Grell landed with a heavy thump on the carpeted floor of William T. Spears' office. The portal through which they had entered closed with a familiar swooshing sound, shutting off the sight of the London alleyway and the two dark figures still standing there. Face throbbing from the poor treatment it had received from both his enemy and his boss, Grell tried to lift up his broken form on his hands and knees. Will kicked his side forcefully, and the red-haired shinigami fell back down, coughing up blood between desperate gasps for air.
"Look at you," the dispatch manager sneered cruelly. "As if you hadn't already created enough trouble for me with that woman and her foul plots, you feel the need to dirty my workspace?" William adjusted his glasses minutely. "You are a disgrace, Grell Sutcliff. You didn't even manage to keep up with your scheduled work, even with this…instrument." He tossed the bloody chainsaw into the fireplace, where it vanished, transported magically off to storage.
"Will…William…" whimpered the pathetic heap. "It hurts! P-please…help me—"
The supervisor kicked again, harder. "Shut up, you stupid creature," he hissed, eyes bright with anger. "You're barely even worth the paperwork I have to do for your incessant childishness." He stepped back, regarding the other shinigami with contempt. Grell kept as quiet as he possibly could, though his body shook with pent-up sobs. Every bit of him hurt—his ribs were most likely cracked, he'd suffered numerous blows to the head and neck, and he was sure that his face was disfigured beyond recognition. His eyes met Will's pleadingly.
The taller shinigami sighed disgustedly and snapped his fingers. A bottle appeared out of thin air, and William knelt beside Grell's prone figure, uncapping the flask and pouring some stinging liquid onto the redhead's battered face.
Grell winced as the liquid sank into his skin—it was a curative potion, but it had no anesthetic and therefore hurt almost as much as the initial wounding. William pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the excess medicine and blood off, then shoved the bottle into Grell's mouth, forcing him to drink the rest of the bitter concoction.
"This is coming straight out of your paycheck," the older man snarled, brandishing the now-empty container before throwing it into the fireplace, too. The red-haired shinigami cringed— that particular type of medicine was crushingly expensive.
"But, Will…I didn't ask—"
"Shut up!" William slapped Grell harshly. Though his face had been completely restored with the potion's effects, the blow felt worse than it should have. "Maybe you should have thought about that before you started killing off those women!" the supervisor growled, grabbing a fistful of Grell's silky hair and pulling none too softly. "You're a disgrace, Sutcliff. And a shameless whore," he spat. "That prostitute wasn't dead for three minutes before you start seducing a demon. A godforsaken demon!" The hand in Grell's hair tightened and twisted sharply, so that the younger shinigami was forced to get up on his hands and knees. William leaned in close to his ear. "Didn't I tell you that no one else is allowed to play with you?" he whispered coldly, before shoving Grell down once again.
Flat on his back, the redhead watched his superior fearfully, tears beginning to well in his green-gold eyes. "Will…don't do this again," he begged, though he didn't dare try to move away. It would just be worse for him later if he did.
William let out a bark of a laugh. "You'll never be anything but a pretty face, Grell. Just my beautiful, idiotic toy." He grabbed Grell's chin roughly, tilting the younger man's head and glaring down at him. "Take care of that face, you whore. It's the only thing you have that's worth something."
With this, William began to tear the shirt off Grell's shoulders. The previously damaged fabric yielded easily, and it wasn't long before the older shinigami had moved on to the trousers. Grell wanted to cry, to shout out, to whine—anything to voice his displeasure—but he knew that would only make William more displeased. So he lay there, completely still but for the shivers that wracked his body as cold air and touches hit his skin.
All too soon, he was completely bare and spread-eagled on the carpet. Will's imposing form towered over him, and Grell could no longer bear to watch. He closed his eyes tightly, as if he could shut off all sensations, but the rustling sound of William undoing his pressed trousers reached his ears uninhibited. He felt still-gloved hands grab his knees, lifting his legs into the air, and then all he felt was white pain as the supervisor entered him swiftly, completely dry and with no preparation.
Grell's eyes flew open in agony. He could vaguely hear someone screaming, but the torture of William's thick cock thrusting repeatedly into his body was far too overwhelming for him to discern who it was. Blood began to lubricate his entrance; Grell started to recognize the anguished cries as his own, and though he tried to remain quiet, his voice didn't seem to want to cooperate. He soon gave up, and felt his consciousness slipping away before he was brought back with another slap from his superior.
"Stay…awake…bitch," the man panted between thrusts. The animalistic fervor in his eyes frightened Grell enough to keep him from fainting, though it was a near thing. He was beginning to numb; the pain wasn't really all there anymore, though William's hips were pounding in harder than ever—hard enough for Grell to begin sliding a centimeter or two across the carpet with each penetration. He prayed for it to end soon, for William to come quickly and leave him in peace. God must have been listening to this at least, because the older shinigami's thrusts grew more and more erratic, and he ejaculated with a fierce buck. The world faded to black, and the last thing Grell saw was the calculating frown on William's face.