"Tickled pink"

An Undertaker/Ronald fanfic

Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso. I make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only.

~xox~

The Undertaker was on probation for his actions with the Bizarre Dolls, and it was up to them to check in now and then and be sure the sly old creep wasn't up to his old tricks. This would be their first inspection of his shop since he came to Dispatch for whatever reason and turned himself in. The reaper organization chose to be lenient on him, because of his veteran status and his past service. He was to be regularly monitored and brought in for incarceration if he made so much as a single doll again.

Dispatch had already questioned the ancient in regards to who else was involved in the making of his dolls, and what purpose they intended for them. Ordinarily, reapers stayed out of the affairs of living mortals...but the Undertaker's little "project" had disrupted the balance and the members of the Aurora society were not the average criminals. Undertaker had parted with precious little information about them so far, but due to his cooperation with house arrest and the comparably milder danger of humans figuring out how to animate the dead without his help, Dispatch was patient. They had ordered William to seek those answers, with the help of his best agents. Ron was a little surprised that he'd chosen Grell; and even more surprised when he picked him, too.

William T. Spears was a logical, tactical reaper, though. His reasoning was that both Grell and Ronald had faced down the Undertaker once before when he went rogue. They had seen what he was capable of, and they might be better prepared to deal with any intransigence than any other Dispatch agents.

"Do we really have to do this?" Ronald looked up at the shop sign with a frown, and he rubbed the back of his head at the memory of the pain visited upon it the last time he saw the ancient. He'd thought he'd be stuck with the impression of Undertaker's boot on the back of his scalp forever. It was a wonder he'd managed to stay conscious, after a blow like that.

"Yes, Knox...we really must do this." William adjusted his glasses, before using the end of his scythe to push open the mortuary door. It creaked on its hinges eerily—a fitting touch. Ever polite, the Dispatch supervisor stood aside and gestured for his two companions to go in.

"Ladies first!" exclaimed Grell as he stepped through the threshold. He seemed a bit eager to see the retired reaper again.

"You aren't to provoke a fight, Grell Sutcliff," reminded William sternly, "nor are you here to throw yourself at him. We are here to inspect the premises and get information."

Grell sighed and twirled around to face the supervisor. "What makes you think the old bat will tell us anything, Will?"

"Whether he cooperates or not, it is our duty to perform the task set before us," answered the taller reaper. "We will conduct our assignment as professionals and report back. No arguments."

Grell rolled his eyes in Ronald's direction, and the blond smirked. "Let's just get it over with, Senpai," he suggested.

With a little huff of annoyance, the flamboyant redhead put his hands on his hips and sauntered inside with a feminine step. "Hellooo? Undie-darling, it's time for your weekly inspection! Where are you hiding?"

Ronald came in behind him and he blinked, trying to adjust to the gloomy darkness of the shop's interior. He looked around and shrugged, his brows furrowing. "Maybe he's not here."

William joined them, closing the door behind him. "He is here. The Undertaker is only permitted to leave his home three days of the week, and this is not one of them."

Grell looked at him with exasperation, and he brushed his flowing crimson hair back from his shoulders. "Will, darling, the man is a criminal! You have too much faith that he'll abide by the rules set down upon him."

"The tracking device he wears would have alerted us, if he left this shop when he is not permitted to," William pointed out. He checked the device he carried in his pocket. "He is in here."

"Goodness, my ears are burning," came a muffled voice from within a coffin at the back wall. It creaked open and the funeral director stepped out, sans top-hat. His silver bangs covered his eyes as usual, and the rest of the thick, pale tresses spilled down his shoulders and back, past his waist. He grinned at his guests and he pressed the tips of his fingers together, the long black nails meeting over them. "Hi, hi. Good of you chaps to come by."

William checked his pocket watch with a raised brow. "It's a bit late to be napping, sir."

The Undertaker tilted his head to the side, still smiling. "Is it? I rarely come out before sunset. My work tends to occur at night."

Ronald tensed slightly, ready to manifest his scythe at the first sign of aggression from the unpredictable deserter. "That work better not be raising more corpses, old man."

The mortician snorted and waved a pale hand, his long, dark sleeves flopping with the motion. "I may be mad, but I'm no fool. I've put the doll-making business behind me. You gents can feel free to have a look around while I brew us some tea, if you'd like."

Grell and Ronald both looked to William, and he nodded. "That will be fine. We shall try not to intrude upon you for very long, Undertaker. I'm afraid we'll need to see your basement and living quarters as well."

"My, aren't you a proper and polite fellow," mused the ancient. He shrugged. "Not to worry. Poke around the shop while I prepare the tea, and then I'll give you the tour of the back and the basement."

He left them to it then, vanishing behind the thick curtain separating the hallway to his living space from the shop area.

~xox~

Ronald sneezed as he stirred some dust while checking out the bookshelf. He waved his hand before his face to clear the air and he grumbled aloud to his companions. "Man, the guy could stand to tidy up a little."

"Coming from a reaper that uses his floor as a laundry basket," William said as he examined a skull-shaped crystal, "that's rather hypocritical."

Ronnie shrugged. "I might have clutter, but I know how to use a duster and a broom once in a while." He blew over the top of one of the medical journals and he opened it. "Do ya think he even reads this stuff?"

"I'm certain he has, at some point," reasoned the supervisor. He replaced the skull on the shelf and he nudged Grell with a frown when he caught him trying to pocket a bauble without being noticed. The redhead grinned sheepishly and put it back. "Never forget that this reaper is a genius. He may play the role of a doddering old eccentric, but you have both witnessed for yourselves how crafty he can be. He's likely memorized every volume he owns...and while I'm speaking of that subject, we may need to confiscate some of his reading material. Take anything you find pertaining to necromancy."

