Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso. We make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only.
Author's note(s):
This was to be a one shot, but quickly took on a life of its own. Written RP-style. This is an ongoing RP and shall be updated as new chapters become available.
DareDreemer: Grell Sutcliff & Lloyd Garrison (OC) & Sebastian Michaelis
Undertaker's Madness: Undertaker & Ronald Knox
Trade offs: Doctor Wilhelm Wundt & William T. Spears
Undertaker's Madness is main editor
DareDreemer proof reads all chapters before posting.
Note from DareDreemer:
Wilhelm Wundt, this original character was inspired by the real Wilhelm Maximilian Wundt (16 August 1832 – 31 August 1920) . A German physician, psychologist, physiologist, philosopher, and professor, known today as one of the founding figures of modern psychology.
When searching for the name of our villain I did a general search for names of Psychologists. The first name to pop up was, Wilhelm Maximilian Wundt. Our villain is inspired, only in name, alongside occupation and land of birth. All other aspects of his life were made up for our story. To read and learn more about the real Doctor Wundt, this incredible and inspiring figure of psychological medicine, please visit: ( wiki/Wilhelm_Wundt) or general search his name in any online search engine.
Tea and Crumpets
Chapter one
He sat precariously perched on the very edge of his shop's roof, whistling and singing a sea shanty as he retouched the paint on his sign. People passing by on the street stopped to stare up at the eccentric mortician, wondering how in the world the man could so easily squat there, unconcerned with the drop beneath him. His long silver hair blew in the wind, and he smiled happily as he worked.
"Fifteen men on a dead man's chest," he crooned, "Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum..."
He paused when he saw a small group of people looking up at him, and he tipped his hat to them. "Afternoon," he greeted with a toothy grin.
They hastily departed.
Shrugging, Undertaker resumed his task, whistling the simple tune he'd gotten attached to since reading "Treasure Island".
He got so absorbed in what he was doing that he didn't notice a certain flamboyant redhead coming his way from the opposite side of the street.
~xox~
Grell walked slowly down the London street, his mind a million miles away as he day-dreamed about the demon he had just crossed paths with, once again. Oh, he was a handsome devil all right, tall, slender. Grell's knees turned to jelly every time he was near the blasted beast. He knew the demon didn't share the attraction, but the redhead loved to play chase and so he played the game every time he laid eyes upon him. He loved watching him get frustrated every time he flirted with him.
What he wouldn't give to win his adoration, but still, a demon was a demon and Grell was a reaper. Will, his boss, would have his head if he ever got involved with such a creature...but then again, Will never had to know. He smiled at the thought as he crossed the quiet street. He never imagined that he was about to be covered in blackness.
A startled cry and a clanking noise had Grell looking up, just as a splash of black paint rained down upon him, covering him from head to toe.
Undertaker didn't quite make his grab for the bucket in time and he looked down as it tumbled off the roof. Seeing a hapless pedestrian standing there, looking like he'd been tarred and awaited feathering, he grimaced.
"Whoopsie. Are you all right, down there?"
Grell looked up, his gaze falling onto the haphazard old mortician. "You!" he growled, his eyes narrowing, "do I look fine to you? You...you crazy old loon! I am covered in paint! Black paint, no less!"
He looked down. His clothes were ruined. His hair felt heavy and sticky. Slowly, he lifted his hand to the back of his head, pulling his hair over his shoulder. Tears welled up in his eyes.
"My hair!" he cried out.
The shopkeeper jumped down lightly. He couldn't for the death of him recognize the soggy black mess that stood before him, but he recognized the girlish, dramatic voice.
"Oh dear," murmured Undertaker, and he beamed a smile at him. "Mr. Sutcliff! I'm terribly sorry, but I didn't tell my paint to land on you."
Unmindful of the goopy sludge dripping from the poor Dispatch agent, he took Grell's hand and started to drag him toward the door to his shop. "Come along, love," he offered, "we'll get you cleaned up in a jiffy."
"That is Miss Sutcliff to you, and unhand me!" snapped the redhead. "Haven't you caused enough trouble for one day?" He struggled to pull away from the mortician's grasp. "The last thing I need is your help. You'd probably shave me bald. I am sure I can manage just fine on my own."
Undertaker clucked his tongue, not letting the smaller reaper pull free from his grasp. "My dear lady," he corrected himself, scooping the fuming redhead up in his arms without warning, "have you noticed the length of my hair? I'd have gone bald myself long ago, if I didn't know how to take care of long tresses."
He kicked open the door to his shop casually and carried his protesting passenger through the entry. "I'm also a mortician, need I remind you. I have methods to clean out all manner of substances, without harming a hair on your pretty crimson head."
He kicked the door shut again behind him, and it locked immediately. He grinned at the paint-splattered reaper in his arms. "You've just got to give a fellow a chance."
He then began to carry Grell toward the curtain in the back of the shop—which divided his living quarters from the shop itself.
"You...bounder! Put me down this instant! How dare you treat a lady as such!" Grell complained as he was man handled and carried inside the shop.
Grell held onto the man as he waltzed to the curtain. He hadn't really thought of the mortician being able to fix the situation. Undertaker was an eccentric old fool, who had messed with the redhead more times than he could count. Grell never knew if the man was serious or just playing games with him. He had learned how, not to trust him, but perhaps he might actually be trying to help rectify the accident.
"And just how do you expect to fix what has been done?" he asked, his curiosity nagging at him.
"Well, first we'll need to get you out of those clothes," explained the mortician, pushing aside the curtain. "I'll put them in the wash bucket while you make use of my shower. I've got a mixture that's sure to get that goop out of your hair, and I'll even come help you, if you wish. You can borrow one of my robes while you're waiting on your clothes to dry."
Undertaker gently set him back down on his feet, cordially gesturing down the hallway, which was lit by flickering candle sconces. "First door on your right, my dear. I'll bring you a robe whilst you peel that mess off and get the water running."
He took his top hat off and he hung it on a rack near the curtain.
Grell whirled around and faced the mortician. "You may certainly not help me. What kind of lady do you take me for? I-I may be a flirt and I-I may have said things in the past, but I am no strumpet," he ranted, poking the mortician in the chest. "You can hand me that robe right now and collect my clothes once I am finished cleaning myself up."
Undertaker shrugged, his grin hardly fading. "Suit yourself, dear. I'll be surprised if you can get all of that black out of your glorious tresses on your own, though."
He caught up the hand that Grell was poking him with, and he found a clean spot to kiss. "If you decide you need old Undertaker's help though, just call."
