This story is not about historical accuracy, nor France at the turn of the century. It is not about religion, or truth. If I make a mistake, ignore it. Just use your imagination. Fiction is fiction, this is not a history text book, and it's certainly not the Bible.

This fiction is dedicated 100% to my baby doll Michelle, who has been my bulletproof sweetheart for one month today. What a baby step 30 days seems, on the rollercoaster of our violence romance. Here's to our first month kitten, I love you.

...

They say Paris is the city of love.

Basked in the evening glow of moonlight and candlesticks, Paris was alive with romanticism. It was impossible to escape the exuberant charm of the city, or the soft caress of the summer breeze that blew throughout cobbled streets. And if it were true about what they said, then it would also be true that the red light district was the very core of la ville de l'amour.

Prostitution was a thriving business of young, beautiful women that would love you wholely, if you were willing to pay. Cinched and pinched figures of the night, breathing fantasies that waited on the streets, ready to snatch up any desperate, foolish man. Like sirens of the back streets, hungry for your heart and a cheap fuck in a dirty hotel. The legality of prostitution had night-walkers out in the public eye, littering the streets with their beautifully disgusting bodies. Hot flesh on the cold streets of France, that were carefully side-stepped by upper-class modests, who would avert their gaze away from spread, milky thighs curtained by hitched skirts and garter belts.

But not all nobles were so refined, and others would slip into darks alleys in the dead of the night, their top hats bowed and collars raised much like the dark-haired stranger that had just slipped from a horse-drawn carriage and out into the midnight. Fine shoes found purchase on putrid slicked cobblestone, and the tall nobleman disappeared into a thin alleyway. Shadows of linen hung stories above cast ghost-like shadows on the wet street, and the man pulled his coat closer to his body. It was a full moon, and the successful business man risked having his cover blown.

Betwixt dilapidated buildings was a ghetto, similar to the many others that disgraced the beautiful city. Structures built so high they seemed to curl unnaturally, crooked and decaying, held together by strung washing and grease. It was a maze of dank and dirty households, and thin passageways leading to darker worlds. There was one narrow alley that many knowledgeable gentleman called the antre du démon, the name given due to one creature of the night who took residency there.

A beautiful hand hung limp from a window sill, two floors from the ground, a cigarette curled between thin fingers. The stick was tapped gingerly until ash fell like snow onto the streets below. From his perch Ciel could see the sharp peak of the Eiffel tower, the lattice structure glowing gorgeously from the street lamps dotting the labyrinth of streets. Slate hair whipped pleasantly around Ciel's cheeks as he took a drag from his cigarette, and he cast his eyes down to the streets below him. A figure in a full coat was crossing the way towards his apartment building so he leaned a little further out of his window. Exhaling the smoke from his lung Ciel grinned charmingly as the man below took notice of him.

"Hey baby," he purred, tucking a strand of overgrown grey hair behind his studded ear. The man gave a small smile and stood directly beneath the boy, looking up and removing his hat. Ciel gave a flirtatious toss of his fingers, smothering his cigarette against the window sill. The man below was handsome. He had dark hair and a sharp face, with piercing eyes that were slitted into a serious expression. He moved away from the window and out of his one-room apartment and tredded down the narrow staircase to let the man inside.

The front door opened and the business man regarded the slim figure before him. Ciel was shirtless, his chest still balancing on the cusp of youth and adulthood. Pants hung loose around his waist, done up with a cheap belt, and his boots weren't laced, the thin tendrils of cord sitting limply on the ground. The French boy gave a knowing smirk, reaching out to tug on the tie bound stiffly around the man's neck.

"Can I 'elp you?" He asked, making sure to lean in close. The man before Ciel gave a confident nod and brushed past the boy, heading up the rickety staircase. Ciel raised an eyebrow in surprise, closing the door and bolting the lock. As the taller male ascended the staircase he tilted his head, talking down to Ciel in an authoritive voice.

"You were recommended by a close friend of mine, do not disappoint me," he warned, his rich accent obvious immediately. Ciel pushed his hair back off his face and followed the man upstairs, his heart thudding a little.

"I fucking love Englishmen" he sighed, smiling to himself as he joined the man inside of his apartment. Ciel's bedroom was small, a simple room furnished with only few things, and an even smaller bathroom on the opposite wall. It was still one of the nicer places affordable with Ciel's salary. Seemingly pleased with his surroundings, the bigger male shrugged off his overcoat, placing it and his hat on the coat stand by the door way. When he finished he turned his attention back to Ciel, who stood with an alluring smirk plastered all over his lips.

"You got name?" He asked, stepping closer to the gentleman until their bodies were touching. Burgundy eyes flickered over the boy's naked chest, and the richer man's lips quirked up.

"Vincent," he said simply, placing his large hand flat against Ciel's body, slipping it into his pants. Ciel gave a surprised gasp but a pleased grumble and leaned into the man, clutching his shirt.

