Hearing the mortician walk in behind him, Grell painted a smile on his face. He was determined to not let the "good" doctor ruin his evening completely. He spun around, meeting the Undertaker's gaze.
"Did you make a decision? What is it I can get you?" The redhead inquired. Slowly he stalked his lover, like a cat about to pounce on its prey. "...or would you much prefer something else?" He suggested, his hands sliding up the Undertaker's torso.
The mortician affixed an equally forced smile on his lips, distracted by the possibilities raging through his mind. Fortunately, his mouth was so trained to smile under any circumstance that it came easily to him and appeared natural.
"I think I'd like a brandy, darlin', if you've got it."
Styx, he thought he could probably knock back a few, right now. He hadn't been prepared for how strongly and completely his protective instincts flared up for this reaper. He didn't believe in love at first sight, nor did he tend to fall for lovers as soon as he bedded them...but there was definitely something there beyond lust. He had the self-awareness and intuition to know it would blossom into real love, if he nurtured it.
The question was, could he survive loving someone like Grell Sutcliff that way? The Undertaker was already off his rocker to begin with. He wasn't sure he needed someone driving him even more insane.
"Brandy..." Grell looked past the Undertaker. "Yes...yes I do believe I have a bottle." He hid his disappointment, trying to sound normal as he stepped around the mortician. "Where would you like to take it? The salon?" he inquired, pausing at the door.
Grell began to fidget with his bodice. He felt neglected, passed over for liquor. Doubts began to flood his mind. ~The interruption, did it turn him off? He said he would protect me, but does he truly still want me? I am being paranoid we barely know each other...yet.~
"Wherever you like, Grell." The Undertaker was finding it dreadfully hard to maintain his cheerful front; it gave him a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach to imagine what sort of things that man had done to his delicate rose while he had him in custody. Roses had thorns, though. He'd seen Grell in action before and he knew he was no pushover...which actually made the possibilities regarding how that weasely doctor could have subdued him even more sickening. He didn't want to push for answers, but he couldn't protect his love interest if he didn't understand what he was protecting him from.
"Love, pour yourself a stiff one too," he said decisively, losing the droll outer layer entirely. He turned around and he stepped up behind the redhead, rubbing his arms and kissing the crown of his head. "I think we should have a serious talk."
Grell looked up, over his shoulder, at the older reaper. "Whatever about?" The redhead asked, searching his eyes.
"Let's just get the drinks ready first and sit down, lovely. This may be a hard chat for you." Undertaker hated to ask a traumatized soul to part with things he preferred to keep swept under the rug, but this wasn't about satisfying simple curiosity. This was imperative, for his purpose.
The redhead's stomach flipped. He a bad feeling, but he took a deep breath and nodded. "Alright," he sighed, "The liquor cabinet is in the salon. I already have a fire started in there, but I am sure it needs to be stoked. Would you mind... while I fix your drink? As for me, I do not partake in hard liquor."
Slowly, Grell pivoted around to face the mortician. "I will try to answer whatever questions you have; but please do not press me to hard." He then turned, heading out of the kitchen.
"Of course," agreed the older reaper.
The Undertaker went into the indicated room and he stoked the fireplace. He glanced over at Grell as he sat down on the love seat to wait for him. The redhead was moving like an automation. Nothing had been right about his behavior since the visit from Dispatch. He moved like he was detached, and the mortician began to feel like he was losing him before he even had him.
"Sit down here with me, darlin'," he said when Grell finished pouring a glass of brandy and the another with red wine. He patted the spot beside him invitingly. "I'm only going to be asking you things that I feel I must know, if I'm to protect you from Dispatch."
Grell handed the mortician his drink. He smiled shyly as he sat down next to Khronos. He felt nervous, afraid. He crossed his legs and made himself as comfortable as possible. Eyes fixated on the swirling, garnet liquid in his goblet.
~I know what he is going to ask. How much do I say? Will he want me if I tell him? Hear the man out first Sutcliff. You don't even know what he will ask. He says he wants to protect you. Trust him.~ In his mind Grell was trying to fight the panic that was building inside him. Fears, doubts, they all were surfacing. He wrapped his free hand around his tummy. His stomach twisting in knots. ~Please do not let me get sick.~
Undertaker took a swallow of brandy, hardly tasting it as he reached out to stroke Grell's hair soothingly. "First thing I want you to know, love, is that besides yourself, Vivian was the only person I ever shared my given name of choice with. Anderson-the reaper you young folk call 'Pops'' or 'Father''-is the only living one of our kind left that still remembers a time when I used to answer to the name 'Khronos'. I don't share that name lightly, and I've revealed a side of myself to you that I've kept bottled up inside since before you even became a reaper. I don't know what's between you and I yet, but it's powerful. Maybe it really does make me mad as a hatter, but I can't walk away from it. I want you to know that, before we start."
The wine in his glass stopped swirling. Grell closed his eyes. When he opened them, he rotated his body, so that he sat on the edge, facing the Undertaker. Carefully he stretched across the mortician's lap and sat the goblet on the table next to the settee. With his hands free, he placed them on his lover's chest.
"Khronos? Do you honestly mean that? Do you truly feel something between us? It isn't me alone?" His eyes sparkled in the firelight as the questions fell from his lips, his heart skipping a beat. His eyes searched the Undertaker's eyes long and hard, afraid he had misunderstood the older reaper.
The mortician caressed Grell's fine-boned features with gentle fingertips, and he nodded. "Death help me, I think there might be. I can't explain why, love...all I know is I felt a fierce need to defend you when Spears showed up earlier with that doctor, and maybe I would have anyway if I'm wrong about our connection, but I doubt I'd feel this...churning rage...at the thought of that man getting his hands on you. I need you to tell me what he's done to you, Grell, and how much sway he's got with Dispatch."
Grell lowered his head, "I honestly have no idea how much sway he as with the Dispatch... nor do I know how he treats his other patients. I just... he is cruel!" He blurted out.