He winked at the redhead through the part in his bangs, and left him to go and collect the promised robes.
~xox~
Grell puffed up like an old hen, "Insufferable old coot!" He turned on his heel and stormed down the hall towards the bathroom.
Finding a lamp on the sink, Grell lit it, freezing the minute his eyes saw his reflection in the mirror. His mouth gaping in shock as he saw the fright that was himself, staring back at him. He reached up and touched his cheek.
"I look like a damned shadow." he whined, closing his eyes, leaning on the counter for support as tears threatened to over take him. "Why do these things always happen to me?"
~xox~
Undertaker resumed humming his sea shanty as he selected a robe for his guest. Looking at it, he estimated it would drag at least a foot behind Sutcliff...unless the vain reaper chose to wear his high heeled boots to boost his height. He grinned at the thought. Grell was certainly an entertaining creature, even when he threw a tantrum.
When he wasn't covered in paint he was quite lovely, too. Hmm. He hadn't enjoyed another's company simply for the sake of doing so for some time. They all wanted something from him, and they always left once they got it.
And they always thought of him as a creepy old fart.
That thought had a sobering effect on Undertaker. At least Grell was honest about it, but it would be nice to strip away some of the layers and show someone what was underneath. He was so used to playing the role of...
A cry of frustration from the bathroom drew his attention, distracting his wayward thoughts.
~xox~
Grell slid his red coat from his shoulders, the only item he had left from his beloved Mistress, the former Baroness Durless. He held it out in from of himself examining it.
"My beautiful coat...It is ruined, ruined beyond repair." he cried, no longer able to fight the tears. He hugged he coat to his chest as he sat down on the commode weeping.
Undertaker knocked on the door, faintly concerned for his guest. "Are you all right in there, darlin'?"
Grell's head popped up at the sound of the knock, "Go away!" he replied, sniffling.
The mortician grinned at the childish response, but hearing the tears in his voice, he sobered. "Not until you tell me what has you in such a state. Maybe ol' Undertaker can help, eh?"
"Haven't you helped enough? It's ruined...it can't be replaced. It was all I had left of her," his voice quaked as he hollered back through the door.
"All you had left of who?" Puzzled Undertaker. He tried the knob and he sighed when he found it locked. "How do you know I can't help, if you won't let me try?"
Jumping up, Grell rushed to the door, threw it open, and thrust the blackened coat at the mortician. "This...this is ruined...Anne's coat. It is all I had left of her and-and now...nothing will remove the paint from it." he turned, choking on a sob.
"That woman you used to work for?" Queried the mortician, "The one that you reaped?"
Why on earth would he hold so much sentiment for a coat he took from a woman he himself killed on a whim? And they called Undertaker a kook...
Looking at how wretchedly unhappy he was, the old reaper's heart went out to him. It didn't matter what Grell's reasons were. Undertaker had no idea what might have happened between Sutcliff and Madam Red before she died. He had only Ciel's account of the event, after all, and it wasn't his place to judge.
"There, there...don't cry. The paint hasn't dried yet, so we may be able to salvage it. Hand me the coat, and I'll set it to soaking in my best solution for getting out stains. As I said; I have to remove all manner of stains quite often."
He held his arms out for the coat. "It's all right, love," he coaxed. "I've no reason to deliberately damage it further. Since the mess is partly my fault, at least let me try."
Slowly the redhead turned back to face the mortician. His face set in a pout, reluctantly he handed the coat over. He doubted very seriously any salvaging could be done, but perhaps the man was right, maybe he could do something. What would it hurt to try? The damage was done. The worst had already be fallen the precious article of clothing.
Grell watched as the man took his beloved coat away and began unbuttoning his waist coat. Some of the buttons did not want to give way as the paint began to dry and set.
"Blasted...!" he exhaled, the last button slipping from his fingers. He decided it might be best if he removed his gloves; his bare fingers might not slip so easily.
"Oh no!...no...no...no...!" he grumbled.
The paint had begun to set under the rim of the gloves, sealing against his skin. More swear words fell from his lips as he stomped down the hall in search of the Undertaker.
~xox~
He heard the redhead's loud approach, and the mortician turned away from the basin that he now had the coat soaking in to look at him. Even Grell's boots sounded angry.
"What's the trouble now, my dear?"
Grell held his hands out, "I can not get my gloves off. I need my fingers to undress and well... the gloves, they seem to have been sealed to my wrists. I-I...I need your help!"
His cheeks grew hot as they turned bright red under the black paint. How humiliating it was to have to ask the silver-haired mortician for help. Grell's pride was forced to be put aside. He was purely at the man's mercy. He stood waiting for the wise crack he was sure would soon follow. They always came. The man could never pass up the opportunity to humiliate him further and here he stood like a chicken about to have its neck wrung.
Indeed, Undertaker's first impulse was to tease the fuming Dispatch agent...but the tears drying on Grell's cheeks and clinging to his long lashes made him feel merciful. Unbeknownst to anyone else, tears were one of Undertaker's carefully hidden weaknesses. He hated sadness...which was why laughter was so important to him.
His voice took on an uncommonly gentle, kindly tone-the one he once reserved for children when he came to collect their records. "I can never turn down a damsel in distress. Here now, don't panic. This is easily fixed."
He put an arm around Grell and guided him to the basin, and then he collected the sponge and dipped it into the solution. After wringing it out a bit, he started to clean the mess up, so that the gloves could be removed.
"There, you see? We'll have these off and soaking with your coat in a jiffy."
Grell watched the man scrub his wrists. His hands moved swiftly, but gently. He had never heard the Undertaker speak so softly. He was kind and tender. No joke fell from his lips. It was as if he genuinely cared not to hurt him. The redhead's eyes wandered to his pale, scared face. His glasses were smudged by the paint, but he could still make out the man's cheerful smile as he held his hand in his own.
"Thank you..." Grell whispered.
Undertaker looked at him through the fringe of his bangs. Had Sutcliff just thanked him? Huh, that was new. He was ordinarily such a high-strung little chap...downright bratty, at times.
Not knowing what else to do, he smiled at him and continued to gently scrub, peeling off one glove with care and dropping it into the liquid with the coat.
"My pleasure. It was my paint that got you into this mess, after all. Least I can do is help clean it up."
Quietly Grell sat, while the mortician continued to work on his other hand. He didn't know what else to say, so he just nodded when the mortician spoke. He never suspected the man could be so kind. It was rather refreshing to the redhead. Under all those jokes was a gentle soul. What other secrets did he hide? Grell puzzled over him, studying him, watching him. The man was so graceful with his movements, he was almost hypnotic.
