Libera Nos A Malo

by Neko-chan -Silvered Tongue

With the killing of many Christian priests, the ones capable of dealing with such atrocities are brought to heel and the chess pieces spread out upon the board embark on a journey that will force them to see the true face of humanity. - Pairings listed.

1. Chapter 1

Title: Libera Nos A Malo

Authors: Neko-chan and mhikaru

Fandom: Kuroshitsuji/Kuroshitsuji II

Rating: M

Warnings: While the story doesn't really involve Kuro II's plotline, it does have the characters. Warnings for Alois being Alois and Claude being Claude: expect lots and lots and lots and lots of GAY for pretty much everyone, violence, gore, sexsexsex, psychological manipulation, dubious NCS (more specifically and somewhat regularly applied to Alois and Claude), demons getting their demon on, Alois' occasional potty mouth, religion, issues of faith, cults/Satanism, and death. From the list of warnings given, it goes without saying that there are a lot of adult themes that will be addressed in this story. We really cannot stress this enough.

Pairings: The ones currently planned are thus - Sebastian/Ciel, Claude/Alois, Will/Grell, Agni/Soma
- - Please keep in mind that the list above is subject to change (though we sincerely doubt it), and please don't be surprised if pairings eventually get added onto it. Right now, we have a rough outline of what we expect and want to happen, but muses usually have a way of doing things for themselves that usually leave their writers OTL-ing before the keyboard. This will definitely be no exception.

Disclaimer: This is a work completely generated by two rather dedicated fans (of both the manga and anime); we have no intention of making a profit off of this. We just like borrowing the characters for our own type of play and hope that others will enjoy reading the result of it~

Summary: When something comes along and begins killing off various Christian priests, the ones capable of dealing with such atrocities are brought to heel and the chess pieces spread out upon the board embark on a journey that will force them to face the true horror of humanity and the darkness within it.

Authors' Note:
(Neko-chan here!) Yes, I know that I should be working on my other stories. But I'm stuck/have been pondering and dwelling over them for a while, and when mhikaru asked if I wanted to write something Kuro-related with her… how could I say no? This is going to be updated irregularly and it will be long. Very, very, very long. Don't say that you weren't warned! ;)
(mhikaru here!) OTL OTL OTL
* On a further note, the title "Libera Nos A Malo" comes from the (usually) last line in the Pater Noster/Our Father, which can be found quoted below. "Libera Nos A Malo" loosely translates to "deliver/liberate us from evil."

Thank you very much for taking the time to read everything written above! We hope that you enjoy the story - and comments, reviews, critiques, etc. are welcomed (and looked forward to!) with open arms! Thank you again~

---

Pater Noster

Pater noster, qui es in caelis:
sanctificetur Nomen Tuum;
adveniat Regnum Tuum;
fiat voluntas Tua,
sicut in caelo, et in terra.
Panem nostrum cotidianum da nobis hodie;
et dimitte nobis debita nostra,
Sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris;
et ne nos inducas in tentationem;
sed libera nos a Malo.

---

Chapter One

---

Seven-thirty a.m.:

The door to the young master's bedroom opened soundlessly beneath the butler's touch, and Sebastian smiled in satisfaction; the hinges had grown squeaky as of late, and it was satisfying seeing that things around the manor could be fixed (and not just destroyed).

The mahogany-eyed man wheeled the breakfast cart further into the bedroom, setting it near the young master's bed before moving to the curtains; pulling them open, Sebastian fastened the ties to keep them parted, finally turning to the sleeping boy once the early morning light flooded the room.

"Bocchan, it's time to wake up."

Ciel Phantomhive, the current head of the Phantomhive family and Guard Dog of the Queen, slipped from the foggy tendrils of sleep slowly. He had dreamt last night - a vague something with darkness and muffled voices - and was grateful he didn't remember the details. His dreams were never pleasant.

It took a few blinks before reality came into focus. 7:35 a.m. exactly. The smell of tea - Earl Grey, this morning. The wafting scent of buttered scones. A hint of sweetness from freshly prepared jam.

And Sebastian. With that practiced, perfected smile.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Ciel wondered when it had become routine for him to sit up, routine to allow that devil of a man - or a man of a devil? - to come closer and change his shirt, routine to let a waking nightmare wipe the last of his sleeping nightmares away.

"I have your schedule for today outlined for you, bocchan," Sebastian murmured as he began to pour the tea into Ciel's cup, perfect—as always—and never spilling a drop. With the boy's nod, the butler continued: "A History tutor will be coming at nine, followed by an Art instructor, afterwards you'll focus on Geography and Latin until lunch. Afterwards, there will be an instructor coming in from London to review your progress with the violin, and fencing will finish the day. An small break for your regular afternoon tea, and Lord Randall has been requested by Her Majesty to come to the manor to review the Yard's latest case with you."

As he spoke, Sebastian buttered and spread jam on the scones, setting the plate upon the portable table that was spread over Ciel's lap. Idly, he clapped his hands together to brush off any crumbs that might have lingered—there weren't—and went to the young master's wardrobe to bring out his clothes for today.

"There have been many missing persons cases lately—priests, both Protestant and Catholic."

"Did directions come from Her Majesty?" Ciel took a sip of tea and noted the lack of a letter that usually announced the Queen's orders, "Or am I to take care of matters as I see fit?"

Missing churchgoers. It was the sort of business that seemed to edge on ironic. The black and evil Guard Dog of the Queen would have to sniff out men and women who believed in God and angels with a demon.

The scone, on the other hand, was perfectly balanced in buttery richness and sweet tartness. Ciel took another bite. Perhaps that was ironic as well. If Sebastian wasn't what he was, he could have easily been head patissier at any top bakery in England.

(Nevermind the fact that the demon found sweets disgusting and, even after several years of being in the bocchan's "employ," still didn't understand the appeal in them.)

"No letter this time," Sebastian answered easily, pulling out and eying one of Ciel's suits for a moment before placing it back to choose a different one. If Lord Randall was coming… ah, well. Intimidation and threats usually worked best with the man, and it was rather difficult to make a skinny thirteen year-old look threatening.

"But Gray came by the kitchen this morning and delivered "the letter" in person. Apparently, Her Majesty is rather concerned with this case. She didn't want a paper trail."

Finally deciding upon the suit for today, Sebastian gave Ciel his bright smile, head tilting to the side—looking absolutely harmless and the epitome of a competent butler. "Interesting, don't you think, bocchan?"

The said bocchan didn't reply, already turning over the facts in his mind. If Her Majesty was concerned enough to send her personal butler, then obviously the case would be a big one. It rather confused (and irritated) him that Her Majesty would send Randall of all people. Was it a discreet message to tell him to cooperate with the Yard? No, that would be both foolish and ridiculous.

Still, Ciel couldn't help but give a small sigh - Randall was rather like a old, blind dog who guarded his position jealously with mostly bark and a wizened bite. It was tiresome.

After finishing the last bites of his scone, Ciel gave an obligatory glance at his outfit of the day before he stood to be dressed.

"Sebastian, prepare something pleasant for Lord Randall. Chances are, he'll be in an unpleasant enough mood to be thrown off by it."

"Yes, my Lord," Sebastian answered promptly, giving a slight bow with his hand pressed to his heart. Immediately after, however, he once more stood straight and moved towards the waiting boy; setting the suit to the side, Sebastian began to efficiently undo the buttons of Ciel's nightshirt.

"Once we've spoken with Lord Randall and have the information that he will give to us, shall we then visit Undertaker next?" the butler asked as he slid the soft cotton of Ciel's clothing from his shoulders, letting it drag lightly—intentionally?—over his arms, catching at his wrists.

The demon was nonplussed, however, and set the bedshirt aside to be cleaned and worn later on that night, reaching next for the boy's undergarments. "There seems to be something that I'm forgetting, though…" Sebastian murmured, as if to himself—ignoring the nude Ciel to lightly tap at his mouth in thought. "Oh, yes. Your aunt will be in attendance for lunch."

Ciel felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand. The Marchioness was on her way here? Was there a special occasion? He felt his mind race: it wasn't his birthday, nor was it Lizzie's. Some special holiday then? But Easter had just passed and nothing else was coming up.

All evidence pointed to one conclusion: it must be a surprise inspection.

However... though the Marchioness was a (terrifying, fearsome) strict woman, being rude was not her forte. She would have called ahead to announce her arrival, as propriety dictated.

That meant Sebastian had purposefully and conveniently "forgot" to mention her visit.

Ciel felt a twinge of irritation. And being irritated while naked was not his forte.

"That'd better mean you have everything ready for her." Ciel narrowed his eyes but deliberately did not cross his arms. It was suicide to show weakness when Sebastian was in one of these moods, "Knowing the Marchioness, she'll arrive in an hour. If not less."

"Ah, ah," the demon butler murmured as he tilted his head to the side, listening with a small smile. "Apparently, preparing for the Marchioness earlier this morning was an excellent move since it seems as if they're already here~"

Sebastian gave a pause then and quirked an eyebrow at his young master.

"And to think: you're still not dressed. 'What a lazabout nephew I have,' your aunt will be sure to say."

And the demon's smile just broadened.

Ciel clenched his teeth together. It was going to be one of those days then.

The only consolation prize was that, considering the time, at least Lizzie would be sleepy. He didn't know if he could handle a terror aunt, a smug butler and a hurricane of pink ribbons and lace.

Glaring openly at Sebastian, Ciel held both of his arms out to be dressed.

"Well?" he ground out, "It's your job to make sure that I'm prepared in time."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Why so ruffled, bocchan?" Sebastian asked as he guided Ciel's arms through the soft fabric of his shirt and steadying him so that the boy could step into his undergarments. "After all, if I wasn't able to have you ready by the time your aunt arrives in the great hall would mean that I wasn't worthy of carrying the title of Phantomhive servant."

Still, though, the demon butler didn't bother hiding the wicked amusement that danced in his dark eyes—all the while still dressing Ciel quickly, efficiently, and perfectly.

After all, what was the point of playing the game to discomfit his master when there was no guarantee that he would succeed?

Winning, as his young contractor always pointed out, was everything.

Winning, as it turns out, was exactly the thing on Ciel's mind. He had no game plan with the Marchioness. She usually swept in as quickly as she swept out, toting her impressive assortment of athleticism with her. Like with Lizzie, it was just easier to grin and bear whatever madness they brought.

As for Sebastian, however...

Ciel waited until he was completely dressed. As the demon knelt down to tie his shoelace, Ciel made his move.

"You'd better do something about your hair," Ciel's tea-wet fingers traced along the top of Sebastian's head, slicking his bangs back. The faint smell of tepid Earl Grey drifted between them like a challenge, "Or she'll call you 'indecent' again."

Sebastian's eyes flashed for a moment, but his smile just deepened in the end.

Before Ciel could pull his hand completely away, the butler nipped at his master's fingertips, letting the boy feel the barest edge of his pointed canines.

"And why should I take that as an insult?" the dark-haired man murmured, smile wicked. "I am, after all, a demon."

"You're right," Ciel answered with a humorless smirk of his own, "But she also did call you 'inappropriate' and that's a fairly large insult to-" someone like you who revels in playing a part perfectly and utterly, to see how close you can imitate and mock humans, "-your aesthetics."

Turning, with his left shoe mostly tied, Ciel wiped dripping fingers on his breakfast napkin. With his back turned deliberately to Sebastian, he said, "And an insult on you is an insult on the house of Phantomhive."

"Ah, and we can't have that," Sebastian replied easily enough, inclining his head to Ciel's back and bowing slightly with his hand pressed to his heart—or where it would be if he actually had one. "There will be no need to worry, bocchan. The Marchioness will find nothing at fault with the household and my appearance."

The butler looked up once more, expression almost blasé—though the look in his eyes gaze away that mirror-smooth calmness.

"But now, bocchan, let us finish with your own dressing first."

Ciel decided to take the high road out and not comment. His morning routine was in ruins and he had to marshal his energy for his Aunt. It was as if his night of restful sleep never was.

Sebastian didn't take much longer to dress him now that there was no more banter. As they left the bedroom, the demon exactly 3 steps behind him, Ciel couldn't help but feel a tinge of dread. He resisted the urge to smooth down his own hair. They walked down the main stairs and entered the dining hall.

The desire to smooth down his hair would have proven fruitless, anyway, because upon immediately entering into the entrance hall there was a cry of—

"Ciiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeel!"

And a pink, ruffled, blonde whirlwind caught up the young Phantomhive, spinning him around and around in circles and mussing any previous attempts that Ciel might have made to make his hair appear neat and smooth for his aunt.

Sebastian simply smirked.

It was all Ciel could to do hang on as the room spun.

"Elizabeth. That's unladylike."

Ciel stumbled a few steps the world tilted in horrifying vertigo. Then gravity reasserted itself.

"Sorry, Mother..." The boy's fiancée pressed her cheek against Ciel's and squeezed him, not the least repentant. It was at least a few minutes before she took an appropriate step back to curtsy to him and Sebastian. "Good morning, Ciel, Sebastian."

It took all of Ciel's composition to make the answering bow (and not hurl). "Good morning, Marchioness, Elizabeth."

"Ciel~~~!" the blonde girl answered back, puffing out her cheeks in annoyance as she eased up out of her curtsy and set her hands on her hips. "I always have to tell you to call me Lizzie!"

Sebastian, however, chuckled softly and stepped forward—no longer leaving his young master to fend for himself, finally taking 'mercy' on the dark-haired boy. "Ah, but Miss Elizabeth—you know that, despite being cousins, since you and bocchan are engaged to be married, you must show a proper form of decorum." Before the girl could protest about it not being fair, Sebastian lightly bowed with a hand to his chest and she sighed unhappily, letting it go.

"All right…" Lizzie murmured, obviously unhappy.

Satisfied that the girl would no longer attempt to (happily) strangle his contractor to death, Sebastian stepped forward once more and gave another bow, this time to Ciel's aunt. "Welcome to the Phantomhive Manor, Marchioness."

It went without saying, however, that this visit would go much better than the previous one. (Mainly because Sebastian had locked up the other servants in the cellar to ensure that they wouldn't be around to try and "help" with things.)

"Hmph. It's been a while," Marchioness Middleford allowed, striding up to both Ciel and Sebastian in her prudent (yet combat-ready) high heeled boots. She gave the both of them a once over before narrowing her eyes.

Ciel felt the blood drain from his face as her eyes fixed on him.

"Ciel, I know that I've approved for you to be my son-in-law, but bed hair again? It's intolerable for your position and age!" She glanced then at Sebastian, noted his slicked bangs and gave the tiniest nod of approval, "At least your inappropriate butler has a learning curve. You think that he'd be managing to get you more decent!"

When she finally stepped away from Ciel, his hair was laden with grease and slicked so completely, it felt like a solid lump on Ciel's head. Inwardly, he felt rather shell-shocked- maybe he should have used tea on his own hair when he had the chance.

"Marchioness," Ciel hazarded, "May I inquire to the reason of your visit?"

"A surprise inspection," the Marchioness answered with a smile that was devilish enough to do Sebastian proud. In answer, however, the butler just quirked an eyebrow: this time, the visit would go flawlessly. His aesthetics demanded nothing less.

"If that is the case," the demon began and bowed them towards the greenhouse, "please begin, Marchioness."

Keeping an eye on her mother, Lizzie eased up to Ciel's side and promptly latched onto his arm, smiling adorably (down) at her fiancé. "I've missed you, Ciel," she whispered so that the Marchioness couldn't hear. "So let's make sure that we have plenty of fun today, all right?"

All the while, Sebastian guided the small group through the greenhouse, discussing the different varieties of plants that grew in it, mentioning their countries of origin. The only sign that the regal lady gave that she was impressed was when they reached the orchid house: all in perfect health and all carrying spectacular blooms.

"They never looked this impressive while Vincent and I were growing up," she murmured, reaching out but careful not to touch the delicate, temperamental flowers.

The demon, in response, just gave his usual cool smile. "If I wasn't able to do such a simple thing, then I wouldn't be worthy of being a Phantomhive butler."

Ciel gave a mental scoff at Sebastian's words. If it was any other day (or more distinctly, visitor), Ciel would have done a few more things to make life harder on his butler. Maybe release the suspiciously missing trio of idiots.

