Hello luvs! Holy crap, a new pairing? I was at ACEN all weekend and went as Undertaker. Er, let's just say I was nearly ravished by a mob of rabid Grells. It was an enlightening experience. Anyways, one of said Grells begged me to write a fanfiction featuring this pairing. She said she wanted something "Angsty! Oh so deliciously ANGSTY with FLUFFINESS later!" (Yes, she shouted in the middle of a panel). So I was wondering, how the heck to you make the two funniest characters in the series angsty? Well, this is my take on a possible reason for Grell's general…um, what's the word I want? Whorishness? Slutiness? Skillfully-making-fangirls/boys-everywhere-bleed-to-death-ness? I dunno, you pick. And Undertaker has a serious side, wut? Just warning you, they are both so OCC that I hardly recognize them, but it somehow works, I think. I also used the prompt "unconventional thank you". So here you go, my lovely personal Grell, enjoy, and thank you for buying me ice cream. I hope the other cosplayers at the photo shoot liked my "show" as much as you. First part written to "Skyscraper" by Demi Lovato. Second part written to "Impossible" by Shontelle. Third part written to "If Everyone Cared" by Nickelback. Fourth part written to "Loving you is Easy" by Chris August. Fifth part written to "Teenage Dream" by Katy Perry. (Parts are separated by xXx). Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Don't own Kuroshitsuji. I'm beginning to wish I did…

Contrary to popular belief, there was no 'clicking or clacking' of heels against the cold flagstones of the London streets, nor was there a heavy rain pouring on those streets—yet, anyways.

No, if there had been such things, then Grell Sutcliff would have been eternally grateful.

Instead, he lay slumped against the side of a non-descript building, (what buildings in London were descript, he wondered) slender, feminine legs splayed and slowly bleeding to death.

Blood and Death. Two things that he loved most in the world, and had always seemed to love him back. Unfortunately, they were infidel bastards like the rest of them, and had turned the tables on him.

His electric green gaze blearily stared at the sky, watching the clouds gather in morbid fascination. Is God crying for the death of one of his children? He thought, mind disjointed and hazy. It was a foolish thought. God cared no more for him than any of the other reapers cared for him. His eyes squeezed shut; in pain from more than just the rips in his side and the slashes on his pretty face.

Dammit, William!

The superior shinigami had calmly—calmly!—informed him last week that their affair was over. He'd called it an affair…

They had been together for nearly four centuries.

A few tears escaped the corners of Grell's eyes, and his arms didn't even have the strength to dash them away. How rude of his arms. Grell had been so shell-shocked that he had quietly nodded, thanked Will for their time together, and walked away. No flouncing off, or high-pitched whining, or begging the reaper to please, stay, don't leave me! He wondered if William had been surprised, or if he had been glad he didn't have to deal with such an annoying subordinate anymore.

Either way, it didn't matter.

And so, he had wandered off to do his job (a rare feat), reaping soul after soul and even taking overtime just so he wouldn't have to think about the ache in his chest, the absolute agony he knew he was going to suffer the moment his body fell into bed to rest. Why? Why did he leave me?

The last soul to reap was of a tiny, two-month old infant, clutched against his already dead mother's bosom. The poor dear wasn't crying or wailing, just quietly gazing around at the passing crowds who were unmindful of the baby's plight. Grell picked the child up, and peered at it, as it looked back at him, almost…knowing somehow. It was a bizarre thought that such a young mind would know what awaited him, but death always had been the greatest human instinct. It was why they sought to put it off for as long as possible.

Those chocolate eyes had seemed almost grateful, and Grell felt suddenly pleased that his job was helping this infant. Because of his working overtime this week, he was able to send a deserving soul to Heaven. He mattered to someone.

Raising the scissors (another grievance he had William to thank for) he slid the blade along the tiny, sallow cheek, sighing when the cinematic record sprung forth. Grell watched the short life of two months—mere nano-seconds in a reaper's eternity—and almost broke into sobs when the last moment flashed by. The child had thanked him.

Later, when the numbness of rejection had worn off, he tried to remedy it as he always did.

He sought out other potential lovers, in hopes that one of them would take him home for the evening and let him forget. He wouldn't forget with just anyone, so he eventually looked for Sebastian, thinking that if the demon would humor him, just this once, he could manage to pull himself together for work tomorrow.

