NEVER AGAIN

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of Harry Potter or Kuroshitsuji - they belong to their respective owners. I only own this little idea and the story herein.

Shout Out: Happy Valentine's Day, y'all. Don't have chocolates for you, but I hope this will suffice /exhausted/. This chapter had undergone five rewrites total to get done, and I am grateful to Paxloria who gracefully took up the task of straightening both the story and it's grammar with gusto. Because of her efforts, the story is now better than it was at the beginning. Next one of the menu is Among The Hawks and Doves and one special little project I recently pulled out and intend to dust off again.

You've probably heard about the latest scandal with our works and author being solicited to the mirror sites without the knowledge of either authors in question or the administrators of the FF site. I am irked as this has happened - even with my stories - without my say-so, because I post exclusively on FF and AO3 sites. But someone had made a program that copies our profiles and posted stories from FF on mirror sites and earning money out of our hard work. And that is what I don't condone. We, as authors, put our time, tears, sweat and blood in our stories time and time again to entertain our readers so it's an anathema to me to be faced with such a blatant abuse of our works.

If there are my works anywhere else on the 'net, then those are NOT posted by me (aside Wattpad, if I will post them on in the future). As of right now, I am still posting here both because of fond memories and because this is my primary account, but if the push comes to shove, I will close down this account and post my stories elsewhere.

FF authors, I notified Google administrators about the mirror sites - link on my profile page, if you want to do the same for your own works, if you have them.

Readers, it's your decision, whether or not will you 'use' those mirror sites now that you know about their existence. But doing that also means disrespect to the story you are reading and the effort the author had put in.

Warnings: Ooh. Let's see. Butlers being naughty little boys, Antares his cranky little self and of course, nighttime shenanigans.

Love is a dangerous game to play

Hearts are made for breaking and for pain

I'm selfish and I'm cold

I promise you I said:

Never again!

Never again!

No never!

('The Race', by 30 Seconds To Mars)

There was a noticeable tension that evening between the Carruthers' Heir and his two butlers - mainly showing as him ignoring the duo, and said demonic duo having uncharacteristically anticipatory expressions on their faces, even if Michaelis was still smiling kindly, just like Faustus who similarly had his default poker face on.

Nobody had dared to ask Antares anything, courtesy of his foul mood. That suited Antares just fine, because he had to deal with the fact that come this night, he would have to share his room with the two demons in question. The white-haired youth sighed, sorely wishing that he would have held his temper back enough to order them to keep themselves confined in their own assigned quarters at night, bar an emergency or two. Instead of that, he had lost his temper and nerves and outright ordered them to sleep on his floor, which in retrospection was a stupid decision. Curse his Gryffindorish tendencies of jumping ahead before checking whether it was safe to jump. Not that there was anything wrong with the floor, but the problem, as he saw it, was that he had unconsciously allowed them into his room and really, he was dreading the consequences that would undoubtedly came with that kind of a foolish decision.

His mood became even worse when listening to the aimless chatter of the people in the kitchen, all of them unaware of the latest trouble he had gotten himself into. They didn't even take the war brewing under the surface seriously, - as if for them, their little gathering in Grimmauld Place was just little more than a creepy dinner time in even creepier house. His green eye glowered at the people stationed around the table silently.

Dumbledore, as always, was sitting at the head of the table, this time clad in puke green and periwinkle blue robes hemmed with some truly psychedelic orange and brown swirls, causing Antares to think of rain puddles and puke, while the old man was aimlessly chatting with McGonagall, who was his usual strict, tartan-clad self. Tonks was entertaining the kids with her metamorphmagus abilities by morphing her nose into those of different animals'. Up until now, she had done a pig's snout, dog's nose, even changed her mouth into a hawk's beak. Right now, she was trying her luck with a horse's muzzle.

Little Gabby was suitably impressed, while Fleur was just staring at the cheerful pink-haired girl, torn between disgust and horror. It was somehow fundamentally wrong to see a human transform their face so easily into the faces of random animals. Mrs. Weasley was bullying everyone with her food, and inserting her opinions into any and all matters discussed at the table, while Mr. Weasley was trying to loop Michaelis into conversation about function of the light bulbs, with the black butler being his usual semi-uncooperative self. Mundungus was belching in his own corner, with Hestia edging away in disgust from the smelly thief, and the twins were conspiring something with the mutt, much to the werewolf's disapproval. The only one who was missing from the ragtag group was Snape, but only because the man had the brains to excuse himself in order to work on some project. Antares envied him, if only because he didn't have any hangers-on to follow him into his room.

