Part 2
The moment William left the funeral parlor, Undertaker giggled deviously.
He had the pretty, red reaper all to himself…
It wasn't what he intended when he started this game with Grell today, oh no. At first, he was simply going to enjoy Grell's company, enjoy the laughs they always shared. And he wasn't mistaken, Grell brought him an abundance of laughter. Undertaker was pleasantly surprised Grell had agreed to work with him in return for a peek at his eyes. Oh, how shamelessly the red reaper begged for the privilege. He-he!
That was the deal.
It all started the moment the younger reaper had gotten that first glimpse of Undertaker's own yellow-green shinigami eyes, many months ago. After that, Grell began paying the mortician regular visits and this allusive game between them began. A game that even Undertaker himself was not prepared for, at first. They would have tea, per usual, and Grell would make Undertaker laugh, but not because he asked for it. It was never intentional there was just something about Grell that put the old reaper in stitches. In fact, both of them laughed way too much when they were together.
By the end of each visit, Grell would plead, or sometimes ask nicely, but mostly he would beg, fu-fu, for a look at Undertaker's face. Unable to deny Grell's requests, Undertaker would grant him the pleasure even if he felt a bit like a specimen under a looking glass.
It was definitely flattering and somewhere in between, the retired shinigami grew to admire Grell's equally beautiful eyes and face. For when Grell was busy staring at him, he was staring at Grell. Undertaker would be lying if he said that he didn't think Grell was truly the prettiest reaper in all the realms between this side of heaven and hell.
He wasn't making that up. Earlier, he was telling Grell the truth.
Ah yes, the exquisite Grell Sutcliff with hair as scarlet as the blood that seeped from his wonderful corpses. My, how Undertaker's fingers positively itched to stroke such pretty hair, which was definitely his favourite feature. He wanted to touch his skin, too, which was so fair and soft looking. It made him wonder how it would look if he scratched his nails across it or how it would taste. Oh me oh my, he especially wanted to know that.
Indeed, Undertaker has taken a fancy to the red reaper.
It wasn't just about admiration for Grell's beauty that intrigued Undertaker, it was every little thing about him. His thirst for life was evident by how he reaped and how he threw caution to the wind by not conforming into one of those stuffy by-the-book shinigami. He regularly by broke the rules, he followed his own dress code. Grell was a delightfully rare shinigami that followed the desires of his heart. Certainly, he paid the consequences and quite often at that, but it never stopped him for long.
Undertaker understood that kind of person for he was the biggest rule breaker of them all. He conformed for no one.
Nevertheless, he always kept Grell at a distance, not fully trusting the man seeing as he only knew him as an acquaintance that often tagged along with Ciel and that demon butler of his, or, as one-half Jack the Ripper. They barely spoke to each other during those days but he was aware that Grell was known for going off the rails, his track sometimes leading to violent dead ends. So each time Grell came to visit, it proved to strengthen the bond flourishing between them. The old reaper even went out of his way to bring Grell small joys and he shamelessly found himself flirting too. But Grell never seemed to catch on seeing as he assumed Undertaker was simply a raving lunatic, therefore incapable of such frivolity, how foolish.
How foolish, indeed.
That was fine with Undertaker—it was fun for a little while but now that game was getting old. The redhead truly had no idea he had captured the heart of the old reaper. How was he to know that each visit was slowly winding Undertaker around his dainty little pinkie and that there was almost nothing, the he would not do for him.
Grell was none the wiser.
Cautious by nature, Undertaker examined Grell's character during these visits, his precarious temperament, even his loyalty. Today he released his Death Scythe on the younger reaper and it certainly was not because he had sneezed. Fu-fu-fu.
Oh, the look on Grell's face today was made of priceless win. Cross-eyed lady! Waa! Ha-ha! Undertaker was busting a gut just thinking about it, crumpled over top of one of his coffins, clinging onto it like a flotation device.
On the contrary, he had released the scythe to see what Grell would do, how he would respond. The mortician was happy to say that Grell passed the test and did not release his own Death Scythe in retaliation.
Bonds were important. It separated the useless from the useful, the fakers and the liars.
Of course, tonight Undertaker could not hold back his burning curiosity when he asked Grell if he was a friend or a foe—at all times one certainly had to be vigilant. Undertaker had to know whether Grell had learned anything about killing people that he once called 'friends', like his dear Madam Red. Her miserable fate had rested in the palm of Grell's selfish whims.
Undertaker knew some of that madness though, better than most people would expect. He certainly wasn't a puritan either, maybe he even had a few of his own skeletons. If there is one thing Undertaker has learned in all his centuries of life was that certain friends were really important. Especially those friends that brought laughter and love into his being, those were priceless friends.
Undertaker would kill to keep those friends.