"Oh Sebas-chaaaan!" he squealed, throwing himself at the sinfully beautiful demon, only to plummet to the floor when the other male sidestepped with a sigh. "Owww! Sebas-chan! How dare you treat a lady like that!" he whined petulantly, rubbing his head in perfect mockery of his usual flamboyant self.

"Sebastian! Will you quit fooling around and hurry up?" the Phantomhive brat called. He stood with hands on his hips and a frown on his face. "The case won't solve itself. We have to catch up with that demon."

"Ohh? Are Sebas-chan and the brat on a case today?" the redhead asked, before an idea popped into his head. "Ah! I'm terribly bored (heartbroken, aching) today, so I'll help you hunt down whatever you're trying to kill. After all, I specialize in Death!" He winked, as he always did, but it felt so wrong to try and be happy right now. Perhaps if he helped them, Sebastian would see fit to have him, just once, in thanks. A comforting thought.

Sebastian and Ciel looked at each other, and Grell felt a deep pang of anger at the glance towards him that said 'Do we really need to rely on an idiot like you?' It hurts…to be looked on as useless. Clapping his hands together he exclaimed, "Well! Let's be off then, shall we?"

The other two finally conceded, and Grell was more grateful than he could express.

They tracked down the monster easily, as it seemed it would be an easy win, only Grell's face getting damaged in the process. "How dare you scratch a lady's face!" Finally, the horrid creature decided to up the ante. It sped behind Ciel, sensing the weakest of the prey, before Sebastian yelled, "Bocchan!" and attempted to tackle him out of the way. He could have done it; could have gotten to safety, if the other demon hadn't been so fast. The beast raised his tremendous claws and brought them down, down, before suddenly—

Pain. It flared through his entire being, emptying him of any other feeling. Grell screamed as the claws pierced all the way through his body, braced over Sebastian and the Phantomhive brat, the claws protruding though his chest and his eyes wide, unseeing and only comprehending pain.

Without missing a single beat, Sebastian quickly slid himself and an unconscious Ciel from under Grell, setting his master against a barrel before moving to finish the battle, efficiently rending the beast's head from its shoulders in a matter of seconds. It was over.

And yet, not.

His breathing labored and shallow, Grell grit his teeth as he felt the claws rip from his back, courtesy of Sebastian's uncaring hands. He felt himself propped against the wall of a non-descript building (what buildings in London were descript, he wondered), a muttered thank you reaching his ringing ears before Sebastian disappeared with Ciel in tow, obviously eager to make sure his precious master was alright. They always leave without sparing me so much as a thought. Am I that unnecessary?

The rain finally began to beat down upon the earth, beginning to wash away the blood staining the ground in its own soothing way. Grell opened his eyes again, their green muted and glassy with tears that he would pass off as rain if anyone came by to see him.

Like they would…

Reapers had an innate sense when it came to other reapers. They could sense vehement emotion and cries for help…Which was probably why no one came.

Grell wasn't going to cry for help.

He leaned against the wall and sighed, the action making his bleeding chest ache uncomfortably. It will be…so nice, I think. To never have to see anyone disappointed with me or angry with me or laughing at me again. Thinking that he really shouldn't waste any more time on dying, he had a couple of idle thoughts, a couple of pleasant thoughts. He closed his eyes and thanked William a few more times, thanked Sebastian a few more times, and cursed them both more than a few times, before he decided he could let go.

He drifted off to the sound of painfully saddened chuckles, a contrast that he wished he could have figured out before he left life behind.

xXx

The afterlife smells like…formaldehyde.

He groaned and tried to open his eyes, only to find them heavy and unwilling to open. How rude of his eyes. He suddenly felt something wet press against the gash on his face, and he hissed in pain.

"Hush, this will make it heal faster," came a voice to his right, and he frowned. I know the voice, but it's so…out of place? Out of context? …Out of character, that's what I was looking for. His eyes cracked open, trying their best to obey him, and he saw the familiar silver curtain of hair leaning over him, a pale face unsmiling (for once) and somber as it looked over his prone form. A moist cloth was in his hand.

"Undertaker," he acknowledged with a scratchy voice that offended his lady-like sensibilities.

"Grell," the older shinigami replied, tilting his head. "I would say that this is a pleasant surprise, but alas, given the circumstances, that would be blatant lying."

The redhead tried to laugh, but the movement hurt, so he gave up quickly. "Most of my colleagues would agree with you."

