Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I making profit from this entire fic.

AN: Lets see… just wanted to say that whilst its my first time posting here, Its not my first story, or even my first fanfic. It is however, the fastest I've gone from knowing nothing about an anime/manga (I started watching yesterday) to writing a story. That being said, you'll have to excuse me if this is a bit ooc, as Im just gettin' used to these lovely characters now.

This will ultimately be Sebastian/Ciel. If you do not like this, then… I don't really care. Rating may go up or down depending on whether Im feelin' horny or not…

Terms of a contract.

It began with an ending. Or what should have been one.

Ciel's enemies had been destroyed, swept away by torrents of fire, half of London had been doused in blood and set alight; he'd dragged hell out, and uprooted he'd brought it to the fiends responsible for all his suffering, all the while standing stoic at the eye of the storm until all that was left was the crunch of charred bones, mingled with the stench of burning hair, all mirrored in the crimson of Sebastian's eyes.

Often he'd wondered what it would all be like once it was finished, whether there would be some sense of completion or even satisfaction, despite the fact that what was most important to him was that his enemies suffered the same humiliation, the same pain and terror that he himself would never acknowledge having felt. But now, his earlier notions seemed childish to him. He felt nothing for the disembowelled corpses that Sebastian had laid out, like a floral arrangement for him. There was a hole in the pit of his stomach that set his skin on edge as he met Sebastian's eyes. The butler was on his knees before him, bowing perhaps for the very last time, an easy smile playing on his lips.

For a moment, there was silence, while Ciel's mind assaulted him with images of what would never be. Each of his servants' clumsy smiles, the sprightly gold curls that framed Elizabeth's face, that infernal dog, and Sebastian's slight scowl as he tried to get gigantic muddy paw-prints out of the Persian rug in the study, afternoon tea with a different kind of cake or pastry every time. He thought of the demise of his household, his mansion in ruins, his townhouse bought by some sketchy noble, his name forgotten.

He didn't even need to go as far as to ponder the thought of an eternity alone. The mere prospect of losing everything again was enough to drive the young Earl, head of the Phantomhive Estate to an act most unbefitting of a nobleman, but exactly what was suitable for a frightened child: He ran.

Sebastian watched him go, eyes wide. He felt a slight apprehension for the actions of the young master, for a boy whom he considered wise beyond his flawed humanity, who approached every task as if his success was guaranteed. Was this the same child who would rather die than see the rules of a game changed half-way? Regardless, he couldn't help a small smile at the fact that the young Earl could still surprise him. Still, the boy had to know that Sebastian would find him; after all, if the butler of the Phantomhive family couldn't find his master, he wouldn't be worthy of his station. And he just couldn't have that, right? Besides, the young master clearly had to be reminded of the terms of his contract. He set off at a leisurely pace in the direction where the other had run off.

Ciel was running for his life. But that didn't mean he knew where he was going. His town house was too blatantly obvious, his country mansion too far away, most of London was still on fire-

Except apparently for that place. He stopped outside the doorway of a grim, suspiciously un-burnt building, and out of habit composed his clothes and steadied his breathing before entering.

"Ah, young Phantomhive, what brings you here?" the odd lilting voice of the Undertaker, as well as his crooked grin made Ciel wonder if this was a good idea after all.

"I need-"

"A place to hide of course." Just because Ciel didn't show his surprise didn't mean it wasn't there as he turned to glare at the owner of that voice. Grell, the red-haired shinigami was at the door, smiling and giving the air a playful snippet with his shinigami safety scissors. He leaned close to the Undertaker and stated in a conspirational stage whisper, "He's running away from spending a debauched eternity in chains servicing Sebas-chan. How utterly unfair. Does he not know what some of us would give to-"

The Undertaker's laugh resonated through the room. "Well then, we better hide him."

Ciel's face blushed half in anger at being interrupted, then ignored, and half in mortification at the shinigami's perverted streak. He opened his mouth to protest, but instead felt Grell's quick hands taking his cloak and hat, and pushing him backwards before closing a door on him. It took Ciel seconds to realise he'd been shoved inside a coffin. Tasteless and rude.

"Stay there. Sebas-chan is just down the street, walking this way." Grell's amused tone was not missed by Ciel, and neither was the undertaker's breathy laughter. His pride demanded he walk out, call Sebastian and tell him to end their wretched lives for their insult to his name. Instead, he remained quiet and tried to remind himself that calling Sebastian whilst hiding from Sebastian was not a good idea. He was sure anyways that now that his task was completed, his butler had no allegiance to him.

Sebastian knew that the young master was nearby. The bond they shared through the contract allowed him to sense his location, but he would have headed towards the Undertaker's shop even if he had had no means of tracking him down. Ciel Phantomhive was not the most sociable Earl, and his number of non-business contacts was highly limited. He would expect Sebastian to check his home, and he would never endanger Elizabeth by luring a demon into her household. Sebastian's eyes clouded for a moment, and he stopped at the doorway. He could hear the undertaker's voice from inside.

"…business has been bad lately, what with aaaaall the paper wealth burning away with the city… and of course, plenty are dead, but nobody's buying coffins, because the pretty corpses are ashen, and they crumble easily, so people can just put them in little jugs or teeny-tiny cardboard boxes…"

The Undertaker was crazy enough to talk to himself, but the outline of a second figure, bent over fine china drew his attention. In a span of seconds, Sebastian recognised the Earl's hat and cloaked form, crossed the room at inhuman speed and placing his hand on the other's shoulder, pulled him back. He'd been expecting resistance, which in his opinion completely justified the fact that he lost his balance and tumbled back ungracefully, causing the other one to fall on top of him, and the Undertaker to erupt in a fit of giggles.

Something was wrong. The weight above him ground itself deliciously against him, and Sebastian bit his lip to keep a decidedly improper sound from escaping his lips as he looked up to meet the heated gaze of… Grell?