The mortician thought about all this as he got back to work, tidying up his implements. Then he went to set a large pot of water to boil over a fire in the pantry for a bath later. As he puttered about the parlor, Undertaker noticed something while still wearing Grell's glass that brought a scowl to his face. It was the braided red bookmark, which he had secretly made from Grell's lovely coat. He had used the patches of material stitched around the lining in case the coat should ever need a small repair at the tailors. There was no harm done really, Grell did not even notice… He-he!
With a soft grunt, he peered into the coffin full of dead roses and plucked out his black leather journal. Evidently, someone had been tampering with it. It didn't take a brain surgeon to figure it out, the mortician shot a glance over at Grell who was still fast asleep on top of the coffin next to Thomas, tugging the cloak Undertaker had draped over him up to his chin. As Grell unconsciously snuggled into the makeshift blanket, he yanked it too high exposing his booted feet.
"Why yes, darling... show me the honey," Grell murmured dreamily.
Undertaker had to clap a hand to his mouth to stifle a hoot. Grell was even funny when he slept! Alas, he had to be quiet lest he wake the slumbering redhead. No more outbursts, he chided himself. Undertaker did not want to wake him, not just yet.
The mortician returned to his journal, flipping it to his favourite entry and placed the bookmark there. He could not be sure just how much Grell might have read and he wondered if he should be angry or relieved about it. Do you understand now, Miss Grell? Are you satisfied?
On the other hand, judging by Grell's behaviour today he probably didn't understand the contents of the journal. Unless that's what Grell was getting at earlier when he accused Undertaker of having a 'secret agenda' today. Undertaker tapped his lip with a black fingernail in thought, he couldn't be sure. He was right about right thing though, Grell was quite the cheeky fella.
Well then, how about I show you just what I meant since you are so curious...
Undertaker decided it was time to move this game along yet again. And tonight was the perfect time, the perfect opportunity. Adjusting the glasses with a knuckle, he wore a soft smile on his face wondering how the night would unfold.
The ex-reaper finished his duties and at last, turned the dead bolt on the front door of his shop. He stood absolutely still for a moment, savouring the end-of-day feeling. Oh yes, it was just how Undertaker preferred.
Quiet. Dark. Peaceful.
Kind of how it feels to be inside of a coffin. His best ideas came to mind in the middle of the night, along with some of his best laughs too, while lying in a coffin. The hours of darkness proved to be the best time to test out a few theories or experiments or perhaps even scaring a few neighbours, which some of his experiments resulted in. Oh, how they would scream and scream…
'Twas such fun! He always slept like a baby after that.
However, tonight was a little different. Tonight, a beautiful red-haired reaper was in his company and it tickled Undertaker pink.
His chain of mourning lockets jingled pleasantly, making the only sound in the shadowy parlor as he shuffled over to Grell's side. With little effort, Undertaker scooped Grell up into his arms and carried him to a cozy padded coffin, something a little warmer and softer than the hard surface of a closed coffin. He set Grell down inside ever so gently, adjusting the cloak over him dotingly once again. He retrieved the oil lamp and returned quickly, seeing as most of the candles from earlier in the evening had burned down to little nothings.
Setting his lamp on a nearby coffin, Undertaker knelt next to Grell and watched him while he slept. He got comfortable on the hard floor, resting his arms on the edge of the coffin as one might do on a balcony balustrade. He wasn't looking out over a scenic garden landscape or a moonlit river way, Undertaker was admiring something a hundred times better than that. He was admiring his beautiful friend who truly seemed dead considering Grell had stopped breathing. Undertaker smiled crookedly, shinigami could do that, sleep without breathing.
He was tempted to pinch Grell's cute little nose with his fingers and blow warm air into his lungs, just to pretend he was bringing the red reaper back to life. Kukuku… Like his own little puppet.
It was amusing because that was how Undertaker met Grell, in his true crimson form, for the first time. Grell had fallen asleep one day by a pond and stopped breathing. Thinking he was a dead body, he had been delivered to Undertaker's funeral parlor. Sadly, Undertaker discovered he wasn't looking at a dead body at all! It was only Grell.
He was chuckling softly at the memory because at the time Grell did not know that he was a shinigami too.
"My dear Grell, I'll never forget how you viciously choked me, stole the clothing off my back and buried me in that salt," Undertaker whispered with disturbing fondness. "It was fun to pretend back then and let you believe you had such power over me." His drawn out laughter was manic, but again he toned it down trying to be considerate of the resting reaper.
"If you had only looked further you would have seen that we shared the same iris that day." Only, Grell was too busy strutting around like a peacock thinking he had outwitted him. Tee!
Undertaker smirked. The reaperlings of today will never learn.
Indeed, Grell was younger than he was, in reaper years that is, but time is practically meaningless for shinigami. The years come and go, arrive and depart, hither and thither. Nevertheless, their bodies do not age that much. The only thing that truly ages is their experience, the lessons learned, their fighting prowess. A reaper's Death Scythe could only get deadlier with time.
