A/N: I don't like to kill any fannon (nor cannon ofr that matter), so this can be read from a simple 'lost a bet' situation, to bromance, to romance ;)
Disclaimer: I don't own these character nor the anime they were taken from.
"Your sister brought another young male body to my services." The Undertaker sat on the massive desk and started to play with his nails over its, perfectly shiny, surface. He had a triumphant smile playing on his lips and there was an occasional giggle filling the dark office.
"In the literal sense of the word?" Vincent wished it was just that his dear Frances had decided to play chauffeur for their morbid friend, otherwise he would have to face the consequences... again.
"Would be nice, would it not? To see that woman carrying a body throughout London just to bring it to me! No, dear friend, I am speaking about the indirect way." He saw the earl raise an eyebrow as if to ask for an illustration. Of course it was only him pretending not to understand. After all, after learning of the false rumor that had accidentally been spread about her purity before marriage, it was only obvious for her to react that way.
The origin of all that commotion had been, like in most things that involved both, Vincent and the Undertaker, having fun (without the earl having to betray his lovely wife), because of a bet. One could say that they were nothing but two rich bastards with nothing better to do with their time and money. Vincent wasn't, by all means the kind of man to put work in second plan, but he didn't drown in it when there was something more interesting to do. The other just loved his job too much for it to take enough time for him to be half entertained for long. As a result they both went to each other's working place to pressure the busy one for a senseless bet. It could be as innocent as wondering what the weather would be for an exact time of the next day, then the penalty would only be something like taking care of Ciel for a weekend or preparing a couple of unsightly corpses. Or it could be, betting on how many men could Frances kill in a week, if a certain rumor had been spread in the very respectful club her husband frequented. One thing led to another and it was only a question of time until she started defending her honor and her beloved's good taste... on those occasions, the loser had to be punished with a worse task, usually along the lines of slavery or ridiculing themselves in public. Of course, in this case, the second option wasn't a valid one anymore. Vincent had lost two days ago, on Thursday, when his "surely under nine" had been surpassed, now turning into something like the Undertaker's "absolutely over thirteen". Even so, every day, his friend would come over and keep him updated on the numbers.
"Now, Vincent dear, why the long face? It's perfectly normal for you not to know your sister as much as you think you do!" His fingers walked across the desk and landed on the other's pants, climbing on his shirt until they were stopped by a strong grip.
"You know it's not that that bothers me. Anyway, let us call this bet off, I do not have time for your games this week, or the next one for that matter, maybe another time." He dropped the hand and pretended to read some, already signed, papers. Supposedly, his servitude would take place during the following seven days, counting from when the other considered the earl had lost, and it would have to be away from his home. Surely enough the earl didn't expect to lose a bet on someone he knew so well, so he didn't even bother finding an excuse to be far from home for so long, specially because Ciel's tenth birthday was during that time.
"Oh no you will not, my dear! I didn't hear you calling off any bet when I had to lick your floor clean... even after you cheated and broke half the China of this damned house, on that floor... which wasn't as unpleasant as I first thought..."
"I do understand, but this time I truly cannot honor it. My son's birthday is tomorrow and it's unacceptable for me to simply ignore it and sleep over yours. At least make it faster."
"I could do that, but you would have to suffer more and... well, I really do not think it would be fitting for a Phantomhive to be in the kind of situation I'm picturing you right now..." The silver haired man's thought trailed off faster than his mouth could keep up with. Vincent knew, all too well, that nothing good happened when the other was too happy to keep talking, or even laugh, so he braced himself for the worse.
"I really do not mind... as long as it's fast and clean." The earl rested his head on his hands and breathed deeply.
"I can promise you it'll be as fast as YOU can manage it... but I can't say anything on the clean part... wait, it'll end up clean, anyway, no harm done. Thank you for the suggestion Earl Phantomhive, I am truly touched with your understanding of my tastes." Strangely enough, the Undertaker wasn't invading Vincent's personal space anymore. Actually he was getting of the desk and stood now on the expensive carpet. Giving that fluffy surface a false pitiful look, he just kicked it away with all his might and started freeing the southern part of his body. "Earl Phantomhive, if you will, come take care of some business in the lower regions of this acquaintance of yours." His grin was so wider that it compensated for the lack of eye contact.
"Pardon?" He wasn't outraged, just a little surprised. The other's request wasn't something he had never though of himself, but he figured it would take any man some time to get in the mood... unless he was already expecting something like that, or provoked it in some way. "You bastard..." His voice was a low growl, but still bore a very elegant shadow of semi-humanhood.
"No resentments, my friend! I might only have ticked off some more men than the original target ones, but it wasn't stipulated in the rules. But an UPSIDE of this is that I had time to get ready, so we can just finish this off right now, you won't even have to wait until the end of the week. Oh, almost forgot, you will HAVE to lick the floor clean when you finish, should any little drop of semen fall on this gorgeous floor of yours... is this not your little child's favorite spot? It'll have a strong meaning for the father, from now on, as well!" He started to dare his little promised servant to approach with his pale spidery hand, whistling every other second just to lighten the ambiance.
"Please don't talk about my son in this situation. It'll just be a couple of minutes anyway, so try to keep it clean of oddly misplaced subjects." A practical man as he was, lord Phantomhive was already on his knees, fixing his head's position for better access to the other's manhood.
"I hope this experience fulfills you as much as me, earl. You do look a lot more cute when seen from this perspective." The Undertaker considered talking a little more, but refrained from it as soon as Vincent's lips touched his engorged member, he was much too good to be inexperienced. Swallowing up the comment, he stored it inside anyway, just for future reference.
The act was fast, too fast even, and silent. For the few minutes it took, the only thing that could be heard was the earl's sucking an occasional panting from above, and finally a laugh, disguised inside a moan, and the kneeling man choking as he tried had to sallow the hot inhuman jet of thick sperm. Seeing as he failed, he only bent further down and finish the rest of his sudden meal, licking his lips to give a best picture of how he felt.
"Earl, I'm curious, exactly just how bad was this experience? Do you regret the exchange?"
Vincent got up, looked at the other man, turned his back on him and started putting the carpet back into its former place, over the once again clean floor.
"You know, Undertaker... You remember that incident with my China? I just might get used to this as well." He opened the door and didn't wait for an answer, his young boy was already running to his arms, chattering about some silly promise his dear mother had done. They left together, abandoning a lonely, half dressed, Undertaker, alone with his dark dirty thoughts of a possible near future that would, unfortunately, never happen.