There was too much lavender in the bath soap, but Sebastian pushed the smell away as best as he could. He knew that after the late afternoon's events in the washing room, Mey-Rin needed a steaming hot bath. She needed something to perhaps settle her nerves.

He had fled the washing room like a boy caught peeking at a woman undressing. He had dropped the glasses in her hand at least, missed the bucket by the door, and ran. He ran so fast that the breeze of his wake had made Finny gasp as he was pushed into the door frame, Sebastian moving too fast for the teenager to see. He had dug his heels into the gravel, in front of a small cottage on the far side of the property and dropped to his knees, not caring his pants would be dirty. Not caring his tailcoat was back in the washing room and his sleeves still rolled and secured. Such an unacceptable look for a Phantomhive servant, such and an unacceptable look for a demon who had let himself almost launch himself at a human in a most passionate way.

He had consumed many souls, had intertwined himself in many bodies in sexual ways, but this… this one human. He could not. He stood, and unlocked the cottage door, entering his private sanctuary away from his other one in the manor. Here he could sit on the floor and think, surrounded by the rescued cats he had collected over his years bound to Earl Ciel Phantomhive. The meows of greeting and excitement of his presence made him calm. The purrs of contentment sunk into his body and he felt the vibrations deep in his soul. For he had one. He had carved one out for himself at least. Stroking one in his arms, he went through his other daily routine of enjoying the currently six Phantomhive cats trotting after him, their little voices telling him all about their day, any interesting things they had seen in their outdoor adventures, or the dreams they had while he was gone.

"Oh Heron, really, that is not nice to say about the young master," he scolded one of the larger, white fluffy cats. He caressed Heron's long tail. "He is allergic to you so that is why he scowled. Honestly, your feelings are too delicate." Heron simply leapt off the counter and strutted away, throwing one last expletive at him before curling in a ball in the patch of sunlight.

The other cats gathered tighter around their master, eager faces looking at him as he cut up the fish he stored in the icebox for them.

A grey and white sat on his shoulder, and nuzzled at his cheek. He smiled; the warm fur was inviting. He scratched Allabina's cheek and got a louder purr. She was his first cat he had brought to the cottage and she had made it clear she ruled the master's heart first among the cats.

"Ah fine," he muttered and finished placing the bowls around the kitchen area. He placed a bowl in front of Heron and watched as the white cat turned his bright green eyes up to him. He gave a small mew, a half apology, and Sebastian stroked his fur and stood.

"Thank you for your faithful service," he said, bowing toward the cats as they noted lightly he was leaving them again. He closed and locked the door, checking the two cat doors to make sure they were open and the water bowls were being properly fed by the spring he had dug for them. He loved his cats. He loved delicate things.

He paused as he was about to run back to the manor to take over the evening meal preparations. Could he allow himself to feel this for the maid? Her eyes flashed before him and he groaned almost in pain. They looked at him as if she was unsure about her own feelings. But surely she was. Surely the woman had sorted it out by now; she was a servant, he was above her in employment, and feelings toward each other was forbidden. No, he reminded himself, the local customs of this age don't preclude such feelings, but rather the acting upon them. If he…

"No," he scolded himself aloud. "She is a Phantomhive maid. I am its head butler. I am a demon, for hell's sake! She is a mere human, I could break her and not feel… I should not feel anything if I did."

Satisfied he had convinced himself on the surface to avoid the maid, dismiss his deeper feelings, and carry on with his duties until the time came for him to consume the young Earl's soul, he once more took his flight to the main house. He executed dinner in his normal flare and had patiently and attentively looked after his master. He had given his orders to the staff in his normal brisk manner, and had put Ciel to bed without the rather astute boy asking any questions. He felt proud he was able to conquer his ludicrous feelings toward the woman. He had made his usual rounds of the grounds, of the house, and was walking back up to his room in the manor when he had faltered. The smell of lavender and sweet vanilla had collected in front of the bathing room for the servants. He groaned as he turned and looked at the closed door. It was far away from the others bedrooms. Next to his. How could he sleep now as the intoxicating smell drew him to step closer and closer to the door? How could he not be so resolved to leave and sleep somewhere else - anywhere else - punish himself for the rising emotions he had not addressed properly whey they had first crept up in him?

He pressed an ear to the door, even so he could hear her fine even from the stairs, some 20 feet away. He closed his eyes.

"You are so stupid," her clear voice muttered. He heard a splash and a yelp. Another strong hint of lavender came through - she must have dropped the soap in the water. "Oh great, now I will smell like flowers."

He smiled. He liked the smell himself, and he suddenly straightened. She was using his soap. The soap had touched…. He backed off and shook his head. Honestly, this is too much for you to be entertaining. Go to bed! He bit his lip and turned toward his own door, almost through it when he heard the unmistakable splash of a body getting out of the bathtub. He looked over his shoulder and wished he could see through walls. His body longed to see her body. Naked and open. Unblemished and perfect. Soft in the womanly ways a woman's body was soft and hard where her trained muscles lay in wait.

He melted, like water and smoke under the door, his caporal body forming just as the small bedroom door opened. The shadows were both protecting him, and was him, as he looked at the woman, wrapped in a simple towel, smelling so alluring as her own vanilla scent played with the lavender tones of the bath. The light in her hand flicked as it chased the shadows and sought to do the same to him.

A startled cry and a dropping of the towel and a quick breath of intake, blowing out the small flame, plunged the pair into darkness.