Disclaimer:Kuroshitsuji belongs to Yana, and the continuously wonderful Phobia to Neneko

Warnings:'M' for 'More inappropriate activities between Sebastian and Ciel'

AN:While the first half is canon and does take place within Phobia, the second does not, so please keep that in mind :D This was written to be less somber than the last two, so I'm mostly unsure about how it turned out, but I hope you enjoy it. Also, the accented 'e' in the word 'ganache' seems to have run off, so please imagine it's there anyway XD

The motion of a silver spoon is a point of fascination to Ciel.

At least while the spoon rests within Sebastian's capable hands.

Poised by a kitchen counter of the servant's quarters, he watches in a silent daze as Sebastian continues to mix part of the day's dessert within a moderately sized bowl. Easily. Expertly. Repetitively smooth circuits, the soft scraping of the utensil consumed by the thickness of the confection as the demon blends every ingredient into one sublime result.

Confection, however, is not all that Ciel hungers for.

As the silence stretches onwards, the earl's attention flits from the scent of cocoa to the sight of muscles, gently straining. There is something enticing about Sebastian in this state of domesticity, Ciel thinks. Perhaps far too many things.

The abandonment of tailcoats exposes white sleeves that are rolled up in twining wrinkles that cling to biceps, a teasing feature that he finds quite attractive. Forearms tense and Ciel takes note of every detail as if embedding a painting into his mind. They tighten with the slightest movements, the all-too-human hues of bluish-green veins creating willowy trails along the alabaster skin.

A sapphire iris continues to observe as light shimmers along the culinary tool enveloped by white cotton gloves. It trails higher then, unsurprised by the butler's expression.

Smug, yet somehow lighthearted. Ebony hair as aesthetically wild as can be, lips set into a smirk, and crimson eyes twinkling, Sebastian drowns the stillness beneath a velvet inquiry.

"Is there something I can assist you with, My Lord?"

"N-No… I mean, there's no…"

There is. Of course there is. But the question catches Ciel unaware, and he finds that he lacks the bravado to voice his true intentions. Instead he clenches his hand- a conflicted gesture- as longing floods his gaze and paints his cheeks.

"Young Master? Is something-?"

"Forget it!" Ciel shouts quickly, breaking his momentary lapse in awareness. An emergent spell of want. "What are you preparing for dessert tonight?"

Too keen for such deception, Sebastian begins his reply snidely, murmuring, "Changing the subject, eh? Nevertheless… tonight there will be cupcakes filled with warm chocolate pudding, made of butter cream and topped with strawberries imported from Italy, and kiwis from Spain."

Suddenly the spoon is taunting, silvery bait that is waved back and forth at Ciel's curious stare.

"Would you like to try some?"

At this Ciel cannot help but feel tremendous suspicion. In seven years, Sebastian has never once allowed a sweet to touch his lips before dinner. It is the one strict rule that Sebastian has set, something that Ciel chooses to abide by only because he knows that it was created with the purpose of maintaining his health.

Still, there have always been days when his composition nearly surrenders to childish desire. Moments in which he is seconds away from ordering the demon to supply him with endless decadence. So, to be offered such a treat… is it generosity? Luck? Or an evil ruse on Sebastian's part?

"You never let me eat sweets before dinner," Ciel huffs in reminder, arms crossed in the very manner that one would expect of such a proud and pampered human.

The polished metal becomes tainted as Sebastian presents him with a spoonful of pudding.

"I might be tempted to make an exception, just this once," the demon explains. "Would you approve of it?"

For this defiant bite he might approve of anything, Ciel thinks, as he becomes transfixed by the offering. It looks so enticing that a divine glow seems to surround it, beckoning him. Though he has never favored one dessert over another, anything involving chocolate is graciously welcome. Surely his butler is exploiting his liking of it, but at the moment Ciel finds himself willing to overlook that fact.

He reaches out, the illusion shattered at once as the morsel is taken just out of reach.

"Ah," the devil purrs sweetly, adding "only if you let me feed you, that is."

Annoyed at the typically foolish request, Ciel frowns. "This is ridiculous."

"Well, yes, but it's fun," counters the butler.

At this the earl raises both hands, delicate wrists adorned by cuffs of ribbon and lace, declaring, "As long as I can use my hands, I won't let you feed m-"

And so Sebastian renders his hands useless.

Much too rapid for human eyes to comprehend, the demon's movements undo the bows of each cuff and tie them into a single ribbon that binds the appendages together. Yet another unforeseen triumph.