Undertaker removed his tall, tailed hat dropping it aimlessly to the floor. He placed the side of his head on his arms with a thoughtful expression on his face, as if he were longingly watching a lover. He hesitated to touch Grell, he wanted to very much so, but the divine anticipation was just too thrilling. He had learned that patience can be an exquisite thing and he revelled in the torment.
He wanted to savour each and every bite.
Although, Undertaker knew he did not have all night to wallow in his divine torture. If he did that, he would miss the opportunity William had given him and that would be a terrible shame. If he rest here all nice and cozy for too long, he would end up falling asleep right here at the side of Grell's coffin, subsequently risking a throttling by the redhead for being 'creepy' when he woke up. He understood though, Grell was still untrusting of him it was only natural.
Tonight was now or never, even if he had no clue how Grell would react to his advances. Undertaker envisioned this experience to be akin to sticking his hand into the cage of a wild animal. He scoffed with amusement, he very well might have his hand torn to shreds or… kissed sweetly with affection.
Undertaker direly hoped for the latter.
His hand cautiously reached into the cage and collected a lock of Grell's red hair in his fingers. Undertaker twittered with sheer delight. Oh, how long he has desired to touch this hair. "As silky as a spider's webbing it is." He murmured to himself as he let the handful of red silk slide over his fingers.
Undertaker knew Grell's hair was pretty but feeling it at his own leisure was better than he ever expected. He played with it for a while, threading it around his fingers, admiring its wavy texture. Undertaker always saw the beauty in details. Leaning in closer he brought a handful of hair under his nose, relishing in its scent and smoothing the crimson tresses along the side of his face and across his pale lips.
Every fine hair on his body bristled, the sensation made Undertaker shiver all over. "So lovely…" he sighed. The legendary reaper wore an enormous toothy grin.
Grell's eyes fluttered open just in time to hear Undertaker purring like a kitten close by—really close by. He blinked sleepily, trying to remember where he was and how he got there. His blinking became more frantic, however, when he tried to focus his eyes but found that he could not. Everything was blurry! Alarmed, his eyes darted towards the purring sound and he gasped.
Undertaker gasped too.
Grell was startled for two reasons. One: Undertaker was examining him with a handful of his red hair in his long, bony fingers. Two: the most exquisite pair of eyes stared back at him and Grell was in sudden awe. He admired those beautiful, glowing green eyes with their long, sweeping silver lashes, accented by a set of delicate silver brows. Their radiance compelled most to stop whatever they were doing and stare, words suddenly forgotten on one's tongue. Grell got lost in them every single time. Every time he saw them, he forgot about the loon that actually owned them.
It was what Grell had worked so damn hard to see today.
The red reaper was blushing like a virgin maiden. It was incredible how handsome Undertaker became when he wasn't hiding behind his ashen hair, posing as an feeble old man. Now, those beautiful eyes were studying him with mischievous intent, framed by a pair of red glasses. Hmm, eyewear did good things for Undertaker's overall style, Grell thought agreeably. However, red really wasn't the man's colour.
Wait a minute…
Grell suddenly frowned at his ridiculous train of thought and shook the dreamy fog from his mind. "Scoundrel…!" He charged with a shrill. "Give me back those glasses!"
Undertaker merely simpered, releasing Grell's hair. "My, you startled me there—didn't expect you to wake up so soon. But it's nice to see that you don't always have to rely on your glasses," he said merrily. "He-he, did you get a good look?"
"Not as good as I would like since you're wearing my glasses." Grell pointed out dryly. Being nearsighted didn't affect objects that were close up, only objects that are further away. Grell could make out Undertaker's face at this range sure enough, but not perfectly. "I could get into big trouble if I get caught without them and I really can't afford any more trouble. It's a violation to take them off," he informed, sounding cranky, still rousing from his nap. "Lest you forgot..."
"Oh, I haven't forgotten, my dear." Undertaker removed the glasses without any objection. "I just don't care about those daft rules anymore, you see."
"Hrmph, I guess not," Grell replied and flustered a little as Undertaker leaned over, slipping the glasses onto his face and lifting his hair over the beaded neck chain ever so gently. For a brow-raising moment, Grell felt like one of Undertaker's corpses. "I—I don't know how you do it—see without them," he muttered quietly, observing the old reaper's amazing eyes now with clear vision. Grell bit his lip. Looking at Undertaker's true self did crazy things to the flow of his blood. He also couldn't help but notice how the old reaper was blushing, something he did each time he stared at his face.
Why, yes, Grell did notice that.
"I've grown accustomed to not wearing glasses. It's quite remarkable how a reaper can adjust. I have developed a way. You should try it."
Grell sniffed. "Not a chance. I—I wouldn't even know where to begin."
