Taste of a Soul
The common misconception was that all demons fed on souls. The truth was that many demons hated souls. They were sticky, sometimes barbed, and often impossible to extract from the body, much like good pomegranate seeds. Sebastian's brethren preferred to gnaw on flesh or bones, every now and again they would even nibble on a heart, but only if it could be reached quickly and efficiently, without any fuss. These were all parts that were readily available, easily attainable, and completely and utterly tasteless.
They preferred ease to work.
But in work, there was satisfaction.
In preparing dinner and scheduling appointments, there was a sense of accomplishment. In polishing silver and dusting the fireplace, there was a sense of success. In preparing tea and dressing his master, there was a feeling of completion. And in obeying his every command and fighting for his life, there was a sense of achievement. Because all steps led to the same goal.
A sticky, barbed, angry, bitter soul.
"Will it hurt?"
Sebastian looked down at his young master stoically, looking for fear in his one visible eye. Fear tainted the soul, sometimes for the better, but most of the time for the worst. It left a gamey, almost foul taste in the back of the throat, like spoiled meat. There was no fear in him, only resolution.
"A little." Sebastian had no reason to lie now. "I will be as gentle as possible."
"Don't." Ciel looked at him with conviction, a spice similar to fine pepper and saffron. It took all of Sebastian's effort to not lick his lips. He tried to listen as Ciel went off on some tangent about being alive and memories and some other ridiculous nonsense, but it proved too difficult. Sebastian had spent two long years being silently tormented by the aroma of licorice and anise… and now the scent of pepper and saffron in his conviction.
He was hungry.
Noble, honest, but hungry.
He gave a delicate bow, pretending he listened to Ciel's final words. "As you wish."
He moved slowly, his hands sliding over his master's skin. Such a beautiful boy, had his revenge not consumed him, he would have been a striking man. Eventually, when his invisible wounds had healed, he would have been an amazing father. But revenge spoiled his chances at ever being more than what he was, and added something spicy and bitter to his soul, like cayenne.
Sebastian pulled his master's eye patch free staring into the glowing mark. It was beautiful. Even after all these centuries that glorious mark made him salivate. It was like a brand on a premium cut of meat. This soul was his and his alone.
He leaned in and pressed his mouth to his master's, tasting apprehension. It was bitter, and it would spoil the delicate taste. Sebastian smoothed his hand down his neck, calming him, like warm cream or butter. He waited a moment to be sure his master was ready, and then he pulled. There was a long soupy, sucking sound, followed by the muted cry of pain, and then silence.
Sebastian closed his eyes and licked his lips. Children often tasted sweet, like candy. Ciel tasted of… licorice, anise, cinnamon, curry, saffron, pepper, butter, cream… and just a touch of sugar, knowing he had been loved. It was the most complex flavor Sebastian had ever tasted, and he wanted to taste it again. But there had been only one serving, and he would have to live on memories to sustain him.
He glanced down at the dust by his feet and frowned. What a waste of a body, what a delicious use for a soul.