"Oops, My Lord. I fear that your hands are useless like this," Sebastian begins with a smile. "Really, how clumsy you are."

He moves closer, and a nervous coil sweeter than any dessert begins to constrict somewhere within Ciel's stomach.

The demon's eyes are glittering, two rubies glazed by amusement. "Well, My Lord," comes the entreaty, "say 'ah'…"

Ciel glances to his left, as if expecting an entire crowd of aristocrats to be gathered for the show, ready to remind him that he ought to be appalled, embarrassed, ashamed. Then he looks upon the spoon, the chocolate, and contemplates. It was made by Sebastian… surely it is perfection. It would be foolish to refuse it, wouldn't it…?

It would be, Ciel decides. It absolutely would.

Rosy lips part, an eye lulls, and Ciel is humbled as he opens his mouth to beg like a famished infant.


Faintly melodic and thoroughly hungry, the sound makes the devil's heart flutter in a moment of weakness. A fondness that only his master is capable of extracting from him.

When nothing happens, the earl bristles, nearly convinced that this is naught but a cruel trick as he first thought. But his eye opens and then widens, stunned at the endearment radiating from the creature before him.

Content, the demon fulfills his promise, and Ciel's tongue is treated to a cool dollop of saccharine delight that bestows a sweet chill to his throat as he swallows.

Indisputably heavenly.

Sebastian chuckles then, utterly pleased, "See? That was fun, wasn't it?"

Fun? Depending on Sebastian for something so humiliating is as far from enjoyable as anything could ever hope to be! Granted, he did want that taste of chocolate quite badly, but still-

The Phantomhive name will not go on without vengeance, Ciel declares within the recesses of his thought, determined to find a means of retaliation.

Searching with a narrowed gaze, he soon spies the pudding sitting quietly in its bowl, and Ciel knows exactly what to do.

"Oh, Sebastian," the earl gains his servant's attention quickly as his fingers dip into the container, coating themselves in the mixture.

The perplexity upon Sebastian's face is instant, mounting as Ciel utters an order.

"Stay still," he commands, certain that this will undo Sebastian properly, a thrill seeping into his heartbeat as he slathers the flawless skin of the butler's face with chocolate.

Discs of scarlet expand at the mess; it is a challenge to the refined behavior that Sebastian has been practicing for so long. Ciel then pauses to admire his handiwork. Knit brows, blatant disapproval, shock- the demon's expression is almost endearing, Ciel admits to himself, before less innocent thoughts begin to cloud his mind.

The gorgeously pale flesh- bejeweled by gleaming streaks of chocolate- is alluring.

"Just look at your face," the earl chastises. "How dirty you are. How shameful for a Phantomhive servant."

There is magnetism in the room as Ciel approaches, every step igniting tension edged by anticipation. Without pause, he stands before Sebastian and leans forward, pressing lips to a sweet-blemished cheek.

Ciel is then certain that he has never tasted anything better.

His tongue moves with purpose, languorously, creating a rather chaotic work of art. It laves the valley between lower lip and chin, stopping to recede as a gentle sucking begins along the line of Sebastian's jaw. Enjoying himself much more than he would have imagined, Ciel's mouth wraps around the warmth of flesh, spice of skin, and sweetness of cocoa before bestowing a greedy flick of tongue against Sebastian's chin.

"Ah, pardon me, My Lord," Sebastian murmurs. His eyes are dark, sanguine and hooded with delight at his punishment. "You have always been a messier eater than I. Why look at this… dipping your fingers into your food…"

Delicate fingers are then loved by a sinister mouth as demonstration, and Ciel is acutely aware of the consequence that this presents.

His saliva

But there is barely time to refute the thought as the searing liquid surpasses skin and tissue and settles deep into marrow, close enough to rasp against the quiver of an aching soul, and Ciel conveys it with a timid moan.

The withdrawn sound spurs Sebastian onward, and Ciel's fogged mind causes calves pressed against backside and thigh to curl at what might be a long yet subtle moan. The demon's responses are like music, lewd and intoxicating notes that simmer like a swallow of red wine. The effects of them seem quite similar to alcohol at any rate, leaving Ciel dizzy, drunken, willing, wanting-

Sighing, as Sebastian begins to vandalize a clavicle doused with chocolate.

It's cheating, Ciel thinks with a whimper. His neck is a point of carnal weakness and Sebastian knows this all too well. A detail committed to memory that makes use of unfaltering attention. He suckles with just enough caution to avoid causing a bruise, and nibbles without eliciting pain.