"How long do you suppose it will take for them to wash? My clothes that is?" the redhead asked, looking over at the basin, where his coat and glove were hidden below the surface.
"I'd say we should let them soak overnight," estimated the mortician. I'll give them a good scrub and rinse them off in the morning, along with the rest of your clothes. You can take my bed for the night. I hardly ever sleep in it, anyway."
He finished with the left hand and he grinned with satisfaction as he pulled that glove off and tossed it in the basin. He grabbed the hand towel from the nearby rack and patted Grell's hands dry.
"There you go, my dear. You have free hands again." On impulse, he brought them to his smiling lips and he planted a kiss on the top of each one. "Now go and get that lovely red hair washed out before it cakes in. I set the robe on the floor beside the door when I came to check on you."
Grell could not help but blush once more as the man kissed his hands. But the prospect of staying the rest of the evening and night was not overly appealing to him.
"Must it really take that long? A-and where is the stuff that will get the paint out of my hair? I highly doubt soap alone with do the trick..." he inquired, gradually slipping his hands from the mortician's.
"Do you want your cherished coat to come clean?" Countered Undertaker. "I'm sure a pretty young thing like yourself has places he'd rather be, but unless you want to go home in a robe two sizes too big for you and come back in the morning, I'm afraid you'll have to make the most of it."
He grinned and spoke in a gently teasing tone. "Besides, what might people think if they see Grell Sutcliff going around in ol' Undertaker's drab robes? They might talk, you know."
Feeling deflated, Grell slouched on the stool; very unbecoming of a lady. He nodded in response to the mortician's question, then asked, "What do I use on my hair then?" His eyes drifted down to his now, black speckled boots. Another sob tore through his body.
"Now, now," soothed Undertaker, "those aren't so bad. I can fix them up, too."
He gave the bereaved redhead a pat on the shoulder, before squatting down to help him out of his boots. "Do hurry, Mr. Sutcliff. You need to get in the shower and start lathering up. Lift your foot...that's it."
He really couldn't say why he was coddling the volatile man, except that he wanted him to stop weeping and he really was partly to blame for his condition. He took the shoes away, and he resisted the temptation to tickle the unexpectedly cute little feet.
"There we are," said Undertaker. He stood back up and carried the shoes over to the counter to be cleaned up later. He opened up the overhead cabinet and looked through his bottles and jars, until he found the special shampoo he used to clean the worst goop out of his hair when he had little accidents on the job.
"Here," offered the ancient, handing the jar of thick white substance over to him. "I'd say your hair is of a length to mine, so two scoops ought to do it. Lather up with it, leave it on for two minutes, then rinse. Do it again if you have to and then wash your hair as normal with the shampoo and conditioner I've got on the shelf in there."
Taken by playful impulse, Undertaker winked at him. "And if you need any help, just give a shout and I'll come running."
"Miss Sutcliff..." he corrected once again, reaching out to take the jar from the retired reaper. "I'll leave the clothes outside the door."
Grell shuffled back down the hall to the bathroom, bending over the tub, he opted to take a bath rather than a shower. He wanted to soak himself. He pushed the stopper into the drain and turned the water on. Once the water reached the right temperature, he stood up and began to undo his waist coat once more. The buttons stiffly releasing as his fingers moved as fast as they could. His shirt quickly followed the waist coat to the floor. He turned the water off, before removing his trousers and underpants. Scooping the bundle of clothing in his arms, he walked to the door and piled them in the hall, remembering to pick the robe up, carrying it back into the room with him.
As he started to climb into the tub, he realized his stockings still adorned his feet. "Oh...I forgot about you." he whispered, slipping them from his feet. Quickly he threw them outside the door and crawled into the tub.
The water sloshed around his naked body as he sunk further into the soothing warm water. He did as the Undertaker had instructed, while he waited for the goop to work its magic, Grell pulled his knees up in front of him, wrapping his arms around them, resting his cheek atop of them. The tears came easily. He didn't want to cry again. It was childish and petty to cry so much over spilled paint. But try as he might, he could not keep the tears from falling, mixing with the bath water.
~xox~
As he worked furiously to brush and polish off Grell's boots, Undertaker again wondered why this seemed so important to him. He thought of all the exchanges he'd had with his guest in the past, and he started to grin.
He liked the androgynous little spitfire, that was why. Perhaps some of his efforts were also inspired by the uncommon need to show someone that he was more than the creepy old eccentric, too. His smile grew wider as the paint began to come off. Yes, he could repair the damage to the shoes, as well. Perhaps he'd kiss Grell's cute little toes with their red painted nails before helping him slip the boots back on, tomorrow.
He heard the bathroom door open and close twice, and he left off the shoes for the moment to go and collect the clothes Grell had dumped in the hallway. He paused at the bathroom door after gathering up the garments, his sharp ears picking up on the sound of soft, muffled crying from the other side.
With a little frown, Undertaker shifted his burden in his arms and rapped softly on the door with his knuckles. "Are you doing okay in there, my dear?"
"I-I am fine... ju-just waiting like y-you said to." Grell hollered back, his voice shaky.
~xox~
It was a lie, he was not fine. He was sitting naked in the bath tub of the Undertaker's home. He never imagined in is wildest dreams he would ever be in a situation such as this. The day had started out bad to begin with. Will suspended him again over some silly slight. What was the harm in playing with Sebastian Michaelis, once in a while? Nothing was ever going to happen between them—though Grell was still hoping that might change—but Will said he was disgracing himself and his department by continuing to chase after him, and he put him on three days' suspension to "teach him a lesson". With everything else that had gone bad, why would the paint alone upset him so terribly? The eccentric old coot was at least trying to help him. He should be more grateful, yet here he sat unable to stop from crying. He felt like a child needing to be held, held by loving arms, a warm embrace.
~xox~
Undertaker didn't believe Grell's words for a second, but even he had sense enough not to barge in on a guest in the middle of taking a bath. He carried the dirty laundry back to the washroom and he dropped it all in with the rest that was soaking. Now that the clothes were all taken care of, he went to the single bedroom in the back and he shed his layers of clothing, changing into a fresh robe for the night without bothering to put on pants or boots. He hung up his hat and pinned his bangs back from his face so that he could see what he was doing better with Grell's shoes.
Barefoot now and dressed only in one layer, The mortician took his soiled robes back into the washroom to soak it with Grell's clothes. He then went back to hovering over the boots, doing his best to clean them up.
