This is where the M rating starts to make an appearance ;)

I do not own Black Butler/Kuroshitsuji. I am merely taking some of the characters out for a stroll and will return them post haste.

Be warned, this chapter is rated M for a reason. There is a lemon in this chapter. Under 18, turn back now. Don't like, don't read. Etc, etc, etc.

Thank you to all my readers for following/favoriting. I still lack reviews, though! I needs them, I tells ya! I'm posting this chapter as an early update to try and bribe y'all into reviewing for me ^.^

Marcus was nearing the gilded facade of the temple and wanting to test his linguistic skills, began to ask the child questions. "What is your name?"

"Menefer," she replied, still clinging to his shoulder.

"How old are you?"

"Eight."

"What happened to you?"

"Why are you asking me so many questions?" she countered.

"Why do you think?"

"If you were a god, you would not have to ask so many," she said loftily, but conceded after he turned his glowing red eyes on her over his shoulder. "I am an orphan. I was caught stealing bread. They beat me and exiled me. I think they thought I'd die without bloodying their hands too much."

"Dangerously perceptive for a child, are you not?"

"Why did you help me? I think you are not a benevolent god."

"You would be correct." He stopped several meters from the temple and dropped her to the ground, and turning to face her, he knelt in the sand. "I am not very benevolent. I think I can use you when you grow a little older. And you wouldn't want to make a god angry with you, hmm?"

She shook her head, but to her credit, she maintained eye contact with the demon. He still wasn't particularly sure how he could use her, but the gut feeling he'd had when he'd first spotted her was still there and he'd decided to go with it. "Are you leaving me at the temple?"

"Yes. I have to get back to my camp tonight. I cannot let anyone know what I've done here, or it may disrupt my current plans. The priests will see to your healing and any other needs you may have. I will check on you in a few days."

She nodded and standing, Marcus took her small hand and led her to the temple steps. A priest with elaborate Kohl designs on his brow appeared with folded hands and demanded to know the circumstances. The demon willed the priest to accept his charge and then handed over a stack of gold. The foreign currency wouldn't matter, since he figured the priests would melt it down anyway. The girl was taken in and the demon made his way back to the Roman encampment.

It was a small camp, ringed with sturdy tents and pavilions, a large fire casting light over it all from the center. There were a few guards up and about, but there really wasn't any need to check the perimeter-which made sneaking back in all the more easy. Not that any one of the soldiers would have questioned Marcus, or his actions. He was the most brutal among them, and the General's favorite. Of course, the General was the only one that knew Marcus' roots and mission. And the demon had other suspicions as to precisely why he was the favorite. Roman men tended to look at women and men in the same light on most occasions, he'd noted. Not that he had any particular problem with that. The demon preferred women, if he had to choose, but it wasn't as if he'd never lain with a man, either. There had been very few female contractors in his life thus far, and, as he slipped into the General's tent unnoticed, he realized with distaste, he'd slept with almost all of them.

Suppressing the sudden urge to wretch, he thanked the devil the General hadn't been so forward, and he spread himself out on his sleeping pallet and closed his eyes. He didn't sleep. He hadn't in so long, he'd forgotten how to sleep. He thought of his plans for this Legion he was with, and the end of his contract with the General; so near. Only a year or so left. The General wanted to return to Rome a hero. Marcus had contrived to have them scout this desert country and would destroy the Legion. The General-truly a joke-would return the only survivor of the slaughter that had occurred in this far-away land. The contract would be complete, Marcus could get out of Rome. He'd need to set up a contract in Egypt to ensure his plans for the girl came to fruition. But first, he would have to actually lay plans for the girl. Maybe he could put her on the throne...

First light came too soon amidst his fantasies of living as a Pharaoh. The General was harder to wake than any human he'd ever had the misfortune of serving. The desire to slit his throat in his sleep was too tempting, so Marcus nudged him with a sandaled foot and retreated from the tent into the harsh glare of the desert around him. He had done one thing correctly, that ridiculous excuse for a General: he'd named Marcus Brutus well. And Marcus had repeatedly shown his fellow soldiers that fact during training. He had killed the first man that challenged him and maimed at least the next four. Not many cared to call him out after that, but he had heard some talk among them about abducting him and selling him off to caravaners for gladiatorial fights. They would be sure to make fistfuls of money, if they could catch him without getting killed.

He made his way to their makeshift bath-nothing more than a large urn of water-and splashed some on his face and hair, then stared at himself in the reflection of it for a bemused moment. It never ceased to amaze him every time he came to the Surface, the features imbued unto him from his contractors. While he generally looked the same every time-he was a living, breathing being, after all-sometimes his hair was light, or dark; short, or long; eyes a different color every time; and almost always reminiscent of some lost loved one. Now he had the standard haircut of every Roman soldier, short with tiny bangs across his forehead; and his build had changed somewhat because of his activities of late; more so than how the General had wished him sculpted. He was heavier, thicker than normal. But melee after melee and swinging a broadsword and bronze shield around would do that to any man. His skin was a bit lighter than anyone else's but no one seemed to notice, or at least, didn't call him out on it; and that was good, because he simply couldn't change that-like his ears never changed, or his nose was always aquiline and his lips thin and unused to smiling.