Undertaker frowned, apparently not liking the self-pity and wallowing in Grell's voice, but made no comment. "May I help you sit up?" he asked quietly, and Grell felt a little embarrassed at having been found by the mortician. He was being bothersome to the superior reaper—practically a legend—by not being able to just die quietly. Another person I've disappointed.

Shaking his head to rid himself of the fruitless thoughts, he assented and let Undertaker slide a careful arm behind his back to leverage him into a sitting position. He yelped at the slicing sting, but bore it well, until he leaned back against the back of the coffin he was currently in. He realized his red jacket was gone, hanging to dry near the wall, leaving him in his shirt and trousers. "Already preparing for my death, Undertaker?" he quipped lightly, and a bit snidely.

This finally coaxed a smile to the other male's face. Grell couldn't help the slight happiness he felt at seeing it. "Not at all, m'dear. Just a lack of suitable space for an injured guest. Most of my guests don't mind where they're put, but I had a feeling you'd throw a hissy fit should I have laid you on the preparation table."

Grell's face scrunched at the thought. "Thank you for taking my accommodations into consideration, then," he replied. A smothering silence enveloped the room for a few minutes, before Grell squirmed from the heavy weight of the stare he knew was focused on him under the veil of silver bangs. "I-I'm…could I have a cup of tea?" he requested. Tea: the British cure for what ails you. He wished it could heal his aching heart as easily as it could soothe his broken body.

The Undertaker looked at him for a moment more, before nodding. "Of course. I'll be right back."

Watching the tall form of Undertaker drift off towards another room, Grell suddenly felt panic well up in him. "Wait! I—please, don't…" Pathetic. Was he truly going to beg the older male to stay? He buried his head in his palms, ignoring the sting from his cuts. So, so pathetic.

A hand bushed through his red hair for a moment, and he shivered at the feeling. "I won't be gone long, m'dear. Just going to make a hot cup of tea for you. It will help." The hand left and he felt the presence leave his side. When he was certain the other wouldn't hear him, he let out a few stifled sobs.

Why is this happening to me? What am I doing wrong that drives people away? He knew it was foolish to pin those emotions on the Undertaker, when it was William and Sebastian and so many others that had left him. Undertaker was being nothing but kind and helpful, but rejection time and time again had taken tolls on his heart. As soon as he was healed, which would only take a few more hours if his wounds weren't fatal, he'd have to leave. Go back to his job and William—T.—Fucking—Spears and the mocking he was sure to get. "In the doghouse again, Sutcliff? Ah well, maybe Spears will throw you a bone later!" was at the top of the list of things he was not looking forward to hearing when he got back. And maybe they'd be right. Maybe William would take him back. But Grell didn't think that's what he wanted right now…not if William didn't love him.

Love…

"Is it really so much to ask for?" he whispered to himself.

"Probably not," came an amused voice from the doorway. Grell startled, looking over at where Undertaker was leaned against the frame of the door, holding a steaming cup of tea in his hand. "There isn't much in life that is too much to ask for."

Grell looked down, blushing and swiping at the tears on his cheeks. He didn't want the legendary shinigami to see him as weak. Taking the cup that was offered and took a sip, he was surprised at how sweet it was. "For some reason, I always thought you would drink it black," he commented.

The smile on the other's face stretched wider. "Because I like bitterness?" he chuckled. "Actually, you're correct. I do like my tea black. But you do not. I sweetened it for you."

Grell looked at him for a moment, before inhaling a shaky breath and taking another sip. "Thank you. I'm sorry that you won't like the tea you made." The silver-haired reaper waved of his thanks.

"No need, m'dear. You are more than worth a pot of unpalatable tea." Grell's breath stopped for a moment. It was such a simple comment, but it made Grell's entire day just a little better. To be told he was worth something, anything at all, was more than anyone else had done for a long time.

They sat in a much more comfortable silence; Grell's sipping the only sound in the room. He could feel his body knitting itself back together, and it was a little comforting to know that his pretty face wouldn't scar. Scars…why did the Undertaker have them? Obviously from past battles, but reapers didn't scar.

"Undertaker, why do you have scars? I mean—that's terribly rude of me, but I just…wondered…" he trailed off, embarrassed. The other only smiled and hummed thoughtfully.

"Perhaps because I didn't mind. Scars on shinigami only occur when they give up on that part of their body. Letting go of something so impermanent didn't bother me, so I let the scars form as they would. I have many," he mused. "Which means I probably gave up a lot. Hahaha, I was a lazy youth."