"He is sick and abuses his rights as a doctor." Grell's face contorted as he snarled. "And his goons are always there, helping him."
Agitated, the redhead abruptly stood and walked to the hearth. He placed his hand on the mantle for support as he stared down at the leaping flames. He clutched his stomach with his free hand. "He says I am special... an-and that I belong to him. He calls me Erdbeer...his Strawberry. I cannot even look at the fruit anymore. They remind me of him and make me sick."
Undertaker felt a bit queasy, himself. "Did this start right away, from the very first time you were detained?"
Squeezing his eyes shut, Grell shook his head. "The first two weeks I was detained for the Ripper case, was spent in the Reaper prison...Pending my hearing and psych evaluation."
He spun around and looked over at the Undertaker. Debating whether he could go on, if he could say more. His memory was not always reliable, when he thought back to the nine months he was in the psychiatric ward. There were gaps; holes if you like in his memory. He only had feelings and glimpses of the missing pieces. If he mentioned that, would Khronos believe him? Even Grell was not sure if he could believe himself. And as much as he would love to remember everything, he was also terrified of what he might uncover.
"Take your time, love," encouraged the mortician gently.
Grell nodded, "Doctor Wilhelm Wundt." He snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "He was assigned to evaluate me. Being in a holding cell at the prison; well at least there I was treated like a reaper."
Pausing, Grell looked to the floor. He began to chew on the inside of his mouth. "Wundt deemed me incompetent. He said that I had been brain washed by the mortal Durless and that I needed to be treated, not punished." A sob racked through him. "I was not brain washed. I had fallen in love. But I, at the time, had not yet come to regret killing her. I-I was still angry with her. Wundt, said I was sick for having feelings for a mortal and they were not real."
"Nonsense," snorted the Undertaker. Having loved a mortal woman once himself, he could identify with Grell. "He's a quack. There isn't a cure for love and it doesn't distinguish between mortals and death gods. What was his suggested 'treatment'?"
"Well...I can tell you that wasn't what was put in my official record." Grell scoffed, walking back to the settee. He stopped in front of the Undertaker. "Nine months..."
Picking his goblet up, the redhead took a swig of wine before continuing. He rolled his tongue, sloshing the liquid around in his mouth. Grell swallowed, "That was all the judge at my hearing would allow him. He said that should be more than enough time to treat me. So I was released into Wundt's hands, for the treatment of brainwashing and addiction to blood. At least, that is what my record states. I should know. The minute I was released, I marched into William's office, demanding to know why I was sent to the ward."
Grell took another sip of his wine, then waved his goblet around. "Alright, maybe not the minute I was released. But when I felt strong enough I did. Will showed me my record. The bloody doctor didn't treat me. He used me! He-he." Unable to control his emotions any longer, Grell broke down and began to cry.
Undertaker got off the couch and put his arms around him. He had a feeling by the way Grell broke down that sexual violations might have been a part of it. Biting back a string of profanities, he tried to calm his anger and comfort him.
"Easy now," he soothed as gently as possible. "It's over now, love."
But that wasn't really true, and he knew it. It never truly ended, for rape survivors. Vivian had been violated too, and it took a long time for her to stop trembling instinctively, with each initial romantic touch. She always apologized to him, despite his reassurances that he wasn't offended. Her experience had awakened a primal fear of men in her, and Undertaker was the only one she came to trust, afterwards.
Grell didn't shy away from his touch, but that didn't mean he wasn't violated at some point. It was different for each individual, he supposed.
"I won't let him touch you again," promised the ancient, "and I'll do what I can to see him punished for this."
"Punished...!" Grell laughed as he backed from the Undertaker's arms. "That son of a bitch? Ha...! No one would believe me."
"Grell Sutcliff... The insane redhead!" He scowled at the mortician. "Do you honestly believe that-that pop-in-jay will be caught? Punished?"
In a fit of temper built from anger and pain, Grell turned and threw his glass of wine at the hearth. The fire roared, instantly filling the room with a wave of heat as the red liquid was absorbed by the flames. The goblet shattering as it hit the back wall of the fire place, splintering the glass to sparkle like diamonds in the grate.
"Enough."
The ancient didn't raise his voice, but his tone held the weight of command behind it, ingrained in him from years long past as a veteran. It bore no resemblance at all to his "mortician" voice.
The salon sat on the same side of the house as the kitchen. Turning from the mortician, Grell stumbled over to the window. The wine was impairing his cognitively. He collapsed on the window seat and peered at the moon.
"It mocks me... just as it did that first night." He muttered, rotating his head to look back at the Undertaker. "You won't want me either. Not when you learn what he did to me."
Grell leaned against the pane of glass. "They came in the middle of the night. To...you know...take me to the loony bin." His hand began to trace circles on the window glass. "I was all alone in that section of the prison. No one heard them enter my cell. The warden was...well actually, I have no idea where the warden was. I just remember being grabbed. A gag was forced into my mouth and as I threw my head back, there was the moon, smiling back at me. Grinning wide... as though it knew what hell I was heading for and relishing that knowledge. The last thing I remember was the feeling of something being jabbed into my neck. A needle...? Yes that was what it was; a needle. He drugged me. I later awoke, naked in the ward."
Undertaker listened with his head tilted and his ancient eyes softened with sympathy. Hearing this account made him feel helpless all over again, and the gruffness he'd used to settle the redhead down faded in the wash of compassion he felt for him. "Is that what you think, rose? That I would not want you, for something that was beyond your control?"
He approached him again, embracing him slowly and carefully from behind. He spoke into his ear, his gaze lifting to the moon beaming down outside. "The moon doesn't care one way or the other, love...but I do," he whispered, before planting a tender kiss there, "and it may take time, but Wundht will receive his just desserts. We'll see to it, together. I just need you to be brave for me, kitten. Brave and fierce, like the lunatic I know you can be—and that's a compliment, by the way."
