Dear readers,
I haven't written anything in such a long time~ I recently got into Black Butler, and fell in love with this pairing OTL I don't own anything, if I did Pluto and Madam Red would be alive ._.
-Ramona
Snow fell soundlessly in London, coating the rooftops and cobblestone streets. It crowded the narrow alleyways, turning into disgusting grey slush as the filthy inhabitants of the city went on with their dull business, sullying the perfect snow. But from where he sat, perched on the highest towers of a church, the snow was still white, pure and untouched. The figure, who was outstretched carelessly on the narrow tower, his back resting on the thin rod sticking out from it's peak, watched as the snow fell on the mountains of rooftops. The night breeze blew a few flakes in his direction, and he sighed dramatically as they landed on his nose. His eyes, which held a frightening shade of acid green, crossed as he inspected them. He grimaced, pushing his red glasses up the bridge of his nose.
"Oh blast it all," The man mumbled to himself, "Here I am, a perfectly beautiful lady, and I'm all alone, on this cold night." He pouted out his lips, referring to himself as a lady. Pulling a small leather bound book from the inside of his black jacket-which didn't seem thick enough for this cold weather- he flipped through the pages quickly, frowning and clicking his tongue in frustration. "I've done all my work for tonight, and I am so incredibly…bored!" He sobbed dramatically, about to toss the book away for dramatic affect, when he remembered it's importance. He would be in trouble if he lost that book, and would surely be scolded. Putting it away, he leaned back and looked back at the dull city, his acid green eyes turning to the sky. It was a quiet night, one perfect for staying inside and curling up by a fire, drinking a hot cup of chamomile tea and reading a book. But, the man wearing the red spectacles found himself resting on the tower of a church, alone, in the snow. He had miraculously finished his job-usually he was not so punctual- he supposed he could return home, but then again, that was boring as well.
His job itself was not boring, nor was the subject. It was actually quite serious. The man worked in death. Or rather, he was death. He was a grim reaper, one of many in fact. Working in the Dispatch Management Division, the reapers job is to collect specific souls, which wasn't a hard task, considering he had been born to do so. Collecting souls is what a grim reaper was born to do. But as of late…the young reaper had found he was growing bored, something he tended to do frequently. He was bored of all of it. Of the rules, the protocol! He wanted something new in his life. Something fun, something different than his daily routine. He wondered if his whole life would be…this. Harvesting souls for the rest of eternity? Spending cold winters nights alone? The thought made him cringe.
He looked down to a city street, where two small orphan children huddled together from the cold, looking into a bakery with large eyes and watering mouths. The baker came outside, and instead of giving the children some bread, he yelled at them loudly, throwing old rotting rubbish at them.
Sneering, he clicked his tongue, "I do detest the human world," Watching the children scurry about, he looked down at his nails and sighed, "but being back home would be such a bore." He did consider going back home for a moment, back to his small flat. He could read one of his delicious romance novels then sob pathetically about how alone he was. But then, after a while, he would grow tired of that as well.
And then it happened. Like the sound of sweet bells on Christmas morning, a blood-curdling scream ripped through the night air. Then as quickly as it came, was cut off. The night air became still once again. The lithe man stood nimbly, predatory eyes darting around as the moonlight reflected off his red spectacles, the chains dangling in the wind along with his long hair.
Where had that wondrous sound come from? The owner of that cry must have been suffering, the thought made a Cheshire grin crawl to his lips, and he clapped his leather clad hands happily. "Looks like I'll be working over time tonight!" He giggled to himself, and then pivoted on the tower, grabbing the metal rod and swinging himself, leaning off the towers edge and searching with his sharp eyes. The moonlight hit his red hair; so red it could be compared to a lovely rose. He took pride in his long, luscious hair, for every lady should. His suit was black, and rather light for the cold weather of London's winter. But the cold bitter weather didn't bother him, not in the slightest. He could hardly feel it at all actually. He sighed, frowning as he scanned the terrain. The streets were like mazes to him, and he wondered how the humans could even find their way around the labyrinth. He was about to give up his search, when he spotted something.