But this was Aunt Frances and Ciel was inwardly relieved to have Sebastian's ever perfect (if sometimes smugly annoying) service.

A small squeeze on his left arm reminded him to look over at his companion. From the way she was biting her lip nervously, Ciel had probably been ignoring her.

Lizzie was a piece that didn't fit into Ciel's life of being the Queen's Watchdog, head of the London underworld and whatever else unsavory business he took care of. Even from his own analysis, there was no value to keeping Lizzie by his side. She wasn't useful enough to be used as a pawn, and though marrying her meant one day assuming the title of Marquis, Ciel was pretty sure that he wasn't going to live long enough for that to be of any use.

By all intents and purposes, he shouldn't have bothered with this girl.

And yet. This was Lizzie. Lizzie, who he had loved before th- before. Lizzie, who tried so hard to still love him now. The Phantomhive manor rarely had visitors, but it was Lizzie who waltzed through the gloom again and again in her pink satin-bowed slippers. Sure, she was a flighty girl, but she had never lied to Ciel, either.

And that counted for a lot.

Glancing over, Ciel gave her a small nod. Still, it took effort: effort to soften the corners of his eyes, effort to drag his lips into a neutral line-effort, effort, effort.

Lizzie never knew the difference. She lit up as their eyes met, her faltering smile blooming into a real one.

Ah, Lizzie might not have known the difference—but Sebastian did.

When the girl finally pulled away from Ciel to admire the orchids with her mother, the demon came up behind his young master and lightly settled his hands upon Ciel's shoulders.

Sebastian didn't say a word but, then again, he knew that he didn't need to: much of their interactions with one another came in the form of certain smiles, glances from the corner of their eyes. Gestures and touches, much like the one that the butler was giving Ciel at the moment.

Gently, Sebastian's fingers tightened over the boy's frail shoulders: shoulders that carried so much weight and yet never faltered as the Earl took one step after another, forever moving forward.

His.

Sebastian's fingers were drawing a noose around his neck, tightening gently. Ciel felt the soft scrape of the demon's claws against his collarbone, dulled by his gloves. His right eye burned, the insignia within flared in such close proximity to its twin.

It was a calculated, suffocating reminder, and yet strangely comforting.

He had chosen this, after all. He had called the demon unintentionally, but he had made a choice. The noose of Sebastian's hands might have been his own.

Ciel found himself leaning into the touch, his lips tugging into a half smirk. More than simply accepting his fate, he would wield it like a sword and use it to carve out his revenge.

Pulling away from Sebastian, he walked over to his aunt and cousin. "We should have tea in the garden." Lizzie dimpled at him in delight and Aunt Frances' eyes gentled.

Sebastian's shadow was a heavy weight against his back.

The shadow extended—seemed to reach out for and towards the boy—brushing for a moment while something darker moved within it, and then the butler moved away.

"Please excuse me for a moment while I ready the tea service," Sebastian murmured with a slight bow before heading out of the greenhouse to go to the kitchen.

With no one to see, the demon's smile deepened, turned wicked.

His master never ceased to be interesting.

---

Grell Sutcliff heaved a sigh filled with long suffering - a sigh worthy of Ophelia anguishing over Hamlet - and snipped another cinematic record. It was some Catholic woman's, who had lead a average, matronly and utterly boring life.

At least when he had his super ultra deluxe custom deathscythe, he could gain a bit of joy by ripping and tearing through the record, his scythe growling and roaring in his hands with feral, bestial glee.

But now... alas. Grell gave another sigh and regarded the two pairs of safety scissors in his hands. The edges were already dull and the tiny handles were made of gray plastic. Plastic! How kitsch!

There was oddly a lot of work to do recently, certainly too much for his little scissors to handle. Usually reapers worked alone - they only ever teamed up when there were too many cinematic records for one person to collect. Which was why Grell was standing in the middle of a small massacre of bodies with none other than William T. Spears.

Grell liked working with Will best out of everyone in their division - mostly because Will looked the sharpest in a suit. And he had those amazing, intense green eyes - ones that seemed to flay Grell to the bone every time their gazes locked.

Ah... Grell took a moment to the follow the line of his partner's broad shoulders to his trim waist to that delicious ass and long legs. Thank god (or not) his job came with a view!

It shouldn't have been surprising, considering who William T. Spears (never Will, thankyouverymuch) was.

But Grell was Grell and that oftentimes meant that he was oblivious to things that he should not have been oblivious to; case in point was the fact that William noticed everything around himself. In this example, it was that Grell was spending more time eyeing his ass than he was cutting the cinematic records of those destined to die.

The clean-cut shinigami sighed inaudibly and extended his own death scythe with a mental command: it shot out suddenly, aiming directly at the redhead's face to sucker punch him. With his subordinate thusly disciplined, William glanced over at the other. "Put just as much energy into your job as you do imagining me nude. Because if you make me work overtime-again-you will be punished. Severely."

"Oh Will~" Grell swooned, although the effect was only ruined a little by wiping at his bleeding nose, "You sadist~!"

His supervisor was always so delectable. The dichotomy between his prim looks and his violent actions - it sent chills down Grell's spine every time.

"And don't be silly," Grell took the moment to sidle up to the other shinigami and placed two elegantly long fingers on the knot of Will's tie, "I didn't imagine you nude at all. I imagined your tie thrown haphazardly on the floor," Grell's fingers walked two steps and tapped over each button on the other man's chest, "your shirt open, your vest ripped, your jacket shredded" the fingers walked lower and stopped at the hem of his pants.

Grell gave a smile then - a smile that showed off all the points of his teeth.

"Should I go on?"

William T. Spears' reply was simple:

"The only reason I have not killed you yet is because of the massive amounts of paperwork I would have to fill out for killing one of my subordinates. However," the shinigami continued, pushing up his glasses with a hand. "If you continue, I will kill you and ensure that you end up in the bowels of hell."

And then he gave Grell a very pointed Look.

Of course, William T. Spears also never expected the said pointed look to dissolve Grell into a puddle of happiness.

"Ahh~n, Will~ I love it when you're both logical and forceful! Maybe if you send me to hell, I'll get to see Sebas-chaa~n!" the red-headed shinigami did a little twirl, snipping at another wisp of cinematic record in mid-piroette.

"But honestly," Grell placed a gloved hand on his hip and regarded the mass of bodies with an exasperated sigh, "aren't these jobs getting a little... much? This is the third one this month."

It would come as a surprise, then, with Will's particular reaction.

He took off his glasses and folded them carefully before neatly tucking them into his coat's breast pocket. He reached out, fingers around Grell's throat as he pinned the other shinigami to the wall. "It would be best if you neither brought up the vermin's name within hearing distance of me-or questioned the amount of jobs when the higher ups are involved in the case."

Cool, collected-but dangerous.

Grell felt his pulse flutter against the smooth leather of Will's gloves. It was exhilarating, it was breathtaking, it was - well, his vision was slowly going dim. Rather than fight (or more accurately, flail), Grell gave the other man a slow and euphoric smile.

Apparently, he was a masochist. But Will made such a good sadist that it was sooo worth it! And Will's eyes without the buffer of the glasses, piercing into his soul. Grell felt his heart beat speed up and saw little sparkles on the edge of his vision - although that might have more to do with the asphyxiation than any sort of shoujo manga dramatics.

Ah, if he had to die, Grell would gladly do it in Will's arms. (Or Sebastian's. Or that hot new intern's, 3 cubicles away from his desk.) In any case, Grell was absolutely and retardedly happy and all he could do to show for it was give Will loving smiles and hope that Will didn't /really/ go through with his threats.

The shoujo sparkles and hearts-and the incredibly sappy smile that Grell tossed his way-were evidence enough that the red-headed shinigami neither cared nor was even paying attention to Will's words.

The supervisor sighed to himself and finally released the other, taking his glasses out of his breast pocket. "I don't even know why I bother," the clean-cut shinigami murmured to himself. "You're a joke to the department regardless."

Shaking his head, Will looked Grell up and down, eyes narrowed and sharp. He wondered, not for the first time, who the imbecile was who had hired this incompetent in the first place.

In an absent gesture, Will rested his deathscythe against a shoulder: it extended suddenly and neatly snipped yet another cinematic record just as it was beginning to wind down.

Had Will voiced his doubts on which imbecile had hired him, Grell would have happily informed Will that Vice Director Davidson had voiced similar doubts on the day of his interview. A few minutes later, said Vice Director was complaining for quite a different reason with Grell's mouth, hot and too slow, around his cock. And a few minutes after that, he stopped trying to talk entirely.

But! How fortuitous for Will to have never mentioned it! Grell had skirted death once again, without even knowing!

In any case, Grell was busy catching his breath - and waiting for the sparkles in the corners of his vision to fade. The red-haired shinigami leaned against the wall, eyed his superior through lowered lashes.

"So, if I'm the worst in the department, what can I do to" -get into your pants- "er, improve?" Grell quickly amended and flashed what was hopefully an appropriately remorseful look. "Why don't you give me a few pointers, Will? After all, you're the best, right~?"

William T. Spears just Looked at Grell over the edges of his glasses that he had replaced, expression unimpressed and really rather intimidating (for those not Grell for it seemed that Grell was intimidated by very few things, if anything at all). "Your attempt at brown-nosing is rather pathetic," the red-head's supervisor deadpanned, "and will not improve your current situation at all."

And the fact that he had been paired with Grell in the first place...?

He would ensure that the other shinigami was given paperwork. Overloaded with paperwork. Filling out paperwork for the rest of his unnatural life so that Grell was kept away from the field (where he was useless) and out of Will's hair.

The sharp, cutting -ah!- delightful expression that Will gave him sent small shivers down Grell's spine. It just wasn't fair that Will looked like that all the time! How was Grell to defend his pure, innocent, maiden heart from such temptation?

"It's true I'm not exactly suited to this sort of field work..." Grell nibbled on the tip of his pinky, trying not to look at his pathetic pair of scissors. They both knew his specialty was killing. And while every shinigami's specialty was killing, Grell was especially good at it. He had speed, finesse, and most importantly, a keen sense of the aesthetics of blood. Besides, it had been this job or being a librarian. Although being a librarian meant that Grell could have worn a skirt. With stockings. And a pair of blood red pumps. Hmm...

"But there is something I'm very good at~" Grell couldn't help but grin, the points of his teeth glinting in the dark.

Will just gave Grell another Look, eyebrows raising briefly as he glanced the incompetent shinigami over.

"You mean that you're actually talented at something?" he asked, surprised and not a little bit shocked. Picturing Grell being competent at some activity or another was particularly surprising and, honestly, Will very much doubted that he was actually telling the truth: he had been around Grell long enough to realize that the other shinigami failed spectacularly at... well.

Everything.

Oh. OH. OH MY. Grell was absolutely beside himself and wasn't sure how to handle it.

Did Will just...? Ask?

A small glance at his superior's slightly quizzical, completely serious expression confirmed it. Will had no idea what he was talking about.

No no no, Grell shouldn't be surprised. Will wasn't the type to listen to office gossip, and short of handing out missions, they were rarely assigned together. So Will wouldn't know about Grell's (formidable, well-deserved) reputation.

Still, like an actress who walked into a comedy expecting to enact a tragedy, Grell found himself being surprised. And wasn't exactly sure how to go about it. In fact, Grell had expected to get punched in face a few times. (Ahh, Will turned him into such a masochist~)

In the spirit of masochism, Grell mentally shrugged and stepped in front of his superior. What was the worst that could happen? ...that he would die, messily and horribly... But! The best thing that could happen? It would be the most amazing 15 seconds of his life! And Grell's cup was always full! (Even if he only ever managed to be an A-cup!)

"Well, yes but..." the red-haired shinigami's smile was two parts coy and one part adrenaline, "maybe it's just easier to show you."

With that, a few quick battles with buttons, a zipper, and the particularly stubborn elastic of white cotton briefs, Grell was swallowing Will whole.

And it was glorious.

Grell ran his tongue along the length, worshiping the hardening silk with his lips. His tongue lapped and traced Will's cock to the tip before he took his entire length back in, impossibly far, and swallowed around it. He'd been right: it was the most amazing 15 seconds of his life. And hopefully, Will thought so enough to make it a minute. Or at least 10 more seconds.

When Grell fell to his knees before Will and his fingers quickly unbuttoned his pants, the anal-retentive shinigami had only a second or two to decide that he'd happily put up with the paperwork if it meant that he'd get the chance to kill Grell-

But then the redheaded shinigami's mouth closed around his cock, and Will had other things to think about (or not, as was more specifically the case, since his mind turned blank with pleasure).

It had been decades since he had last had sex: too much overtime because of departments being severely understaffed and because higher-ups sending him out to fix situations that incompetents like Grell usually caused on nearly a daily basis. It was too much additional work to go out and find someone to share his bed, and by the time he returned to his home at night... even his hand seemed like too much effort.

So that just left Will with his tight control and his work-for years.

...perhaps too many years considering the fact that Will's fingers clenched in Grell's long hair, thrusting his hips forward with a muted snarl.

If Grell believed in heaven, he was in it right now. That raw, unhinged, ridiculously sexy sounds that Will was making - it was almost embarrassing how hard it made him. It was all he could do swallow around Will's cock, run his tongue along the underside, and hang on as Will thrust again into his mouth. It was so fortuitous that shinigami didn't really have to breathe!

It was such a happy surprise that Grell still wasn't bleeding, or maimed (or dead). A peek up at his superior would have made Grell gasp - if he had air to, that is. A few locks of disheveled hair framed Will's face. Oh, that expression - Ahh, if only Grell could have this moment forever, to reply in his mind every time Will looked at him.

Dragging this on, however, wasn't exactly what Grell had in mind. Sooner or later, his superior would probably wake up and punch him -hopefully not in the face! But before that could happen... Grell ran his hands up Will's thighs and began to move in tandem to Will's thrusts, hollowing his cheeks and sucking in earnest. Better to pick up the pace here than regret things later~

The change of pace and the sudden (more?) earnestness in which Grell began to suck Will off encouraged a bit-back curse from the supervisor, honey-green eyes wide and intense in such a different way than usual. So typically cold with contempt and frigid capability, they were heated now with simple lust-desire that Will hadn't bothered to feel for very many years.

His fingers clenched tight in the redhead's hair, dragging Grell closer and fingernails scoring over the other shinigami's scalp, though he didn't manage to draw blood.

When Will finally came, it was with tendons in his neck standing out starkly, glasses lost and hair disheveled about his face.

Rough-edged and carnal.

Grell was both surprised and deliriously happy that he barely felt his hair being yanked about - although at any other time, he would have complained about it, after all, it'd take him hours to de-tangle the knots - but right now, Will was coming hard and rough into his mouth and the world was absolutely perfect.

Well, it could have been a little more perfect if Will had given him a warning. That way, Grell would have made sure to swallow all of it, instead of letting a small, precious amount trickle down the corner of his lips. Still, he softly kissed down the length of Will's cock, and sat back with a contented sigh.

He was achingly hard, and at times like this, wished he were a woman more than anything else. If he were, it wouldn't have been so obvious what state he was in. Still, his superior looked fantastically ravishing - or rather, ravished. Grell couldn't help but undo the zip of his own pants, catch the drop of Will's come from his lips and slick himself with it.

Of course, what he really wanted was for Will to take him, hard against the wall, right now. Grell opened his legs a little wider and gave a moan. That is, if he could hold out for much longer.

But with the daze of pleasure finally fading—the surprise that Grell had caused to swoop down and take control of him, as temporary as it had been—Will was once more… well. Himself.

"Hurry up and finish so that we can go back to work," he said, doing up his pants once more and smoothing his hair to lie flat and tamed as it had been before Grell's initial pouncing.

The only indicator that he was still affected by their actions, however, was the fact that the shinigami's voice retained a bit of its initial huskiness.

…but who knew? Maybe a frigid, contemptuous Will would still turn Grell on.

Maybe.

As it happened, a frigid, contemptuous Will always turned Grell on. The problem on hand, however, was not being turned on, but about getting off.

