The Crow, The Robin, and the Viscount

The blue-eyed boy drew stares at Madam Carmen’s, a surly prince in a palace of hollow-faced urchins and drug-dazed waifs. Unlike his peers, he wore no jewelry, and instead of gossiping with friends or flattering clients, he simply glared at the fireplace.

His disdain was clear to all who came with pocket money for the boys willing to pretend lust for coins or sweets. Rumor ran that Madam Carmen encouraged the blue-eyed boy’s vitriol to satisfy those customers who reveled in subduing a swearing, struggling boy.

When asked, he gave no name; his customers were forced to refer to him as Blue-Eyes, or The Quiet One, or whichever moniker came to their tongues. Many bragged of tasting his flesh, but few returned for him; as much as they delighted in his clean white skin and filthy pink mouth, something about him left them…disquieted.

Viscount Druitt’s butler was not easily disquieted. Quite the opposite, in fact; even the oldest whores felt a cold shiver when he turned his gaze to them. His eyes were the color of old blood, red-brown and just as cool. Though he eyed each boy with purpose, it was not the purpose to which they were accustomed.

“You like him, do you not, Master Michaelis?” asked Carmen, hiding a smile behind her fan. All the paint in the world failed to hide her withering face from Sebastian, and cheap perfume could not disguise her odor of gin and old sweat.

“My preferences are not the matter, but my master’s.” he replied smoothly. “In that direction, however, I sense potential. May I inspect the boy?”

“Of course. It is quite a decision you are making. Boy!” The tow-headed child kneeling at her side looked up. “Take Blue-Eyes and the gentleman to the Peacock Room. If he gives any trouble, send for assistance.”

The blond smiled and bowed, walking to fetch the other child. When he reached the chair by the fire, his lips twisted into a cruel grin, and he said something that made the other boy blanch. The blond seized his hand and practically skipped to the stairs, gesturing for the butler to follow.

“This way, sir,” the blond said with a wink. He ignored the other boy’s attempts to pry his hand free, humming as he led them past an array of painted doors. One bore a scene of nymphs dropping grapes into satyr’s mouths; another, a single ripe pomegranate. Finally they stopped at a door that was not painted but carved, with the likeness of a peacock.

Bowing to the butler, the blond opened the door, waiting for the butler to enter before pulling the other child’s ear close to his lips.

“Hope he gives it to you good,” he whispered, thinking his voice too low for the butler’s ears.

“Fuck you, Highness.” the blue-eyed boy said, slamming the door in the other child’s face.

The room was draped in the rich blues, greens, and golds its name implied, though less sumptuously than the sitting room. An extravagant bed was the highlight of the room: an elaborate brass construction with the delicately edged feathers of a peacock, made larger and more fanciful than life.

The boy stood as far away from the bed as possible, turning insolent eyes on the butler.

“Quite a filthy mouth you have.” Sebastian said, watching tics the boy was too young to disguise: the way he shifted his weight from one foot to another, and the too-tight set of his shoulders that the boy probably imagined made him look proud rather than small and brittle. “

“What does it matter?” the boy drawled, eyeing Sebastian with scorn. “Buggered if I’m rude, buggered if I’m polite – I’ll still be buggered, and nothing that haggard cunt offers me is worth smiling and thanking fat merchants for their attention.”

“You’d have less pain, perhaps, and the usual presents men spoil whores with.” Sebastian said.

The boy laughed with dull eyes. “You think I fear pain. You’ve never been a slave.”

Sebastian smiled, remembering contracts sworn in blood and seed. If only the boy knew.

“Enlighten me, then, little slave.” he said. “If not pain, what do you fear?”

The boy’s breath hitched, and he looked away for a moment. “That’s not for your ears.” He said quietly. When he’d summoned his nerve again, he raised his chin at Sebastian. “How can you even afford this place? Or does your master send you here to keep you off his sons?”

Sebastian ignored the barbed remark, noting the boy’s instinct for seeking men’s weak points – a human would have likely slapped the boy for insolence. “Do you truly think your mouth makes men want you less? That they won’t want to – ‘bugger,’ as you say, the spite out of you?”

The boy shrugged. “I haven’t discovered how to make them all leave. I tried to strangle one, and the madam only locked me up for a week. When you learn the trick of it, do tell me.”

