A/N: So, I'm in a new fandom? And as a present and a way to break into the crazy, I'm throwing out some GrellTaker. My Triplet, LittlePrincessNana, is a total enabler. This will only be a two-shot.
I will say I'm very new to Black Butler, and have presently only watched the first season, so please excuse any OoC-ness for the characters. Breaking into new voices is exceedingly difficult.
Chapter 1
The first time Grell saw him, it had been a normal day. A boring one, even. The Undertaker, while a little on the peculiar side, was nothing truly out of the norm for the red-haired Reaper. Back when Lady Red had been alive, when they'd been Jack the Ripper, things were simple.
And then that idiotic cult with their silly Doomsday books had to come about. Even though he'd seen the Undertaker several times by then, had even buried the man in a barrel of salt just for both of them to get a few laughs at the demon butler and his charge's expense, that day in the Library had changed things.
He'd drawn back Undertaker's long, sweeping bangs and gazed into gleaming eyes so similar to his own. The same glimmering chartreuse belonging to every Reaper. Those high cheekbones, the bedroom gaze. Even the scar reaching across his cheek and throat. It sent his head spinning just thinking about the beauty lying beneath the tousled locks and shambling robes Undertaker wore.
And since then, nothing had been the same for Grell Sutcliff. He couldn't meander the streets of London without thinking he'd heard the cackling from that grey-haired man. Every soul he rended with the pathetic little shears from his demotion, Grell thought about just who would be tending to the body afterwards.
For the first time in centuries, he didn't want to flirt with everyone he came across. Oh, he still did it and enjoyed the reactions he received - most especially from that wretched demon, Sebastian - but there wasn't nearly as much fire churning in his belly from putting on a show now.
Not when the man who he truly wanted to see him, just didn't.
It wasn't as though Grell made his presence all that well-known around Undertaker though. In fact, he turned into a bit of a shy princess, truth be told.
No, instead of being ready to take the man he wanted, Grell clammed up. Crimson rushed to his cheeks and the breath that he really didn't need in his lungs in the first place, stalled. It was even worse, he discovered, when the soft thunk of a shovel meeting cold dirt met his ears. That sound shouldn't have given him any reason to react, but it did. Every time he heard it, Grell knew that he was there. In the graveyard. Burying the ones whose coffins he'd prepared, whose bodies he'd tended to after their death.
His "guests," Grell had heard him muttering one day over the soft pitch of dirt and pebbles sliding from his trusty shovel to litter the ground.
How the redhead wished he could hold even the smallest bit of Undertaker's attention as his guests did. But he knew, without having to be told, that his usual seductive techniques wouldn't work on a man like that. Which left Grell utterly clueless how he could make the grey-haired man see him as something more than the boisterous, outlandish Reaper that everyone knew him to be.
An eerie whistle brushed along the wind, up toward where Grell sat perched on a rooftop, overlooking the sleepy, drab city coated in rolling fog.
He so hated the weather in England for this very reason. There was never enough color. No matter how the Records of souls played out, showing human lives in a nostalgic sheen that brightened their dreary days, he knew the truth about this world.
It was boring. Almost colorless. And it was why he loved painting the streets with red.
If anything, that was his one way to connect with the ex-reaper. Grell's victims were nearly always sent to Undertaker, and that meant the man had to at least think about him a little bit. Sometimes he wondered if Undertaker really knew who Jack the Ripper was - that it wasn't just Lady Red, but himself as well.
The whistling grew louder and Grell's attention skidded downward to the little grey headstones jutting from the frozen earth. The chill in the air that had been nagging at the back of his mind was swept away on a breeze when he found a figure shuffling between stones toward an open grave. He was immensely thankful for his glasses ridding him of the nearsightedness that afflicted all Reapers when he caught sight of the swaying grey hair and easily recognizable black hat.
The long grey scarf draped over one shoulder and across his midnight robes.
And when he turned and lowered the shovel that Grell hadn't noticed before, Undertaker gave a great stretch, sending his arms soaring above his head and his back arching so far that he was sure the man's spine would snap.
"So flexible," Grell whispered to himself. "A beautiful canvas, draped in shadows. You do need more color, dearest Undertaker."