~xox~
Grell ducked below the surface of the water, submerging his entire body. He stared up at the ceiling through the ripples of the water, letting the goop from the jar rinse from his hair. After sometime, the water began to cool, he pushed himself up, pulling the plug from the drain. Carefully he stood and started the shower, grabbing the shampoo to start the process anew. The water cascading over his naked flesh. Shampoo mixed with water coursed through every crevice, over every muscle. He leaned heavily against the wall as the water rinsed the suds away.
With a washcloth he scrubbed his face till it was raw and every fleck of paint was removed. Feeling finally clean, he turned the water off, wrung his hair, wrapping a towel around his crimson locks. He wrapped a second towel around his body as he emerged from the shower, the scent of jasmine and roses surrounding him. Grell had been pleasantly surprised to discover the soap was his favorite fragrance. The scent had relaxed him, made him feel more at home and himself. It was welcoming.
Quickly he dried and lifted the robe. Shaking it out, he held it before him. "This is going to swallow me whole. It-it's so large!" he exclaimed, slipping it over his body.
He turned to face the mirror. The sleeves hung several inches past his finger tips. The waist line sat just below his hips. He buttoned the robe, but from the waist down there were no more buttons, he hefted the waist up, slightly and used the attached belt, tying it as tight as possible, fabric hung over the belt. The top of the robe draped open, revealing his collar bone and the top of his breast plate. He rolled the sleeves up.
Looking back up at the mirror, "Much better...now I just need to get my glasses cleaned...so I can see properly once more."
Plucking the red frames from the counter, he walked to the door with the remainder of the robe dragging behind him. Quietly, he padded barefoot down the hall.
~xox~
Undertaker was so absorbed in his project that he didn't hear his guest's approach. He treated his work on the shoes in the same way he treated his work on the deceased, giving his full attention to it.
Grell stood transfixed, watching the mortician clean his shoes. The man never realizing Grell stood off to his side. Most of the paint had already been removed, they appeared almost as if brand new. Like with his gloves, the redhead was bewitched with the grace at which the man moved. He couldn't utter a single word, only could watch in amazement, despite how cold his bare feet were. He began to shiver and still he did not disrupt the man's work.
Undertaker grinned broadly when he at last cleared away the last scuff. He didn't really have to go so far with it, but he truly felt bad for making Grell cry and he could be a bit of a perfectionist, once he put his mind to a project.
"There," announced the mortician aloud, still not realizing that he had an audience. He held the boots up to the lamp light for inspection and he kept carrying on the conversation with himself. "Fit for a queen...or a lady in red. Now if I can only reproduce these results with that precious coat of his, he might come and visit again."
With his teeth chattering, Grell asked: "Y-you w-wish for me t-to return-turn for a vis-visit?"
Grell clutched the robe tightly around his small frame, trying to keep the cold out. With no fire in the hearth, the drafts had crept under the hem of the robe, snaking their chilly fingers up his legs.
Quite startled, Undertaker whirled around with the shoes clutched to his chest with one arm. He instinctively called upon his death scythe, and it manifested in his free hand. He blinked near-sightedly at the blur of white, black and red, and his brain clicked into gear and reminded him that he knew this particular blur.
"Mercy," sighed the mortician, his gaze for once un obscured by his hair. "You gave me a fright."
He found that ironic, and he chuckled. Realizing he was still clutching Grell's shoes to his chest, he set them down on the counter and he approached the redhead, getting a better look at him. He began to grin again immediately as he looked him up and down.
"My, my...look at you! Don't you look adorably charming in my robe. I could get used to that."
He sighed, remembering the chattering question asked of him. "So, you heard ol' Undertaker muttering to himself, eh? I don't get much company, I'm afraid..at least, not of the living sort."
He took Grell's chilled hands in his. "I confess, I may not have dumped that paint on you deliberately, but I'm not sorry it happened. I got to spend a little time with a pretty lady from it, after all."
Noticing his shivering, Undertaker frowned. "Why, you're chilled to the bone! How thoughtless of me."
Without ceremony or thought, he embraced the smaller reaper, failing to notice Grell's stare at his revealed, scarred features.
Grell pushed at the taller man, startled. "W-what do y-you th-think you are do-doing, accost-ing me? Un-h-hand me this in-instance!" he ordered.
He wasn't about to admit that he enjoyed the feel of the mortician's arms around him. They were strong and warm. He could have stayed infolded in their embrace for all eternity. But what kind of lady would he be if he acted so wantonly? Nothing good had ever come of it before. No, he must be a proper lady.
"Let m-m-me go!" he demanded once more.
"Nonsense," huffed Undertaker. "I'm not 'accosting you' by sharing body warmth, you silly thing. Have my hands wandered?"
"N-no...b-but this is high-ly im-improper." Grell replied, his struggles lessening, slowly succumbing to the comfort of the man's warmth. It did feel good to be held, just to have someone wrap their arms securely around him.
"M-my feet are c-cold..." he stuttered, the chill still twisting its way up his bare feet and legs.
Undertaker smiled. "We can remedy that."
Without explanation, he scooped Grell up in his arms and started to carry him to the bedroom in the far back.
"Whaa...?" Grell threw his arms around his neck, locking his fingers together, as he was swept off his feet into the mortician's arms. "This is...I d-don't know w-what this is...b-but you probably sh-shouldn't b-be doing this." he scolded.
"Whatever happened to the illustrious flirt?" Teased Undertaker with a wink. "Relax, my dear; I'm only trying to get you comfortable."
He paused at the threshold of the doorway to his bedroom. "I could let go of you now as requested, but I think that would be rude of me at this point."
He turned his head to whisper into the younger reaper's ear. "Do you want me to let you go, Grell?"
Grell swallowed hard as a swarm of butterflies took flight in the pit of his stomach. His eyes met the mortician's, something in the way he said his name. A chill ran up his spine, causing his body to tremble. It wasn't the cold this time, but the man, that so effortlessly held him in his arms.
"I-I..." he searched the man's eyes, a blush painting his cheeks. "No..." he whispered.
Undertaker smiled. "Well then; let's see about making you more comfortable, shall we?"
He carried Grell into the bedroom and he deposited him gently onto the king-sized canopy bed. He scooted the redhead toward the center, before draping the sheets and the rose-embroidered comforter over him.
"Don't worry," assured the ancient, "I wash the bedding every fortnight; even though I rarely partake in it."