Sebastian folded his long body into the lone chair, his white-gloved hands shining against his black lap. The boy still stood, waiting but keeping his gaze away from either Sebastian or the bed.

The butler waited for the boy to break the silence with a quiet, “What do you want?”

“I? To be paid the wage my master owes me, in time.” A slow, fond smile spread across his face before he continued, “But that does not matter; I’m not here to… ‘bugger’ you, as you say, but I do ask that you undress.”

“Or else what?” the boy asked flatly.

Sebastian shrugged as if the answer was of no consequence. “Or I will leave you here to be used as Madam Carmen sees fit, until you become more trouble than you’re worth and she sells you. How long have you been here, a year? Two? Soon some younger boy will replace you, and you’ll lose what power you had.”

“So I show you my arse and I’m free?” the boy demanded, arching a fine brow. “Quite a bargain. My trousers can barely stay up.”

“Not free.” the butler admitted, folding his tall frame into a chair. His white-gloved hands went to his lap, their elegant lines obvious in his black velvet lap. “But with hope of freedom.”

“Who are you?” Doubt shadowed the defiant eyes, the faintest flicker of hope. The child wore an excellent mask when he chose, but any guise was paper-thin to something as old as Sebastian.

The butler tilted his head, gaze up as he considered. “My lord calls me Saint Sebastian.”

“Your lord is a fairy.” the child scoffed.

“And you are…?”

The boy’s scowl deepened. “I’m not allowed to speak it. The sagging bitch calls me a liar.”

“Ah. You still claim to be the young Earl Phantomhive?” At the boy’s gasp, he said, “I’ve done my research.”

“I’m Ciel Phantomhive, Earl of the Phantomhive estate, the Phantom company, and the position of Queen’s Watchdog. You may call me that, or nothing.”

“I’ll call you as I please, whore.” Sebastian said politely. “Now if you disrobe, I can begin to determine if you are fit for my master.”

“Why should I care?”

Sebastian smiled at the poorly concealed hope in Ciel’s voice. “How many men may have you in an evening? Five? Six?” The boy flushed, eyes darting away. “More on some, I imagine. Or perhaps one may keep you for the night. Perhaps some are gentle, and stroke your hair as they defile that impertinent mouth of yours; perhaps others whip you until you bend willingly for them.”

The boy’s hands clenched at his sides; for all his vulgar talk, he clearly did not wish to be reminded of his role.

“My master is but one man, for all that he may share you sometimes. His home is more lavish than the Phantomhive ruins, and you will have every luxury imaginable. Furthermore…” Sebastian paused, waiting for Ciel’s eyes to meet his. “My master made an unwise decision, and his days are quite numbered; in less than a year, you will be off with a generous pension and no need to service fat merchants and limp-wristed aristocrats.”


There was a long pause as the boy frowned at the plush carpet, his lower lip trapped between teeth that worried and tugged at the skin.

“You just wish… to see?” he asked quietly.

“Only to see.”

Something in the butler’s tone annoyed Ciel; he scowled as his hands went to the scarlet cravat at his throat. Unknotting the fabric with small deft hands, he dropped it to the floor, taking a step closer to Sebastian’s chair. Next he unfastened the velvet jacket an inch at a time, slithering out of the fabric like a true coquette.

“What are you looking for?” the boy asked, unlacing his white silk shirt. It fell with the whisper of fine cloth before he stepped from the pool it made it his feet.

“It’s simple, really.” Sebastian said. “I need the boy who will sate someone who has known a thousand pretty boys, girls, men, and women.”

Ciel wore no boots; none of the boys at Carmen’s did. There was nothing to stop him from sliding his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers as he came ever closer to the chair, fingers pausing at the laces. “You think I’m that boy?”

His last step brought him within inches of Sebastian. His hands gripped the armrests as he leaned over the butler, placing his their faces inches apart.

The butler’s eyes were cool and calculating. “Perhaps. Face the bed.”

The boy stared at him for a moment before rising to turn about. His pale skin was marred with small cuts and larger bruises, but those would heal in time. The only lasting flaw was a brand burned into one buttock; most children traded in London’s underground bore such marks.

