of the extent of the danger unfolding about him. Something dark burgeoned on the horizon, an oily sort of presence that assaulted the butler’s palate.

“Is that…?” the reaper whispered, frozen to the spot as the wind carried back the scent.

“You should submit your report.” The demon muttered darkly, securing the gloves about his wrists.

Grell nodded, eyes still fixed beyond the thicket. With effort, he drug himself to face the butler. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and that kid.” He said unevenly. “But don’t lose your head: whatever’s pulling the strings is beyond your kind and mine.”

Not bothering to refute the hidden accusations, Sebastian searched the vibrant green eyes for any sense of insincerity, and, finding none, gave a curt nod before tearing off into the wood. The landscape whirled past him in a dizzying blur of slate and mahogany and green as the sky began to grow inky with evening. Watery globes began to patter against his back and upon the outstretched plains of his face. Cursing the disorienting rain, he allowed himself to unfocus his eyes entirely, training himself wholly on the repugnant odor. It was closing in faster than he could account for, and he swerved along its disjointed trail, determined to meet it before the scent dampened into obscurity. A far off crash resounded in his skull and instinctually he knew that the beast had made it to its destination. “Protect. Destroy.” An obtuse mantra that propelled the demon across the plain, vaulting up the back of the tree whose branches leant into the shattered window.

Jagged shards of glass littered the carpet, the hallway encasing the curdling smells of rotting entrails and greasy plumage overwhelming the acrid sting of fear. There, the creature towered, open mawed, talons anchoring itself over its trembling mouse. Sheer animalistic rage bubbled up inside the demon, blood roaring angrily in his head as the thing dipped its distorted head, angling itself down, down, against the vulnerable belly of the earl, eager to taste and kill –

Unearthly shrieks pierced his eardrums as he inhaled the shocked aroma of his mate, embracing the young man to his chest and fighting the urge to pin him against the wall himself. To nuzzle and console and lick that sweet neck. To caress the stomach within which was the child the poor earl didn’t even know was endangering him. “It tried to hurt my mate. It tried to kill my child. It tried to kill our –.”

The buffeting of wind came too late and sharp talons raked across the demon’s back, driving the sense from his mind as his irises prickled into an electric scarlet. A snarl tore from his throat as he pivoted, arm still secured about his mate, free claws finding purchase in the milky eyes of the avian, soaring across the viscous orbs and ripping as viciously as possible. The creature emitted a deafening scream, clawing at its scarred face in vain hopes of regaining vision. Sebastian froze, every instinct within him demanding that he stay by the earl’s side, no matter what.

“I left your side, and look what happened. If I had been only a few seconds late… it wanted to kill you. It nearly hurt you. It nearly destroyed our kit. You could be dead. Both of you. I’d never feel your warmth, inhale your scent. I’d have failed you, I can’t– .”

Again the wings beat, and the demon drew his conclusion a split-second later.

“But you’re human, my darling, and you can’t defend yourself. I promise I’ll protect you. Stay down, please stay down.”

Losing the last of his composure, the demon whirled, launching himself at the oversized bird. The thrill of fully active demon blood coursed through him, lit by the spurs of wrath. He slashed at the harpy, releasing hot ribbons of blood, batting it against the nearest wall. In a blur, the beast recovered, charging forward, only to be smacked back to the carpeted floor with another swipe of claws. Conscious thought burned away as the patterns of the harpy outlined before the demon’s eyes. Talons outstretched towards his chest and he buried his claws in their base, hurling the creature away with tearing pressure. A shriek, a yowl, he wasn’t sure which sounds came from his own throat. Blood gurgled from the thing’s body, eliciting a feral thirst within the demon, and he surged forward yet again to slice a new design into its breast.

He shot past the bird, skidding gracefully across the floor, turning just in time to see the spread-winged charge. A talon kicked up in the final seconds and nicked the underside of his chin. He sprang back into a crouch, growling as hot copper filled his senses, distantly thankful that his jaw was still intact. The harpy cawed mockingly above him, beating its soiled wings in self-proclaimed victory. The tension coiled in the demon’s limbs as the bird cocked its massive head, lacerated eyes peering down opaquely at his huddled form.

The harsh calls distorted into singing taunts, “He’ll die, he’ll die!”