"It's quite simple you—"
"William!" Grell cried, interrupting frantically as if he just realized. A look of pure panic filled his lovely features. "I wasn't supposed to fall asleep. He's going to be furious with me for being away this long. I'll be suspended. My beloved chainsaw—he'll make me resort to using scissors again. A reaper such as I cannot be taken seriously with a Death Scythe of such small girth!" Grell was in pure anguish.
Undertaker reached over and soothingly pet over Grell's head. He whispered kindly, "Hush, hush, my dear. I sent him away."
One silver-lashed eye was staring at Grell while the other hid behind hair that Undertaker could not tame. The red reaper blinked at the mortician as if he did not know who he was. Indeed, who was this man without his silly hat, a handsome face with that cruel scar and eyes that held his soul captive within their gaze?
"You did…?" Grell questioned, clearly baffled, his focus still on that one lovely green eye as Undertaker comforted him. It was difficult to fret about William, when all he could think about was finding a way to keep Undertaker's dratted hair out of his eyes so he could wallow in their beauty. "But how did you do that…?"
"I made him a deal he couldn't refuse." Undertaker explained. "In exchange for you staying out of trouble, I agreed to help him out on a mission."
"You did…?" The red reaper repeated, completely bewildered now.
Undertaker chuckled airily. "Yes, indeed. I don't mind, it could be fun—a trip down memory lane as it were."
"Why… why would you do that for me?" Grell was clearly stupefied.
The old reaper shrugged. "Because you were sleeping so peacefully…"
Geez, Undertaker was such a conundrum sometimes, Grell thought with a frown. Why couldn't he just be straight up with him instead of all the mind games? Cripes, the things this guy would do for a laugh. The mortician's dark cloak fell to his lap when Grell sat up and realized with utter dismay that he was inside a coffin again.
He bemoaned loudly. "Why do I always end up in a coffin? Is this supposed to be a joke? Pfft!"
"It seemed wrong to continue to let you rest on top of a hard wooden box, my dear. I placed you here instead, where it's more comfortable." Undertaker told him simply.
"Oh, well… it is kind of nice." Grell relented. He was comfortable. "I guess I owe you my gratitude. I had a great…" He stretched and yawned. "…nap."
"I'm glad to hear it but there is no need for that," Undertaker reproved with a wave of his hand. "You worked hard today and I owe you much more than what you requested of me. Come now, William agreed to let you stay here tonight, trouble free. Is there anything you'd like me to do for you, my lady?" A cunning smile grew on his face. "I can think of a few enchanting things… if you're willing."
The odd chuckle that followed Undertaker's provocative statement made Grell raise his brows slightly. That chuckle was not quite like the others chuckles he had ever heard, and he's heard quite a few.
"Are you flirting with me, Under-darling?" Grell wondered his tone lined with intrigue. He gave a lewd chuckle of his own. "You must be forgetting who you're talking to… I am the killer queen of flirting."
"Perhaps, but you're technique needs a little practice, my dear."
Grell's expression went flat. His eyes shot daggers at the mortician.
"Vile beast! How dare you say that with such earnest," he snapped and bared his teeth, ready to fight back in the worst kind of way. "And just whatdid you think you were doing watching me sleep—touching my hair? I saw you, fiend! You're lucky those charming eyes of yours are still intact."
Undertaker just smiled coolly at him, the eyes in mention twinkling with something Grell had never seen before. It set his heart a pitter-pattering. There was something different about the retired shinigami tonight.
"Don't take offense, Grell. I only meant that you are a wonderful flirt, very outspoken and kind of to the point but I never know if you are teasing or serious." Undertaker was being sincere.
Tch! Grell could say the same about him. So, he did. "You're not exactly clear most of the time, Undertaker. So what are you getting at?" he snapped.
Grell's eyes widened as Undertaker moved in closer. Close enough that he could feel the old reaper's warm breath on his neck as he placed his lips next to his ear and whispered hotly.
"Let's play a different sort of game..."
The red reaper inhaled sharply at the seductive sound of Undertaker's normally eerie, mischievous tone. But before he even had a chance to respond, Undertaker climbed into the coffin with him the way the undead crawled out of their graves.
"W-what are you doing?" Grell stammered, his heart racing even faster now.
Undertaker chuckled with delicious intent. "What does it look like? I am declaring my desire for you."
Grell gave a shocked squeak as Undertaker urged him back against the cushioned coffin. He looked up in astonishment, his head resting on the soft cushioning below, as Undertaker hovered above him like a wraith wearing a crooked grin. The silver-haired reaper's face was shadowed in the dim light, but his eyes were brightly illuminated. His knees were on either side of Grell's hips and he straddled his thighs, his hands gripping the edge of the coffin. He could hear Undertaker's nails scratching against the fine finished wood. Grell's mouth hung open, silent words caught there, words of disbelief and words hoping for a damn good explanation, however, there probably wasn't one.