'And this,' Antares noted to himself despondently, 'is the group tasked with the survival of the Wizarding World.'

Survival? More like destruction. Their little pow-wow one and a half an hour ago was a prime example of this - Snape had reported Voldemort's movements, scrappy as they were, but it was obvious that the Dark Lord managed to get Vampires on his side, thus amassing another batch of allies to his already pretty formidable forces - not that it was hard to do, what with Ministry restricting the blood-drinkers. Mundungus 'Dung' was his usual smelly and slobbery self, not reporting anything useful, aside from some rumors about Savior being spotted among the lower castes of Knockturn Alley and where they predicted him to strike next time - Antares had to hold his snort in at that one, because it was truly an absurd situation, what with the 'Savior' in the room, standing directly behind his chair.

There were also tentative plans to offer this 'Savior' a place in the esteemed Order of the Phoenix, which made him want to laugh hysterically at the inane notion of those hopeless idiots recruiting his butlers, of all people, but he effortlessly suppressed the urge. However, he did toy with the thought of announcing the secret to them, just for the kicks of it, but he dismissed it as fast as it came. While it would have been amusing to see their reactions, it just wasn't worth listening to their whining afterward. The only ones marginally useful were Kingsley and to the lesser degree, Tonks, even if only because they were Aurors and had an access to the greater wealth of information from the Ministry's side of things than anyone else aside from Dumbledore.

Overall, the news were grim. Voldemort was steadily advancing, and with Savior's massacre of Vampires, the hornet nest had been stirred enough that Voldemort was ordering extra raids on the civilians, as to draw out Savior and making an example out of him. Sadly for him, Savior was always three steps ahead of him, but that still didn't help the mounting casualties on the civilian side. People were getting restless and anxious, and there were outcries to the Ministry as to why weren't they doing anything to protect the innocent. Fudge was fudging along like usual, but it seemed that his term was steadily coming to an abrupt end, if the grumblings and whispers in the halls were anything to go by. The next candidate was Rufus Scrimegour, a grizzly old man who had been an Auror before, but was keeping a post as a Head of Auror office these days. Some also preferred Amanda Bones, but the woman herself was curiously mum on the issue. There was also Sigbert Travers, but aside from him belonging to the Travers family and being a staunch supporter of dark side, there was nothing much known about him.

A dull viridian eye slid to a half mast while Antares contemplated the facts and playing with his cup of tea all the while. There was no doubt he would be called in front of the Wizengamot soon - if nothing else, they wanted to manipulate him for their own gain. The only thing wrong with picture was what was taking them so long to send the official invitation?

It could be that Antares was Carruthers' bastard kid. There were always some that opposed to the bastard heir holding prestigious seats in the esteemed body. But with the times being what they were, Antares didn't doubt that this would change soon. The chessboard needed someone to even out the sides, no matter if that someone had a little bit of a dubious reputation hanging on their proverbial coattails, and it seemed that this time; it would be Antares doing the leveraging.

In his previous talks with Antares, however rare they were, Dumbledore had already insinuated several problems and solutions for them, aside from hinting at possible alliance between his faction and House of Carruthers. This entire stay in Grimmauld Place was for the sole goal of getting Antares on the Light's side as it were. Antares was already the Head of Carruthers, even if most of the wizards were under impression of him being an Heir still, and alongside that, he was also an Heir of the Black family, courtesy of one Sirius Orion Black. Because Sirius was still a fugitive, all of the duties of the Black Lordship fell on Antares to fulfill, and with that, he was a Lord by proxy, if not by title. Having two seats under his name, both Noble and one of them Ancient, Antares was already a person of interest, but with him leading the Gray Alliance, his influence would be truly staggering, when the old supporters returned back to his banner.

Like Miss Khan had insinuated in their little chit-chat in Gringotts, the remaking of Alliance was only a matter of time. Not of if, but of when. Of course, the old coot wanted to have his fingers in that particular pie too, via Antares' 'help'. Making Antares a papier-mache leader while he would be the one pulling the strings behind the scenes, as he had been wont to do.

