STAY ALIVE

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Kuroshitsuji. I do own this story.

Shout Out: Crunching words seems to be my new hobby these days. As promised, new chapter is here, and it's finally getting somewhere, but both butlers appeared to hit a wall with their pretty little prey. Oh dear. A fair warning, this will veer off the canon from this point, characters-wise. As much as I love research, there's a limit to all the technicalities involved. With that being said, enjoy!

Warnings: AU-verse, SLASH, the story is finally getting somewhere.(Map not included). Not beta-read.

There's a rhythm in rush these days
Where the lights don't move and the colors don't fade
Leaves you empty with nothing but dreams
In a world gone shallow
In a world gone lean

('Stay Alive' by Jose Gonzales)

Since they came to reside in Grimmauld Place, the days seemed to blend into one another. It was like they were some kind of strange insects, trapped in ash-colored amber of everyday happenings.

Wake up. Do morning ablutions. Dress up. Go to the breakfast and bear with the inane chatter of the people residing along them, rebuff their offers and commands. Rebuff the canine idiot called Sirius Black. Tell the esteemed Headmaster that his ideas are idiotic at best and moronic at the very worst, when he tries to oh so gently to bide them on his side of the Greater Good. Then return back to his rooms, getting the reports from his butlers about the latest mayhem they had done under the guise of the Savior and plan again. Read through the information gathered by his two butlers about Gray Alliance until lunch. Attend lunch and once again keep a certain nosy bookworm along with one extremely infatuated female redhead from a certain bespectacled butler and himself. Michaelis was crafty enough to take care of himself, more often than not doing his own brand of subtly egging everyone else. Then training in the Black Room until dinner, getting to dinner and avoiding the nosy people asking where he had been and what exactly had he been up to and then back to his rooms, showering and enduring the butlers' snacking on his blood before getting ready to bed and sleep like dead to the next morning.

This evening, in an effort to escape the extreme boredom gripping his mind, Antares decided to make an exception, and do a small bit of socializing with his peers in the living room, lazily watching Ron playing chess with frowning Ginny while Hermione was proof-reading one of her essays for the n-th time. The room was cozy enough, what with brown leather settee and two couches with the low-set mahogany table between the three. The carpets were still in washed-out colors of dark red, pale blue and earthy brown, the colors intermixing so closely that at the moments it looked like it had been made out of stains and not beautifully done ornaments. The walls were a calm ochre with white accents - they may have been white once upon a time, but how they were of sad yellowish shade. The fireplace was dully gray, despite being polished still rough-looking and right now yawning pit of darkness, as the fire hadn't been lit yet. Curtains framing the two tall white-framed windows were of an indeterminable shade of grayish blue, letting in the steadily brewing darkness of the late evening. They had been forced to lit the wall lights to lit the place, drenching it in somber tones. Antares let his eyes return back to his companions for the evening, quietly watching their interactions, or lack thereof, in Hermione's case.

Of course, Ron had tried to entice him into playing the game, but one sharp look from Faustus, Ron has stuttered and retreated, and instead nagged Ginny into playing - meaning losing - against him. Gabby, who was sitting beside him on the couch was quietly playing with her doll and occasionally sneaking glances at him from her own corner, her cheeks darkening every time she sneaked a glance at the moody Carruthers.

The warfare, aptly named waiting game, was exceedingly dull. Yawning, Antares delicately covered his mouth, unmindful of Gabby's adoring gaze on his person. Somehow, he managed to become his favorite person in the house, despite his cold manner toward her.

Blinking slowly, he looked at the fireplace, idly musing what would it take to make things move faster for the sake of his self-imposed mission, or at least entertainment. He could tell them the Savior's identity - but that would meant he would be whined at to join the Order of the Eternally Crispy Chicken all the more in comparison to before. There had been a month already since his relocation to the Grimmauld and really, Antares was already bored to tears. Same old people, same old whines, same old, same old.

