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Devilish Impulses	By : Arianawray Category: > Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji ???) Views: 13948 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji or any of its characters, and I do not make any money from these writings.

Chapter List
- 1-Unwanted
- 2-Whim
- 3-Trust
- 4-Taste
- 5-Scheme
- 6-Command
- 7-Competition
- 8-Advice
- 9-Enlightenment
- 10-Sustenance
- 11-Caught
- 12-Breath
- 13-Arms
- 14-Inflammation
- 15-Imagination
- 16-Intent
- 17-Compromise
- 18-Sacrifice
- 19-Despair
- 20-Compassion
- 21-Interest
- 22-Equality
- 23-Mentor
- 24-History
- 25-Disorder
- 26-Reputation
- 27-Gifts
- 28-Admission
- 29-Watching
- 30-Bonds
- 31-Revelations
- 32-Confrontation
- 33-Struggle
- 34-Separation
- 35-Duty
- 36-Change
- 37-Together
- 38-Love
- 39-Epilogue: Heaven
- 25
- 26
- 27
Reputation
Summer is here, and with it a note from Lord Randall to advise Ciel of the developments of a case that may affect the royal family:
"This is a matter for the police and the courts at present, but the involvement of His Royal Highness' equerry may lead to higher orders to keep things quiet. If that happens, I would strongly recommend that you dissuade His Royal Highness from attempting to suppress anything, which will only lead to more talk."
The earl ordinarily rejects "strong recommendations" from the Commissioner, but in this instance, he happens to agree with him.
Lord Arthur Somerset, head of the Prince of Wales' stables, has been questioned twice by Scotland Yard in the space of a little over a month, regarding his alleged patronage of a brothel at Cleveland Street which employed boys as prostitutes. The brothel operator has fled, but five of the boys who worked for him, aged between fifteen and eighteen, have been arrested or questioned. Two of them have named Lord Somerset as a client; other well-known aristocrats have also been identified as customers.
Ciel has not heard from the royal family about this matter. Through the spring and early summer, the queen has written to him only about minor matters of underworld crime that he and Sebastian have dealt with easily. Thus far, very little concerning the Cleveland Street brothel arrests has run in the newspapers, for the press has not as yet got wind of the involvement of prominent nobles. The arrests of the boys have been reported as nothing terribly unusual, for brothels and prostitutes are rife in London. Elaborate establishments, including those where young children may be flogged and violated for the sexual pleasure of customers, are haunts of the rich and noble, and often winked at by the police. Only the fact that these are boy-prostitutes has been noteworthy to the papers, as sex between males of any age is against the law.
"There seems no need for the royal family to involve itself," Ciel remarks to Sebastian, Soma and Agni at lunch.
"Not yet," the butler observes. "Things may change."
"Let's hope they don't change for the worse," says the earl. "His Royal Highness is away on his summer holidays. Let us see if he demands that anything be done for or about his equerry when he returns."
"Prince Edward would be unwise to attempt to cover any of this up just because his equerry is believed to be a customer of the brothel," Soma notes. "It would truly only result in more talk, as Lord Randall says. I wouldn't like His Royal Highness to have to endure that."
"If he does bring me in, I shall advise him the best I can, although he may not listen," Ciel tells Soma, taking another spoonful of light sherry trifle filled with layers of sponge cake, cream, summer berries and a sprinkling of crumbled meringue. "How fares your London property?"
"Oh!" Soma brightens up instantly. "All the houses that my father sent me money to purchase are now tenanted. The income looks promising enough that I should no longer have to live off my father... or you..."
The Indian prince makes that last admission a little sheepishly, for ever since his father sent him a generous sum of money to invest, he has discovered the burden and responsibility of looking after wealth wisely. He has thus grown more aware of how childish and inconsiderate he had been to impose himself on Ciel and invite himself into his home the way he did when they first met.
"Huh," Ciel huffs, not looking up at him as he makes inroads into his dessert.
Those pieces of London property they speak of are in Soma's name, for the Raja intends them to form the inheritance this wandering son of his will receive from him. The Bengali king realises that his numerous other children will squabble over his money and property in India once he dies, so he must give Soma a separate future in Europe now, and hope that he nurtures it sensibly.
Soma and Agni have thus been spending a lot of time in London, for days at a stretch, viewing new houses and looking after the ones they have. Whenever they are at the manor, however, Ciel and Sebastian are particularly careful about their interactions, for Agni notices things that most other humans don't. He has already remarked twice to Sebastian how pleased he is that "Lord Ciel seems so much more contented with life, and with you, than he was this past winter". No doubt he would notice far more were he not spending his spare time getting to know Mey-Rin better.
