Dressed for a wedding, but it felt like a funeral.
At least, that was how Grell felt as he stood in front of a full length mirror. His bright red hair was desperately trying to free itself from the hair products that held it in place; his mother's attempt to make him more presentable for the occasion by trying to tame his unruly locks.
"Ha, ha, ha," laughed his best friend and soon to be best man, Matthew. Also his secret crush. However, such information, Grell kept to himself. Grell was a romantic, but he didn't fancy being a dead one as of yet. He was far too young to want to be hung or locked forever in a prison for his sexuality. Especially since Matthew had no idea how he felt, and Grell had no idea how Matthew would react to Grell's affections. Grell knew he was different from other born males his age. He never really felt 'mannish', not only finding himself attracted to Matthew, but to the clothes worn by the females of the day. "Cheer up, Grellie. You look positively dismal." Besides, it was too late now. He was going to marry Grace Pickering 'whether he liked it or not', his father had said.
"That's because I feel positively dismal. I don't even know this woman they are forcing me to marry. Not well, I mean. I do not love her nor do I want to marry her. From what I have seen and experienced, she has all the personality of a wet sponge."
Matthew laughed again, and had it not been for the fact that Grell absolutely adored his laugh, he would have been angry. It was also one of the rare occasions where they were alone enough they could act themselves without having to worry about propriety and social standards.
"Well, you will certainly know her well enough soon," replied Matthew with more laughter, not noticing Grell's deepening frown. The thought of sex with his intended was nauseating.
"I don't want to know her," Grell whined. "In any sense…I want to be an actor."
"Are you still on about that?" asked Matthew. As boys in school, the pair had performed in plays together to which Grell showed marvelous talent.
"But such a profession is not befitting a young man of my station," Grell stated with much sass as he quoted his parents, professors, and pretty much anyone else who knew of his desire to act. He let out a groan and sat on the bed. "The poor always say how if they were rich, they could follow their dreams…what a lie! Whoever started that lie should have their tongue ripped out and fed to them. I'm rich, and I can't do a damn thing I want. Not even choose who I spend the rest of my life with."
"Your family is rich," Matthew reminded him.
"Well then they can keep it, while I do as I please."
"Kind of hard on the pay of an actor after your parents disown you for going against them, an inevitable likelihood, I must say," said Matthew, ever the voice of reason. "And I know your tastes, which can get rather expensive. Not to mention your family's title must be passed on to a male heir, which is you…" Grell let out a groan and laid down on the bed as Matthew droned on. "You'll wrinkle your suit," Matthew paused to say. Grell's retort was muffled by the bedding. "What was that?"
"I said I wish I was born a girl," he repeated, lifting his head up to speak before putting his face back down in the bedding. Maybe if he buried his face deep and long enough, he would suffocate and not have to marry the woman.
"Cheer up, Grellie. You might find you enjoy married life." Grell lifted his head to respond, but was stopped by a knock on the door and someone telling them they were ready to start. Matthew offered Grell a hand up, which Grell took.
The wedding went as normal as possible. All the while, Grell felt his world ending and it was finalized as he and the woman were pronounced 'man and wife'. Their kiss had been the most chaste a kiss could be. Then the newlyweds were sent off on their honeymoon touring Europe. However, not even their time in France made Grell want to warm the bed with his new bride, though he did see a few handsome men he wouldn't have minded sharing a bed with.
The first few nights, Grace had given him more than a few worried looks and glances, expecting him to want to consummate their wedding vows soon, but he didn't. She thought perhaps he was as nervous as she was and held off mentioning it, but before long, she began to grow impatient.
She sat in front of the vanity brushing out her long blonde hair. Meanwhile, Grell had his nose stuck in one of his books at the other end of the room. "You know," she began after eyeing him from the mirror a few times, "in the eyes of the church, we have not completed all the acts that unites us as husband and wife." Reminding Grell that the Pickering's were avid churchgoers, like his own family, but his did not attend very often and Grell himself could not remember the last time he had gone to confession. Though, he did still remember a few things from his attendance.