'Even Azkaban would be prefer -'

"Young Master, there's a letter for you." Claude interrupted his musing, as he murmured into Antares' ear, causing him to blink sluggishly and the teens in the room looking at him inquisitively from whatever they were doing at the time.

"But Dumbledore had expressively forbid any outside communication –" The resident bookworm began lecturing, only to be quietened down by Antares' glare at his person. 'Honestly, doesn't she ever quit?' Antares complained to himself, aggrieved at her insistence that Dumbledore's orders were be-all-end-all in the house. As much as Antares wished for some entertainment, he had had it with the Miss Know-It-All right now. Especially if that letter was from who he thought it was.

"Miss Granger. Dumbledore doesn't have a say in what am I doing, because he is neither my guardian nor my superior." Antares lazily snapped at her. Belatedly, wondered just how she thought she would survive in the wizarding world post her education years, what with her authority-obsessed mind. It was as if she was wearing blinders on her eyes, regarding authorities like Dumbledore and McGonagall, thinking them to be right regardless of the circumstances. Antares, on the other side, had been disabused of the authority-knows-best notions all too early to ever follow them blindly. He had done it before and it didn't end well with him. This time, he didn't have any interest in repeating the same mistake just because the authority in person happened to follow 'good' and 'just' cause. He gently patted the girl's head, reassuring Gabrielle that everything was alright, causing her to snuggle deeper against him when she quietly listened to their debate.

"But he is the leader of the Order of the Phoenix!" Hermione tried to argue, glaring at the devil-may-care Carruthers brat sitting in the comfy armchair, cuddling the little Veela. Today, Antares was clothed in deep jade green pullover with black trousers with his usual black eyepatch covering his verdant eye. His lower body was covered with an emerald green quilt with the edges stitched in gold thread depicting dragon silhouettes frolicking around. His face was still a little bit too thin, but the thinness promised that once he gained his full health, Antares would certainly be a looker, especially with shoulder-length wild white hair crowning his head.

"He is no leader of mine. I am here because a certain mutt unfortunately happened to sire me eighteen years ago." Antares rebuffed her dully. "Dumbledore is just desperate to have me there because he wants my votes for his so called Greater Good. "

Hermione's eyes were rounder with every word Antares spoke out. "But he wouldn't!" She spluttered, searching for words to refute Antares' cold logic. Antares arched his eyebrows. "Granger. For someone so learned," he drawled the last word out mockingly, "You are shockingly uneducated when it comes to wizarding politics."

The bushy-haired bookworm flushed with embarrassment. "For someone so cultured, you could be at least a little bit more polite either!" She snapped back, her gut roiling in anger. Seriously, just who did that Carruthers brat think he was? Screw Dumbledore's orders, she wasn't required to be polite to someone who didn't give a rat's ass about common decency!

A cold chuckle stopped her irate thoughts. "You are nosy, uppity and entirely too trusting of authority." Antares smiled at her, his mouth a thin, unforgiving cold curve exuding contempt to the extreme. " Believe me, Granger, I am extremely polite, considering your circumstances. If you had talked like you did to me just now in the polite society you so fervently insist you are a part of, you would be drawn and quartered for your insolence. Who do you think has the power in the wizarding society? Muggleborns? If that were true, then we wouldn't have had the pesky problem in the shape of a certain Dark Lord. The power belongs to the Ancient and Noble Houses. And now, a million galleons' question for you: Who do you think writes laws and regulations for the rest of the mortals in the Wizarding world in England?"

Hermione swallowed. "The Wizengamot." She whispered, feeling a dread claw up her throat.

"Bingo." Antares clapped mockingly. "Seems you do know at least something. Now, tell me something else, oh wise one. Are there any Muggleborns in Wizengamot?" He tilted his head inquisitively and Hermione wanted to cringe at the action. He was more of a predator contemplating whether or not to play with his prey right now. And she had an uncomfortable notion that right now, she was the unfortunate prey in his sights.

"There aren't." She choked out, and her body felt cold, so very cold when she finally understood the implications.