Ronald put the medical book away and squinted at the binders of the other books. "Some of these are so faded I can't make 'em out," he complained, "and I doubt the old fart would keep them right out in the open anyhow, if he's got anything on necromancy."

William nodded, and he opened the Undertaker's desk drawer to go over his most recent clientele reports. He frowned as his eyes scanned the documents. "He hasn't worked since just before the Campania event."

Grell sidled up to him and took his arm, ignoring his attempts to shrug him off. "Mm-hm. The dreary old fellow hasn't seen a single client since his return. You know, William, the last time I visited this place, it really was much tidier." Grell looked around with a little frown. "It's always been morbid but he used to keep it clean. Even his greeting earlier was lackluster. He actually stopped smiling for a few moments!"

William glanced sidelong at the flirtatious redhead. "Are you suggesting the Undertaker might be suffering depression, Sutcliff?"

Grell shrugged and walked his fingers up William's arm playfully. "It happens to most reapers eventually, doesn't it? He seems to have lost his spark, honestly. The man turned himself in, for goodness sake! That doesn't seem like something the Undertaker we've come to know would do."

Ronald gave up on trying to read the book binders. "Huh...that makes a weird kind of sense, Senpai. Never thought I'd say it, but I almost feel a little sorry for the guy." He looked around with a grimace. "I mean, he stays holed up in here with nothing but corpses for company. Maybe what he was really looking for when he started making those dolls was a companion, ya know?"

William frowned and replaced the documentation in its drawer. "And he failed to give them true 'life'. Perhaps that failure was what prompted him to give up and turn himself in. It's an interesting theory."

The conversation ceased when the curtains parted to admit the Undertaker from the back, again. "Were you talking about little ol' me again, gentlemen?" He smiled, but like Grell observed earlier, it seemed to lack the sparkle they were used to seeing. "Come along and have some refreshment."

The Dispatch agents exchanged glances before following him into the back.

~xox~

Undertaker showed them around and allowed them to inspect the building from top to bottom. The mortician led a humble life. His personal living quarters were small and quaint, offering just enough room for one or perhaps two people to live in. They did find a couple of books on Necromancy, but they were little more than collections of human folklore. William confiscated them anyway and a slight frown was the only protest Undertaker gave to that.

Ronald found his eyes constantly straying to the collar around the old reaper's throat—administered by Dispatch to keep tabs on him. The more he looked at it and thought about it, the more it bothered him. It was a leash...a tool to keep the Undertaker in check. Having fought him once already, he was very well aware of how dangerous he could be, but it still didn't sit right with him and he wondered why it bothered him so much. He tried to push the nagging feeling away. The Undertaker did this to himself. He wouldn't be in this situation now, if he hadn't meddled with life and death that way.

Once they finished inspecting the place, they returned to the shop and William asked him the questions on his list. Undertaker was quite compliant, until he was asked for a listing of the remaining members of the Aurora society. He shook his head and spread his hands, sitting down on one of his coffins.

"Sorry chap, I can't help you there." He crossed his legs beneath his robes, and the top booted foot lazily bounced.

"Why is it so important to you, for these mortal criminals to remain unknown by Dispatch?" Pressed William.

The retired reaper leaned back on his hands, smiling. "Because I might need a favor or three from them someday, and I can't very well collect on that if they're tossed in a Shinigami jail or killed for their transgressions."

"We are charged with shutting their operation down," insisted William. "Not that it can truly continue as it did, without your assistance. You know that Dispatch has no care for whether they live or die, Undertaker. All we care about is that their society be dissolved, so that this cannot happen again."

"Not my problem." The Undertaker examined his nails and he chewed the one on his right pointer-finger when he found a bur in it.

William sighed. They were getting nowhere with this, and using violence against him to try and force the information out had been strictly forbidden.

"You know, Mr. Spears, I might be willing to part with a couple of names with the right incentive."

The supervisor looked at Undertaker again, frowning.

"I believe the silver fox wants to be entertained," Grell supplied with a giggle, "but you really aren't good with jokes, Will."

An idea popped up in Ronald's head suddenly, and his eyes widened a bit. He scratched his head and looked at the ancient reaper with a bit of disconcertion in his expression. He pondered it, wondering where it came from, and he groaned inwardly when he came up with the answer.

Undertaker was prettier than most girls he knew, under that mop of silver hair.

The mortician turned his head in his direction, and Ronald caught a brief glimpse of Shinigami eyes glittering at him from beneath the long bangs. Undertaker smiled again.

"Something on your mind, lad?"

Ronald could have sworn there was an undertone of sensuality in that question...an invitation, maybe. Then again, maybe he was just making things up in his own mind. Flirting was part of his daily routine and dating was his bread and butter. He managed to see opportunities everywhere, and maybe he was imagining this one...or maybe not.

"Hey Spears-senpai...Sutcliff-senpai, why don't ya let me take this one?"

He hardly believed the words that came out of his own mouth, but once Ronald Knox saw an opportunity, he rarely chose not to act on it. William and Grell glanced at one another, and the supervisor arched a brow.

"What did you have in mind, Knox?"

Ronald shot another glance at the Undertaker, and he knew for a fact his boss would never go for it if he told him the truth. Grell might not even go for it, in fact. The young reaper shrugged, painting his usual cocky smirk on his face. He was a charmer. Even people that didn't go for guys tended to cave when he turned on the Knox charm.

"Well, no offense but you've got no sense of humor and Sutcliff-senpai is likely to just try to reap the old man a new one, if you leave it to him." He looked at the Undertaker. "You like to be entertained, right?"

The ancient nodded, a faint expression of interest crossing what could be seen of his features. "Indeed I do. You fellows are no different from anyone else seeking information from me, and I've already given you a pretty bit of it free of charge."

