AN:
Warning! Abandon hope all ye who expect serious, meaningful fiction that is in some way relevant to the actual series. From here on in it's going to be crack/lemon/crack/lemon/crack etc, etc. Enjoy. (Oh, and promocat, you'll just have to wait and see :p)

"Well what have we got here then" said the voice from somewhere behind Ciel. He turned, ready to flee, and looked up into the handsome face of a boy about his age, with short, spiked bleach-blond hair, pale skin, and eyes that gleamed black in the half-light. He was wearing what seemed to Ciel the outlandish outfit of a black t-shirt bearing the legend "Amon Amarth" and hugely bulky black canvas trousers festooned with spikes and chains.

"P-please..." Ciel stammered "Help me..." Feebly he reached out a hand, whilst belatedly trying to cover himself with the other.

The strange boy gave Ciel a long, appraising look, taking in his lean, pale figure with some interest. He smiled, and grasped Ciel's hand, pulling him upright.

"Okay. You can stay with me tonight. You look like you've had a rough time."

Ciel began to thank him, but the boy cut him off.

"But first I'll have to get you some clothes. We can't have you walking around London with your balls hanging out. You'll get arrested... Wait here. I'll be back in about five minutes."

With that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the alley, the chains on his trousers clinking rhythmically as he walked. Cold, and alone once more, Ciel sank back down to the ground, and hugged himself, trying to fend off the evening chill.

Fabian Wake smiled to himself as he walked down Westcott Street. There was a little clothes shop that didn't close until the early hours, using its nocturnal image to appeal to the more literally-minded goths who took their vampire obsessions to unhealthy extremes, and the boy in the alley didn't look like he'd care what he wore, so long as it was warm.

As he stepped into the side alley containing the shop, he wondered what had happened to the boy to wind him up naked in an alley in one of the rougher neighbourhoods in east London. The he realised he didn't care. The guy was hot, and Fabian was bored. Who knew, maybe he could have some fun...

The five minutes seemed an eternity to Ciel, and he was impossibly glad to see the boy return, holding a large bag.

"Here" said the boy, handing Ciel the bag.

"Thank you" said Ciel earnestly "If I can ever repay you..."

"You can start by telling me your name. Mine's Fabian. Fabian Wake."

"Ciel Phantomhive" replied Ciel, through lips almost numbed by cold.

Fabian laughed. "That's got to be the worst fake name ever" he chuckled. "But whatever. I'll call you Ciel of you want. Now get dressed, so I can take you home..."

Nodding, Ciel opened the bag. Inside was a pair of black trousers, similar to the ones Fabian was wearing, but without the spikes or chains, a plain black t-shirt, and a pair of black leather boots. Silently, Ciel pulled them on, fumbling occasionally as his numb fingers tried to make sense of unfamiliar fastenings. Eventually, he was dressed, and Fabian smiled.

"There" he said. "Now we can go home. I expect you're tired after... whatever it is you've been through. Come on."

Taking Ciel by the arm, he guided him through a maze of streets lit with hundreds of dazzling colours, each utterly alien to Ciel's baffled mind. So drained was Ciel that he barely registered arriving at a small house on the end of a long terrace, and did not protest when Fabian led him to a bedroom and undressed him, before pulling the covers up around him. In his mind, he was back in his own time, in his manor, being attended to by Sebastian. Before Fabian had even left the room, Ciel was fast asleep and snoring loudly.

Two hundred years in the past, Sebastian's outpouring of rage rolled around the skies of London like an unholy thunderstorm, causing nightmares and visions to appear in the minds of hundreds of people sleeping in the city below. How dare he? thought Sebastian furiously. How dare that brat Ciel Phantomhive break their contract? When he caught him, he would eat his soul on the spot, and the contract be damned.

Although the contract between himself and Ciel had been severed, Sebastian had spent more than enough time with his former master to be able to track him by any number of methods, including scent, the taste of his soul on the air, or by simply questioning people close to him. However, none of those methods were working, and that worried the demon. Had Ciel left the mortal plane? Had he died, and gone to heaven following the breaking of the contract?

Sebastian let out a horrific scream of anger, causing a fresh rash of terror and panic in the slumbering city below him. For the past three years, his sole purpose in life had been preparing Ciel Phantomhive's soul so that he might one day consume it. To be thwarted now, after so much manipulation... had the whole Trancy affair been a wasted effort?

The mere thought of having wasted so much effort enraged Sebastian beyond measure, and he roared in frustration once more. Suddenly, an idea came to him. There was one group of people who could tell him whether Ciel was dead or not: the Grim Reapers. If he had died, one of them would have collected his soul, and his Cinematic Record and Doomsday Book would be stored in the Reapers' library.

Like a great bat, Sebastian swooped across the night sky, heading for the Grim Reaper headquarters...

AN:
It would appear that Sebastian is somewhat unhappy. Someone's day is about to get very, very badly ruined. To the people who PM'd me with ideas, apologies for not using one idea outright. Fabian is a cross between all of the characters that were proposed, although that may not become clear for some people unil their concept surfaces later on. Hope you enjoyed this, I'm off to get Chapter 4 ready for you.