Grell made a small, frustrated noise in the back of his throat. Will's work ethic was certainly admirable, and that made him a nice catch for any girl -or gender-confused shinigami. But Grell had hoped that he'd be a bit... slower... to recover from all that.

But! An idea! Ever the optimist, Grell bit his lip and -alas!- slowed his hand. The red-haired shinigami looked up and looked imploringly through his lashes.

"Well, if you help me... we can get back to working faster."

"I can't believe how incompetent you are," Will said with a much put-upon sigh.

And, needless to say, the demonstration of Grell's competency in at least one area was very much forgotten because if Will did take the time to think about it, he'd be horrified at his reaction—the loss of control and just how driven by basic, primeval desire he had succumbed to. So the easiest thing to do was just pretend that it never happened, ensure that it never happened again, and hurry Grell up so that they could get back to work and clocking in for overtime.

(Will made a note, too, to do his very best to make sure that he and Grell would never be partnered again to be guaranteed that… that… never happened again.)

Knowing that his movements were clumsy, more mechanical than organic—and most definitely not sensual—the normally prim shinigami knelt at Grell's side, pushed the annoyance's hands away, and then leaned down to take the crown of the other's erection into his mouth, sucking at it lightly.

Insanity must be catching, because no one in their right mind—myself-would ever do this otherwise, Will thought to himself as he swallowed again and hoped that Grell would just hurry it up already since they were already overbooked and behind schedule.

"Ahhhhhhhnn~"

It was amazing, it was incredible, it was was was- Grell's brain dissolved in a fit of fizzy bubbles of happiness.

There was no way that his superior, William T. Spears was was was-! His mouth was-! After all, it was one thing if the old men at the office turned out to be interested, but Will? Will?

But no! What was Grell doing, thinking of other people at a time like this? Especially with Will's mouth on him! Moving even! Ahhh, this was the happiest day of his liiiife~

Grell gave a low, encouraging moan and carded his hand through Will's hair, careful not to pull even though he was quickly becoming undone. He was a lady after all, and there were proper manners for this sort of thing.

"Mmm, Will, if you - ahh- keep going, I'm going to-!" Grell's emerald eyes were already half-slitted with pleasure. Still, with Will's mouth right there and unyielding and perfect, Grell would drag it on for as long as he could!

Unfortunately for Grell, Will most definitely didn't want it dragging on for as long as possible—they had cinematic records to look over, the beginnings of a mystery to investigate, and it was rather difficult to do said investigation with his so-called "partner" writing about on the floor and going on about how he was going to come but not actually doing it.

It was rather irritating.

(But, then again, most things about Grell was irritating, so why should this be any different than all the rest?)

Checking a sigh as Grell went about wailing like a cat in heat, he swallowed deep and sucked hard, eyes meeting Grell's as his gaze gave a very blatant command: Come. Now.

It was the exact moment that their eyes met that Grell fell completely and absolutely silent. Will's commanding green gaze held him utterly still

Then, inexplicably, those eyes narrowed and Will's mouth swallowed around him. Grell arched and came with a silent gasp.

It was a few moments before he could catch his breath, do anything but lay there, eyes glazed with pleasure. Then Grell sat up, lips pulling with a teasing smirk. He caught Will's face in both hands, entwined long, perfectly manicured fingers in inky black tresses and kissed the other man.

Perhaps it was out of shock that Will opened his mouth to Grell. In any case, their tongues met somewhere in the mess of saliva and seed, burning hot and viscous. Grell would have grinned if he could - of course Will wouldn't have swallowed. He'd have to help, apparently.

And perhaps Grell should have remembered that Will bit: both metaphorically with his words and… well. Literally.

The (usually, but not always) paper-pushing shinigami snarled, biting the tongue that had invaded his mouth, and pushed Grell away, shifting to pin the redhead down, fingers tight and unrelenting around the other's wrists. Will turned to the side, spitting out Grell's come, and then proceeded to direct a curious stare at the man beneath him.

"Enough. You've had your fun," he snapped, temper slipping and turning his eyes bright as his fingers tightened around Grell's wrists to the point that the redhead would be sporting bruises in the shape of Will's fingers.

When this was done and over with, Grell would be buried beneath a mound of paperwork for an eternity, with no hope of promotion, release, or salvation—an endless purgatory of forms and office work that would chain him to his desk forever.

It was a good thing Grell wasn't a mind reader. Paperwork was entirely unsexy, and fortunately (or unfortunately), Will was exactly the opposite.

The red-haired shinigami ran his bruised tongue across his lips, tasting copper and reveling in it. His hands scraped uncomfortably against cobblestone and Will's hands were like an iron band around his wrists.

How simply delightful!

It seemed that Will was quite a sadist - and that suited Grell just fine. Perfectly, in fact. He was thrilled to be rediscovering himself to be quite the masochist in his partner's presence.

With his lips gleaming and blood red, Grell grinned with all his teeth. "Are you going to punish me then?"

"Yes," Will answered, smile coldly vicious as he looked down at the long-haired shinigami. "Desk work for the rest of your life."

Sadist, indeed.

Grell blinked. Then sighed a bit wistfully. Oh Will was just sooo Will. And that's what Grell found attractive about his superior. Not to mention that taboo office romances were so sneakily sexy! Making out by the copy machine! A fond grope by the coffee maker! A hearty and steamy session in the cubicle!

Speaking of which...

"Well, at least I'll be able to blow you under a desk sometime," Grell arched his back and just barely managed to lick Will's lips, "It'd be so great for work morale!"

Will recoiled in… well, shock.

Did the other shinigami not have any sense of self-preservation? …then again, Will did have to take into consideration that he was thinking such thoughts about a shinigami who had, very happily, "duked it out" with a demon and intended to make it into a romantic liason…

Grell was a nutcase and should have been handed over to their version of Bedlam because there was no other place that made sense for him—certainly not the division that Will headed.

Add on the fact that Grell seemed to believe that this… this would be continuing…?

Will's answer, once again, was succinct: "No."

"But you'll like it!" Grell pouted and fluttered his eyelashes. Evidence really showed that Will had liked it tonight. And Grell wasn't about to let him forget it anytime soon!

Really, Will was just being... shy! He was like a sullenly hot, bashful Hamlet - rejecting his true love Ophelia (who was played by none other than Grell himself) due to the conflicts in his heart! Of course, they didn't need that bit where Ophelia's father sleeps with Hamlet's mother, the poor dear. And Grell wasn't about to jump in a lake and drown himself anytime soon - just think what would happen to his hair! What what what had Ophelia been thinking?

"Besides, you'd have to admit it would be..." Grell fished around for something that sounded professional, "convenient! Efficient, even!"

"No," Will answered simply enough, just… flat-out refusing to even acknowledge the hopeful pitter-patter of Grell's heartfelt delusions. One should never encourage a nutcase—it just made their problems worse (and other people being forced to deal with them, as well, much as Will was very much starting to realize).

His fingers tightened warningly around Grell's wrists—hoping that the other wouldn't do anything stupid, though Will wasn't holding his breath for that—before finally releasing the other shinigami.

"We've wasted enough time with unnecessary things. Go back to work," the efficient supervisor ordered, reaching out and picking up his deathscythe once more, resting it idly on a shoulder as he looked down at the redhead, eyes cold and unreadable once more.

"Oh all right, Willums - what ever you say dear~" Grell (elegantly, gracefully) tucked himself back in and flounced onto his feet.

I mean, really, Grell wasn't adverse to work. He was in the Collections Department for a reason, albeit not for paperwork. He'd just end up giving those poor, tasteless documents a faaaabulous makeover - as chains of hearts or stars or bitsy!Sebaschans! Ohh, that idea was positively darling~!

Besides, if Grell was demoted to paper shuffling, it really wouldn't take him too long to re-promote himself back into field work. General Supervisor Lancaster had been casting lingering looks (not to mention lingering hands) at Grell for a few months now. While the man was an oaf (and ugly to boot), sometimes sacrifices needed to be made in the name of true love! Besides, Will wouldn't refuse orders that came above him in the chain of command, the poor straight-arrowed dear.

...maybe if he did Lancaster a particularly good "favor," he'd even convince him to give Willums less hours! Grell snuck a glance over at his partner and gave him a warm smile. Oh, he was so overworked~ He looked like he needed more vacation time, with yours truly of course!

So, needless to say, Grell was far far faaaar from giving up. But for now, he hummed a bar from some human dittle -something about being "pretty and witty and gay"- and went back to cutting dull cinematic records. With flourish!

---

Ciel Phantomhive finally allowed himself to breathe a sigh a relief as the carriage rounded the corner and officially left his estate. A whole morning and most of an afternoon wasted.

On top of that, he was also sporting a small, but insistent headache. It was thanks to Lizzie, of course - she had been so excited to show Ciel her new rose perfume that she'd sprayed it directly into his nose. And like all of Lizzie's farewell presents, it couldn't be easily cleaned off and tasted pink. Ciel resisted the urge to rub at his temples.

"We're leaving." Ciel didn't need to see Sebastian to feel the demon's shadow on his back. The sooner they headed out for the Undertaker's and started gathering clues, the sooner Ciel would start feeling productive again. Ironically enough, thanks to Lizzie, he wouldn't have to smell the Undertaker for once.

"Of course," Sebastian said in answer, not bothering to hide his amused smile from Ciel: it flavored the tone of his voice, as well, and the demon knew that that would just irritate the young lord even further. "I'll go and fetch the carriage."

And since it was Sebastian and Sebastian was nothing if not exceptionally competent, it wasn't much longer before the demon was helping his contractor into the carriage, easing in after Ciel, and rapping on the carriage roof to signal the driver to start towards London.

The ride was uneventfully swift and after what seemed a few moments, Sebastian was guiding the boy off the carriage. Ciel couldn't help but notice how cold and hard the butler's hand was under his glove. It was appropriate, at least.

After a few steps, the mortuary loomed into focus. The dark, cobweb encrusted walls seemed to mar the bright, sunny horizon. Though the streets were fairly crowded this time of day, pedestrians gave the building a wide berth.

Biting back a sigh, Ciel stepped off cobblestones and pushed open the creaking door.

"Undertaker. We're here for information."

"Still putting off my offer of making you a custom coffin?" came the shinigami's creaking, eerie voice from the innards of the building. "You know that people like you don't live for very long, Earl…"

"The information, only," Sebastian commented before Ciel could start his annoyed correction at Undertaker's words. Though the mortician acted odd and otherwise unassuming (though exceptionally odd to most other people), he knew the Phantomhive heir well—and what usually raised the boy's ire.

They couldn't afford to waste time, but the demon still couldn't help but be amused.

"You know the deal… heh heh heh… And this time, I want the Earl to make me see Nirvana."

Ciel refrained from putting his face in his hands. Today was slowly slipping from "terrible" to "horrible." The headache he was trying to ignore took this moment to start pounding at his temples - it reminded him of Finny weeding the garden.

Still, like the Undertaker said, he did know the deal. With a determined sigh, Ciel shoved his butler a few feet past the doorframe and shut the door in Sebastian's nose. The smug bastard.

Turning, Ciel shot the Undertaker with a glare. He would make this man laugh. A few weeks ago, he had overheard his servants making jokes on the foyer. Finny's were... well, Ciel really didn't think that jokes ended in "happily ever after." Maylene's jokes had excessive amounts of... inappropriate relations about men and... other men? Boys? Ciel tried not to think too hard about it. At least Bard's seemed... usable.

Ciel took a breath.

"A pirate with a peg leg, a hook hand, and an eyepatch walks into a bar. An English gentleman at the bar buys him a drink and asks him how he lost his leg. The pirate says that a shark ate it. The gentleman asks how he lost his hand. The pirate says that it was during a swordfight. Then the gentleman asks how he lost his eye. The pirate pauses, and then admits that it was because a seagull dropping fell in his eye. The gentleman is appalled - how did something like that happen? he asks."

Ciel paused, and glared straight at Undertaker, "Well, the pirate says, it was my first day with my hook."

"AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!"

Figuring that Ciel had—surprisingly—managed to make the Undertake laugh considering how loud that laughter was (to the point of once more breaking off the sign on the front of the building), Sebastian finally stepped back into the mortuary.

Seeing Undertaker sprawled out over one of his coffins, still shuddering with delight, Sebastian raised an eyebrow as he looked at his contractor. "Bocchan, commendable job."

It seemed as if his master wasn't completely at odd's ends without him.

Ciel gave a little huff of irritation and gave his butler a small glare under the fringe of his lashes. He'd have to take more note of Bard's jokes, it seemed. At least he didn't waste too much time here.

"So," the earl turned to Undertaker, his features hard and all business (despite the slight pinking of his cheeks that refused to disappear), "We're here for information about the recent Protestant and Catholic murders."

Undertaker still continued to chuckle, though it was obvious that he was trying his best to get himself under control—a difficult thing to do considering the fact that he hadn't expected Ciel to actually make him laugh in the first place. After all, the young nobleman had managed to do so only once more. But it appeared as if Ciel had been practicing since then.

Ah, well. Perhaps it meant that he would see Nirvana more often…?

"There isn't much information about the murders," the mortician admitted as he made tea, offering up the beakers to Ciel and his butler. "But that, in actuality, isn't very surprising. The bodies were sacrificed and the souls were gone. Who, I wonder, would have that sort of power?"

The Undertaker tilted his head to the side as he turned his hidden gaze to Sebastian.

The demon in question just smirked.

Ciel gave both of them a distinctly unimpressed look.

If souls were gone, then a demon - Sebastian? No, Sebastian's aesthetics were too perfect to let him snack on random (and thoroughly uninteresting) souls. Unless of course, Sebastian was using these souls to bait him into a game of sorts: it would amuse the demon to see how long Ciel could run in circles until he figured out that the culprit was his own loyal (ha!) butler. It would be the first time Sebastian took their game to this large of a scale. A small, foolish part of Ciel hoped that it wasn't Sebastian, would never be Sebastian, but that was quickly quashed down with his rational mind.

He would find out the culprit, no matter who, and divvy out justice. That was the role of the Watchdog.

"Is that all you have to tell me?" Ciel Phantomhive demanded, his left eye bright and hard as a sapphire. Despite the question being spoken to Undertaker, he was looking directly at Sebastian.

"No," Undertaker answered, bemused at the look that Ciel was now giving his demon—so little trust that the tiny master had for his ever-so-loyal butler! Children these days had such a lack of faith.

…the same, too, as the priests who died.

"The men who died were all high-ranking religious officials."

Ciel noted his butler's lack of response and turned back to Undertaker, his expression carefully neutral. "High-ranking religious, pious men, dead from having their souls stolen," his lip quirked in a small smirk, "how ironic."

His only suspect was Sebastian - since Sebastian was the only demon he's met. Still, he knew better than to limit his search to that. There were other demons, of course. It just seemed too inanely stereotypical: Priests with their souls stolen by a demon.

"We're leaving." Ciel gave a nod to Undertaker and instead of waiting for Sebastian to open the door for him, stepped out first. "I'm sure that Lord Randall's grown insane of sitting in the waiting room," Ciel's smile didn't reach his eyes, "and that, of course, is the perfect time to acquire some answers."

Before Ciel could completely leave, however, Undertaker couldn't resist giving over one last tidbit of information since the Earl had done such a fantastic job with the joke: "Just because a man is high-ranking does not make him necessarily religious. Or pious. Or faithful," the shinigami said with a small chuckle, closing the door after the young nobleman.

Once outside, Sebastian opened the carriage door for his contractor, stepping into the small confines with Ciel. He knew that an interrogation would probably be following—

But one that he would look forward to participating in since it seemed as if his bocchan had so little faith in his demon aesthetics.

Said demon raised an eyebrow at Ciel.

Ciel merely looked out the window, a neutral expression slammed onto his face. Of course, he had wanted to retort to Undertaker, of course he knew that. Religion was just a way for humans to block out the bleak reality of life, to fool themselves into thinking that in their darkest hour, a bright savior would appear. His mother had been religious, pious, faithful and in the end, nothing had saved her, nor his father, nor himself.

Those in religious power were often the culprits of horrifying events, leading those blindly faithful to do anything. Like the cult that branded him. Ciel mentally steeled himself against a wave of nausea. The moment passed and Ciel kept his gaze on the scenery outside the window, ignored that amused-collected-exasperated-infuriating expression that he knew Sebastian was wearing.