In a dark ally, just below the church, he saw a woman. A blond haired tart with smeared blue eye shadow and a rather revealing dress. He guessed she must have been a street whore. Her dress was tattered, and the lipstick she wore was a ghastly shade of pink. But that wasn't what made the man's grin falter, not what made his eyes widen slightly. It was the sight of the woman.
The ravishing woman in red.
She held the knife in her pale, delicate hand firmly. Thick red blood coated the blade and spilled onto the snow at her feet, her hands trembling ever so slightly. The whore lay on the ground, chocking and sputtering as the red pumped from a hasty slash in her neck, quickly made to silence her screech. The woman in reds' breath came out ragged, visible in the cold air. Shoulders were hunched, her amber eyes crazed, she was indeed a killer. The blood was everywhere. Covering the snow, the hem of her dress, a few blots on her pale, trembling face. She was so, so very lovely to the reaper, so lovely that it nearly brought tears to his eyes. He had never seen such radiance in all his days! He had seen many killers, a big beastly man wringing the life from a woman's neck, or a disturbed doctor poisoning his patients. But this woman, she was special; she basked in the color red. He watched as she looked up at the night sky, the wind blowing through her bangs as her startling crimson eyes went to the bright moon, the light catching in her irises and illuminating them. The reaper felt his throat get thick. Oh, how the ladies red eyes called to him! Like a siren at sea, he felt himself being drawn in. But the reaper calmed himself, staying put to watch the marvelous show.
The whore gasped, chocking and looking up at the woman, reaching out with trembling, blood coated fingers. The slice in her neck wasn't enough to kill her, but the life was draining slowly from her eyes. The woman in red stilled, and she narrowed her eyes. The man watched intently, holding his breath as he awaited her next move.
"It hurts, does it?" He heard her murmur, her voice music to his ears, silky and sweet like honey. The red haired woman flipped the wench onto her back, and the rip of fabric was heard. She hunched over the whore, and the red haired reaper watched as the cruel lady raised her blade, a smile coming to her red lips as she brought it down with surprising precision. Her skilled hand sliced into the bare stomach of the whore, making delightful chills run up and down his spine. Pale blue eyes widened, the whores body going still, yet the life not yet draining from her eyes. No, not yet. Not even as the red haired vixen sliced her open and actually reached inside her, bowing her head and closing her eyes, searching.
It was all too beautiful, too marvelous for the man not to be moved to tears as he watched the display. How she worked, how she sat looking so beautiful amongst all the red. She was an angel in his acidic, inhuman eyes. And with a gasp, he watched as she ripped something from the wench, who's eyes had long rolled into the back of her skull, her mouth agape as the red haired woman held something in her hand. The blood coated her dress sleeve, dripped down to her elbow and onto the snow. It appeared to be an organ of sorts, but he wasn't sure exactly what. She looked down at it, her grip tightening and a sneer forming on her lips. "You don't deserve it…" He heard her snap.
He began clapping, and the woman dropped the slimy thing from her delicate blood stained hands, her head whipping back to look at him with wide, red eyes.
"I have been watching, and I must say, I admire your work!" He called out, admiration in his eyes and a catty grin on his mouth.
In the woman's eyes, he was merely a black silhouette, the glint of his glasses and his long, pointed teeth frightening her. Effortlessly, he jumped down, landing silently like a cat on his feet. He walked to the woman, who backed away slightly, ready to run if necessary.
"My lady, never before have I seen such marvelous work. True, your technique is a bit crazed, but in time, I believe you can become a truly divine killer." He smiled once more; those teeth of his making the woman drop her knife.
He then noticed that she wasn't wearing a coat, merely a beautiful red dress, something he himself would have chosen. Oh how lovely! Deadly and fashionable, he thought to himself as he silently admired her.
Sweat dripped down her cheek, and she shivered slightly. "A frail human like you will catch cold if you stay out here…" He smiled, reaching out for her. "Come, let's talk beside a nice warm fire."
The lady looked at him with watering eyes, "H-have you come to take me away?" She asked, her voice breaking slightly.
The man blinked, "Come again?"
Tears fell from her eyes, and she seemed to stagger a bit, like she was having trouble standing. "I'll s-surely be punished…for what I've done." To the woman, he seemed like some…Demon come to take her away to hell for the crime she had just committed.
