Kagome (_newworld) wrote,

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[Black Butler] That Face in the Mirror - Sebastian/Ciel

Title: That Face in the Mirror
Author: Kagome
Series: Black Butler
Prompt: #32: Mirror
Word Count: 3,826
Rating: Hard R
Characters, Pairings: Sebastian/Ciel, brief Ciel/unimportant female
Summary: There was always a mirror.
Warnings: sexual content, grotesque/disturbing imagery, dark themes, twisted storyline, demon!Ciel.
Notes: This was an idea that wouldn’t leave me alone. The parts came to me all disjointed-like, and I tried to put them in an orderly fashion. Yes, it is strange, and yes, it is more than a little unsettling. I do hope you all enjoy it, though. Major shoutout to Maiden of the Moon, who writes positively the best demon!Ciel ever.


There was always a mirror.

No matter were they were—no matter where their journey took them, there was always a mirror.

Ciel supposed mirrors might have been made as a testament to human vanity, but he nonetheless found himself gazing into the full-length mirror in the lavish hotel room they were currently staying in. He had only just recently began experimenting with changing his form, and it was all still very new to him—new and exciting.

He stood before the mirror, hair changing from slate grey to blonde to black to brown. He changed his eye color to a deep hazel, and he made himself taller. Rosy cheeks, pink lips, long curly hair, wide innocent eyes (which were a lie), and a pair of perky breasts… Not bad at all.

Wide hips and slender legs were also added—anything masculine was replaced by everything feminine, and all those curves were covered in a dress of the deepest blue.

The male-turned-female admired her handiwork, tittering behind a dainty hand.

“The Viscount Druitt would certainly find that particular form quite appealing,” Sebastian announced from behind her, and she turned to him, beaming.

“And what about you?” she queried. “Do you find this form appealing?”

Sebastian made a low humming noise and smiled. “I approve of any form my young master chooses to take.”

She gazed into the mirror again, and she thought, I look like a high-class whore. She furrowed her brow before smiling again, an idea suddenly occurring to her.

“I never did allow you to have a pet, did I?” Her voice was at once what it had been before—the voice of a young boy.

The feline form didn’t really appeal to him personally, but Sebastian’s eyes widened in surprise the moment Ciel-the-cat hopped onto his lap and began to softly purr.

Sebastian’s fingers stroked along his spine, and the (demon’s) butler chuckled softly. “If you’re going to traipse around in this form, Young Master, I fear that others will become quite confused as to which of us is the master and which of us is the pet.”

Had he still been human, Ciel would have become quite irritated at a comment like that. He probably would have even slapped Sebastian once or twice, but given that he was no longer human (and his pride was that of a different kind now), he merely conceded his butler’s point with another purr.

“But you and I know,” he eventually said, “and that’s what matters.”

“Indeed, my Lord.”


They spent decades upon decades travelling across all of Europe—life for them now was but a long holiday in and of itself. They had no contracts to honor but Their Own, and depending on what cards they played (and they had many), they could have their fill of human souls in one night.

Humans were corrupt—greedy and needy little creatures. Ciel knew this perhaps even better than his tutor.


Ireland was full of dazzling redheads with bright green eyes, and Ciel thought it best to blend in. Here, he was a young and successful businessman and Sebastian was his associate, his assistant, his partner.

(In more ways than one, of course, not that the unsuspecting humans could have ever hoped to understand.)

“You like your disguises, don’t you?” Sebastian asked him casually.

Ciel’s shrug was equally as indifferent as he eyed himself in the mirror. “When in Rome… or Ireland, as it were.”

One corner of Sebastian’s lips curved upwards. “Should I change my appearance so that I blend in as well, then?”

Ciel’s gaze slid from his own reflection to that of his butler’s, and he shook his head. “Come here.”

Sebastian was by his side in the next moment, and the not-boy (but not truly a young man, either) gingerly caressed the pentagram on Sebastian’s left hand. “I would like for you to remain as you are, always my Sebastian.”

And if green eyes flashed red with hunger or greed, the butler did not comment on it. He merely replied without pause: “As my young master wishes.”


Half a century after his transition from human to demon, he could have been found in Sweden (it was recovering nicely from one great war only to be led to the brink of another)—or perhaps he couldn’t have been found at all, for in order for one to be found, one must have someone searching for them.

Not a single individual was searching for them, though they kept their own eyes open, searching for any opportunity of a meal.

For Ciel, it came in the form of a prim and proper blonde girl with achingly familiar green eyes. She was the bright sun of a past he’d given up not so very long ago.

His disguise was merely what he might’ve looked like had he truly lived long enough to turn eighteen.

He laid on the charm and laid it on thick, and she fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

He courted her for months while war was threatened to be waged all around them, and she clung to him like he was her lifeline, her light in a world that was quickly growing dark.