"So how do you think the changes can be done?" Antares tipped his chin to her, demanding an answer, gently patting Gabby's curls, as if she were a small kitten causing her already drowsy eyes to close shut as she leaned against his arm, sighing gently in complacency.

Hermione didn't answer. Antares sighed. "The only ones who can change the laws is the ruling body - ergo Wizengamot. And those are - what a shock - all Heads of Noble and Ancient Houses, families who have been steeped in magic generations before even your grandfather was a twinkle in your great-grandmother's eye." He paused, enjoying Hermione's stricken look. He waited until she opened her mouth, doubtlessly to say something in a venue 'this isn't true' or 'Dumbledore wouldn't allow it', and interrupted her again.

"In essence, you are an immigrant." A cold, hard truth. "You don't have any rights aside for the right for a trial, to vote for the Minister and to candidate for any position in Ministry of Magic. And the last one is ever debatable, seeing that British wizarding community has a predilection to favor people coming from esteemed lines, however weak they are, over competent Muggleborns, no matter their achievements." He snorted at the irony.

And this was the crux of the trouble in the Wizarding world. Not that they didn't have any competent people, but their stubborn refusal to look through their learned prejudices about blood and races and judge people only by their achievements. When he was young, one Tom Riddle could've easily trail-blazed through the Ministry, but for some reason his heart was set on acquiring the DADA position at Hogwarts. When he had been denied, he had vanished into the unknown, only to reappear two years later as great and terrible Lord Voldemort.

"You are lying." Hermione's lower lip wobbled with suppressed emotions as her eyes watered. She looked at Ron who was studiously avoiding her gaze. "He can't be serious, can he?" She asked, half-hopeful, half-afraid and already heartbroken. She cut a pathetic sight, clad in pale gray trousers and over large pink and apple green hoodie, like a little kid as she curled herself further into the couch as if that would help her to overcome the onslaught of brutal truth Antares bombarded her with.

"He is not." Surprisingly, it was Tonks who answered to her question, her eyes full of sympathy for the young witch, causing Antares to blink with surpriseas he raised his gaze from Granger to the newcomer. The young Metamorphmagus was leaning against the door, clad in faded green jeans trousers and orange sweater, her pink hair held back in a half-ponytail, her face for once devoid of any goofiness.

"Tonks!" Ginny protested, glaring at her as if reprimanding the elder girl, but her protest was half-hearted at best.

"Everything he said was true. From the Wizengamot, to Families to the inequality of Muggleborns versus Purebloods." Tonks confirmed, her voice weary. "You kids may have not known it as well, sheltered as you are in Hogwarts, but when you finish the schooling, it becomes cold, hard truth. If you aren't from one of the established lines, it's very hard to get a good job. I may have not even been considered for Aurors if it weren't for my Metamorph abilities. Jane Lestrade, a fellow Hufflepuff, was a Muggleborn. She wanted to go into Healing." Tonks grimaced. "She had an… incident… with one of the prominent Purebloods and she was blocked from being accepted into the Healing course. Last I've heard of her was seven years ago, when she decided to go back to Muggle world and continue her education here."

"But that's only one case!" Hermione exclaimed, shocked but doggedly determined to find something – anything – to prove Antares wrong. Antares, on the other hand, eyed her pityingly, not that it showed on his face.

"Evely Delavey. Gryffindor. Gifted in Potions, denied. Marc O'Connor. Ravenclaw. Said to possess one of the greatest minds for Arithmancy in this century. Denied. Two days later, found dead in strange circumstances. Of course, everyone knew, but because there were no proofs, the case became cold as soon as it was opened. Sinead Astrella. Slytherin. Nobody knows what happened to her, she vanished in her sixth year."Tonks arched her eyebrows challengingly. "Care to guess what was she by blood?"

"Muggleborn." Ginny whispered, her face stricken with horror. Tonks nodded, her eyes weary while her usually happy pink colored hair shifted to a drab grey. "It's a dog eat dog out here. Why do you think that there's nothing done about the racial slurs in the Hogwarts? Sure, the kids are punished with a detention or two, but that's all. And guess who uses those slurs the most?"