With a violet snarl, the demon sprung, plunging spread claws at a milky eye. For a sickening moment, a slick warmth encapsulated his fingers as they slipped below the shallow lids, a whistling scream rattling his skull as joints automatically cricked up, curling around their prize. Then things sped up and the bird was thrashing wildly, clipping its attacker with desperate swipes and snaps. The demon chuckled low in his throat, ripping away from the creature with a chorus of popping tendons. A satisfied grin crept over his lips as he tossed the deflated eye aside, hand slicked with dark viscous fluid that dripped to the plush carpets below.

His tongue flicked out to lick clean the fine spray of blood that had dripped from the hollow socket, savoring the shrieking dismay of the harpy as it fought to regain its sense of balance. High off his victory, Sebastian sprung again, burying lacquered nails into thick plumage. Unable to close around the bulky neck, he found security in the bent and broken feathers, wrenching them down viciously. The bird bent down to his height with a gruesome creak as its spine compressed from the sharp movements. Sensing its predicament, the harpy flapped wildly, curling into itself to try to escape the pressure that threatened to paralyze it. Claws kicked up wildly, making wild swings that easily missed, unable to gauge the distance or position of the scoffing demon.

“Finally!” Sebastian surged up to the palpitating chest, dodging the flurry of smoky feathers and burying his hand into the damp cavity of squelching organs. For a split-second, the demon smelled the perfume he had previously identified, the dusky traces of musk, ambergris, and rose, but then another scent arose, a curious earthy note of orange blossom. But as fingers twitched over the erratic bare heart, twin voices rang out that distracted both parties.

“Sebastian!”

“Ciel!”

Roused to his rational senses, the butler turned to the sound of his name, quickly calculating the distance of the prince and his butler, judging how quickly the harpy could assault the pair. The air knocked out of his lungs as a hardened beak clamped down over his shoulder, biting through the skin like jagged metal. The demon tore away instinctually with a low growl, once more thankful for possessing all of his limbs. Trailing unsteady drips of blood in its wake, the harpy propelled away from the irate demon, racing through the broken upstairs window with disoriented panic.

Sebastian straightened in place, watching the creature flee as his anger simmered beneath the surface of regained composure. “Ciel is safe. Our kit is safe. I’ve protected them both. This time they weren’t hurt.” The sting of his muscle knitting back together made the reality of his victory seep in. “One more second. Just one, and that thing would be smeared all over the floor. It’s still out there, and it will come back. It doesn’t have one pair of eyes directing it, but two. We’ll have to be more careful than ever.”

“Sebastian!” his fellow butler called in alarm, slowing as he reached his bleeding friend. The demon cupped his palm over his wound, turning slightly so that the Indian would not see the unnatural way that his body was already fixing itself. “You’re– ” It looked as though the man contemplated the use of the word ‘alive’ as he looked incredulously between the claw-torn suit and shattered window. “What in Shiva’s name was that thing—some sort of Rakshasa or demon?”

Sebastian chuckled darkly at the suggestion, brushing past the concerned butler, every heightened sense focusing on the slight earl that was approaching the group. A trained placid calm was spread across his features, but the demon could scent the pricks of confusion and disbelief that assailed the younger’s mind. Instantly, he desired to smooth out the weariness gathered in the corners of the earl’s mouth, the tautness in his shoulders that he knew the others couldn’t notice.

“It was called a snatcher.” Ciel stated, gathering the group’s attention. “It was the assassin that was hunting me—the reason we came here was to hide from it. With all the people and pollution about, my scent would be harder to detect.” He broke off, and the latent traces of fear surged forward. His single visible eye flickered over to the remains of the window. “But I suppose he found me.”

Sebastian’s chest constricted as he watched his mate subtly calm himself. It didn’t matter that the bird hadn’t left a mark on his body, didn’t matter that he had protected him from physical harm. Something akin to dread slithered down to a squirming nest in his abdomen. The whole matter might have been avoided if he’d just been a bit more forthcoming. A bit more honest. “Please don’t cast me out when I tell you the truth. I can never give you the peace you seek.”