Oooh… Parts of Grell's body twitched and responded tremendously. The mortician was being so bold and uncouth yet it sent thrills to every corner of his body. For a moment, Grell had to wonder if this was what it felt like for all the souls that succumbed to Undertakers' reaping. Heaven have mercy!
When Grell found his voice again, he asked utterly perplexed. "You desire me…?" It sounded as incredulous as the red reaper felt. He was blushing again fiercely. "I had no idea…"
Grell mildly entertain the notion, that he could just shove Undertaker off him and run screaming through town like a crazed banshee. As eccentric as the old reaper was, with his quirky laughter and his peculiar hobbies, Grell secretly wondered if the man was any good in the sack. It was a tantalizing thought and it was only natural for him to wonder, he was a sexually open-minded individual after all.
It was also very interesting to know that perhaps Undertaker was not immune to his flirts and Grell felt as if he had discovered a wicked little weakness. Not that he would just offer his body to any ol' chap, Grell wasn't that kind of lady no matter how vivaciously he spoke of 'vigorous' activities and such. Of course being a proper lady, Grell should also point out that the time spent working alongside the old shinigami today was rather enjoyable, too. Today was the first time he thought of Undertaker as being a real friend, since the man always treated him respectfully and truly seemed to enjoy his company. Grell had to confess they made a good team today and it was quite satisfying—dare he say, it was even fun.
Undertaker chuffed. "Yes, I know you didn't know and that's alright, I wasn't very obvious about it but I had my reasons, you see. I did not think you would take me seriously any other way, which is why I am being so forward with you this evening, my dear." Undertaker softly dragged a fingernail along Grell's jaw line. "Truly, if I have to squander another one of your visits, watching you leave… I might very well lose my mind."
Grell just blinked dumbfounded for a moment. Then he laughed deeply.
"Well, we can't have that now, can we?" Grell teased and flashed Undertaker an eloquent smile. "I must say, handsome, this side of you has me on tenterhooks," he admitted and reached up with a gloved hand, impatiently sweeping Undertaker's shaggy bangs aside. Grell growled his appreciation—their eyes meeting truthfully. For once, he did not have to guess what Undertaker was scheming because there was no hiding it. Right now, the mortician's intent was set strongly in his sexy eyes, seducing him, clearly extruding desire with his expression. Grell finally understood why Undertaker hid his gems, because if he did not everyone would see right through his wild tales, besides discovering he was not human. People would remember him if he flaunted it all, however, people do not remember a dishevelled looking old undertaker.
Grell was curious now, how the man above him might feel if he touched him, but not in the playful sort of way. There seemed to be something really forbidden about touching someone like Undertaker, he always felt kind of off limits to Grell. Now it was clear that he was not on the restricted list anymore and Grell really wanted a taste. He began to reach out—drat! He was still wearing gloves. Grell tore one glove off ferociously with his teeth and bit into his own fingers in his greedy haste.
Grell winced.
The mortician clucked his tongue. "Oh dear, you are a menace to yourself, little miss. Give it here, let me see," Undertaker offered courteously. He sat up, resting against Grell's thighs and inspected the self-inflicted injury carefully. He watched the blood pool like quivering drops at the tips of Grell's index and middle finger. And when the drops spilled over, streaking down Grell's palm, Undertaker keenly used his tongue to clean the crimson trails. He traced a hot wet path all the way from Grell's wrist, over his palm and along his fingers, catching the blood before it stained Grell's pristine white shirt cuff.
"Just a little pricking is all," Undertaker murmured.
Grell was enamoured by how sensually the mortician tended his fingers, feasting on his blood. He'd never seen Undertaker do anything that hot before. It really was such a turn on for him and for a moment, he gazed on entranced.
"Let me clean them thoroughly for you," Undertaker whispered appreciatively and put the bloody fingers into his mouth, sucking them gently.
Grell's mouth parted and he sighed with pleasure at the heat provided by Undertaker's mouth. He could feel the man's tongue caressing his fingers intimately, gently. Grell's body was flaming now, more so than usual. Wow, perhaps the old reaper did have some game after all.
Sebas-chan… Who…?
Right now, there was only one person that occupied Grell's attention and that man was throwing himself at him like a hot tramp—one sexy, mysterious ex-reaper with a penchant for death. He'd take it. Amen! He would take it anywhere Undertaker wanted to put it, Grell thought wickedly.
Carefully this time, Grell removed his other glove with his teeth while Undertaker kissed his injured fingers. He raked his fingers through the old reaper's silver hair again with his other hand, noting how luscious it was, so fine and soft. Undertaker slipped the bleeding fingers out of his mouth, leaving a bloody streak painted across his ghostly lips.
Grell's eyes went directly to Undertaker's available mouth as he moved in closer to him.
