Red

I look down at the pitiful shinigami at my feet. He's on his knees, keening in a high voice, raking his hands through his long red hair and tugging on it despairingly.

"No, no, no!" he cries wretchedly, wringing his black-gloved hands. "Don't do this to me, Will! You and I, we're best friends! Best friends don't confiscate each others' Scythes!" He bats his long, fake eyelashes at me hopefully.

"Grell Sutcliff, you may say your goodbyes," I say sarcastically, stepping back out of his reach and holding up his chainsaw—a very inappropriate Death Scythe for a shinigami, even one like him. At that precise moment, Grell is leaning towards me, and when I move away he promptly falls onto his face. I stifle another sigh.

"William," he whines, pushing himself back up. "Silly. You don't want to do this." He looks pleadingly at me. "I'll do anything!"

Anything?

My expression is so stony that it didn't falter at this proposition, but inside I'm laughing.

Grell beams at me as if he thought I were seriously considering his offer. He tries to jump to his feet, but I knock him back down with one blow of my own Scythe, which, if I haven't mentioned already, is much more appropriate than Grell's choice.

"Hey!" Grell sits up and glares at me with his gold-green eyes through the thick lenses of his red glasses. "It's not nice to hit a lady, you know. You and Sebby keep making that mistake, even though I've told you so many times, William."

Sigh.

"You have violated several important laws of the Death Gods," I say, using the tip of my Scythe to push my glasses up onto the bridge of my nose. "You have modified your Death Scythe without following the proper procedures and have used it without permission for your own purposes, which consisted of killing people not on the death list."

"Rules are no fun!" Grell whines. "Where is your sense of compassion, William? Why can't you, the diamond in the rough, understand that glorious sense of freedom when you have the coolest Death Scythe of all Death Gods?" His voice rises and passion burns in his eyes as he spreads his arms wide, almost flinging his precious chainsaw across the room. At the last moment he clings onto it and settles it back in his lap, letting his black-gloved fingers trail over the rusty metal almost lovingly, caressing it.

"Rules are there for a reason, and if you break them, there will be consequences." Then, as if he hasn't spoken, I continue, "Therefore, Grell Sutcliff, your altered Death Scythe is to be exchanged for a much more suitable one."

Grell keens loudly, letting out a chorus of "no"s that makes my head hurt, and wraps his arms around the chainsaw possessively. He rocks back and forth on the floor with it, touching it everywhere. I catch a glimpse of his tongue grazing over the metal before the curtain of his red hair falls over his face, hiding it.

I beckon and a shinigami by the name of Ronald Knox appears, grinning as he grabs the heavy chainsaw. Grell sobs as if it is breaking his heart to see Ronald dragging his beloved Death Scythe away. To be honest, though, I can't see what is so remarkable about it. The chainsaw is heavy and noisy and not at all ideal for the purpose of discreetly reaping peoples' souls.

Ronald returns once he has disposed of the chainsaw, his wheat-yellow hair falling in disarray around his bright green eyes. "Are Grell Sutcliff's duties going to be temporarily suspended?" he asks a little too eagerly. "Because I could always take over his—"

"Grell Sutcliff will continue with his work," I say stiffly, "with the condition that he comply with the rules and borrows one of the library's scythes until further notice." With that, I reach in my pocket and hand Grell his new and improved Death Scythe—tiny little scissors that barely fit onto his fingers.

Grell jumps to his feet and grins, revealing his sharp teeth. "I am Mangosteen, the Queen of All Fruits!" he declares and sweeps an arm around him, folding down his middle fingers and ring fingers on his hands to make a weird symbol I don't recognize. "This Death Scythe is inappropriate for one of my kind! It isn't cool!" He opens and closes the scissors in disappointment, experimenting with them.

"It's not supposed to be cool. It is a part of your duty as a shinigami to accept the consequences if you do anything wrong and continue working without fail." I push my glasses up again, feeling the cool metal tip of my scythe brush my nose.

Ronald is watching this exchange with amusement. I glare at him in what is an obvious dismissal, but he doesn't seem to get it until I jerk my chin into the direction of the door. His face falls, and he reluctantly leaves me with a shinigami who has mental issues.

Grell wails, "What do you mean it's not supposed to be cool? This—" he raises the offensive scissors—"isn't even a real Death Scythe! I already miss my old one. Please, William, please, please, please let me have it back! I swear I won't kill anyone not on the list! I'll be a good shinigami now!" He actually squats down on his heels and looks up at me brightly, the tip of his tongue peeking out from between his lips like a dog trying to look obedient.