"I feel... sleepy," yawned the redhead. He laid his head in the crook of the mortician's arm. His eyes fluttering shut.
Growing accustomed to the mercurial shifts in Grell's demeanor, Undertaker smiled. "You've relived a trying experience. Let ol' Undertaker put you to bed, hmm?"
"Yes, bed. That sounds wonderful." Grell nuzzled the mortician's arm.
Undertaker took his cue, and he scooped Grell up in his arms, bride style. "Which way to the bedroom, lovely?"
"Up the stairs, turn left and immediately left again. Go straight through the-the...aha.. door ahead of you." Grell yawned, nestling his head against the mortician's shoulder. "I'm sorry for loosing my temper as...aha... as well."
"Think nothing of it." Undertaker nuzzled his bright hair and started for the staircase. "You were reliving a traumatic experience. I know it wasn't directed at me."
He carried him up the stairs and followed his directions to the bedroom, nudging the door open with his foot. Shifting Grell in his arms for a more secure hold, he brought him inside and he laid him down on the big canopy bed against the back wall.
Grell's boudoir was of moderate size. Its walls were garnet with gold trims, bordering along the ceiling and around the window frame. The floor was covered in soft sandy colored carpet, a nice offset to the darkness of the room. The furniture was cherry wood and built to be sturdy. A fireplace was off to the side of his bed. The mantle in matching cherry wood, with gold highlights. Dark green tiles with red roses lay as the base of the hearth. Pictures adorned the mantle. Most were painting portraits, but there were a few photographs as well. His bed was a four poster with canopy. Heavy drapes were drawn back on the sides. They were dark green with a red rose print on them, matching the tiles of the hearth as well as the drapes that were pulled back by gold color chords, on the grand windows across from his bed. Moon light flooded the room. The windows were etched with black iron panels, creating the shape of diamonds in them.
Another door sat off to the side of the fireplace, it lead to the washroom. Two nightstands sat on either side of the large bed. A beautiful green comforter lay across the bed, again with the matching rose print that seemed to adorn everything in the room, and his sheets were garnet, below. Running the length below the window was a window seat, covered in red and green cushions. Its base was a book shelf, full, housing a good number of books. On the other side of the room was a large armoire. The room was dark, creating a cozy and romantic feel about it. It Represented the redhead's personality to a tee.
Grell's eyes opened as he felt the bed beneath him and reached a hand out. Gently, his fingers encircled the mortician's wrist. "Please don't leave me?" The request was genuine. He was afraid to be alone and he felt safe knowing the retired reaper was by his side.
Undertaker smiled down at him. "Wasn't planning to, love," he assured, and he began to remove the redhead's shoes and stockings. "Let's just get the both of us a bit more comfortable, eh?"
He kept his touch light and gentle; not sexual. He reckoned the last thing Grell needed after revealing what had happened to him was someone making advances on him. He lifted Grell's foot after peeling the stockings off, and he kissed his foot before dropping it to the bed and removing his own shoes and socks. He took off his tie and lay down with his lover, holding him close.
"I'll stay all night if you want, my dear," he murmured into his hair.
"Yes...yes..." Another yawn caused the redhead to pause, before he could finish his sentence. His lids were growing heavier and it was becoming harder for him to stay awake. "Please stay... and-and would you mind untying my laces. I-I do not...aha... think I should sleep in my corset and b-bustle."
Nodding in understanding, Undertaker sat up and he helped his companion into a sitting position, too. He poked his tongue out the corner of his mouth in concentration as he undid the items and helped him out of them. He got up to put them safely on the window seat, and he considered the armoire. "Do you have a night gown you'd like to change into, lovely?"
"Top-top drawer of my chest of drawers...aha... next to the armoire. There... there you will find my..." Grell had begun to reply as he snuggled up into his stash of pillows. But then a gentle snore wafted from the bed as he drifted off to sleep.
Undertaker watched him for a moment, and he debated inwardly over whether he should change him while he slept. He had no intention of taking advantage of him, but the redhead was a bit in his cups and if he woke up in something he didn't go to sleep in, he might wonder if something untoward had happened. Deciding it was best to leave him be, Undertaker tucked him in and joined him, holding him close and stroking his hair until he too slipped into dreams.
~xox~
Hours passed as the pair of reapers slept, but in the early hours before dawn the redhead began to moan. His dreams became frightening and he started to toss and turn.
Fog covered London—as it usually did in the wintertime, casting shadows around every corner. Grell had been sent to collect the soul of a prostitute in the dreary East end. The smell of waste and decay made his stomach turn sour. He plugged his nose with his fingers as he wandered down the dark passageways. A black cat hissed as it ran out in front of him, making him jump back, startled.
"Damn cat! Have you no manners? Scaring a lady like that. Shame on you!" He scolded as he continued on his way.
Coming to an intersection, Grell paused. He looked down both ways. An eerie green light glowed to his right. It was coming from the end of the alley. Curious, he turned the corner. The sound of clanking metal filled the air as he grew closer to the dead-end a head of him, but despite the green light he could not make out any shapes. The sounds of moaning and crying began to echo off the walls surrounding him.
"Hello?! Is-is someone there?" He called out. To which there was no reply.
Gradually he moved closer to the sound. A woman's voice…she was giggling.
"Grell, come here darling. I have a present for you. Its wrapped in your favourite colour." The woman called to him, enticing him. Her voice was familiar and yet he could not recall hearing it before.
The redhead replied, his voice quaking. "Who are you? I c-cannot see you. Do I..." He stopped where he stood as a figure began to approach him. "Red?" He gasped. He started to run forward only to realize he did not recognize the person standing in front of him. Yes she was dressed and resembled his beloved Madame Red, but it was not her.
He summoned his scythe, prepared to fight, to defend himself if need be. Something felt off, something was wrong.