It was obvious the object of his desire hadn't seen him, hadn't noticed his presence there. Watching him hunch over the grave to look down at the plain wooden casket left Grell enthralled, speechless when he lifted the shovel and began to fill the grave. His movements were slow, methodical, practiced and steady in a rhythm that only one such as himself could have perfected.
"How I would love to see you wield a scythe," Grell breathed. "Those muscles. I know they're there, hiding away."
Of course, he'd seen Undertaker reaping souls only once, but the memory was clouded with his own joy at receiving his modified scythe back from Will.
Just the thought of seeing a legendary Reaper in action had Grell fighting to suppress an aroused whimper. And he nearly succeeded.
Luckily, Undertaker continued whistling to himself, none the wiser that Grell was finding himself in a bit of an uncomfortable situation with his arousal growing steadily and straining against his trousers.
"London Bridge is falling down…"
The gentle lilting of his voice drifted skyward, right toward Grell who leaned back against a chimney. It wasn't in tune, and he was surprised by the odd lyrics that soon started to replace the originals, but Grell didn't care about that.
"Six feet deep and three feet wide…"
What he cared about the most was seeing yet another new side to Undertaker. Hearing the odd warbling of his voice that most would attribute to insanity. It was perfect. A trembling prologue, seemingly unsure and yet still so confident in its unique timbre as it prepared to reveal the main act.
Before he knew what was happening, Grell's hand slipped down his waistcoat to palm the bulge in his trousers. The soft shuffle of his red jacket slipping further down his arms went unnoticed.
He remained there throughout the Undertaker's burial. Just a little teasing couldn't hurt, he was sure.
Just watching. Just a little time to himself, keeping his whimpers muted behind tightly clamped lips that bled when he bit into them with his pointed teeth. A little pain was worth it when he pictured Undertaker being the one to make it happen.
"All the plots lie side by side…"
"Oh, take me," Grell rasped under his breath. His hand slid with more purpose, sending him into a breathless stupor. "You beautiful creature… O-Oh…"
"My fair lady…"
It had become something of a game for Undertaker to tease the redheaded Reaper with his presence. He'd seen the way Grell looked at him, those short stolen glances when they happened to be in the same place and unable to stop themselves from interacting.
It wasn't often that it happened, simply because it seemed the man who swore to everyone around him that he was, in fact, a lady, was just as adamant about not interfering in Sebastian and Ciel's affairs when he could help it. That did not, however, mean that Undertaker didn't see him.
He always saw Grell.
It was difficult not to with that bright crimson hair and gleaming, deliciously sharp teeth. He was the single bright spot in a world that had grown tiresome and dull for the ex-Reaper. Of course, Undertaker found great joy in his work, in tending to the dead, but his even greater interest laid in the victims of Grell.
The man was an artist. It had been too long since Undertaker had seen someone with such dedication to spilling the rubies of the soul across pale flesh and unforgiving stone. Those prostitutes from when Grell had been one half of Jack the Ripper had given him such immense pleasure to tend. Cleaning up the bodies for burial was difficult after Grell had touched them, but they were beautifully decorated.
If questions wouldn't arise, Undertaker knew he would simply leave them just as they came to him. With blooming flowers of blood across their chests and throats. With those nearly nonexistent singes where their Records had been viewed proudly on display for all to see.
But he couldn't do that. No, the best he could manage was trying to complement the deceased with makeup once they'd been cleaned off. And all the while, he couldn't help but think of Grell. The makeup he wore, the extensions to his lashes and the soft petals that were his lips. It was with the younger Reaper in mind that Undertaker went about his work that day.
A young man, portly in his life based on the fullness to his cheeks and beneath his jaw. And yet, the rest of him was thinner than it should have been. That was what happened when someone was exsanguinated so thoroughly. The leeches that few doctors used in those days could take a few lessons from Grell, that was for sure.
He leaned in close, cursing the poor vision his previous occupation had doomed him to retain, and noted the sweeping pattern of small blades that had slashed through the young man's chest. He would need to stitch this up, of course, but that didn't stop Undertaker from pushing his overly long sleeves back from his hands to run his pale fingers over the swollen, bruised flesh.
