It was something that he could do only when he was alone, something much easier said than done. Free time did not come by by the bucket-full for the Phantomhive butler.

The temptation to simply sneak off before it was safe was so great. Yes, he could get caught, but wasn't there a thrill in that, in getting caught... at least, that's what that odious redhead had said. Far be it for him to tolerate the over-emotional Shinigami for longer than necessary, in matters like these he'd had to turn to him. It had been a while. He could've forgotten how to do this.

Unlike the humans believed, it was not as simple as 'riding a bike'.

Slowly, he grasped the hard shaft with a slick hand and gently twisted. His tongue darted out against a soft upper lip as he concentrated, and squeezed lightly to get a better grip. With a patience reserved especially for this, he used his thumb to hold it steady and traced a line upwards, cursing when droplets smeared against his naked fingertips. With a careful finger, he cleared up the mistake and started again, his breathing slowing as he stroked and cleaned, stroked and cleaned, ever mindful of the sounds that passed by his door – if someone caught him at such a crucial moment, he'd never forgive himself.

An hour later, he lay back, satisfied and exhausted, and stared up at his hands.

Painting his nails alone was such a chore.