Up until now, Antares played an uninterested and disillusioned youth who resented the Order because they didn't bother to save his mother and him from Death Eaters' kind mercies. Much to Antares' surprise, part of his feelings of resentment was true, even if the reasons were completely different than the ones he had spelled out to the group.

The darkness within him snickered.

He was thought to be a boy who didn't know better, even when he had gone through torture heaped upon him. Even with him rebuffing them, they thought him to be easily malleable to the whims of their leader, giving them a false hope that when the time came, he would cooperate with the wily old goat. Ha. As if.

He glanced as his side, catching one Ginny Weasley giving soppy looks to Faustus - it always amused Antares to watch awkward redhead to try and attempt to gain Faustus' favor, even if her attempts were always rebuffed. However, right now, he wished that Faustus would indeed switch his attention from Antares to the annoying chit in question, if only because Antares would then have to deal with one less of annoying demon in his bedroom, rather than both of them. Thought the image of Faustus practically using him as his personal shield, ever-so-subtly, made Antares' lips curl in a wry smirk at the kumoshitsuji's little avoidance tactics.

Who would have thought that the almighty spider demon, which could've broken that slip of a girl like a dry twig, would be pressed to use a human shield just to avoid her advances? Antares was tempted to order Faustus to cease wearing his glasses if only to get his butler some peace from the girl - he had overheard Ginny gushing about Faustus being so cool with the glasses and how they enhanced his beautiful golden eyes - her words, not his - and Faustus didn't really need his glasses, but after that fiasco with Faustus kissing him, Antares decided to have the kumoshitsuji suffer her advances with his glasses in a tow.

A tiny bit of revenge, but still a satisfying one.

However, that didn't detract him from searching the solution to his main problem at the moment- meaning, keeping his room free of the demonic butlers during the night..

Sighing, Antares pinched the bridge of his nose in hopes of staving off the impending headache. Sometimes he really wondered if revenge was good enough reason for putting up with all that bullshit.

Sebastian Michaelis was as smug as one demon can be. It was all in a day's work - and this was one of his more brilliant schemes, if he said so himself. It may have taken some time to get his cagey Master where he wanted him, but just one stroke of pure dumb luck enabled his person a place in his little Master's bedroom. Of course, it wasn't exactly the place he wanted to be in yet, but all good things come to the one who waits. And if anything, Sebastian was one very patient demon. The only thing that darkened his little spot of triumph was that the spider butler also rode on the coattails of his success, but Sebastian would just have to ensure the itty bitty spider wouldn't get a chance to get closer to his prey.

He glanced at his little Master once again. Antares was being his usual grumpy self, but this evening, his surliness was growing exponentially the closer the time for bed approached. Sebastian had no doubts that Antares would have loved to kick them out of his room, but his sense of honor didn't allow him to do so, which amused the black butler something fierce.

Six months spent on teaching one Antares Carruthers on being as sneaky, cruel and underhanded as possible, and the kid folded at the first mention of him liking to sleep with something warm and soft. It was probably unfair of Sebastian to needle Antares' evident weak point like this - he knew, only too well, the nightmares his little Master had at night, and that he could only sleep semi-well with a living human being at his side. As if the heartbeats near his ear was the only thing to keep him sane.

He sobered at the thought. It was true in a sense. Before she died, Sistina was the one to keep Antares at peace when the night fell, but after her death, the nightmares and memories returned with a vengeance. He was thankful for the Order of Phoenix to come in when they did, because Antares had been, but surely slipping down the slippery slope of the insanity.

Still, the nightmares persisted, having been made even worse with Antares meeting the Order and being placed into that dilapidated building that had barely any right to be called a house, much less a manor. Sebastian's mouth curled down with disgust. Miss Khan's little missive didn't help either.

Logically, Sebastian knew that the best course of action was the one Antares was currently on – forming the Alliance again, even if it did require a betrothal to one Miss Khan to solidify the base. However, this little clause was also the one that didn't really agree with Sebastian and Faustus.

Up until now, they were used to their masters relying exclusively at them. Ciel was one of the rare exceptions that combined Sebastian's … shall we say, unique talents with the cold, hard pragmatism of forging the alliances with his peers in power or influence. Of course, Sebastian didn't mind, as he still remained little Phantomhive's closest confidant, advisor and finally executor of the boy's enemies.

He had thought he would've been the same with this little fly of Faustus' - if nothing else, it would piss off the blue butler something fierce, and Sebastian was always up for a game of baiting the little spider in question. And Faustus still owed him for snatching his Bocchan away from him.