"You are quite the lucky guest," he chuckled to the body. "Only the lucky ones get this sor' of treatment."
His laughter was soft, lilting in the otherwise silent room, but he couldn't help it. He could nearly feel Grell's lust for more blood to be spilt all across England in just this one man's corpse.
"Oh, Bassy! Don't you know, it's rude to ignore a lady!"
Undertaker fought to keep his spine from going rigid at the sudden croon just outside of his shop. He'd know that voice anywhere. Even though Grell never spoke like that around him, Undertaker still knew it. He heard it echoing down alleys and across the slumbering city. It crawled between his ears while he slept.
And sadly, he knew that as soon as the younger Reaper realized just where Sebastian and Ciel were going, that the two were coming to the man who handled almost every dead body in the city, Grell would clam up. That brilliant flame that was his personality, the single spark of light in Undertaker's carcass-filled world, would dim.
That had been the first clue for him that something had changed in Grell's eyes. Still, he couldn't dwell on it, because in the next moment the door of his shop opened to reveal Ciel and his demonic butler, Sebastian. And latched onto the elder of the two, was Grell. Just curled around that slim morsel of masculinity with breathtaking ruby eyes, legs wound about his arm and that sculpted, delicate chin resting on Sebastian's shoulder.
Undertaker chuckled and tilted his head, gazing past his bangs to find Grell's eyes widening in shock as he slithered to the ground.
"Undertaker," Ciel said, pausing several steps away. The boy was always so… dreary. And that was a bit of an understatement. "We have come seeking information."
"Don't you always," he chuckled. "You know my fee. I want none of tha' Queen's money, just a good laugh."
"Must this happen every time we arrive?" Ciel groaned.
"I believe Grell-" Sebastian started.
"Oh, no," Grell said, regaining his composure and keeping his gaze on the wall above Undertaker's head. On the jars full of odds and ends that he'd collected over the years, and a few of his own little projects. "I-I should, um… Get going. Those souls won't just reap themselves, and… And…"
Undertaker's smile widened only slightly when the redhead shuffled back toward the door. "I'm sure that Will is a little tight on the leash."
"Oh, I would never let him put a leash on me," Grell smirked. His cheeks flamed a beautiful pink beneath his elongated lashes when he realized just what he'd said.
"Well, get on with it then," Ciel huffed. "We don't have all day, Grell."
"R-Right!" Grell let out a timid giggle, batting his lashes at Sebastian - though Undertaker could tell it didn't hold nearly as much flirtatious charm as normal. "I guess our private chat will have to wait until-"
"Oh, just leave already!" Ciel snapped.
Undertaker pulled a bone cookie out of his pocket and started nibbling on it, letting his sleeves fall to his elbows and marvelling at how quickly Grell's attention was drawn to the simple action. And within moments, the Reaper was gone. Not a single word, no sound aside from his heeled boots scurrying away from the shop.
Still, Undertaker decided to be nice so he could get the young Earl of Phantomhive out of his business. "Tell you what, young master," he grinned. "Today's free of charge. Ask your questions, and I'll answer. But you owe me two next time."
"Yes, of course," Ciel nodded. "We are looking for information on-"
Undertaker hardly heard the boy's words, but he still answered to the best of his ability. And all the while, his mind was filled with the image of silken ruby locks disappearing between the door and jamb. With bright emerald eyes behind those thin-framed glasses, the clinking skull-shaped beaded adornment that kept them from falling off.
Most of all, though, Undertaker thought of his smile and the bright pointed teeth that he longed to have scoring his pale flesh. Maybe giving him a couple new scars in the process.
'Wha' a beautiful creature, that Grell…'
Grell took careful steps across the rooftops, not wanting to slip in the rain that poured down across his once-perfect hair, plastering it to his shoulders and back. It was nearly torrential, and he was, of course, rather put off by the fact that his makeup had most definitely smudged and he looked like a drowned rat. It really wouldn't do for anyone to see him in such a state, so Grell was adamant about keeping far from sight.
No matter how great of an actress he was, nothing could downplay just how atrocious his appearance was right then.