He began to laugh loudly, holding his stomach. "Oh no my lady! I am not here to punish. I am here to assist. If you will allow me to do so." He gave her a secretive grin, reaching out carefully and taking her bloody hand as he got down on one knee. "I would be honored, if you would allow me to assist you, my lady in red." Without hesitation, he placed a soft, lingering kiss on her hand, and the woman stopped crying, her face becoming unreadable. He watched as her eyes fluttered, and she began to sway, the cold having got to her. He blinked, getting up and catching her as she began to fall. "Are you alright?" He frowned, panicking slightly. He wasn't sure what to do! He had watched many humans die from a cold before, and had harvested many souls who had fallen ill from the harsh winter. He began to fret, looking around and wondering if he should take her someplace warm.
She looked up at him, another tear trickling down her cheek, but her face relaxed. It looked as if she was in a daze, and she slowly blinked up at him. She had obviously come down from her rush, and was having trouble staying awake.
"What's your name?" She murmured, her breath misting around her face.
His glasses glinted dangerously as he grinned down at her, "Madam, I am Grell Sutcliff, at your service! And what might your name be?" Grell Sutcliff asked, picking her up carefully, the weight of her being nothing in his inhuman arms.
She coughed softly, and rolled her face into the crook of his neck, like a kitten searching for warmth. The gesture was rather familiar, and the red haired reapers cheeks flushed slightly. Grell blinked once more, pulling back to look down at her, ready to repeat his question again, when he found she was asleep.
"Oh what a bother." He clicked his tongue, looking down at the bloody, beautiful lady in his arms, to the whore at his feet and the giant pool of red stained snow. "This truly is a mess I have gotten myself into."
Grell leaped into the air, landing on one of the buildings and sighing. He guessed he should take her home. But he had no idea where she lived! He sighed dramatically and chewed the inside of his lip, not sure what to do. He frowned at the woman, crouching on the rooftop and laying her down, and then began slapping her cheek carefully.
"Madame!" He frowned, "Oh wake up! You'll surely catch your death of cold if I don't get you inside, and I don't wish to reap your soul when I don't even know your name." He pouted.
Her eyebrows drew together and she grumbled a bit before answering him, "A-Angelina…Durless." She whispered, and Grell blushed further. He did not fancy woman, not in the slightest. Grell much preferred a strapping man who would coldly glare at him and teach him a lesson in bed. But his heart thumped pleasantly when the beautiful lady spoke her name.
"Angelina." The name rolled off his tongue pleasantly, "Oh so beautiful, with the name of an angel no less." He murmured, looking down at her pale face, carefully wiping the blood from her cheek. Her long, crimson hair surrounded her like a bloody halo, her red lips parted and long thick lashes touching her cheeks. She was a vision on pure loveliness, and Grell was smitten with this angel, this goddess of death. He had found his muse! His inspiration!
She began to shiver, and he let out a little squeak, his eyebrows furrowing as he hastily pulled her back into his arms, trying to offer her his body heat. "Oh blast it all! I'm as cold as the snow." He hissed under his breath, and Angelina coughed once more. "I'm fine." She mumbled, and Grell merely rolled his eyes, "You can hardly stand. Now, what is your address?"
"M-My address…?" She echoed, eyes fluttering closed. He placed a gloved hand to her cheek. "My lady Angelina, you must tell me your address, so I can take you home." She gave him a small nod, half whispering the address to him, then her breathing became deep, and she slipped off again.
"Don't worry my beautiful Angelina, Grell Sutcliff shall protect you!" He vowed dramatically, leaping onto the next building with a determined look on his face, which quickly vanished when he realized; He had no idea where on earth he was going. London truly was a labyrinth. "Oh bloody hell!"
Grell stood on the stoop, looking up at the door with a frustrated sigh, then backing up to read the numbers beside the door. He had found the ladies town house, and raised an eyebrow at the side of London he had found himself in. The streets were clean, and there were no beggar children or dogs running about.
