A delicate silver spoon dipped into the parfait, rising up to meet a childish pink mouth. Ciel slid his tongue over the bottom of the spoon to make sure he consumed every rich morsel of the delightful dessert. He was trying his best to pretend he was even remotely interested in the letter that Sebastian had presented him with almost fifteen minutes ago. He hadn't really read past the opening lines.

"Sebastian," Ciel said, dabbing the corner of his mouth primly with a linen napkin. "Who is Lord Heath Clifton?"

"A magnate in the business of whale oil, my lord." Sebastian said, tipping the china teapot just so over his master's teacup. The soulful scent of the dark rose brew floated into the air, rising with the steam. "Rather ruthless, I hear. And very lucrative."

"Hm." Ciel set the letter back down and ate another spoonful of parfait, trying to appear as though he were consuming it with the particular brand of well-bred apathy that dictated every other aspect of his life. "What would a whale oil tycoon want with me?"

"The letter may disclose," Sebastian suggested.

Ciel cut him a glare. "Do not be snide."

Sebastian smiled and set the teapot down, carefully lifting sugar cubes from their fragile nest and dropping them into the tea. "Forgive me, my lord, I only meant to suggest that if his lordship is reaching out to you, his reasons must extend beyond simple civility. It would be distasteful to turn down his invitation, especially when his name has been mentioned in London's most affluent circles as of late."

Ciel scoffed underneath his breath.

"I have nothing to wear." The young earl said.

"With your permission, my lord, I have taken the liberty of selecting for you a choice outfit for this evening. You have not yet had a chance to wear your new velvet coat, as the tailor just delivered it this morning."

"Fine." Ciel set the spoon down beside his empty dish, and Sebastian whisked it neatly away. "I will wear my new shoes, as well. We may as well make an impression."

Sebastian touched his lapel and bowed.

"Very good, my lord."

0~0~0

The elegant little townhome was alive with light.

Nothing delighted Heath more than his lamps. He loved their soft, flickering flames and the voluptuous curves of the pewter that supported them. If it were up to him, he would keep only one or two burning at a time… for he was a lover of soft, sultry lighting. But then she, the one who summoned him, always insisted the rooms be kept bright. Ever since the death of her husband she had developed an almost child-like fear of the dark, as if his ghost were lingering in the shadows, hands reaching out to wrap around her throat once more, to shut off her screams and bring her to teeter on the edge of consciousness.

That was ridiculous of course, since Heath had killed him.

He slipped his hand above the small flame, feeling it tease his skin with heat. He bit his cheek in delight and lowered his hand even closer, until the tongue of flame was licking at his fingertips, scorching them playfully. He grinned with the sensation, chill bumps rising on his skin. This was what had drawn him to her in the first place, her lamps.

He did not want to be her butler, however. He refused. It was so typical. Now husband, graceful lord, and ruthless businessman? That was a role he had been all too eager to play.

"Heath," she drifted into the room, her mink brown hair pinned up with a few stray curls falling free, framing her face while also masking the mark of their contract that rested just behind her ear. The seal that matched hers was resting on his hips, just below his waistband. He hadn't wanted it on his hands, gloves restricted his movement.

"Yes, my dear?" he asked, pulling away from his lamp and turning to face her. That was the form of address they had agreed upon. A simple endearment, enough to serve as a reminder of his subservience.

She turned, presenting her back to him. "Help me with my buttons."

He close the distance between them quickly, his heels clicking against the polished floor. He touched dexterous fingers to the small of her back where the buttons began and with uncanny speed, they made their way up her spine, ending at the high, so very Victorian collar around her neck. He slid the last button through its loop and, satisfied with his work, brushed his lips over the seal behind her ear.

"Is that sufficient?" he whispered.

She pulled away, scowling at him, adjusting the cuffs of their sleeves. "None of that." She said. "We have guests arriving in a few minutes."

"I only ever need a few minutes." He said, moving close again to brush his fingers over her shoulder.