"Slytherins!" Ron butted in, growling. "Slimy lot, all of them!" A moment later, he yelped with shock as something small hit his forehead.

"Use your walnut-sized brain, Weasley!" Antares barked at him, glaring. "She didn't ask you which house, but who! Is the difference between the two so very hard to comprehend for you?"

"What difference?" Ron glared. "It's one and the same, anyway! Most of the people there are slimy Purebloods, anyway!"

Antares sighed. He could've despaired at the denseness this particular Weasley exhibited on the subject, but sadly, Ron was at least half right. Slytherin had become a den of Purebloods, with rare exceptions in the litter, but even those were carefully hidden as to not mar the united image the Slytherins as whole presented against the rest of the school.

"Don't bother." He addressed the now fuming Tonks who was half a second away from decking the brat one. "He doesn't understand if it's not Quidditch, food or chess, anyway."

"Oi!" Ron growled, aiming his glare at the white-haired teen, but Antares already looked back to Hermione. He had enough of convincing the stubborn girl. She still hadn't learned how to world worked in the society she was now a part of, and Antares wasn't in the mood to play nice with her anymore. So his next words to her were sharp and succinct.

"I am tired, so I will be quick. You were impolite enough to assume that I was obligated to heed Dumbledore's orders concerning outside communications. Newsflash for you - I am not. I am here because Dumbledore wants to get in my good graces, aiming to convince me to join his voting block to support his Greater Good." He sneered at the last two words.

"You are truly naïve if you think that Dumbledore is well above bribing and other political games to achieve his means. You mistakenly thought the system you became part of was based on democracy. Well, another newsflash for you, this is feudalism, and currently, you are the second lowest-ranked citizen, only above Squibs by the sole virtue of possessing enough magic to actually use a wand. Therefore you don't have any right to tell anyone what they should have been doing, especially not to the higher ranked person. I was lenient with you, even if you perceived it as me being rude, but in comparison with the reaction of the other purebloods – imagine Malfoys, Lestranges or Longbottoms - I was utterly mild in response. Before you use that tongue of yours to blab, learn some more about the society you've agreed to live in!"

The tirade made the already trembling bushy-haired girl break in outright bawling, causing Ginny to abandon the chess in favor of hugging her and glaring at Antares.

"You could've been a little bit gentler, you know." She growled at him, before shushing the crying girl and cuddling her closer to her body. Antares eyed his own little burden quickly, concerned that Gabby had woke up at the altercation, but to his mild surprise the tiny girl was already snoozing, safe as you please. He then glared back at the female Weasley now thoroughly fed up with her mistaken defense of the Gryffindor bookworm.

"It's not my concern that she is handling the truth poorly. She stuck her nose in something it wasn't her business. I explained her the how's and why's, which is more than I could say for the so-called adults in this house. Wizarding world is not a fairy tale, where everyone lives their happily ever after, but one filled with monsters, both literal and ones in human skin. You, as a full-blooded witch, should have known that better than anyone else. " Antares snapped back, causing her to flush and look down in shame. Sighing, Antares gently untangled himself from Gabby's clutches, placing her into the seat and covering her with the blanket his legs had been previously wrapped in before gently ruffling her lightly colored hair. He then absentmindedly grasped the cane silently offered to him by Faustus.

Had he always been such a naïve little shit himself? He shook his head. Maybe, once upon a time, when he was still bright-eyed with hope that things would've changed for the better once he was in the fold of magic. But that had been a foolish hope. Muggles were bad enough - give people magic, and they became exponentially worse. Antares didn't even know why was he even trying to get it through Hermione's thick skull that the world wasn't as kind as she mistakenly thought it was. The world was unfair, and the sooner she acknowledged that, the better for all involved

But the dark seeds of doubt had been placed. Now it was only the matter of time for them to take the root and grow.

"Have you send a message to him?" A smooth deep voice echoed in the dark room.