"I've never seen you meet with other demons. Are all demons always so solitary?"

"Some are. Others aren't. Some prefer to lead a band of kin in whatever goal he or she has in mind. On the other hand, some prefer to work alone," came the ready answer. It would have been obvious to Ciel, too, of which kind his own demon allied himself with.

Besides that, it was always so much more cumbersome to work with other demons: they always expected a portion of the prize for themselves—something that Sebastian had never enjoyed dealing with since he, without fault, always carried out the more complicated parts of the plans.

He was selfish, too.

The thought of ever having to share Ciel's soul with another, letting another demon close with hunger in his eyes…? Letting another touch his contractor…?

The light within the carriage deepened, darkened for a moment before passing, and Sebastian's gaze remained trained upon Ciel.

"I don't like playing with others."

Ciel allowed himself a genuine smile to Sebastian's answer. It was so very, very typical of his demon.

"I didn't think that you did." The earl turned his head and finally let their gazes meet, his own eye sparkling mirth. Then, it was gone and his expression schooled still once more. "Is this incident truly caused by a demon? And if so, do you know of them?"

"With the lack of souls for shinigami to collect, I do believe that this is the work of a demon. As to who it might be…" Sebastian shrugged a little, the red of his eyes deepening as he continued to meet his bocchan's gaze. "I won't know for sure until we have more information: the way that the priests were murdered, visiting the sites in Rome so that we can inspect them firsthand. After all, my lord, there are many demons for one to call upon."

Ciel could, perhaps, consider himself lucky that Sebastian had answered his call and not another.

"Really?" Ciel caught the small flicker of blood red in Sebastian's eyes, felt an answering heat in his own right eye, "So I might have called upon a demon other than you?"

Not for the first time, Ciel wondered about the circumstances of their meeting. To this day, he still wasn't sure whether Sebastian was summoned as a result of the cult's ritual bloodbath or Ciel's pure desperation. He never questioned the results - he'll never question if he deserves Sebastian; it's an exercise in futility and Ciel never dwells on those - but sometimes, like today, he wondered about how Sebastian went about choosing his contracts. Doubtless, he's had plenty.

He wondered if all of them end in the same way (Most likely) and if Sebastian will even remember him in a few centuries (Definitely not).

"So, Rome is it?" Ciel reined his thoughts back to the task at hand. "I've never been there before."

Sebastian smiled at both of Ciel's questions-though he didn't answer the first: the young nobleman could have summoned a different demon, but thete was something within Ciel's soul that had resonated with Sebastian, and he had managed to answer the cry within the darkness first. First to claim and thus, Ciel was his and his alone.

After a moment, however, Sebastian gave an answer to Ciel's second question: "Yes, the clues will eventually be guiding us to Rome-so we might as well just immediately go there before the murders in England worsen. Rome is..."

The demon paused for a moment, finally shaking his head with a smile as he fell silent.

The Phantomhive Manor loomed into view before Ciel finally replied, "I take it you've been there then."

Knowing his demon, the last time Sebastian was at Rome was probably during the Roman Empire. Perhaps whispering sweet honeyed poison in an Emperor's ear. It seemed appropriate somehow.

What was not appropriate was the odd image of Sebastian in a toga. Ciel bit the inside of his cheek as the carriage rattled to a stop. Definitely strange.

He had barely stepped into the main hall when a loud, baritone echoed through the foyer, followed by heavy hurried steps. Ciel expected it and greeted Lord Randall with a raised eyebrow.

"Ciel Phantomhive - do you know how long I was kept waitin-"

"Lord Randall. The pleasure is all mine." Ciel abruptly cut the man off, decided he liked that shade of red on that inflated face, "Unfortunately, I have other engagements. I'll be leaving for Rome shortly."

"Rome?" the man stuttered, his face turning a blotchy shade of purple. A little more and it would match his navy uniform. "Do you know how long I've been waiting? Why on earth would y-"

"I'll be once again solving murders that the Yard can't, of course," Ciel gave the man a slow, honeyed smile - one that he learned from a demon himself, "If you'll excuse me. Sebastian, see Lord Randall out."

And with that, he turned with a sharp snap of heeled boots against marble and headed towards his study. Finally, his headache was starting to clear up.

"If you would please follow me, Lord Randall," Sebastian said as he settled a hand at the small of the Yard's chief's back to effortlessly guide the older gentleman to the doors of the mansion.

Even with Lord Randall still protesting, the bemused demon settled the arrogant man's cape about his shoulders and, before the policeman realized what was going on, tucked him into the carriage and sent him on his way.

Knowing that the edge of Ciel's temper had blunted with his treatment of Lord Randall, Sebastian headed up the grand staircase to his bocchan's study-Ciel's typical retreat in that only Sebastian was allowed access out of all of the servants.

"Lord Randall was sent on his way," the demon butler commented idly as he helped the boy out of his traveling clothes.

Ciel gave a small nod of acknowledgment as he allowed his coat to be unbuckled, his gloves to be slowly peeled off cold fingers. The study calmed him, as it always did. The large mahogany desk once reminded him of his father. In recent years, Ciel had made it his own with haphazard piles of files across its polished veneer.

Taking a seat in the large arm chair, Ciel idly flipped through the Funtom Company's quarterly sales report. His new product - a chewy toffee-like candy made from gum sap - was selling well. Its invention was mainly to Finny - who knew that you could blow bubbles with it? Apparently, an idiot.

Ciel leaned back into the chair, "We'll be leaving first thing tomorrow."

The butler set aside the coat and gloves for a moment, both neatly creased and folded impeccably. They were placed upon one of the chairs against the wall, discarded for the moment so that the demon could focus upon his young contractor.

"You wish to leave so soon?" Sebastian asked idly, coming up behind Ciel. He hovered for a moment, fingertips teasingly brushing against the nape of Ciel's neck before reaching around the boy to gather the books that he was done with.

Hiding a bemused smile, the demon went to put them away, though a sidelong glance allowed him to watch his contractor.

"I don't have a reason to wait," Ciel said with cool confidence, despite biting back the urge to twitch away from Sebastian's ghosting hands, "The sooner we finish with Her Majesty's requests, the better."

The young earl closed his report with an audible snap. "Make the necessary preparations, Sebastian."

---

Similar preparations were going on at the Trancy mansion, as well. The Queen's Spider had received the most recent summons, and Alois was anticipating joining the newest game that would span continents.

The boy danced around Claude, grinning widely as he watched the triplets and Hannah pack the things that he would need.

"Olé!" he called out with a slightly hysterical laugh, wrapping his arms possessively around Claude's arm. "Tell me more about Rome, Claude~ Tell me more of the stories where the people were completely annihilated."

Claude Faustus, capable (and only) butler of the Trancy household, pushed up his glasses.

"I've never been there, Danna-sama," he lied easily. Claude had, in fact, been there a week ago, just to ensure that preparations on that end were going smoothly as well. (They were.) Of course, he wouldn't let his master's first debut into the Queen's order be without fanfare. And heavens forbid if Alois was ever bored with anything.

The said boy was looking up at Claude, eyes blue as the open sky. Claude let his own eyes darken in response. The contract between them was a mere formality before devouring this boy's soul. It was an odd, twisted soul - half dark, half light, without any of the indistinguishable grays in between. He was the most interesting thing Claude had come across in a long while.

"Well, then, Danna-sama - shall we be off?"

"Oh, let's," Alois purred in response, tightening his hold on Claude's arm. His fingers dug into the hardness of the demon's arm, licking his lips so that his contract seal flashed and pulsed briefly.

Owning everything before him-

Owning the "fairy" that he clutched so possessively-

Owning power and wealth and loyalty-

Alois' eyes darkened, turning midnight blue.

Claude felt an answering heat in his left hand, the mark of the contract briefly flaring in proximity to Alois'.

"Yes, Your Highness."

In a single, fluid motion, Claude scooped up the boy in his arms. It took little effort to call upon his power - shadows immediately oozed from under his feet, greedily devouring their surroundings into complete darkness. Cradling knobbly knees and sharp shoulders to his chest, Claude gathered Alois close enough for his lips to brush against the boy's ear.

"Hold on tight," his voice was low, edged with power and demonic resonance. He didn't resist the urge to nuzzle against the soft crook of the boy's neck, to press his lips against the soft skin under the boy's ear.

And then he started walking, his shoes echoing sharply in the silent darkness. Despite the stark black nothingness around them, Claude's steps never wavered. Invisible wisps of spider silk stroked past his cheek, trembling with familiarity, leading him to his destination.

Alois shivered at the feeling of spidersilk upon his skin, echoing the press of Claude's lips upon his throat.

The blonde gave a low sound, turning to bite Claude's lower lip to punish him for not warning him more completely about the darkness.

Claude stopped then, turned his head to take the boy's mouth properly in a breath-stealing kiss. His tongue pressed, violated Alois' mouth in moist, heated strokes - hotter now with the contract on the boy's tongue flaring with each contact.

"I'm here, Danna-sama," he lied, softly, intently, when they finally broke apart, pressed his lips against the boy's eyelids and cobweb-soft hair, "I won't leave you."

Alois moaned softly against Claude's mouth as the demon kissed him-lips parting to draw him closer still.

But then the boy laughed, that half-manic sound, when Claude promised to stay with him-he knew that the demon lied because... Claude was a demon. Alois had no assumptions, knew Claude's true nature.

Alois shifted in Claude's hold to wrap slim legs 'round the butler's waist, rubbing and arching against him in revenge.

Well, that certainly wouldn't do. Claude stilled the boy's wanton movements by pressing a hard kiss against his jugular. Sweetly and suffocatingly kissed his way down to the wings of Alois' collarbones. Kneeling, he set his fragile master onto a net of spiderweb, pressed the boy into his trap until his fine clothes and hair were sticky with silk and darkness.

Disheveled, panting with kiss-swollen lips, the boy was exquisite.

He unfastened the buttons on the boy's shirt first, unzipped his no-longer neatly pleated pants next - did so with the same, even pace that he did every evening. Alois was open to him like a flower blooming and while predators such as himself didn't usually feed on such sweetness, this boy was a perfect combination of honeyed poison. With his claws still carefully concealed under his gloves, the demon spread petal-soft thighs. He tasted the dripping, nectar tip before wrapping his impossibly long tongue around Alois and swallowing him whole.

Alois moaned at that, reaching down before the spidersilk pulled his hands back above his head. Blonde hair fanned over cheeks and web, sticking to flushed cheeks.

"Claude. Make me come and fuck me like a toy," he commanded and looked down, blue eyes sharp.

Golden eyes narrowed, gleamed in the darkness. There it was - that dizzying, enticing dichotomy of beautiful-ugly-pure-dirty. The demon felt himself growl around Alois before he pulled his mouth away. He trailed his tongue lower, greedily invading the boy's entrance, pushing his tongue in as far as he was capable of before he sat up. This time, he ate Alois whole with his eyes.

With some consideration, he took the boy's hands, kissed each finger before forcing them above Alois' head, against the web, watched the shell-like fingernails disappear under tendrils of warm silk. He ripped the half-undone pants off, took the back of the boy's knees and pressed his pale thighs open and apart. The spiderweb accommodated accordingly, twining around Alois legs and ankles, spreading him like a butterfly pinned to a dissecting table.

He gave a small, appraising nod before he buried himself to the hilt, knew that the saliva wasn't nearly enough, felt the boy struggle to arch against his restraints.

"Yes, Your Highness," he finally said, and grinned into the darkness.

Alois gave a cry, body arching and rocking into the thrust. It hurt, a lot, but that made the pleasure sharper still-sex with a demon was fraught with dangers and the pain just compounded it.

Lewdly, Alois licked his lips, lashes lowering as he clenched around Claude's cock.

Gentleness was an illusion. But Alois didn't want it because it would be a lie, and Claude liked lying well enough normally.

Here, the mask fell away.

The demon's eyes darkened in desire, the gold of his irises burnishing copper as this boy - this impossible, broken, beautiful boy - tightened around him. He rewarded Alois' enthusiasm with another hard thrust, felt rather than saw the boy's struggles, tickling through hundreds of spiderwebs.

Yes, all his instincts screamed, Attack now when your prey is in its death throes.

He pulled out almost completely before slamming back into the boy's too-accommodating body. Then he did it again. And again. And again. Claude set an even, unrelenting pace, fucking that unresisting body with inhuman intensity. He ignored the boy's erection, half-hard with pain, instead drank in his mewls and cries like lapping up syrup.

"Danna-sama," he leaned forward and purred against the shell of the boy's ear. His voice was low, but his breathing was unhitched. "Little toy, little whore - you're going come just like this."

To answer that, Alois just chuckled, the sound dark and filled with twisted amusement. Viciously, he bit the demon's throat, blood drawn against his lips and teeth.

"Claude. Claude," he purred lowly. "You always lie." The boy taunted the demon, blue eyes wild with the darkness within, and licked away the blood that trickled over Claude's pulse point.

His demon-though Alois wasn't foolish enough to truly call Claude 'his' after he had seen the results of how Luka had been manipulated-always prided himself on his edged control. And Alois knew that, was aware of his nature-and it was ever so fun to taunt.

The demon gave his contractor an even, level look before taking hold of the boy's slim hips and fucking him viciously. He was probably ripping the boy in two, but Claude had never been particularly careful with Alois and the boy had lived so far.

"Danna-sama," his lips kissed a rosy nipple, licked, bit down on the nub sharply. He trailed his tongue to the hollow of the boy's throat, lapping at the very place that Alois had bit him on his own neck. "I'm not lying."

Abruptly, he sat up and pulled himself out of the boy's quivering body. Once again, he bent over Alois, ran his tongue down the length before teasing the slit. He swallowed around the boy once, twice, again and again, with heat and too-much pressure, sucked the boy's cock as if he was going to devour his soul through it, felt the beginnings of an orgasm, twitching against his tongue.

And then he stopped - pulled away with a lingering lick to the tip.

The spiderweb responded immediately to his power, a few strands dancing forward to wrap, achingly tight, around the base of Alois' cock.

"As I said, Danna-sama," Claude thrust back in, felt the muscles of the boy's entrance spasm rhythmically, greedily welcoming him back, "You're going to come just like this."

It was-understandably so-rather difficult to reply to Claude's statement. Alois was pinned, fucked, used expressly and only for Claude's pleasure. Alois knew that Claude didn't necessarily care if he came or not originally, but now it would be a point of pride for him.

The blonde boy's head rolled back, neck bared vulnerably as his lashes lowered to lid his eyes, gaze veiling.

"Is this all you have, Claude?" Alois continued to taunt, tongue sliding over his lips temptingly. "Even that pathetic geezer at least made me feel as if he had his cock in my arse instead of his little pinky."

And the boy laughed and laughed, the sound rounding out the darkness, ringing through it.

Claude let out an incredulous sigh. With his teeth, he pulled the glove off his left hand. Black nailed fingers circled Alois' lips before plunging into the wet recesses of the boy's mouth. The contract flared immediately, burning as it neared its twin on Alois' tongue.

He ran his other hand down the arch of the boy's spine, sticky with sweat and spider silk, lifted the boy's hips with superhuman ease. Claude buried himself deeper, each thrust rubbing unerringly against the boy's prostate.

Ahhh, he was close, but then again, Claude was a demon. He could force his body to go on for hours longer. The same couldn't be said of his human charge.

That much was true, yes.

A fine tremor shuddered through Alois' body as he tightened and tightened again around the demon that had buried himself deep.

The boy sucked lewdly at Claude's black-tipped fingers, tongue curling greedily around the svelte digits: harder he sucked, as if his lips possessively encircled another part of Claude's body.

He arched and arched higher, lifting himself into Claude's hold, bucking back as the demon thrust deep and rough-would have come himself if not for the spidersilk that circled the base of his cock.

The moan that Alois gave, however...

It would have made a whore blush to hear it.

Claude felt himself growl in response, a noise that was more animalistic than the human guise he wore. Unfortunately for Alois, the demon was rather set on his decision not to lie. Claude would not remove any of the bonds on the boy's cock - if Alois was going to come, he would have to do it on his own.