"Grell don't your recognize me? Or has death been unkind to me?" She asked as she stepped into the light. Her face was rotted and maggots fell from her lips as she spoke. The bones of her fingers protruded from the skin on her hands. "Grell don't you want me anymore? I killed her especially for you. Remember how you loved blood so much... how you wanted to make them look pretty in their own colour of red." The figure pointed to a corpse lying behind her. The eerie green light fell upon the body of the dead girl in the mortician's shop.
"Come now darling... she needs you. I need you, Grell. My handsome, incompetent butler." She purred, reaching out to take his hand.
"Stay away from me. You are not my Red. She's... she's dead! Don't touch me!" The redhead yelled as he began to back away from her. His body collided with something solid. Slowly he turned around. "NO! Not you two!" He exclaimed, his eyes falling on Wundt's two goons. "What are you doing here? If you're here then..."
"That's right Grell. It's time for your treatment." Wundt's voice rang in his ear as a cold hand touched his warm cheek.
Grell revved his chainsaw, "Don't touch me!" He snapped. Twirling around he swung his scythe, only to slice through air. His eyes darted to and fro, scanning for the doctor. A sharp pain pierced the back of his neck. Grell dropped his scythe, grabbing at his neck. His eyes glossing over. The sound of approaching foot steps catching his attention. He looked up as the Undertaker came into view.
"Khronos?" He whispered, his knees buckling from under him. He landed hard against the cold brick pavement. His eyes fluttering as the drug began to take affect. The feel of hands grabbing at him as he began to call to his new lover, "Khronos! H-help me!"
His eyes shot wide as he saw a figure appear behind the mortician. A wide grin was carved into Wundt's lips as his scythe materialized in his hand. The bright yellow handle of a spade gleamed in the green light, making it almost appear luminescent. Its edge was jagged, an altered scythe.
Grell let out a blood-curdling scream as the doctor brought the scythe down into his lover's back, piercing his reaper's soul. Cinematic records flooding the darkened night.
"KHRONOS!" The scream reverberated off the dark walls of Grell's bedroom. The redhead shot up in his bed, drenched in sweat. His entire body shaking. He was naked to the waist, his pantaloons still covering his lower half. The sheets were twisted around his legs, his hair clung to his face.
Undertaker jerked awake with a start, shaken out of more pleasant dreams than those tormenting his companion. He sat up and took Grell into his arms immediately, guessing by the wild, staring eyes that he was still one foot in whatever nightmare had drawn the scream from his lips.
"Grell...shh, I'm here," he soothed, stroking the disheveled crimson hair out of the younger reaper's eyes. "Calmly now; come back to me. That's it, just look into my eyes."
He was encouraged when the fear-dilated gaze locked with his, and he kept his voice low, soothing and confident. "You're safe, love. Whatever demons are haunting your dreams can't get you here."
With a trembling hand, the redhead touched the mortician's cheek. "I... you... h-he... you're..." Not another word passed Grell's lips, instead he pulled the Undertaker to him, crushing their mouths together. He needed to feel him, to know he was real. He needed to know that he was still alive.
Undertaker returned the kiss, curious as to what he'd dreamt about. He was concerned, but the desperate passion of Grell's kiss made a different emotion rise within him, and he tried to quell it out of courtesy for the redhead's recent trauma. This wasn't the time to let his cock do the thinking.
Grell broke the kiss and sat back, just staring at the mortician. He brushed the silver bangs from the man's face, so he could look him in the eye. "Y-you're not dead." Panted the redhead, trying to catch his breath. "H-he tried to-to take you from... me."
Undertaker smiled and caressed his face. "No, I'm not dead. It was only a dream, my dear. I haven't gone anywhere."
"I-I am s-so sorry. You don't deserve to be... dragged into all of this." Grell swallowed, still finding his breath escaping him. His heart was still racing and goose bumps sprang up over his exposed flesh. He shivered as the cool night air kissed his damp skin.
"Nonsense," countered Undertaker. "I'm here because I want to be, darlin'. Simple as that."
He kissed the redhead's trembling lips and pulled the covers up around Grell, hugging him close to warm him. "I could have walked away at any time, but there's something between you and I. The injustice done to you demands restitution be paid; but right now, my first priority is keeping you out of that weasel's hands. Well, that and snuggling. I do enjoy the snuggles."
He gave Grell a little squeeze and a playful smile, trying to take his mind off of his nightmare.
Grell nuzzled the Undertaker. "I love to snuggle too. Especially with a handsome reaper like yourself." The redhead smiled, strumming his fingers down the mortician's chest. "But I can't h-help it. There was a warning in the way Wundt... the way he called my... I mean the way he whispered his pet name in my ear."
Sitting up right, Grell's eyes met the Undertaker's. "He is up to something. I can sense it...feel it. I don't like it, either. I want to know what the bastard is up to."
"Then we'll find out," insisted the Undertaker, "after you've rested up. You're going to need all your wits to deal with this craven apple-john, and so will I. The question I have for you is whether you'd like to do it subtle-like, or go after him directly? The former is better for your career, but it will take time and frustration, and there is no guarantee that Dispatch will take your side. The latter is better for quick results, but it will doubtless result in you becoming not only an outcast like myself, but a fugitive. If you want my advice, you'll take a few days to think about it before deciding which path you want to take, love."
Grell looked down, the memory of the doctors lingering touch on his cheek. "I just want him to disappear. I just don't want to see him ever again. His touch..." The crimson reaper's head snapped back up, peering into the mortician's eyes. "I just want to forget his touch."
Delicately, Grell laid his hand on top of the Undertaker's. Gradually he lifted it, placing it flat against his chest. He softly spoke his voice full of desperation. "Help me forget it?"
The mortician looked down at the hand that was now lying against Grell's pale chest, with the crimson reaper's elegant, slim hand resting over it. He looked into Grell's eyes, searchingly. "I can't make you forget it," he answered with regret, "but I can try to give you a different touch to remember, whenever those dark memories creep up on you...a loving one."