Agni was moving up the stairs to the earl, his master dancing about with determination at the landing. The good intentions were clear enough. “Please, I can’t stand anyone else touching him right now. I’m already forced to be negligent enough.” Forcing a casual smile he shook his head, tracing the movements of the foreign butler.

“There’s no need– .”

“Sebastian, you’re wounded.” Ciel interjected coldly. The demon paused as though physically struck. “Allow Agni to help you clean up and meet me in the parlor when you’re finished. I know you have been keeping something from me, and I want everything laid out on the table for me as soon as possible.”

There it was, his faults laid bare before an audience. Shame burned in the back of his throat, and he chased the hurt from his expression as he silently implored a change of order. The earl cocked his chin in defiance, daring his butler to verbally humiliate himself further. But the demon bit back the urge, expelling the conglomerate of dark feelings in one humorless laugh. He dropped his gaze, unable to take the disappointment and distrust that was tangible to him. “Yes, my lord.” He replied passionlessly.

“Good.” Ciel replied curtly. A pattering of feet proceeded Soma’s onslaught of fussing.

“I was so worried for you, Ciel!” he whined, pressing close to the smaller boy. Slipping a hand about the other’s arm, he made to drag him down to the lavatory to clean up. “I didn’t know what was happening when I heard– .”

“Don’t. Touch. Me.”

The group froze, watching as the earl began to shake. The prince quailed under some unseen force, and Sebastian knew he had seen the contract. He edged forward, feeling the orders he was issued biting into the back of his hand in protest. Another three steps and the seal would start bleeding. Helplessly, he watched as his mate turned sharply on heel and stalk out of the room. Sebastian was sick of seeing that retreating back.

There was an odd belief (one that was frequently challenged by the fashion forward) that the colours pink and red did not mix. That a redhead, for instance, should avoid the pastel at all costs, else look terribly gaudy. Others flamboyantly paired the two, trussed up like dolls for St. Valentine’s Day. Of the later opinion, Cosette figured she would never do again.

She was still screaming five minutes after the creature had clumsily smashed through the window, broad wings clipping the frame and tearing the striped curtains to shreds. It flopped uselessly over the rose carpet, foul smelling blotches of crimson gurgling into the threads. Crumpled feathers molted off its body as it drug itself along by the beak, splicing the fine rugs to bristly ribbons.

“Mon dieu! MON DIEU!” the cries tore through the small house, jostling its inhabitants awake. The harpy emitted a keening whine, collapsing with a spasm of defeated will. The slight woman ran to its side, lugging the monstrous head into her lap and trying to soothe the terror away. Her thin white gloves blossomed into rosettes of coppery brown as she pawed away at the dark mass before her. “Tes yeux… Où tes yeux sont?” she trembled, distractedly straightening the crumpled plumage until at last she came to the cavernous socket where a milky eye used to sit.

She recoiled with a fresh scream, scooting backwards ungracefully with a flurry of stained skirts. The bird slouched to the floor, oozing pitifully onto the shreds of Oriental rug. The entire room was a hideous blur of bloodstained rococo, garishly lit by flickering candlelight. “Désolé, mon bébé… désolé.” Without tearing away from the dark scene, she grasped for the phone, whirling in the rehearsed digits.

The sharp trill came from the receiver. Briiing, briiing, briiing. Cosette pressed against the wall, trembling knees giving out beneath her weight as she slumped, white knuckled, to the ground. She drug the set down to her lap as the ring carried on, anxiously tracing the little carnations painted on its face. Crash! She jammed the receiver back on its hook, promptly picking back up and spinning the number one more time.

“Hello?” the smoky drawl was quickly cut off.

“YOU HARLOT!” Cosette shrieked, voice catching as she caught sight of the harpy once more. It angled its sightless head toward her as though listening in.

“Calm down, Cosette. I can hear you from all the way in the guest house.” There was an aggravated sigh and the soft rustle of fabric as the succubus shifted. “Now tell me what the matter is, love.”

“HE NEARLY KILLED MY BABY!” Cosette choked out angrily. She couldn’t pull away from the dark form now that it had locked its senses on her, pinning her to the spot. Fat tears welled over her eyes and she screwed them shut, trying to escape the tirade of confusing emotions caused by the poor animal. “YOU SAID THAT HE WOULDN’T LAY A HAND ON MY ICKLE SWEETIE AT ALL, MUCH LESS A SECOND TIME! YOU ARE A FILTHY, LYING WHORE!”

