Pairings: Sebastian/Ciel mainly, some Seb/Harcourt, Ciel/Harcourt and Alois/Ciel occasionally.

Disclaimer: Toboso has everything. I remain only with my OCs.

Warnings: slash, hebefilia in any case, OOC, AU, random original characters, profanity, Cockney rhytming slang, angst, evilness, madness, some more madness, physical and mental abuse, raping, lemon, kinky stuff, and death.

Spoilers: Some spoilers for the Jack the Ripper arc, the season 1 and Alois' pasts.

Comments: The title came from the song of Placebo – My sweet prince. You'll be warned about all the porn scenes. And I need a beta.

Chapter 1.

'...Just imagine a man walking along the street: about thirty years old, neat and tidy, and quite good-looking. But he is downcast with something, and sorrow is recognized in his eyes. He takes out of the pocket a big finger ring off and on, beholds it for a few seconds, and puts it away with yearning, over and over again. He's just walking and not noticing anyone, only weening about his own something. How do you reckon: where are his thoughts? Which thing can keep him on the alert so badly?..'

It was a part of the letter of my long-time pal, a person with rich vocabulary and extreme dedication to psychology. Young and reckless, I couldn't come up with nothing and just didn't take it seriously. Well, it's impossible to get at others' pain before conceiving it yourself, and now I know it better than anybody else.

Have I ever thought all this could backfire? I've only changed the mind, turned down that dreadful aims, but they've become real and hideous, and this reality will shark me slowly, making me pray for return of the time. I killed the demon, inflicting a vital wound for myself.

Our story started in one distinct of London, on Feb 20th, 2009, but there would be nothing without Dec 14th, 1996, and of course Sep 1st, 1977.


Sebastian was the name of the baby born in Michaelis' family on the first autumn day. He wasn't a firstling of his mum who left two small daughters to her ex-husband. But, to the surprise, that non-native kin were more pleased with new birth than his own father. That's why my determitation took its place so early.

Shame of my mum! How could she trade a shiny Frenchman, the retired sailor, so talented and cheerful person for a weak and dimwitted school teacher? These people had laughed on me, I was sure. And I figured that my dark and slim appearence, utterly inherited from the father, wasn't the best joke. Seriously, the same big height, thin facial features, black hair, narrow eyes and evil grin. Maybe it was not bad, but being a clon of a grisly, bossy guy had never rejoiced me.

Mum accepted my objection to the natal base as she always did with her usual aloofness. The home of Henri and the sisters, a brick and three-storeyed house, became the site where I hasted to get back. No rows, no ennui, no apartness, but everyday music, picnics, photography, games of chance, love and joy of life. Smiles of pretty Rachel, dreamy Anne and their kind Dad brightened up my childhood and ousted parents' sour faces and teachers' past all bearing screams.

I want to notice that each sister has got the temper from one parent, and the look from the other. I remember elder Rachel as a buoyant girl like her Dad, and she's had a sweet fair shape like mum's. Younger Anne — Angeline actually, — poor Anne was envious of the sis, and why? Fragile figure, hair of a honey color and gentle sight of big blue eyes were lovely of course, and Rachel was lovely herself, but Anne didn't admit her special magnificence. And don't even try to say there are no difference between lovely and magnetic. The thing called 'beauty' isn't similar to 'allure', has nothing to do with 'attraction' and doesn't echo 'charisma', trust me. What lovely people are? You find them good for heart, you want to greet and make friends with them. Have you ever look back at a person on the street or in public transport? They all are lovely, and you'll agree with me, and you've smiled to them, haven't you? But do you remember anyone now? Don't you think so? Everything is all right, because it's hard to keep in mind somebody among hundreds of alike lovely people you meet daily. But a magnetic human can't doze off so fast: his rare image won't disappear from your head for so long that almost forever, and no doubt you will be in their web soon. But as I have said, the biggest problems of most of them are groundless complexes. Than more enticing a person is, so low his self-esteem will be. Feeling like a someone ugly and dry as a chip, they often dwell in sad thoughts and regrets, and have a pessimistic view of the world. That's what Angeline has been, a glaring but pensive woman, fiery 'Madame Red', how she's been called by everyone except me and Rachel.

I was fifteen when Henri had gone aloft and had betrayed his adult daughters. Nobody suspected that he would sell the house to incident people and put out Anne and Rachel. Our meetings reduced to a minimum, and I returned to parents for next ten years. I hadn't any special skills, so the culinary college and housekeeping courses were quite good. The period from sixteen to twenty-two was marked by chaotic style of living with kick-ups, riding a motorbike and promiscuity, which was the least absorbing side among all of them by the way. I haven't ever known such a dull exercise like promiscuity with huge drunk lassies; and I've come to the sence only with my first job.

Twenty-two-years-old guy like me, so soigne and polite, and too easy on the eye when was worn into butler' tails, attracted that rich but unfuzzy franchise. They were typical enough: an opulent flat, a little staff of skiwy and five children in need of attention. To my amazement, the maids, the hostess and the quartette of her daughters weren't interested in me, but a cute puny son pulled me on his room promtly. He was eleven, alone, bookwarm, always sick, and everybody considered him as a subnormal one. A new nunky in the house became a close friend for whom he might tell about Molly that was making-up already, or about Peter, a nasty bully who had conked a snotter Ed; and that big black man would never gossip. While cuddling, he was often lisping:

"Mr. Sebastian, when I get older, you'll live with me and make your cakes. And I'll pay you a lot of money and let you do everything you want. What do you want, Mr. Sebastian?"