I poke him with my Death Scythe, making him stumble backwards. "Don't you have work to be doing?"

"Uff—William!" He pouts. "William, William, don't do this…" He grabs my leg as I turn to walk away, clamping down on it so that I can't move.

I look down at him irritably and raise my Death Scythe threateningly, but Grell merely grins.

"Come on now, William," he says teasingly. "I meant it when I said I'd do anything for it! Anything." He smirks. "Sebby isn't the only one who's so… tempting." He winks.

Oh, no. I back away quickly.

But Grell's not going to be stopped that easily. Grinning, he spider-walks his hands up and down my leg tauntingly, and I can feel a tingling sensation start in my groin.

"Grell Sutcliff," I say stiffly, "this is not appropri—oh!" I have to bite back an intake of breath; his touch scatters sparks inside of me, tingling and heating up, as his fingers trail over my crotch, feeling it. He pinches it hard enough to bruise, so there's ow, but the sensations ricocheting through me are so intense and full of heat and desire that there's also ah and ooooh…

A moan escapes my lips, and in humiliation I start to pull away, but Grell flutters his lashes at me and suddenly I feel dizzy. My heart is racing, and I can feel sweat start to bead my brow and my back, making my shirt stick to my skin. That tingling feeling is all over me, inside of me, giving me the strangest urge to touch Grell back. Suddenly I want to feel his long eyelashes tickling my skin, and twine my fingers through his long hair. I find myself wondering what it would be like to kiss him—would Grell's lips be cold, like a shinigami's touch of Death, or would they be hot, their heat making sparks between our pressed lips?

Grell seems to sense what I'm thinking. He tosses the scissors onto the ground and pulls me down beside him. "William T. Spears," he says my name dreamily. "For some reason, I always thought it would be easier to convince Sebby, but here you are. Here we are, the two lovers who gaze at each other with unspoken words flashing in their eyes between them."

I have to admit, Grell can be quite the romantic poet when he wants to. Which is most of the time.

Grell's hands find my jacket and start to undo the buttons, but I manage to stop him with a shaky hand.

"Not here," I say. "Someone could find us."

"Does it matter?" he asks, but he jumps to his feet anyways, tossing the scissors to the side. He loops an arm around me, pulling me along to a supply closet.

Oh, no, I think again, because supply closets are small and dark and confined, and I'm going to be in there with Grell. But then I can't protest anymore because the door has closed behind us, and Grell has slammed me into the wall so hard that my spine cracks. The pain doesn't last, though, because Grell is kissing me and all I can taste is him, and it's so sweet that it makes my mouth water and my body burn for more even as his tongue twists in my mouth and his teeth graze my lower lip.

Snap! Snap! Snap! The buttons pop off of my jacket and shirt as he tears them off and discards them on the floor. At the same time, my fingers are fumbling to slide off the red coat he has so recently taken to wearing, and he's trailing his hand up and down my chest, feeling my muscles caressingly.

I sink down onto the floor and we grind against each other, gasping and groaning in pleasure. His head leans against my thigh, his hair falling over my legs like spilled blood, and I tug on it roughly, hearing his cry of pain give way to a moan as I silence him with a kiss. His hand finds the zipper of my pants and undoes it, and I willingly oblige, kicking them off and pressing myself against Grell as if to force our naked bodies together.

Grell's fingers touch my glasses, push them down off the bridge of my nose so that he can look into my eyes—really look into my eyes, without the lenses there to distract him. I don't even have the impulse to push them back up; I'm too distracted by the heated sensations that are churning in my groin. Desire pulls at me and my muscles are tense. There's a ghost where my heart and lungs used to be: I can't breathe or feel anything but Grell. I can feel myself getting out of control, grinding my hips against him as he bites my earlobe as if to devour me.

Who knew that making out with Grell would be this incredible?

His glasses are already strewn on his face, pushed so far up that they keep the bangs out of his face like a headband, and suddenly I find myself staring into his emerald eyes. They're like cat eyes, narrowed and bright green banded with gold. At the moment, they're burning with so much lust that they look the eyes of some crazed animal, glowing in the darkness.

"William… Will…" he whispers.

I make a noise that's half a whimper, half a sigh as he bites me and then kisses those spots, smearing his lips with red. Red. He always loved the colour red. It was the colour of blood, of love and passion and lust. It suited him, and in that moment, I appreciated the colour red more than I ever had in my life. If I were to die, I would like to do so in a pool of crimson blood, red roses strewn around me with their sickly sweet scent wafting on the breeze and reminding me of Grell and this night and the colour red.