“Cosette.” Leona replied with a short sigh. It was so like her to cut through the other succubus’ emotions like a precise razor. “Please relax, darling. So we underestimated his ability, we’ll just have to– .”

A pure rage swelled over the younger succubus, choking out the distorted perceptions and the metallic bite of shock, leaving nothing but the clarity in Leona’s apathetic voice. “THERE IS NO ‘WE’!” She screamed. “I’M TAKING MY BABY AND WE’RE GOING BACK TO PARIS!” The harpy struggled to raise its head at the news, cooing roughly. As though seeing another reality, Cosette released a loud gasp, popping up and dragging the phone over to the monstrous child. Flopping to her knees, she drug its head back into her lap, cradling it and combing its face with her stained hands. “Ooooh, la… Maman vous aime plus que tout au monde entier, ma douce. Avez-dire que le chat de vous blesser mauvais, mon bébé? Nous allons rentrer à la maison bientôt, mon bébé, pas de soucis!”

“Cosette.” The steely voice interjected.

“Quelle!?” the younger screamed. “What more do you want from me?! If you want this done the way you want, you’re going to have to take care of the problem yourself, you selfish harlot! It’s absolutely ridiculous that you dragged us all the way out here to take care of a job you just could’ve taken care of when you saw the little slut the first time– !”

“COSETTE.” Leona snarled, leaving the other to whimper as she picked up the slight cracking of the porcelain receiver. She ducked her head submissively, knowing the other couldn’t see the action, and resumed her ludicrous grooming of the oversized avian. “Now,” the blonde continued, having regained her composure. “You know as well as I do that these things don’t work that way – it is your area of expertise after all.”

Cosette could hear the ascorbic sweetness of the words and squirmed in her seat. “Why can’t we just kill him?” she whined anxiously. “If the incubus doesn’t kill the human himself, he usually just takes off after he finds out. And – and even in those cases they’re not stupid enough to try and fight back. But – but my baby…” she choked, growing hysteric again. “…He nearly got his filthy paws on my baby’s widdle heart!”

“Stop talking like that, you sound like an idiot.” The succubus replied coldly. “Obviously we’re dealing with someone a bit more powerful than the typical incubus.”

The brunette froze, gathering the black feathers to her chest as if fearing they might spontaneously disappear. “You didn’t smell that on him, did you?” she whispered urgently.

“It was crowded, dearest.” Came the flippant reply. “I just smelled the scent of cambion in the human – though depending on genetics, it could be possible. You smell it on the snatcher?”

Immediately, the succubus bent over her grotesque child, pressing her delicate nose into the bloody plumage. “Oh dear.” She whispered. “He smells like cat, Leona… Leona, he smells like cat!”

“Shut up, Cosette.” The blonde ordered disinterestedly. “So we’re dealing with a half-incubus half-cat demon. That’s nothing we haven’t faced before.” And then a little harsher, “Stop hyperventilating, Cosette.”

“How can I not?” she whimpered, tearing off the hem of her skirt to wrap about the harpy’s eyeless sockets – she couldn’t bare seeing them any longer. “We’d have to face him directly, then, Leona – we’d be bringing my baby with us, too. That’s… a thing like that is not something to be taken lightly, especially when dealing with its kin.” She said vehemently. The snatcher gave a small nudge of agreement, brushing against its mother’s stomach. Cosette looked down at it, worrying her lip and offering it her comforts. “Ooooh Leona… Animal demons tend to be very protective, Leona. It’s no wonder that he’s actually stuck around.”

“If you would’ve done your research like you were supposed to, then we wouldn’t be having this problem.” The other woman replied curtly. “Look; I’ll make this simple for both of us. You go to him in parlay and tell him our conditions: he takes the cambion out of the picture, or we’re going to do it for him – and his little harlot will go with it.”

“But Leona!” the brunette whined, hitching the bird up closer to her breast, sufficiently smearing her skirts with enough dried blood to make her look like a right Ripper victim. She gave the snatcher a generous pat as it continued its laborious breaths. “Why do I have to do it? You always make me do these things!”