He slowly stroked his palm over the flat, lean expanse of Grell's bare chest, keeping his eyes locked with his. "And if at any time you need me to stop, my dear, just say so and I shall."
He cupped Grell's chin with his free hand, gently tilting his head to the side to bare his neck for his lips. He nuzzled the spot beneath the redhead's ear before pressing his lips more firmly against it. He felt Grell's pulse beneath his lips, his heartbeat beneath his palm. Khronos moved with infinite care, wary of triggering him. Grell had been wildly passionate during each encounter they'd shared thus far, but that was before that doctor showed his slimy face and set him off.
"I'm with you, love," whispered Undertaker against the silken skin of Grell's neck. "Feel me."
He let his hand slowly glide lower over the redhead's chest, while the other one stroked his hair. He worshiped his throat with his lips, determined not to rush it.
"Yes... I understand." He whispered breathlessly. Grell's eyes closed, his hands resting gently on the Undertaker's chest. "I... only want to ever feel your touch on my body." With each kiss the mortician bestowed, the fire between Grell's legs grew.
Slowly, Grell slid his left hand down the Undertaker's body. His fingers, feathering over each muscle, each scar. "Tell me... how did you get this... ahh... scar?" He asked, moaning. His index finger ran up the scar on the mortician's abdomen.
"That one was left by a former associate's death scythe," answered the mortician softly, pressing a kiss on Grell's collarbone. "As were the rest. I wouldn't be parted from my scythe, you see."
The hand stroking Grell's hair glided down to the small of his back, the long nails skimming gently over the redhead's skin.
"Is it really that important to you? That you would not only risk your..." He paused, opening his eyes. He gently pushed the mortician back so he could look at him. Grell's eyes locked onto the Undertaker's, a tiny giggle bubbled up from his very depths. "Of course you would, wouldn't you? Risk your immortal life to keep that scythe of yours."
"Wouldn't you do the same?" challenged the ancient with a smirk. "The longer we use them, the more attached to our scythes we become. Don't tell me the bloody red reaper would quietly hand his chainsaw over, if Dispatch tried to take it away forever. I've had Skull since the first of us were created. Giving him up would have been like losing a limb."
"Touché! Dispatch would have to pry her from my cold, dead hands." The redhead conceded. "However... that does not stop Pigeon from confiscating my beloved toy from time to time. At least he takes good care of my baby and returns her unharmed to me... that is when my suspensions are fulfilled." He chuckled slightly.
Grell's fingers began to wander further down the mortician's body, following a scar that dipped below the waist of the Undertaker's trousers. His eyebrow lifted. "So you say all of these scars were created from a fight with a reaper over your... 'Skull' as you call it." He inquired, biting his lower lip.
"More than one reaper," answered the mortician, his voice going husky as Grell's questing touch came steadily nearer to the source of his arousal. "They came for me shortly after I resigned from Dispatch. The glasses I was willing to part with, seeing as I'd already given them up. Can't say the same for ol' Skull, though. He's part of me now."
He stroked Grell's inner thigh and began to kiss his neck softly. "Two of them didn't live through it. The other survived, but I was the only one that could crawl away by the end."
He said it matter-of-fact, with no tone of arrogance or pride. It was what it was, and he'd buried it in the past along with so many other memories.
Tipping his head back, exposing more of his neck, Grell let his lids fall closed. "Is that so? Were you not... umm... punished for such insubordination?" He asked, gulping.
Grell dipped his hand below the waist of the Undertaker's trousers. The tips of his fingers brushing up against his hardened arousal. Still they moved further down, till his palm came to rest over the soft, heated flesh of the mortician's throbbing shaft.
Undertaker barely suppressed a groan of need, pushing into the redhead's touch and kissing his skin more urgently. "They tried, but I had some connections with the right folk. They eventually decided that so long as I didn't...break any dictates of our...society, it wasn't worth the trouble. My old...reputation helped some."
His breath caught as Grell's hand started to move, and he retracted his nails and slipped his hand into the redhead's undergarments to return the favor.
Grell reached down with his free hand and pulled the Undertaker's hand from his pantaloons. "Lay back." He whispered, slipping his own hand from the mortician's pants.
The ancient readily complied, relaxing against the pillows. "Whatever you desire, rose. I'm all yours."
Carefully the redhead lowered himself atop the mortician. Placing his hands on each side of the Undertaker's head, Grell pressed his lips tenderly to the retired reaper's. Gradually his tongue began to beg for entrance, his body heat increasing, desiring to dance with his lover's tongue.
His cock grew longer and harder as he rubbed it against the Undertaker's own stiffened length. He moaned into the kiss, then whispered, "Don't be afraid to... ahh... touch me."
Undertaker was already sliding his hands over Grell's hips with a lover's caress. He parted his lips to allow entry to his mouth, giving the redhead his silent consent to explore at his leisure. His hands curved inward, following the lines of Grell's pelvic bones until he felt the crisp, springy hair framing his groin.
Tongue fondling the redhead's, he gripped the base of his shaft with one hand and slipped the other beneath to palm the sack there. He began to massage them both, gripping his own swollen length along with Grell's.
For just a moment, Grell broke the kiss. His eyes peered down at his lover. "Remove my pantaloons and touch only me." He commanded, nipping the mortician's bottom lip, before his tongue dove back into the Undertaker's mouth.
Grinning at the command, the older reaper did as he was bidden. He helped to balance the redhead as he slipped the garment off of him, and once Grell was straddling him again, he resumed his fondling. He brushed the pad of his thumb over the head of Grell's arousal and he sucked gently on his tongue as it pushed back into his mouth.
If his lover wanted to control the encounter, he would allow it. Grell had his control ripped from him by that quack of a doctor, and this was but a small step in getting it back...helping him to feel safe again. That was just fine by the Undertaker; it was the best he could do for him, right now.
"Nnhh..." Grell moaned his hips jerking as the mortician's thumb brushed over the head of his erection, causing him to thrust hard into the Undertaker's hand. His nails dug into the sheets with each stroke of the mortician's hand.