"I did." A softer one replied. The room was big, almost ostentatiously so, with a central jewel embedded into the pitch black floor feebly illuminating the surroundings with soft golden color, but not enough to define any of the forms aside from their deep black, maroon and blue colored cloaks. The eight forms circled the pale glowing jewel, soft light reflecting from their golden masks.

"I still think this is a bad idea, Eagle." A gruff voice piped out, this time coming from the form clad in red with wolf mask hiding their face.

"Nobody said he has to lead us. It's just an antiquated piece of tradition." Another one, this time cloaked in blue, susurrated as they tilted their tiger-masked head.

"If that is true, why are you here, then?" The black-clad form with crow mask snapped out, their voice creaking like ice in winter about to cause an avalanche, so cold it was. "You could just as well decline the participation in this silly little gathering and go back to whimper to that snake bastard of – "

The tiger-masked form snarled at the jab, their posture tensing in the preparation of an attack, the fingertips crackling with jade lightning.

"Finish that sentence. I dare you." They seethed as the crackling became louder and hungrier, only to be grabbed by their left wrist and yanked back sharply, causing their attention to divert to the one standing beside him.

"Enough." The voice was quiet, but it seemed to reverberate across the room, causing it's very air to still at the command. This form was smaller in comparison to others, but there was no denying it was respected as the lighting in Tiger's hands crackled out of the existence reluctantly.

"We are not here to squabble among ourselves. Our lynchpin is out there and it's of a paramount importance we welcome him in the fold as soon as possible. Whether or not you want to believe in the so-called old biddy tales, the fact is, if they weren't true to at least some extent, you wouldn't have been here." The cheetah-masked face tilted up slightly, the pointed chin of the mask almost challenging in its placidity. "You are always welcome to renounce your place, though."

The crow-masked form flinched at the pointed challenge while the tiger one cringed ever so subtly.

"Ahh, our darling Cheetah is in a fine form today." The fox-masked, black robed form sing-songed happily as it bounced on the hell of its feet. "Can I join?"

"No." Everyone aside fox-masked form chorused, causing Fox to slump comically.

"Aww. You are bunch of meanies." The Fox whined, crossing their arms on their chest childishly.

"FOX! Would it kill you to be serious for once? This is important!" The weirdly masked man barked out, on the verge of clocking his partner one.

"You are too highly strung, Sharky. What, did missus forget to give you any?" Fox tilted their head innocently, disregarding the warning growl from the tall, shark-masked man cheerfully.

"You are too low strung, you waste of flesh. Mind if I use your entrails for my harp? I think I am in a sore need for some brand new strings and your guts would do just fine." Shark hissed, incensed.

"You do know that if you do that there would be a terrible cacophony?" A dry voice cut into the Fox's cackling, causing to squeak an offended "Hey!" to the owl-masked black-clad form.

Shark paused. "You're right. No need to defile my beloved with his disharmony." He nodded decisively, causing Fox to moan with despair. "So crueeeeel to me, your beloved partner, Sharky. Oh, you've positively broken my heart now in millions of billion pieces, mind you, I am dying – " He wailed, only to yelp as Eagle bopped him on his head.

"You're a menace. Shut it already."

"Why did we have to have the bright idea to invite him of all people in there?" Wolf muttered to Crow despondently, but gaining only a helpless shrug in return.

"Temporary insanity?"

Both of them nodded simultaneously, a shroud of defeat hanging around their forms. They only hoped that their lynchpin would be better at managing the menace and they prayed the said lynchpin would answer to their summons as soon as possible… if only to save them from Fox's brand of craziness.

Antares sneezed forcefully in the middle of the bath, causing some of the wounds to rip open anew. He glared at the butlers who were looking at him as if he were an exceedingly rare steak. Hell, Faustus even had a drool leaking from the left corner of his mouth!

"No. You already got your snack!" He snapped at them, causing the butler duo to reel back almost imperceptibly. "But Master, it would be such a shame to waste that divine ambrosia…" Michaelis tried to persuade him, tilting his head oh-so-reasonably, and for a moment, Antares was almost persuaded to agree with him.