Grell sat in the middle of the bed, watching the man pull the covers up, listening, but not hearing his words. Without reason, he reached out, placing his hand atop the mortician's. "Please..." Please what? Don't go? Stay with me? Where was that coming from? What was it that he wanted?
The redhead said nothing more, he didn't know what to say or what he wanted, except he didn't want to be alone. He knew that much for sure. He didn't want the man to leave him. Beyond that, he was unsure.
Undertaker cocked his head to the side in an inquisitive manner, like a wolf. "Please what, dearie?"
"S-stay..." his gaze wandered away, but his hand still sat atop the mortician's.
The mortician smiled. "I would be delighted to, darling."
He sat down on the edge of the bead, and he reached out for the towel still wrapped around Grell's head. "May I? Your hair won't dry very quickly, bundled up like that."
Slowly, the redhead nodded back. His pulse seemed to escalate as his eyes returned to the mortician's face. Their eyes meeting once more. His breath hitched as he saw the smile that they held. There was something else in them as well, something deeper, but Grell was unsure as to what. He held tightly to the covers in his hands, the butterflies taking flight once more in his stomach. He was frozen in his spot. His eyes never leaving the retired reaper's as he felt the man take hold of the towel.
Undertaker unwound the towel and dropped it on the floor to take care of it later. He combed his fingers gently through Grell's damp, crimson locks, his long fingernails acting as a pick to sort out the tangles.
"Lovely," he purred. Red was his third favorite color, next to black and pink. It really suited Grell.
Grell closed his eyes savoring the feel of the man's fingers in is hair. His nails never getting caught or hurting him as they combed their way through. Slowly he fluttered his lids open, meeting the mortician's eyes. Goose bumps sprang up his arms and legs.
"Why..." he started, but quickly shut his mouth.
The mortician smiled, a bit amazed still to see this vulnerable side of Grell. "Why what, dear? Why do I think you're lovely?"
"Why are you being kind? You're never kind...you always tease me. Y-you never help me...Why? Just because you spill a can of paint on me. Is that it? To alleviate your guilt?" Grell snapped, turning his face away.
"My, you're wound up tightly," observed Undertaker with a grin. "It's not good for your health to be so paranoid. You should try to relax more."
He sighed though, because he'd been asking himself the very same question. "To be honest, I tease everyone, my dear. It keeps me entertained. As for why I'm being so nice to you...well...I simply don't like to see a lady cry. Or children, for that matter. It's always been a weakness of mine. Your tears tugged at ol' Undertaker's heart strings."
Grell hadn't meant to snap. The old coot had jumbled his nerves. His touch had a stronger affect on him, than he cared to admit. It frightened him a bit. He had never let the Undertaker get this close before and now he began to ask why? Sure the man was handsome enough, but he had always been so off putting, so not serious. And while Grell knew how to enjoy life and have fun, there were times the man could be so insufferable, never knowing when to stop. That was until today.
Slowly, the redhead peeked through his lashes and glanced at the Undertaker. He sat explaining himself, so sincerely. Had his tears really affected him? Made him want to comfort him?
Softly, Grell spoke, "I am afraid I must apologize. I did not mean to snap at you. I am not use to being shown kindness..." He looked up as a single tear ran down his cheek.
~Oh, Hell's Bells,~ thought the ancient as that one little tear tugged at his heart strings again. He reached out to brush it away with his thumb. "No need to apologize," he assured in a soft murmur. "I'm used to being snapped at."
He grinned as he said it, and he winked, trying to cheer him. "If it makes any difference at all, I never meant to be cruel. I just like a good laugh, is all."
"I suppose that is all you have ever intended, but it was still rude of me to snap and after all you are doing for me, to remedy the situation. Please forgive me?" his brows furrowed, creating a slight pout to is face.
The mortician couldn't resist that if he tried. "Done and done, little rose." He stroked Grell's damp hair soothingly again. Don't you worry your pretty head about it."
Driven by mischief as much as curiosity, Undertaker cupped the back of Grell's head and leaned in to kiss him on the mouth.
Instinctively, Grell's hands shot to push the mortician from him. But the feel of his soft lips pressed against his own, his fight faded fast. His hands settled delicately against his broad chest as he melted in the Undertaker's arms. A tiny moan escaped him. His body heat began to rise, stoked by the unexpected kiss.
He'd been bracing himself for a slap, but the favorable response he got instead encouraged the mortician. He deepened the kiss, shifting closer to the redhead to put his arms around him. Undertaker had dalliances now and then; mostly with curious humans. He couldn't recall how long it had been since he'd so much as kissed one of his own kind.
He stroked the crease between Grell's lips with his tongue, tracing it lightly in a silent request for entry.
Grell's lips parted allowing the Undertaker's tongue entrance. His hands began to slide up the mortician's chest, gradually making their way around his neck. Some of his fingers getting lost in the long, silver, locks of his hair. Grell's body began to awaken. It had been so long since someone had held him, kissed him, wanted him. Yes, he knew the Undertaker wanted him as much as he wanted the Undertaker. It was a comforting notion.
It had been nearly a century since he had last been with a man. His last relationship had been with Anne Durless. Unexpected one at that. He was not attracted to women very often, but she had been different. Of course he preferred men and over the past century he had chased a hoard of men, only to be cast aside. They had all found him repulsive and insignificant. But it was Undertaker who had kissed him first, he had wanted him. Grell's heart nearly leapt from his chest at the thought.
Undertaker's pulse quickened with Grell's response, and he stroked his tongue against the redhead's and let his hands wander a little. He was subtle about it, all to aware of how volatile this fey, wild reaper could be. He took care to gradually move one hand from around Grell's waist to his front, his fingers deftly loosening the already baggy robe.
He thrust his tongue deeper into that hot, willing mouth and he paid for his haste immediately, scraping himself on one of Grell's many sharp, pointed teeth. He was too aroused to care, and his blood mingled with their saliva as he seduced the other reaper's mouth.
The taste of blood on his tongue only excited the crimson reaper. He began to suckle the Undertaker's tongue, drinking more of the metallic taste, arousing him further. He felt the mortician's hand fumble with the belt at his waist, but too intoxicated by Undertaker's mouth, he did not care. Let the man ravish him if he wanted. Grell wanted the moment to go on forever. Wanted the feeling to never end. The man felt like heaven to him.
"Mmm..." Grell moaned louder, his back bowing, forcing their chests to press together.