Needing air, the redhead broke the kiss, throwing his head back as he pushed himself up. He panted heavily as he looked back down at his lover. "Y-you're... you're going t-to make me... ahh... come-come to s-soon." He stammered.
His nails clawing down the mortician's chest, tiny beads of blood appearing in their wake. Bowing down over his lover, he lapped at the trails of blood like a cat drinking milk. "Y-you taste... delicious." He purred.
Undertaker accepted the punishment with a little hiss, finding beauty in the pain. He stopped fondling Grell's balls to stroke his hair encouragingly, allowing him to lap up his blood as much as he liked, before the scratches closed up.
He bucked beneath him impulsively, fighting the desire to roll him over and pin him beneath him. His exposed cock was flushed at the head and glistening with arousal, smearing against Grell's bare stomach as the crimson reaper sampled his life's blood.
"Can't say anyone's ever...said that to me before, love...at least, not about my blood."
Grell smiled wickedly at the statement, his lips stained red. Stretching out over the mortician's body, he pressed their chests together. Excess blood smearing on his own chest, Grell whispered into the Undertaker's ear. "Red looks good on you as well." He nipped the delicate flesh of the mortician's ear. "Reach your hands under my pillow. You will find... something useful." And with that he lowered his mouth to the Undertaker's neck.
Undertaker did as advised, his fingers coming into contact with something smooth and cylindrical. He pulled it out to find it was a bottle of clear oil, and when he opened it, he detected the faint scent of roses. Smiling with understanding, he uncorked the bottle and he dribbled some of the substance onto his fingers.
"I take it you want me to do the honors, darlin'?"
Nodding, Grell whispered, his breath feathering over the mortician's pale skin. "Yes... Take me. Do as you wish." He swallowed, then kissed the crook of his lover's shoulder. "Use my body any way you like. I give myself to you."
"I rather like you right where you are," said the mortician huskily. "I'd like you to ride me, lovely."
He reached beneath and between Grell's straddling thighs to seek out the entrance to his body, and he smeared some of the oil on his fingers over it before breaching him gently. He gripped the base of his shaft with the other firmly, remembering the redhead's warning the he didn't want to come too soon.
With a seductive little smile on his lips, he began to stroke him inside, and he murmured hotly into his ear.
"Let's see what you can really do with these hips, my dear. You set the pace, and when you're ready to burst, I'll have my way with you."
Grell's back arched as he felt the Undertaker's finger, glide into his body. His eyes closed as he nodded in recognition to the man's request. Eventually he lowered his mouth to the mortician's, kissing him passionately as his hips moved with his lover's digits. His left hand's fingers twisted and wrapped around the silver braid in the Undertaker's hair. His other held him up, supporting his weight. Soft moans fell from his lips, passing over his lover's.
"Nnnh... Khronos..." He panted, breaking the kiss. He reached down and covered the mortician's hand. With his fingers covering his lover's, he slowly stroked himself, guiding the mortician's hand up and down his shaft. He bit his lower lip as he looked down at the Undertaker below him. His hips still rocking back and forth as he felt another finger slip into his body.
"Enjoying that, rose?" Undertaker's voice came out in a breathless, husky drone.
He undulated beneath him restlessly, rubbing his aching cock against his inner thigh to leave a glistening trail of precum there. The teasing friction wasn't enough, and he suppressed a groan of frustration. He allowed Grell to guide his hand over his taut flesh, and he began to pump his fingers inside of him, curling them searchingly.
Grell pried the mortician's hand from around his thrumming cock and leaned down. His lips hovered just over his lover's. He whispered, tauntingly. "I want to taste more of you... ahh... I want to drink from you and then... nnh... when you can stand it no longer." He nipped the mortician' bottom lip. "As I said before. Take me however you like. Sweetly and soft or fast and rough. Either way..."
His tongue flicked out and licked the dribble of blood that seeped from the Undertaker's sliced lip. A wicked flame danced in his eye as Grell's voice became darker. "Fuck me."
Carefully, Grell removed the mortician's other hand from his body. Saying nothing more, the redhead, began to slither down the mortician's body. His eyes locked onto his lover's. His nails slicing down the Undertaker's body once more as fresh beads of blood painted his chest and stomach. But Grell did not tarry to drink the beautiful blood, allowing his lover to heal. His mind was fixated and desiring the taste of something else. His body slid over the mortician's legs and his hands grabbed the waist of his lover's pants, pulling them down the rest of the way and disposed of them onto the floor. Grell snaked his hands up his lover's legs, spreading them, he nestled between them. His tongue danced around the Undertaker's heated flesh. Base to tip, it slinked its way up. "Mmm..." He softly purred.
Undertaker tensed involuntarily, sucking in a sharp breath and tasting his own blood on his lips in the process. He was well aware if the danger he was flirting with, letting the shark-toothed reaper put his mouth on his goods-especially considering the blood lust Grell had displayed. Still, he didn't try to stop him. Somehow he trusted him not to damage the cock he wanted inside of him so badly. He stroked Grell's hair and he tried to relax.
"Easy on the package, love," he warned...just in case.
Grell's tongue circled the bulbous head of the Undertaker's erection, before pressing his lips to the burning flesh. Slowly his mouth covered the mortician and inch by inch, Grell took him deeper. Gradually he came back up, gently scrapping his teeth along Kronos' twitching shaft. With only the tip remaining in his mouth, Grell gave a little suck, then quickly he bobbed his head back down, sheathing the mortician once more in his mouth. Deeper, the Undertaker's cock tickled the back of his throat as he repeated the procedure.
Undertaker couldn't suppress a tremor and a groan of pleasure. It had been some time since anyone did this to him, and he moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue and looked down the length of his body to watch. He stroked Grell's fiery hair with trembling hands, eventually curling his fingers into it. It took a mighty effort to resist pulling as he watched his swollen , moist flesh slide into Grell's sucking mouth.