"Some people don't need to worry about investing their wealth responsibly, though," Soma grumbles vaguely.
Ciel knows at once that he is referring to Carsten, for he has brought him up in conversation several times since Ambrose died four months ago. To everyone's surprise, Ambrose's latest will, drawn up during his first two weeks at the manor and left in the safekeeping of his London lawyer, bestowed nearly all his possessions and wealth on "my ward, Carsten Wolf".
Carsten, who departed from the manor the night of Ambrose's death, had to be searched out by Sebastian and informed about the will. Devils, of course, have no interest in owning worldly goods, and he had only shrugged when told of his former master's decision.
"Using your Carsten Wolf identity, you could give it to someone else," Sebastian had suggested, when his fellow-devil stated that he had no use for it.
"I doubt I'll bother," the other demon had answered, before walking away.
But Soma, who has no idea that Carsten is a devil, only imagines him the luckiest fellow on earth, to be left plenty of money and property without having to be at all accountable to anyone over how he uses it – and the most ungrateful.
The good-natured prince is still very upset that Carsten did not attend Ambrose's funeral in April. Soma, Agni, Lizzie, Ciel and Sebastian, Tanaka and the servants were all there, standing by his grave as he was buried in Highgate Cemetery. Everything was handled smoothly by the Undertaker, and all paid for out of Ambrose's considerable estate. Ciel had learnt that Ambrose had, over the centuries, adopted a long line of names and identities to disguise the truth about his age. But his latest alias, created some thirty years ago, used his original name, Percival Ambrose; perhaps he had already decided by then that he wished to die. The tasteful tombstone arranged for by the Undertaker bore his date of death, without the year of his birth.
"Well," Ciel says to Soma now as they surface from their separate reveries about Ambrose and Carsten. "Perhaps some people are lucky that way, but you are called to be wiser and better. As for me, I believe what calls me now is some peace and quiet with a book in my room. Without interruption."
That, of course, is a signal to Sebastian that he should join him as soon as he can, unobserved. Discretion is essential. With the Cleveland Street affair unfolding, everyone who is aware of it has also been reminded that sexual relations between males in Great Britain are punishable by imprisonment and hard labour, and a lifetime of social disgrace.
"I don't care for the law telling me what I cannot do within the privacy of my own home, as long as I am not imprisoning, murdering, mutilating or raping anyone," Ciel sighs, once he and his devil are safely upstairs. "We shouldn't have to tiptoe about like this."
"You may not care, and it may be true that I can protect you from harm and incarceration, but I cannot protect you from social condemnation, or persecution," Sebastian cautions him. "I do not want you to be put in a position where you can only flee to places where you will be safe from British law, instead of building your strength and power here, where you belong."
"You're never afraid of anything, but you're always afraid for me," Ciel sighs, leaning back against Sebastian, who in turn is propped up against the pillows stacked on the earl's bed. Sometimes, in the middle of the day, they escape to the bedroom just to spend time with each other like this.
"I must be afraid for you sometimes, because you belong in the mortal realm. I can protect you from a great deal, but if it entails taking you away from your country, your relations and friends, your manor, the only society you know, how could that be good for you?"
Ciel's immediate impulse is to declare that he doesn't care where he is as long as he is with Sebastian. He knows himself better, though, than to claim he could be entirely happy without the world he has grown up in. Still, something else reminds him that power, prestige and society are houses built of playing cards, that can be shaken and crushed by revolutions, the terrors of war, rampant disease like the plagues which wiped out large swathes of Europe's populations centuries ago, tragedies like those that befell his family, and even by gentler processes such as mere progress and change.
"I can't deny that I would be unhappy to lose my place in society, my home, and my relations," the earl says thoughtfully. "But if I had to choose between those things and being with you, I would be with you. Of course, my greedy nature simply wants to keep it all."
He smiles and lifts his face to Sebastian's, claiming a kiss. He is learning to laugh a little, and smile with more sincerity, believing for the first time in years that he can overcome the shadows of his past. "I wonder," Ciel muses with a tiny chuckle whose vibrations hum through Sebastian's mouth, "if Agni knows what we're doing."
"I hope not," Sebastian murmurs back. "He would assume I was corrupting you, and try to protect you from me."
"You're hardly doing anything to me," Ciel protests.