“You know I’m no good with controlling myself.” The other hummed luxuriously. “If we want to have this settled peacefully without dragging anyone else into the equation, you’re going to have to take care of the social matters.” The syrup-sweet voice returned. “That’s why you’re so good at your job, lovie.”

Cosette shifted in her seat, not wanting to give her co-conspirator the satisfaction of giving in so easily. It was so clear that she was being cajoled into the worse parts of the job – and her baby, too, she amended, nuzzling the bird as it drifted to sleep – yet what else was there to do? She looked about the trashed apartment, full of pretty, borrowed things. A doll should stay in its house, after all: Lord knew it couldn’t think for itself.

“Fine then,” she consented. “I’ll go tomorrow. I want this over with as soon as possible, especially if we’re dealing with something like that.”

The Cheshire smile was nearly tangible over the receiver. “I knew you’d agree.”

The soft click of the latch unclasping was the only sound that notified the demon’s presence. The sound magnified in his head, a thousand echoing reverberations that he wanted nothing more than to bat away into some oblivion. Being one in possession of many talents, it was rare for Sebastian to genuinely wish himself into invisibility. He could bullshit and flatter through any conversation, he could slaughter any number of attackers with an impressive assemblage of weapons, but the one thing that made his gut seize in unpleasant waves of nervousness was being forced to speak plainly about things that would only result in pain.

When he was young, that pain was a physical one. He had suffered enough ‘strong warnings’ to become apathetic to the feeling; gloves were meant for hiding whip marks, and ties were meant to prop up the collars dressing the purpled bruises. Perfectionism assured dancing around the number of occurrences, and tonic was made to forget. But Sebastian had grown since then, and he feared a far worse pain by his current master. Were his mind a mixing bowl, the guilt would be carefully folded into the batter, perforating all the other ingredient feelings, just waiting to burst and bleed into the rest. All it would take would be a firm press of the spoon, a finger poking into the wound. No, this pain the demon had yet to learn to deal with. It was too foreign, too human.

Three pairs of eyes drew to his form, but he only felt the intensity of a single sapphire, the holder of which wielded the power to drastically alter his fate. Perhaps it was the peculiarity of the moment, or perhaps it was the heady aroma of chai filling the room, but a singular, unsettling thought filled the demon as he stood on the threshold. The gauzy bandages scratched his healing skin beneath his shirt, the starched gloves raked at fingertips still stained with blood that caked uncomfortably beneath domesticated nails. His heart still trilled for the dying screams of the bird, the lust to avenge was still so intoxicatingly strong. Three pairs of eyes locked on him – three susceptible, weak, vulnerable human pairs of eyes. He could slake his lust in mere seconds; it would hardly be a challenge. Yet he gave them the power to inspire uncomfortable feelings of shame and anxiety in him and freely gave it away.

He didn’t want to harm them, had no desire or even an instinctual urge. Once he had sworn never to wear the collar of servitude again, yet here he was once more, content to don the mask of butler. It wasn’t just about an end goal; he had come to terms with that quickly enough. He hadn’t wanted to care for the boy, and he had done a convincing job telling himself otherwise for several years. But somewhere along the line, duty and desire had blended into one confusing mass. Ciel had given him more than a new identity, but a new life altogether. There was freeness in the fleeting existences of humanity, a delicate sort of grace that fascinated and demanded careful attention. They were all so unique, like painted porcelain dolls that had to be handled gently. There was comfort in escaping the hedonistic landscapes of demonic life, of finding strength in the circles of weaker beings. Even if it meant continuing the macabre masquerade for centuries, he would choose to stay among the constantly changing dancers. It was about Ciel, and in ways it wasn’t. With only a few simple words, he could be tossed back out into the fury that he had emerged from. He didn’t want to lose every last thing he had come to love. Truly, it was funny how crucial simple words could be.

“It’s fine.” Ciel said curtly, wrapping up a prior conversation. White fingers clutched at his cup; he was still rattled. He turned pointedly back to his butler. “Now, then. I’d like you to tell me exactly what is going on.”