Ronald shrugged and looked at the two officers. "See? There ya go. I'll give the old geezer what he wants, and I'll meet you both at headquarters with my report when I'm finished. I know you've still got a lot of paperwork to do, Spears-senpai, and I know you don't want to miss your evening soaps, Sutcliff-senpai."

"Oh, that's right," Grell said, startled. "Tonight they're supposed to reveal who the father of Ariel's baby is! Oh, William, let's allow him to try! I think Ronnie can do it."

William sighed, looking dubiously between Ronald and the ancient. "I have my doubts, but I haven't the time to debate this. Very well, Knox. I expect you to have something of value for us, when you finish."

Ronald saluted him. "Count on it."

He walked them outside and once the door was shut behind them, Grell turned to him with a slightly concerned look on his face. He dropped his usual antics and spoke somberly for a change. "Ronnie, are you sure about this? You do know we can't trust that old creeper further than we could throw him, don't you?"

"Yeah, I know." Ronald winked. "Just leave it to me. I've got this."

Grell and William exchanged one more doubtful glance, before the latter manifested a portal to their realm. "Please inform us if anything goes awry," cautioned William. "Come, Sutcliff. I would like to clock out on time for once."

Grell took his arm and blew a kiss to Ronald. "Have fun, Ronnie!"

The blond waved at them and he sighed once they stepped through and vanished. Looking back at the shop, he wondered if he could go through with his idea.

~xox~

Undertaker looked up when the blond reaper came back in, and he smiled—though he didn't particularly feel like it. His grins were really just a sham these days—a mask he wore in an attempt to cheer himself up. Laughter was all but gone, and he couldn't quite understand when he'd lost it or why. Maybe it was just boredom weighing him down. Everything seemed so monotonous, so sordid. He felt like he'd done it all. He watched as the boy approached him, seeing little more than a blur of fair skin, blond hair and a Shinigami uniform.

"Ronald, isn't it?"

The blurred figure nodded, and he flipped the lock on the door before closing the distance. "That's right, old guy."

He sat down on the coffin directly across from Undertaker, close enough that the mortician could see his features clearly. He was an attractive sort for certain, with boyish good looks and a confident, engaging smile. Undertaker rather liked his smile. "So," said the ancient, resting his hands on his knees. "Go on, then...laugh me up. Give me a giggle."

Ronald smirked at him. "Sure, I can make you giggle. Probably not the way you're thinking, though."

The mortician was mildly confused. "Wasn't that the point in your staying behind...to entertain me?"

The boy nodded. "Oh yeah. I'll entertain you, old guy. I'm just not all that good at jokes either."

The Undertaker sighed with disappointment. "How unfortunate. I was really looking forward to having a laugh." He made a shooing gesture at his guest. "Go on, then. My information is only for those who can bring a smile to my lips. I've got no use for you, otherwise."

"Now hold on a minute," protested Ronald. "You don't even know what I was gonna do!"

"I'm already bored." Undertaker crossed his arms over his chest and sulked. He'd actually hoped the body could lighten his black mood a little.

"Wow."

The ancient peeked through his bangs. "Eh?"

Ronald chuckled and combed his fingers through his feathered blond hair. "I've seen a few different sides of you by now, but I've never seen you be childish."

"Hmph. Childish, is it? You offered something you weren't prepared to deliver, my dear. That's annoying...and not particularly professional of you, I might add."

The blond gave him one of those charming smiles. "You think I'm not going to deliver? Maybe jokes weren't what I had in mind, but I'm still planning to entertain you."

Ronald leaned toward him, his smile growing mischievous. "I started thinking about what ya look like underneath all that hair. You're pretty."

The Undertaker frowned, perplexed. "You're right; you aren't very good at jokes."

~xox~

Ronald chuckled, and he switched seats so that he was sitting beside the Undertaker. "That wasn't a joke." How could a reaper that seemed so confident in battle be so self-conscious about his looks? He could sense the ancient's uncertainty as he turned his head toward him, the usually grinning lips curved into that frown. He had pretty lips too, Ronald realized. Very kissable. The bottom lip was plump enough to provide some nice cushioning, and the top was shapely and sensitive looking. Ron wondered how long it had been since anyone tasted those lips.

Then his thoughts went to the bodies that Undertaker worked over with so much enthusiasm, and the way he'd held that undead girl aboard the Campania. He somehow hid his grimace as it occurred to him that maybe Undertaker got plenty of nookie—just not from living folks. He was still interested in his idea, but he thought he should clear the air before he continued.

"Hey, when you're playing around with those dolls and...uh...dead people, ya don't like...do stuff with them, do ya?"

The frown relaxed, and the mortician tilted his head curiously. "What sort 'stuff' might you be referring to, Ronnie?" The grin started to come back.

The agent thought it over. It seemed like the old man was toying with him, like he knew exactly what he meant and he just wanted to see him squirm at the thought. Undertaker was known for getting a kick out of shocking and frightening people, after all. Refusing to be cowed, Ronald shrugged and elaborated his own way.

"Just wondering where your lips have been."

Undertaker snorted. "Not very subtle, are you? This seems to be a subject of debate that pops up often. No, dear boy, I'm not in the habit of desecrating my clients or my dollies that way. The only place my lips have been for quite some time is on beakers of tea or around the neck of a bottle, when the mood strikes me to imbibe."

Ronald deliberately pictured what the Undertaker's lips would look like, encircling the neck of a bottle. His mind of course transferred that image to a certain body part he was often accused of thinking with, and he grinned. Oh yeah, he could do this.