He removed his fingers from the boy's mouth, ran saliva-wet trails down the boy's cheek like a mockery of tears. With a thought, the webbed bonds on Alois' legs released. Claude lifted his legs over his shoulders, pressed the boy's milk-white thighs against his chest, and nearly bent him in half as he fucked Alois with inhuman strength, each thrust rocking the entirely of the boy's body.

"Come," his voice was raw with power, black and sharp and seductive pressure on his contractor's body, "Come for me, Alois."

The cry that Alois finally gave was guttural with pain and lust, pleasure making his body feel swelled and swollen and too full-filled already to the brim with the demon's cock.

When the boy came, his come was tinged a pale pink, blood mixed in with the force of his orgasm-finding it despite the bindings that Claude had placed upon him.

Teeth bared, shining white in the darkness, Alois slid a thigh off of Claude's shoulder to hook over his waist, drawing the demon closer to catch him in the trap that Claude had attempted to weave.

"Fuck me, Claude," the young contractor ordered with a manic laugh. "Cover me with your scent, you piece of shit."

Another laugh and another still, and Alois teasingly slid his foot over the curve of his sometimes-butler's ass.

"Yes, Your Highness," darkness spilled around them, blurring the edges of Claude's human guise.

The spiderwebs fell off of Alois, unwrapping from his hands, slithering over and away from the mess around his cock. Tendrils of power replaced the bonds, sliding over bruised flesh like raw silk. Darkness flowed around Alois, filling his mouth, oozing down his throat, filling his nostrils. Cool tendrils pressed over his eyes, blinding the boy as Claude felt himself shift from human to demon. He raked hands down the boy's chest, felt his lungs rattle as Alois struggled to breathe. The demon pressed forward, bent down to kiss the boy, his tongue seeking and twining with Alois'. His human form was melting as he thrust in, erratic and deeper. Tendrils of darkness pushed in tandem with his cock, painfully opening the boy further.

With one last, powerful thrust, Claude crushed Alois to him, emptied himself in this beautiful, stupid, human boy.

The darkness receded. The boy in his arms coughed weakly as Claude pulled out. He lifted the boy's legs, pressed his tongue into that ring of loose, bruised, twitching muscle. He tasted blood, Alois, and darkness. Perfect.

The boy laughed weakly as he felt the sensation of Claude's tongue against his entrance, coupled with the slide of come and blood trickling down his thighs.

Reaching down, Alois buried his fingers in Claude's hair, digging in and letting his fingernails scratch and score over the demon's scalp. "You've satisfied me," the boy said, sated and languid beneath the demon's attention.

Those nobles who considered themselves the height of fashion and clothed themselves in velvet and silk never would understand the glory of being clothed in a demon's darkness: left with gaping entrance and essence sliding down to trickle against raw, bruised, and bloodied skin.

Claude fastidiously licked the boy clean, tonguing Alois' abused hole and slowly lapping his way to the mess on his stomach. He took the boy's limp cock into his mouth, delighted in the oversensitive shivers he caused before releasing it to dip his tongue into Alois' navel.

When he deemed the job finished, he sat up, retrieved his master's discarded pants. Lifting uncooperative legs, Claude dressed his master, pulling up zippers and buttoning shirts with the same, sedate pace he did so every morning. His face was a mask once more - not a single hair out of place.

"Glad to be of service, Danna-sama," the demon picked his master up, resumed walking as if nothing had happened, "shall we be off?"

"Let's," Alois chuckled sharply, though it was also obvious that he was softly worn out. The answer mirrored the first one that he had given to Claude before they had gone off, and instead of egging the demon on, he slumped satedly against Claude's chest. His face tucked into the bend of the butler's throat, and Alois yawned and burrowed closer.

He loved it when Claude fucked him because the demon was never afraid to show his true face to the boy.

And though Alois found it difficult to walk several hours later and it was uncomfortable to sit for several days afterwards... their sessions were always, always worth it.

They traveled silently through the darkness for long moments on end and, suddenly, Alois' gave his ringing, verging on hysterical laugh, biting gently at the demon's throat. "Ah, I can't wait to shove all of the pieces off of Ciel's chess board," he said, hiding a smile as he tugged viciously at a strand of Claude's coiffed and tamed hair.

"As you wish, Danna-sama," the demon replied with the same placid stoicism.

It wasn't Ciel Phantomhive that was going to be a problem, but rather Ciel Phantomhive's demon. Claude had dealt with Sebastian Michaelis a few centuries ago - although both of them had worn different skins then. He had (barely) come out on top on that exchange. Claude vaguely wondered if the other demon still held a grudge. The contract he had stolen hadn't been that satisfying of a meal—however, no demon knew how to forgive and forget graciously.

"We're here," he announced and, with that, the darkness bubbled around them and shrank backwards like ribbons of flayed skin, peeling into light. In a few seconds, they were in the midst of an emptied alleyway.

Claude continued walking, his human shoes sounding sharply against cobblestone as he rounded a few corners and turned into the bustling city streets. "Shall I set up accommodations, Danna-sama, or would you prefer to first explore the city?"

"Show me this city that I know that you've been in before, Claude," Alois answered lazily, comfortable in the demon's arms. He yawned, idly covering it with a hand before once more turning his attention to the landscape before him.

Nose twitching when he caught the scent of a stall selling different meats, Alois immediately glanced around to find out where the scent was coming from. It smelled delicious and their fucking had made him hungry.

"…but first, fetch me something to eat," the blonde said, glancing up from beneath his velveteen lashes. Smirking, Alois lightly licked the shell of Claude's ear before tauntingly adding on a, "Please~"

"Of course," Claude made his way to the meat stall, ignored curious stares and hushed whispers as he ordered kebabs of spiced beef, lamb, and chicken. He handed the package to the boy in his arms. Human food smelled like decay.

Then he started his tour.

"Here, we have the Coliseum, Danna-sama," the demon paused in front of the stone monument. "Humans used to kill each other here, quite creatively." In that era, Claude had contracted a young slave who wished for freedom. The boy had used him to slaughter his way through the guards, only to escape into the arena of ravenous lions. His soul had tasted bitter-sweet with desperation.

A few more human-wrought histories later, Claude walked calmly into the center of a circular courtyard, lined with columns of marble saints.

"And this is the Vatican." Lower demons couldn't even step onto the premises; however, demons such as himself could always find a way in. There was no lack of putrid souls in this so-called "holy" place, and though these souls had no flavor whatsoever, they were useful.

"It's dark," Alois whispered to himself, reaching out and caressing a hand over one of the marble saints before digging his fingers into the stone to make it screech from the gesture. The halls—supposedly hallowed—were filled with a twilight atmosphere, heavy with the scent of incense.

But Alois, so sensitive to the eddies—the pull and tug and push upon the light, so like the tides of the ocean—sensed it immediately. There was something tainted here, something rotting at the heart: the religion that claimed to help the poor, to reach out a helping hand to people all around the world… all of the religion's belongings were gilded with gold, other treasures stolen from cultures all around the world.

The blonde boy gave a low, throaty sound of pleasure—the sound that usually only Claude was capable of bringing from him when they fucked—and his gaze sharpened when they settled upon a young bishop. The scent of demon that Claude had coated him with earlier covered this man, too.

"Oh, yes. Him," he moaned softly, smile twisting his lips and echoing in his gaze.

Claude made a minute gesture with his hand and like a puppet jerked forward by a string, the young bishop stumbled his way over. This one was already in Claude's complete control, and once he outlived his usefulness, the demon would simply devour his soul. It wouldn't be a satisfying meal, by any means, but Claude had to lure the Queen's Watchdog here somehow.

Unless, of course, Alois had other desires.

"What would you like me to do, Danna-sama?"

"Kill him," Alois giggled as he leaned over in Claude's hold, curving his hand at the nape of the bishop's neck to dig his fingers into the man's skin. He grinned widely, pressing his mouth to the other man's and shoving the bishop's lips apart with a thrust of his tongue.

He kissed the Catholic man, tasting the rotting darkness that clung like spidersilk to his body. He was a toy to be used, same as the role that he sometimes liked playing with Claude—but this toy had no true power and, knowing his demon, Alois was aware that there would be many other men in the Church that were just like the one before him.

So one wouldn't be missed.

…

Much.

"Yes, Your Highness." Claude's eyes flashed crimson before reverting to gold. The demon reached out to touch where Alois' mouth was joined with the bishop's and pressed his fingers into the wet heat of his contractor's mouth. He stroked the boy's acid tongue before taking hold of the bishop's chin and ripping off his lower jaw. Blood sprayed in an arc around them as the man tried to scream, only to find his vocal cords missing.

He placed a hand on the writhing bishop's face and crumpled his skull.

"Satisfied?" Claude captured his contractor in a kiss, licked the blood splatters off his face. He stepped over the still-twitching corpse and walked calmly into the inner abbey just as the screams started.

Alois buried his face against the bend of Claude's throat to muffle his laughter, eyes bright and dancing as his arms hugged tightly about the demon's shoulders.

"Again! Again, Claude!" the blonde boy begged, voice joyous as he trailed his fingers along the edge of the butler's jawline. He nipped at Claude's lower lip, licking away the sting as the contract's symbol flared with white heat.

He wanted a trail of bodies to greet Ciel and his own demon when they finally arrived in Rome—punishment, in a way, for the demon who played at being human and the human who played at being a demon.

Oh, the game was perfectly entertaining—and it was ever so much fun to leave behind clues for the Watchdog to find that had nothing at all to do with the actual case. And seeing, too, just the barest tip at how far his own demon's web reached-

Perfectly, perfectly splendid.

Tightening his hold of Alois with his left hand, Claude whirled amongst a throng of panicked, filthy humans. The thick gush of blood as throat gashed open; a heart ripped, still-beating from a chest; gray brain matter smeared across white marble - the demon had danced this dance before, knew the steps perfectly. By the time he was done, his black shoes were polished with the sticky sheen of copper and the saints along the walls were more red than white. His right arm was filthy with tattered remains of human tissue and there was no one left alive, much less whole.

He wouldn't devour these tasteless souls. Perhaps the triplets or Hannah might - Claude reached out to them with a beckoning of power and felt them nearby.

"Will that be all, Danna-sama?" he murmured, as if they're standing in the foyer of the Trancy mansion, instead of in the middle of a massacre.

"Oh, Claude…"

The answering sigh was a happy one, a boy ecstatic in the gift that his butler had presented to him. Surveying the full range of death all around him, Alois shivered in delight and tightened his arms around Claude's shoulders: for everyone, everywhere, to be annihilated—his dearest wish, though not the one that he wanted to hand over to Claude so that the demon might fulfill it.

Almost childishly, Alois swung his legs as Claude continued to carry him over the bodies and the gore, blue eyes wide as he took it all in: there was no fear in Alois' gaze, not of the threat of death that the demon who carried him could have oh-so easily dealt to him, as well.

One day, Claude would kill him as easily as the demon had killed those around the both of them. But that day was not today, and today was—instead—the day where Alois could rejoice in the utter carnage and the fact that Ciel's game had suddenly become that much more twisted.

---

Ciel startled awake, panting as he threw off suffocating sheets. Wrapping his arms around himself, the earl nearly bit his lip through as he willed himself to stop shaking. He hated remembering his dreams - they were made worse in waking when he knew them to be what they really were - memories. He couldn't even lie to himself that it had only been a dream.

"Sebastian," he summoned into the darkness, knowing fully well that his butler would appear despite the late hour.

And of course Sebastian would come: it was a butler's duty, after all, to always be there when his master called.

"What is it, bocchan?" the mahogany-eyed man asked, voice subdued and quiet as he pushed the door to Ciel's bedroom open to step inside. With him, Sebastian carried a candelabra—bringing light to the dim recesses of his contractor's room.

The demon knew what it would be, however:

Late at night with the scent of fear filling the air of the manor, and Ciel's soft, panting breath breaking the otherwise thick stillness of the atmosphere… it was these nights that Ciel remembered and called for Sebastian.

And Sebastian came.

"N-nothing," Ciel tried to focus on slowing his own harsh breathing, "Come here."

Dim golden light flickered from the candelabra, lengthening shadows around his demon. In the sharp contrast of the candlelight, Sebastian's eyes were hooded and Ciel fought against drowning in their crimson depths.

The demon smiled slightly at that, lashes lowering to hood his gaze when he saw that Ciel was staring, breathing still lightly panting. He stepped further into the room, closing the door behind himself as he made his way deeper.

Placing the candelabra upon the bedside table, the butler adjusted the pillows at his bocchan's back, offering up his silent presence until Ciel told him what else he wanted of the demon.

It took a few more moments before his breathing evened. Ciel forced himself to release his white-knuckled grip on the sheets, purposefully leaned back into the pillow, tried not to tremble.

"Stay," he commanded, hated the way his voice hitched despite his best efforts.

Sebastian inclined his head in agreement, beginning to blow out the candles' flames one by one. His movements were quiet in the sudden dark that once more descended, and the demon slipped out of his shoes before easing himself onto the bed behind the young nobleman.

"I am here," Sebastian murmured against the shell of Ciel's ear as he coaxed the boy backwards towards his chest. "I have promised you that I will come to you each time that you call out my name. What happened in the past… I will kill anyone who ever looks upon you in a similar manner, bocchan."

Ciel forced himself not to lean into that deceptive warmth, kept his back rigid and unforgiving despite his heart trying to hammer its way out of his chest.

"Yes," he allowed, his breath a ghost of a whisper.

Lightly, touch deceptively gentle, Sebastian's arm came around Ciel's waist, hand settling over that pounding pulse; with a light tug, the demon pulled off his glove, baring the contract's symbol to Ciel's gaze. Possessively, that hand came to rest over the boy's heart.

"We are bound, you and I. Until the very end, you will never be alone."

Ciel stiffened against the touch, before accepting the heat of the contract and the answering throbbing of his right eye. He took strength from that hand, let it rest as a heavy reminder to his slowing heartbeat.

"Yes," he said again, despite the fact that he hated repeating himself. Then shrugged off the touch.

The smile that Sebastian gave to the back of Ciel's head was bemused—fondly exasperated at the independence that his bocchan always exhibited, constantly striding forwards to do things the way that he wanted to—strong, capable. His.

Carefully, Sebastian extracted himself from the pillows and blankets, once more plumping the bed things so that Ciel could recline comfortably. "Go back to sleep, bocchan," he murmured, voice quiet. "There will be a long journey ahead of us starting tomorrow."

Somehow, the demon's shadow across his body lulled him into an odd sense of security. This one thing in his life, this demon who made his own laws based on his whims and aesthetics, was Ciel's sole point of stability. In the quiet, revealing hours of the night, Ciel silently admitted to himself that everything could fall into shambles around him as long as Sebastian is there to follow his orders, to watch him with those amused, unlying eyes.

It was with this thought that he slowly drifted back asleep. He dreamt again, but this time of Sebastian's smile, razor sharp and comforting.

With Ciel finally asleep, Sebastian leaned over the young boy and pressed a kiss over those closed eyes, lingering a moment longer over his bocchan's right eye. "Sweet dreams, my contractor," he murmured quietly.

The shadows darkened for a moment before retreating so that the pale light of the moon could slip into Ciel's bedroom, illuminating spaces that were originally dark and hidden in shadow.

Satisfied with that, Sebastian settled into the chair at the side of the boy's bed, lashes lowering to hide his gaze as the hours of the night slowly drifted past.

---

Claude barely noticed the first rays of the dawn - he could see well enough in darkness. With the last garment unpacked from the suitcase, the demon looked up and surveyed the hotel master suite for any odd tasks he should complete. The triplets and Hannah were still out, each completing the tasks that he gave them.

He was never completely comfortable with this human guise - he didn't see the need to mingle with humans when he could easily bypass most problems by using his demonic powers. Still, his current contractor had needed a human to oversee his power and this form had been born.

The said contractor was sprawled out the feather bed, a thin ankle and a pale thigh shifting here and there between plush satin. The demon walked over and let his shadow linger over the boy's naked shoulder. Alois' silken hair, aglow in the sparse light, fanned out like a platinum halo. His face was soft, angelic in sleep. Claude ran a finger over Alois' lips and wondered what sort of expression the boy will have when he devours his soul.