Undertaker finished loosening the belt, and slipped the plain black garment down over one of Grell's shoulders. He pumped his bleeding tongue suggestively in the redhead's sucking mouth, his groin swelling to full attention beneath his robes. His breath quickened with desire as he ran his hand over the smooth, creamy pale shoulder he'd exposed, and he tugged the robe down further to bare more of him.
Feeling the chill waft over his heated flesh, Grell broke the kiss. Panting , he looked the Undertaker in the eyes, searching them. He didn't pull away, but focused on the mortician's touch, the way his fingers feathered over his skin. Grell's lips were swollen and painted red, the blood making them glisten. Casually he licked them.
The mortician followed the swipe of Grell's tongue with his eyes, a thrill of lust jolting him in response to the sensual display. He met the redhead's gaze again and he held it as he eased the robe down off his shoulders. He ran one hand over Grell's lithe chest, and he reached out to trace his bloodied lips with the fingers of the other.
"Aren't you a sight to make a man swell, darlin'," he declared in a low, husky voice.
Grell's hand let go of the silver braid that it had been grasping, clinging to. Gently he placed it over the mortician's hand sliding, it from his lips to his cheek. Grell closed his eyes, nuzzling the man's palm.
"I-I shouldn't be doing this..." he whispered, turning his head slightly. His lips caressing the Undertaker's palm as he placed delicate kisses to it. "You'll think... I am fast, a strumpet."
Undertaker shook his head. "That's a mortal term of shame, love. It doesn't apply to you or I. The only way I'll think ill of you is if you never come to visit again."
Grell opened his eyes slowly. "You won't think any less of me as a woman?" Grell asked, pressing another kiss to his palm.
"Not at all," promised Undertaker, looming in for another kiss. He stopped with his mouth barely an inch away from Grell's, and he smirked.
"In fact, I'll think a great deal more of you."
The damage to his tongue had already healed, so he pressed his lips against the redhead's again and he delved his tongue back into his mouth; taking a little more care this time not to scrape it on his teeth.
Instantly, Grell's eyes squeezed shut, he moaned into the kiss. His hand slid back up the Undertaker's arm, his body begged to be touched. His nails scraped the back of the ancient's head as he pulled himself closer to him.
"Why...now?" he asked, into the kiss. He had to know, why after all these years? Why was it now that the Undertaker wanted him? Why hadn't he tried sooner? Said something? Done something? After all this time, why today?
Undertaker resumed undressing the redhead, planting soft kisses over his face, his jaw and his throat as he disrobed him.
"Why now?" He repeated between kisses. "Honestly, this wasn't planned. I only set out to comfort you, and it turned into this delightful encounter."
He pulled away to look into his eyes, and he smiled a bit ruefully. "I never tried before because I didn't think a pretty young thing like you would want a creepy old codger like me. You made it quite clear that you saw me that way, anyhow."
"I-I... You were creepy! An-and I had no idea how...how wonderful your mouth could feel." his voice dropped, becoming sultry as he pressed his mouth back to the Undertaker's.
Undertaker forced back a chuckle of amusement, not blaming Grell for his impressions of him. After all, he regularly made it a point to intimidate people with the guise he wore. The admission that he liked his kisses made it all okay.
Undertaker finished pulling Grell's robes down, and he couldn't resist teasing him a bit in a different way. He stroked his chest with both hands, pausing to brush his thumbs over the sensitive nipples and make them tighten to rigid little buds.
"Am I still creepy, Grell?" He whispered into his ear, fondling the nipples gently to make them tingle. He nibbled his earlobe, thankful that he wore no constrictive pants or knickers beneath his robe. He was now sporting a tent in the dark garments that a person would have to be blind to miss.
Grell tilted his head to the side, exposing the creamy, pale flesh of his neck. His groin ached from the Undertaker's teasing. He tugged lightly on his silver locks as he answered the mortician's question.
"Yes..." he moaned, "But...in a...nnh... good...ahh... way..."
Undertaker found that encouraging, and he dipped one hand lower, gliding it over Grell's stomach with slow persuasion. From his peripheral vision, he could see that the redhead was pitching a tent of his own in the sheets that covered him to the waist.
"I want to make these lips cry my name," purred the older reaper, and then he claimed those lips again, swiping his tongue back and forth over the part in them.
Breaking the kiss, his eyes shot open. Grell looked the Undertaker in the eyes and asked, "What is your name? In all the years I have known you...I have never learnt your real name."
He quirked his brows as he touched the Undertaker's cheek, his thumb, caressing it. "Please...?" he whispered.
Undertaker smiled at him. "My, I've had so many." He turned his head and he kissed the hand that was caressing him. "Our true names are those we give to ourselves, darling...what we call ourselves in our minds. I was once known by many other names, but now I'm simply Undertaker. I chose it for myself when I retired, and so that's who I am, now."
Seeing by his expression that the redhead was a little disappointed, the ancient smiled gently. "Would you like me to tell you which was my favorite name, of all the ones given to me while I was in service?"
Grell's face lit up, "Please...your favourite?"
He leaned forward, nipping at the retired reaper's ear and purred, "Then I will have a name to scream..." He flicked his tongue, playing with his lobe.
"Khronos," gasped the silver reaper, unhinged by Grell's seductive words.
His response came out as hasty babble, and he pushed Grell down onto his back and covered his lean body with his own, kissing him feverishly in his overpowering need for a connection with him.
"Ooh..." Grell gasped, but was quickly silenced, by the crushing kiss Undertaker bestowed upon him. He slipped one arm around him and the other from the robe he was partially wearing, snaking them around his scar covered neck. His leg rubbed along side the mortician's through the covers. His arousal growing harder as he felt the man grind into him.
Further encouraged by the eager response, Undertaker started to unfasten his own robe with one hand, while balancing his weight on top of Grell with the other. He fumbled with the belt and he growled with frustration when he had difficulty doing it one-handed.
Grell giggled. "Let me..."
Grell moved his hands down the mortician's body, taking a hold of the belt, slowly he untied the stubborn knot. Biting his lower lip, Grell stared up at the Undertaker, his fingers crawling back up the man's torso. Reaching his shoulders, he pushed the robe down.
"There..." he purred, his eyes smiling brightly as he pulled Khronos back down, placing a kiss to his collar bone.
Undertaker shuddered with lust. He hadn't heard that name whispered in passion for ages, and though he'd cast it aside with all the other names given to him, hearing Grell use it roused his passion to greater heights.
"Oh, love," he groaned, finding the redhead's actions entirely too sensual to armor himself against. He suffered a moment of insecurity when the garment slipped away to reveal his scar-striped, alabaster-pale body. He rarely showed anyone the extent of his scars, and he looked down at his companion warily as the elegant fingers began to trace the ones marking his chest and torso delicately.