He rang the bell impatiently, hearing the buzzer go off inside. Surely the lady had a butler, or some sort of maid. She looked like she belonged to a higher class, and was a blue blood of sorts. He grinned and looked down at her. Not only was she a beautiful lady, she was also refined, dignified, a killer of higher class.
"Why the hell is no one answering." He hissed as he drew his attention back to the door, hitting the bell again. A small, pale hand reached out, placing her hand over his gloved one. His heart seemed to skip a beat, and he looked down at the woman, his eyes meeting hers.
"I don't have any servants. I sent them all away." She cleared her throat, slowly reached into the folds of her dress, and produced a silver key.
Grell raised an eyebrow. "A lady like you? Taking care of herself?"
Angelina rolled her eyes at him, and then leaned over to slip the key into the lock, turning it, "I can take care of myself." She mumbled stubbornly, as she had in the past hour as Grell tried to find his way around London.
"Oh please, you can hardly fend for yourself." He batted her hand away and took the key, then held her easily with one arm. Turning the door handle, Grell frowned as he stepped inside, looking around the lavish apartment, with its grand staircase and beautiful red wallpaper. "You have impeccable taste…" He smiled, and the lady in his arms said nothing, just silently held onto him, fighting sleep.
"Upstairs…" She mumbled, obviously feeling tired once again. Grell frowned. One moment she was rolling her eyes at him, and the next she was holding onto him for support. He couldn't understand humans.
The reaper went up the staircase, his eyes easily seeing in the darkness of the flat. He went to the first room, which appeared to be a study. He sighed, backing away to the room adjacent to it, smiling when he saw a red bed, with thick velvet drapes surrounding it. Moonlight pooled into the room from the window beside the large bed, and Grell couldn't help but notice that the room was rather…Dusty, as was the whole house. The lady obviously had fired all her staff, but wasn't very keen to housework.
Grell carefully laid the woman on the bed, looking down at her with curious eyes. Her hair pooled around her, and her breathing was slow, as she had slipped back into a deep sleep once again. He wondered if he should just leave her there, like that, but it wouldn't be good for her cold. Grell chewed the inside of his lip, then pulled off his gloves, folding them and placing the pair in his back pocket. He went to work on the laces of her dark red boots, admiring them as he slipped it off her small foot, then went to work on it's twin. He placed the boots on the floor, and then pursed his lips.
Grell had never been to bed with a woman before. He had kissed a young girl when he was still in school, and had gone so far as to allow her to touch him intimately. But that was as far as he had been. Normally, the idea of undressing a woman would make the man cringe. But this lady…His heart thumped a bit, and he let out a sigh. "Calm yourself Grell. You're acting like a spineless school girl."
Slowly, he began to undo the buttons to her dress. He wondered briefly if he should look away, but he doubted he would be able to take it off if he did. It was rather complicated. "There, that wasn't so hard." He mumbled when he had undone all the buttons, and was relieved to see she wore something underneath. Slowly he sat her up, pulling the dress from her arms swiftly, and folding it. Now she lay in a provocative white corset, and a long under skirt.
Grell bit his lip. He was treading in deep water. His eyes skimmed her neck, which was smooth and unblemished. Flawless. Then they trailed down to her collarbone, and to the top of her breasts, which were poking out from the top of her corset. She was indeed, lovely. Grells cheeks felt hot and he ran a hand over her cheek, and then trailed a finer down her neck to her chest. Angelina gave a little sigh in her sleep, turning her face to the side, making Grell still. She slipped off to sleep again, and he let out a breath, having been holding it. What on earth was he doing? Here he was, a defined lady, watching this woman in her sleep like some sort of pervert. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He had to get back to the task at hand!
Grell frowned down at the long skirt. That would have to come off as well. "Do it quickly." He mumbled to himself, securing his hands in the fabric and bracing himself as he slipped it off her long, perfect legs. Grell turned red at the sight beneath. She wore a small pair of bloomers. Not the long, ghastly things that went down to a ladies knees. She also wore red, thigh high socks, secured by tantalizing hooks. It was all rather seductive. What the Lady Angelina was wearing beneath her dress had the reaper in a bit of a tizzy, and Grell Sutcliff found that his glasses were fogging up slightly.