Then more of his spell-binding salivation is brushing along his mouth, and Ciel's is reeling.

Devouring. The demon's stare is a ravenous promise, because nothing about it implies that Sebastian has any intention to move away, and indeed, he does not. He moves close enough to make his master's breath hitch deliciously, and oh, he's going to. The butler is so close that their breaths are mingling, whispers of cocoa rubbing together, and yes, he's going to. They're going to, finally, and Ciel realizes that it is a gesture long overdue.

The kiss is heart-wrenching.

Gentle as a sweep of feathers, Sebastian kisses him so tenderly that Ciel's stomach twists into knots of pleasure, his heart hammering away with such force that it thunders within his ears. He is lost then, imprisoning the demon between his arms as they begin a fevered tempo that introduces their hips to minimal abrasion.

Thoughts turn savage, filled with moist sounds, rustling fabric, and the image of being stripped and ravaged against the counter until the wood beneath him is warm from his skin and the air is tainted with groans and pleas and dizzying musk, all laced with chocolate.

It might have happened. Could have, if not for the demand that Priscilla shrieks into the halls as she reminds her long-gone butler that she is awaiting an apple pie.

Ciel very nearly growls.

Her approach cuts their kissing short, and oh, how he longs for more of it! That devilish nectar within him sparks want so insistent that Ciel wants nothing more than to tug Sebastian down and give that intrusive brat a sight that she'd not soon forget!

But fantasy is thus for many reasons, and the encounter ends on a truly awkward note as each male assesses the other's obvious state of dishevelment before they part ways.

Distraught and significantly agitated, Ciel requests that his dinner be brought to his study that evening. Elizabeth will be upset, surely, but he knows that dining in Priscilla's presence would only serve to irritate him… and perhaps enthuse the desire to toss a dish at her as thanks for her impudence.

So troubled is the earl that he even skips dessert, much too flustered at the thought of what the core of those cupcakes hold. Instead he goes off to bathe on his own, accompanied by silence, suds infused with the soft aroma of fresh lavender, and the lingering burn of Sebastian's being surrounding him everywhere.

He should have had his dessert, Ciel thinks as he buttons his sleepwear- one of Sebastian's button-up shirts, gently broken in and reeking of the demon's luscious scent. He still dons stockings and purposefully snug underwear, but the shirt's size minimizes the effect of the normally suggestive attire. The sleeves rest above his fingers while the hem stops just above the knee, granting him the appearance of a child who has decided to borrow from an adult's wardrobe for a game of make-believe. Unbecoming, certainly, but irrelevant.

All that matters is that he is swathed in fabric perfumed by… what had Sebastian called himself?

His loved one…

"Or something similar," Ciel mutters to himself as he advances towards his bed, the resulting blush producing a lovely gradient of rose and cream as it climbs to the tips of his ears. The earl huffs as he climbs atop his sheets, displeased with the absence of a certain butler. Privileged as he is, waiting is an activity that Ciel barely ever partakes in. Sebastian is a creature whose sensuality is rivaled only by a keen sense of punctuality, which leads him to wonder why he has not yet arrived.

Perhaps his usual routine of chores are taking up his time? Their earlier actions might have pushed the demon's schedule back by a bit, and he already holds responsibility for most of the tasks essential to maintaining order within the manor, but still…

Though it is a vulnerability, Ciel can no longer sleep without him.

A few years ago, security had come to him in the form of a pillow that he favored above all others. It was absolutely ordinary, encased in a plain white cover made of the highest quality fabric that money could fetch, yet he could never fall asleep unless it was clutched firmly within his grasp. Something about that malleable stuffing pressing between his fingers had made him feel safe as he hugged it close and willed his nightmares away.

But now he has something much better to mold and press to his hands, Ciel reminds himself. A devil that holds him and swallows cries of fear and passion alike.

Ciel lays down, anxious, burying his face against his arms and inhaling deeply. "Sebastian," he whispers into the dim lighting of the room, watching as shadows sway merrily, directed by the golden glow of candlelight.

"Yes, My Lord?"

The reply is startling, enough to make Ciel rise in a comically swift manner that wrings a hearty laugh from the intruder's throat.

"Don't sneak up on me like that!" the unnerved earl scowls as he recovers and realizes that Sebastian has once again managed to make him look like a fool.

"Sneak?" the demon asks innocently, sauntering closer and revealing that he has taken to wearing a nightshirt of his own, forgoing the immaculate but rigid cloth of his uniform. Ciel immediately finds it odd, the off-white color commanding attention towards dark hair and intensifying the red of sultry, feline eyes.