Almost. He raised his hand, stopping them in middle of their advance.

"I said no. At the rate you two are going, it's a wonder you two aren't on the verge of being fat, really."

The verbal jab was successful, causing both of the butlers screech in their track and Antares would deny to his dying day, but those horrified, wounded expressions on their faces were delicious.

"Oh Young Master, that was beyond cruel. I assure you there's not even an ounce of fat on my body." Michaelis purred out, his expression changing between offended and amused. Antares arched his eyebrows.

"I shall prove it to you, if you want me to." The black coat was shrugged off the broad shoulders and then slender, artistic fingers brushed the throat hollow after they disengaged the pesky matter of a tie in a mere moments.

Antares blinked. Michaelis wouldn't do that, would he…? His dread rose when he noticed Faustus following the crow butler's example in shrugging his own upper vestments off. Both of the butlers usually dark eyes were now flashing with fuchsia gleam even stronger now and Michaelis' wicked smirk promised anything but good at this point.

The white haired teen groaned as he face palmed. "Last I remember I asked you to be my butlers. Not gigolos." He snapped, causing Faustus to stumble when he was taking off his trousers.

"Have you perchance changed your mind, Young Master?" Michaelis breathed out as he discarded the sleeveless shirt, revealing picture-perfect upper body to Antares' mortified gaze. "Or do you require a little persuasion…?" He purred out, only to be smacked in the face with a towel, causing him to inhale a lungful of the most delicious scent he ever scented. It was like watching a train wreck, really. Antares watched, horrified, how the crow demon buried his face into the cloth, his cheeks becoming flushed and gaze half-lidded and… was that a boner in his pants? Panicked, he took a glance at Faustus, only to be faced with the same problem.

Dark, sexy gaze on a handsome face, lips being licked suggestively and yup, an unquestionable and very familiar lump in front of the pants black silky boxers proclaiming that its owner was very, very gifted in that area.

"Go take ice cold shower. NOW." Antares' command burned with the added weight of the seals on their hands.

"Only if we can take one with you, Master. It seems you've developed quite an interesting problem of your own."

"When the hell freezes over." Antares was sure his cheeks were hot enough to cook an egg in a jiffy. But he tried to be composed. Because masters were always composed, weren't they? They were always on the top of things –

'-like you would be if you accepted their offer-' a traitorous voice whispered in his brain, causing him to jerk with surprise, losing his footing in progress and the next thing he inhaled was water, the liquid burning his lungs with its mildly astringent viscosity. He only had a moment to blink dumbly at his watery surroundings before he was hauled up harshly and his back slapped, making him hack and cough up the ill-gotten liquid out of his mouth and nose.

"Master!" He felt Michaelis' voice thrum behind his back, the demon's smooth chest pressing against his skin there and oh, god, Antares had to close his eyes because he was breathless and dizzy with unexpected arousal and humiliation –

"Go – " His mouth moved, but there was nary a voice out of his voice box, suddenly feeling too scrapped out and burning like his nasal cavities did, causing tears to veil his vision.

It was a good thing they both resisted the command, despite the burning force if it on the back of their hands. Because only a scant moment later, Antares had slipped and his head had sunk under the water surface, causing both of them to experience what would humans termed an almost heart attack.

It was an unpleasant sensation, the beating organs within their chests being suddenly squeezed like so - they had of course experienced that before and in a more gory sense (their compatriots had a nasty habit of clutching their prey's living, beating heart to torture their prey before slowly devouring it, enjoying the last dregs of life bleeding into agony,) but this was so sudden and so unexpected they almost failed to react in time.

"Master!" Claude almost disregarded his fellow demon's call, frozen in shock before he finally moved but that damned crow was already here, grabbing the slick body of their prey and hauling it up, uncaring of the water and soap suds clinging to his skin as he sharply slapped Master's back to help the lungs to dislodge the ill-gotten liquid and really, he hasn't seen Michaelis so panicked in a long time.