Grell stared at the older reaper. "I-I didn't know that reapers could scar at all…you were lazy?" It felt so strange, getting to know Undertaker like this. They crossed paths many times, most of them recently, but the silver-haired male was a mystery to nearly everyone. His constant smile and laughter, his quirky attitude, and sometimes dangerous aura were all things that anyone could count on seeing in Undertaker. But…this was a whole other side that Grell hadn't seen, or even known existed, and it chagrined him to think that he had judged the other so quickly. Exactly what people did to him.

"Yes, quite lazy, m'dear. It took a while before I grew serious enough about my job to ascend through the ranks. I was much more preoccupied with other things."

Grell didn't ask further, feeling like he was stepping out of bounds with all this questioning. His tea sloshed in its cup when he felt a hand move to his face. They were surprisingly soft, and gentle, tilting his head this way and that for a moment, before Undertaker nodded in approval. "Your cheek, at least, is healing well. Your chest and sides will take longer. Those were some nasty wounds. Might I ask how you came in contact with a Jikininki?" he asked.

Grell lowered his head. I don't want to explain. It will just remind me again and again…

"Ah, perhaps now is not the time for questions. Well, either way, those wounds won't heal until tomorrow morning at the earliest, so you are free to spend the night here," Undertaker said graciously. Grell looked back up, surprised, but thankful. He didn't have to go back just yet.

"Where, in a coffin?" he giggled, feeling a little more himself. The Undertaker had a surprisingly soothing presence when he wasn't cackling madly. Not that his cackling is anything but charming. He frowned briefly. Odd thought.

The older male laughed heartily, "If you prefer. I do own a bed, you know. Goodness, from the way people talk, you would think I was a madman of the greatest proportions!" He chuckled at his own joke, shaking his head. "Even those with eccentric tastes generally possess things like beds," he said, wagging a finger at Grell.

Grell smiled genuinely, showing just the barest glint of sharp teeth. "Terribly sorry, then, Undertaker. I will endeavor to hold my former assumptions loosely."

The silver-haired reaper smiled gently and stood, walking over to the now dry red cloak, bringing it back to its owner and draping it over the younger's shoulders. He reached a hand forward to sweep his knuckles along Grell's jaw, curving until he brushed the hand though the long tresses. "Good," the Undertaker replied softly. For a heart-stopping moment, Grell thought he saw an emerald eye regarding him warmly through the long bangs.

xXx

The odd pair talked late into the night, of inconsequential things and trying to make each other laugh. They drank more tea, Undertaker grimacing at the taste of the sweetened substance Grell forced him to try, and Grell nearly choking on said tea when he realized that Undertaker was…quite well versed in flirtation. I need to stop being so surprised when it comes to this man. He grumbled at himself for being taken off guard.

Eventually, details of the week came out into the open, and Grell found himself (literally) crying on Undertaker's shoulder. "H-How could William do that to me? And Sebastian didn't even have the decency to finish what the other demon started! Why does no one love me?" he sobbed, clinging to the older shinigami as if his life depended on it. His tentative grip on hope certainly did. Undertaker sat, listening patiently to Grell and holding him gently until the redhead's eyes ran dry and he calmed down a little. When sobs finally subsided into hiccups, Undertaker held Grell's face for a moment as if he was the delicate lady the redhead wished he could be, and said simply, "They are fools."

Grell tried to look through the silver bangs, desperate for some kind of reassurance, and disappointed when he could see nothing revealed. He pulled away and scowled down at his hands, feeling stupid and heart sore, when Undertaker gripped his jaw just a little harder, the action saying 'Look at me'. Grell's eyes came back up and he realized Undertaker had lifted his bangs away from his face. Vibrant emerald green and electric green were locked on one another, the older communicating to the younger that he was not worthless, he was not stupid, he was not undeserving. There was something else there, beneath the calm assurance, that Grell so badly wanted to place, but didn't have time as the amazing eyes were covered once more by the silvery curtain. Grell nearly whimpered at the loss. They lapsed back into conversation.

At some point, a loud yawn from the redhead pierced the night and Undertaker suggested they go to bed. When Grell sleepily murmured that he couldn't get out of the coffin on his own, Undertaker chuckled and lifted the smaller reaper into his arms like a bride. Grell made little protest, too tired to care, and comforted by the contact. He leaned against a warm shoulder, drifting in and out until they arrived at the upper room where Undertaker lived. When he felt his feet lowered to the floor, he blearily opened his eyes and noted that the room was different than he expected. No dust or cobwebs; the room seemed to be the life that contrasted with the presence of death in the shop below. It was nice.

