Hey guys!

Welcome to another chapter of 'A Father's Touch'. This is a bit of a comic-relief chapter, just to sort of calm down from the previous one. I had such a laugh writing this! It was inspired by Harrison Craig's version of 'She's a Lady', so I do advise you listen to it either during or before reading. You'll know why soon enough.

I hope you enjoy!

HeartElyse

XXX

His Butler, A Father's Encouragement

The day was dull, bland, like stale bread upon one's tongue, brittle and almost impossible to swallow. The sky was an incessant grey, a reflection of the morning's dreariness, mirroring perfectly what Ciel was feeling inside. Bored, strained, and utterly listless. The mountainous piles of paperwork served no purpose but to lower his esteem further as they shrouded the groove-riddled mahogany of the desktop, physical reminders of the ghastly hours that Ciel was certain lay ahead of him.

Groaning woefully, Ciel dropped his head to the desk, resting his cheek upon its cool, polished surface, allowing his azure eye to close as he pondered on his predicament. He required something to liven up his day! To bring some excitement to his daily endeavours! But what could possibly do that?

There was one thing...

Ciel's entire frame convulsed, his head jerking upwards, single eye bursting wide, the sudden disorientation and shock bleeding out from his expression. But as his initial surprise simmered away, Ciel lowered his face once more to the desk, yet the tension in his figure did not ease in the slightest, but remained taut like a twisted wire, his body radiating with embarrassed heat, his cheeks shamefully burning with pale crimson.

No! He could not do that! The very thought of doing such a thing was inconceivable! Disgraceful! What a childish thing to even entertain! Simply unbecoming of him! He would not allow himself to give into such petty temptation, especially when that damn Butler seemed to always have his foot sticking in the door, his demonic nose always sniffing about business that did not concern him in the least. Imagine the utter humiliation of that; he would certainly never live in peace again.

Oh, but how the urge enticed him so earnestly. It had been such a long time since he'd done those sorts of things that it almost sounded too cruel.

No one was near by, and the mansion was so large and extravagant that he was reassured that no one would hear. It would only be a moment, just a slight detour down memory lane, just to see whether or not he still had it within him, or if the cult had somehow managed to steal that away from him as well.

Arising stiffly from his chair and steadying himself onto his feet, Ciel gingerly made his way over to the gramophone by the dinghy corner of the study, each step timid and precise, as though he feared that one wrong move would completely sully his plan. Cautiously winding the small knob on the side to satisfaction, Ciel released it and withdrew backwards as a brassy, swinging tune began to resound from the elaborate horn protruding upwards from the wooden box of the gramophone.

Immediately, as though he was a hopeless romantic falling for a lover, Ciel unintentionally toppled downwards into the music, losing himself within the rhythm, becoming one with the beat. It was an unusual ability he'd possessed for as long as he could possibly remember. While he'd always been an abysmal dancer - although he would never openly admit it - Ciel had always had a splendid taste in music. His palette was so naturally in sync with it that his arousal towards it had become almost instinct rather than a conscious process. It would consume him like darkness consumed the light, and drowned him in an ocean so vast and deep that he almost didn't wish to escape. And he didn't fight it. He didn't even attempt to struggle. For in this blissful, intoxicating moment, he was not Earl Phantomhive, the Queen's ever loyal guard dog, but just Ciel, nothing more and nothing less.

And as the swaying sound heightened to a bouncing climax, Ciel's mouth arced wide and a harmonious voice, smooth and buttery upon the air arose from it.

"Well, she's all you'd ever want,

She's the kind I like to flaunt and take to dinner."

Ciel unconsciously began to rock his hips from side to side, his frame flowing like water with the movement. He did not wonder of his voice - if it was at all good or if it was too loud - for his mind was reeling too much to care, the boastful waves of the song washing over him in a kind of pleasant fashion. He felt nostalgic in a sense, for this felt, despite all that had changed and soiled him, no different from how it had felt before when he used to do this, when he was no older than nine-years-old, belting out relentless melodies with his mother, giggling and laughing, admiring her tone, her grace, her unshakable beauty...

"Well, she always knows her place,

She's got style, she's got grace, she's a winner."

Bobbing about on his heels like a crazed loon, Ciel felt no need to restrain himself as - with his body completely divided from his mind, residing in seperate realms where neither could impress themselves upon the other - he braces himself upon his hunches and propelled himself with a distant elegance upwards upon the top of his desk, his booted feet sending stacks of parchment floundering into the air like a dazzling flock of pristine white feathers. Tossing his head, Ciel allowed nature to sink its claws into him as his angelic tones came flooding from his lips, dousing the silence with its intensity.

"She's a lady. Whoa, whoa, whoa! She's a lady.

Talkin' about that little lady, and the lady is mine."

Ciel didn't think. He couldn't think. He didn't need to. His sparse body was what held all the power, acting upon its own desires and design, spinning and jamming ceremoniously to each and ever pulse of the tune. He had no capacity to concern himself with anything else.

"Well, she's never in the way,

Always something nice to say, and what a blessin'.

I can leave her on her own,

Knowin' she's OK alone and there's no messin'."

