A/N: Believe it or not, this was inspired by a line in a Melanie Martinez song, Tag You're It, "I can taste your skin in my teeth". This whole thing.
"Come now, don't be so dull!" Ciel taunts, voice rolling across the plain with a mocking lilt.
Tendrils of grass, green and fresh, sway in the evening breeze as the sun sets, the coolness of night sweeping across the open field. Several newly-soulless men lay dead and bleeding, each clawed open from collarbone to pelvis, entrails spilling out and turning the green grass vermillion.
Sebastian's master sits crouched on the ground, digging his small black claws into the bodies of the fallen, gorging himself on the freshly-killed meat. He offers some to the butler, but he refuses (his young master should always be first to dine).
The rest of their toys are running, trying to conceal themselves in the trees that dot the outer edge of the plain. How foolish of them to believe they can outrun two fully-grown, powerful demons.
Perhaps if they were animals they would know better: they would smell the stench of inevitable death that clings, musky and dense, to his young lord, caked in his skin and flowing through his veins. Perhaps then they would know that they have no chance, not really, and that it's far smarter to give themselves up quickly and salvage their pride.
But it's better this way, better when the humans put up a chase and make it a game (and the young lord does so love games, Sebastian is not so old now that he's forgotten). Ciel shifts beside him, rocking back and forth on his haunches in ill-disguised anticipation. Patience, my lord, he wants to scold, but this is Ciel's game, these are Ciel's toys, so he lets the boy have his fun.
The humans, impossible creatures, are still running. As if that will save them their lives and bring them back to the families they've no doubt left behind.
Running, running, running. 'Til their weak little legs give out and they're forced to crawl their way across the grass, fingers clawing desperately at sun-warmed earth. It's funny. Humans are funny.
The demons look on in amused silence until Ciel decides that he can't wait any longer and chases after them, catching up to one man easily and crushing his windpipe with a single hand. The others look on in silent horror before they notice Ciel coming steadily closer. They dart off into the woods, most of them screaming at the top of their voices. Pathetic.
The young demon plays with them as a cat does a mouse: trapping it by its tail and letting it try to run.
.
"Oh, you'll have to try harder than that," Sebastian remarks to a particularly silly human, who thinks it a good idea to climb a tree and stay there. A sitting duck. His master takes care of the foolish thing accordingly.
.
Ciel's mouth is stained red with blood, and Sebastian wants to lick it off. It would be so easy, he thinks, to just bend over and run his tongue over the demon's face, suckling and kissing away the crimson. He wants to savor every spare drop of the liquid, wants to remember the ripe iron stench for all eternity, wants to keep the memory of this moment forever.
His young lord has never looked so perfect as he does now, scarlet dripping down his chin and on to his shirt collar, bringing an unidentified organ to his lips and biting. The meat gives way beneath his fangs with a satisfying crunch as pointed teeth break through sinew and fat.
The best part? His master is doing it for fun.
Demons don't eat humans. They eat their souls. But Sebastian's lord, in all his perfect, demented glory, has taken apart each one by the seams and devoured them in pieces. Just because he can.
Sebastian loves him for it.
Ciel's eyes burn magenta, a Cheshire grin stretching his small face so wide it looks painful, his pupils blown huge with need. He's lost himself to his demonic side, giving himself over to greed and gluttony, sacrificing his humanity to the devil—what little he had left of it.
And Sebastian can't restrain himself from leaning down and capturing Ciel's mouth with his own. Diligently he tongues away every streak of scarlet from the boy's lips, tongue, teeth; doing just as he had thought of a moment ago. He breaks away from the kiss (Ciel makes an agitated noise in the back of his throat, but Sebastian is redeemed when he slides a hand down to cup his young master's rear) and runs his wet muscle over Ciel's face, cleaning him of blood the way a bitch would her pups.
Saliva covers the boy's features, and, were he in a proper state of mind, Ciel would perhaps strike his butler for being so self-indulgent.
But the fact of the matter is, Ciel is not in a proper state of mind—is in fact quite kill-drunk and hazy—and does little more than drag Sebastian further down by the shirt collar and sink his teeth into his elder's throat, ripping out a hunk of flesh in his desperate search for blood.
Sebastian chuckles darkly as his skin begins to knit itself back together, but his little lord has gotten enough of the liquid to satisfy him (thick, viscous, so dark red it's nearly black, tastes of iron and rot) and does not venture another bite.
The butler reaches down for another body, tearing a large gash in the abdomen of the man with his fangs. Clutching the man's heart in his teeth, he tilts his head back and swallows, choking the organ down whole.
Ciel grins at him impishly before plucking out a snack of his own and devouring it in mere seconds. Watching him, Sebastian feels something akin to pride in himself as a mentor. He's taught the boy well.
Then his young master calls for him, and he scoops the small demon up into his arms, cradling him as he has always done, and together they move like shadows through the night—silent save for Ciel's tipsy giggles and sloppy, blood-coated kisses.
"Let's go hunting again sometime, Sebastian."