A small, comfortable looking bed sat against the wall, near the window that would face a rising sun in the morning. He stumbled towards it, until he sat on the edge to kick off his heeled boots. Suddenly remembering he wasn't alone, he looked at the Undertaker rummaging through a dresser. What is the protocol for these kinds of situations? He wondered.

When Undertaker turned back around, he offered a set of sleepwear. It wasn't red, so Grell was a bit disgruntled, but he accepted the simple black garments and shrugged out of his jacket, beginning to unbutton his white shirt before looking pointedly back at the silver-haired reaper. The other held up his hands in surrender and turned around, shaking his head and giggling something about 'sudden modesty'.

When he had changed, he crawled under the covers and tried to stifle a yawn, overwhelmed by all the emotions and crying. He put his glasses on the table next to the bed, but was surprised to hear a shuffling and looked over to see Undertaker spreading a blanket on the floor. "What are you doing?"

He could practically hear Undertaker raise an eyebrow. "Surely you did not think I was going to insist on sharing the bed?" he questioned. Grell immediately ached at the subtle rejection. So maybe he had. The idea had flitted around in his mind all day: perhaps he would offer himself to Undertaker as thanks for all he was doing on Grell's behalf. Some would call that desperate, others would call that being a whore. Grell called it the only form of thanks he knew.

For so long, no one had given him anything willingly. No one cared for the flamboyant reaper, and so he had learned that the best way to get what he either needed or wanted was with his body. He had no illusions. He knew it was unhealthy, in more ways than one. And he didn't care. Because the only time he wasn't laughed at, or scorned, or hit, was when he had sex. He was a sex god. Though he knew those he slept with would later joke that he was more incubus than shinigami, he had the satisfaction of knowing he'd had them begging to fuck him the night before.

So when Undertaker rejected that offer, it was a blow to his pride, his courtesies, and his heart. Even though he told himself it would only be as thanks, he…wanted Undertaker to have him. The older male had been so good to him today, even though they weren't particularly close, and even though Grell had probably annoyed the hell out of him with his whining. It wasn't love, but it was close enough to make Grell want it.

Undertaker watched as emotion after emotion passed over Grell's face. Shock, disbelief, anger, sadness, hesitation, and then a deep look of hurt. Hurt that he knew had come from centuries of cruelty and abuse from everyone around the redhead. Though he was retired, the silver-haired shinigami made a point to keep up with current events in the Council. He had heard about everything to do with Grell's current plight; each person he talked to dismissed it as Grell being annoying or stupid. It had been a long time since he'd last felt any wish to deal death, rather than just dress it up in fun costumes and coffins, but had anyone seen the murder in his eyes behind his bangs, they would have fled for their lives. He wasn't close to Grell by any outer appearance, but he had been interested the moment the redhead had walked in to his shop, when he was still in training, seeking a bit of counsel of scythe models.

Grell was no fool, and not incompetent as everyone believed. He only failed because people told him he would, and a vicious cycle of self-fulfilling prophecy had been set up. Undertaker had initially wished only to set Grell free of that cycle. Unfortunately, his job and Grell's hardly crossed—ironic as that might be—so they didn't have much contact. The times they met grew in number when Earl Phantomhive came into the mix, and Undertaker found himself drawn in further by Grell's happy and careless nature. He put on a good act, one that Undertaker wished to gently tear down piece by piece until the redhead could build up a real self; one that didn't need to hide behind flippant gestures and high pitched giggles. Grell would always be flamboyant, it was just who he was. But Undertaker wanted him to have the freedom to be his own person, to not have to rely on people who didn't care about him.

Basically, he was over the moon for Grell.

Undertaker watched the younger reaper turn on to his side away from him with a muttered 'Goodnight', once again trying to hold in tears. He sighed and made his way over to the bed, sitting on the edge and placing a hand on the redhead's shoulder. Feeling the flinch that immediately followed, he chuckled sadly, "You wish for my touch, yet it disgusts you, m'dear. How is that fair?"

Grell turned over, tears streaking his face and his lips curled in a fierce snarl. "I didn't say it was fair!" he hissed. "And I'm sorry I can't please you! I can't seem to please anyone these days…" he trailed off into a choked sob and drew an arm up over his eyes.