The game had changed one single evening when he had tasted his new Master's blood.

'Mine.' Only a single word, but it encompassed everything.

This single drop of blood leashed one Sebastian Michaelis to the little green-eyed mortal stronger than any chain on heaven or earth had any right to. And the bond in question only became stronger, deeper and more obsessive in the following days.

A suck here, and a lick there - it was stupidly easy, what with his little master being as insensate to the world as he had been, trapped deep within his sub-consciousness, waiting on his body and mind to heal enough for him to be ready to confront the reality once again.

This little habit of theirs persisted even after Antares was well enough on his feet. The two demonic butlers had taken their fill while changing the bandages, and every time, they were confronted with an unimpressed green eye glancing at the current culprit out of the two of them before Antares returned back to what he had been doing before the butlers snatched a 'snack' on their own.

It both irked and amused Sebastian, because not even Ciel, unflappable little lord he was, could dismiss them so effectively, not even using the orders to make them give in and leave him alone. And what was more...

The crow demon licked his lips as he stared at his master shrugging off his robe, exposing a deep gray cashmere pullover and black trousers clinging to his legs.

"Let me help you, Master," his voice purred out, deep and rough.

Antares turned his head and glared at him out of the corner of his eye. "I can get it done alone, Michaelis." His voice was frigid, causing Sebastian to shiver almost unnoticeably with its biting tone, before his head swiveled back, once again, concentrating on his task.

'Ooh. Like a small, rebellious kitten.' Sebastian wanted to coo at his Master's adorableness, but he knew if he had done that, there would have been no ifs, ands or buts - he would be booted out of Antares' room faster than he could say 'snack.'

Slowly, Antares lifted his arms, hissing with pain as the movement progressed, and Sebastian's pupils diluted with anticipation. He barely acknowledged Faustus' return from the bathroom and his announcement that Antares' bath was ready.

Instead, his slowly reddening orbs were glued to the youth's progressive peeling off of pullover. The soft grey cloth slid over Antares' head slowly as if teasing the crow demon's self-control, and Sebastian swallowed heavily. It was a torture, having to stand in the corner and watching his little tease of a Master discarding his clothes inch by inch.

Finally, the pullover was off, and the demon's heartbeat quickened at the sight of dark blue button-up shirt underneath.

Should such a simple article of cloth even have the right to look so alluring like it did now?

"Master…" Distantly, he heard Claude breath out, more of an exhale of air than an actual sound. And then, the button on the trousers popped open.

Antares ignored the two demonic voyeurs in the corner of his room with the ease of a long practice.

At first, it was uncomfortable, being under such an intense scrutiny, but his stubbornness helped him to disregard them like he had particularly annoying busy-bodies in the Wizarding World. It had been an ongoing battle between him and his two butlers at first - they insisted on helping him to robe and disrobe himself and at first, he allowed them to do so because his body was too weak to really don the garments on by his own power. But when he had recovered enough, he firmly put his foot down and told the duo in no uncertain terms that the task of taking care of himself would be his and his only.

Their dismayed faces that day were one of the highlights in Antares' memory that was only soured by him conceding the two butlers to watch him do the task, under the pretense of catching him if he felt dizzy or something similar.

Antares scowled. They would never forget about that little fainting episode when he first tried to cloth himself, would they? Huffing with irritation, he pulled the zip down and bent down, to touch the edge of his bed for better stability. He took a moment to toe his shoes off and prod them under his bed before he concentrated on getting the trousers off once again.

Twin sharp intakes of breath behind his back made him reflexively bristle, but he concentrated on shuffling the trousers down his hips and legs, letting the dark fabric fall on the floor.

He shivered despite the lit fireplace, denoting the fact that there was still not enough heat in the room to suit him. Antares doubted there ever would be. He duly noted that this cold, deep chill he felt constantly permeate his body - even when he rationally knew a room was at the right temperature for him to chuck away his clothes – had more to do with the memories of events in his past than the temperature in present.

Thin finger then slid up the silky fabric to the button at his throat and Antares began the onerous task of unbuttoning the hellish contraption. Furrowing his eyebrows, he concentrated on the grasping at the button. It was truly aggravating - he could shoot with the best of them, yet ironically enough, those measly little buttons were the winners of the dispute more often than not. Gritting his teeth, he narrowed his eye at the tiny menaces, swearing under his breath.

