CHAPTER 3

A/N – Hello my dear readers! I will begin by thanking all of you who have shown interest in this fic, reviewed, faved and followed despite the dubious content, it means a lot to me! I know you're still waiting for the good part and well, it's coming, however twisted that notion might be ;)). So enjoy this final chap!

Warnings: crack, language and private jokes (Uh… haven't I said all that before? Probably, I'm getting old…)

Soundtrack: Skylar Grey – Kill for you

"In my bed I believe every word that you've said

Just a kiss and you make me forget

All the bad, the battles we lost, the bodies we hid"

"And you're dropping them because you're… how to put it? You have a soft side, I suppose," Sebastian observed pensively, then snorted ironically. "What do you know, granite's softer than I thought!"

"Granite is not soft at all, it's hard, inflexible and empty of essence, like that head of yours," the gargoyle retorted with dignified calm. "I am not made of granite, actually. And I have an open mind!"

The Crow demon frowned, silence stretching between the two of them as the fragile acrobat slowly descended onto the polished wooden stage, took a brief bow and then padded quickly behind the curtain, his tiny bare feet barely touching the ground.

"Also, in my open-mindedness, I do sincerely hope that this time you won't fuck this up," the ornament stated solemnly and took off from the demon's shoulder. "Have a good night."

Sebastian flinched uncharacteristically and whipped his head in the direction the invisible creature had departed, still able to catch a few grumbled words, like '….even a beer! I wanted a black beer, I like it black, for Astaroth's sake…' He sighed, long black-nailed fingers flying up to his forehead. Fuck this up? Another bitter smile crept onto his lips – was there really any way not to? He knew what the gargoyle was hinting at, but it really took an empty, stony lump of a head not to comprehend the simple, abysmal fact that he, the Crow demon, was what he was and his young master also was what he was and always would be and the only thing which could ever come out of it was something inevitably short-lived, twisted in regard to both their natures and, as a result, unnecessarily painful.

This was, undoubtedly, the perfect reasoning.

But not even Sebastian Michaelis fit the sublime and unyielding frame of that which is called perfection. He may have had but one weakness, one soft spot in the scales beneath his magnificent black feathers and that was his young master's imprint, that unique feeling his soul's taste had left behind, something to be craved indefinitely afterwards.

'Oh yes, you silly demon, you're nowhere near as cool as you're trying to come across' he imagined the petite gargoyle saying and scowled while he dug into his pocket for a few bills to slip under the unused ashtray on the table.

The lights shone a bit brighter at the small bar and Sebastian was drawn like a moth to that small spot of light where the boy now sat, perched awkwardly on one of those high stools, with his back to the room, nursing a sandwich and a bottle of cheap mineral water. The demon walked up to the stool nearby and slipped onto it smoothly, resting his elbows on the shiny, worn wood and motioning to the bartender. He took his time observing the young acrobat as his drink was being poured and discovered that the boy was in even worse shape than he'd initially thought.

But still… perfect.

"Hello," the demon spoke eventually, with an almost inconspicuous turn of his shoulders.

His former young master turned his head slowly in his direction, the one good eye blinking slowly as he took in the demon's tall frame and expensive black leather jacket with a sort of shy awe.

"Hi," he replied in a low, apathetic voice, before taking a sip of water.

"What is your name?" Sebastian inquired, as eager and intrigued to find out more about his potential prey as if he were a child unwrapping a birthday gift.

"His name's Ciel Leclerc," the bartender cut in rudely. "Are you still eating that?" he then asked, pointing to the boy's plate.

"My name is Sebastian Michaelis," the Crow demon said smoothly, gently almost, as he observed the boy's cautious surprise at being paid attention by a complete stranger. "May I buy you a drink? Some dinner better than that, perhaps?"

The boy - who by some bizarre, absurd, senseless and wonderful coincidence was still named Ciel – turned again, quicker this time and gave him another once-over, blinking as if he'd heard wrong although reluctance towards something familiar could be discerned in his gaze and the sudden tension of his bony shoulders. He shook his head, quickly but firmly.

"Sorry, I don't… do that sort of thing."

'Neither would my young master', Sebastian thought, delighted to guess a spark of that well-known feistiness behind the meek, polite tone of the other. Yet, while it was lovely to behold, the Crow demon had simply waited too long, craved for too long (had had his very insides scorched by that feeling of void, of not there, now that he pondered upon it) to allow the young acrobat a will of his own any longer.

"I understand," the raven said. "However, I would very much like you to take me back to your room tonight," he spoke softly but firmly, his eyes giving a brief flash of magenta as he did so.

He saw the boy's muscles slowly relax into submission, but even as he nodded Sebastian was able to read in the pale, parted lips and the sudden expression the other's face had taken the unspoken horror contained in some distant sliver of memory.

Ciel's room, reachable only by a half-rotten staircase in the back of the bar, was miniscule but surprisingly neat. The Crow demon threw a curious look around as Ciel himself stood with his back stuck to the peeling wood of the door, silent and obviously appalled at what was going on against his will. He barely breathed, helplessly trapped in that state of numbness he couldn't shake off, the deep-seated fear only adding to the exquisite scent of his soul.

Sebastian's inspection was brief, this place was not important, his young master wouldn't be here much longer as it was, now that the insufferable little deity (or whatever the heaven it was!) had brought him into the demon's path once more. He turned back sharply and pulled the boy in his arms, burying his nose in the crook of the other's neck as Ciel turned his head away, probably fearing that this forceful stranger had wanted to kiss him.

Oh, no. For that, it was yet too early in these new circumstances.

"Young master," the demon whispered with lips feverishly pressed against the pale skin under which pulse was deliciously rushing, "Please remember me."

Ciel inhaled and exhaled slowly, his body limp despite the inner tension, making no move as Sebastian unwrapped an arm from around him to dig inside his own shirt and produce an object momentarily concealed inside the hold of his fingers. The old, blackened silver and the dark-blue, slightly cracked stone were cold, just like the skin they'd hung against for the last hundred years and more, cold like death, cold like the cruel void which could only be filled but by their rightful owner and Ciel flinched when the ring was slipped up his thumb.

"Remember me, my young lord."

Hot winds blew under the reddish sky of the Underworld, bearing whipping, suffocating dust and waves upon waves of that infernal heat (which is called infernal for good reason, you see) and in the middle of it all, perched on a cornice of that horrid monument which stubbornly refused to bow to nature's will to see it crumble, stood a certain out-of-place ornament, its bashed-in snout turned upwards in a sort of smile, its short wings folded solemnly on its back and all in all looking quite pleased with itself.

"Ahhhh, love always triumphs, especially with a little help," the petite stone lump stated eventually, to no one in particular, as it spread its wings and let itself be carried away by the hot gushes of air towards the grove of black, leafless trees sheltering a certain demon's residence.

Peering in through one of the tall, glassless windows, the ornament saw a certain former earl standing in the middle of a poorly furnished room, face scrunched and fists clenched at his sides, tapping his tiny foot against the ground while his eyes flashed bright magenta.

"Sebastian, this place is filthy! The air is irrespirable! Where am I supposed to sleep tonight?! And I'm hungry!"

THE END