"You're not ready."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
"But you did that new thing last night."
"To celebrate your growing yet another half-inch taller since the spring."
"Do it again."
"Tonight."
"Now."
"No."
"It's an order."
"I am not your butler at this moment. You want these private times with me because you say you do not like it that at others, I have to be your butler, and you my lord."
"And I can't touch your face, or hold your hand, or have you walk beside me," Ciel remembers that he was indeed the one who had asked that they find moments alone during the day, for relief from their unbridgeable public roles. "Can't we say we've discovered that you're a gentleman, and from now on you are my tutor, so you can at least walk next to me instead of behind me? Devils like you and Carsten, and humans with supernatural powers like Ambrose – you all create documents that show you to have been born and schooled and raised in certain places at certain times, so anyone who checks on you will believe you are normal humans, am I right?"
"Even if I were your tutor – or your superior, for that matter, you could not hold my hand in public. It would never be acceptable."
Ciel wants to say that he does not like the way society imposes its expectations on private individuals, but he is a creature of that very society, with the impeccable manners of the upper classes, and the awareness that he himself looks disapprovingly on others who breach etiquette or conduct themselves poorly.
"Don't fill this time fretting over what we cannot do," Sebastian advises him with a smile. "...when there is so much else we can."
"Hmm..." a note of mischief steals into Ciel's voice as he turns around in Sebastian's arms to face him and nip at his jawline. "I wonder what exactly those boys did with their clients in Cleveland Street..."
"I thought Your Lordship would find that affair too sordid even to mention while lying in your bed with me," Sebastian teases.
"The only thing sordid about it is the fact that money changed hands for the acts they engaged in, and that it has come under the public gaze," Ciel murmurs, nibbling Sebastian's ear. "It ought to have remained a private affair. Those boys were not kidnapped or beaten, caged or chained, or forced to do things they didn't want to do, like I was. That would have been revolting, but it's not the case here at all. They were free to come and go, willing to do what their clients wanted, for the money. And they're all at least a year older than me. They almost certainly knew exactly what they were doing, if even I know this much by now..."
As he says those latter words, he cheekily rubs a bare thigh against Sebastian's crotch. He is pleased to see and feel an instantaneous reaction from the devil. Sebastian inhales sharply, his muscles tense, his garnet eyes widen fractionally, and beneath his clothing, that most responsive portion of his anatomy hardens and grows.
"No..." the demon warns Ciel at once, holding him away from his body by his narrow little waist.
"I'm only a few months away from fourteen – I'll be old enough to marry then, remember what Aunt Francis said? I certainly won't want to marry at that age, but there are other things I'd like to do."
"You are not fourteen yet," Sebastian tells him, sounding almost stern. "I do not particularly care what age my mortal or immortal lovers are – demons take no note of such things. But once again, I care about this on your behalf. I have never had such scruples before with any of my humans – you are the first – so don't waste my caution."
"You wanted to before, when I was sick..."
"That was before I learnt how much you meant to me. Now behave yourself."
But Ciel is at an age when he dislikes being told what to do, and once more molests Sebastian with his leg. In an instant, his demon whips them both around and pins him to the bedcovers by his wrists, crouching over him like a large cat that has just pounced on its prey.
"I do want you," Sebastian purrs with a taut, dangerous smile over Ciel's startled face, pressing his alarmingly stiff and swollen member high into the boy's inner thigh. "But I am doing my best to avoid premature acts that will only damage your body and spirit, so don't provoke me, my little master."
He shifts his grip from Ciel's wrists and slides his eye patch off his face with such deliberation, staring so intently into his now-unblemished eyes, that it feels to the earl as if he is being undressed. Ciel raises his hands to Sebastian's hair and draws his dark head down towards him for a deep kiss, half because he wants to, and half because he wants to hide from that penetrating garnet gaze. The demon hungrily gives in to the meeting of lips and tongues, once again pressing his erection into the earl's thigh, like a promise of things to come when he is old enough, but also a warning of what may result if he unleashes his urges too early.
Ciel shivers. His adolescent instincts push ahead, while being checked by his memory of the lesson he received on the desk of his study. At last, he submits to his butler-tutor-lover's measure of the situation. He is not disappointed, not when Sebastian unties his bow and unbuttons his shirt to lay kisses on his neck that make him moan. Nor is he disappointed with those possessive licks and nibbles that he knows will leave love bites just above his collarbones, where no one can see them as long as his shirt remains fastened. Whenever his skin is thus marked, Baldroy is never asked to see to his baths; those marks, like the emblem which once scored and altered the natural hues of his left iris, are a secret between him and his demon-lover.