Still, even through the sheets of rain, with each slow step he took toward his final victim for the night, Grell was able to hear the sounds of the slumbering city. Dawn was still hours away. Receiving his personally modified scythe back from Will had made it so his work went so much faster than with those pathetic little shears.
He rounded a corner and let out a heavy sigh while swiping hair from his face. "Oh this is just ridiculous," he groused, sending a glare toward the sky. With his next step, he heard that familiar, off-key humming that had become so soothing to his ears in the past few months. Every time Grell happened upon it, he was instantly taken back to the day he'd watched Undertaker filling a grave. And, of course, he remembered all too well what he'd done out in the open while watching him. How it had taken two full days for his lips to heal from where he'd bitten them.
He still had the pair of undergarments he'd sullied that day. They were tucked away in his room, only pulled out for him to look at when he was feeling especially… excited.
He peered over the edge of the building and found himself directly above where Undertaker stood, hunched over a plot and pushing his shovel into the mud to make a new grave. Why the man was out at this hour, digging graves, was beyond him though.
Still, hearing that voice… It sent his stomach into flips, and the breathy sigh that slipped past his lips seemed to send him off kilter. Or maybe he'd really just swooned entirely when he saw Undertaker stand and tip his head back, open his mouth, and drink the raindrops falling down on the both of them.
That wide smile was the nail in Grell's coffin though. And, for the briefest of moments, he wondered whether Undertaker had known he was really there.
Of course, there was no dwelling on that as he tried to pull further from the edge, to hide from the man's questionable sight - no one really knew if he could see without the glasses all Reapers wore for their nearsightedness - and his foot skidded across slick shingles.
An unholy screech rocketed from deep within the redhead while he toppled over the edge of the building. There was no trying to get his bearings as his forehead cracked against the roof and he tumbled downward.
Undertaker paused and opened his eyes, looking around for the source of the odd, muddy splashing thud he'd heard, and found nothing out of the ordinary. It was entirely possible that his shovel had simply slipped, but when he looked at his hand, it was still there in his grasp.
A quiet, discomfited groan drew his attention to the mud at his feet. Specifically, to the blurry lump that was lying in the six-foot-deep hole he'd just finished digging. He really did hate that he couldn't see all that well, and his clumped hair being in front of his eyes wasn't doing much to help matters in the rain. So, Undertaker simply dropped his shovel and knelt on the ground, smile widening as he drew closer and the one in the grave rolled onto their back.
"Well, wha' have we here?" Undertaker chuckled. "Someone's a bit early..."
Grell pressed his mud-covered gloved hand to his forehead, wincing at the sudden throb behind his eyes. It took several slow breaths before he was ready to look around, but when he did, it was all stars and vague dark spots. And some blob shrouded in blackness, hovering over him.
His hand slid lower to find that his glasses had been knocked loose, and only the little skull beads that had been attached to them were still on his person.
Undertaker looked closer, disappearing beneath the earth just past his shoulders when he caught sight of what he thought was red hair draped across a red jacket. There was only one person he knew who would have something like that on, after all. "Ah, it's our neighborhood Reaper. What-"
His eyes widened when the softened earth gave way and his nails dug into the soil before finally losing purchase, sending him sliding down into the grave.
Grell blinked repeatedly to clear his vision, then grunted when something heavy landed on top of him. By the time his vision had cleared enough for him to see, the weight was still on him. And instead of seeing stars, the air seemed to sparkle just behind the man whose face was mere centimeters from his own.
Undertaker was drenched, he could tell, especially when the redhead found that the bangs usually covering his eyes were pushed to the side, letting him see the mesmerizing green orbs. The full extent of the scar across Undertaker's cheek. The fine slope of his nose and how his wide lips lifted his cheeks just enough to narrow his eyes.
Breathlessness that had nothing to do with the weight atop him took root in Grell's lungs. His mouth opened and closed and a strangled whimper sounded in his throat when Undertaker shifted only slightly, letting him feel the heavy robes draped over the both of them, and the other man's legs between his.
"As I was sayin'," Undertaker chuckled as though nothing had happened, "Wha' are you doin' skulking 'round in a grave?"