Golden eyes turning into shades of purple narrowed when he watched the little mortal attacking the little hellions in the guise of buttons. The scene shouldn't have been as alluring as it looked. Antares was just standing turned to his bed, with his legs bare and his back and buttocks covered by the expanse of a dark blue shirt made of silk and his mop of white hair was being cast in warm hues of orange from the fire in the nearby fireplace, a study in light and dark.

The idyllic image was almost enough to make Claude smile - almost, being a key word - if the entire scene hadn't been completely, utterly and ridiculously sensual to the possessive demon in question. The white bandages wrapped around the teen's slim tights should have detracted from the sensuality, but somehow – Claude's golden eyes were now completely glowing purple with desire at this point – it enhanced it even more.

The kumoshitsuji's fingers twitched with the urge to get rid of the buttons himself, but he held back. Instead, his lips parted, and a dexterous tongue slowly licked them, as if anticipating the succulent juice that was Antares' blood most eagerly.

Finally, the last of the buttons yielded to Antares's stubborn efforts, and with a quiet exclamation of triumph, the shirt was opened and slid down his thin shoulders onto the ground, leaving the youth clad only in silky black boxers and swathes of bandages looping around his torso and arms.

Previously white strips of fabric were dotted with red and pink here and there, likening, to the mind of the watching demon, to the poppies blooming in the snow.

Even if he lived million years after this, Claude Faustus swore he would never forget this sight.

Not that he could - it was engraved in his brain with all the precision of a miniature painting crafted by one of the greatest masters.

"Master, your bath is ready." Michaelis' voice was raw, just shy of growling at their prey, but Claude could only nod in assent.

The bath went just about as well as Antares could expect it to. He resigned himself to the butlers tending to him - in fact, he suspected they were doing his bandages in an overly complicated pattern just so they could have an excuse of unwrapping them off of his person later. And with that came their 'snack time', as he semi-jokingly called their little obsession with his blood.

It would have been creepy to anyone watching, the two demons behaving like fledgling vampires, licking and suckling at the places where the blood was being let out like two fledgling vampires. Much to Antares' dismay, he had many of such places all over his body, some even close to intimate areas. So he resigned himself to being treated like a human-sized blood lollipop for his two butlers that took up the task of bathing their master with all due enthusiasm. Idly, and not for the first time, he wondered if that was how the lion cubs felt like, being cleaned by their own mum. He stoically chose to ignore his butlers' accelerating breathing; held-back grunts and an occasional mewl, though he did suspect that this 'snack time' of theirs was more than just that.

After almost an hour (and with feeling akin to relief), he was finally let out of the bath, squeaky clean and his wounds dressed in a fresh swathe of bandages. Antares knew that he would never be completely healthy – some of the curses acted similarly to a butterfly disease, causing the wounds to stay open at all times.

Finally, it was time for him to go to the bed. Antares tried to stay awake, but it seemed that the happenings of this particular day had finally caught up with him. Allowing the two butlers to help him into thickly woven silk pajamas, he slowly padded to his four poster bed and snuggled between the warmed up covers. Closing his eyes, he was out like a light.

The two butlers looked at their sleeping charge fondly. When resting, Antares Carruthers could be likened to an innocent child and not the war-torn, revenge-minded youth they were used to. Slowly, Claude bent down and gently untied the eye-patch from the teen's head; his previously purple eyes slowly bleeding back into their usual golden hue.

"What a day." Sebastian sighed as he tilted his head, his now again mocha orbs flickering with warmth as he looked at his sleeping charge.

"Indeed." Claude's voice was a low, smooth timbre, still a little breathy from little exercise of suppressing his moans when he consumed Antares' blood. He shifted uncomfortably. Once again, he had made a mess in his pants, even when he swore to himself that such a disgraceful happening would never, ever made a repeated occurrence. The only consolation was that the crow demon beside him was in the same position as him. He couldn't bring himself to regret it, however, because the sensations he experienced while sampling his prey's blood were… exceptional.

"So… Where would we sleep?" Sebastian's eyebrow quirked teasingly at their newest crux of the matter, causing Claude to send him a warning glare.

"Not in Master's bed, that's a given." Claude bit out, his previously good mood dipping into peeved waters. While it was a small victory they were allowed in Antares' room, it was soured by the fact their Master ordered them to sleep on the floor of all places.