Sebastian stood behind the boy, draping his hands on the thin shoulders. His fingers slid down thin arms, moving the this way and that like a warm, breathing doll. He rubbed the boy’s smooth chest before drifting up to his face, and the boy’s breath hitched.

“You said – “

Sebastian covered his lips with one finger. “You’ve no charms to tempt me, little whore.” he whispered. “I’d do as much to a cart horse, or a bushel of fruit.”

Ciel bristled, but he said nothing as Sebastian rubbed a lock of hair between his fingers to test the fineness, nor as he felt along Ciel’s shoulders and back. His mouth went dry when the butler’s fingers strayed lower to part his pale buttocks and inspect the rosebud he found there. That step seemed to take forever, and nothing should stop the shaking in his legs until the butler moved elsewhere.

Not even Ciel’s fingers and toes were spared Sebastian’s discerning gaze. True to the butler’s word, though, he kept his inspections as clinical as a doctor, and his red-brown eyes betrayed no hint of desire.

When Ciel thought he could stand no more, the butler finally said, “You’ll do. I will send a carriage for you in the morning.”

And without sparing Ciel a further glance, Sebastian left to make the arrangements. Ciel stood as he was, not turning until the door clicked softly shut.

Finally he bent to pick up his clothing, his mind racing with plans and strategies, hope and fierce suspicion.

Strange how standing there alone with the clothes against his chest, he felt filthier than his first night in the brothel.

*

“Going to be some rich man’s fancy boy?” Highness giggled. “Oh, Ciel, I knew you’d be a real tart someday! For all your talk of never giving in.”

Ciel’s reply was so crude a pair of girls looked up at stare. Highness only grinned wider, spinning in a delighted circle with his arms thrown wide. Without warning, he grabbed Ciel tight, crushing the smaller boy against his chest.

“Don’t forget,” he whispered. “I taught you everything you know.” And he crushed his lips against Ciel’s.

I won’t, Ciel thought.

*

Ciel was surprised to find the mansion quite empty, though candles flickered in sconces as far as he could see. His own mansion had been grander than anyone’s he knew, in both scale and beauty; Druitt’s was smaller, but built of finer materials. Ciel’s eye could find no fault, no neglected space or spared expense. The banister beneath his hand was polished redwood carved with small, fantastic designs of women, satyrs, and fruiting trees.

The butler offered no explanations or idle talk, and Ciel was fine with that, lost to the cold weight in his chest.

Each hallway transitioned seamlessly into a new theme, maintaining cohesion while refreshing the eye. They had walked quite a long way when the butler said at length, “This is the Sapphire Suite – your new quarters,” opening a pair of French doors.

Better to live in his own quarters than Druitt’s, at least; the idea of sleeping each night next to some aging fop made him ill. The décor, to his disgust, lived up to the name – nearly every surface sported some shade of blue, or at most cream, from the plush carpet to the canopied bed.

“You’ll need to be measured for clothing before I present you to my lord – stand up straight by the mirror, if you please.”

Ciel raised an eyebrow. “Not enough to have a whore, but a painted one as well?”

Sebastian’s gaze was cool. “You’re far too young for paint; it would be lewd. Even you should realize, however, that unwrapping a gift is half of the pleasure.”

Ciel flinched but remained silent as the butler drew out a measuring tape, seizing Ciel’s wrist to find its circumference, then the length to his elbow and shoulder. He seemed to require no pen and paper, and if not for the clinical touch, Ciel would have imagined ulterior motives.

Ciel stared firmly ahead, suppressing the urge to swat at the butler’s hands as they moved across his shoulders and chest. It had been months since someone touched him without seeking to hurt or humiliate, and even the lightest touches sent his pulse racing.

The butler’s hand paused at Ciel’s neck, fingers stroking the line of his jugular. “There’s no need to pretend you don’t fear me; you may save the brave face for my master.”

“Fuck you.” Ciel said, since no other words came to mind.

The butler ignored him and resumed his measurements, muttering about seam allowances and growth spurts. Ciel’s flinched when the butler’s hand brushed over his backside and measured him about the hips and thighs, but the butler paid these areas no more attention than his ankles.

When it was over, Ciel’s fingers gripped the nearest desk and fought to keep his breath steady. The butler pulled out and examined a gold pocket watch.