"A… g-grave?" Grell whispered. He could smell cookies on Undertaker's breath, most likely those macabre little bone-shaped ones he sometimes caught the man eating at the most inappropriate (according to humans) of times.
"'S'where we are."
"I-I was on a roof…" Did he really sound as breathless as he felt? There was honestly no telling based on how Undertaker chuckled again. The man was always laughing in some way, over something he found funny.
"How, exactly, did you manage to fall, then? Isn't it part of your job to be good at things like that?" The sudden deeper flush to Grell's cheeks had excitement bubbling in Undertaker's belly. Even covered in mud with the makeup he wore destroyed and smudged, the gentle touch of pink across his cheeks was nearly too much to handle.
Grell looked to the side, astutely ignoring the eyes boring into him. "I slipped," he muttered. "And you're one to talk…"
"Me?"
"Some legendary Reaper you are," Grell whispered, nearly pouting. "You slipped too."
"Are you sure I wasn't coming to check up on ya?"
Grell fought the sudden gasp as gentle fingers brushed his hair back from his forehead. He could already imagine having Undertaker's overly long nails scraping his scalp as they laid spent in a tangle of limbs. How it would feel with them tickling his sides as the man he ached for caressed his writhing, sweaty body.
"Looks like you got a little cut."
"... Wh-What?" His eyes crossed in an attempt to look up at the slight stinging in his head when Undertaker touched him again, then followed his hand as it lowered to reveal the thin streak of crimson on his fingertip. "... Oh."
"But you're right. I did slip. Mud will do tha', you see." Undertaker still didn't try to move away from Grell, instead secretly enjoying just what his close proximity had reduced the Reaper beneath him to. Instead of being loud, he was soft-spoken. Instead of theatrics and outlandish declarations, Grell was very nearly petulant.
"Are you planning on getting off at some point?" Grell frowned. "It's highly improper to-"
"Maybe," Undertaker grinned. It only grew when Grell tried to push him away, and he barely shifted under the weakened attempt. They both knew Grell could have moved him, if he really wanted to. It wasn't as though Undertaker was resisting being moved, after all.
"Oh, really," Grell huffed. "If you would please move, some of us have work to do tonight."
"As do I," Undertaker chuckled. He shifted slightly to prop himself up on one elbow, watching as rain pattered down into the mud and across Grell's blushing face. "But you seem to be without cover."
"Unless we count you," Grell countered. He cringed at the feeling of mud seeping beneath his once-white shirt. "But you're not much of an umbrella. And… I-I need to get out of the dirt, so…"
Undertaker laughed a little more forcefully, brushing his bloody finger across Grell's lower lip and silencing him in an instant. "Red really does suit you," he whispered. Just seeing that little swipe of ruby blood on his lip made him want to close the distance between them. So badly.
Grell's eyes widened, his tongue flicking out across his lip on instinct and catching the tip of Undertaker's nail.
"So much more than brown and black," Undertaker rasped, swiping at a speck of dirt just above his jaw. It smeared, however, as the rain continued to beat down on them. Grell said nothing, his lips lying pliant and so clearly willing, and his half-closed eyes speaking volumes of what he was too ashamed to say. "Tell me… Do I still need to move?"
"You, um…" Grell shivered as Undertaker's hand curved around his cheek. "I-I would say, yes…"
"And yet, I hear tha' almost silent but…"
He wasn't sure when they'd gotten so close again, but Grell couldn't question it. He refused to. In a matter of moments, his gloves were gone and gliding across the slick expanse of Undertaker's throat, up into his hair to pull him closer. Closer still.
And he came so willingly that Grell truly would have shed tears if it wasn't for the feeling of those perfect lips molding to his. It wasn't frantic or desperate, not like some of the men Grell had seduced in his time. There was a natural ebb and flow as Undertaker's head tilted just enough for their noses to brush with each gentle caress.
It was sheer torture as the grey-haired beauty above him drew back just enough to speak.
"I've heard from a rather reliable source that someone prefers… this."
