Disclaimer: Haha.

Author's Note: Inspired by chapter 39. I'll leave it to you to decide how.

Dedication: For Neocloud9, Ruby_Moon_1x2, and Theamazingfetus, all of whom shared (and added to) my vision. XD

Amusing Side-Note: In the 1997 version of "The Merriam-Webster Dictionary," the word "butler" is immediately followed by "butt." (That made me laugh like a five-year-old…)

Warnings: Implied shouta like WOAH.

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Bedtime Rituals

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Occasionally, Sebastian forgot that he was dealing with a child.

"Young master," he'd say, bowing himself into his new tamer's dark study, "it is time to prepare for bed."

Silence. The scrtich-scratch of Ciel's busy quill would stop; for an instant, it would seem as if his breathing did, as well. And that first night, Sebastian was stupid enough to assume that this meant he was surrendering to the inevitable—setting aside his daily chores in favor of completing their agreed upon bedtime routine. But by the time the demon lifted his politely tilted head, the 10-year-old would be gone.

The first time this happened, Sebastian could do nothing but blink in surprise. The second, he sighed, and traipsed about the manor for an hour, playing a dutiful game of hide-and-seek with his charge. The third found him scowling, compulsively checking his pocket watch as he made a bee-line for the pantry cabinet he sensed Ciel had somehow managed to escape into.

"Really, young master!" he chastised, yanking the child out into the open by the scruff of his neck. (The little boy growled pathetically, vainly resisting the tug of white-gloved fingers.) "A noble such as you should never behave in such an atrocious manner! It's disgraceful."

Ciel had no response but a sneer, writhing in his butler's steel-strong grasp as he was forcibly dragged to the tub. For a spell, Sebastian deluded himself into thinking that the worst was over, but no—he soon discovered that getting the preteen out of his foppery was almost as painful a process as the bath itself: full of wriggling and whining and much cursing from the earl. Even Sebastian's demonic attributes weren't much help against the squawking noble; certainly, he had enough strength to wring the brat's scrawny neck, but their contract wouldn't allow it. What's more, he still wasn't used to functioning in the human realm—he had to concentrate so hard on not-accidentally-(on-purpose)-hurting his small master, he couldn't fully concentrate on his master himself. And the slippery little bastard (no pun intended) was annoyingly good at taking advantage of this…

"Young ma—! Get back here!"

"No!" Ciel shrieked, jolting from the bath with a small tidal wave of scented water. By the time Sebastian had whirled around, the boy had already splish-splashing his way to the door; he was skating down the marble halls on his pruny feet before the demon had a chance to stand. And how ironic was it— Sebastian couldn't help but muse, chasing down the bright-n-shiny hiney that zipped through corridors and doorways— that the child was more than willing to sacrifice his immortal soul to a demon, but show him warm water and bubbles and he was screaming for mercy. It was almost enough to hurt Sebastian's pride as a creature of the underworld… how was a nightly dip in the tub more terrifying than the devil himself?

But that was neither here nor there.

"Young master, streaking is an unattractive hobby," the butler snapped, lifting his once-again-captured charge by the ankle. Upside down and still dripping wet, the little boy snarled.

"It's not like there's anyone around to see me," Ciel grumbled in return, but at least he was no longer resisting. He was smart enough to know that Sebastian would have no problems dropping him on his head; he had no desire to add a migraine to his list of nocturnal woes.

Sebastian cocked an eyebrow. "How refreshing to know that the young master has a speckling of shame. Very well. I'll look into hiring more servants in the morning. Let's see if we can stomp out this nasty habit…"

Another snarl. With his free foot, the child attempted to clip Sebastian's jaw; the demon merely smiled as he dodged the attack.

But unfortunately, the smile didn't stay in place for very long: as soon as his nightshirt was buttoned, the small earl had bolted once more, leaving the demon to bash his frustrated forehead against the nearest available wall. By the time he'd managed to haul his charge (hissing-and-spitting all the while) back to his bedroom— quickly fixing the outside lock, so that Ciel could do nothing but rage like an animal against the barricaded door— Sebastian was the one who felt ready for bed.

"This is ludicrous," the butler muttered to himself, raking a hand through sweaty bangs as he meandered back down to the kitchen. "There has got to be an easier way to force that little monster to—"

It was then that his ruby gaze fell upon the Wedgewood tea set, and his wicked mind provided him with an idea.

Which brought the pair to the fourth day of Sebastian's contracted servitude. The nine o'clock bells tolled, and—just like the nights before—they found the demon bowing himself into his master's study. Also like the nights before, Ciel sat, ready, on the edge of his seat… but paused when he noticed the laden tray in his servant's arms.

"What're you doing?" the boy inquired suspiciously, even as he eased himself back into the confines of his chair. "Don't think you can trick me with gestures of good will. I still don't want to go to bed."

Sebastian smiled blithely, rearranging the papers on his charge's desk. "Young master, something occurred to me last night," he explained, setting a cup of peppermint tea atop a cleared patch of mahogany. "While all small children dislike bedtime, most renounce the practice of armed resistance at the age of five or six. Unless—" and here, he forced the steaming drink into Ciel's tiny hands, "—they have a very good reason to continue."

"…what are you saying, exactly?" the boy grumbled, looking petulant even as he took an obliging sip of his refreshment. The gentle, soothing aroma of mint was somehow intoxicating…

"I beg your forgiveness, young master," Sebastian apologized solemnly, bowing from the waist. "I somehow forgot the horrible trauma that you only-so-recently survived. The night must bring you horrible dreams, for you to oppose rest so actively."

Ciel chose not to verbally respond, instead taking a deeper pull of his tea. Though, as he swallowed, he couldn't help but notice how strangely potent the drink was. Liquids like this were supposed to warm one's insides, he knew, but to this degree…? He could feel his face flushing, cheeks rosy and tummy twisting, as he tried with renewed effort to focus on the purred words of his obsequious butler.

"And so I got to thinking, young master," Sebastian was saying, a gentle lilt of amusement coloring his whispery words. A lifted finger, tipped in black, dissected the curve of the demon's smile— and oh, how odd— without Ciel's notice, Sebastian's white kid gloves had vanished. So had the silver tea tray, it seemed. "How could I help relax you? After all, as a servant of Phantomhive, what would I do if I couldn't provide my master with a dreamless sleep?"

A velvet chuckle, a self-satisfied smile. Realization struck with the force of a physical blow; Ciel gulped. Hard. And in doing so, he ingested the last swig of peppermint.

Quivering coal lashes fluttered in hazy-headed comprehension—the teacup tumbled from trembling fingers with a delicate shatter. He'd never felt so… peculiar… "Did you… put a sleeping draft in my tea?" the boy demanded, voice oddly husky in his burning ears. Why did his lower belly feel so squirmy? He shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable, but it was hard (wait, why was his…? Oh dear…) when his innards were as hot as Sebastian's trailing hands…

Ciel blinked blearily, tongue too heavy to form an order of resistance, even as his demon began leisurely unbuttoning his waistcoat.

"Oo, this is much more fun than a sleeping draft, my lord. It's called an aphrodisiac," Sebastian cooed, smirking lips skimming a path up his moaning master's silken throat. "And don't worry. When we're done, you'll be far too exhausted for nightmares…"

And so he was. Thus, that fourth night marked the beginning of a new bedtime ritual—one that both parties seemed inordinately pleased with: Ciel no longer feared twelve hours of hallucinated torture, and Sebastian was no longer forced to endure the hours of legitimate torture that putting the child to bed had entailed. And while the streaking didn't go away, it was at least confined to his master's study.

Neither could ask for more than that.

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