Noticing a flicker of fear cross Khronos' eyes, Grell inquired, "What is it deary? Is something the matter?"
Undertaker lowered his gaze, and his long, thick silver lashes concealed his eyes. "They're unsightly to most others, I know. I do hope you aren't put off by them."
"What these?" Grell ran his fingers along one long scar across his chest, that snaked around his side, disappearing behind his back.
"They do not put me off... I find them intriguing and sexy. They show that you are a brave and enduring reaper. They are your stories and adventure. Your testament. I-I could never think ill of them. I find them..." his voice lowered to a purr, "Quite sexy."
Pulling the retired reaper back down to him, Grell ran his tongue along the scar crossing his throat, stopping to suckle his Adam's apple.
Undertaker needed no further encouragement. He pulled the covers down to expose Grell completely as he claimed his lips again. He shifted atop him, pressing the rigid length of his sex against the redhead's, rubbing them together intimately. He stroked Grell's tongue with his own, and he resumed his exploration of his body with one hand.
He smiled at the little gasp he provoked from him when he tweaked a nipple. Guessing by his responses to stimulation there that he was quite sensitive, Undertaker began to fondle them one at a time.
"Mm, you like that, don't you?" He purred, breaking the kiss to glide his lips over the arching neck and lower.
"Mmm...yes..." Grell moaned. Biting his lower lip once more, his hips bucked gently into the reaper, urging him on. His leg slid up along the Undertaker's, slipping up over his hip, the redhead's heel pressing into his firm ass. His hands wound through the silver locks, holding the mortician to him.
"Well then..."
Undertaker dragged his lips down to the left bud and he circled it with his tongue, before flicking it against the peak. He gave the other nipple the same treatment and he undulated on top of him, smearing the slippery fluid of Precum between their members. He licked, sucked and tugged at Grell's nipples as he moved on top of him, growling softly with lust.
"Khronos...nnnh..." Grell breathed, squirming under the mortician's ministrations. His back arched, causing him to press his hardened nipple against Khronos' lips. His body felt as though it were on fire, each stroke of the retired reaper's tongue stoked the flames, burning between Grell's legs. His own arousal growing harder still, pressing into the man's abdomen.
The mortician kept it up, lavishing all the attention he could on the squirming redhead's body. He slowly moved down, leaving off kissing his nipples to make his way further down. He continued fondling the saliva dampened, taut nipples with his fingers as he kissed his way down to his next goal.
The back of Grell's knee hooked itself over the mortician's shoulder as he slithered down his body. One of his hands held firmly to Undertaker's silver locks, as the other gripped the pillow under his crimson head. His eyes squeezed shut as he felt the reaper's breath on his arousal. Automatically his toes curled feeling soft lips graze his budding head. A soft moan fell from his lips as the mortician's warm tongue circled the head of his erection. "Khronos..." he began to call out the man's name.
The older reaper smiled in gratification at the response, and he licked his way around the flushed knob, tonguing the ridge underneath, before sliding his lips over the head and taking it into his mouth. He only took it in to the tip at first, and he swirled his tongue over the salty little hole in the tip, making a few viscous drops of fluid leak out.
He kept teasing Grell's nipples as he pleasured him, taking his time despite his powerful need.
Grell's nails dug into the back of the mortician's silver mane. He screamed in pleasure as his body began to buck and thrash below the Undertaker. His knuckles turned white from gripping the pillow so tight. He tried to turn away, but was held in place as the mortician continued his pleasurable torture.
Undertaker took him deeper into his mouth, his tongue flicking and curling against the swollen flesh he pleasured. It occurred to him that he had nothing to use as a lubricant at his immediate disposal. Rather than pause the encounter to go and fetch something from the basement or bathroom, he decided to make use of Mother Nature, instead. It would require some timing and finesse on his part, but he had done it before.
Throbbing with greater lust by the moment, he eased more of Grell's shaft in, keeping his lips tightly sealed around the girth of it. He relaxed his throat muscles and took it in until his nose was tickled by the crisp red hair framing Grell's groin, and then he withdrew. When only the tip remained in his mouth, he licked it firmly before taking the length back in again.
"Khro...nos...ahh...I-I...stop..." Grell started rambling, between moans. "I-I...nnh...no...no more. OH GOD!" he screamed.
His body stood on the edge of ecstasy. Grell felt like at any moment he would die from the pleasure. His body was in over load.
"Khronos...PLEASE!"
The redhead's eyes began to roll to the back of his head as he tried to twist his body. Letting go of the silver locks he clutched at the bed sheets, gripping them, he dug his nails through the thin fabric.
The ancient did stop then; but only to release him from his mouth so that he could finish him off with his hand. He squeezed the redhead firmly and he stroked him off rapidly as he squirmed up and lay beside him. He saw that Grell had bitten his lip and he licked away the resulting blood, before swallowing his cries with a kiss.
Grell let go of the pillow, sinking his fingers into the massive silver locks as the mortician pressed their lips together. His hips thrust, pushing his erection harder into the Undertaker's hand. Parting his lips, he cried into the mouth that covered his own. Their tongues dancing a fiery tango, orgasm creeping ever closer. His body began to vibrate, he was caught in lust's rapture. Falling back against the pillows, Grell's back arched.
Holding tightly to the silver braid in his hand, he screamed, "KHRONOS...!"
His seed spilled over the Undertaker's hand, coating his abdomen as he climaxed. In the mortician's hand. H is member twitched as he floated back down from the arms of ecstasy. Slowly he opened his eyes and peered up at the man looking back down at him.
"Khronos..." he whispered, his hand let go of the sheets and cupped the back of his head. Pressing their lips back together, the kiss was passionate and hot, like embers still burning bright, Grell began to harden once more.
"Hmm, it doesn't take long, does it?" Observed the older reaper with a grin-referring to Grell's short refractory period. "I can see I have my work cut out for me, keeping up with you."
No matter...he was nothing, if not a determined lover. It was a positive thing that Grell was already perking up for another round, in his mind.
Undertaker retracted his long black nails so that he wouldn't poke his lover when he prepared him. he gathered the creamy libation from the younger reaper's stomach and he used it as a lubricant, deftly smoothing it over his fingers and the puckered entrance to Grell's body. He kissed the redhead deeply as he massaged the spot until it relaxed enough to ease a finger into it.