Diving deeper and faster, unable to stop, unable to care...

"She's a lady. Whoa, whoa, whoa! She's a lady.

Talkin' about that little lady, and the lady is mine..."

Twirling, swaying, gravity failing, world shifting, drifting further and further away...

XXX

"Well, she never asks very much,

And I don't refuse her.

Always treat her with respect,

I never would abuse her."

The servants, who were all gathered in the kitchen about to begin the preparations for the Young Master's lunch, abruptly paused in their tasks as a voice carried towards their ears, rich and baritone, yet identically beautiful and delicate at the same time.

"I say, what do you think that is?" Cried Finny, his gaze fixated on the wall as he closely listened, the wade of rosemary in his hand long since forgotten.

"I don' know," gaped Mey-Rin, the plates that had once been in her hands now shattered uselessly on the checkered floor. "It sounds like someone's singin', yes it does!"

"What she's got is hard to find,

And I don't want to lose her.

Help me build a mountain,

From a little pile of clay, hey, hey, hey!"

"I believe you are quite right, Mey-Rin," Sebastian murmured, combing his fingers thoughtfully over his chin, contemplating for a moment. He was already aware of who that voice belonged to, yet that possibility, although glaring him directly in the face, sounded too unbelievably to comprehend. "But the more pressing question is 'why'?"

"Let's check it out!" was Bard's answer, as he heedless chucked his knife down upon the metallic bench and traipsed enthusiastically towards the door.

"Good idea, dear chap! Says WordsWorth," muttered Snake, donning his apron as he followed Bard out of the kitchen, his scaly friends in quick pursuit.

Internally, Sebastian chortled, thinking of only the mayhem that was sure to commence as a result of this tedious venture, almost taking pity on a certain someone who was surely just goofing about in his study, but agreeing to play along anyway, a human curiosity irking him somewhat. How amusing!

"Well, she knows what I'm about,

She can take what I dish out, and that's not easy."

The servants, like rabid horses, excitedly galloped up the staircase and down the bewildering corridors, their patience growing thinner by the second as they edged ever nearer to the voice that graced the manor with such sweet, exhilarating music, their interest becoming more apparent the louder the intonation became.

"But she knows me through and through,

And she knows just what to do and how to please me."

They found themselves standing before their Master's study door, listening intently at the keyhole, their eyes bulging so far out of their skulls that it almost appeared that they would fall out of their sockets. Even Sebastian looked astounded, his garnet pupils shrinking so much so that they were almost swallowed entirely by the whites of his eyes. Neither had been really assured of what they had been expecting, but this seemed almost too rich to be true.

With Mey-Rin fretfully turning the doorknob in her shuddering fingers, the door creaked open slightly, allowing a small vantage point for them to observe the room, and what they saw within only served to drop their jaws even more.

Paperwork cloyed the auburn floor like ivory rose petals cloyed a flowerbed. Quills were scattered everywhere, and ink bottles were smashed, leaving large, ebony blotches staining the carpet. Their Master was standing erect upon his desk, flaunting across it as though it were an exquisite stage that could compare to only that found on Broadway, his back to them, his body angled towards the window as though what lied beyond was his mesmerised audience. The boy seemed enraptured by the music, in a trance as one could say, his boots shuffling, his heels clicking, his shoulders popping, his arms raised high, singing to his hearts content. To the servants, seeing their Master so loose and radiant, was utterly mystifying.

"She's a lady. Whoa, whoa, whoa! She's a lady.

Talkin' about that little lady, and the lady is mine."

The boy whirled, accomplishing a faultless 360 degree Pirouette, and the servants went as stiff as bound ropes, preparing to fling themselves back down the hallway in case the Young Master spotted them prying on his private business. However, as the child spun, his singular eye that was not hidden by the dark fabric of his eyepatch was lightly closed, his silky features soft and boneless as he voiced the notes with flawless precision. Sebastian shook with a silent fit of laughter, admiring his Master's vulnerability.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah! She's a lady.

Whoa, whoa, whoa! She's a lady.

Talkin' about that little lady..."

The Music gradually faded out, and as it did, Ciel's voice was lost with it, leaving only a content silence simpering in its wake. The boy remained frozen for a moment, still standing upon his desk, his shoulders smooth, his back flaccid, his arms hanging limp by his sides. A pleasant, almost comforted sigh could be heard escaping from him, as though a congestion deep inside of him had been finally unplugged. Even though his face was not shown to them, the servants did not need to see to feel that their Young Master was happy.

However, as the boy turned swiftly around so that he was now facing the doorway, the soles of his boots tinkering gently upon the wood as he made to step down from the desk to be embraced by the security of flat ground once more, the servants halted in mortification as their employer's single, beady eye flashed up, capturing them in its fierce glare. Yet, if they believed that they would be the most petrified to be caught in such an act of indecency against their Master, they were quickly enlightened otherwise as the boy flinched violently backwards, recoiling, his skin blanching, his lips gaping, his eye stretching wide, utterly startled by the sight that was hovering so crassly in front of him. His limbs were bunched up so tightly that Sebastian could practically hear the bones creaking with the strain. It was a humorous sight indeed!