The General was up. Marcus heard him bellow across the camp something about food and his lieutenant. With a deep and heartfelt sigh, the demon turned from his musings and made his way to his Contract.

Menefer moaned and turned and tossed in her sleep. Ciel slept like a corpse. Sebastian sat at the desk in their cabin, remembering things he hadn't thought of in a thousand years. He watched Menefer sleep and wondered what sorts of things she dreamed. Judging from her fidgeting and the noises she was making, they were the sorts of things she'd done as an adult... Her restlessness had bundled the coverlet at her feet and the ill-fitting gown Elizabeth had loaned her was bunched around her thighs in a most provocative manner. She tugged at the high neckline repeatedly, brow furrowed in distress, then she'd suddenly settle down for a few moments. The reprieve did not last long before she was mewling and arching and tugging again. Sebastian had to admit, it was certainly an entertaining show. Huge expanses of caramel flesh exposed to his glowing red eyes... flesh that he was intimately familiar with calling to him to ease its fevered craving. He could do nothing about it with Ciel in the same room, though, could he? Not for the first time, he rolled his eyes in frustration, took a deep breath and rose to pace. A few circuits around the room, and he stopped at Menefer's bed, gazing down at the priestess who was pulling at her neckline again. With a mental note to apologize to Elizabeth, he reached down with a razor sharp claw and hooked the fabric stretched taut between Menefer's considerable breasts. She was freed in a second's time and her ample cleavage was a sight that made the demon's mouth water. He forced himself to turn and walk away, even going so far as to leave the cabin and make his way out on deck. He hadn't had a woman since that stupid little nun some thirty years ago, and he hadn't wanted a woman since Cybille. He supposed it was past time for some cravings to resurface.

He watched the sun rise from the railing of the ship, the orange and red slowly part from the darkness on the horizon and he heard footsteps behind him. He knew who it was of course, but it certainly wasn't who he had expected it to be. Elizabeth made her way to the rail and clutched it with her left hand, her right holding her shawl closed in front of her. "Sebastian."

"Mistress Elizabeth. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Her face was gaunt and there were dark circles under her eyes and he knew she hadn't slept at all after dinner last night. "I couldn't seem to close my eyes. Every time I did... all I could see was Ciel and I felt so guilty for thinking of him... that way..."

Sebastian felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Indeed."

Elizabeth leveled her glare on the demon, but couldn't maintain the malice there for long. Soon she giggled and reached out and looped her arm through his. They stayed like that for sometime, staring out at the Atlantic, the sun growing above the horizon, Lizzie drawing her strength from the man that stood with her. She knew it was completely natural to be abhorred at the thought of bedding a thirteen year old boy. Part of her was trying to remember he was a grown man, while the other part was trying to convince her she was a little girl again. And really, what could Ciel do for her physically? she wondered. Were thirteen year old boys ...equipped for that sort of thing?

"Sebastian?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"This is going to sound awful and horrid and all manner of wretched..."

"Sounds like my kind of conversation," he soothed, patting her hand and looking down his shoulder at the beautiful blonde.

"I do love Ciel. I love him very much. I ...how do I say this? I very much would like... um..."

"You want to lie with my young master?"

She couldn't reply. She couldn't meet his eyes. She didn't understand how he could just come out and say it so matter of factly. It was true, though. Ciel evoked a primal need in her-he always had. She loved him from the bottom of her heart and it was more than just her need to be with him; it was his need to have her and she understood that. She knew he had the urge to bed her. She knew he wanted her, just as surely as she drew breath. But that was where her certainty ended.

"Mistress Elizabeth. While I am flattered that you would come to me concerning your struggle with what you perceive to be morality, need I remind you that I am in fact, a demon. As such, my 'morals' would certainly clash with your own. I've done things in my life that would make you hate me many times over, I assure you. So if I tell you, I see no problem with you sleeping with my lord, will you take my advice and follow your heart or will you become disgusted with me and do what your head tells you?"

She met his eyes finally and it struck her how very much like Ciel he looked. She knew that was because Ciel had inadvertently caused him to look like his father, Vincent Phantomhive. But he was strikingly beautiful nonetheless and she knew he was sincere. He had always been frank and sincere with her, even if he had sugar-coated it a bit when she was a child. He was unlike anything anyone had ever told her a demon would be and she was grateful for him. He may have done all the horrible things he claimed in the past, but he was her friend. And he cared for her as much as he cared for his master-which was to say, more so than he likely would have preferred. She smiled up at him and leaned up on her toes, pressing a kiss to his smooth cheek. "Thank you, Sebastian." With that, she pulled away and glided toward the dining hall.