Grell strokes my hair, his breath tickling my cheeks. I close my eyes and feel him groping me, every part of me, reaching in between my legs and inside of me so that it really is like we're one being, together. It hurts at first, but the bliss soon overrides the pain and all I can do is think that maybe there really is a Heaven in this world after all.

Grell traces the muscles on my arms and trails hot, wet kisses up the curve of my neck. We're both shuddering, our skin broken by a pearly sheen of sweet. I kiss the skin above Grell's heart and can feel it thudding under my lips, throbbing with a beat that makes me want to dance. Scarlet drops bead my chest where Grell's nails have dug in too far, and I can taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth from when I bit Grell's tongue too hard. But there's no room for pain when we're both aroused like this.

I don't know how long it's been when we relax, our breaths harsh and uneven. Goosebumps stand out on my skin, and I become aware of how cold the air is in the supply closet. I wrap my arms around Grell's torso and pull him closer, savouring his body heat and his scent and the taste of him still fresh on my tongue.

"Grell," I say, drawing out his name in a soft sigh. For the first time when I say his name, I am not rebuking him. I am saying it just to hear how magically his name fills the air with music, and in return he says my name.

"William… Don't let's stop now…"

"No," I agree, still in a fog of stupor. We touch each other, kiss each other, feel each other like we have never felt anyone before.

That's when the gloom around us splits in two and blinding light shoots around us. There's a bang and a curse, and then Ronald is standing at the doors of the closet with his jaw dropped and his eyes bugging out in shock.

"W-William? Grell?" he stammers, looking shaken.

I have the sudden impulse to snarl at him, a reaction that shocks me. I muffle it with a hand and scramble away from Grell, grabbing the nearest article of clothing (which happens to be Grell's red coat) and draping it over my body. It smells like Grell. Self-conscious, I turn away and start putting my pants back on, taking discreet sniffs.

Grell grins. "Ronald!" he exclaims cheerfully, waving. He's still lying on the floor on his stomach, kicking his legs up in the air. Blood is smeared all over his naked skin, the same colour as his lips and hair.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't realize that you two were… I mean, I heard noises, so I came to check, because I was going to see if there was new motor for my lawnmower here anyways…" Ronald grins. "I never thought that I would find you two here! You guys are so cool!"

Grell nods and smiles as if he expected Ronald to say that. "Didn't I tell you, William?" he says to me, winking. "Cool is the new thing." He flips onto his side and props up his head on his arm.

I'm finally dressed, and I stride out of the closet, still burning with humiliation. My clothes are rumpled and my hair is tousled and sticks to my forehead with sweat.

"Hey, Will! Wait for me!" Grell practically jumps into his pants, but he doesn't put on a shirt before following me, so I can still clearly see the marks where my teeth met his skin.

This is most embarrassing. I can't believe that I did this with Grell Sutcliff, the impotent shinigami who couldn't follow a rule. I feel my cheeks flame up as I think of how good it felt to smother Grell in my kisses and feel his mouth on me in return, his breath hot and damp against my skin.

"Where are you going?" he demands.

"Away from you." Just the sight of him makes my whole body turn on fire, but I squeeze my legs together and force myself to resist it. I distract myself by picking up the scissors discarded on the floor.

Never again, I silently vow. Never, ever again. This will be the first and last time that I ever do anything with Grell Sutcliff.

"Aw, William! Why such a spoilsport?" Grell pouts, his long hair in disarray around his face. "I thought we could do something else together! Maybe we can have dinner together this evening and after, in bed, maybe we can do stuff and even talk about me getting my Death Scythe—"

"No need for that. Here is your new Death Scythe, Grell Sutcliff. Use it wisely." I toss him the scissors I picked up without bothering to see if he catches them. I turn and start to walk away, his wails of distress following me.

"William! Why so mean? I did everything for you! Do you want more? Is that it? I didn't satisfy you? I can do better! Just tell me what you want!" Grell is practically jumping up in down in desperation. "What do I have to do to get my chainsaw back?"

"Thank you, Grell Sutcliff, but you have nothing more to offer me." At the door to the library, I pause before leaving and look back over my shoulder to see Grell open his mouth to say something else. "And no, you will not be getting your chainsaw back," I add before he can ask.

Before I leave, I catch a glimpse of Grell sobbing on Ronald's shoulder. I don't think his distress is just because of the loss of his chainsaw.

I realize that I'm still holding Grell's red coat. Red. The colour of passion, of fiery love and lust. It's a reminder that I don't want. Grell can have it, but I don't want it.

I throw the coat onto the floor on my way out, repeating the words never again over and over in my mind.