She didn’t know that he was part of that darkness—not yet.


Her name was Dahlia.

Sebastian never commented on Ciel’s frequent outings to see her until one lazy, humid night in mid-summer of 1939: “Have you grown to care for her, my Lord?”

Ciel snorted as Sebastian straightened his tie for him, and admired himself in the mirror (he would have grown into a handsome young man, perhaps). “Don’t be ridiculous, Sebastian. I am the hunter and she is the hunted. This is a passing fancy, an experiment, a game.”

He turned to face his butler, reaching up to touch strands of ebony, and he smiled. “Are you jealous, Sebastian? I think the color green would suit you quite well, if that were the case.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow and adjusted his jacket. “I’m more partial to black, Young Master.”

(And then there was red—of course, there was always red.)


He took her for the first (and last) time on a bed that smelled like fresh-cut roses, in a hotel room that was miles away from where he and Sebastian currently resided.

It was utterly different from being with—

--But then again, of course it would be: She was all soft curves where he’d gotten used to hard angles. The mechanics were essentially the same, though, and her long nails made half-crescents in the skin of his back as he shoved into her again and again—until she was writhing beneath him and calling out a name that was and was not his.

He came shortly thereafter, emptying his seed into her, and he lay beside her afterwards, stroking her golden hair in a mockery of tenderness as he contemplated a rather strange idea: could a demon impregnate a human?


He returned to Sebastian some few hours before dawn, knowing that he smelled of sex. Sebastian undressed him as per usual, and tucked the bedsheets around him without breathing a single word.

“She is happy over the idea that she might become pregnant,” Ciel murmured as he rolled onto his right side and watched his butler for any sort of reaction.

In the darkness, red eyes danced with amusement. “Her happiness will be very short-lived, Young Master. There is no possibility of her becoming pregnant from your… encounter.” He tilted his head to one side. “Are you perhaps in the market for an heir even when one is unneeded, my Lord? As far as anyone else is concerned, the Phantomhive name died with that of its youngest master, but you and I know that it will live on forever.”

“I know that,” Ciel replied, barely refraining from snapping at his companion. “This is just an experiment, remember?”

“Do you so enjoy playing with your food?”

Ciel’s lips set in a hard line. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

Sebastian knelt down so that he was at eye-level, and he smiled. “I would, my Lord, but you see… you were special.”

Ciel could not think of anything to say to that except, “Stay.”

Sebastian did.

(And he replaced her scent with his own.)


With humanity came morality: something was good, or something was evil.


As a demon, Ciel came to realize that the so-called ethics of this world were colored only in varying shades of grey.


He ended the charade a few nights later with a proposal, though it was surely not the sort that she’d been hoping for or expecting.

“Do you love me?” he asked her, and she earnestly answered that yes, of course she did.

“Would you give me all of yourself?”

A light blush colored her cheeks, and again, her answer was yes. “I would give you anything at all. I would give you all of my love. I would give you a beautiful child.” She smiled beatifically then, hands fluttering to her flat belly. “I would give you my mind, my body, my soul….”

And that (and only that) was what he’d been waiting for.


She’d screamed only once.

Now, she lay on the floor, emerald eyes wide, but dull and lifeless. He could see his reflection in them—could see how his own eyes had turned scarlet.

“I dragged this game out entirely too long,” he muttered as he changed form for the first time in months, and she was a pretty young thing dressed in pink lace.

She left the wilted flower where it lay.


“Humans are meant to be nothing more than sustenance and temporary amusement for us.”

“And what about--”

“I have already told you, my Young Master. You were special.”


As a human, Ciel Phantomhive had learned from his mistakes.

Things were no different for him now, even if he was a not-boy who was – once upon a time – the Watchdog of a Queen.


The fabric of most of Western Europe was torn asunder when the Second World War came down upon them full-force. By this time, they were safe in the Soviet Union. Their cover here was that Sebastian was an ex-soldier, and that he and his son were trying to build a new life away from the horrors of war.

Ciel – whose current pseudonym was Kristopher – was quite proud of his ‘costume’ this time: he looked exactly like a miniature Sebastian, and he told Sebastian as much as he studied his reflection in the window of one of the many shops lining the streets.

“Well, you’re supposed to since you’re my son,” Sebastian all but purred, eyeing him up and down.

Ciel released a delighted little giggle and said under his breath, “Do behave yourself, dearest Daddy. People might get the wrong idea.”

Which would technically be the right idea, only they’d look at it in entirely the wrong light.


And then there were all of those weeping, begging humans who would have given anything to have their loved ones back, after the war.

Weakened hearts made for easy prey, and yes… in the end, they gave their everything, and got nothing in return but a semi-peaceful death.


Years and years slipped by without much notice, and the demons decided to make America their new temporary home. They adapted rather quickly to the changes, though Ciel still wrinkled his nose over the fact that the entire damned country drank tea incorrectly—why did they drink it cold?