His eyes watched her leave, hips sashaying to and fro under the silk of her skirt and his gloved hand went automatically to the place she'd kissed him. "Oh, dear." He shook his head and started back to the cabin occupied by his charges. He would have to quench this ever-growing fire in his blood and fast, before he offered to help Elizabeth in an entirely different way.

He peered through the crack in the cabin door when he reached it; spied Ciel still laying atop his coverlets like a cadaver; Menefer finally settled on her side, back to him, gown still bunched around her thighs. He made his way to her bed and tugged the gown down to her knees. Satisfied she didn't awaken, he turned to Ciel's bed and studied the boy demon lying there. He had to admit he found it strange that this 'child' could stir Elizabeth's blood the way he had. Not that he was an unattractive boy... by any means. But that he was a boy, at least, he seemed to be; and while Sebastian had dressed and undressed, bathed and toweled dry this boy for the last forty years or so, he couldn't say there was anything particularly appealing about his nude form. He was a noble and spoiled, and having never known hard labor was soft and effeminate under his fancy clothes. He wondered, not for the first time, if there were some way to make him grow. Or maybe some illusion or demon trick to change him physically. He wanted Elizabeth to have a man.

He was back at the porthole in the room, staring at nothing, thinking nothing, when Ciel finally awoke. Stretching like a cat at the edge of his bed, Sebastian turned to regard him. "I want to go for a walk, Sebastian."

"Very good, my lord," he replied and gathered the young demon's clothes together. He'd had them laundered after dinner and altered them slightly so they looked less antique. Ciel dressed himself for the most part and Sebastian helped him with the thin silk tie. He had to admit, Ciel's ability to dress himself was one of the things he had doubted over the last few decades. He was pleased to see the earl was proficient enough at this task on his own, and so perhaps, he could spend less time with the menial chore and more time doing ...other things. Ciel decided to forgo the hat but took his small cane with him and when Sebastian went to follow, he held his hand up. "No. I need to think. I'd prefer to be alone. I'll call if I need you."

"Very well, my young master. If you need anything..."

"Yes, yes, I know. I'll be fine." With that, he swept out the stateroom's door and down the corridor.

Sebastian let the door close behind him and engaged the lock out of habit. Turning his attention to Menefer, who was still asleep in her bed, he drank in the exotic beauty of her for a moment before he put a gloved finger in his mouth and began pulling the object off with his teeth. She had been a willing party to his advances in the past. Surely she would not complain if he used her again. She had always known what she was to him; and while he did care for her so to speak, she had primarily been an object of his lust and on the flip side, he had been hers.

He stalked to the bed, tossing his gloves and jacket on the desk in the corner and leaned over her form. She moaned in her sleep again, and turned onto her back, her breasts nearly spilling out of the front of the gown where he'd cut it, one leg bending at the knee briefly and the hem falling back to her thighs. He pinched the fabric of the hem and raised it just a few centimeters more, exposing the curve of her hip and his eyes flared like embers when her scent assaulted his nose. Her dreams had definitely been of the adult variety-she was wet and ready and he hadn't even touched her yet. The front of his trousers was painfully tight when he settled on the edge of her bed, and reaching out he brushed the back of his knuckles over the moist curls at the apex of her thighs. She sighed in her sleep but didn't appear to awaken. Carefully, he tugged at the front of the gown until one soft breast fell out, and he gently ran his fingernails over the flesh, making it pucker and swell and her breath catch in her throat. His right hand rested on her hip while his left teased and pulled at her nipple and massaged her breast and she was practically dripping when he finally touched her sex.

Menefer cried out, her eyes opening to find her Marcus hovering over her, teasing her most sensitive flesh just has he had in her dreams. Her breath left her body and she fell back limp against her pillow, arching into his hands and letting him have his fun with her. She ached for him-she had since she'd awoken in the museum, but she knew better than to throw herself at him. That had never ended well in the past; and she had learned her lesson. She could wait however long she needed to, to feel him touch her again. And here he was, molesting her in her sleep and she loved every stroke and pinch of his skilled fingers.

"Do you like that?" he asked, teasingly, pumping fingers in and out as she writhed on the bed beneath him. His left hand had freed her other breast and he bent his head to take her nipple in his mouth. His sharp teeth nipped and his soft tongue soothed and Menefer could feel herself losing control very quickly. The burning in her belly was spreading over her body as she continued to arch into the thrusts of his hand, her own fingers gripping the sheets beside her as she struggled to remain conscious through the painful pleasure of it all.

"I... I want..." she gasped, not able to finish her request, but of course, he knew exactly what she wanted and he was all too pleased to give it to her, so long as she tried to ask.

"You want? What do you want, Menefer?" he smiled as he drew his fingers out of her and moved to kneel between her legs. He brought his hands to his belt and unbuckled it, then freed his throbbing sex from his trousers. He was long and hard as marble and she grasped him in her hands and reveled in the size of him. He was precisely like she remembered and she wasted no time guiding him to her entrance and arching into him, crying out again in pain and pleasure and pure unadulterated sensation.