“I will bring you luncheon at noon, and you’ll be made ready for my lord in the evening. You are free to explore your rooms; they are well equipped for a young lord.” he said, turning to leave without a last glance.

The doors shut, and Ciel heard the unmistakable click of a key turning to lock the door.

*

“They truly let you get away with this?” Sebastian asked, frowning over Ciel’s hands as he cleaned under the boy’s nails. “Filthy, tattered – I’m surprised you haven’t brought lice.”

Ciel fumed but kept silent, recalling a darker place with things that crept and crawled. Compared to the dark place, Carmen’s had been a gilded cage. His skin twitched at the memory of tiny legs skittering, of finally giving up because the vermin just kept coming again.

The butler filed Ciel’s nails to perfect rounded tips, rubbing scented cream into his skin. No detail of Ciel’s appearance was left to chance, as if the viscount would reject him for a hangnail or an errant hair. The same attention had been paid to his body in the bath. Each bruise was treated with balm, a scar rubbed with some medicinal-smelling oil.

Before the dark place, Ciel had been just another child with scraped knees and clothes smudged with dust or dirt from play, unless visitors were coming. He wondered if Sebastian was polishing away the last vestiges of that child.

*

Viscount Druitt was the most beautiful person Ciel had seen. His platinum hair fell gleaming to his shoulders, and his violet eyes were spoken of throughout London. He dressed at the height of fashion, his clothing exquisitely tailored to a lean body.

All of which was lost on Ciel; all that noticed was the hungry brush of the viscount’s eyes over his frame, and the clench of the man’s fingers on his cane. Sebastian had chosen Ciel’s clothing carefully, a soft white suit that bespoke innocence he had long lost. Clearly the butler’s efforts had paid off.

“My lord, please allow me to present… Ciel.”

Druitt took a step closer, then another. “Such a fitting name for a lovely blue-eyed boy. Wasn’t the Phantomhive boy called Ciel?”

Before Ciel could speak, Sebastian said, “If our guest is to be believed, they are one and the same. It seems an unusual ruse for him to maintain, when his mistress so thoroughly denied him.”

The viscount chuckled softly, brushing the boy’s cheek with the back of his hand. “Ciel Phantomhive! Why, you do have your mother’s looks.”

Ciel’s heart leapt in his chest. “You– you believe me?”

“Of course I believe you, dear boy. There’s no mistaking noble blood.”

Ciel drew a breath that was half sob, eyes closing in relief. He could pretend the endless line of filthy hands had never happened. Once again he could be master and heir to the Phantomhive fortune; people would respect him and never touch him again.

Druitt cupped Ciel’s chin, forcing the boy to look up. “Such a sullen mouth, and those eyes! Blue as the purest water, but with hidden filth beneath the surface.” He turned to his butler as Ciel frowned. “You were right, Sebastian; he’ll be the brightest jewel in my collection.”

“You – you can’t do this.” Ciel said, his pupils overshadowing his eyes until they looked black. “You should call the police, my family -”

Druitt raised a finely arched brow. “And let them know of my little collection?” His grip tightened on Ciel, and he rubbed his thumb against the side of Ciel’s neck. “Besides, little jewel, you have no family. Your parents are dead, and Madam Red killed herself weeks ago. You’re quite alone in this world.”

“My servants. The – the queen!” Ciel managed to wrench himself from Druitt’s grasp, pointing an accusing finger at the viscount. “She needs my family.”

“Do you really want them to see what you’ve become?” Druitt asked, brows knitted in mock-concern. “They’ll know it when they see you. It’s all but written on your face, in the pout of your lips; you may as well shout it at them.”

“Fuck you!”

Ciel darted too fast for Druitt to protect himself from the small, clawed hands – but not so fast that Sebastian could not lift him off his toes by his coat, as if scruffing a kitten.

Druitt’s eyes sparkled with amusement, but he pursed his lips in mock-annoyance. “Little jewel, you have an hour to contemplate your behavior in the White Room. Afterwards, I will see if you are as pretty striped with red…” His lips curved into a smile. “…as you are clothed in white. Sebastian?”

The butler bowed, then scooped the boy into his arms. “Yes, my lord.”