Sebastian distantly felt his tongue working in the dryness of his mouth, trying to pry open unwilling lips. Words. They were tiny things, really. You could string them together like shining beads, arrange and rearrange them to make completely different pieces of art. Some combinations were pleasing, delightful, glimmering little words that made lovely, pleasing sentences. But if those beads scattered and were gathered with good intentions, strung up in a different order, somehow they could become ugly, repulsive things. Context, that burdensome string. Sebastian glanced about the room. Agni returned his look with a calm curiosity while the Indian prince sat crouched against a window, frowning back at him with confusion. They made no intention to move. Words. What he had to say wasn’t complex. Sometimes, it was a joyous tiding. It wouldn’t be in this context. The anxious guilt in his stomach doubled.

“Now, Sebastian.”

A soft breath expelled from his lips. With automatic dread, he folded himself into a neat bow and stepped fully into the room. “Yes, my lord.” Distantly he tried not to wonder if it would be his last utterance of the phrase.

“Now sit down.” Ciel continued, and Sebastian thought that his tone was almost softer. The beginnings of dark lines were forming beneath his young eyes, and the demon felt bad that the conversation was going to rob him of yet more sleep that he – and one other – so desperately needed. Gathering his composure, the demon lowered himself onto an opposing couch, watching with anticipation as his master shifted into a less dignified stance, relaxing into the soft upholstery.

His stomach knotted even further. There was truly no escaping the situation. A peculiar memory blossomed into his head, the dozy, smirking face of the information broker taking shape in his mind’s eye. “Opium, see, is like a heavenly dose of nirvana. You drift off and don’t feel fear or anger; you’re neither sleeping nor awake. It’s just a gossamer blank state.”

‘A blank state.’ He repeated to himself, willing away every ounce of feeling and lingering thought. He wasn’t sure what illicit drugs were like, nor was he one to put much stock in human theology, but he was not above sampling their practices. He imagined all the muddling thoughts draining away and – no matter how self-deluded – continued on with relative calmness.

“What would you like to know first, young master?” His voice was softer than he’d expected. Perhaps that was what nirvana was supposed to be like; calm and soft. Unaware of the demon’s inner turmoil, the earl shifted in place, arranging his thoughts.

“The arsonists were the same people who sent the snatcher after me, were they not?”

“Most likely.” Sebastian replied, relaxing at the normalcy of the inquiry. “I wouldn’t see any reason for it to be otherwise, especially considering who your attackers are.”

Instantly Ciel jolted upright, eyes narrowing into accusatory slits. “You’ve known who sent that thing after me all this time?!” White knuckled fingers knotted into the couch. “You – .”

“Not individuals.” The demon amended, silencing the earl with a raised palm. “But I have a very clear idea of the type of people sending it after you.” The musk of Bulgarian roses rippled forward, tinged with sweet feminity and sex, just barely recognizable over the stench of the snatcher. There was only one sort of being that possessed such a scent. “As you may have noticed, my lord,” the butler pressed. “The harpy still had a heart. It’s not being controlled by anyone.”

“Then it’s attacking me of its own accord?” the earl shot back slightly hysterically. “That seems unlikely. While the harpy did seem lethal, I doubt that it would be capable of tracking down my largest confectionary supplier and leaving a threatening message.”

“The snatcher is a pet, most likely.” Sebastian reasoned.

“Under contract?” the Phantomhive asked, quirking a brow.

“No.” the demon replied quickly, distaste prickling in his throat. “I’d assume that it is acting out of a sense of loyalty for its owner; since it would not attack you itself given the circumstances.”

“Circumstances.” The word echoed back flatly. It knocked the air out of the butler’s lungs and he wished vainly that he could take back the words, clinging to his last attempts at finding some demonic version of nirvana. “What. Circumstances?”

Defeated, Sebastian leant forward with a sigh, dropping his gaze. What to say? How to arrange those words? Uncertain how to proceed, he ran a heavy hand across his brow and hair. “I’d have to… it’s difficult to explain, m’lord.” He said softly. “You may wish to discuss this with me in private at a later time – .”

“Sebastian.” The earl interjected sharply, voice devoid of any emotion. “I have been attacked twice by a mythical creature, moved from my home, vomited uncontrollably for weeks, and been the obvious subject of silent conversation between you and a crazed mortician. I want to know. Now.”