"And in the eyes of this same church, it is a sin if we partake in such activities even though we be married to one another," he replied, turning a page in his book without even bothering to look at her as he spoke. "Damned if we do and damned if we don't. What kind of doctrine is that?" His wife's lips pursed in displeasure.
"What sort of husband have I been married to, I wonder?" she questioned aloud, her displeasure apparent in her voice. "What are you even reading?" She asked, getting up and snatching the book from his hands. "Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet?" Grace let out a barking laugh which grated on his nerves almost as much as her snatching the book from his hands had. "Well isn't that dandy. You will read all about love, but you won't act on it. Not even on your wedding night!" She continued to laugh at him.
She was mocking him. Laughing at him. At Shakespeare. His dreams. She mocked his love.
Grell stood up abruptly, snatching the book from her hands. "What sort of man have you married?" he growled and shoved her onto the bed. "I'll give you your 'wedding night'!" He pushed up her nightdress and yanked her undergarments from her. He rapidly pumped his sex to get it hard before shoving himself inside her forcefully.
Her eyes widened at his behavior, but stayed silent except for the whimper in pain at his rough entry. Grell didn't care if it hurt her as he thrust in and out of her roughly. Maybe then she will know the pain he has felt since being married to her and not his love. She was bleeding from his treatment of her and the scent and feel of her blood thrilled him and spurred him on. His hips moved at a furious pace, until he let out a soft cry and released inside her. "There," he hissed, "now we are 'properly wed'." Grell pulled out of her and got up, fixing his clothing, having not yet changed into his bedclothes, he left the room to take a walk. He didn't return until the morning when it was time to leave.
"I apologize for my behavior last night," he said the next day after they had boarded the train. Not because he felt any remorse, but he feared any repercussions it might have on him if word of his behavior got out. He also came to conclusion during that night that if he was to be chained to her for the rest of his life, it might be best to try to keep peace between them. His didn't do a good job of it, his ill-temper being what it was.
"You hurt me," she stated coldly.
He fought back the scowl that tried to appear at her accusation. "You insulted me. I didn't want this marriage, and I am certain if you search your brains hard enough, you'd realize you don't want it either."
"I am beginning to-"
"A rich young thing like you surely had a beau or two you would rather have married. I certainly had someone different in mind to spend the rest of my life I please and you do as you please and we'll avoid any unpleasantries between us."
"'Husbands are to love their wives'" Grace quoted scripture.
"Well I don't love you." he stated firmly. "And don't ever spout that drivel at me again. I don't give a hang about 'God'." She looked at him studiously, but stayed silent. He foresaw a life with separate bedrooms, which suited him fine.
~A few months later~
A breathy moan escaped his lips as he came into the hand of his valet who thrust into him from behind in the garden shed. Grell had arranged for the gardener to be away in town so they could meet here. "Master," his valet moaned softly into his ear as he came down from his own sex high. His valet pulled out his flaccid member and took a handkerchief in hand. He cleaned them up and fixed their clothing, tucking his master back inside his pants. Grell turned around and caught him in a passionate kiss.
"Thank you, James," he said. "I needed that."
"My pleasure" James answered with a smile.
"Best get back to the house before you are missed," said Grell with a frown and checking the time. "I have to meet the Mistress for tea." James nodded and left the shed to return to his duties. Grell waited a few minutes before leaving. It wasn't love, not on Grell's part, but it was some relief and comfort afforded to him. They were always careful about where, when, and how often they engaged in these activities.
It started shortly after arriving home from his honeymoon when Grell caught him staring at his nude form as he helped him dress after a bath. Grell discovered his valet held an attraction for him. The two had taken care of each other's needs since. Not as often as Grell would have liked, having a high sex drive, but he knew the need for secrecy.