Sebastian's mouth ventures a little lower down, as it did when they progressed to the new thing last night, and Ciel moans again with pleasure when his lover swirls the tip of his devilishly clever tongue around his left nipple, then draws it into his mouth and sucks gently on it – he fancies it must be rather like the way witches' familiars are said to suckle on the third nipples that such women's bodies are believed to sport. He is no wizard, though he does have a true devil suckling at his unformed breast and filling his body with the warmest, yet most tingling sensations...
Sebastian stops, pulls back, and buttons Ciel's shirt.
"You haven't done the other one," the earl growls in protest, the neglected right half of his chest feeling empty and unwanted.
"That will keep for tonight," Sebastian says firmly. "Get up now. You have a music lesson this afternoon."
Ciel groans.

***
Two months later, in October, the scandal gains momentum. Ciel finds himself waiting outside the Prince of Wales' office at Buckingham Palace for Commissioner Randall to emerge. The doors are thick, and the carpeting muffles many sounds, but the earl still hears Prince Edward rumbling away inside. The name "Randall!", angrily spoken in the prince's voice, reaches his ears, followed by a furious sentence, part of which he makes out as: "...that he cannot even return briefly to England without the threat of arrest is unacceptable..."
Lord Randall has quite a temper himself, but before his future king, he is obliged to be calmer and more rational. He says something in reply that is inaudible to Ciel, to which a quieter response is given. The earl has no idea if Randall has soothed the prince's temper at all, but when the Commissioner steps out of the office at last, he gives a discreet shake of his head to Ciel as a warning not to overstep the mark, or he too will bear the brunt of the prince's anger.
"Phantomhive," Prince Edward acknowledges Ciel's presence the moment he steps alone into the office and the aide closes the door after him.
"Your Royal Highness," Ciel greets the prince with a bow, and waits to be told why he is here.
The prince is rearranging papers on his desk which he had clearly been referring to in his interview with Lord Randall. Having done that, he says briskly to Ciel, who remains standing: "I have not asked you to come here today with the aim of ordering any concealment or alteration of the truth, as Randall seemed to think I would do. I've told you before, and I meant it, that I do not want to be that sort of prince. I have no intention of asking that you make anything – or worse, anyone – 'disappear'. But I do want to know what can be done about the fact that the head of my stables dares not even show his face in England when he has merely been questioned by the police about his involvement with this... male brothel, and has not been charged with any offence. If even the man purported to be the brothel owner, who has fled to Belgium, is not being pursued further by the law, it seems most unfair that Lord Arthur, only an alleged customer, should be under such threat of prosecution that he is in France again after briefly scurrying back to England like a common thief! He could barely remain here above a fortnight after his grandmother's funeral! No newspapers have mentioned Somerset's name. Can he not return openly, with some dignity, and without fearing for his safety?"
"Your Royal Highness," says Ciel, drawing on his discussions with Sebastian. "That the newspapers have alluded only to 'noble lords' implicated in the case, without specifically publishing Lord Arthur's name, may be good fortune rather than a sign that all is well. It seems plain from Scotland Yard's investigations that Lord Somerset was a client of the Cleveland Street brothel. That being so, whether the newspapers print his name or not, he cannot return to your service without besmirching the reputation of your household and offices. I would not recommend that anything be done to facilitate his return to England."
"I am to leave him, a son of the Duke of Beaufort, to live the life of a fugitive abroad?" Prince Edward demands.
"Sir, if you will indulge me, please allow me to elaborate on why I believe you must not only leave him to his own devices, but take the further step of speaking against him."
"Explain," the prince demands, a little displeased, but also curious. "The man made a mistake. Am I now to condemn him openly when he has not been charged?"
"I do not suggest that you turn your back on him as if he were a traitor, sir. I am saying that it is important for you to declare that you do not approve of any member of your household behaving so as to bring dishonour to his station. However, it is equally important for you to emphasise that while you condemn the unlawful acts, you wish to demonstrate Christian forgiveness, and hope that he will return to face trial," Ciel says, drawing now on the talks he has had with the vicar, John Jarvis, about how he might advise others to react to this affair.
"Why should I make any public statement?" the prince asks. "Wouldn't that draw more attention to a matter that is more than unseemly as it is?"
