AN; Hey guys. Kind of a late update, I try to post every week. But nearing the end of the school year here, haven't really had time to update. But I've been writing a few things here and there, and I have a little time now, so I'll fill this chapter up with a few more prompts. The first part of this chapter wasn't based on a prompt. Just FYI. I should rate the first portion M, but nothing is described, really. Just obviously implied.

Also I am reading Oliver Twist for school. If I have a lot of run-on sentences, blame Dickens and not me.

VII: His Master; Transforming

I

"I would prefer you be a cat, or at the least feline. But we can't have you allergic to yourself, now can we?"

The demonling scowled at his once-servant. The senior demon chuckled; the sound of wings being extended echoed through the empty den ominously.

"How about a robin, my lord?" The scowl deepened, the once-boy shuddering slightly at the unfortunate pet name that had been unknowingly bestowed upon him.

"Don't be absurd,"

"A butterfly then?" The forever-child rolled his eyes.

"Yes. Because a butterfly will have mortals cowering at my feet. The symmetry of my wings is so frightening, I fear I will faint," Feathers rustled, shaking from laughter.

"So picky you are, young master. No matter. Come here, if you please. I believe I have chosen something suitable,"

"Reminiscent of an angel, do you not agree, my lord?" Newborn feathers ruffled; newly created muscles stretched.

"Nearly," An astounding snow white contrasted feathers beautifully against the crow's dark figure. The angelic wings that were bathed in sin, the crow and swan reveled in the morbid irony.

"Is the young master pleased?" Crow's wings, black as a tainted night sky, enveloped the newly born demon into a sinful embrace.

"I supposed it shall suffice, though I'm unsure of how ominous a swan could be," The crow smirked for the umpteenth time. Placing a finger below the eternal-youth's chin, the elder demon lifted his charge's face upward.

"A swan is known for beautiful cries before they perish. It is quite the shame I shall never hear yours, my lord,"

"How disappointed you must be," The swan said, mock pity coating the now-melodic voice.

"To an extent. Though, hearing you speak every day for eternity does suffice," The crow nipped at the swan's pulse point. The feeling of the vain throbbing steadily within the crow's warm orifice, the two immortals could have easily been human.

"Though, there is another way I could hear those cries of yours," The crow hummed against the swan's neck. "If, you'll allow me to indulge, master?"

With each touch, gasps escalated to pants. With each caress, pants escalated to mewls. With each tug, mewls escalated to moans. With each thrust, moans escalated to cries. Those cries drenched in sin, belonging to that sinful being; they echoed through the demon's den, leaked from the swan's parted lips, received by the smug crow, bounced from wall to wall, all to begin again with the cries' original owner.

Listening to the rhythmic creaking of the bed, to the wanton shouts from his partner, Sebastian realized; he could not have chosen are more suitable form for his master.

II- Countdown

Ciel enjoyed numbers. Specifically, he enjoyed counting, or keeping track. Even more specifically, he enjoyed keeping track of his butler.

Ciel counted the number of days the butler was faulty in his daily routine; to this day, the number remained at zero. Ciel counted the number of times each day his butler looked at him with a glance that would not be considered legal in his century of birth; the number was never below five. Ciel counted the number of times his butler replaced the sheets of his quarters; that number was also never below five, and tended to follow the prior list rather closely.

Sebastian knew of these lists, and they amused the butler.

Often, when (re)dressing his young master, Sebastian would ask

"What number was that, my lord?" And to that Ciel would reply,

"Seven, today. That's a new record this early in the morning,"

The butler would then smirk triumphantly.

III- Hands

Sebastian always carried spare gloves on his person. If his existing pair were to get soiled, be it with blood, dirt, grime, or other bodily fluids, said soiled gloves were never kept and washed, but simply disposed of. Ciel was aware of this, thus, upon seeing his butler washing gloves with the rest of the whites, could not help but question.

"Sebastian, are you washing your gloves?"

"Yes, young master. This specific pair was dirtied the other night. Is that a problem?"
"…No. It's just, you never really tend to wash them, just replace," To this, Sebastian smirked.

"Yes, I tend to dispose of them when soiled by other means then my young master,"
To this, Ciel blushed.

AN: Okay, dumb ficlettes are dumb. I kind of liked Hands. To an extend. Whatever, gnight people.