Gasping at the intrusion, Grell gradually relaxed, his legs spreading in response. His eyes met the mortician's, his brows furrowing as he gripped his shoulders, panting. Feeling the Undertaker slide in a second finger, Grell buried his face in the crook of his shoulder. The moans escalating as they fell from his lips, against Khronos' pale flesh.
"Easy, darlin'," purred the older reaper as he scissored, thrust and curled the digits inside of Grell. "Almost there." He nuzzled the drying red hair and shifted atop him, rubbing his aching, swollen sex against Grell's smooth inner thigh. He wanted him so badly that he feared he might spill himself on the first thrust.
Grell gently bit the mortician's shoulder. His tongue ran up his neck, tasting the salty sweat that seeped from his pores. His lips skimmed the heated surface of his throat, pressing them to the Undertaker's Adam's apple and began suckling once again. He could feel how hard Khronos was, how badly he wanted to possess his body.
He looked into the retired reaper's face and whispered, "Take me...now... Make... me yours..."
"Oh, mercy," panted the ancient, at the edge of control.
He thought Grell was ready enough for him, and he withdrew his fingers to position himself. Despite how randy he was, he couldn't resist a bit of teasing. He butted the head of his arousal against Grell's entrance as he slicked the remaining semen over his length for added lubrication.
"And will you be mine after I claim you, Miss Sutcliff?" His voice was husky with need, the demand spilling out past his parted lips without conscious direction. "Will no other touch you?"
Grell hadn't thought about the words he had uttered. He had spoken, lost to lust. Was Khronos asking him to be his and his alone? That would be preposterous. True, they had known each other for years, but they had hardly been around each other. Never talked in friendly conversation, nothing. But here he was in the Undertaker's bed, making passionate love to him and he hadn't even been wooed properly or taken to dinner at least. What was the man asking? This was suppose to be a tryst, nothing more. Wasn't it?
Their eyes met, something he had never seen was now visible in the retired reaper's eyes. It was more than lust, more than desire. He was looking down at him with... No that couldn't be.
Before Grell realized what he was doing, he breathed, "Yes..."
As surprised by his own words as Grell was, Undertaker lowered his mouth to his and kissed him. Why had he made such a demand? Certainly not just because he was randy. He'd never bound himself to another before just because they gave him an erection. He liked this reaper, he realized. He wanted to spend more time with him. This was more than lust; he wanted a companion. He was tired of being lonely.
Without another word, Undertaker breached him, groaning as his throbbing length slowly drove into the tight, gripping heat. His breath caught and he kissed him again, withdrawing to thrust again. He caught Grell's hands in his and he pushed them over his head, holding them there firmly as he began to pump, angling his pelvis to stroke the most sensitive spot in passing.
"Ahh..." Grell cried, squeezing his eyes shut. The feel of the Undertaker entering him taking his breath away. As the mortician, pulled out and reentered him, his body relaxed a bit more and with each thrust after that, the pain dissolved into pleasure. His fingers laced with Khronos' as his hands were pinned above his head. Grell wrapped his legs around his waist, holding him to him. His pants, screams and moans were swallowed by Undertaker, his lips pressed firmly against the redhead's. A single tear managed to slip from his eye. It wasn't a tear of pain or sorrow, but a tear of appreciation and pleasure.
Grell let out a tiny growl. His length being stroked by the mortician's abdomen with each thrust, each glide across his body. He could feel himself growing harder. Khronos also found the spot that could drive him insane. Well...more insane than usual.
"Khronos..." he called, opening his eyes. Time stood still in that moment. He felt his heart melt. The man was not only looking down at him with smoldering eyes, but they seemed to glow. With passion, tenderness and love. Grell turned his head and placed a chaste kiss to the man's wrist.
"You are beautiful," sighed Undertaker. He put more force behind his thrusts, watching every expression of pleasure flitting over Grell's fair features. He loved the way his brows furrowed, the way he blushed, and the way his shapely lips formed the words that erupted in the form of passionate cries.
"Truly...beautiful," reiterated the ancient. He kissed away the tear that sparkled in the corner of Grell's eye. "Am I hurting you, love?"
Crimson locks slipped away, exposing more of Grell's delicate neck as he shook his head, "No...not...nnnh...hurt...ing me..." he whispered.
His eyes were closed as he nuzzled the Undertaker's arm, where their hands were joined. He bit down on his bottom lip and his grip tightened around the mortician's hands. He was nearing climax once more. He could feel the orgasm building deep inside him.
Undertaker couldn't take it anymore. With a low growl of lust, he started thrusting hard and fast. He didn't notice when he cut his tongue again on Grell's teeth. He groaned his name, the sound muffled against Grell's animated lips as he stroked his tongue against his, again anointing it with his blood.
Red nails dug into the backs of pale hands. Grell's lust growing higher as the taste of blood once more painted his tongue. He suckled long and hard until his body was tossed over the edge. He broke the kiss, screaming the reaper's name. Blood oozed out of the Undertaker's delicate white skin as Grell's orgasm swept over him. Warm seed jetted out between their bodies, coating both their stomachs. With back arching, he tightened around Khronos' member. Giving more pleasure to the man riding him as he encased Undertaker deep inside himself.
"Unh...darling," gasped the ancient as Grell's clenching heat did him in. He bucked inside of him, his length pulsing as he filled him to the brim with his release. His body tensed all over as the climax overcame him, and he panted hard. As he rode it out, he kissed Grell tenderly, his lust sated, to be replaced with blissful affection. His tongue was again healing up, and he kissed the spent redhead's cheeks and nose, sighing happily. He released the smaller reaper's hands and he caressed his face, lifting his head to gaze down at him and admiring the way the afterglow made him look.
"I never dreamed we'd end up like this," he confessed when he caught his breath, "but I'm so very thankful for it. Styx bless you for giving this old reaper a chance to show you another side of him, Grell Sutcliff."
A tear sat in the corner of his eye, his legs slowly lowered themselves, brushing along the Undertaker's. Grell reached up and smoothed away the hair that had stuck to the mortician's cheek and brow, glistening with sweat. Grell smiled as he lifted his head to place a tender kiss to the man's lips, cradling him still within his body.
"Thank you...Khronos." he whispered, wrapping his arms around the Undertaker's neck, pulling him down to rest his head against his shoulder.
With a contented sigh, the mortician lay his head against Grell's shoulder and he remained that way for a while, still inside of him and holding him close. He could daresay he enjoyed this part of their encounter almost as much as he'd enjoyed the sex. It had been so long since he'd held anyone in his arms like this.
~xox~
-To be continued