Acting with typical Knox-like boldness, he placed a hand on the Undertaker's covered knee and he leaned close to murmur a suggestion into his ear. "The neat thing about interacting with living people is we can find all sorts of other uses for your lips." He gave his knee a squeeze, and he blew into his ear.

Most people usually liked that, but the Undertaker's reaction wasn't what Ronald had hoped for or anticipated. The ancient gave a start, clamped a pale hand over his ear and jumped up. He rubbed the ear as if it had been scalded, and Ronald could tell by the way his bangs were flicking that he was blinking at him beneath that veil of hair. A delicate pink blush spread over the Undertaker's pallid, sculpted features and his lips were slack and parted.

"Here now, what do you think you're doing?"

Unused to getting reactions like that, Ronald was a bit surprised, himself. The old fossil actually seemed startled by the move...and he had never imagined the Undertaker being startled by anything. "It's called 'flirting', old geezer. Look it up."

"Why?" demanded the mortician, giving his ear another rub. "Why would you...is this your idea of entertaining me? Playing a joke at my expense? I can take a good prank as well as the next fellow, but that's just mean."

"Oh," breathed Ronald, blinking himself. "Wow. You really think I was just teasing, don't you?"

He stood up and took a step towards the mortician—who in turn took a step back and regarded him warily. "Jeez, calm down." Ronald spread his hands in a pacifying gesture. "I'm sorry if I startled you, but it's not a joke. I'm just—"

"I think it's time you take your leave, agent." Undertaker swallowed, and the black tracking collar around his throat shifted with the motion.

Ron's eyes followed it and he sighed, his pity returning. "Sorry, not gonna happen."

Hoping he wasn't making a big mistake, the blond closed the distance between them. Undertaker backed up again, but Ronald persisted until he was against the corner of the room and had nowhere else to go without physically moving him out of the way. He smiled up at the tall, silver reaper, putting all of his charm into it.

"It's okay," he promised, reaching out to take the long-nailed hands in his. "I moved too fast, didn't I? I guess I just figured someone with as much balls as you've got would be okay with that."

"Yours are clearly bigger than mine," countered the mortician, trying to pull his hands out of Ronald's grip. "Didn't you hear me, boy? I said to get gone."

Noticing that his attempts lacked strength and confident that the man could knock him flat on his ass if he really wanted to, Ronald played another card. "Why don't you make me? I know they couldn't take your scythe. The boss said you were too attuned to it. You could reap me if you wanted to."

"And have Dispatch further up my knickers than they already are," snorted Undertaker. "Believe it or not, I'm tired of conflict."

Ronald shrugged, and he rubbed his thumbs over the taller man's sensitive palms. "Then kick my ass out. Much as I hate to admit it, I probably couldn't stop you."

Seeming distracted by his coaxing touch, the Undertaker regarded him as if he were the madman, of the two of them. "You're treading on ice that's quite thin, my dear."

"Yeah? I don't think so." He was confident now that the ancient was at least intrigued enough not to commence with the ass-kicking he'd suggested. Ronald tugged on the hands that he held, urging the Undertaker to come with him away from the corner. Hesitantly, the ancient followed.

"I think you're lonely," said Ronald, carefully guiding him back to the coffin they had been sitting on. "You need some real, living contact and we need information. I said I'd entertain ya, and I meant it."

"By whoring yourself?" The Undertaker followed with less reluctance though, his hands beginning to return the pressure of Ronald's.

"I don't shame easily." Ronald grinned. "And it's not whoring if I'm doing it because I want to. The information would just be a bonus."

He sat down on the coffin, still holding the older reaper's hands. Ronald looked up at him and his confident grin softened into something more gentle. "At least sit with me for a while and hold hands. You don't have to kick my head in again to make me stop if I do something you don't like; just speak up."

Undertaker slowly sank down on the coffin lid beside him, but he kept enough distance between them that only their hands came into contact. "I must be more out of touch with the younger generations than I thought. Why would you offer me this? A young, attractive fellow like yourself must have better options than spooky ol' Undertaker...especially seeing as I made a bit of a mess of you and your mentor on that ship."

Ron removed one of his hands from the ancient's and he waved dismissively, the way his mentor sometimes did. "Eh, we didn't really give you much choice. You didn't come at us until we came at you, and I don't really hold grudges." He winked at him playfully. "I might ask you for a re-match someday though, when I've gotten better."

Undertaker smirked a bit, apparently relaxing slightly. "Fancy getting your butt smacked again, do you?"

Ronald took that comment and ran with it. "You could smack my butt right now if you wanted, and I wouldn't complain."

The ancient shook his head and chuckled, looking down. "You young folk are so brazen, these days." He lifted his silver head again and shook his bangs to the side slightly, so that one eye was revealed as he looked at Ronald. "Or is it just you?"

For a moment, Ronald was caught up in that gaze and his brain froze. In the heat of combat, he really hadn't had the chance to get more than a few passing glimpses of those eyes and that face. Even the scar twisting down from the scalp, over the left lid and all the way down to the other side of Undertaker's face didn't distract from his countenance. He understood why the Undertaker hid his eyes, working in the mortal realm as he did. He thought it was an awful shame, though. Undertaker possessed an timeless beauty, and though Ronald knew he was practically older than dirt, he sure didn't look it.

"It's mostly just me," he breathed, unable to look away. "But I'm pretty shameless. Wow, you really are beautiful."

The ancient's slim, shapely brow furrowed a bit, and he lowered his gaze. The thick fringe of lashes concealed his eye again. Those pale lashes made Ronald think of the way fine snow powdered the needles of the evergreens in the winter. The veil of his bangs slipped forward again to hide the sight from Ronald's eyes.

"Can't say I've heard someone call me that for a very long time," admitted the ancient softly.