Grell found himself whimpering as Undertaker's tongue slithered out and tasted the final traces of blood that had been on his lips. "Definite - mmm…"
His lips parted to allow Undertaker's tongue free reign, to dance and writhe with his as he clutched tightly to soaked black robes and grey locks. He was sure that later on, he would question whether or not this had really happened or if it was all a dream. But his dreams had never been so vivid. So visceral.
In his dreams of the legendary Reaper, Grell had never tasted the other man's blood from the small scratches his sharpened teeth left on his lips and tongue. It wasn't like he made a habit of kissing anyone while not in a persona he'd carefully crafted, making sure his teeth were more normal, more human.
But Undertaker didn't seem to care all that much about a few scratches. In fact, it was almost as though he encouraged it, if the guttural moan vibrating against Grell's lips or how Undertaker seemed to press ever-closer was any indication.
"I do believe," Undertaker laughed between surprisingly sweet, timid kisses from Grell, "We have work… to do… My lady."
Grell smiled against his lips. "We do. But I'm ahead of schedule."
Undertaker drew back slightly to look into the crystal clear picture beneath him. This close, he could see the fine details he usually missed. The natural length of Grell's lashes, emphasized by faux hairs pasted on his lids. The complementary ruby eye shadow that was barely hanging on through the rain. The smallest dimple on one side, just beneath his lower lip, when he smiled. "Are you, now…"
"Mm-hmm," Grell hummed. His arms wound around Undertaker's shoulders, fingers toying with errant grey strands.
"I do hope you'll make the next one especially gruesome, my lady," Undertaker chuckled. "I do enjoy cleaning up after you."
"Well, it's so seldom I get a request," Grell giggled. "I think I can manage that."
Undertaker wanted more than anything to just invite himself along to watch Grell work, but he had things to attend to before dawn arrived. Still, hearing that soft laugh from the Reaper in his arms was enough to have him collapsing atop Grell once more and bringing their lips together again in the pouring rain.
It was no secret to those who knew him, that Grell was exceedingly aware of his appearance at all times. And that night was no different. Except this time it was all the more important that he looked his best. It wasn't often that he had a chance to dress up, after all.
Actually, he never really had the chance to dress up. Not like this, and not for the man who really mattered.
He plucked at the crimson fabric while looking at himself in the mirror, nibbling at his lips and shifting again to pull at a few stray hairs that just wouldn't sit right. But the time was drawing nearer, and there was a certain giddiness welling up in him that he just wasn't accustomed to.
Could this really be what all those lovesick girls crooned over? The cause for their tittering and fan-waving at functions?
"It's time," he whispered to himself. "You've done this before, Grell. Just… Take a deep breath and…"
His eyes widened at the gentle whistling from the other side of the door and just down the stairs. Through the floorboards, he could hear his lover shuffling about and closing up shop for the night. Ciel and Sebastian had already been by asking for information while he'd been getting ready. The way the whole building shook with Undertaker's bellowing laughter had only made Grell all the more nervous.
Putting the grey-haired man in a better mood than before had been his job, but Sebastian just had to make him laugh. It was still something that Grell hadn't been able to accomplish. Not the way that damned demon did. And he knew better than anyone, after having spent the last year with Undertaker, that the man loved laughter.
His hands fell to the counter, his eyes lowering with regret.
"This was stupid…" Honestly, how was he supposed to compare? The soft chuckles drawing nearer to the room were proof of his failure.
"Where's my pretty princess?"
Grell stayed silent though, already trying to decide what he needed to take off first so he could just leave. It wasn't as though Undertaker would care all that much if he left. It had happened before, a night of theirs being interrupted by one thing or another - whether it was that little Phantomhive boy needing information and thinking that Undertaker was his own employee without a life of his own, or Grell's own responsibilities as a Reaper.
"Does this mean I need to search for'er?" Undertaker laughed. "Oh, I do love a good game of hide an' seek."
Grell knew he did. He'd been able to convince Undertaker to play a game with him two months prior, with the legendary Reaper using the skills he'd honed over his long lifetime to scour the city in the dead of night for his redhead lover. And when Grell had eventually been found, naked and already bound to Undertaker's bed… Well, that had been quite a night for both of them.