He supposed he may have been the same, rushing over, and grabbing Antares' hanging head to look into his eyes to convince himself that his little fly was alright –

Only to freeze at the sight of watery green eyes glaring at him, swimming with emotions he never thought they would be aimed at him - anger, humiliation, despair and a small smidgen of an arousal buried underneath all of it and by all that was unholy, Claude never wanted to see that look on his Ma – his little fly's face again. The pale eyelids shuttered over the mortified gaze he had been gifted (punished) by the one being – no, person –

His chest hurt once again, causing him to twitch and snatch a nearby emerald green towel from the rack to dry his little fly with.

Strange. Alois was troublesome without any effort on his side. Sometimes even so much that if it weren't for the contract binding them together, Claude would strangle the boy, curing the 'meal' to perfection or not. In a contrast, this little fly haven't done anything to him, but still managed to be a bundle of trouble nonetheless.

It was enough, Claude thought to himself with exasperation, to drive a normal person to tears and any day now, he expected to see gray hairs in his otherwise black mane, even if that would be a physical impossibility.

"Master, are you alright?" He asked, resolutely disregarding the delicious smell wafting from his Master's skin. His answer was a weak cough and another watery glare and bad situation or not, Claude had to suppress a smile at the drenched kitten picture Antares presented right now.

He blinked as Antares began to speak, but there was no sound out of his mouth. But he wasn't detracted from understanding him, oh no. Lip reading was a very useful skill in those instances, and one Claude Faustus was a master at it.

'You two will be the death of me.'

Shaking his head with something that approached fondness, Claude resumed to pat the fragile skin dry. "That's a given, Master. Though I can't help but wonder why are you refusing to enjoy the ride."

The reactions of both Michaelis and his adorable little fly were priceless.

They refused to be sorry, even if the ice-cold water pounding on their bodies was anything but pleasant. Both of them were faced to the tiles, refusing to look at each other, sky-clad as they were. Not that they were modest, but there was a certain issue still plaguing both of them, courtesy of their now-gently snoozing Master.

"Faustus. Are you perchance a masochist?" Sebastian asked Faustus, glaring from under the wet bangs of his hair. Both of the butlers were shivering under the torrent of freezing water. Demonic constitution or not, the ice cold water was ever-unpleasant experience, no matter the species.

Faustus' eyebrows arched. "You would like to know that, wouldn't you." He retorted, before frowning back. Their previously short punishment of just a cold shower had been extended to an one-hour of suffering under the deluge of the cold liquid, courtesy of their dear little, ice-cold-hearted Master.

"For a stick in the mud you were surprisingly cheeky today." The black butler commented, dark eyes glinting at the spider butler with both amusement and a touch of resentment.

"I only spoke the truth." Faustus' claim was a little bit on the wobbly side as his teeth began chattering involuntarily, causing Sebastian to smirk and Faustus to send him a blood-curdling glare.

"Well. At least you are following your little maxim of having fun this time." Sebastian chuckled. It had been a complete shock to hear Faustus of all people to claim that Antares ought to take an advantage of them – he would've never have expected that this particular stick-in-a-mud demon would approach a human for pleasure - the fake Trancy was a horny monkey most of the time when Faustus had served him, trying to entice the kumoshitsuji into more pleasantly illicit side of the things, but Faustus had been unmovable.

But take one ice-cold green-eyed waif with short temper and sharp tongue and lo and behold, the infamous composure of one Claude Faustus went down the drain faster than anyone could say 'good meal'.

He chuckled under his breath.

Yes, his decision to find Faustus in order to curb his boredom had been more than rewarding and he could expect even better entertainment in future….

He glared at one particular spot under his waist.

… If only this would get down already.

Because horny as he was, there was no way he would deign to jack himself off in presence of one Claude Faustus.

(Never mind that his companion in this particular misery had the same problem right there and then.)

Sometimes being a demon sucked.

Sighing, he allowed his shoulders to slump as his forehead touched the cold tiles. If only that cold could quell the want for their green-eyed Master still roaring in his veins…

What a cruel Master they had.

/To Be Continued/