He spun on his heels and went to the wardrobe, opening it and looking for something he could slip on her, a night gown, anything really. He just wanted her covered up! But all he saw were more lovely red dresses. He had to stop himself from trying them on, and decided he would do that later. He shut the wardrobe, and then went to an expensive looking bureau, opening the top drawer and practically getting a nosebleed when he saw a large volume of panties and slips. All different shapes, sizes, and colors, making the reapers head spin. Green eyes were transfixed on a particular pair or red lace bloomers, briefly contemplating touching them to feel the fine silk. He slammed the drawer shut after a moment of gawking, then opened the next. He sighed in relief; seeing that he had at last found the nightgowns. He pulled out a fine garment, it was long and crafted of the finest silk, and would be comfortable for the lady. It was also red, which was why he selected it. He shut the drawer and went back to Angelina, gulping as he realized he would have to remove the corset. He knew it was bad to sleep in the harnesses, as the lady could suffocate. Setting down the nightgown, he began to pull the silk ties to the contraption, watching as it loosened up and her chest was more open to him. Grell admitted to himself that she indeed had an endowed body, something that had to be crafted by gods. The reaper couldn't help but to be jealous of her beautiful curves, as any lady would. But he also found himself feeling rather peculiar as he continued to undo the ties to her corset. Grell began to feel the same intensity as he did when he gazed on a devilishly attractive man, one he wanted to do wicked things with. His green eyes widened faintly. Did that mean he wanted to do those things with Lady Angelina? The thought made Grell flush.
Breaking him from his dirty thoughts, the lady made a sound in her sleep, and Grell made a small squeak in the back of his throat. He pulled off the corset quickly, leaving her bare chest before him. Sweat dripped down his cheek as he turned as red as his hair, resembling a tomato, and he forced himself not to look-or touch-her chest. The reaper hurriedly unclipped the fastenings to her thigh highs, pulling them off her, but leaving her panties in place. Grell wasn't sure if he was prepared to see such a sight.
Slipping the nightgown upon her, he let out an exhausted sigh, ready to leave and have a drink, a strong one. Usually the young reaper wasn't one to indulge in liquor, but after what he had just experienced, he needed it.
However, then he saw how sweaty the lady was, and how her eyebrows drew together. Cautiously, he lifted her small hand, feeling how clammy and cold it was. She shivered; Grell frowned as he drew back the thick blankets, and covered her. He tucked her in carefully, trying to make her as comfortable as possible. The reaper found himself staring at her face, his death god eyes roving over every detail. She had blood smeared on her cheek, and her beautiful red hair clung to her forehead.
"She's sick…" The red head murmured, taking his hand and placing it on her forehead. She was indeed burning up, and the reaper sighed. He pulled back and removed his fine black coat. He folded it neatly, and laid it on a sitting chair beside the bed. Grell rolled up his sleeves, and turned on the lamp beside her bed. He frowned down at the human woman, clicked his tongue, as his cheeks felt heated again. "Why am I even doing this?" He chided himself, turning dramatically and leaving the room to find the washroom with a frown. "William will beat me black and blue."
With his sharp eyes, he could find his way through the flat, but was having a hard time finding the washroom. He opened a door, a delicate eyebrow rising when he found himself in a nursery of sorts. The walls were a creamy yellow, and there was a beautiful, handcrafted crib by a large window. Toys were stacked on shelves, and a changing table with all the fixings sat by a large fireplace. The reaper frowned, because he saw no baby. In fact, the room was rather dusty, as if no one had been inside for a long time. A small smile formed on his lips, and he shut the door, retreated further down the hall and at last came to a lavatory.