Talk about being cruel!

The kuroshitsuji shrugged, unconcerned with the situation. "Well. But nobody said that we can't move him from his bed…" A mischievous smirk widened his lips at Claude's honestly taken-aback face with widened gold eyes.

The spider butler shook his head. "And if he wakes up?" He inquired, but Sebastian could see that Faustus was slowly coming to like the plan.

Mocha-colored eyes glinted. "Who says he would?" He inquired mildly.

This time, Claude's jaw honestly dropped with amazement. "You drugged him!?" He squawked, quickly looking at the bed only to seen Antares snuggle deeper into the covers, thankfully unbothered by his elevated voice.

"Yeah, so?" Sebastian's catty smile once again made an appearance, causing Faustus to scowl. 'Out of all the insane things - !' Claude thought, exasperated. 'But that is just what I should've expected from that crow bastard.' He admitted to himself grudgingly.

He didn't have any doubt that if Antares found out about this little circumvention of rules, there would be hell to pay.

Golden eyes looked at the sole occupant of the bed once again.

Did they care?

The butlers looked at each other and nodded, for once in an agreement on how to proceed.

Nope. Not a whit.

Mudungus 'Dung' Fletcher was a connoisseur of valuable things. He also fancied himself to have a great eye for them, and since he had been drafted into Order, there was no wonder that he managed to acquire one or another of the valuables for his customers' perusal.

It wasn't anything big. A little bit of silver - and golden ware here and there, there were some gems loose if someone knew where and how to look, and Dung definitely did, with less valuable of Black tomes that weren't keyed to the Black Library. Sadly, the tomes in question were a rare opportunity, and try as he might, Sirius Black was still paranoid enough son of a gun to hoard the master access to the den of darkness, known as infamous Black Library, only to himself.

So Dung was forced to ferret out the jewelry. There were some good finds in the shape of Walburga's black pearl and garnet necklace, a set of brooches made from obsidian with blue and gold tiger eye. There was also a little treasure of a golden necklace with tiny roses made from fire opals.

But tonight, the smelly thief had something far grander in his sights.

A certain ring.

Made from sliver, with an emerald cut, deep blue stone inlaid in the metal… and currently on the hand of one certain Carruthers' Heir. It was a work of art, and undoubtedly worth much, though Dung did wonder why no one, aside from him seemed to notice it.

Bah. Their loss, his gain. Mundugnus snorted as he shuffled toward the room where Antares lad resided.

Quietly, he opened the door and peeked in.

He had been incredibly lucky to acquire a Hand of Glory, the Holy Grail of the thieves everywhere. The Hand of question was actually a dried and pickled hand of a hanged criminal, and additionally preserved via the grease made from the self-same criminal's body fat. If anyone would have seen the hand in the daylight, this would have been a worthless piece of a human's body, carefully preserved for someone's amusement. However, the Hand's true worth came out at night. Whoever owned the Hand could use it as a source of light, visible only to them, the eerie glow coming from the ends of the Hand's digits like some kind of pale grey, wispy flames. The light had another property, shielding the Hand's master away from any kind of detection, thus perpetrating the myth that only the Hand's owner could be awake where everyone else was in deep sleep. Sadly for thieves, and luckily for general population, a genuine Hand of Glory was incredibly rare to come by, mostly because the enchantments on how to make it were lost to mists of time. Dung himself had come by the artifact by pure dumb luck one freezing winter night when he was playing cards with some hag.

Cutting his little memory trip short, Dung concentrated on the present. The pale grey light from the hands' fingertips the heir's sleeping body swathed in the sheets of the bed, likening it to a scene from olden white and black movies. Old, yet still sharp ears caught the slow rhythm of inhale and exhale and a small shuffle of the sheets.

Dung raised the Hand in his hand a little bit higher.

Inwardly, he grimaced. It would be a bitch and a half to get the lad's ring off of his finger, but with some persuasion, nothing was impossible for Dung, the craftiest dealer of the Knockturn Alley.

Quietly, he crept forward, being cautions not to step too hard. Better be safe than sorry, after all.

There was a small glint, and thief's dull eyes widened with greed.

'There!'

He forcibly calmed the thundering of his heart down with an ease of a long practice, and then, slowly reached to the pristine sheets to unwrap his prize –

The sheets under his fingers were surprisingly cool and... puffy, making Dung furrow his forehead with confusion and dread.