Ronald could easily imagine the sort of attention this reaper must have gotten in his youth, before he went rogue, got scarred up and took on the persona of the wacky old mortician. "But you have been called that before," he persisted. "I'll bet you were a player...admit it."

Another little smirk appeared on the pale lips. "I might have had my share of lovers, once upon a time. It was a very long time ago." His voice had changed...grown deeper and smoother. The cockney accent had faded, replaced by another one that Ronald had trouble placing. It was sensual, to his ears.

"Is that what you sounded like, back in the day?" wondered the blond. "What is that accent...some kind of Scandinavian?"

Undertaker chuckled lightly, turning his face back to him to smile. It wasn't the usual mad smile, nor was it the tired, washed up one Ronald had spotted earlier. It was...charming. Engaging. A little like his own, in fact. "Finnish, to be exact. Not bad, my dear. You've a good ear. I like the Brit accent, though. Seems to fit my persona better."

Ronald was too enchanted by the change in his voice to say anything, just yet. Who would have thought that a lower pitch, a softer tone and an alternate accent could make such a difference? He reached out to stroke the ancient's bangs back from his face, wanting to see all of it again. Undertaker didn't stop him; he just watched him with a quiet, subtle wariness as if he might run off at any moment.

Now that he could gaze into those mesmerizing eyes again, Ronald was stricken with another realization. So deep...so expressive. He could see the weariness in them, and there was a sadness he didn't catch before. It was usually hard to tell what the Undertaker was thinking, because he hid those eyes from view all the time. Now they were exposed, and perhaps he deliberately chose to express with his eyes what he didn't want to express in words.

"Well, love," whispered the mortician. "Go ahead. Entertain me."

Suddenly this didn't feel like an assignment, a game or even a conquest to the blond. He was drowning in that gaze, and he cupped the side of the Undertaker's face as he closed the distance between their mouths. The ancient's lips were dry but soft against his, and Ronald felt the sudden tension in his body as he claimed them. How long had it been since anyone kissed this man? The contact almost felt virginal to him, and he wondered if he'd gone for so long without romantic contact with anyone that he'd just forgotten how it was done. He didn't pull away though, and that was good.

Ronald decided to take it slow, not wanting to startle the man again by getting ahead of himself. What started out as a curious whim was quickly becoming a powerful desire. The ancient's lips began to animate against his...hesitantly. It was kind of sweet, this almost shy side of him. He just needed to ease back into it, Ronald supposed. He needed to show the Undertaker that his interest was genuine...not just part of his assignment.

Ronald slid his fingers through the soft, long hair spilling down the Undertaker's back. He'd wondered if it was as silky as it looked, and now he had his proof. Grell had soft hair too; he'd learned that when his Senpai made him help style it one night, after a few drinks. This wasn't his senpai, though.

Opting to avoid the tongue for now, Ronald pressed soft kisses against his lips, and then he meandered over his cheek, to his temple. He reached his left ear and he blew into it softly again, wondering if he'd get the same reaction as before. Undertaker made a funny little sound in his throat and he tilted his head, not exactly warding him away, but expressing an uncertain pleasure in it. Ronald did it again and a soft, low giggle burst from the ancient's lips. He pulled back to look at him, grinning when he saw the pale pink blush returning to his features.

"Tickle?" he guessed.

Undertaker rubbed his ear and nodded.

Ronald cupped the back of the ancient's head and blew into his ear again, making him squirm. A glance down revealed that it didn't just tickle in an innocent way, either. Ronald could see a tent forming in the long black garment that the ancient wore over his pants and boots.

"N-no," chuckled the mortician, lightly pushing at the agent's shoulders. "Stop that...it's..."

Now he was acting a little girly, but Ronald didn't mind. He thought it was cute. He never would have thought he'd use the adjective "cute" to describe the Undertaker, and yet...

He kept one hand on the back of the mortician's head to hold it still, and he began to stroke his body with the other...slowly sliding it down over his chest. Undertaker laughed softly as he blew into his ear again, and then he gasped a little when the blond kissed the shell of it, just above one of the hoops piercing the lobe. He'd found at least one weakness at least, and he intended to take advantage of that. He felt the ancient's arm go around him hesitantly, and he nibbled the lobe, gently tugging on the piercings with his teeth.

"Oh...m-my," breathed the ancient, his eyes fluttering shut. His giggles had faded, though he was still squirming a bit. A shiver went through him and Ronald smiled.

"It's okay," purred the blond, putting his hand lightly on his thigh. When the mortician didn't object, he began a careful trek up his leg, pushing under the material of his long black shirt to run his palm over his leg. He felt the leather and buckles of his boots, and his trousers started feeling tight. He'd forgotten how far those damned boots went up.

"That's hot," he murmured against the Undertaker's ear, toying with one of the buckles for a moment. He refrained from saying that he wondered what he'd look like in nothing but those boots. Too much might spook him again, and he could already feel the tension in his thigh when he explored further and settled his hand on the place where the boots ended. He paused there, giving his companion a few moments to relax again.

~Take it slow and easy, Ronnie...don't let your dick do the thinking. Don't screw this up.~

It was hard though—and not just figuratively. The more he touched him, the more he provoked those shivers of delight and uncertain gasps, the more he wanted him. Maybe he couldn't go all the way with him today, but he could at least tear down a few walls and make him feel good. He brought his hand around from the back of his head and he caressed the Undertaker's scarred throat with his fingertips, keeping his touch light. He came into contact with the collar and he almost winced. He was really hating that thing and what it represented. He moved his hand back up, and he traced the ancient's other ear.