And what aided to make his withheld laughter even more testing to keep contained was watching as the child's entire body bloomed with colour, the embarrassment emitting from him so immensely that steam appeared almost certain to be protruding from his ears with how red they had become.

But the demon's strife wasn't over yet, because with a mere blink of an eye, the boy had somehow managed to leap from his perch on the desk and had taken refuge beneath it, concealing himself completely from the view of his patriotic servers.

Each of the dumbfounded servants spared each other an abashed glance, all shrugging and shaking their heads in a way that caused Sebastian's denial of laughter to grow almost agonising in a sense. Eventually, Mey-Rin took a very uncertain step across the threshold into the designated area of the study, feeling very uncomfortable for intruding on her Lord's almost sacred space without invitation, asking most precariously, "Umm, Young Master?..."

"Don't you all have work to do?" Came a feeble, yet scathing voice from beneath the desk, instantly drawing the servants to attention and sending them on their way with their tails all between their legs. Except for Sebastian that is. He could very much assure you that his tail was no where near his legs.

Daring a wicked grin to flounce upon his slashing lips, he entered the room and most respectfully closed the door behind himself before advancing forward with the tactfullness of a cat on the prowl, sweeping around the desk so quietly that he was most amused to feel his little Lord jerk back slightly in surprise when his polished shoes materialised in the boy's line of vision. Kneeling down, Sebastian was not at all shocked to find the child pressed into a tiny corner of mahogany, his limbs bunched together, with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms bound tightly around them, his head still raised magnificently high in the name of his dignity, in spite of the blooming scarlet blush that emblazoned his cheeks. Upon witnessing the Butler's taunting smirk, the boy immediately took the defensive, shrinking further into the corner, despite of how he lashed out at Sebastian with a grating snarl.

"I thought I told you to leave!"

"Not quite, my Lord," Sebastian chuckled with fabricated affection, much to the child's distain. He waited patiently for an order, but when he did not receive one, he simply continued. "If I may ask, Young Master, when did you learn to sing like that?"

The boy's frame grew tense with hesitance, the question appearing to wither the child as he averted his eyes to the lurid green of the floor, his shoulders shifting in discontent. For a moment, he stammered, his words tumbling from his lips in such a disjointed slosh that it almost seemed that the child had lost the ability to speak properly. Eventually, a sentence after a sentence started to slip through the air, timid and wavering to begin with, however, as he progressed with his explanation, his voice gradually found itself again.

"I-it was a long time ago. When I was little, Mother used to always sing for Father and me. She was a horrid dancer! She couldn't even waltz properly; she'd just cling to Father for dear life and look pretty, hoping no one would notice. I even remember Auntie Ann saying once that she had two left feet!"

"Just like someone else I know," interjected Sebastian mischievously, greatly humoured by the death glare he received in consequence.

"Do you want me to finish the story or not?"

"Yes, please do continue."

With an exasperated huff, Ciel continued. "Anyway, while she was awful at dancing, she was amazing when it came to singing. No matter what you ask of her, she would deliver. And eventually, just for the fun of it, I would join in. And it became an almost regular occurrence. On most days, we'd sing together, just belting out tune after tune while Father would listen, sometimes dancing, sometimes just watching. Apparently I wasn't all that bad, but they were probably just saying that to save me grief."

The boy's eye was thriving with an unquenchable glow of warmth that Sebastian observed rather fondly. Ah, his Lord and his memories. The Butler was astonished often by how charming they were. Such beautiful recollections, only to be defiled by such tragedy.

However, to Sebastian's bewilderment, the boy suddenly began to physically deflate, his shoulders falling, his chin drooping, his fringe spilling heavily over his resentful eye. "But what does it matter now? I probably sound utterly terrible now."

Sebastian actually chortled at the ludicrousy of this, which served to jar the boy's entire frame with a wave of amazement. "Terrible, my Lord? Oh, far from it!" He corrected, a kind smile brightening his pale features. "The servants were so enraptured by your voice that they couldn't bear to remain in the kitchen while you were singing so far away. Your tone is so powerful, yet so angelic that not even a single soul can endure it without pausing to listen. To be frank, your voice is exceptional, my Lord."

The boy appeared unable to make even the most measly of sounds, but held his lips slightly agape, his singular sapphire eye so wide, it could've just popped right from its socket. Internally quaking with mirthful laughter, Sebastian offered a hand to his Lord, his aura emitting waves of amiable reassurance and encouragement as he addressed the child once again.

"Come, my Lord. Let us make something of this boring day. Perhaps another song or two might assist in getting my point across."

For a moment, the boy did not respond, but glanced at him dubiously, clearly trying to detect a plot in his wraith of assurances and compliments. However, obviously finding none, Ciel gingerly took his Butler's hand and allowed the demon to carefully draw him free from his hiding place, and sheepishly smiling himself, Ciel could not deny the hope he felt for the less dull hours that appeared to be ahead of him. Should he feel this way? He did not know, nor did he really want to care for the moment. He just wanted to have...fun for a while...

God, what was happening to him?!