'What - ?'

A scant second later, his wrist was being crushed in an extremely strong grip causing him to lose his grip on the Hand, drowning the room in an unforgiving darkness. A pair of demonic purple eyes looking into his own, agony-filled ones.

The attack was so sudden that Dung didn't even have time to scream, and then, the pain was too much for him to even scream.

And even if he could, there was an equally vice-like grasp around his throat from a person behind his back.

"I didn't think we were so in demand as to entertain midnight visitors now." A smooth voice breathed near his right ear, causing him to attempt to jerk away from his captor and then get the hell away from those hellish eyes!

A sound gargled in his voice box, half of an apology and half a plea for his life.

"Are we sure he didn't just mistake this room for his?" Another voice susurrated through the air of the room, and Dung sweated profusely.

He was here, trapped like a rat and with on escape in sight.

"This room?" The first voice scoffed, causing Dung to whimper as he was now eye to eyes with a second demonic pair of eyes. "You're joking. Besides, you know just as well that this particular night visitor intended to rob our Master of his ring. "

'M-Master?'

Dung's blood turned ice cold.

Oh dammit, his luck couldn't have been so bad, could it?

Out all of the night to try stealing that Merlin-forsaken ring off the brat's hand it had to be the one when his servants were guarding him!? Dung swallowed frantically as he tried to shuffle away from Carruthers' butlers. This was not how it was supposed to go - it was to be a fairly easy robbery, what with the lad being out like light, his butlers at the other end of the house, and Dung having the Hand of Glory for additional light and assistance.

Belatedly, he felt warmth pooling in his undies and a very well-known, sickly-sweet scent wafted up his nose.

The stink of fresh piss and shit.

A disgusted scoff later, Dung felt a sharp pain in his neck and then…nothing.

In the cellar, Sebastian glared at the culprit he had recently knocked out. It was just as well that they decided to camp with Antares, because otherwise, this sniveling sack of shit and piss would of gone with the ring he had given to Antares three months before.

The ring alone was fairly simple – a silver band, with emerald cut blue diamond as the centerpiece. It's worth alone was not exactly negligible, what with a size of the jewel alone, but what made it even more priceless, was that it was a heirloom of the Phantomhive family.

When the last Phantomhive head of house vanished, leaving after only his bereaved fiancé, the ring also went missing. Nobody had found it, despite the greatest efforts expended on the human's side.

As matters stood, it became the trinket of a certain demonic ex-butler of a Phantomhive household. For Sebastian, the ring held many fond memories of Ciel's tantrums, snarky attitude and all-around faults that made him such a succulent meal at the end of his short life.

Him giving it away to Antares was, at first, just the whimsical action of a bored demon playing around with his prey. Antares had resisted owning the stupid rock, so Sebastian's victory on that apparent issue was all the sweeter. It did help that the ring, in a sense, was Sebastian's, and going by mortal's customs of ring -giving, then Antares, by means of accepting the ring, however unwillingly, became his.

A visual statement of ownership, as it were.

It was also a subtle nose-thumbing to a certain spider. He didn't have any doubt that Faustus had recognized this particular piece of jewelry, but aside from narrowing his eyes and tightening his lips, Faustus hadn't done anything else.

But if he knew the little bastard - and Sebastian prided himself on knowing his arachnid nemesis very much – then there would be another battle on the ring-wearing commencing between Faustus and their little master in the nearby future.

However, he didn't really think that someone would be so dumb as to attempt to steal the ring right off Antares' hand. Sadly, his little theory was proven wrong by that dirty, smelly excuse for a sub-human aptly named for excrement.

"Now, what to do with you, hmm?" He asked the still unconscious man sweetly, causing his body to unconsciously shiver with fear at the demon's malicious tone.

Dung was right to fear the Phantomhive's irate butler. He was costing him a valuable snuggle time with his master, after all.

Meanwhile, one Claude Faustus was lying on the bedding-covered floor, with a blessedly unconscious Antares snuggling against his chest and causing the stern butler to smile.