"You—", I was answering in shame, but he was bursting out laughing, and snuggling to me nearer. I blushed all day long after those scenes, and tried to crash that mad idea. "He's a child, what moment have you started to love children so much from?" I argued to myself without avail. What did engage me: his innocence, looks, naivety, faith to me? "What in the world are you thinking, which faith may be if you don't hold back?"

But it was faith in fact. I haven't remember the process, only before and after that. He said to a fat guest "I love Mr. Sebastian" when he'd asked about the favourite member of the family. Then I whispered to him, sobbing and tempting, "You won't tell anybody, will you? —". Of course, I was afraid to go to prison with infamy, but that fear turned into nothing in a minute; I hugged him at least and just understood I didn't feel at him anything absolutely. The passion died, the faith died; he died too, from burning ague after two days. I was keeping his tiny hand in mine, before it ran cold. Nobody discovered my guilt, I made myself scarce and— introduced to another home. In 2002 I handed over my empty apartment, start to travel about the country, and homicide again. Babies in the wood, they totally falled with me and believed me thanks to my talent of captivating. When I was allowed to something more, the credence moldered away as such as I wanted. For ten years I enjoyed ravishing and devouring. What a gorgeous act it was! Breaking trust, breaking love, breaking character, and watching the intoxation and, in fine, dying. And the causer is me, me, me. My work. My vocation. My life at all (it was).


The midday of Feb 20th, 2009, was suprisingly clear and cool, but crowds made it moody as usual. I lived in native London for a couple of months after the seven-year journey. I was escaping from the platitude, changing jobs, habitations and partners, whilst I awake that new platitude. My tenats, old marrieds, conveyed a decent sum diring this time, and I laughed I could not work henceforth. The managers of the teens' cafe, where I fagged for last three weeks, thought the same way. The cafe was closed, and I became tiresome of idleness.

I stopped at the traffic lights, and payed attention on a red blur in the grey city mob. No, it wasn't a traffic signal. A red-haired woman in red coat with two red suitcases was exploring a bulletin board. I decided not to wait and hailed:

"Anne! Angeline!"

I was sure that my sisters would be glad to see me, and I didn't slipped up. So magnetic woman couldn't be confused with anybody else. Anne recognised me too. Her face shined with happiness.

"Sebastian! So unexpected!"

We embraced each other.

"Oh, you've gained in strength for the years!" she noticed.

"And you're better and better, sis".

"Stop it, you", she giggled. "How long are you there? Or you're going to depart again?"

"No, I live in parent home since New Year. And you? Labouring for saving lives?"

"Of course, brer, what else should I do?"

"And Rachel? Do you live together now? I haven't received your letters for ages".

Anne withered at once and bowed the head.

"Rachel and Vincent—" Her voice became weak. "They died on December 2006. There was a fire in their house. They both didn't get out".

My Rachel?.. Please no, you don't say so! She, she couldn't!..

"Do tell— I'm very sorry. I haven't contact with you", I looked away.

"I think the house was set fire to it. Vincent had lots of foes", Anne whismered.

Rachel's husband? Oh, yes, I recall nim.

We've met only once, but his double-dealing looks have stayed in memory. He's smiled to me, but that smile has been cruel. What have I told about magnificance? About the majority of poor people; but there are the minority, which include Vincent Phantomhive. For God's sake, for something you hold dear, don't connect with them. They don't just draw you, but destroy your life, blight you slowly; it's very hard to resist their hellish charm, and almost impossible to escape from the captivity. They're demons themselves, fierce and horribly great. Invading into your soul, demons don't let you off and make you obedient. They know their attractiveness and put it to use. If you get involved with a demon, finish him off, crush, annul utterly, before he'll do this with you. Demons' wounds will never close, believe me please. Don't be a puppet in his hands, and don't dare to die with his name, adoring the puppeteer till the end—

"I was on post that night", Angeline continued. "But thank God, Ciel saved, but he got lost for a whole month, and his injures—"

"Ciel?"

"Please Sebastian, Ciel is Rachel's son!" Angeline said indignanly.

Ah, precisely... Our first bout took place on the same day. He was only two. Just a splitting image of his Mummy: shiny eyes and breachy nature. I didn't forget a tuft of my hair which he wrested (all right, to be offended by children was silly). And then Ciel was skirring around the room and crying. What a crap! Babies were always yucky. A hundred to one that he grew the copy of Rachel.

"We rented rooms together, but—" Anne stumbled bluntly, and I glanced on her bags. She embarassed and explained:

"The host had expelled us yesterday, and we spent the night at his neighbours. Ciel is at school now, and I must find a new room".

I catched her sight and realized that she remembered the beginning of the converse.

"Brer, I don't wanna you think I'm courting—"

"Don't worry", I said mildly, "My house is big, and there are too many extra rooms for a lonely man. You may live here as long as you wish. And I shall not get bored".

"How could I thank you!" Anne amazed. Did she really think I wouldn't invite her?

"Hmm..." I pretented as if I was supporsing. "You will pay half of my bills".

"Righto!"