"I did not sneak up on you," Sebastian continues as he reaches the bed and sits upon the edge of the mattress. "You called me, and so I came."

Ciel scoffs. "Well then, what took you so long?"

This earns him a smile that is full of enough content to make Ciel wary. "Why, Young Master, did I worry you?"


"Were you lonely without me?"

The inquiry might as well be a fresh wound- torn, flowing, and deathly exposing- because it makes Ciel feel horribly transparent and curiously raw. Reply is not formed by words, but by silence. A button adorning the cuff of his makeshift nightgown is picked until the thread begins to loosen, frail denial aimed at the unmoving waves of a duvet.

"Forgive me, My Lord," the demon croons wholeheartedly, the apology embalming Ciel in a prison of comforting velvet. A place that exists only within his thoughts. Confinement that he gladly embraces.

Then the butler inflicts upon him an act of affection, which always vary but continue to increase in frequency. It is strange, Ciel shudders, because in those moments Sebastian is beautiful.

Inhuman, but so very lovely.

During those fleeting minutes everything changes, iced rubies thawing into puddles of carmine adoration that make the demon irresistible. A grin will shed its ominous threat and become an invitation that is difficult to refuse, even the points of well-hidden fangs glimmering like pearls that Ciel would like to tear from that smile and press to his heart.

It is frightening. Terrifying, because in those moments especially, Ciel edges closer to letting Sebastian know the one truth capable of undoing them completely.

But he cannot, and he never does. Yet his lips always tremble, his heart always roars, and his body always aches, urging him with two words that twist about, rattling with the cool echo of a rusting, clambering chain.

Tell him, tell him, tell him.

Ciel does not comply.

Instead he is mortified as a yelp escapes his throat. Sebastian trails his fingers against the sole of a fine-boned foot, tickling gently. He giggles, a devilish trill that causes gooseflesh to blossom over Ciel's skin. It's too innocent. Too playful. Ridiculously pleasant.

"Quit it!" he finally gasps, leg flailing in an attempt to chase away the attack. "Don't treat me like a bloody child, Sebastian!"

"Is that what you think?" the butler asks as his teasing ceases. "Then you shall have to forgive me once more."

"I don't have to do anything of the sort," Ciel states.

"But you will, won't you."

It is not a question. Ciel has already forgiven him, because the caress upon his ankle is not meant for a child. It is a touch meant for someone who is treasured.

Loving, and therefore, painful.

Sebastian chooses to guide their exchange in another direction. "You did not have dessert today. Why is that?"

"I wasn't in the mood for it," Ciel explains quickly.

"Ahh, then I was correct after all. I spoiled your appetite, just as I feared."

Truly an understatement, Ciel thinks. "Still," Sebastian continues, "perhaps I can compensate for the loss tomorrow."

Ciel pats the unoccupied space beside him just once and the demon follows suit with graceful movements that counter a human's clumsy crawl with a fluid glide of limbs.

"What will you make?" Ciel asks, voice monotonous as he tries to restrain the enthusiasm that threatens to seep through.

"Ganach," reveals the butler as he drapes the duvet over their bodies. The origin of the word is immediately recognized. Though they are both fluent in French, Ciel cannot help but think that Sebastian weaves the language into something else entirely. Something tempting. A lilt of smooth syllables and decadent purrs.

"Ganach?" the earl repeats.


"I can't remember the last time that we conversed in French," Ciel admits suddenly, shifting about in an attempt to achieve a thoroughly comfortable pose. He settles on leaning against the pillows, sitting, severely aware of the half dozen inches that separate he and his 'something like it' apart.

"A shame, I think. You speak it almost flawlessly."

Ciel glares. "Almost?"

"Yes, almost. When you forget to pay it mind, you allow the barest of accents to make itself known. Though I'll admit that I find it rather charming."

"I never asked for your opinion," comes the injured retort. The nerve of him, mentioning a flaw and then enjoying it!

"It seems like a fine night to remain quiet," Sebastian declares suddenly. "You've spat fire at nearly every word I've spoken. If you're in a bad mood, it is perfectly fine to say so, Young Master."

"I'm not! You're just…" Ciel begins, then trails off quietly.

Infuriating. Annoying. Unnerving. Sly.

Necessary. Reassuring. Warm.

Stunning. Perfect. Surreal.



The demon is surprised as his normally adamant master buries into his side and says nothing.