Grell strode into the room where his wife and the tea waited. She sat in a cushioned chair while embroidering a pillow. To Grell's shock and annoyance, a man of the church was sat in the room and the two were conversing like old friends. Grell eyed him warily as he approached him. On seeing Grell, the man stood and offered his hand for Grell to take. "Husband," said his wife, laying aside her work but not getting up. "This is Father Ferguson."
Grell ignored the father's hand and instead spoke to his wife. "Why is he here?"
"You're -um-wife," said Ferguson apprehensively, "tells me that there has been trouble within your marriage. It is actually quite common." He took a white handkerchief from his pocket and used it to mop his sweaty forehead. "She has also told me that you have…turned your back on God."
Grell crossed his arms and scowled at the man. "I don't how this is any of your business."
"Well, with a child on the way, a devout and pious woman such as your wife is understandably concerned about the well-fare of the child and what kind of home it will be brought up in. Naturally, she sought advice…"
"Child?" questioned Grell. "This is news to me. How long have you known?" he asked, turning to his wife. A part of him was elated at the news, he also found himself jealous. He wanted to be the one carrying the child. "Is it mine?" he asked with contempt. They had not been together but that one time. He couldn't possibly be the father.
Grace looked at him crossly at the implied accusation. "Of course it is yours! Your negligence of your obligations has not forced me to seek gratification elsewhere," she replied in an accusing manner.
"Peace, peace, my children," the father interjected in a calming voice, trying to ease the growing tension in the room before things got out of hand.
"Fuck off!" Grell shouted at him.
Father Ferguson's face turned as red as a beet. Grace looked at Grell with contempt that he wouldbl dare speak that way to a man of the church, though by now not much if his behavior surprised her. "Such language," he muttered. "I shall be taking my leave," he told the Mistress of the house and left. He left quickly.
"Well," scoffed his wife, "I hope you are proud of yourself. Send for the maid and tell her the tea has gone sour."
Grell did not respond as she got up and left the room. His anger and frustration bubbled over and with a growl, he upset the table holding the things intended for their tea. Some of the dishes broke and tea spilled onto the floor, soaking into the rug and scattered biscuits.
The baby's arrival drew nearer and nearer. The Father visited often at the behest of his wife, but always took care to avoid Grell. Grell grew ever more jealous of his wife's condition. He should be carrying the baby. Matthew's baby.
Often he came to stand in front of his mirror and imagine what he would look like as a woman. It wouldn't take much. His figure was more womanly than a man's. His skin was light and fair, quite soft. A few freckles marred his nose, but that could be covered with a bit of make up. How beautiful he would look in a wedding gown with long, luxurious red hair curled into tight spirals and pinned up elaborately. Grell would turn to the side and view his profile. He would look ravishing in a corset and a lovely pair of breasts…here. Using his hands, he measured the distance from his chest as he imagined them. Not too big, not too small.
He could have married Matthew. They would live in an extravagant house and have two, maybe three children at least. She might have more if she felt like it.
"Something has you distracted," said James as he pressed kisses to Grell's skin. Their aching cocks rubbed against each other in the privacy of Grell's hotel room.
"My apologies," responded Grell. Placing his hands on the sides of his lover's face, he kissed him, deeply and passionately.
"The baby?"
"Mostly," he answered, "Don't worry about the rest." Grell kissed him again and tried to forget about his cares for an evening, but was unsuccessful. He had a child on the way. A child who would provide plenty of distraction for him. Someone he could love and who could love him back. After that night, he didn't see James in secret anymore.
Grell held his newborn daughter in his arms and looked down in awe at her. She was so tiny and so beautiful. The hair on her head was too sparse to tell its color, but that mattered little to him. He was just happy to finally hold her, and even more envious that he had not carried her in his body. He thought to call her Eveline, perhaps. However, his wife had beaten him to the punch and given her a more 'biblical' name: Mary. Grell supposed it did not matter in the end, He would not love her any less.