He could hear the excitement in his lover's voice at the prospect of a chase, but while that would have normally been cause for quite a bit of excitement for him as well… Grell just couldn't find the will to think about it.
Undertaker's footsteps were soft as he crept around the room, feigning a serious search for the man who he already knew was just behind the door of his small, exceedingly modern bathroom. Most others in London - unless they were of higher class - simply didn't have them. At least, they didn't all have a built-in bath and a toilet like Undertaker did. Then again, he made very good money with his line of work.
But Grell didn't really care about a bath or toilet right then either, just the mirror he was looking into, watching as tears welled on his lashes and threatened to ruin the makeup he'd so painstakingly applied.
"No' in the wardrobe… Or under the covers…" Undertaker's smile widened while his nails scraped across the dark, dented wood of his dresser. "Maybe my princess is hiding in tha' bathroom…"
Grell gripped the counter tighter than before, then forced himself to turn for the door as Undertaker drew nearer. There was only one way out of that bathroom, and it was through the door. Which meant that he needed to face his lover in some way before just leaving. And there was very little that could be done to keep him there at that point.
'What would he really want with me anyway? Someone like him… Dressing up was a silly idea… He's going to hate this…'
The door swung inward and Grell held tightly to the wood when he saw that his lover's hat was already off and the sleeves of his robe had been pushed down to his elbows. He knew just what that meant, but he really wasn't in the mood anymore. All Grell wanted right then was to disappear into the sewers and hang himself.
Undertaker's gaze raked over the ruby dress that so perfectly fit Grell's slim body. The same dress he'd worn once before, to help Ciel Phantomhive with a performance of Hamlet. It had made his mouth well and truly water that day they'd been on stage together. And seeing the red-haired Reaper wearing it again, standing in the doorway of his bathroom, meters from his own bed, was enough to have him hardening beneath his clothes.
If it wouldn't be a waste of a perfect dress, he would just rip the thing off of Grell right then. But Undertaker knew he wanted to see the younger Reaper in this again. And again.
From Grell's bare feet, up the length of his legs, pausing at his slender hips that Undertaker hoped to bruise later. Finding his arms barred around his waist and his flowing hair slightly curled. His gaze lowered to the floor and his glasses missing to highlight the attention he'd put into his makeup that night. The gentle brush of color on his lips matching his hair.
Grell was the picture of a modest woman.
"Taker…"
Oh, how he loved when Grell's voice quivered like this. All part of the act, he knew. Undertaker took a step closer, breathing in the fragrant perfume Grell had used. He smelled heavenly, just like blood-red roses blooming in the dark of night. "Ah, so my princess knows my name," he chuckled. "Don't be frightened, pet. I won't hurt ya."
Grell's head lifted slightly, his eyes shifting higher until they were locked on his. Undertaker fought to suppress a shiver of anticipation when he caught sight of the bare shine on his lashes. 'Tears… Oh, he's committing to the role tonight!'
His hands lifted to Grell's waist, drawing his lover closer so he could nip at the younger Reaper's ear. "Don't cry, princess," he chuckled. "All you have to do is be a good girl, and you'll make me very 'appy."
There it was, the one thing that Grell knew he could really never do for him. All the time they'd spent together over the last year, those late nights in each other's arms, meant nothing now. Grell sniffled and swiped at his cheeks while carefully sidestepping his advancing lover. "I-I can't…"
"Wha' in the world…"
Undertaker whirled in place while Grell rushed across the room to grab his belongings that had been placed in the far corner. His shoes and scythe and normal clothes. Even his signature red jacket.
He just couldn't understand where this was coming from, because he knew that the younger Reaper had been more than happy to dress up like this. He'd been nearly preening earlier that night when they'd had dinner over a closed casket. It had been only two hours since then. Unless this was part of the game…
He was curious though, so Undertaker made his way toward Grell and pulled his lightly curled hair over one shoulder and let his lips brush across the back of his neck. Grell flinched. Soft sniffles grew into muted whimpers as he tried to gather his things and rush out of the room. But Undertaker was definitely having none of that.