The spider butler was clad in a simple white nightgown made of silk that fell gently against the contours of his body in loose waves, the fabric intermingling with the silvery grey of his charge. Claude suppressed a shiver at the feeling of fabric being the only divider between the skin of their bodies. The sensation evoked so many desires and wants, but Claude ruthlessly suppressed them - right not, there wasn't right time or place yet, what with Antares still recuperating himself, both mentally and physically, from the happenings of that particular day. Strong hand grabbed the edge of the comforter and drew it over Antares' shoulder gently, causing the boy to snuggle against demon's firm chest even more, inhaling Claude's scent deeply and then resuming the even pace of his breaths.

The little accident with Dung was entertaining enough. Claude's lips quirked into an amused smirk at the crow demon's peeved expression when the thief had soiled himself. Michaelis had personally gone to deal with the annoyance, leaving Claude an ample time to snuggle with his little fly.

He wanted to thank the smelly idiot for that, truly he did.

Besides, it was an amusing sight watching Michaelis, clad in a white sleeping gown with a sleeping white cap askew on top of his head grabbing the idiot by the scruff of his neck and carrying him our as if Dung were a particularly mangy cur.

In his other hand, Claude twirled the skeleton of a hand whose gnarly fingertips glowed eerily into the night.

The Hand of Glory. An indispensable, almost mythical tool for thieves worldwide and Claude came by one by a sheer dumb luck. Dung's little thieving escapade would have been successful if he tried to rob anyone else. Sadly, the Hand's little enchantments didn't work on the demonic duo. And now, Claude was the bemused owner of the little thing. Not that he needed it, of course, but it was interesting to note that some of them still existed in modern world.

He made a note to hide this particular memorabilia from his little master in the morning - it wouldn't do that Antares would discover the happenings of that gentle night, after all. Golden eyes, shaded by an eerie gray glow of the Hand of Glory, looked at the sleeping teen fondly.

But until then…he would just enjoy having his little fly in his arms.

With that thought in mind, he placed the creepy skeleton at the side and embraced the youth closer to his chest, relishing the other's steady heartbeat against his skin.

"What have you done now?" A suspicious glare met the two butlers who looked as if the butter wouldn't met in their mouths when Antares yawned, his eyes a little teary with the force of the yawn, his shoulder-length white hair even messier than usual.

Privately, he had to admit that he never slept better than last night. And thankfully, he was still in his own bed…alone. For some strange reason, that thought caused a small pang in the depth of his gut, but Antares ruthlessly suppressed it.

Both of the butlers standing at the bed's side were already clad in their uniform, looking refreshed from their little snooze-fest on the floor of Antares' bedroom.

Too rested, in fact.

Antares' eyes narrowed, the contract in his right eye was glowing with a sinister light on the deep emerald background as he hadn't yet had time to find his eyepatch and don it on.

"What makes you think so we have 'done' something, Master?" Sebastian was first to quip the question back to their Master, his smile full of daisies and sunshine, making Antares almost cringe at its' cheerful nature.

"You two are a bunch of fucking happy sunshine." He bit back, earning a disapproving "Language, Master!" from the golden-eyed demon closest to him. Antares glared harder. Claude stared back flatly, not willing to admit anything.

"Oh, we just had an excellent resting time." Sebastian's eyes curled into two upside down crescents, making him look like a particularly devious fox as he put his pointer finger to his lips as if keeping a particularly juicy secret. "Up you get, little Master. For breakfast, we have Ceylon tea, egg omelets with vegetable stir fry and a slice of lemon cake for dessert."

"You're avoiding the question." Antares snapped at the smiling demon, his suspicions now very firm about something happening last night and him not knowing about it having been confirmed; it made him even crankier than before.

"Why ever would we do that, Master?" Sebastian almost cooed out, causing Antares' skin break into goosebumps as his eyes widened with dread. Nothing good had come when that stupid crow used that particular kind of voice. Case in point, when Sebastian had brought home a kitten litter…of tiger and lion cubs. Antares didn't even want to know how that had come about (and where did Michaelis found them, anyway?), but suffice to say, he had firmly told him to get the furry menaces back to where he got them from or at least to the appropriate caretakers for their species. The kuroshitsuji had pouted, but acquiesced to his demand. However ever since, Antares was on the lookout for that particular phrase.

"Excuse me for not feeling particularly reassured on the issue." Antares grumbled out, but he let go of the issue… for the moment, causing the two butlers' shoulders to relax infinitesimally.

And with that, it began another day in the Grimmauld 12 for Antares Carruthers and his two demons of butlers.

To Be Continued