"There is already talk amongst journalists, and in well-informed circles, about how the boys who have been arrested have been represented by Lord Arthur's lawyer, with their defence by him fully paid for by Lord Arthur. There is talk about how those boys have been sentenced to a mere few months' incarceration, when the usual sentence for such cases is at least two years' hard labour. There is even more talk about how the brothel owner's escape to Belgium was paid for by Lord Arthur, again through his lawyer. My sources are already hearing whispers that the leniency shown by the courts, and such generosity by Lord Arthur, hints at greater personages being protected from public disgrace. There are whispers that far more illustrious nobles than Lord Arthur are involved, which is why he is so eager to help those pursued to escape, and those caught to receive the lightest sentences."
"But no greater personages are involved, to the best of my knowledge," the prince says, puzzled.
"To the best of my knowledge also," Ciel agrees. "However, once something is whispered about and published, even without proof, it is hard to come out afterward and say that nothing is hidden. Far better to stand up early, and show that nothing is concealed, so that there will be less opportunity for people to suspect smoke, and from there, a fire."
"I cannot speak out against Somerset," the prince insists. "It would be poor repayment for his loyalty of service. Also, speaking against him might cause the courts to be harder on those poor boys, who only did what they did because foolish grown men created a demand for their services."
"Your Royal Highness, you would only need to condemn Lord Arthur's actions while reiterating that he has been a good and loyal subject to his queen, and an excellent member of your household. As for the boys, you could say what you have said to me. Your describing them as young persons led astray by adults will mean that those in custody will continue to be spared harshness, while those who may be arrested in future will be shown mercy, thanks to your kindness of speech about them. But to keep silent in the face of these growing whispers my sources tell me of would be, if you will pardon my bluntness, unwise."
"I hear you. But I cannot do that to Somerset. Like so many members of the aristocracy, he has his curiosities and peccadilloes, but is otherwise a very honourable and decent fellow."
The prince speaks with the supreme confidence of a man whose love for women is so widely known that he has no insecurities whatsoever with regard to his equerry's involvement with a "sodomite scandal". Yet, he refuses to make a public statement against such misdeeds, because he imagines it will be a betrayal of a loyal servant.
Ciel does not press the point. He has been speaking purely as the Earl of Phantomhive advising his prince about what could be a bigger scandal in the making. As a private individual, he himself has been engaging in acts considered criminal by the laws of this land. He thus chooses not to play too aggressive a role in condemning the deeds of men and boys who in his eyes have done nothing wrong other than be caught by the police.

***
Upon his return from Buckingham Palace, Ciel goes to his study and looks through some of the many letters, journal entries and other papers Ambrose willed to him. One of his journal scribblings reads:
"The crowned heads of England dare not release the Phantomhives from their dark service. They are too useful to them. Just as I could not bear to cut my various succubi loose, although I knew it was wrong of me to sustain my youth and health by stealing the lives of other humans, the crown of England cannot bring itself to do without the particular services the Phantomhives can render. I, a mere private man, clung to my succubi for more than 230 years, and thereafter to my enslaved devil, for sustenance. What more the English throne? Surely they will cling to their shadow for two thousand years to come..."
"I won't let them keep you chained," Sebastian says from the doorway, making Ciel jump, for he had not realised that he had left the door ajar.
"And how did you know what I was reading?" Ciel asks, a little miffed, as his demon comes over to pour him a cup of Ceylon tea.
"I have memorised all the papers Ambrose left, which you asked me to read in case you missed anything of importance. I could tell at once which sheet of paper you were holding."
"Clever bastard," Ciel mutters, taking a sip of the tea.
"There'll be worse trouble soon, thanks to the Prince of Wales' refusal to take a stronger stand. When that happens, he will remember your wisdom and your call for openness, and he will not forget it when the time comes for him to decide if he will let Phantomhive be an ordinary earldom like any other earldom, or if he wishes to use you in the dark the way his mother has."
"What sort of worse trouble?" Ciel asks.
"I haven't the power to predict precisely what form it will take, but my experience with humankind and their scandals is hinting at the very real possibility of a rather unpleasant stench arising from this."
"What can we do about it?"
"By the time it breaks, short of silencing through threats or murder everyone who might know the least thing about it, there will be nothing we can do other than sit back and watch."
"I don't like the sound of that."
"We can always kill everyone," Sebastian proposes casually.
"I felt enough of a hypocrite standing there before Prince Edward recommending that he show public disapproval of Somerset's deeds. I'm not about to do anything worse to silence anyone else concerning this affair."