Not when he knew for a fact that this was no act. And if it wasn't part of Grell's princess persona, then he'd made a mistake. There was no game right then, regardless of how Grell was dressed or what they'd been planning earlier. The only thing that mattered to him was finding out just what had happened.
"Grell, wait."
He shook his head and scrambled across the bed toward the door, holding tightly to his belongings and fighting against the bone-shaking sobs that welled up within him. 'And I thought I could make him happy… I'm such an idiot!'
He cried out as long black sleeves slapped against the frame and a familiar body pinned him to the door. "T-Taker, stop!"
"Talk to me," Undertaker whispered. His smile was gone, and in its place a concerned frown pulled down his lips. He'd never seen Grell like this before, had never held the man while his shoulders shook and his hands trembled so badly he dropped everything he'd been carrying.
Still, he pressed himself closer, caging his lover in and holding him tenderly.
"Tell me wha's happened," he said. "Wha' made you cry?"
"... Y-You…"
"What-"
"I-I can't make you h-happy!" Grell cried. His head thudded against the door while he tried to put some distance between them. "Not like… him."
"Who?"
"S-S… S-Seb-"
Undertaker's frown deepened, and he carefully pushed against Grell's shoulders until the Reaper was facing him. He wouldn't look into his eyes, but that was alright. Most likely, he was too ashamed to let Undertaker see his makeup in such a state. "Love, I want you to listen to me."
Grell nodded quickly and finally met Undertaker's gaze when he tried to swipe at the moisture on his cheeks, and both of his hands were captured with such gentleness, with so much tenderness, that he was left without a comment sitting on his tongue.
"Nothing that demon can do will ever hold a candle to you," Undertaker said, lifting his lover's knuckles to his lips.
"B-But he… I can't do what h-he does for you…"
"Wha' might that be?"
Grell pulled one hand from Undertaker's grasp and sniffled while brushing his grey bangs away from his eyes. "He m-makes you laugh," he whimpered. "You laugh so hard when he's here. So much that you cry, a-and sometimes, it's almost as though… with just a joke… he's touched a p-part of you that I n-never will."
Undertaker's smile returned only slightly, but it was gentle and caring in a way that Grell had never seen before to his recollection. There was no teasing glimmer sitting in his green eyes as he reached up and pressed Grell's hand more firmly against his cheek.
"I think you're the one who's touched me," said Undertaker, "In ways no one could ever hope to achieve." He drew Grell's other hand to his chest, pressing it into the warm black robes he wore, just over the steadily beating heart within him.
Grell's tears fell more forcefully as Undertaker shifted so their foreheads were pressed together, the only way to be sure they could see one another with perfect clarity since - as he'd found out in the past year - his lover's vision was worse than his own. That fact that he could still smell embalming fluid clinging to the grey-haired ex-Reaper went completely unnoticed.
"All the laughter in the world could never replace wha' you give me," Undertaker whispered.
"A-And what… what could I possibly give you that no one else could?" Grell breathed.
"Love," Undertaker smiled. "In your every smile, tha's what I see. Each and every breath you take. Every touch as you curl 'round me at the end of the night. And when I see you wake up in the morning, so tired and still smiling, even though your makeup's gone…"
"Taker," Grell sniffled. He fought against the urge to lean up and press their lips together, even when he felt his lover's heart quickening beneath his breast. He'd never been this open before. Things between them were almost strictly physical, but that hadn't stopped Grell from falling head over heels for him. He'd been a goner before they'd ever kissed in that grave.
"You give me that. And I want to give you the same thing, Grell."
"Y-You… But…" His eyes closed as Undertaker pulled back and used the end of his sleeve to brush away his slowing tears. And before he could say a word, familiar arms wound around his waist and pulled him close. So much closer than he'd ever really felt with Undertaker before.
Grell had known for a while that Undertaker had a serious side to him. He'd seen it on occasion. Most often when it was a life or death situation, or when he was being particularly cryptic with Ciel. Sometimes early in the morning, the few times Grell had been the first to wake and had simply laid in bed and watched his lover's slow, steady breaths, he found Undertaker so relaxed it was breathtaking.
But in all their late nights together, in every stolen moment they'd taken in the past year, nothing had been quite like this.