But that time was not yet now.

Alois stirred at the touch, lashes lifting as his sapphire-tinted eyes speared Claude with a direct gaze. He allowed the demon to touch him for a moment more before finally moving away: the sleek sheets fell away as the blonde moved up in bed, stretching idly.

He was nude, pale and shining against the dark red of the satin sheets. It echoed the coloring of Snow White in the fairy-tale story that Alois had read to Luka once-upon-a-time ago, though the boy knew that there wouldn't be a happy ending in this particular story.

"Fetch me breakfast," the lordling ordered when his stretch ended and he once more looked over at Claude.

The demon wordlessly moved to comply. In the drawing room, he filled the teapot with boiling water, unwrapped the freshly-baked rolls and readied butter and apricot jam, garnished small toasted crackers with a mix of cream cheese, capers, and olives. He carried the entire tray to place on his master's bed. The scent of Darjeeling filled the room as Claude poured a single cup to set in front of Alois.

"Good morning, Danna-sama," the demon said finally, "I hope that you slept well."

"Mmm. I did," Alois answered, covering a yawn with one pale hand. Running a hand through his hair, the boy finally rubbed at an eye as he reached forward to take the cup of tea from Claude. Everything smelled delicious, but… then again, it was Claude who had been in charge of the menu. "What is on the schedule for today?"

The question was asked idly, little interest in any real answer—more interested in watching any and all facial expressions darting across Claude's face.

It was a new day, but one that would prove to be rather boring since the Phantomhive heir and his own demon hadn't yet arrived in Rome.

Boring, boring, booo~ooooring~~

Claude recognized that look on his contractor's face. Inwardly, he let out a small sigh. Of course, Alois wouldn't be content to simply wait for Ciel Phantomhive to arrive. Knowing Sebastian Michaelis' tendencies, they were probably taking the train or something equally pointless.

The demon broke off a corner of the warm roll, lightly buttered it and smeared a glaze of apricot on it, before carefully pressing it against his master's lips.

"Well, Danna-sama," Claude's face was a perfect, porcelain of mask of blankness as he prepared another bite. "If I could presume to make a suggestion, I was thinking of doing a bit of... recruiting."

Alois chewed neatly on the roll, swallowing it with a reserved expression upon his face, eyes hooded. Once his mouth was free of the food, however, the boy lifted his lashes to watch Claude from beneath the dark veil—midnight blue shifting beneath the curtain.

"And why would you need my permission if you've never attempted to seek it out before, when you… recruited… in the past?" the boy asked, tone sardonic before parting his lips for the next bite.

This time, Claude pressed the cream cheese smeared cracker into the boy's mouth, the tip of his finger lingering slightly against Alois' bottom lip.

"Well, if Danna-sama would recall yesterday's... entertainment, I'm embarrassed to admit that there's no longer enough people to host a proper welcome party for Earl Phantomhive," the golden eyes met and held midnight blue, "And it would save much time if you would kindly give your assistance."

Alois snorted at that, pulling away for a moment to lick the cream cheese from his mouth and taking a sip of his morning tea.

"Your incompetence is rather surprising, but I suppose that I could help with the plans since there's nothing else entertaining while we wait for Ciel's arrival."

The fact that Claude actually needed his active help when the demon was usually so comfortable in using his own powers or making his underlings do things for him…? It was rather disappointing, actually.

The corner of Claude's mouth twitched up into a smirk before his mask of a face reasserted itself. "Thank you for your understanding, Danna-sama."

He slowly, carefully prepared bite after bite of breakfast for Alois. It was after the boy had eaten his fill and Claude had cleaned away the dishes when he returned to his master's bedside.

"Well then, Danna-sama..." he couldn't help the brief flash of red his eyes turned, glowing in the sparse morning light, "Shall we be off?"

"You seem to be forgetting the fact that I'm not yet clothed, Claude," Alois pointed out, glancing at the demon from the corner of his eyes as his voice drawled tauntingly.

The boy slid out of bed at that in preparation for getting dressed: skin bruised and scratched from yesterday's activities, his inner thighs were discolored in dark shades from Claude's attentions.

"Oh? How remiss of me," the demon said contritely, and did not move. Claude's hand reached out, gently rested against the crown of the Alois' head. This time, he allowed a smirk to form unchecked: "But you see, Danna-sama, that won't be necessary."

He caught the boy in his arms as he crumpled forward.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Claude stepped back and surveyed his work. The boy did indeed make a pretty picture. With a small flick of his wrist, Claude wove the spiderweb tighter, lifting the boy's calves and forcing his knees open further. Alois' hands were bound under him, silken webbing roping along the length of his arms, around his back to attach to the ceiling. Cords of web suspended him by his arms, knees, and ankles, The opulent, organized office Alois was dangling in made the sight of him, naked and spread, more obscene.

Claude walked around the boy, making small adjustments here and there. The demon ran a hand down the unconscious boy's chest, sharply pinched a nipple and watched it redden and blossom between his fingers. He undid his tie and used it as a blindfold, and after a few moments of consideration, stuffed a glove into Alois' mouth for good measure.

He ghosted fingers along the boy's limp cock, across a splattering of bruises, and circled the used opening. Here, he thoughtfully uncapped a bottle of oil, worked its contents into Alois until his fingers squelched and slid easily into loose muscle. Anointing oil, it seemed, did have some use after all.

Then, he released his power over Alois. Invisible, the demon watched as the boy slowly returned to consciousness.

He didn't have to wait long. The door opened and the Archbishop stepped into his office and froze predictably. From his vantage point on the ceiling, Claude watched the man take in the strange, obscene, spread boy in front of him, followed his eyes from Alois' pert nipples and oiled entrance, saw sweat bead up on his forehead, trickle down his temples. The silence was only broken by panting. Then, the man was stumbling forward and fumbling with his zipper.

From high above, the demon felt his web tremble as he caught his prey.

When Alois had agreed to help Claude with his recruiting, this hadn't been what he had in mind-spread open and invitingly as a toy for anyone other than his demon to use.

The sound of panting and fingers fumbling with closures filled Alois' ears, the stink of incense and pathetic men too weak to know what it was they really wanted all the while indulging themselves in their own petty sins. It was their disgusting scent that filled Alois with rage, screaming his fury at Claude around the gag of the demon's glove.

The darkness within him swelled, surging against his mind when the Archbishop clutched at the boy's hips to drag him closer, swinging Alois' bound body as he thrust forward: and Alois couldn't stop the way that his back arched, cock hardening at the feeling of being full once more.

But it wasn't Claude doing this to him, it wasn't Claude that Alois would push to the edges of control-and that fact made Alois want to shatter the world.

The boy's anger washed over the demon and Claude couldn't help but lick his lips. The boy was delectable like that, one mouth muffled and unwelcoming, the other full and inviting. Below, the Archbishop picked up his pace, his frenzied movements violently vibrating Claude's web. All too quickly, the man thrust forward and emptied himself in his beautiful, furious master.

The door creaked open just as the Archbishop pulled out, a thin line of come still connecting him to the boy's twitching hole. There were two men at the door, younger and possibly the Archbishop's aides. All three men were frozen in shock. Claude smelled terror and arousal and found himself amused as he looped invisible threads around the newcomers, pulled their protesting bodies into the office.

His little master did the rest of the work.

And his little master still horded the fury at Claude, keeping it close-

But it wasn't the sex that filled Alois with anger, just as the newcomers moved forward to fill him with something else that was just as hard and unforgiving.

One of the aides fumbled with the closures to his pants, giving a broken, hollow moan as he was able to push his trousers down, shoving deep into the boy's open, arching body. He began to thrust, movements rough and wild as Alois' body tensed and relaxed, tightening greedily when the man slammed home.

The other aide tilted Alois' head back with trembling, unsteady fingers-tugged the gag from the blonde's mouth.

"If I be dragged to sin, make it worth my while," the man huskily commanded, knowing almost instinctively what would be happening once this was all over. But that still didn't stop him as he pushed forward, Alois' lips already parting immediately to draw the aide's cock deeper, tongue cradling the man's erection and firmly pressing the symbol of his contract against the vein that ran along the underside of the aide's cock.

The man cried out in pleasure and began to fuck Alois' mouth as earnestly as his brother was fucking the boy's body.

The blindfold slipped over his eyes, however, and Alois' gaze unerringly found Claude's, eyes challenging and wild even as he drew the two men's cocks deeper into his body, moaning around the one in his mouth as his lips stretched tight: an obscene act and one that Alois had only previously done with Claude.

Claude's eyes flickered a demonic red, smoldering like embers as he watched the newcomers fuck Alois like a ragdoll, eagerly winding his invisible web around their souls with each thrust. He shivered as those azure eyes - now burnished midnight blue with fury and lust - snared his gaze, even as the boy's head was forced back and forth, his mouth dribbling obscenely with saliva and precome.

Claude gently tugged on webbing attached to the aide's soul, his power crooning. Harder, he whispered and the man below struggled to comply, grabbing a fistful of blond hair, yanking Alois' head back and pushing violently down the boy's throat.

Claude amusingly watched as the boy struggled to breathe, his body spasming in denial. Between Alois' legs, the second aide gave a harsh cry and drove into the boy's clenching body hard once, twice, and was still. The man in his master's mouth didn't last much longer.

This time, the men didn't even pull out before the demon spread and reeled in his web again. Four more men stumbled into the room, their cocks already achingly hard from watching in the open doorway.

Alois panted softly when the men finally withdrew, eyes closing as he felt come sliding over his thighs and over his slightly parted lips. He had seen the new men starting to stumble into the room, and he shuddered in knowledge and anticipation of what would soon be following.

Oh, but the thought of the revenge he would play out when he was once more free and in control...

It was enough to make Alois laugh huskily, eyes opening once more to spear the oncoming men with a dark gaze.

"Think you can do any better than the previous pieces of shit?" he asked the four priests, smile sticky and twisted with saliva and come.

The taunt was enough to make the men start forward, movements frantic-fueled by the lust within and Claude's manipulations without.

Calloused hands tugged roughly over Alois' skin, scratching and bruising already raw and abused skin: dragging the boy's restraints off and bringing him down though his arms were still bound with the demon's original spidersilk.

One man settled upon the floor, gaze hungry as the darkness took over, his colleagues carrying Alois to him: spreading the boy's legs and slamming him down upon his cock. The blonde cried out, blue eyes dazed, and cried out again when a second man thrust in, as well, stretching and abusing his overly stimulated body even further.

The two men rode Alois hard, skin slapping and accompanying the soft, frantic cries of pleasure that Alois gave as he took more and more damage (though never as much damage as Claude was capable of dealing out).

The remaining two men stepped closer, hands fisted to stroke themselves, wanting to be hard and forcing Alois to take as much as possible-and then some more.

Alois licked his lips, anticipation tight and low in his belly. "Claude..." he moaned and let his head tilt backwards to rest on the shoulder of the man who was violently fucking him from behind; his voice was so husky and filled with arousal that one of the priests came from the boy's tone of voice alone, come splattering over Alois' face and chest.

The demon blinked - he certainly hadn't expected his master to remember him, much less call him in the midst of such lust and delirium. Still, Claude honored the contract, lowering himself to the floor gracefully on silken webs.

"You called, Danna-sama?" He gave a small bow, despite the standing priest forcing Alois' lips open and fucking the boy's face hard. On either side of him, the other men sped up, pounding into the boy in unison, in contrast, and in unison again. His master's body twitched and spasmed like an unwieldy marionette, controlled by the clumsy puppeteer of lust.

Claude allowed his lips to twitch upwards as he dragged his heavy, hooded gaze over his master, his toy.

"Do you need my help?" the demon walked forward, leather shoes stepping through the come-splattered floor. He leaned down, reached around the filthy, sweating humans to hold his contractor's hips still, worked a finger of his gloveless hand into Alois' entrance. Maneuvering around the rancid, hardened pieces of tissue thrusting into his master, Claude pushed another finger in and pressed his fingertips unerringly against the boy's prostate and scraped with his nails lightly.

It was that last touch that finally pushed Alois over the edge: he cried out around the priest's cock, choking on the girth as the man continued to thrust into the wet, slick heat of the boy's mouth.

Shuddering and clenching, it was the demon's attentions that brought Alois to orgasm, belly coated and sticky with his own come this time around.

He had become a wanton creature, a puppet that other men used for their pleasure-but the darkness in the cherub-blue of his eyes was terrifying.

Others who didn't know better would have easily said that no soul looked out of those beautifully colored eyes.

The demon removed his hand before one of the men, overcome by the boy's tightening muscles, spent himself. Not long afterwards, the second priest gave a hoarse cry, rammed his cock into his master. They both pulled out with a squelch, the boy's hole twitching wide and open in their absence.

From his low, broken, and guttural moans, the man using Alois' mouth was close, as well. Claude watched the human violently fuck the boy's mouth, Alois' pretty lips stretched around ugly purple tissue, Alois' soft cheeks bulging obscenely with each thrust, and felt an uncharacteristic twinge of annoyance. The demon tugged on the strands of spiderweb connecting to this human, forced darkness and power into it.

End it, he ordered, with more force than he intended. Immediately, the man screamed, pulled frantically out of the boy and emptied himself over Alois' face before stumbling backwards and away. Claude caught the boy as he crumpled, gently eased him back onto the semen-slick floor.

True to their instincts, the other humans quickly fled the room.

The demon leaned over his master, met those blank, glazed eyes, "Oh, Danna-sama, what a mess you've made."

Removing the remaining glove on his left hand, Claude paused to admire the boy's entrance, gaping wide and sloppily oozing with come, and inserted four fingers easily. He removed his hand with a wet noise and held up his dripping hand to Alois' face, wiped it against the mess already on the boy's mouth. He ran his fingers down Alois' chest, tickling past his spent cock, and pushed his entire hand back in. The demon watched his boy with a certain amount of satisfaction, amused himself by fingering Alois' prostate again and again. He felt the boy clench involuntarily around him each time he did it.

But it still didn't mean that Alois hadn't lost the edge of temper that the boy had started out with. After all, it was Claude's fault that he was currently 'a mess.'

The blonde boy smiled up at Claude, the expression perfectly angelic as the demon fisted him.

And then Alois kicked Claude in the face.

The demon let out a small sigh and retrieved his glasses where it had fallen. It was only slightly bent when he pushed it back up his nose.

Carefully, he took the offending foot by the ankle, brushed away remnant cobwebs still clinging to it, and nuzzled the bottom of it. Slowly, tenderly, he pressed kisses to each toe and licked up the tendons to suck lightly on the boy's ankle.

"But Danna-sama," Claude murmured against the boy's knee, "it was you who agreed to help."

"And you didn't tell me what it entailed," Alois snapped back, trying to tug his leg out of Claude's hold, though his arms were still bound by the demon's spidersilk. "Did you enjoy watching other pieces of shit fuck me in the way that only you were previously allowed?"

Alois' smile was sharp and glittering like broken glass, and just as dangerous to the demon.

"Take me back to the hotel, Claude."

The demon's eyes flashed, the shadows in the room lengthening in response.

"I did," Claude's voice was heavy with darkness and half-feral. He leaned over the boy, pressed against that filthy, sticky body, "I enjoyed watching them violate you, listening to the little wanton noises your mouth made," the demon pressed his hand back into Alois' body, demonstrated the lewd, wet sounds, fucked the boy with his fist until come frothed out of his hole.

The demon's red eyes pinned Alois down. There was an edge of mockery to his voice as "Claude"s form flickered in and out, darkness seeping from the edges of his human guise, "Why else do you think I did it?"

Alois' breath stuttered out when Claude settled his weight upon the boy's body, the unrelenting and demanding presence of the demon's touch sliding into him.

But Claude had admitted that he had enjoyed watching the priests fuck Alois, and so here was something that he could deny his demon. It was a way to gain back some semblance of control.

"Take me back to the hotel," the boy ordered, the steel ringing of an order slipping into his voice. "Thompson, Timber, and Canterbury will attend me there."