"Did you feel like a hypocrite? Why?" Sebastian asks playfully from behind Ciel's chair, bending down to kiss the very corner of his mouth. "Because you let me do such things to you?"
"To say the least," Ciel mumbles, but with the trace of a smile on his lips. "Are you sure no one can see us? I'm not quite prepared to have to flee England the way Somerset has."
"No one can see us, except Carsten."
"What?" Ciel gasps, nearly jumping out of his chair, except that Sebastian has his hands on his shoulders, keeping him in place.
"He's only passing through," his butler replies, nibbling his ear. "He has been watching us from the forest for four minutes thus far, and is leaving as we speak. He probably came by to see if we were all still alive. Perhaps he will return for a longer visit one day, but today is not that day."
"Why is he loitering in the forest instead of being 'Carsten Wolf', and squandering Ambrose's money for his amusement? Oh... but devils don't care about such things, do they? What is his real name, anyway?" Ciel asks, still trying to look around to see if he can spot Carsten, while Sebastian is intent on distracting him with kisses.
"I don't know. I didn't care to ask."
"For that matter, what is yours? You still haven't told me."
"It is not important. All I am, and all I want to be while you live, is Sebastian Michaelis."
Sebastian's evasive answer about his name is most unsatisfactory, but Ciel imagines he has a lifetime to find out. For now, he lets it go, because his demon has agreed that they can explore a little more, week by week, until his fourteenth birthday, when they may determine how much he is ready for. So he tilts his head right back to look up into his face, and asks: "What is it that Sebastian Michaelis wants to do with me tonight?"
"Wouldn't you like to find out?"

***
That night, Sebastian shocks, tickles and arouses him all at once by what – to the earl – is the highly novel act of licking his toes dry after his bath. Still wrapped in his towel, and laid on the bed like a soft, fluffy parcel, Ciel lies back to watch with fascination as he experiences the unusual pleasure of Sebastian cleaning over, under and between his toes with his tongue, like a cat bathing her kitten scrupulously. Each digit goes into Sebastian's mouth to be laved and teased, releasing butterflies in Ciel's tummy.
Another week, and Sebastian permits Ciel to touch him in any way he wants as he lies face down on the earl's bed. Given carte blanche, the boy does not know what to do. He strokes his demon's spine, examines his impossibly long legs, proves too hesitant to explore the older male's nether parts, presses kisses to the nape of his neck, and eventually straddles his prone body before lying on top of him like a puppy sprawled belly-down over a cushion and sighing into his shoulder: "I don't know enough. I really don't know what I'm supposed to do."
Another week, and he is drawing his tongue up the boy's inner thighs, leaving him heaving and panting with fear and excitement and bad memories, until he warms with his breath the smooth hollows where his legs join his body, plants the gentlest of single kisses on his delicate scrotum, then wraps him in his arms and holds him all night without venturing another advance.
Yet another week, and Ciel insists on trying his hand at undressing Sebastian all by himself and giving him a bath (very badly), which the devil puts an end to by grabbing the earl and pulling him into the bathwater with a messy splash. For the first time in years, Ciel laughs – not cynically, not hysterically – but with simple surprise and delight, before devouring his butler's kisses purely because kissing him gives him joy.
The morning after, the newspapers prove they have aimed their arrows higher, slinging their inky mud at none other than Prince Albert Victor, the delicately built eldest son of the Prince of Wales. They never say it outright, but strongly imply that he must have been a patron of the Cleveland Street brothel for the government to have exercised such leniency to those involved. Soon, newspapers as far away as America begin to expand on the rumours baselessly, and what Ciel warned the Prince of Wales about has come to pass.
Something he was not allowed to prevent has been done, and probably can never be undone. No doubt Prince Edward will summon him soon, either to be furious that he was right, or to be repentant about not taking his advice. All Ciel knows is that he is reminded ever more at this time that he is not free yet – not free of the throne's shadow, and not free to be open about how he and Sebastian are finding their way carefully with each other.
For now, he immerses himself in Sebastian, letting him hold him and shelter him from the pettiness of the world, its meaningless gossip and self-righteousness and moralising – just a bit longer, while they can still carve out a little peace for themselves.

=================
Note: In real life, the Cleveland Street scandal of 1889 was investigated by Frederick Abberline. In my fanfic, of course, the character of Abberline is long dead, so he has nothing to do with it here.
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Devilish Impulses