They watched each other quietly, the mortician's necklace shifting over Grell's throat like a snake slithering across his neck. Both reapers seemed to stop breathing.
"Oh, kiss me you damn fool!" Grell cried, yanking the Undertaker down to him savagely, crushing his lips to the other shinigami's mouth.
The mortician let out a yelp of surprise, his body fallen flush on top of Grell's, their mouths fiercely pressed together. He began to chuckle merrily when he overcame the sudden attack and eagerly kissed Grell in return. Ah, it was heavenly as Grell's hands kneaded through his hair, fingers digging into the back of his neck. Parts of his body wriggled against the firm body beneath him and this kiss—Undertaker opened his mouth and Grell invaded him hotly with his tongue.
Undertaker moaned now, too, with pure delight and closed his eyes. Yet, he adjusted his upper body so his hands were on either side of Grell's shoulders, allowing him to prop himself up again. The advantage allowed him to direct the kiss with his own fervor, permitting him to slip his tongue past Grell's lips this time. However, he wasn't thinking and he'd forgotten how sharp Grell's teeth were and nicked his tongue in his enthusiasm. He giggled within the kiss though. Somehow, kissing Grell became more dangerous and it made Undertaker ache terribly.
With his hands full of soft silver tresses, Grell began to paw over the man above him, who felt remarkably solid and lithe underneath. He let his hands glide along Undertaker's back, along his sides to his hips over the black-buttoned frock he wore. However, before he could discover what Undertakers' backside felt like in both his hands his fingers snared into the chain of lockets.
That caused Undertaker to break away from their heated kissing. "Careful," the mortician warned breathlessly, his lips all kiss-tender and wet. "I'd hate to break that."
"Then maybe you should take it off," Grell suggested wickedly. "Along with everything else…"
Undertaker grinned smugly. "As you wish but I have one request first," he presented. "May I tell you?"
Grell flashed his shark-toothed smile when he saw Undertaker looking down at him, his mischievous glow openly presented for him to admire. "And what would that be, handsome? Don't tell me you're the shy type—I don't want to do it in the dark," he insisted.
"Oh no, it's not that." Undertaker snickered playfully. "My request is simple… I wish for you to allow me to tend to your needs this evening, seeing as you are my guest," he explained carefully.
At the word 'guest', Grell's eyes widened in complete terror. "Oh, Iknewit! You're going to put my lovely parts into a jar! I'm too young and beautiful to die. Spare me!" He tried to squirm out from under the Undertaker frantically.
Undertaker sighed dreadfully. Not that again…
He kept Grell patiently pinned to the coffin with some effort. "I promise I will do no such thing, my sweet. That is not my intention at all." He couldn't help but chuckle a little bit, normally it was fun watching people freak out, but he really didn't want Grell to be freaking out right now.
Right now, Undertaker was more in the mood for love than laughs.
The redhead calmed down and stared at the old reaper, panting from his reckless attempts at escape. Grell should have known that undertaking the Undertaker was a futile endeavour—the old reaper clearly outwitted him ten to one. Not that he would admit that to anyone.
"Did you plan this all along, Undertaker?" Grell voiced suspiciously. "Is that why you agreed to William's proposition?"
Undertaker shook his head. "Would you believe me if I said, I did not?" he replied earnestly.
"Yes and no," the red reaper admitted. "You are a scoundrel after all."
"Perhaps, I am." Undertaker agreed. "I will admit that I coaxed you into keeping me company today and it was such fun, you see. If you had told me to drop dead with the work detail, I would have just let you see my face anyways, you know."
Grell scoffed at the 'drop dead' part.
"However, the moment your somnolent head hit the coffin in heavenly slumber and William came to retrieve you… I—I could not let you go. Not when I have so much more to share with you." Undertaker leaned down to bury his nose affectionately into the crook of Grell's neck, pressing soft kisses against the tender spot at the base of his ear. "Stay with me tonight, pretty reaper. I swear, I would never hurt you," Undertaker whispered against his throat sweetly. "Unless you want me to…"
The red reaper felt Undertaker grinning shrewdly against his neck. "And what if I refuse your advances?" Grell wondered curiously.
Undertaker lifted his head to look Grell directly in the face, all smiles vanishing. "If that is what you want then I will stop my coarse actions right now. We'll forget this ever happened." He began to push himself up.
Grell frowned and pulled Undertaker back down roughly. "Not so fast darling, I didn't say I was refusing you. I… I just don't want you to think I'm an easy skirt."
The old reaper smiled knowingly. "If I thought you were a shameless whore then I wouldn't have bothered to ask for your permission, my dear. Albeit, you can perform like a shameless whore but I know it is all part of your act. Still, I'm not that kind of creature and prefer it when the other party is willing. That's much more pleasurable."
"Stop saying 'shameless whore' you nitwit," Grell scoffed indignantly.