He felt hands tug away the arm and stubbornly closed his eyes. Gentle hands stroked his face in a rhythmic motion, attempting to calm him. Soft, thin lips suddenly replaced the hands, brushing away tears as they kissed everywhere but his mouth, for which Grell was grateful. He whimpered in both anticipation and dread. Could he stand one more person to have his body yet not have their heart? He wasn't sure.

"You do not have to try and please me, Grell. You already do that by being you," Undertaker murmured in his ear. The redhead sobbed again, trying to block out the most dangerous words he'd ever heard. And to use his name, like he was special…he looked up to see Undertaker removing his hat and setting it on the side table.

"Grell, if you would let me, I would like to hold you tonight. We will not be intimate, I will not take advantage. I simply want you to know what it means to wake up with someone holding you," the older male continued to soothe him, and Grell found he could pretend that this was okay. That his heart wasn't going to stop as soon as tomorrow dawned and he woke up alone again.

"A-Alright," he assented, turning to press his back to Undertaker's chest. He could do this just fine.

"No, Grell. Turn towards me. Let my face be the first thing you see tomorrow. It will remind you that you are precious to me."

Grell's hands balled into fists, tears still escaping as he fought. "Don't…don't make promises. Please." He felt himself turned over, unresisting as he was pulled into Undertaker's arms.

"Hush, m'dear. Promises are easy to keep if they're for you. I don't know if you've ever heard these words, and I cannot express how sad that makes me, especially considering I am at fault as well. I love you very much, Grell. You are so, so loved. It may be too much to ask for that you will believe me, but try, if you can," Undertaker requested softly, kissing the younger male's forehead. He felt as Grell stopped breathing, attempting to take in his words.

"There…there is not much…in life…that is too much to ask for," Grell whispered, repeating Undertaker's words from earlier. The silver-haired reaper smiled and tugged Grell a little closer.

"So wise. How anyone thinks otherwise is beyond me. Now sleep, my love. Your body will have healed and I will be here when you wake up," he promised.

The quiet surrounded them, lulling them both and allowing the redhead to drift into dreams that were more pleasant than he was used to.

xXx

The sunlight passed through the window into the small room above the mortician shop. Grell's electric green eyes opened slowly, praying, hoping…

A pale face, revealed by side-swept silver bangs, marred with a scar and eyes closed serenely, was the first thing he saw that morning. Oh god…

Grell's hand reached up between them, his body held by arms that were still clothed in grey robes from yesterday, to touch the face before him. His fingers traced the scar, and memorized the features painstakingly, hoping, hoping.

"Heehee, tickles…" Undertaker giggled and opened one emerald eye sleepily, smiling at the stunned redhead in his arms. "Such a nice feeling to wake up to."

"I-I—" Grell couldn't form a coherent thought, much less a sentence. He was further silenced when a soft kiss was placed on the tip of his nose.

"I suppose I should feel insulted that you thought I would break my promise, but I seem to be unable to feel the proper ire. Ah well, I suppose adoration will have to do," Undertaker continued to tease, moving his lips to various parts of the redhead's face, until he gave a quick brush against his mouth.

When he pulled back, the redhead's face was a mix of wonder and hesitance. "Good morning and I love you, Grell. Every day for the rest of whatever 'eternity' means, I hope you will let me tell you those things." He grinned when the younger male's mouth dropped open, clearly surprised that last night's sentiments were being repeated. He suddenly leaned forward to press his lips to Undertaker, unable to help himself. He felt the older male smile for a moment before opening his mouth to accept the questing tongue that caressed his bottom lip. They did not battle, did not try to dominate. Instead, Undertaker coaxed Grell to play, to let his nature take over and dance instead.

When Grell's breathing became too shallow, Undertaker pulled away, smiling and brushing vibrant hair behind the redhead's ear. "How do you feel this morning?" he asked.

Grell wriggled a bit, testing his body, before realizing there was only a little pain. "Much better than yesterday," he replied. They both knew there was more to that than physical well-being, but neither commented.

"Good. I think I will make breakfast in a few minutes. What would you—"

"No!" Grell almost shouted, startling them both. "I meant—can you just…stay here for a while?" Undertaker grinned and pulled the reaper closer, resting his head on the pillow once more.

"Of course, m'dear. I will not leave at all today if you want to stay in bed," he said, winking and making Grell blush and smile a bit.