"Would you like to choose what I shall prepare with the ganach, Young Master?" Sebastian asks softly, toying with still-damp strands of Ciel's hair. "I could make a layered torte, if you'd like. Or chocolate truffles. You could coat fresh fruits with it as well, if you prefer a lighter treat. What do you think?"

"Anything would be fine," Ciel replies dully, unwilling to say that he'd love to try it all. He is quite distracted by a swift change in stance that forces him to sit once more, nestled in Sebastian's lap. The man's imposing height towers against him.

Sebastian sighs. "It's quite simple to make, but so versatile. You begin with the chocolate, of course. The higher the quality, the better the result will be. First you heat it in a pot over boiling water until it dissolves. Once it begins to melt, you stir…"

Ciel flinches as a hand slides between his shoulder blades, soothing circles that flow to the center of his back.


"Again and again," Sebastian continues, "until it's as smooth as can be."

A spot of swollen skin is discovered, and Sebastian begins to work at the knot with his thumb. The ache is sharp, an unrelenting sting that settles into relief as the digit continues to rub.

"Is it beginning to feel better?" he questions, but Ciel hears the end of the sentence end in a groan. A response his own involuntary whines, no doubt.

The pain is in fact lessening, and Ciel attempts to be nondescript as he answers, "F-For the most part."

But he's already tossed stocking-clad legs over either side of Sebastian's hips, instigating chaste pecks to his collarbone that bequeath the sensation of having his skin set ablaze.

"There," Sebastian says as the muscle relaxes at long last.

Ciel can feel the demon's breath as he rises upon his knees in an attempt to diminish the gap in their statures, Sebastian's face resting upon his neck, lashes grazing against him every time they flutter.

"Well then," Sebastian mutters casually, "once you've accomplished that, it's as simple as adding a heavy cream in small increments, so as to achieve the desired consistency. If one is too hasty…"

Ciel forgets how to breathe once their foreheads touch, and he knows that Sebastian is going to do it again. He's going to use this ploy of brilliantly executed banter to draw him in… isn't he?

"If one is too hasty, then of course it is liable to be ruined," the demon instructs, mouth favoring a trembling lower lip. "And then, Young Master, one would have to begin anew. Though if truly wanted, it is worth another attempt, wouldn't you agree?"

"It is," he replies without thinking, and immediately wishes that those words could be retracted. They yield a countenance both lecherous and gratified, scarlet twining with a touch of flame and twilight; a pair of suns illuminated by the scattered moonbeams that creep through barely parted curtains.

Ciel braces himself for a mischievous retort- some sort of phrase that will sully his response- but it never arrives. What does is the kiss that he's been seeking.

Another attempt.

Ciel immediately deems the result much better. Away from the threat of prying eyes and needy maidens, Sebastian's pace is languid and thorough, as though savoring something that may or may not be there. Remnants of cocoa, perhaps? Hints of his soul?

Mind-numbing droplets glaze his lips, the tip of his tongue, fill his throat as he swallows, and he becomes a victim once more. Reckless, desperate prey. Ciel cannot help but enjoy the loss of composure, a wildness that leads him to brutally clasp onto broad shoulders. A series of yanks and pulls earns him the refuge of Sebastian's body, a shelter that quickly entombs him.

Progression continues slowly in the aforementioned small increments, though it is never clear whether this is done so out of a need to be cautious or to torture. Sebastian's kisses mature into dainty bites against a quivering throat. Hands begin to wander over elbows and trembling fingers. No place of consequence, until-


A dastardly digit returns to rub- or was it stir?- above the frantic rise and fall of the earl's chest, millimeters away form a rosy ring of skin that begins to stiffen despite the lack of direct stimulation.

Ciel moans further, unwilling to ask for anything more, even though he's had it before. Silken lips have been there, have suckled, so profoundly that he wonders if Sebastian could taste the very rush of his pulse.

Hesitant palms are greeted by the warmth of neglected swells- the earl groaning as he bows his back in order to press Sebastian's hands close. Flesh over cloth over skin create an electric friction that causes choked gasps; the sensation is so much better than Ciel remembers.

It becomes clear that Sebastian has deemed this as dangerous. There is a tell-tale flash of violet in his lidded eyes as he ceases all movement, a descision quickly refuted by intoxicated resolve. Ciel places a firm hold over Sebastian's hands, refusing to let them depart.

Wasn't there a time in which he would be the one struggling to escape?

Buds protrude against pristine white, still rubbing against the roughened feel of work-worn palms, coercing the barest of movements from Sebastian's twitching fingers. It's terribly one-sided, so hopeless that Ciel is gripped by an overwhelming yearning. Only his fading pride prevents him from begging, causing him to contain unborn pleas as his lips press together harshly. It does not take long for victory to arrive.