"My apologies," the retired reaper said genuinely and asked. "Do you know what I like best when you come to visit me?" Grell just blinked at him so very perplexed. "Your company, because it makes me happy—puts this old soul of mine in such high spirits. I know you are much more than an easy skirt. Should I profess all the ways that make you wonderful, Grell Sutcliff?"
Undertaker had used his full name respectfully, instead of 'my dear' and 'my' whatever. Grell knew he was being serious. "You would do that?" he wondered and gushed, "You really think I'm wonderful?!"
"Mmm, yes I do," the old reaper assured. "And yes I would do that, in fact, I already have, but it seems you haven't figured it out. It certainly answers a few things I had on my mind earlier." Undertaker felt somewhat relieved. Miscommunication is a terrible thing… especially when it is not intended, that is.
"Oh, what is it?" Grell questioned. It was hard to hide the excitement in his voice. "Please tell me what you're talking about?"
"I will show you something later, it will surely answer everything. I give you my word. Now, may I ask that you have faith in me, pretty reaper? Just this once at least," the mortician requested and smiled, burying his nose in Grell's hair again making him giggle, much to his delight.
Bursting with curiosity at what Undertaker was getting at, Grell knew he would have to be patient to find out what Undertaker wanted to show him. "Oh alright, darling," he answered willingly. "Just call me 'pretty reaper' again and I'll let you do whatever you want." He laughed playfully as the old reaper nibbled on his ear.
Undertaker's voice came muffled while buried in Grell's hair, but it was very sincere. "Anything you like, My. Pretty. Reaper…"
Grell was swooning! Not only was Undertaker being incredibly hot he was incredibly skilled thus far and it seemed he was capable of a little romance, too. Grell was awestruck and flattered by all that was happening. Hrmph! A man Grell thought merely as a nutter, that had lost more than a few of his shiny marbles, did not seem so crazy at all right now. Actually, it would seem as if Undertaker was rather smitten with him and that warm fuzzy feeling he felt earlier, when the old reaper gave him those heart-shaped cookies returned.
*gasp* Those sneaky cookies…
It was not just a simple gesture, Grell realized now. Maybe Undertaker has been giving him hints all along and he was too blind to notice them. Maybe he's been too busy thinking about all those other hot lovelies, who would not even give him the time of day, and missing out on this hot lovely right here that was secretly besotted with him. The way he called him 'my pretty reaper', Grell really loved how Undertaker said it, as if he was most special person in the whole wide world...
The mortician had achieved the impossible. Grell was speechless...
However, it could only be temporary.
Undertaker lifted his head again after the unusual silence and looked worriedly at Grell. "Wuz that matter, cat got your tongue?"
"Eeeyeah!" Grell squealed, wrapping Undertaker up in powerful embrace. He rocked them back and forth like giddy lovers, laughing madly. "I do believe I have just solved your riddle, darling," he said raucously. "I see why you asked me those strange questions this evening. Oh, everything makes sense now. You were just sniffing around, hoping to find out if I was interested or if I wanted to bleed you out for shits and giggles. How outrageously blind I have been. Ha-ha! Now I know why every time I admire your beauty you are blushing like a bad boy." He growled. "I sure dolove them bad boys." Grell was over the moon. "I know your yummy little secret. You tried to conceal it but you can't anymore because you wantmeeee!"
Undertaker made a strange choking sound in reply. Once again, Grell was crushing the breath out of him.
"I beg for jewels and you give me the stars! Oooh! Where have you been hiding all this time, Under-darling?" Grell continued his lively sonata. "Have you inhaled too many embalming chemicals—has it messed up your head—does that even affect us reapers?" Grell was going off on tangents. "Why have you kept this passionate freak locked away in a gloomy funeral parlor for so long? I beg of thee…"
The mortician lifted his head and wrung out his ear with a knuckle. He laughed uneasily, thrown slightly by Grell's crazed outburst, which was somewhat paradoxical being on the other end of it. Tit for tat, he supposed.
"Hurry! Let's make passionate love right now!" Grell insisted vehemently.
"Oh my," Undertaker pretended to be coy.
"Oh wait…! Not so fast." Grell frowned with a dire thought. He'd have to cool his jets a little bit longer. "Listen, do we have to do this in a coffin? I know that it's your thing and it's hot, don't get me wrong but we're so restricted in here. Don't you have a bedroom with a nice bed perchance?" Grell inquired, batting his lashes. "Ugh, my back is starting to get a little stiff, besides other things."
Undertaker smiled widely, pushing himself up and climbing out of the coffin. He held a hand out to Grell. "Follow me, my sweet and I'll let you in on another one of my secrets," he claimed. "I haven't shown anyone else this but like I told you, you've earned a few tidbits today."