"Thank you."

They lay like that for a long time, simply feeling one another's breath on their cheek and bodies pressed together even through Undertaker's robes. A few more kisses were exchanged, each time Grell became more confident, until he moved to straddle the older male's waist, leaning down to let their mouths drink each other in. Undertaker hummed and moved his hands to Grell's hips, sliding them up his sides, over his shoulders, down his arms, until he caught his hands to hold them in his.

This stopped Grell's movements against his mouth as the redhead looked to their joined hands. "Undertaker, I would…very much like to continue. But...I think I need time to get over William. And I want to be able to…make love. I don't—I don't want it to just be sex. Can—will you wait until I can do that?" He looked worried that he would be denied. Ah, I will have to remedy that. Undertaker thought, before reaching over to grab Grell's glasses from the side table. He slid them onto the beautiful face above him and stroked his fingers down his cheek and onto his neck, drawing Grell back down for a quick kiss.

"Of course, my love. Centuries mean nothing to us anyways, so take your time. But not too much time," he laughed, his giggles stifled when Grell dove back in for one more kiss. It was a very good start.

xXx

I'm ready.

Grell stood before the mirror in the small room above the shop that was currently inhabited with an irate man who was questioning exactly why his deceased mother was wearing pants? "Ehehehe, well, she was clearly a strong woman, and these were the things your wife requested she be dressed in. Just following instructions, good sir."

He laughed giddily. All the man was doing was making a fool of himself. Undertaker was just not one who could get ruffled easily. He turned his attention back to face his reflection. Striking a few poses, the redhead grinned. Oh yes, he was most definitely ready. Whether or not Undertaker would be was an entirely different question.

When he heard footsteps coming up the stairs, he quickly dove under the covers, hiding and furiously trying to stifle giggles in his throat. He was so glad he'd moved in with Undertaker. He hadn't ever thought that the quirky shinigami would make him this happy, or this much in love. He relished in the feeling.

Listening as the door opened, he heard the older male sigh and mutter to himself about 'traditions and the stupidity of them' and 'no fun at all'. Finally, he felt the other move towards him, a hand gently shaking him 'awake'. "Grell, m'dear, time to wake up. You told Ronald you'd start his training at ten. It is currently eight, and if I interpreted last week's 'Grell-ism' correctly, you need, I quote, 'two hours, Undertaker! Give me two bloody hours!' to do your ha—" he suddenly stopped short when he pulled part of the covers away to reveal a highly delicious sight.

Grell sat up, pretending to have just woken up, clad in a red (obviously) nightgown that left very little to the imagination. He sat up and stretched enticingly, reaching for his glasses on the bedside, counting down in his head. Three, two, one…

A burst of sniggering left Undertaker's mouth.

This...was not what Grell was expecting.

He looked over at the madly giggling reaper. "Perhaps I missed the joke. What is so funny?" He could feel twinges of hurt start up in his chest. Was Undertaker laughing at him? He'd worked so hard to gain some self-confidence.

The silver haired male got a hold of his breathing and coughed a few more laughs before he sat on the bed and enveloped Grell in a loving embrace. "Just a strange feeling I've had all morning, love. Reapers feel powerful emotion, and well, I've been feeling very strong, very un lady-like emotions coming from this room. It's been…a bit distracting. You try to explain to a customer why you keep looking up the stairs and giggling, and you'll never hear the end of it. Needless to say I finally kicked him out and told him he can go bury his own mother for all I care at the moment."

They both had to cling to each other to prevent collapsing from laughter. "You…turned out a guest for me? I'm…so flattered!" Grell gasped between breaths. When he finally regained control of himself, he leaned in to kiss Undertaker, moving his hands to brush silver bangs back and revealing the most piercingly beautiful eyes he'd ever had the privilege of gazing into. "Ah well, surprise or not…" he leaned in to whisper in his soon-to-be-lover's ear, undoing buttons on the grey robes with each word. "I think it's time for you to come out of retirement, and deal out la petite mort." He grinned, showing sharp teeth when Undertaker visibly shivered.

"With pleasure, my love."

Retirement was overrated anyways.

Read and Review. Pfft, I think I failed. I might have to try again with this pairing, they kept begging to subtract the angst, add in some blood play (they're shinigami for goodness sake!), subtract their clothing, and add some good old fashioned smexing!

Btw, la petite mort means "a little death" in French. It's a play on words/innuendo for orgasm. ;D