Sebastian concedes. Quietude is ruined by a cry wretched from Ciel's throat after mere minutes, digits sweeping against his chest as they fulfill his need. Then the devil drives him mad with an onslaught of questions.

"Have you decided what you might like for tomorrow's dessert, Young Master?"
Nefarious thumbs flick to and fro as the butler asks.

"Is there something else that you would like to suggest instead?"
They join the grip of an index finger, pinching-






Stirring him from the inside out, molding Ciel's lust into something deliciously wanton.

"Is that so…" Sebastian leans in, rasping against a feverish cheek. "What would you like then, My Lord?"

Ciel desires everything, so much so that he shivers violently at the thought.

Everything is simply far too much.

He'd like another kiss. For Sebastian to continue touching him everywhere. For a trail of tongue and teeth to sink into his flesh. For the aching emptiness of his body to be filled and frayed and pacified.

Sebastian stares and all the world halts. Ciel takes note of the deepened shade of the devil's eyes- crimson rings with darkened, ruddy edges that remind him of cherries coated in chocolate. For a moment he wonders why all movement has ceased, but then remembers that Sebastian is awaiting some sort of answer. Words that cannot be given.

Neck craned and eyes closed, Ciel arches his body and purses his lips. Surely the butler will understand this much.

Well acquainted with ardor's many dialects, Sebastian interprets the gesture with typical skill. Again they kiss, again his master keens for more, and again the butler must be the one to deny it.

"You ought to go to sleep now," a hellish mouth whispers roughly into the blood-flushed shell of a delicate ear.

"You ought not tell me what to do," Ciel retorts, a beautifully feral sound escaping him as eager hips press against the apex of flawless thighs.

"Pardon me," the servant apologizes, "It was merely a suggestion." The young earl's movements become a treacherous agony- bucking, rubbing, grinding- that cause him to flinch. With a devil's perception, thin cloth does nothing to hide the passionate swell that continues to tease his own, already throbbing and moist…

"Don't move," Sebastian hisses, and Ciel is halted by immeasurable strength. Their bodies linger, the heat between them exquisite.

"Young master," the velvet tremor is torn and ragged, and Ciel finds it difficult to pity him. Too difficult, with those unyielding hips pressed to his and the unmistakable throb of arousal clashing against his own. So the earl rises, rubbing upwards, a slow movement that forces the demon's unearthly eyes to close. It is the sound that Sebastian emits that confers to Ciel a pang of sympathy- a deep and almost melancholic snarl.

This is hurting him.

Falsely human skin is glazed by a nervous sheen of sweat. Brows are furrowed deeply, agonized, as the warmth of hands quiver with the effort that it takes to render them stationary; this is the control that Sebastian employs in order to leave his purity whole.

Ciel apologizes with his hands, fingertips tracing cheeks, nose, and the trembling curves of midnight lash-lines before whispering, "Torte."

"Begging your… come again, Young Master?"

"Are you deaf?" Ciel says with an upturned chin, his usual harshness countered by the gentle hold that he places over one of Sebastian's hands. "For tomorrow, I'd like the torte."

The fondness that breaks through the luminous haze in the demon's eyes is overwhelming. "It was the very first dessert that I managed to make successfully. I wonder if you remember?"

"I could never forget," Ciel whispers, voice wavering, akin to that of a child close to tears. But the suggestion of a smile edges his mouth as he adds wryly, "Every dessert before that one was impressively awful."

"I've been winning you over with chocolate from the very start," the devil chuckles as their bodies fall to lay against the mattress beneath them.

Ciel yawns, twining his fingers with a more elegant set as he and Sebastian lay mere inches apart. "So it seems. Perhaps you shall continue to win me over with it until the very end."

"Perhaps," a lone ruby iris agrees. "My Lord?"

"Hn?" hums the earl sleepily.

"Human fare will forever be distasteful to my particular palate. However," the demon grins, "the chocolate was infinitely better when served upon your skin."

Ciel's hand tightens with half-hearted wrath. "Good night," he sighs with annoyance that does not match the pleased look that settles over his features.

"Sweet dreams," croons Sebastian, thumb stoking over little knuckles that have since fallen lax.

Thus the hours of slumber- both true and feigned- are filled with dreams of repose and molten cocoa, and the faint utterances of a butler who wonders if his master might enjoy learning how to make caramel, instead.