"Oooh! Then lead the way, hot stuff." Grell eagerly clasped onto the mortician's hand and climbed out of the coffin, leaving Undertaker's heavy cloak within it.
Undertaker picked up the oil lamp in one hand and held onto Grell's hand with the other. He led the red reaper to another coffin that stood up against a wall in the main showroom. "Could you please hold this, my dear?" He held out the oil lamp to Grell.
With a frown, Grell took the lamp and complained. "Seriously, another coffin…? You, darling, have some real intimacy issues."
The old reaper chuckled cleverly. "That's what you think," he replied and slid the coffin lid to the side. "Hold that light up a bit, it's pretty dark and this catch is hard to find."
Curious as to what Undertaker was talking about, Grell brought the oil lamp closer for a better look. The mortician made a pleased sound, as he seemed to find whatever he was looking for, and before Grell's eyes, the back part of the coffin opened too. Undertaker reached back for the lamp and Grell handed it to him. With his hand clasped to Undertaker's again, this time a little harder, he stepped into the coffin and entered a secret space behind the wall.
"You devil, you have a hidden room back here," Grell said with astonishment.
His eyes took in the small room with bare brick walls. The entire space was a menagerie of strange collections, some from other eras, almost like a museum. There was a very spooky looking mannequin with removable body parts, a weird dead creature in a glass jar on a small table next to an old cracked urn, and a tall, standing grandfather clock with its hands stopped at 3:07 stood on the far right wall with a giant medieval sword propped against it. There was a wind-up musical box shaped like a carousel on a shelf with many other knickknacks and old books filling its shelf.
What surprised Grell the most was the wrought iron bed placed right in the center, with a plush purple bedspread and fat black, linen-covered pillows that appeared to be filled with down. It actually looked sinfully inviting and warm for these cold London Town nights. Undertaker had even hung a lovely painting of a rose, a single red rose in full bloom, above his bed. Something about that image nagged at his subconscious, but he waved it off.
The dusty room was oddly rich and academic looking for someone like Undertaker and Grell wasn't sure what to say. "This… this is quaint. I'm a bit surprised you have a hidden pearl like this in your tired old shop."
"It's more amusing to let everyone believe I sleep in coffins." Undertaker giggled impishly. "Sometimes I do—it helps me think, you see. However, there you have it—a real bed. It's really cozy and bouncy, too. Why don't you give it a good jumpin'?
"Cute, darling, but I'll pass on that kind of jumping for now." Grell assured.
Undertaker laughed. "You are a funny one, Grell, so very funny. Now you just wait here for a moment."
"Where are you going?" Grell said uneasily, suddenly gluing himself to Undertaker's back nervously. He didn't want to be left alone with all these haunting objects. The room was so dark and the lamp light only made it look more ominous.
Undertaker urged Grell to let go of him and handed over the lamp. "Not to fret, my dear. The only thing in here that bites ismeee." He gave a throaty chuckle.
"You're not funny." Grell huffed.
The old reaper tilted his head and smiled. "You won't be saying that later. I will make you laugh." He smoothed his hand across Grell's cheek, playfully scratching his nails under his cute chin. "Besides other things…"
"Scoundrel…" Grell said sheepishly.
"I'm only going to fetch the hot water for a bath. I thought my lady would like to wash up after a hard days' work," Undertaker offered politely. "I would certainly like one myself. It is only proper."
The man made a sensible point. "I would love to wash up, you know—before…" Grell looked away blushing like a fool all the sudden.
"Oh yes, of course. As I mentioned, I'll take care of you tonight—nothing would make me happier," Undertaker reminded him.
Grell blushed harder while holding his hands to his cheeks. "You're driving me crazy! Just hurry back."
Undertaker wore a crafty smile. He knew exactly what he was doing. "I would offer the bathtub but it would take much too long to fill and I can't say I'm feeling especially patient tonight."
"Tell me about it," Grell mused.
Undertaker grinned. "I hope you know I fully intend to bathe you myself..."
Leaving Grell with his jaw nearly on the floor, Undertaker turned and disappeared into the pitch dark of the parlor on the other side of the secret passage. The mortician's mad chuckles fading as he wandered further away.
"Cool, confident and well, damn…" Grell huggled himself with glee, he had really pegged the Undertaker all wrong. The redhead was never so glad to be so wrong. Here he thought the man was just going to ravage him in that coffin like a bowl full of cherries, but it seemed Undertaker was not in a mad rush, he wanted to play a little first.
Grell's fondness grew tenfold for the old reaper.
A/N: What did you think of the secret room? I want one lol! When I first saw Undertaker come out of that standing coffin, with green eyes glowing, I wondered to myself if there was a secret room behind it. Hehe! That's where I got this idea.
Anyone watch the horror flick, The Conjuring? Remember all the clocks were stopped at 3:07 :P Oh yeah…
The hotness continues big time in the next chapter. Run don't walk!