Undertaker's breath quickened, his arm tightening around the blond's. His other hand settled on Ronald's knee, and he tilted his head the other way; silently urging him on. He was starting to give in, taking pleasure in the agent's attentions. Ronald removed his glasses and pocketed them so that they wouldn't get in the way, before he resumed caressing his ear. Undertaker rubbed the young man's knee and his lips parted on a faint groan as Ronald blew into his ear again. He squirmed again in reaction, making Ronald grin a bit.

He couldn't seem to avoid his nervous reactions when the boy's touches got bolder, but he was no longer trying to push him away. Ronald was beginning to feel the urge to squirm too, when his companion's embrace and touch became more confident. Undertaker was rubbing his leg slowly, just above the knee, and there was this sexy, purring sound coming from his throat as Ronald teased his ears. Maybe he should go for his goal, now. Inwardly bracing for another conniption, the blond slid his hand the rest of the way up Undertaker's thigh to have a feel of his package. Not surprisingly, the elder Shinigami jumped a little. The hand that had been rubbing his knee withdrew and settled over the one Ronald was cupping him with. It started to pull it away, but Ronald stubbornly began to massage the swelling under the soft, snug material housing it, and Undertaker's hand trembled and settled over his.

Ronald kissed his way from the mortician's ear to his lips, murmuring encouragement to him as he fondled what felt like a pretty impressive package. "It's all right...I'm just rubbing it a little. Just wanna make you feel good, Undertaker."

It didn't even occur to him to refer to him as an "old man" anymore. He didn't seem so old to Ronnie now...just a little damaged. The parted lips gasped against his, and a groan escaped them as he steadily rubbed his palm up and down the length of the encased arousal. Undertaker slowly removed his hand, evidently giving him permission to continue. The long, pale hand came to rest on Ronald's thigh, and it began rub it. The ancient's thighs parted a little and his tongue sought entry to Ronald's mouth, surprising him. He allowed it gladly, feeling a thrill of accomplishment.

Undertaker's tongue fenced with his, and the pressure of his lips deepened. Ronald let him dominate the kiss. As his passion started to win over, the ancient's kiss deepened and Ronald discovered that he was damned good at it. Undertaker withdrew his mouth, only to close in again, his tongue lancing in and fondling the blond's.

It was making Ronald really hot. He moaned into the ancient's mouth, pressing down a little more as he massaged his crotch. Ronald stopped caressing Undertaker's chest, and he began to flick open the buttons of his long shirt. The mortician was apparently too invested in the kiss and the fondling to care, and with a little effort and patience, Ronald got the shirt unbuttoned. His next goal became obvious when he started to unlace the Undertaker's pants.

"Not sure you want to do that," gasped the mortician, again settling a hand over one of the blond's busy ones.

"I am," countered Ronald, and he kissed him again to cut off further protests.

He wondered for a moment if the Undertaker's cock was scarred like the rest of him, but when he got the pants undone and pulled them open to expose it, he found it undamaged. He kissed Undertaker's neck—just above the collar, where the scar was. He glanced down as he gripped the exposed shaft, trying to get more than a glimpse of it without making the man nervous or self-conscious again. Undertaker sighed as if in bliss, tilting his head back. His arm tightened around Ronald again and his hand slid up his thigh to return the favor. It was Ronald's turn to gasp as the long fingers began to knead the swell of his crotch through his trousers, before the palm cupped it and began to rub.

It was pretty distracting in a good way, but the blond was determined to have a better look at Undertaker's goods. While the ancient had his head back, Ronald briefly left off kissing his neck to get a full view of the shaft he was stroking. He got visual confirmation to match what he was feeling in his hand, and he grinned. His shaft was pale like the rest of him, but for the tip. The exposed cap of his glans was flushed with a hint of mortal coloring to match the blush he'd earlier provoked from him. The sack beneath the shaft matched the tip in pinkish coloring, and the thatch of hair framing the set matched the silvery color of on Undertaker's head.

"Damn," breathed the blond, impressed.

Undertaker's head fell forward again and he looked at him, panting softly. A lock of his bangs fell over his left eye and that blush was back in his cheeks. "Something wrong, love?" The cockney accent was back again, but the tone of voice was still deep and silken.

Ronald shook his head vehemently. Undertaker was way too pretty now, with his features relaxed and vulnerable with pleasure. Maybe he should revise his plan on who should top...that was, if the Undertaker allowed him to get that far. He usually preferred to bottom but looking at the mortician right now, with his lips parted and his eyes soft with wonder, Ron could easily go the other way.

A smile curved the Undertaker's lips. "Cat got your tongue? Don't get...skittish on me...now, my dear. Not now."

The nearly pleading note in his voice snapped Ronald out of his daze. He closed the distance between their faces and kissed him, resuming his stroking and making him groan again. "No chance of that now. Promise."

His reassurance seemed to bolster the ancient's confidence even more, and Ronald lifted his hips to help him when Undertaker unbuckled his pants and undid his trousers. The elder slid them down enough to free Ronnie from confinement, and he enclosed his hand around his length once he did. Ronald moaned and shut his eyes, pushing into the touch. It wasn't so hesitant now, but the experienced grip of a man that knew how to please. He dimly realized that he was guiding him onto his back, and he opened his eyes again to look up at the reaper hovering over him. Undertaker's shirt was hanging open to expose his chest, stomach and the marks of battle slashing over them. His hair was pulled over to one side, falling in a rich cascade of silver to touch the floor on the left side of the coffin. His eyes were alight with desire, and his thighs were wedged between Ronald's.

He felt like he'd re-awakened something that Undertaker had locked up inside of him. The ancient's lips claimed his again, and Ronald didn't care whether it was an act to test him or not. The man obviously wanted him, and Ronald endeavored to give him a taste of how good he'd have it if they let this go further. He stroked his tongue against Undertaker's invading one and he reached down with his other hand to slip it into his pants and cup his balls. Undertaker made another one of those shocked but pleased sounds in his throat, and a shudder passed through him. He was trembling, actually, and Ronald whispered encouragement to him.