For one brief moment, the demon considered simply saying "no." He would have had to discard his human guise then, although it would be easy enough to force the boy's battered body to submit to him. And after he was done using the boy, he would have to dispose of him, as well. To devour that strange soul shelled in that angelic, soiled body. The demon wouldn't have been able to properly savor the soul's flavor, but he did not regret, had never regretted such a small thing. Souls were easy enough to come by and one slightly inferior meal wasn't too much to complain about.

Yet, for one moment, the demon found himself hesitating.

No, the demon finally decided. Now was not yet the time. He was, after all, a creature of instinct - and his instincts seemed to prefer this strange, contradictory boy alive.

"Of course, Danna-sama," Claude's face smoothed back into a porcelain mask as he picked up his master. With a thought, he unraveled the ties around Alois' arms, and carried him into the darkness. After a few moments, he deposited the boy on the hotel room bed.

"Will that be all?"

"That is all. Leave now, Claude," Alois ordered as the demon triplets stepped into the hotel bedroom. He ignored his butler then, giving Thompson, Timber, and Canterbury a slow, sensually welcoming smile.

Timber gently scooped Alois up so that the young lord might be carried to the bathroom so that he might bathe, and the blonde boy dipped his head to steal a kiss: tongue parting unresisting lips to deepen it, strokes exploring the warm, wet recesses of the demon's mouth.

It was a long moment later that Alois finally pulled away, chuckling softly and licking his lips-and then just repeated the kiss with Thompson and Canterbury both, fingers digging into their dark hair to draw them closer as Timber still easily carried him.

Alois knew that he was playing with fire, knew that he was playing a game upon a razor's edge by taunting Claude in such a way. But it was a way to regain his control-a small revenge for the situation that the demon had placed him in the first place.

So Alois denied Claude what he wanted and offered it up freely to the triplets-and made sure Claude watched.

Only the slight narrowing of his eyes gave away the demon's irritation. Claude's face was a mask of cold porcelain as he gave a bow and stepped out of the room. He closed the door with a soft click behind him, even as he heard the muffled sound of a soft moan.

Instead, he walked evenly out of the drawing room, ignored Hannah who paused in midst of her dusting to curtsy, out of the master suite and onto the streets. The demon walked slowly, a plausible imitation of a human's sauntering pace, although anyone truly watching would have noticed his movements were too mechanical and precise to show humanity.

He had come so close to killing his little master - Claude still had half a mind to turn back and do so. It would be impractical, however, to kill the main player in this performance he had carefully planned for Sebastian Michaelis and his human master.

It was only the triplets, after all, Claude reasoned. The three demons were an empty shell, completely in his control as any of his human minions were. If the demon closed his eyes, he could project himself, see out of any of the triplets' eyes.

He didn't. The thought of seeing Alois brought on another twinge of annoyance.

"Signore?" a small hand grasped the hem of his coat. The demon paused, met eyes that were too brown to pretend to be blue. Still, Claude ran his thumb against the boy's lower lip, pressed it inside the prostitute's willing mouth.

Hours later, the boy was a ruin under Claude. Again, the demon ordered and the body around him jerked and orgasmed, splattering across dirty cobblestones already wet with come and blood. Hours ago, the boy had screamed himself hoarse, then begged in dry whispers - now, he was barely responding. Though Claude pushed further in, split him apart at the seams, pain-glazed eyes did not blink.

It was inevitable with humans. The demon pulled himself out, and as an afterthought, devoured the boy's soul. It wasn't much of a meal, Claude thought as he tucked himself back in and threw his ruined jacket over the corpse, but at least it had been a passable distraction.

When Claude finally returned to the hotel room, he would have found the triplets tucked into bed with Alois: Timber sprawled out on his back with the blonde's head resting upon his chest, Canterbury spooning against Claude's young master, and Thompson napping with his cheek pressed possessively to Alois' hip, a hand curled over a bruised and milky pale thigh.

Alois was obviously exhausted: covered in bruises that would take time to fade, skin around his mouth dark with the force of the human men's brutal fucking. Dark circles, too, settled beneath the boy's lashes-it was clear, so very much so, that he was worn out.

The blonde stirred slightly, burrowing closer to the warm, safe-in relative terms-bodies around him.

Caught in the webs of his dreams, Alois wasn't even aware as he began to cry: silently and with no hiccuping sounds that most children made when they cried; the only evidence to the fact that he was crying were his tears, glistening tracks of salt water that slid over his cheeks from beneath the velvet dark half-circle of Alois' lashes.

Each of the demons opened their eyes as one when Claude walked into the room. Three pairs of eyes followed him as he stepped around the bed. With a small gesture of Claude's hand, the triplets slowly pulled away from the boy, careful not to jostle him. Ever diligent, they picked up their clothes from the floor before their lithe bodies moved past their demon master. The door closed with a soft click behind him.

The silence that descended over the room was deafening. Leaning over the boy, the demon took in the sight of his master, his boy. A small furrow appeared between his brows - the boy probably wouldn't last much more of this treatment.

Still, bruised and battered, Alois Trancy was hauntingly beautiful. The demon pulled off his gloves, slipped his fingers through damp silken hair, brushed the back of his knuckles against tear-wet cheeks. He brought his hand to his own lips. The boy's tears tasted salty-sweet like blood.

Ever tuned to the feeling of Claude's touch, Alois' lashes fluttered for a moment before lifting upwards. He pinned Claude with his blue gaze, though that gaze was still misty and hazy with the remnants of sleep.

Careful of his injuries, Alois eased up onto his knees and moved closer to Claude: arms reaching up to twine about the demon's neck, the fourteen year-old sighed softly and tucked his face into the bend of Claude's throat, nuzzling sleepily closer.

"Stay with me," came the exhausted order, and Alois tightened his hold around his butler's neck to burrow closer still to the other man's familiar warmth and scent.

The demon paused and then slowly capitulated, wrapping an arm around Alois' waist. He lowered the boy onto the bed, had no choice but to lay down next to him. Idly, he stroked a hand down skinny arms, pulled blankets up and around his master's naked body.

"Yes, Your Highness," he said, his breath stirring the boy's soap-sweet hair.

Alois sighed quietly, lashes falling once more over his sapphire-blue eyes as he tucked himself against Claude's solid presence. He lazily draped himself over the demon, no fear in any of his gestures though he knew that Claude could easily kill him—before, now, at any point on the future.

But Alois just couldn't make himself care, because death was just a return to the darkness that had seeped into his life.

"From this point on, I only want you in my bed and body," came the murmured order, still slurred with sleep—though the hand that dug into Claude's hair was anything if not completely aware of that telling order.

"Yes, Your Highness," the demon repeated.

His left hand burned with the words, a reminder of the contract. It was really only a minor inconvenience-something easily broken. Yet, it was... interesting. Now that Claude had worked off his initial-annoyance? irritation?-he could readily admit that Alois Trancy was an interesting human.

Claude placed a hand against the back of his master's neck, slowly massaged the kinks between the boy's aching shoulder blades.

He would go back, at least for a while, to being the butler-tender and accommodating and perfect.

It was a lie, however, and Alois was fully aware of the fact that it was a lie.

But he couldn't stop himself from closing his eyes, couldn't stop himself from slowly relaxing against the demon and beneath his touch, couldn't stop himself from finally dropping back into sleep.

This time, Alois slept dreamlessly.

The demon felt Alois' breathing even, deepen before he stopped his soothing ministrations. Reaching up, he traced the curve of the boy's heart-shaped face, cupped the boy's cheek in his hands.

"I want to greedily devour you to the end, my master," he murmured as he pressed his lips against Alois Trancy's forehead. It was as much a promise as poison, and therefore perfect.

---

It was just another stereotypical day in the office—

And Will knew that to be a lie.

He could feel a certain shinigami's gaze upon his back as he stepped into the boss' office, could feel that same gaze upon his chest and face when the orderly worker stepped out of that office more than an hour later, this time carrying a stack of folders beneath one suit-covered arm.

He knew that he was being hunted.

…or that he was being paranoid.

(Though the shinigami had his money down on the first choice, just because he knew that the owner of that particular pair of eyes was just waiting for the chance to pounce and try to re-enact the scene that had happened nearly a month ago and would—if Will had his way—NEVER. EVER. happen again.)

Wishing that he had eyes in the back of his head, William T. Spears eased into his cubicle's chair and neatly flipped open the newest set of cases so that he could peruse them and see just how many similarities there were to the situation with the Christian priests. Considering the fact that these deaths happened in Rome and the deaths of Catholic priests had nearly tripled in the almost-month since the last incident… Will knew that he'd be sent out soon to investigate further.

Hopefully with a new partner.

Grell Sutcliff adjusted the angle of his telescope, artfully grafted into his cubicle wall. He zoomed in on Will's strong hands - sensually turning pages, Will's long legs - half crossed and partially visible under his desk, Will's eyes - sharp and sadistic, cutting through the case file. Ahhhhhhhhnnn, it was almost too much to bear!

"Sutcliff-sempai," Ronald, the adorable little dear, made a concerned face as he leaned over the cubicle wall, "You okay?"

"Au contraire, mon ami~" Grell knew his French accent was horrible and didn't care, "I'm so very sick, Ronald! So very love sick~"

With that declaration, Grell spun in a full circle, his office chair squeaking in exuberance.

Knowing that the idiot was just gearing up for today, Will's death scythe suddenly cleaved through the air, burying itself in Grell's cubicle's wall. The scythe itself had been less than half of an inch away from the redhead's horribly annoying face.

"Quit encouraging the subordinates in your bad habits and go back to work," came Will's voice, unyielding as iron.

Retracting his scythe, Grell's superior once more returned to the case files, brows furrowing slightly when he noticed something different about these deaths. Usually, the soul was taken the moment that a mortal—or demon, though Sebastian Michaelis was bastardly enough not to comply—encountered a shinigami's death scythe.

Most of the corpses had the empty, staring eyes that occurred when a soul had been taken from the body long before death finally happened.

"…hn."

The hole that William made in the gray cubicle wall was quickly filled by a wide green eye, quivering with adoration.

"Willums acknowledged me~" Grell's hands gave a little flutter to match his heart, "It's true love after all~"

The red-haired shinigami flounced over to his superior's desk and wrapped his arms around the man's delicious, unyielding shoulders. As he leaned over, Grell caught sight of the papers in the other man's hands.

"Huh? Oh - I got that case file assigned to me too the other day." Grell's grin was Chesire Cat-smug, "Looks like whoever we're playing with's a lot meaner than Sebaschan."

"A demon, regardless of how it acts, is still nothing more than a parasite," Will answered and shrugged, hoping that Grell would release his hold on his shoulders—though, truth be told, the dark-haired shinigami didn't bother trying too hard to get Grell to release him. Who knew? There was a danger that the annoyance would try to sit in his lap next.

"However," Will continued, pushing up his glasses and leaning forward to look at the pictures more closely. "It appears that there are two other culprits aside from the demon. These men here—their souls weren't taken from them until they had been dead for several minutes. And, here… The bodies were dead but the souls still resided in them when the clean-up crew finally arrived."

It seemed as if humans were once more dabbling in dark, dark arts.

"How cree~py," the shinigami answered as Grell leaned further over his superior's shoulder, wine red hair spilling over black suit fabric. He reached over and turned a page, his pinky elegantly raised. "Whatever else we're dancing with must be pretty powerful if our department didn't even know these souls were due. Honestly, we usually get days of warning before a cinematic record collection!"

It was definitely humans then - most demons wouldn't let a perfectly good soul just fester in a rotting corpse. As always, Grell was always happily surprised by how human cruelty could sometimes surpass their demonic counterpart's.

"Still, it looks like we were able to obtain the cinematic records from them. The clean-up crew probably had to dig for those things, though, the poor dears~" Grell found himself nuzzling the sharp line of Will's jaw, breathing in clean aftershave.

But alas! As much as Grell wanted to continue, General Supervisor Lancaster had been throwing him very obvious hints that he wanted a "private talk" with Grell. Also, the groping near the coffee maker hadn't helped. If only Lancaster had been Willums, then Grell would have cheerfully complied. But Grell had such an unfortunate dislike of ugly, fat men. Sigh, the story of his life! At least he knew that he could get corporate favors, but types like Lancaster tended to be horribly possessive. Well, at least it wouldn't be the first time Grell laid back and thought of London (Or Will. Or Sebaschan.).

Grell straightened and arched his back in a catlike stretch, "We should get down to the library and take a look at those records - it'd be nice if they could give us a clue about this entire mess."

One thing that Will could take comfort in was the fact that Grell hadn't attempted to stick his tongue down the supervisor's throat-or something much bigger down his own throat. The memory of what happened before during their last case out and the current nuzzle that the sexually harassing shinigami was giving him was enough to make the usually stoic Will clear his throat-crossing his legs and allowing the folders to settle over his lap.

"Going down to the library sounds like an excellent start. Perhaps we'll find cases from the past where similar circumstances had been dealt with. Head down now and I'll join you shortly."

Calm, cool, collected: William T. Spears was as unaffected by things, as always.

...of course.

"Ehhh~?" Grell turned crestfallen, giant eyes toward the other man. Just for effect, he let his eyes brim with tears - a crying scene in 2 seconds flat! Grell mentally patted himself on the back - such was his amazing acting talent!

"But Willums~" the red-headed shinigami latched onto William's arm, locking his fingers together, "I don't wanna go there alone!"

"Mr. Sutcliff, go down to the library now," Will ordered, putting the ring of iron in his voice-using The Tone that usually had Grell falling all over himself to obey. "I'll be joining you shortly."

Because like hell Will was going to admit that the redheaded menace had any effect on him!

If Grell knew Will's inner thoughts, he would have perked up instead: while "redheaded menace" sounded a bit juvenile, a pet name was a pet name! Ohh, Grell would have rejoiced! They were in looooove~

However, in reality, the red-headed menace visibly deflated, drooping down a little. Still, he kept his death grip (DEATH) on Will's arm.

"B-but Willums," he tried again, even as his superior's eyes pinned him, flayed him alive -ahhhn- "I have a stalker and I don't wanna go alone!"

"I highly doubt that," Will answered easily enough, quirking an eyebrow in derision at the leech that currently was refusing to let go of him.

The dark haired shinigami shifted then, and perhaps Grell might have recognized the reason for that slight movement: an uncomfortable problem between his legs.

"Well, it's actually true this time~" Grell paused, unsure of whether he should name names. Will was so dedicated to his job that he might just flip his lid if he found out his high superior was groping his subordinate during breaks.

"And besides, I've no idea where my files have gone so I'll need yours-"

At this, Grell scooped up the folders off Will's lap to- oh my! Oh my my my~~! The shinigami made a small noise of delight - how wonderful and unexpected! He unlatched his hands from Will's arm, ran a ticklish finger over the bulge tenting his superior's neatly pleated pants.

In a quick motion, Grell knelt and crawled down under the other man's desk. It was cramped but he had just enough room to run his hands up Will's thighs and open his zipper, "But maybe I should troubleshoot this problem first," he murmured, nuzzling against white cotton briefs.

The 'no' was on the tip of Will's tongue-before Grell's second nuzzle was enough to steal his breath away. The usually so typically composed shinigami tilted his head back and closed his eyes, a soft sound slipping part his lips to escape into audible noise.

How was it that after decades, centuries of control, this insatiable menace was able to make him hard with an image, with an affectionate nuzzle against Will's jaw?

It made no sense-

And he tried to tell himself that was why his fingers dug into Grell's hair, holding him still with a harsh grip... and then kissed him hard.

Grell made a muffled noise of surprise against Will's mouth. It took him exactly half a second to get over his shock and start to kiss back enthusiastically. The shinigami slipped his tongue into the other, slid against the slick heat of Will's tongue and coaxed it into his own mouth.

His hands were as busy as his mouth, loosening the buttons under Will's tie and slipping eager fingers to explore warm skin. Grell gave a muffled moan as his hands trailed lower, untucking his superior's shirt and edged along the elastic of Will's briefs.

The hard edge of the desk was pressing uncomfortably against Grell's shoulder blades. He regretfully broke apart from Will's lips, shifted lower until he was on his knees, and worshiped the other man's chest and abdomen with his tongue.

That wasn't what Will wanted at all.

