Disclaimer: I don't own any of this.

Author's Note: I'd like to give my thanks to Salome Sensei for inadvertently inspiring this insanity. :3

Warnings: Mmm, shouta. References to episode 9 of the anime.

Dedication: A happy birthday to LJ user crsg! I hope that this is light and fluffy enough for you. :D

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Acquisition

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"…you cannot honestly expect me to believe that."

Scowling in a blatant show of skepticism, Ciel twirled the skeletally cylindrical weapon between his long fingers, examining it from heart-shaped tip to feathery bottom; the pseudo-baton made a faint whirling sound as he persisted in these ministrations, the air rushing through the ribbed down of the white-and-pink crest. Slender, smooth, and just under two feet long, it was— in the boy's eyes— nothing more than an ordinary arrow. The utter poppycock that demon spouted!

Yet, for all his charge's sneering and scoffing, Sebastian (who had, of course, been the one to first bequeath upon his master this innocuous instrument) continued to wear that deceptively blithe smile, the silver platter on which he'd presented his strange gift still half-raised. He tilted forward in a second, obsequious bow.

"Does it not please you?" the butler murmured, the faintest hint of folsom disappointment coloring his otherwise monotonous drone. "What a pity. And here I was under the impression that the young master had a fondness for such mystical trinkets."

The child arched a single eyebrow, lifting it higher and higher until it resembled the bow that his newly-acquired arrow currently lacked. "You speak lunacy," he quipped, huffing as his dexterous digits twirled the pointed projectile. "Talbot's camera was one thing. It had a history, a legacy. This looks like something you made with Lizzie in an arts class."

Sebastian straightened from his prostrate position with a half-swallowed chuckle dancing on the tip of his tongue; a condescending leer tugged at the corners of his glossy lips. "I am afraid I do not understand the young master's argument," the servant murmured as humbly as his lengthy smirk would allow. "Is he saying that the Greek god Cupid's enchanted arrows lack a legacy long and distinguished enough to earn a place in the young master's illustrious collection of rare artifacts and supernatural baubles?"

Ciel's response was the driest of glares. "…Sebastian, the glue is still drying on the ends of the shaft," he drawled, extending his acquisition as if in an invitation to scrutinize. Not that one needed to look hard to notice the dripping paste.

The devil remained impressively unfazed, even as his garnet eyes skimmed up and down the crepe-decorated forgery. "…I admit, I had to spruce the thing up a bit," he eventually confessed, as cool as you please. "Surely the young master had to do the same to that old camer—?"

"No," the earl interrupted flatly. "I didn't."

"Oh." Sebastian cocked his pretty head, donning a momentary mask of innocent confusion. But he could hardly contain his amusement for long; within seconds, his grin had cleared the puzzled expression from his face— as quickly and completely as the summer sun does dew. "Well, it stands to reason, I suppose. An arrow from an ancient civilization is significantly older than some charmed camera," he thus concluded, wholly flippant about the entire ordeal.

Ciel's exasperation grew infinitely more obvious. "Listen here, now, you irritating creature," he spat through gritted teeth, slamming his fist against his desk. "I— shi—!"

…which had been a rather stupid move, on the boy's part, as his fist had been full of arrow, and said arrow had been tip-down, and when the metal head had forcefully met the table, his flesh— spurred on by gravity as well as the pure, physical momentum of such a gesticulation— eagerly followed suit. The end result: his skin made intimate contact with the dulled edge of the ridiculous-looking dart. The pale membrane of his palm ripped and oozed in the metal heart's wake, a thin stream of red dribbling onto the waxed surface of the counter.

Ciel's reaction to this injury was a few choice words.

The demon's response, on the other hand, was marked by his rose-tea gaze mock-widening, and a sardonic gasp escaping his crescent-chasm mouth. "Goodness me, young master!" he cooed, sidling forward with his silken kerchief at the ready. "How very clumsy—you really must watch that temper of yours. But oh dear, what have I done?" Sebastian reeled back a step as if in sheer horror; all the while, his carefully constructed aura of concern was cracking, crumbling, and collapsing around him... "Everyone knows the effects of being pricked by Cupid's arrow. Whatever shall we do, now that you have looked upon me?"

At the sound of his butler's lilting voice, Ciel had bared his teeth and growled; with a snap of his pain-drooped neck, the boy twisted his narrowed eyes in the direction of his servant… His glower remained horribly virulent, even as his rounded cheeks grew hot and flushed. "F-fool…" the small nobleman grounded out, curling around his injury as the burgundy blush crept across his throat, blanketed his clavicle, slid down the staircase of his spine… "I s-saw you dip that t-thing in aphrodisiac…"

"…did you, now?"

Sebastian's gaze— no longer rusted red—flashed a vibrant shade of claret, his irises luminous with deviant delight. His pupils waned to slits, as was their wont when attending to an order… An order found in loopholes, but an order nonetheless. For Ciel was already twitching and jerking, insides writhing with demands that pride and sheer, loathsome stubbornness would never allow him to verbalize, but oh— his body was practically screaming its Wants, and that was all the permission the demon needed.

"Funny that you should choose to toy so carelessly with that arrow, then, young master," the devil purred, tenderly wrenching the now-worthless weapon from the desk and tossing it in the trash. There were other pointed pleasures to attend to… "Or could it be that the young master was simply too shy to ask for my… company?"

The tiny earl choked on a muffled groan, the sound half-furious and half-desperate as he was sprawled across the table, wriggling wantonly. "D-don't act so f-full of yourself, you b-bastard," Ciel hissed, even as his cheerful servant began popping his waistcoat's many pearl buttons. His frail hands lifted to resist this disrobement, but his conviction was just as weak as his thin, human muscles. And so instead his chest heaved, and his mind fogged, and his arms lifted to wrap around the monster's familiar, well-loved neck… "It was… just— ah!— a m-mistake…"

The feeble protest was rebuffed by a snicker.

"Oh, I would disagree, my lord," Sebastian murmured smoothly, loosening two sets of tightening pants. Spidery hands slid tauntingly up, up, up— tickling and teasing as a shadow slipped down, down, down, ice and fire mixing as the merry devil whispered:

"Gods don't make mistakes."

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