It was something that he would never understand. He gazed into his glass, which was filled to the brim with so-called tea and ice. The distorted, rippling vision of a perfect Southern gentleman (which was a definite rarity in this day and age) was reflected back at him.

Sebastian sat calmly across from him with an equally-full glass of the same substance.

The waitress never inquired as to why they didn’t touch the tea that they ordered.

Then again, she never really got the chance.


Technology seemed to advance with each passing day, and Ciel found himself tiring of it all—or almost all of it, at least.

He had to admit that he rather liked the invention known as the ‘cell phone’.

They were in California now and Sebastian was out, searching for a prospective meal (or two)… it had been a year or so, after all, at the very least.

Ciel remained behind, sprawled comfortably atop their large bed in a home that was as transitory as a human’s life—blink, and it would be gone.

Or in this case, they would be.

But for now, he would enjoy the luxuries it offered.

Once again, he was playing the role of Sebastian’s son, though this time he was a rebellious teenager who dressed in black, and his eyes were a deep grey. His hair was as black as the clothes he wore and his nails were the same.

This was a role he played very well in front of others.

He reached for his cell phone, which he’d carelessly tossed onto the nearby nightstand, and he pressed the speed dial number for his butler. The phone rang a few times before Sebastian answered.

“I’m bored,” Ciel murmured, sounding almost like the boy he no longer was. “Guess what I’m about to do, Sebastian.”

“You know I am not good at guessing games, my Lord,” Sebastian replied, and Ciel could hear the amusement in his voice.

“I’ll make this one real easy for you, then,” Ciel purred, skimming his right hand over the front of his jeans. Moaning, he arched into his own touch. “I’ll be thinking of you during this particular activity.”

“My Lord, you are quite a naughty boy,” Sebastian breathed. “Touching yourself, and I’m not even there to watch you.”

“Oh, but your master is nice enough to let you listen,” Ciel replied, unzipping his pants and reaching inside, freeing his now-erect length. “Don’t worry. I’ll be doing all of the watching.”

And watch he did, for there was a large mirror atop the dresser in front of him, and he could see everything—how his eyes became heavy-lidded and his cheeks became pink-tinged as he stroked himself with Sebastian on the phone the entire time.

He quickened his strokes, squeezed in all of the right places, and listened to Sebastian’s staccato breathing (his own was very similar). He imagined that Sebastian’s eyes were gleaming ruby red, and then—

He thought of something.

“Tell me, Sebastian. Tell me how I would have tasted if you would have had the chance to take my soul, all those years ago.”

“You would have been delectable,” Sebastian obediently replied, voice deliciously husky. “I would have savored you.”

With a soft cry, Ciel strained his hips upwards and he came all over his fingers and his black t-shirt.

“…Young Master?” Sebastian asked a few moments later (and his voice still sounded breathy, much to Ciel’s delight).

“I’m all right,” Ciel replied, surveying the damage via the mirror. “Just made a bit of a mess is all.”

“We’ll worry about that when I get home,” Sebastian said, and then added in an authoritative voice: “And you are in big trouble, young man.”

Ciel laughed.


New York offered a vast cityscape which Ciel quickly tired of. While plenty of people meant plenty of probable meals, it also meant very little quiet, but he endured it for a while.

Mostly from their apartment, where he was currently located—to be more precise, he was sitting cross-legged on the couch, flipping through channels on the television.

“Ten thousand channels and nothing on,” he sighed as Sebastian settled down beside him.

“Violet eyes today, my Lord?” Sebastian asked, and the forever-not-boy nodded in response.

He left it on the History channel for a while, scoffing at all the talk of Nostradamus and the Mayans. “Would you look at that nonsense, Sebastian? Apparently, the year 2000 wasn’t enough for them, but now they’ve got to go and panic over the year 2012 as well. Always with this doomsday mindset.”

“Humans are obsessed with their own mortality,” Sebastian murmured. “Sometimes, speculating over how their lives might end brings some sense of comfort into all of the chaos. Were you not at least a little at ease, knowing how you would have died, Young Master?”

Ciel frowned and turned the television off. “Perhaps I was, knowing that it was a death of my own choosing.”

For a while there was silence, and then Sebastian cleared his throat. “Well, seeing as we apparently only have ‘til 2012 if we humor the humans’ ideas, however shall we spend our time?”

“Wisely,” Ciel replied, leaning over and pressing his lips against his butler’s.

The blank television screen acted as their darkened mirror, reflecting two intertwined bodies and two sets of bright garnet eyes.


They eventually migrated further north, to Canada (“I hear it’s nice this time of year,” Sebastian had remarked), and Ciel made the decision to attempt another experiment.

Said experiment: School.

Which was, for all intents and purposes, an utter failure.