His power pulsed briefly, sealing off his cubicle so that no one could disturb him-usually done when overtime kicked in and Will's anti-social tendencies reared their ugly head. Not even his direct superiors had been able to break his privacy ward.

The sharp-eyed shinigami growled as Grell's tongue flicked against a nipple: so much arousal, so much sensation-and he was feeling it because this redheaded annoyance wanted to stir up Will's previously non-existent libido. How easily Grell had done it was completely infuriating.

Will shifted out of his chair, moving to the ground and pinning Grell's slighter frame beneath his own, fingers scraping against the redhead's scalp to once more steal a deep, demanding kiss.

It was just a moment's work to part Grell's thighs with a knee, moving against the space that he had forcibly made for himself.

Stupid, stupid menace.

Grell gave a small surprised noise as he was effectively pinned down. The noise became a satisfied purr as Will settled himself between his legs. Grell hooked his ankles around the other man's back, arched up and very deliberately ground their erections together.

Thank goodness for Willum's forethought with the ward, Grell thought as he opened his mouth to his superior's demands. Although a more sinister part of Grell wanted to show this as a display, he hadn't even thought Will would give in, much less go this far in the office! Oh what a happy day was today!

Not that Will was paying attention to the thoughts that Grell currently had running through his head. Instead, Will growled darkly and rocked roughly against the other shinigami: catching Grell's hands to keep them above the redhead's head, undoing the closure to Grell's pants to take his cock in hand.

He stroked and stroked again, echoing the movements of his hand with the thrust of his tongue, gliding sensually against the other's.

Unrelenting, body moving over Grell's-hoping that this would be enough to stop his unwanted interest in the menace.

Unfortunately for Will, stopping was possibly the furthest thing Grell had in mind.

"Nnnngh..." the red-haired shinigami thrust up into Will's hand, his surprise that his superior was taking such initiative fueling his lust. The dull, gray, utilitarian carpet scratched his back every time he moved, the florescent lighting that never complimented his makeup illuminated the light sheen of sweat on Will's skin - somehow, everything he hated about office cubicles became erotic with Will stroking him there and harder.

It was embarrassing how close he was getting. Grell finally forced his lips apart from the other man's, gasping with the effort.

"Mmnn... Will," he panted, bit his lip to keep from coming on the spot, "N-not yet... I want - want you inside me."

And Will? Will just laughed, easing down Grell's body to head towards the blood-flushed cock that twitched against his palm from his attentions. "Maybe if you increase your case solving ratio, then I'll give you what you want."

Which also hinted at the fact that Will might—might—be willing to do this more often in the future, but that hadn't yet occurred to the shinigami because he had other things to concentrate on: such as the fact that Grell was still coherent and wasn't yet coming.

True, the superior didn't have much experience in regards to this, but Will also figured that it wouldn't take much to get Grell off.

Lightly, he flicked his tongue over the slit at the head of the redhead's cock.

"Mmff! I will!" Grell bit down on his knuckle, his entire body trembling with effort as he tried so so hard not to thrust up into Will's face "Anything! I'll do anything! Just- please!"

"Perfect solve ratio, perfect work attendance, perfect behavior in the workplace," Will answered in reply before finally dipping his head lower to seal his mouth around Grell's cock, sucking roughly with the knowledge that the redheaded shinigami was incredibly close to his orgasm already.

Grell's only answer was a low, broken moan as he came hard into Will's mouth. He laid there panting afterwards, eyes glazed - then he remembered the last time he hadn't moved fast enough.

Forcing heavy limbs to react, Grell pulled out an inconspicuous tube from his pocket before shrugging off his wrinkled coat. The shinigami turned over, got on his elbows and knees before pulling his pants completely down. He squeezed a large dollop of lube onto his fingers, and slicked himself with it, biting back a groan as he shoved his own fingers deeper and scissored his entrance.

"I... I promise Will, so..." Grell licked swollen, flushed lips and gave his superior a half-lidded, wanton gaze over his shoulder.

"So…?" Will asked in answer, eyebrow quirking once more at the look that Grell was giving to him. It was about that time that the redheaded menace might have remembered that his superior wasn't as… experienced… as Grell himself was.

Though Will was a quick learner and did a pretty decent job of picking up on subtext, especially since he trailed his fingers teasingly over the newly bared skin of Grell's back, digging his fingernails into the curve of the shinigami's ass.

The fingernails dug deeper as Will also began to consider just how often Grell did this with others given the fact that the annoyance did, in fact, carry around a tube of lubricant. And that consideration, that thought, was a distasteful one: being one of many.

"So..." Grell pushed a third finger into himself, flushed as he lewdly thrust into himself. Will's nails stung just enough for Grell not to lose himself in the demonstration. He pulled his hand out, wrapped slick fingers around his own cock and stroked his oversensitive cock until he was hard again.

"So," the shinigami shifted, red hair spilling down his back like wine, opened his knees more, exposed himself needily, "fuck me, Will."

But the thought of being one amongst many still lingered with Will, and the dark-haired shinigami finally pulled his hand away from Grell's pale skin.

"Why me? Why not someone else? You have enough admirers," he logically pointed out, glancing away from the lust-driven body so that Will wouldn't lose himself in desire.

"Nn... no," the shinigami got up on his elbows, "I want you - not anyone else."

Grell was honestly puzzled: Didn't the other realize that Will was his fairy tale prince? Yes, there were others, but Will was by far the most desirable of them all! (The only competition Grell could think of was Sebaschan, but while Sebaschan was amazing, fantastic eye candy, even Grell could tell that the demon was quite a pedophile for his bocchan.)

"Am I," Grell bit his lip, trying to quell a rising fear and familiar insanity boiling in him, "Am I not good enough?" Because he wasn't a woman? Because Will would probably date a woman - that if a normal, beautiful woman spread out in front of Will, the other man wouldn't have hesitated?

In answer to that, Will reached out and twined his fingers through Grell's long hair, coaxing the shinigami close as he caught the other's mouth in a slow, hungry, exceptionally thorough kiss: tongue sliding, stroking against Grell's, exploring the wet heat and recesses of the other man's mouth.

When he finally pulled out of the kiss, Will looked at Grell, eyes incredibly sharp, burning bright with intensity. "Since you have awoken these… interests… in me, I find myself to be rather on the possessive side. If I find you with anyone else, you won't live to regret it."

And then he repined the redhead, catching Grell's mouth once more in another demanding, hard kiss.

Possessive? Grell groaned into the kiss, returning Will's demands with his tongue, his lips, his teeth. He ran his clean hand down the other man's neck, pressed them closer together.

No one was ever possessive with him - had cared enough to demand his complete obedience. Small shards of memories flashed behind his closed eyelids, ripped lace and the dizzying scent of scotch. Grell didn't try to remember - he knew better not to.

"Just you," he whispered desperately, unable to stop the small pricks of real tears in his eyes, the roil of darkness within his chest, "Just you, Will."

Touch almost gentle, Will took off Grell's glasses, dipping his head to lick the other's tears clean. The dark-haired shinigami's breath fanned lightly over the other's cheek, his throat, and it was with a smooth press of his mouth against Grell's that Will finally caved and gave the other shinigami what Grell had pleaded for: his hips moved forward, cock rubbing against the redhead's slick entrance, pulled away and again pushed forward—this time to push and thrust and move deeper, burying himself completely as his tongue dipped into Grell's welcoming mouth to mirror the movements of their bodies lower.

Grell had somehow found the key to unlock Will's interest—the superior didn't know how the other had gone about doing so since he had dealt with plenty of annoying people through the years. But Grell had somehow done something different and Will couldn't help himself in his watching of the other.

"Ahhhh," the shinigami's hands scrabbled for purchase on the carpet as Will filled him to the brim. It was good, so good, as Grell pushed his hips back and clenched hard around the other man, meeting and deepening each thrust that Will gave him.

The pace was too slow, too tender - Grell was slowly becoming undone by gentleness he'd never experienced before. He panted shallowly against Will's mouth, gave him an apologetic nip on his lower lip.

"I... I can't-" he clenched again, harder, desperately, "harder!"

"No," Will said with a cat-got-the-canary smile, leaning in closer to lightly nip in return—only fair since Grell was the first one who started it. "I think that, for this first time, I'll kill you with kindness."

The sharp-eyed collector chuckled softly, letting his head lower idly to press a kiss against the bend of Grell's throat: tongue darting out to playfully flick against the quick beating of the shinigami's pulse point. Another, slower, lick almost directly afterwards came, this time so that Will could lick away the sweat that misted the redhead's skin.

Hands gentle though still firm and unyielding, Will caught Grell's wrists once more to pin them above the other shinigami's head, thumb rubbing idly against the sensitive skin of Grell's inner wrists as he continued to thrust slow and deep into the svelte, clenching body beneath his own.

Seeing how thoroughly Grell succumbed…

It filled Will with smug masculine satisfaction.

Grell gave a low moan, biting his lip until it bled - anything to give his sensations a bit of edge, of pain, "N-no, Will... please, I'm begging you, don't-"

He couldn't, struggled against Will's iron grip on his wrists, "I've never- I can't-" the shinigami shook his head, red hair spilling out along his shaking body. It was too much - too much gentleness and things he'd always wanted but never had. He always made do, eventually learned to love rough and hard and painful. If he got used to soft and tender and loving, he would hurt himself more if it ever were torn away.

When Grell had drawn blood, Will's fingers eased over the other shinigami's mouth: coaxing the sharp teeth away before once more catching Grell's mouth with his own.

The sweetness was unrelenting, tongue gliding and stroking sensually against the redhead's.

Never stopped the movement of his hips, never stopped burying himself deep, completely. But he never made it rough.

Grell panted against Will's mouth, unable to do anything but take the onslaught. He kissed him until he didn't know up from down, left from right - drowned in those soft lips and the insistent rhythm of the man on top of him.

"W-why?" he managed to whisper, stutter against Will's jaw, Will's neck, Will's shoulder. His lost green eyes ran searchingly over his superior's face until he found the other man's gaze.

Will laughed softly, nipping lightly at the full curve of Grell's mouth before gently shifting so that he might be able to push against the shinigami's prostate as he rocked closer, deeper—wanting this to be enjoyed by the both of them.

"Because you can be rather frustrating to deal with much of the time, but I've discovered that I still wouldn't want to change anything about you," Will answered primly enough, quirking an eyebrow at the disheveled redhead beneath him.

It was a realization that Will had come to not that long ago, and a realization that he had brooded upon, dwelled upon, tried to find the logic in it—and realized that there was none and never would be any, and thus he just had to accept it at face value.

Grell started - it was a lie, had to be. He didn't understand how Will could not want to change anything about him. Even Grell could see so many visible flaws in himself, and he was supposed to be a narcissist!

Another of Will's controlled, perfect thrusts rocked into him, tearing him between pure, unadulterated pleasure and trying to form a coherent thought. It wasn't surprising when the first won out.

"Will, Will, Will-" it was a mantra on his lips, a ward against the insanity pushing against his eyes, "let me- let my hands g -ahhnn- p-please..."

Finally, finally—Will released Grell's hands so that the other could scrabble against him. Lightly, his tongue flicked against the pulse of the redhead's throat, biting very gently to bruise the skin as his hips continued to rock their bodies against one another's.

His hands slid over Grell's body, dipping beneath the other's shirt and clothes to caress warm, sweaty skin. A press of a kiss and thrust deeper still, finally managing to hit Grell's prostate—wanting to see him succumb to pleasure: completely, utterly, with no chance to clutch at anything other than Will.

And clutch Grell did, his perfectly manicured nails finding purchase against the rough texture of Will's suit jacket. A loud groan ripped through him as his superior - his lover?- brushed against him there and did it again and again. It figured that Will was perfectionist at this, too. The redhaired shinigami rocked up into Will's movements, faster, feeling the beginning of orgasm as Will unerringly thrust deeper into him.

Grell clawed his way frantically up Will's back until he held the other man's face in his hands, kissed him roughly and desperately as he came, his entire body tightening and shuddering in Will's arms.

Will moaned quietly into the kiss, a fine tremble rocking through his body as Grell clung to him: it was the desperation of the kiss and the tightness of Grell's arms around him and his body clenching over and over again that brought Will to the edge of his own rough orgasm.

His body pressed possessively over Grell's, disheveled and obviously indulging in things that he had never expected to actually indulge in: lovemaking because fucking was too vulgar a word to describe the way that Grell clung to him, kissed him, arched beneath him and looked so vulnerably into Will's own slanted eyes.

It was that look in the other shinigami's eyes that gave the kiss something else that hadn't been there before: claiming.

Their kiss lasted well past the moment they spent themselves, metamorphosing into lazy, soft brushes of lips, more chaste and heartbreaking than anything Grell had tasted before. Idly, he ran a hand through Will's disheveled hair, freeing thick, dark bangs from their original style, loved the way that they softened the harsh lines around his superior's face.

For once, Grell found himself at a loss of words. He certainly hadn't expected this in on the floor of Will's cubicle, under harsh fluorescent lights. Sure, he had started with the intention for doing something quick and dirty - giving Will a secret blowjob under his desk - but this? Grell wasn't sure what this soft aching in his chest meant, if he should ignore it completely.

Instead, he cupped a gentle hand against Will's cheek, and basked in the afterglow.

He wasn't the only one doing so.

Will sighed softly, setting aside his glasses for a moment so that he could let his head drop, resting it against the bend of Grell's throat while the redhead began to run his fingers through Will's dark hair.

His eyes closed, relaxing over Grell's body—sated and content and feeling lazier than he had in decades. For the first time since he had become a shinigami, Will wasn't thinking about the next case that he'd have to take, the steps to solving various mysteries that he knew he'd need to be focusing on soon, the stress of dedicating his life completely to work and nothing else. This was something different, nicer… and thus, Will set aside his usual thoughts to linger in this moment.

The sharper shinigami shifted closer, arm slipping around Grell's waist to keep him against the length of Will's body. He was comfortable and had no intention of moving for at least a while longer.

In an uncharacteristic move, Will pressed an affectionate kiss to the pulse point of Grell's throat.

Grell made a soft, happy noise in reply, snuggling up against the other man with a contented sigh. He continued carding his fingers through Will's hair, nuzzled at it where he could.

"I..." he started, only to realize he didn't know what he was going to say. Grell felt out of sorts, an actress who didn't know the lines and had never played this particular role before well enough to ad lib.

His insecurities came bubbling to the forefront instead: "If you want anyone else, th-that's fine - just, please don't leave me."

Will's reply was simple:

"Don't be more foolish than you can help."

With that simple statement, he moved slowly over Grell's body, catching the redhead's mouth in a possessive kiss, letting the heat of his anger at the other shinigami's statement show through.

Grell buried his hands in Will's dark hair, poured what little soul he had left into that kiss. It was a desperate gamble, one that he hadn't taken in so long, he couldn't even remember why - don'trememberdon'tremember - other than a vague sense of terror.

He buried his head in the crook of his... lover's... shoulder, shivered before he left the next words slip out, whisper soft: "Does that mean you can be mine?"

Will snorted softly in derision at that, though it was a quiet sound and didn't have any harsh overtones to it. Lightly, he nuzzled against Grell's temple and shifted closer still, arm remaining snugly secure around the redhead's waist.

"It would be rather hypocritical of me to be possessive of you and not let you return the favor. Correct?" –which was Will's round-about way of saying 'yes.'

His arm tightened briefly and Will shifted closer so that he could press an open-mouthed kiss to the bruise that he had left upon Grell's throat, scraping his teeth gently before flicking his tongue to lap away the sting.

The shinigami found himself nodding, unable to make another sound as pressed against Will. It felt surreal, and once again, Grell found himself at a loss. What happens after a 'happily ever after,' anyway? Grell never once considered he'd make it somehow to the finish line. There always seemed to be more dragons to slay, more evil stepmothers to thwart, more ogres to defeat.

He gave a small, contented sigh, and instead hoped that Will would drowsily forget about work for a while longer.

Just this once-and truly just this once-Will was willing to put work aside for just a bit longer. There was always overtime to be done (because overtime never ended), and he was comfortable right now.

Even workaholics were able to take a break every so often, right?

Shifting over Grell's languid body, Will just took another slow, idle kiss for himself.

He was, surprisingly, happy.

~TBC~