His gaze lost focus as the feel of the redhead's tongue swirling around the tip jolted his senses. "M-mother of death," he gasped, his hips lifting from the mattress. "Grell...love...feels amazing..."
He shut his eyes and let his head fall back against the pillows, silver locks wisping over his face with the motion. His breath quickened as his lover eagerly slurped and sucked, and he knew he wouldn't last for much longer.
"You...you're going to get a bigger taste of me...than you bargained for," he predicted as the pelvic tension grew and grew.
Grell's smile widened. "And what did I tell you to do... when you could no longer contain yourself?" He ran his tongue up along the slick flesh. Grell's own erection began to twitch at the thought of the mortician claiming his body.
Driven to the edge, Undertaker couldn't bear it any longer. With a growl of carnal passion, he grabbed his lover by the shoulders and pulled him up roughly, dragging him along his torso until he was splayed on top of him. He cupped his head and drew his mouth down for a ravishing kiss; cutting both their mouths on Grell's teeth in the process. He guided the smaller man into a straddling position on top of him, and then he lined his stiffened shaft up to nudge into him.
His response to the moan that burst from his companion's bloodied lips was another growl, and he cupped his hips to hold him firmly in place as he drove the long, thick length of his cock into his tight heat, deeper and deeper.
"Nnnh..." The redhead moaned, his head falling back, exposing his throat. Blood ran form his lips over his chin and down his ivory neck. His eyes fell closed, grabbing his lover's wrist. His other hand lay sprawled out on the mortician's chest bracing himself.
Gradually he lifted his head and opened his eyes. His gaze meeting his lover's. "Khronos... ahh... Touch me." He groaned, dragging the Undertaker's hand from his hip to his throbbing cock. "I... I want... to come with... with you."
Grell leaned down for a moment, pressing their mouths together, before his hips began to rock back and forth harder, urging his lover to stroke him. His skin glistened under the veil of darkness as sweat covered his body. His moans grew as he edged closer to his undoing. It would not be much longer till he would spill forth, orgasm in his lover's gentle hand.
The older reaper stroked him slowly, thrusting beneath him and gasping with each pump of his hips. He squeezed Grell's ass with his free hand and he groaned his name, loving every moment of feeling his snug passage massaging his length.
"Ahh...ah, darlin'...you fit like a glove..."
He clenched his teeth and hissed through them, fighting his impending climax to make the encounter last longer. He squeezed Grell's erection more firmly as he tilted his head back against the pillows, and he rubbed the smooth, soft curve of his bottom.
"K-Khronos... I..." Grell swallowed hard as his body began to vibrate. "Nnnh... I'm... c-coming. Ahh... KHRONOS!" He cried out, releasing himself over his lover's hand and stomach. His body clutched all around the mortician's cock, squeezing it, deep inside him. His own length continuing to ejaculate from the Undertaker's continuous stroking.
"Nu...ohh!" He couldn't withstand the assault of pleasure as Grell's ass clamped down on his thrusting sex, and Undertaker arched his back. He lifted his hips off the bedding-as well as the impassioned reaper straddling him-and he spurted hot and hard inside of him. He shook from the intensity of it, his body vibrating with his lover's.
"Grell," he panted as he spent himself within him. When he had nothing left to give, he still continued to twitch inside him for several heartbeats. It finally eased up, and he released Grell's cock to run his hands over the fair, sweat dampened body atop his. Grell looked eerily beautiful to him, with the drying blood staining his lips and throat, and the afterglow of sexual gratification on his face.
"Mercy, love...I think I...lost IQ points, just now," announced the Undertaker breathlessly. "I could swear I ejaculated my brains out."
Giving a little giggle, Grell collapsed atop Khronos. "So you have finally come down to my level then," retorted the redhead.
Raising his chin, Grell, kissed the mortician's cheek. He reached up and peeled the silver locks that clung to Khronos' face. Lightly and nimbly his fingers worked, until every last strand was no longer sticking to the Undertaker's alabaster skin.
"Your skin is like... porcelain love. It looks so fragile... but beautiful." Grell softly spoke, trying to catch his breath. "Khrronos?" Smoothly he pushed himself up to look in his lover's eyes. "I know we-we have only just connected... but years, we have known each other for years." A tinge of pink, dusted his cheeks.
"Ah, Hell! I think I am falling in love with you!" The words rushing from the redhead's mouth.
Quickly his eyes darted away, to afraid he would see rejection staring back at him. He laid his head on the mortician's chest and focused on the sound of his calming heartbeat. His fingers, tracing a scar on the mortician's collar.
The admission surprised Undertaker, but he found it more pleasing than shocking. Still winded from the intensity of their encounter, he stroked Grell's back and he took a few moments of silence to consider his own feelings. He admitted to himself that a part of him was outright afraid to love another...to put his heart on the line again. However, there was no denying the connection he felt growing between them the past two days. He didn't feel this sort of protective devotion for just anybody, either.
"I think I'm falling in love with you too, my dear," he finally whispered. Saying it out loud was easier than he'd anticipated.
Grell looked back up at the mortician, surprised by his reply, to his confession. His eyes were wide, so many emotions swimming in their deep pools of emerald and peridot green. Timidly he spoke, "You are? I expected you to say it was to soon, that it was impossible for me to feel something... after only a couple of days of being together."
He tenderly touched the Undertaker's cheek. "I think this feeling has been inside me for some time."
The mortician grinned. "Even when I annoyed you, love?"
Grell smiled, "Perhaps. I can't be sure about that. I believe I truly despised you those times. However I did always notice the way you handled the Phantomhive brat... that was when I attended my beautiful Red and of course you did not fight me to much, when I stuck you in that pot of salt." He teased, poking the mortician in the chest.
"You have always fascinated me. You only became more handsome when I found out you were not mortal... but in fact a reaper like myself. I believe that was when I truly took notice of you. Though I never would have guessed you would harbor similar feelings the way you jested me." Grell smirked, his fingers crawling up the Undertaker's chest, then bopping him on the nose.