She swatted at him, annoyed, and moved towards a mirror to adjust the pins in her hair. "Do not force me to waste an order. It will happen if and when I like, and never more or less. I did not summon an incubus."

Heath sighed. Her words wounded him, as always. He quickly recovered from it, distracted again by the flame of his lamp. He walked back over to it, swiping his hand back and forth through the flame.

"Yes, my dear."

"Is what you told me about the Phantomhive butler true?" she asked.

He at least had the decency to look insulted.

"Of course it is true." He said. "I've caught him prowling around after my feedings twice now. And…" he cut himself off before he mentioned the reaper. Lady Clifton was not an ignorant woman, but she had not been exposed to divine beings such as reapers. And if, after a long-winded explanation as to how shinigami worked, she found out one was hot on his trail… she might force him to stop his feeding altogether, and there were a thousand other voices inside of him, a thousand mouths to be fed – that would not stand for such a thing.

He had never been so controlled before. He didn't like it. Her and her attractive goddamn lamps.

"They have arrived," he said, his hands twitching as heard the carriage roll to a stop outside. "Shall I let them in?"

"I suppose you must. We did invite them." She turned away from the mirror at last, taking a deep breath and preparing to assume the meek, graceful demeanor expected of a lord's wife.

"I hope the earl is proficient at billiards." Heath said as he withdrew reluctantly from his lamp and started towards the door. "I am in the mood for a game."

"You never can be serious, can you?" she sounded thoroughly exasperated.

He gave her a wide grin and a merry laugh that bordered on malicious.

"Never."

0~0~0

"A townhouse." Ciel said disapprovingly. "And not their estate."

"Lord Clifton prefers to stay in town, close to his business." Sebastian said quietly. "Lady Clifton is notoriously attached."

Ciel scoffed, and raised his cane to knock.

Before the head of his cane even touched wood, the door flung open, and in its frame stood a man. He was tall, with a good inch on Sebastian, his clothing impeccably tailored and fitted to his slender form, his coat a rich jewel-toned red. His silhouette was wreathed in the light of the lamps behind him; which granted his short, wavy golden locks an empyrean glow. His eyes, deeply hooded and slanted, were dusky, charcoal grey.

Sebastian's jaw tightened, but he otherwise did not move. This was not the demon he had been trailing for nearly three weeks. Heath Clifton had changed his appearance – but why?

Ciel, for his part, stood dumbfounded. He gripped his cane, still holding it mid-air, and stared open-mouthed at the lord in his path. Sebastian looked down at him with some irritation. 'My lord,' he thought, wishing Ciel could read his thoughts just this once. 'I know you are young, but please try not to embarrass yourself.'

He reached out with one white-gloved hand and, with gentle fingertips, prompted Ciel's mouth to close – a polite reminder that they were civilized beings and the evening's honored guests.

Ciel glanced at him furiously, his cheeks reddening. This was not a promising start to the evening.

A delighted smile spread across Lord Clifton's face, and the long, steely look he gave Sebastian told the demon butler all he needed to know.

This was about to turn into a contest of wills.

"Forgive me, my lord." Heath said, turning his full attention onto Ciel. "So delighted have I been at the prospect of receiving you that I jumped at the chance to answer the door myself. We do have staff, I assure you." He laughed lightly. "Though a good number of them are in the kitchen and the dining area, vigilantly preparing our meal as we speak. May I take your coats?" he tilted his head as Ciel swept past him. The young Earl Phantomhive found himself scanning the townhouse idly with his one uncovered eye. It was so bright.

"Oil from the sperm whale," Heath said cheerfully, placing his hands on the young earl's shoulders to slide away his coat. "It burns brighter than any other, and don't let my competitors sway you otherwise."

Ciel's shoulders jerked when he felt the lord's hands on him, another blush creeping up his neck. Lord Clifton's smile was nothing less than polite as he moved on to take Sebastian's coat as well.