As their mutual pleasuring progressed, Ronald's jacket ended up hanging open, along with his shirt. That could be blamed on a combined effort; he'd yanked his tie off and undid the top three buttons when he started breaking into a sweat. The Undertaker took care of the rest. Those soft, pale lips were kissing up and down Ronald's exposed chest, and the boy gasped when Undertaker fished out the tube of lubricant he kept in his blazer as a precautionary measure.

"Um..." said the agent stupidly when his companion dangled the object before his eyes, a curious look on his face. "That's...that's for..."

"I can guess what this is for." The mortician grinned, his gaze flicking to Ronald's. "Did you plan this from the beginning, love, or do you always keep this sort of thing on your person?"

Feeling acutely embarrassed—even though he had high hopes that they'd end up having sex—Ronald looked down. "Well, I can't tell ya how frustrating it is when you get hot and heavy with someone and you don't have anything to use. Maybe that makes me sound like a man-whore, but I've always tried to be prepared, since then. I swear, I didn't come here thinking I'd get in your pants. It wasn't even on my mind, at first."

Undertaker had stopped fondling him, but Ronald refused to stop, himself. He kept going, and the mortician's eyes fluttered shut with pleasure. The lubricant tumbled out of his hand and his breath caught, brows furrowing with increasing tension. Ronald smiled. "I know what it looks like. Maybe I'll just have to prove it to ya. I don't need to get off...I can just get you off and be satisfied with that."

The mortician's eyes slid open again, looking down at him with curious puzzlement blending with lust. "That doesn't seem...fair to you," he breathed. His breath caught again, his mouth going slack as Ronald's persistent stroking distracted him.

The blond's smile didn't fade. "Maybe I'm hoping if I make you feel good enough, you'll eventually do me."

Another look of confusion flitted over the mortician's pale, strained face. "'Do you' what, darlin' I...unh...I d-don't..."

Obviously the Undertaker didn't understand Ronald's slang. He was close though...so close the blond could practically taste it. He could explain his meaning later. Right now, he really wanted to see what that face looked like in the throes of a climax. He lifted his head to kiss the Undertaker's heaving chest, licking a scar that slashed over his pectorals. "Don't worry about it. I'll tell ya later. Just...just let it go."

Undertaker hissed, and he began to thrust into the hand milking his cock so expertly. "Ah...oh, mercy," he gasped shakenly, his tracking collar clinking against the beads he wore around his neck as he pumped his hips and rocked forward and back. They'd forgotten to remove the necklace and now it was hanging down, the beads rolling over Ronald's chest. He hardly even noticed; he was too intent on their owner.

Never imagining seeing this reaper so hot and vulnerable, Ronald whimpered a little at the sight of him, and the feel of his lean body gyrating on top of him. Even if the Undertaker couldn't recall the last time he'd made love, the motions of his body right now left no doubt in Ronald's mind that he'd be one hell of a lay. Undertaker tried to balance himself to resume stroking the blond off too, but Ronald shook his head, unwilling to let him get distracted from the moment.

"Don't worry about that, either," he insisted huskily. "You might overbalance and fall, and that would interrupt us. Just keep going, beautiful. You're almost there."

He hardly had to move his hand anymore. Undertaker's snapping hips had taken over, and Ronald fantasized over what it would be like to have him thrusting inside of him like this. He squirmed beneath him and moaned again, unable to tear his eyes off his face. The Undertaker gave a final push, a final shudder, and then his seed spurted onto Ronald's stomach. The expression of bliss on his face was just as hot as Ronald imagined...no...it was hotter.

"Oh...shit," gasped the blond, and then he came, too.

Now there were creamy splotches on Undertaker's loose garments as well, dripping off to mingle with the mortician's deposit on Ronald's stomach. He didn't seem to care or notice. Panting with release, he stared down at the agent with a sort of wonder on his face. A smile grew on his lips, and he began to relax. He lowered his head and he nuzzled Ronald's throat, his uneven breath warm against his skin.

"That," he sighed, "was worth at least two names, my dear."

Gasping for breath himself, Ronald stopped fondling him and he patted his back, speechless.

Undertaker lifted his head again, and he looked down at Ronald's softening sex with mild surprise. "Hmm, did you..."

The blond nodded. "Yeah. Oh yeah. You're good, old man." He glanced down at himself, then looked up at the Undertaker with a smirk. "Nobody's ever made me come with just a look, before." Well, it wasn't just that look on his face when he'd reached orgasm; it was the way his body moved as well, along with Ronald's perverted imagination. He'd also gotten him pretty close with his hand-job before he quit, too.

The mortician chuckled. "If I could make you do that with only a look, Ronnie-boy, I might be tempted to come and stare at you in the office all day."

Ronald blushed, taken off-guard by the suggestion. "Then I'd never get anything done and Spears-Senpai would have me scrubbing toilets."

The older reaper's smiling lips descended to his, kissing them softly before whispering against them. "I wouldn't want that, now. James Foster and Caroline Connor."

Ronald gave him a blank look. "Is that some funky mortician pillow-talk, to blurt random people's names?"

"No, silly lad." Undertaker chuckled again, sounding more like his droll self. "That was our agreement. You entertained me—quite well, I might add—and I'm giving you a couple of names in exchange."

"Oh." Ronald's blush deepened. "Right...forgot about that. Um...mind if I get up and write those down?"

Undertaker eased back off of him, turning away to tuck himself back into his pants. "Be my guest."

