Disclaimer: These get really boring to write after over 250 pieces of fanfiction…

Author's Note: I still can't believe I wrote this. Anyway, this was the result of some conversations I had with three of my LJ friends. Don't ask what the conversations were about—you probably don't want to know. XD;;;

Warning: MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY. Shouta. Inappropriate uses of a violin bow. Oh, and it's been years since I last played violin, so I've long-since forgotten technical terminology. (Sorry!)

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Interlude

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"No, no, no, Young Master. How many times must I remind you?"

Small hands clenched against the papered wall, one set of nails raking down the decorative flowers as the other inadvertently plucked at catgut cords. The tinny squeak of the E-string harmonized with its player's voice: echoing quivered notes and screeched resistance and soprano softness.

"You can't just wrench it up and down, up and down."

A delicate wrist snapped violently back and forth, back and forth, as if in example. And though the boy could not see the bow's brutal motions, he absorbed the lesson nonetheless.

"You're overeager, and wasting the bow. If you continue like this, you'll never be able to properly play a trill."

The Count's knees began to quiver, his clammy forehead scraping against the painted barrier as he choked on a three-note cry.

"Exactly. These notes are connected. They all need to be played on the same bow."

Said instrument slipped elegantly downward, following the command of the butler's graceful, gloved hand. In the Earl's hazy mind, his rushing blood was a speeding metronome, and the whole world smelt of rosin, and he could feel every one of the rod's millions of fibrous hairs as the bow was teasingly torn from him, making music with his insides…

"Besides, one can make sweeter sounds when they save segments for later—"

Mismatched eyes jumped open— wide as dinner plates, round as a gaping mouth—as his body arched like an over-tightened bow, insides threatening to snap like a string. And just when the child was starting to think that it would all soon be over, that he could take in nothing else—

"Using them up one little thrust at a time—"

There was more. And more. And more and more andmoreandmoreandmoreandmoreand—

His vision turned paper-white, inter-dispersed with little black dots that read like music notes. And Ciel eagerly sang each and every one of them, reaching a final crescendo as his voice broke with lust and delight and exhausted, panted pleasure.

A husky chuckle echoed in his clammy ear.

"You see?"

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