"You sure don't mess around," he said, curling his back as he felt a gloved finger bypass his cock completely and prod against his ass. With a firm grip he was pushed down onto the feather mattress below him, eliciting a sharp gasp. Vincent crawled on top of him, his large hand holding him up while the other groped at Ciel's twitching hole. Curious silk fingers pushed dryly at the puckered mouth and the experienced boy gasped again.

Ciel's pants were tugged down around his knees, and then his knees were pressed up to his chest, one of his boots slipped to the floor with a loud thud and the other dangled unlaced from his foot. Resting his head back against the pillows Ciel fumbled for a cigarette that sat on a small table by the bed. His nimble fingers wrapped around it just as a hard hand slapped him across the ass.

"Fuck!" He yelped, struggling to sit up on his elbows, his smoke hanging from the edge of his lips. Vincent had folded his gloves neatly on the edge of the bed and was now removing his trousers. Fuck, Ciel mouthed again, the rolled paper falling from his lips as he eyed the fat sex that was released from the lowered trousers of the Englishman before him. Like a pleased cat he reclined his head against feather pillows, gazing at the cracked ceiling. Before Vincent raised his hand again, Ciel was quick to mention, "It vill cost extra if you vant to hit me, Vincent." He drawled his name lavishly, enjoying how expensive it sounded on his tongue.

The Englishman grabbed Ciel's hips roughly and smacked him across the ass, growling deep in his throat as he watched the firm flesh snap back in place.

"Money isn't an issue," he spoke, grabbing his dick and rubbing it roughly against Ciel's trembling flesh. "And please, call me father," he demanded, his rich eyes downcast with concentration as he pumped his stiff dick. Ciel scoffed in the back of his throat, pushing his hair back off his face.

"Why? Do you like to fuck your kids?"

Vincent's serious eyes widened as he looked up suddenly, glaring daggers at the boy with the French accent. Ciel pressed his hips down against the waiting cock that rested by his thigh and shuddered, his mouth going dry from the look Vincent was giving him. Managing to smile through his hazed state he gave a cocky grin, bucking his thin hips.

"Just kidding daddy, fuck me," he purred, his hips gyrating down on the turgid cock that throbbed against his ass. He felt it twitch when he called him daddy but all Ciel could think was what a pervert. His entire body tensed as he felt the tip of the slick cock press against him dry, and he tried to relax. He could handle being taken dry, but not by a girth that size. Winding thin fingers into the bed-sheets Ciel shut his eyes, opting to chew on the end of his cigarette instead of smoke it. With a fucking dick like that, I'll need something to bite down on, he thought, letting the familiar taste of tabaco stain his saliva.

...

A whisp of smoke escaped bruised lips as Ciel blew smoke across the Paris skyline. He was nestled in his usual perch, his window sill, his bare feet brushing against the cool stone that his apartment was built from. The cool breeze that brushed against his bare chest and legs relaxed him. Not only was the location beautiful and relaxing, but here was a living attraction. Selling his sex from the window of his home, a breathing come fuck me advertisement.

A small stack of coins sat on the bedside table, enough for some flour and perhaps some more tea. The extra Ciel had charged for slapping would come in handy for his rent, so he tried not to resent the throbbing of his ass. Despite that man I still didn't come, he mused, hunching his shoulders as he sat back on his hands.

Ciel wasn't surprised actually, as he flicked his smoldering cigarette butt to the alley below. He had never had an orgasm in his entire life, well, besides the ones he had created with his own hand. Ciel laughed morbidly at this, choosing to take time to pity his situation. It wasn't as if the men of France had the time or intelligence to make their prostitutes come, but that hardly put him off. Despite all this, he still loved to be fucked.

Resting his head against the hard wood of the sill Ciel tucked his unkempt bangs away from his face. He was a creature of the night, and when the dawn came he would sleep. It was Ciel's job to stay perched in the window of his bedroom, awaiting the predators to eat him alive. There was a faint glow of morning far off in distance, but until then Ciel would stay. Crossing his thin, long legs Ciel rolled another cigarette between his nifty fingers, then placed it between his lips.

...

While Europe slept another being was awake, walking the streets of Paris. Not to far from the antre du démon a tall figure approached the city of love, a simple suitcase clutched in his hand. While the suburbia slept, the black-haired man placed his luggage on the ground and took a long look at the sharp peak of a church steeple before him. The stained glass reflected the beauty of the dawn, and the glimmer of hope that a new city, a new life, proposed. Blood-red eyes slitted as the first rays of sunlight begun to show behind the monolithic structure of the church, creating an angelic glow.

What deceptive imagery, if the young priest had only know of the slum they called the demon's lair, that lay only a few streets away.

...

Ciel and Vincent are obviously not related in this story, but if it floats your fucking boat.

New chapter comes out on the 25th of each month. Review or I'll eat your family.