The room itself was bigger than his bedroom at home, and he found himself envying the large bathtub, with its fine porcelain and golden-clawed feet. From the corner of his eye he spotted a washbowl on the counter, and tore his eyes from the gaudy bathtub. He turned on the faucet, holding his hand under the water and checking to see if it was cool enough. Satisfied with the temperature, Grell found a soft washcloth, and carefully picked up the bowl, carrying it back to Angelina's room and setting it on her side table. Pursing his lips he went to the fireplace, and crouched down, grabbing a few logs and placing them in the hearth, then looking for a box of matches. He found them on the mantel, beside a few framed photographs. Grells eyes skimmed over the faces leisurely, his eyes resting on a couple, a rather handsome young man with dark hair, and a woman beside him with long blond hair, and deep blue eyes. He saw a few more pictures of her, but she was younger. "A sister?" He mused to himself, and he smiled when his eyes fell on the last picture, which was of the blond lady, braiding the vibrant red hair of a very young Lady Angelina. He smiled, seeing the slight blush to her cheeks, the innocence in her eyes. He struck the match, tossing it on the logs and watching as the flames slowly grew. The young reaper was mesmerized for a moment, the flames putting him in a bit of a trance. Grell thought of his childhood, and how he had been alone most of the time. He had longed for a sister. Someone he could dress up like a doll, could have tea parties with. He would braid her hair, and would teach her all about being a fine young lady. But Grell had been an only child, and his parents...The death god scowled, pushing up his glasses and standing. He would rather not think of his parents.
Instead, he went back to his lady, the beautiful Angelina. Grell smiled as he dipped the washcloth in the cool water, wringing it out carefully then bringing it to her face. He blotted her heated skin, and the lady smiled, the water helping sooth her. He folded the towel, and placed it on her forehead so it would help bring down her fever.
"Oh my exquisite lady…" He spoke to her gently, "How delicate you are."
He sat back in the chair beside her bed, resting his chin on the back of his hand as he watched her. His eyes studied every inch of her, all the while his mind worked quickly. He had so many questions he wanted to ask her, but he knew as a death god, even speaking to her wasn't acceptable. He had already broken countless rules by going to her house, assisting her. Grell knew he should have just silently watched as Angelina killed that whore. He guessed she would have fainted, since she hadn't bothered to wear a decent pair of gloves or a coat. His eyebrow twitched slightly at the thought. Would she have fainted in the snow? Would she have died? Would he have had to reap her soul? Grell frowned to himself, and decided to push those thoughts to the back of his mind. Death gods were neutral beings. They didn't help humans at all. That wasn't their purpose. They were designed to maintain the balance of life and death. That was all. He wasn't supposed to help her, wasn't alleged to even speak to her. But Grell had been fascinated with the creature. He admitted, he enjoyed watching her kill that woman, had loved the cold glare in her eyes as she reached inside her and ripped out her insides. And he wanted to see her do it again, wanted her to continue to kill forever. He began to chuckle to himself, amused with his own thoughts. Here he was, a god of death, a superior being, and a mere human woman moved him to tears when she killed.
For Grell, death wasn't a sad subject. Everyday he watched countless wretches die. Some died in there sleep peacefully, some died like filthy dogs in the street, and some died surrounded by numerous friends. But in the end, they all ended up the same. Just empty lifeless bodies piling up. The human world wasn't anything more than a gigantic coffin, piling up with corpses. Grell spent his days and nights watching those dull mortals, preforming his job with dwindling excitement. But this woman…She could open doors for him, could give him that bit of exhilaration he had so longed for. That splash of color he needed in his eternal life. He wanted to paint the whole town red with her.
Time crawled on, the fire warming the room and lulling the fair skinned man to sleep. His eyelids began to feel heavy, and he sighed, leaning forward to take the cloth of her head and dip it in the water once again, wringing it out and placing it back on her forehead. Angelina smiled in her sleep, and the reaper leaned back, yawning.
"William will surely have my head if I stay in the human world tonight…" Grell sighed out loud, thinking of William T. Spears, someone he had been working with for a long time. Angelina stirred in her sleep, eyebrows drawing together as she coughed. Grells face softened, and he smiled at her. "But if I leave, who will take care of this lovely lady?" He leaned back, looking at Angelina as his eyes gradually slipped closed, and for the first time in a very long time, the reaper slipped into slumber.
He dreamt of a stunning lady in red, sitting at his feet as he braided her long hair. Meanwhile, the lady Angelina Durless dreamt of a man with red hair and sharp teeth, looking at her with a Cheshire grin.
T-T it isn't as long as I hoped it to be, but I'm a bit rusty. I hope you enjoyed chapter one~