Sebastian tensed when the other demon approached him. Heath lifted an eyebrow, extending his hand. Sebastian held his gaze for a long moment, and then smiled, slipping off his coat and placing it in Heath's hand, bowing deeply.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable." Heath said, gesturing to the open room to their right. "My dear? Our guests have arrived!"

"So I can see," she rose as they stepped into the room, picking up her voluminous skirts and sweeping into a deep curtsy. "My lord Phantomhive… welcome to our home." Her smile was demure. She spoke softly, but clearly. "I am Lady Violet Clifton."

"My lady," Ciel bowed stiffly to her wondering why, in God's name, there were so many lamps in one room.

"Our guests have not been very talkative thus far." She said, returning to her seat and folding her hands serenely in her lap. "My love, have you scared them to death already?"

"I have tried my best," Heath walked up to her, taking his place standing behind her chair and setting a possessive hand on her shoulder. She did not move, but rather kept her eyes fixated on the earl. Her eyes were a soft, unassuming blue.

There was an awkward moment of tense silence, and Ciel's impatience climbed.

"So…" the earl began, right as Heath started with, "My lord…"

Another uncomfortable pause. Ciel waved his hand, indicating his host should continue.

Heath flashed him a smile. "My lord, do you fancy a game of billiards before supper?"

Lady Clifton closed her eyes.

Ciel was caught off guard. He had assumed the lord would want to jump straight into business, if he indeed had any business….

"Yes," Ciel said, casting a haughty look at Sebastian. "I am quite the consummate player."

The young lord was flashing like a peacock in front of his older man, or this demon in a lord's skin. But why…?

Sebastian suspected, but did not want to believe, that Ciel had been stricken with fancy.

What exactly was it, about blondes?

"Excellent," Lord Clifton bent to give his wife a kiss on the cheek, which she endured quite gravely. He pulled away for her at last, and her eyes fell on Sebastian. A gaze which was beginning to grate on him, as it seemed measured, calm … calculating, and far too much like his own.

"Be certain to bring him down in time for supper, Heath." There was a thin layer of command in her gentle voice. "We cannot have our guest starve, after all."

He paused in the doorway, giving her a small nod.

"Yes, my dear."

Sebastian's eyes gleamed.

'So,' he thought. 'That is how it is done, here.'

Heath led Ciel up a narrow staircase to the second floor of the townhouse, headed for the billiard room. Ciel could not keep his eyes off the lord in front of him. The trim waist, the narrow hips, the way he minced his steps… he moved with effortless grace, his manner much like Sebastian but far more – fluid. Sebastian was stiff, formal; this man flowed.

"…if you would prefer."

Ciel realized he hadn't caught the entirety of what Heath had been saying. He glanced up, annoyed at himself, and did his best not to let it show on his face.

An expressionless mask. That was what he needed to maintain. He was unsure of this man's motives. Any slip of his guard would prove dangerous. At least Sebastian was only a single level below.

Really, he just needed to relax. Or at least pretend to.

Ciel closed his eyes for a minute, letting out a shallow breath, he then looked up at the lord.

"Forgive me, I did not quite catch what you asked."

"Do you prefer a full sized cue?" Heath lifted an eyebrow, lifting the cue stick in question a little higher. "I have some that are shorter…"

"I can use a full size." Ciel snipped. Really, he preferred his custom cues, but he was not at home. And he would be damned if he allowed this man to patronize him like a child.

Heath only smiled at him. "As you wish, my lord." He handed the cue over to Ciel, who took hold of it and stepped off to the side. It felt a little heavy and awkward in his small hands, but that was no matter. He was confident in his ability to handle it.

Heath pulled his own cue down with ease, walking over to the billiard table where the game had already been set up. Lord Clifton leaned casually against the side of the table. "Would you do the honor of taking the first shot, my lord?" Heath asked.

Ciel nodded, walking around the table and pulling himself up onto the ledge. Sitting on the side always made it easier for him to aim. He leaned over, trying to adjust the awkward cue against his frail fingers. Pursing his lips and narrowing his eye, he shot the cue forward.