Ronald pulled his pants up and did the same, before sitting up and straddling the coffin. The mortician's back was still turned to him, and by the motions of his arms, he was probably lacing his pants back up and buttoning his clothes. The blond impulsively reached out to stroke the pale glory of his hair, and Undertaker went still.

"I really didn't do all that just to get the names," offered Ronald softly. "I just came here to help with the inspection. The idea just came to me, and getting your cooperation was a convenient excuse to act on it."

The mortician half-turned, looking at him through the fringe of his bangs that had fallen over his eyes again. "Nice to know...but I'm still curious as to why."

Ronald shrugged. "Maybe 'cause you're so mysterious. That's kind of exciting. I also thought...well, I thought you could use it. I felt—"

"—Sorry for me," finished the Undertaker for him with a sigh. "Yes, I see."

Ronald scooted closer, and before he even knew what he was doing, he put his arms around the older reaper's waist and embraced him from behind. "It's not that. Okay, maybe it's part of it, but...but I think I like you. I think I could really get to like you, after this. I might go on a lot of dates, but that was...aw, hell...nobody's ever made me feel like that before."

The mortician laid a hand over Ronald's overlapping ones on his stomach. "Oh? And how is that, my dear?"

Confused, the young man rested his forehead against Undertaker's shoulder and groaned. "I dunno...like I'm falling from a high place, I guess. That's what if feels like when you look at me. Stupid, huh?"

The ancient smiled, and he turned around to face him. "Not at all. It's flattering, but I wonder if it's only a crush."

Ronald frowned. "I don't get crushes on people that kick me in the head. I'm not a masochist."

Undertaker laughed softly. "We'll see. Oh, you might want to clean that up." He nodded at the mess drying on Ronald's stomach. "There's a bit on your pants, too. I'll fetch a soapy sponge for you."

The mortician got up abruptly and left the room before Ronald could say anything. The blond watched him go, and he retrieved his glasses from his pocket and replaced them on his face. He blew a sigh, still reeling from the encounter. "What the hell am I doing?"

It was supposed to be just a fun little fling, a chance to see what was under all those black layers and get the information his department needed. How did he go from seducing a flustered old reaper to getting butterflies in his stomach when he looked at him?"

"Maybe I'm losing my edge."

~xox~

A short while later, Ronald pocketed his notebook and straightened his uniform. He'd gotten all of the evidence off with Undertaker's help, and now it was time for him to return to Dispatch with his report. The mortician had given him addresses to go with the names, once they got cleaned up. He looked up at the tall figure after being escorted to the shop door, and he tried to think of something to say. Undertaker had his signature top-hat on again and he'd changed into his usual, drab robes.

"So listen, I...I..."

For the first time in his life, he didn't have a pickup line to try and get someone on a date.

Undertaker shook his head and smiled, pressing two fingers against Ronald's lips. "Hush, now. It was the best interrogation I've ever had." He snickered impulsively.

Ronald was confused. The old man was acting like it never happened. He could have been talking about a good joke, for all anyone knew. What happened to the reaper that got so flustered and nervous when he came onto him? What happened to the awkward, blushing recluse that squirmed when he blew into his ear?

"Are you feeling all right?"

The mortician tilted his head, his grin remaining affixed. "Why shouldn't I be? It was a lovely visit, Mr. Knox."

"Would you...ah...want me to drop by again?" Ronald scratched his head, unnerved.

Undertaker shrugged. "If you'd like. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again when the time comes for my next inspection though, Mr. Knox."

"Er...yeah." Ronald slumped a little. "Yeah, probably. All right then...no, wait." He shook his head. "This isn't right. You do remember what happened between us, don't ya?"

"Every bit of it," confirmed the ancient with a nod. "I enjoyed it immensely."

"B-but you were so freaked out at first," protested Ronald, "and now you're just...casual!"

The Undertaker sighed, and he leaned over to speak into the agent's ear, his voice changing back to the silken one with the Finnish accent. "Who says you were the one doing the seducing, fledgling?"

Ronald's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He stared at the Undertaker as the man straightened up again, removed his top-hat and gave him a graceful bow. The mortician looked up from his still-hunched position with a smile, his eyes partly visible beneath his displaced bangs.

"We all have our masks, my dear. I've become particularly adept at handling mine." He straightened back up again, flipped his top hat back onto his head and patted Ronald on the rear as he opened the door.

"Now shoo, little agent," chastised the ancient, his voice again returning to the slightly scratchy, detached voice of the mad old mortician. "Before they come looking for you and you get in a spot of trouble. Toodles!"

Ron was ushered out, and the door slammed shut behind him before he could utter a single protest. He stood there on the sidewalk, staring blankly at nothing as he reviewed what had just happened in his head.

"I've been had!"

And it hurt.

"It was all an act..."

Well, he'd started out doing it to use the Undertaker. So what if the crafty old bastard had turned it around on him and used him instead? It wasn't like he couldn't pick up a date anytime he felt like it, and he did have a lot of fun with him.

He kept trying to reason it out and blow it off, but he couldn't banish the ache. He really thought he'd see something in the Undertaker...something he could...what...love?

Ronald's feet dragged as he walked away from the shop, trying to muster the energy to make a portal home. Now he knew how some of his dates felt when he didn't call them back.

~xox~

Within his shop, Undertaker watched as the dejected young man walked away. He lowered his eyes and absently clasped his hands together, remembering what it had felt like for someone to so fearlessly hold them. He touched his ear, closing his eyes as he recalled the tickling caress of Ronald's breath on it. Yes, they all had their masks...and his had honestly slipped, once that darling blond fellow turned on the charm and backed him into a corner.

He couldn't allow Ronald Knox to know that, however. Unsmiling, the mortician turned away from the window and walked through his lonely shop, trying to forget the touch of a young reaper that had no business trying to romance him.

~xox~

- To be continued