Mary became his new world and he spent all of his free time with her. If people talked, he did not listen, nor did he care. Life at home became more bearable…for a time…
"Influenza," Grell was told as he watched his little girl from afar shivering under the covers as her body sweat with fever. Grell was not allowed to get close for fear of him catching it as well. "There must be something that can be done," Grell said desperately, knowing what such an illness can do to someone so young.
"Nothing can be done that isn't already being done," answered his wife. "It is in God's hands now."
Grell turned vehemently towards her. "If there was a god, he wouldn't have let my precious child get so sick," he spat.
"God works in mysterious ways," she replied calmly.
"Damn his mysterious ways! I just want my little girl to be well."
"Then you might want to start believing in him and start praying." Grell remained silent as he watched his wife leave the room. Perhaps if he had any faith let in god, he would have prayed, but he didn't. He all but took up residence near his daughter's sick bed, pleading with her to get well, talking to her, reading to her. She only got worse. The influenza turned into pneumonia. Not long after, she died.
It was not considered manly to cry, but Grell did not care what society thought as he took his young child in his arms and held her close to his chest; wailing the loss of his child. A hand gently laid itself on his shoulder. "Go away. Leave me be," he cried, not caring who it was.
"Husband," Grace addressed him softly.
"Where is your god now?" He spat angrily. "How could a god be so cruel; taking away my only happiness?"
"She was my daughter too," she replied sadly, biting her tongue at his harsh words. She had grown quite used to them now. "You aren't the only one who mourns her loss. I loved her too." Grace left the room quietly, having nothing else to say. Nothing that she thought would do any good.
Friends and family attended the burial, including Matthew. Grell did not. He remained in his daughter's room even after they had carried her body out, after they had pried her from his arms. He would not go and watch them bury her in the ground. Alone, in the dark. When the servants inquired after him, he requested one thing: alcohol.
The evening found Grell unmoved from little Mary's bedside, the bottle of alcohol in his hands as he brooded there alone in the darkened room. His light. His life. Gone.
Matthew entered, knocking softly on the door as he pushed it open. There was a sad smile on his face as he looked at Grell. "You'll ruin your posture if you slouch like that." He shouldn't make jokes. Not at a time like this, but their visits of late had been few and far between that seeing his longtime friend, no matter his state, was very cathartic. And he so hated seeing Grell so downcast. Grell raised his head look at him, his grief evident on his features.
He brightened somewhat at the sight of someone he held seat to his heart. "Matthew," he breathed. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. That's right, he still had Matthew.
"It's good to see you, old friend," said Matthew as he came further into the room. "However unfortunate the circumstances may be."
Grell choked and felt like he would cry once again. "It's so unfair!" he cried and slumped forward and stared down at the bottle he held. Matthew drew even closer, and in an attempt to comfort his friend, he patted and rubbed Grell's back sympathetically. He couldn't imagine what losing a child must feel like.
Alone. Grell was alone. Alone, alone, alone. No one to love and no one to love him. No one except, Matthew. He wasn't alone! He had Matthew, the one person he could on, someone who was always there for him. He loved Matthew and Matthew loved him. He didn't have to be alone!
Grell rose to his feet, he placed his hand on the back of Matthew skull and brought his face his, pressing their lips together with a maddened passion. Matthew struggled and broke the kiss, pushing Grell away. "Grell, what-"
"I love you, I always have," he raved, still clinging tight to the other.
Matthew didn't know what to think. There was an odd look in Grell's eyes and it concerned him deeply. He gripped Grell by the shoulders and shook him firmly yet gently. "Grell, stop it. You're mad, mad with grief. You don't know what you're saying. You don't know what you're doing. Do you know what people would do if they heard this talk? Grell…"
"They don't matter. We can run away, you and I," Grell went on. "Find someplace secret just for us. I'll bear your children. We will be so happy." Matthew could not hide the look of disgust that came across his face at the mention. Grell made to kiss him again, but Matthew shoved him away. He turned on his heel and left the room
"Matthew?" Grell called after him as he followed. "Darling, wait, where are you going?"