*

Ciel’s fingers were numb and his knees ached. His wrists were pinned far from his sides, so he could neither sit nor stand. Focusing on the pain was still better than surveying the room, which he could not help but do. It was the entire reason, he knew, that Druitt had left him to wait an hour.

The White Room – so absurd, a name better suited to a lady’s parlor than this cold place. The room was as clean and immaculate as a surgeon’s suite, with many of the same implements: scalpels, probes, and forceps gleamed from racks on one wall. Next to them were elaborate illustrations of anatomy and surgical procedures, from autopsy to castration.

Another wall held tools more familiar to Ciel: the traditional whips, canes, and wooden phalluses he’d seen at Carmen’s, but all bleached the same gleaming white. Each was arranged neatly by size and shape, placed in pathologically neat rows. He wondered if it was Sebastian’s hand he noted in that arrangement.

The third wall held only a broad white cabinet, and the door. The fourth wall was lined with a variety of chains, cuffs, and devices – as well as Ciel himself.

In the center was a flexible steel table, spotless and gleaming. Ciel cursed himself under his breath for ever agreeing to come to Druitt, for playing Druitt’s game and falling into his trap, for the sweat pooling at the base of his spine and the band of fear tightening his chest.

Most of all, he cursed the butler for looking so calm as he left Ciel to wait.

*

When it was over, Druitt kissed Ciel’s cheek and patted him like a dog before turning on his heel to leave. The white suit was in ruins, shredded and smeared with blood in the places Druitt’s implements broke through the fabric and into his skin. Ciel could only grit his teeth through the haze of pain.

Sebastian was back within an instant, and Ciel wondered dully if the butler had been watching all along. The butler’s face betrayed nothing as he tucked Ciel against his chest to carry him from the room, and he was too far gone to resist. The smell of cinnamon and ashes filled his nose, like a hearth fire, and the butler’s feet made no sound against the plush carpet.

“Now, you don’t want to go to sleep like that, do you?” the butler said as he set Ciel down in a chair. Ciel opened his eyes to see a claw-footed bath filled with steaming water. Baths at Carmen’s had consisted of a chilled pail of water and a rag, in view of the other boys. He had to hurry most nights to finish before Highness could arrive to tease and pinch him.

Ciel shook his head as Sebastian peeled the remains of his clothing from him, hands gentle as a nursemaid’s, though nothing could help the dried blood binding cloth to skin.

“You do this for all of his…?” Ciel stopped, unwilling to describe himself as ”Druitt’s” anything.

Sebastian helped him lower his body into the steaming water. Ciel hissed at the heat touching fresh cuts, but he found himself grateful for the warmth.

“Only for the jewel in his crown. He has other servants for the rest.”

“I’m honored.” Ciel said flatly. He sank deeper into the water.

He was too tired to argue when Sebastian massaged shampoo into his hair, nor when he ran a soapy sponge over his limbs and (to his shame) over his backside, which ached. The soap smelled of sandalwood, a sharp clean scent that cut through the reek of sweat, blood, and semen he knew too well.

“My lord is usually not so rough with his toys.” the butler told Ciel as he rinsed his hair. “I’m afraid cruelty is a passing fancy of his.”

“Oh, but every noble should follow the fads.” Ciel sneered. “This season I think I shall wear long cuffs; the next, I shall beat and bugger boys half my age. Soon I shall hire a Swiss chamber quartet – French music is so passé.”

The butler chuckled and helped Ciel from the bath, wrapping a silk-soft towel around him. Then he raised a hot cup to the boy’s lips, and he drank the sweet, rich liquid without a second thought.

The bed Sebastian laid Ciel on was as yielding as a cloud, the blankets deep and warm as he tucked the boy in. He could almost imagine himself sinking through them and into the ground. As comfortable as the bed was, though, he was still a slave; and soon he would be alone with his aching body and the darkness of the room.

“Shall I stay?” Sebastian asked, pausing by the door.

Ciel snapped something vulgar he was too tired to remember, and buried his head in the pillow. He could hear the butler retreat obediently.

I hate you both, Ciel thought to himself, stifling the rush of shame and horror that threatened to spill from his eyes and mouth.

He fell asleep quickly despite the ache of bruises and wrenched joints, and his sleep for once was dreamless.