The demon stiffened as the back of his gloved hand prickled; he knew that fingers were pressed over the silken eye patch before his own garnets rose to see the master who held his fate. In the background the Indians shuffled in bewildered interest, completely lost in the entendre-laden atmosphere. Sebastian willed himself into considering them – for the moment – as nothing more than excitable furniture. He wouldn’t force the Faustian truth into the open.

“It was most likely the child.” He replied lowly.

Instantly Soma perked up, looking about comically like some oversized puppy. “Child?” he repeated, clutching a pillow to his chest with suspicious conviction. “What child?”

“What do you mean?” Ciel pressed, syllables sticking in his throat. The demon dropped his gaze, unable to bear the combined assault of foreign fear and alarmed body language of his mate. His master who didn’t even know the term ‘mate’. The thought only twisted in his chest; perhaps he was truly sick, indulging in all of these impossible delusions.

“I have reason to believe it was a succubus that sent the harpy after you. It smelled strongly of one.” He continued evenly. “They’re notoriously… discriminatory of cambions, due to the fact that they believe human blood shouldn’t taint theirs. They usually choose to eliminate the carrier and cambion earlier on.”

“Camby-what?” Soma insisted, bounding over to his butler’s side. It was easier to observe than his own master’s confusion.

“That’s wonderful, but whatever does that have to do with me –.” The words extinguished themselves as sick realization spread over Ciel’s complexion. For seconds, the boy scarcely breathed, his emotions a tumultuous assault that filled the demon’s senses. Banishing the feeling from his expression, Sebastian drug his eyes up to examine his mate, searching for any small sign of acceptance, of – dare he even think it? Was he really that fool? – excitement or interest. But this, this escaped the realm of human logistics, defiled every form of rightness in their world. The dry laugh that followed only confirmed it. “Surely you can’t be serious.”

Soma was squawking again, but the syllables just wouldn’t fit into words in the demon’s ears, drowning out into pitchy sound. There was a scuffle as feet retreated to the door, and more sound that must have been protest. Ciel sat stock still through the entire proceeding, not looking at any one thing in particular. His human heart thudded painfully in Sebastian’s ears. Thud-thud-thud- The door went thud and then they were all alone. Their eyes met one another, but the words couldn’t come.

“You’re lying.” The earl said at length, strained and detached. Another inhuman laugh tore from his throat, and it raked over them both, the electricity of raw nerves. With that, everything seemed to fold inwards, shrinking away as if burned. The posture, the very scent, everything that was Ciel Phantomhive curled up before the demon’s senses, fading out of reach altogether.

“I would never lie to you, my lord.” How could words sound so unfeeling when one could feel so desperate? The earl began to shake, disbelief and pain shuddering from him in bitter waves. He needed no physical cage; again Sebastian saw the scared and broken boy from the murky past. He had done this, caused this.

“You’re. Lying.”

“There’s…” Sebastian swallowed, bound to his seat by the glass wall that divided their ranks, their entire worlds. “I believe there’s a biological explanation, but I’m in no position to go into depth about the implications.”

A horrified whimper tore from the earl as he battled the barrage of realizations washing over him. It poured from him near tangibly, seeped into the demon’s every sense, provoking every urge to comfort, to lick and caress and nuzzle the hurt and fear away. The emaciated boy glared blankly at him, forcing him away. Behind him the real Ciel quivered.

“You…”

“Yes?” the demon whispered, desperate. “…my lord?”

“This.” The human said flatly, hand splayed across his abdomen. “This is… yours?”

A third, new pain pierced through Sebastian’s body as he gazed between those fingers, sheltering the most sacred being in the demon’s entire existence. He peered deep into the single blue eye, that of a young adult whose wounds were deeper than he let on. The being that he loved and craved in so many ways, the one being who he was bound to in both the sweetest and cruelest ways imaginable. The ideal of a mate, of… a family… the things that he had strove for but never figured he would live to achieve, the things that he desired most strongly. A place to belong. Something to covet and call precious. It was all there, all too real. A brand new, white hot pain. Distance.

‘This’. It was more than ‘this’. A kit. A son. A daughter. His child. Their child.

‘This’ was not nearly enough to encapsulate the enormity of the object.

With a steady voice, the demon sealed his fate in the truth. “Yes.”

‘This’ was all a human could ever see such a being as.
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Together Again