Matthew turned around and answered with all decorum he could muster, "What you speak of is unholy. Because I have been your friend and you have just lost your daughter, I shall keep the happenings of this night to myself, but attempt such vile acts again and I will not hesitate to contact the proper authorities. I pray it is only your sudden loss that has ignited this egregious behaviour in you. I will not be party to it." He bowed his head as he paused and took a deep breath. "I have always known you were a little odd. You think I didn't notice all the times you would stare at me wistfully? Your sometimes flirtatious behavior? Whether it be a touch here, a phrase there? I pretended not to notice, hoping it would pass once you found yourself a bride. For your sake, I will turn a blind eye once more, but just this once."
"Unholy?" Grell echoed,. "How can such a love between two people be unholy? True love is the holiest thing of all!"
"It is not holy!" Matthew shouted. "I bid you stop saying such revolting things!"
"Don't be like this, darling," Grell begged. "You don't have to worry about what others will think because we'll be someplace safe. I'm going to become a woman, just for you. Then we will be happily married." Grell stepped forward to embrace him once again. "Think of what beautiful children we'll have!"
"You're mad! Let go of me!" Matthew demanded as he struggled to free himself once again. "Unhand me!" He succeeded in pushing Grell away from him, who fell backwards onto the floor. Once freed from the redheads grasp, Matthew attempted to leave again.
"No," protested Grell. His voice came out tiny and small. Matthew was leaving him, leaving him here alone. He just couldn't! He couldn't be alone! "No!" Grell raged. He got back on his feet, grabbing the bottle he had carried with him off the floor from where it had fallen when he was pushed. "I won't lose you too!" He ran after Matthew, bringing the bottle down hard upon the other's head. Matthew dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Grell knelt beside his prone body, coddling him as he apologized for striking him. He stroked Matthew's hair, only to keep back his hand when he felt something wet. He held his hand up to his face to find it covered in red. His eyes widened in shock and he shook him.
"What's going on in here? I heard shouting," Grace said as she stepped into the hallway. Grell's horror at what he had done turned to ire at his wife's coming. "You!" he snarled. "This is all to your fault!"
"Husband?" She questioned as she gaped at the body. Grace hurried forward to investigate.
"Stay away!" Grell commanded, but she did not heed him as she knelt by Matthew's body.
"He's dead!" Grace exclaimed. She looked to her husband for an answer.
Grell's hand shot out and gripped her by her throat. Her eyes widened, she clawed at his hand to release herself from his grip as he drew her close. "If it wasn't for you, Matthew would still be alive. Ruinous wench! You took everything from me." He took the bottle on his hand once more and beat her with it. He beat her until the bottle broke and then continued by stabbing her with the shards. The red blood splattered everywhere and he admired it. It was beautiful. He loved the way it contrasted with his fair white skin and he liked the way it looked on his dead wife even more. Her body was mutilated by the time he finished with her.
Grell crawled back over to Matthew's body and cradled it once more. "My beloved," he cried as he placed a kiss on his cheek. "Fear not. We'll be together. Where you go, I go," he said. He gripped a shard from the bottle in his hand and slid it across his wrist. First his right and then his left. He watched the color that entranced him run down and drip onto Matthew. He laughed sharply. Looking down, at Matthew, he smiled sweetly. He took Matthew's face in his hands and kissed him once more. He laid down against him and held him as he smiled. "My darling," he breathed as he drew a heart on Matthew's cheek in his blood. "It won't be long now. Wait for me."
His eyes dimmed. They closed slowly as his heart stilled and he breathed his last with a smile on his lips.
The grim reaper tsked as the cinematic record came to a close. "I'm beg your pardon, dearie, but I'm afraid you won't be seeing your beloved any time soon. He's gone to the angels and, well, you," he grinned wryly, "you'll go to a different place entirely. Who knows? Perhaps you'll enjoy being a god of death."