He returned home from his first day of class in a mood fit to strangle something—everything about the day had irritated him, even his little disguise….

Although he had to admit that as a pretty, young brunette with brown doe-eyes to match, he (or she, to be perfectly accurate) had gotten quite a lot of attention, and the skirt that was part of their standard uniform probably had something to do with it too.

Sebastian met him at the door with a welcoming smile and a bow. “Welcome home from your first day of school, Young Master—or Mistress, whichever you would prefer to be called at this moment.”

Ciel heaved a sigh and plopped down onto the chair closest to him. In the span of a few seconds, all features that were feminine became masculine, though he kept the hair color and eye color the same. He was once again a young boy (though not that boy from Before—never that boy from Before). “I do not like school at all, Sebastian.” In a quieter tone, he added, “And lunch was horrible. I much prefer when you feed me.” He smiled then, at once sly and wanting. “And when you teach me….”

Sebastian sighed as well and closed his eyes, though he did not protest when Ciel straddled his hips (but then again, hadn’t Ciel told him very early on After that he only expected to hear one answer from him from that point onward?). “So much trouble, only to find out that you don’t even want to go back.” As he opened his eyes, he frowned – as if showing disapproval – but then he smiled almost kindly. “Of course my young master may do whatever he wishes, since I am simply one hell of a demon’s butler, and exist to serve him.”

“Very good, Sebastian,” Ciel purred, pleased with Sebastian’s easy acquiescence.

“I do, however, have one request, my Lord.”

Ciel paused, nose-to-nose with his butler. “And what would that be?”

“Do keep that uniform. It looks quite good on you.”

Ciel rolled his eyes. “Pervert.”

But he was smiling as he said it.


It was a rainy, messy day outside, and Ciel could have sworn that he felt drowsy, even though he no longer needed to sleep (he hadn’t needed to sleep for well over a century now).

He was curled comfortably against his butler’s side when he murmured, “Sebastian, why have you never shown me your true form?”

“My young master informed me that this is the form he prefers. As far as I am concerned, this is my true form, since it is the form that my master wills me to take,” Sebastian answered.

“You answer in such an obedient fashion,” Ciel replied, voice filled with mirth. “You always used to go on about how you hated dogs, and yet you are as loyal as one.”

Sebastian made a disapproving noise. “I still detest them, my Lord, but that has little to do with my reply—I have never and will never lie to you. My answer is merely truth.”

Satisfied, Ciel closed his eyes.

He opened them when Sebastian asked a question of his own: “Why is it that you do not show me your true form any longer, Young Master?”

Startled, Ciel sat up, gaze flickering to the mirror. Of course he wasn’t… but he was, wasn’t he?

Of course… of course he was, still. Always.


“Whatever form I choose to take,” Ciel began, arrogance (that had been buried, lost) coloring his tone, “I am always your master. Is that not enough?”

“Of course it is, my Lord.”


When the passage of time is measured in decades and centuries and millennia as opposed to days and months and years, certain changes are sometimes so subtle that they go unnoticed for a very long period of time.

Take the gradual downward spiral into madness, for instance.


He stared into the mirror, angry for no explainable reason. Hair and eyes changed rapidly from one color to another as he willed them to, and his body shape changed from that of a male to a female and back again. He tried younger forms, older forms, but nothing, nothing nothing satisfied him.

For years immeasurable he had been Lilith and Julie and Stephen and Jeremy and Charlotte and Sheila and Alex and Jacob, but he had never again been—


Sebastian was by his side the moment the crash resounded throughout the house. The not-boy stood there, panting, staring at what was left of the mirror (a thousand tiny pieces) with what he knew was a look of utter disgust.

The cuts on his hands were already healing, but Sebastian cradled them in his own larger hands anyway, and gently asked him what was wrong.

“Who am I?” the younger of the two demanded to know in a voice that was laced with panic. “Who am I, Sebastian?”

Sebastian’s voice was calm and even (a direct counterpoint to his own) as he replied: “You are my young master, and you always will be. You are Ciel Phantomhive. You are my young Lord.”

Ciel Phantomhive, Ciel Phantomhive, Ciel Phantomhive. It was so archaic. A name that the world had forgotten long ago.

Ciel sagged against Sebastian, allowing his butler to absorb his weight. His gaze drifted once more to the shining shards of silver, and they brokenly displayed the reflection of a set of eyes that were frighteningly unfamiliar due to disuse.

The eyes were forget-me-not blue.


There was always a mirror.

No matter were they were—no matter where their journey took them, there was always a mirror.

He eventually learned to stop looking at them.


Twisted and disturbing—I tried to tell you! I hope it made sense, you guys! I’m so sorry if the concept of it lost you; I do hope that this is well-received, despite its weirdness.
Tags: 100 prompts, black butler, ciel, sebastian, sebastianxciel

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