It glanced off the surface of the ball. The damn thing budged barely an inch.

Ciel flushed, glad that this room was not as well lit as the downstairs level. The lighting, in fact, was rather low, creating an intimate atmosphere … especially at such close quarters.

"Bad luck," he muttered. "I'll do it again."

"Of course, my lord." Heath said, unfailingly polite.

Ciel leaned forward even further, drawing up his legs a little more, suddenly very aware that his back was exposed to this man. If the purpose of this meeting was to drive a dagger into the young Earl Phantomhive's back, Ciel could not have possibly made it any easier for him. Of course, the back of his calves – which Ciel was very well aware of being his finest asset – were exposed as well, and he couldn't help but wonder if Lord Clifton held the same opinion.

Ciel was becoming increasingly aware of his awkward posture, his child's hands trying to handle the heavy cue. Cold fingers brushed over the back of his hand, and Ciel's head snapped up, sucking in a deep breath as though he has just been startled out of his wits.

"May I?" Heath lifted the cue from Ciel's unresisting fingers and replaced it with a smaller one, a lighter one. It was a child's size.

Ciel gripped the cue stick furiously, ready to demand that the bigger one be given back to him. But he knew such a maneuver would only make him look more like a child.

This was endlessly frustrating.

Lord Clifton stepped back, and Ciel took another deep breath. Setting the cue between his fingers, he executed a swift motion, feeling the slick wood glide over his skin and listening for the satisfying 'pop' as the blunt end hit the ball this time, sending it careening into the others.

"Well done, my lord." Heath said, walking around to the other side of the table. The blatant condescension in his manner was galling. Ciel seethed.

Hard rain began to drum against the windows, a howling breeze clawing at the shutters. Lord Clifton sent two balls into one pocket without so much as a casual glance.

Ciel was beginning to hate him. At least… that was the only explanation he had for the knot in his stomach.

"Your butler," Heath said conversationally. "He is a stunning specimen."

A jealous pang. Ciel set his teeth, sending a ball spinning into a pocket.

"I do not wish to talk about Sebastian." The young earl said. "We will discuss something else."

"Is there trouble in paradise?" Lord Clifton leaned on his cue, observing the table.

Ciel scoffed. "Do not be vulgar."

"I do not know what you think I am implying," Heath said, quite innocently. He lifted his cue again and knocked another ball across the table, but it only bounced off the side. "Ah," he flashed Ciel a smile. "I miscalculated."

"Yes," Ciel said. "You did."

His next ball smacked into another, and they both stopped dead in the middle of the table.

"And so did you." Heath replied helpfully. "Although it would appear that I still have the upper hand."

"It only appears that way at first." Ciel said. "Look again."

Heath set his cue against his fingers, refusing to tear his eyes away from the young lord. Without even glancing at his target, he hit one of the balls, sending it and both of Ciel's into opposite pockets.

"I'm afraid," Heath said, "that you don't play as well as you believe you do." He softened his ominous words with another smile. "All in good time, my lord. It is merely practice!"

Ciel didn't know why, but it felt as though his heart had inexplicably ceased to beat. He turned his attention back to the table, but in the back of his mind, he knew he had already lost this game.

Outside of the window, standing close to the street, the rain was pelting its latest unfortunate victim. William was glad for his wool coat as he looked up at the dim light eking from the billiard room window. He saw the shadows of Ciel Phantomhive and Heath Clifton, operating completely independently of the shadows of Sebastian Michaelis and Violet Clifton in the common room window below.

Two demons in one house. The filthy creatures always seemed to find each other.

"Are you sure about this, boss?" Ronald asked, shivering by his side, one foot resting on the humming motor of his death scythe. William had been loath to drag the junior employee along, but he it was either Ronald or Grell … and there was not a chance in hell he was taking this on alone. Not again.

"Just follow my orders, Knox." William said in a frigid voice that left no room for argument. He pulled his death scythe close, unable to look away from the billiard room window. "Stay close. And be prepared for the inevitable overtime."