"Hasn't anyone ever told you that lads tease the girls they like to show affection?" Reasoned Undertaker with a chuckle. "The same rule applies here, darlin'. That was my way of flirting without making it obvious."
"You lie?!" Grell exclaimed, pinching one of the mortician's erect nipples. Not rough, but enough to make him jump.
"Ack! No, it's the honest to death's truth, you little nightmare!" Undertaker gave him a brief swat on the ass, grinning from ear to ear. He rubbed the tip of his nose affectionately against Grell's. "I've a boyish streak at times, and I thought you might laugh at me if I started making romantic gestures. How else was I to get attention from you, without revealing my attraction outright?"
He sighed, sobering a bit. "Problem is, I'm an old fool who didn't think you'd return my affections. It didn't cross my mind to try wooing you 'till my bucket of paint dropped on you and I saw a more vulnerable side. You might say I took advantage of a damsel in distress."
Grell jerked from the sting of the mortician's hand on his rump. He scowled at the Undertaker. "You really are a scoundrel and a creep." A rueful smile painted the redhead's lips, his face softening. "How deplorable of you. Taking advantage of me like that. I was as black as midnight and you... you..." Shutting up, Grell stretched up. Softly he pressed their mouths together. "Thank gravity for dropping that can on me." He cooed as his eyes fluttered shut and he captured the mortician's mouth.
The mortician chuckled into the kiss, stroking Grell's soft, tangled hair lovingly. He kissed him back with sated adoration and he wondered again how something that started as a curious little crush had blossomed into an almost frightening feeling of devotion and passion. Questioning it further would avail him little. He'd already tripped and he was now entangled in bonds he knew he wouldn't escape; he didn't even want to try, now.
"Think you can sleep now, my dear?" he murmured between kisses.
The sun would begin to rise soon, but neither of them had gotten a proper night's rest and he wasn't one to allow his body to drift into fatigue, if he could help it. That was one of the few things their kind was vulnerable to, and he'd faced the unpleasant business of a coma resulting from sleep deprivation before. If he was to protect his lover, he needed his wits and so did Grell. He frowned at the realization that he still had a business to run, and he couldn't be here to guard the redhead from the doctor and his minions at all hours. Grell was more than capable of taking care of himself in most cases, but he'd seen with his own eyes the affect that Dr. Wundt had on him. The thought gave him an idea.
"We can't have you weakening through lack of rest," he said gently, "nor I."
He hesitated, wondering how Grell would react to what he was about to propose. Falling in love or not, they had only just begun to explore their relationship further. Perhaps it was better to just spit it out. "I think I'd like you to come and stay with me for a while," he said cautiously, "at least during the day, when my shop is open. I'm not trying to smother you, love, but I don't think you should be alone while that thing is plotting to get his hooks into you. I've certain protections around my shop that stop Shinigami and other supernaturals from entering unless I want them to. You could pack a chest and keep it in the bedroom, so's you have whatever you need close at hand, and if you prefer, we can spend the nights here at your home."
He gazed up at him and stroked his hair, hoping he wasn't overstepping himself. "What do you say? Care to shack up with ol' Khronos for a bit?"
Grell's eyes grew wide and he blinked a few times before replying. "I-I... umm... well I suppose." He shrugged, swallowing hard. The proposal, unexpected and surprising.
"I mean..." he blushed. "I wouldn't want to impose. Nor do I wish to rush things anymore than they already have been. Are you sure you won't grow tired of me so quickly... if I accept?" Grell inquired, unsure how else to respond.
While he was very flattered by the offer, he was also afraid of scaring the reaper away. He had a terrible fondness for him and he had a tendency to ruin things. Would he be the wind of change for him? Bring him some luck? Grell pondered as he studied the mortician's face.
Undertaker smiled fondly at him and shook his head. "Can't see that happening, love. I find you endlessly entertaining, even when you're being a brat."
"Why you!" Grell huffed. He reached under the Undertaker's head and yanked the pillow out from under him. Covering Khronos' face with the feather stuffed case, pretending to smother him.
Undertaker put up a convincing struggle, before gradually lying still. He painted on a dramatic, dead expression with his tongue lolling out and his eyes rolled back when Grell pulled the pillow away.
"Well that did it," sighed Grell. "I guess I should get this corpse out of my bed. Wouldn't want it to rot and make my room smell displeasing." Grell started to roll off of his lover. He knew the mortician wasn't dead of course, but two could play at this game.
Undertaker grabbed him abruptly and rolled onto him, pinning him beneath him. With a wide grin, he growled and nipped playfully at the redhead.
Giggling, the redhead scolded the mortician. "Pretending? You were pretending to be dead? How very unkind of you to not be so." His eyes held mischief in them as he stared up at his lover. His foot began to caress the back of the Undertaker's leg.
Undertaker's chuckles faded, and he stared down at the smaller reaper with suddenly softened eyes. He admired the way the crimson hair framed his head, and he lowered his mouth to his for a kiss.
"Mmm..." the redhead moaned, his eyes closing, savoring those pale lips once more. His lips parted, enticing the mortician's tongue to join his in a passionate dance. His body wiggling slightly below the retired reaper's body. His leg continued to glide up and down the Undertaker's side. The red painted tips of his toes curling with each pass over the scarred flesh.
Undertaker deepened the kiss, his passions quickly aroused by the moment. They were supposed to be going to sleep, of course. When he felt Grell's answering arousal against his thigh, he knew sleep would be a long way off.
"Looks like I'll be opening up shop late," he murmured as his hands began to wander. It wasn't a complaint by any means. He hadn't had a reason to open late for quite some time. He proceeded to make love to Grell again...and yet again after that. Rough, tender, passionate...he gave it all to him in various degrees until the sun came up and they were both too exhausted for more.
~xox~
-To be continued