"Beyond Death"

A Vincentaker roleplay (Co-writer: Stickiebun)

Chapter 2

~xox~

Vincent finished up his workload for the day, and stood to stretch as he contemplated taking his dinner a little late and calling for some tea and a small slice of cake...or if he should take dinner early and try to catch up on some much-needed sleep. He didn't know when Undertaker would be calling on him to report about the baron...which made the choice a difficult one.

~xox~

"Thank you, Mr. Tanaka," said Undertaker as the butler saw him to Vincent's office. "See to it that the Earl and I aren't disturbed, won't you?"

Tanaka nodded. "Of course. Shall I announce you to the Earl, now?"

"I'll announce myself," said the mortician. He smirked. "I usually do."

"Very well, Sir. Please excuse me." Tanaka bowed and walked away to go and do whatever it was butlers did with their time, leaving Undertaker alone outside the door.

Hoping he wasn't making a mistake, Undertaker turned the knob and opened the door...only to find Vincent right there on the other side with one hand out in a grasping gesture, as though he had been about to open it himself. The Earl gave a start at the sight of him, and the reaper grinned.

"Afternoon, guvnor. I finished early."

He pushed past the startled man and shut the door behind him, leaning up against it. His voice immediately changed to its more cultured persona. "Have a seat, Vincent. We need to talk, and I'm fairly sure you aren't going to like what I have to say."

The Earl frowned, lowering himself onto the horsehair couch he kept in his study. It wasn't comfortable, but it had belonged to his grandfather. "I swear to God, Undertaker, if you mean to tell me I had him killed for no reason—"

"No, nothing like that," assured the mortician as he sat down beside him. "In fact, when you hear what I have to say, you may wish you had the power to resurrect him, just so you could kill him again yourself."

He measured the young man with his eyes before coming out with it, wondering how he'd take the news. "When I reaped the Baron, I discovered through witnessing his cinematic records that he was also responsible for the poison that took your father's life."

"I...I see..."

Vincent looked down into his lap, where his hands were folded. "So it really hadn't been a heart attack..." He honestly didn't know how to take the news himself. He hadn't been incredibly close with his father, and knowing the truth didn't bring the man back from the grave.

"I didn't expect to find his killer this way...or at all, for that matter."

Not used to comforting people, Undertaker reached out to give the young man's shoulder a squeeze. "You all right, love?"

Vincent nodded. "I'm just...lost as to what to think. My father and I were never incredibly close; I think he blamed me for Mother's death...but he still raised me to be a proper gentleman and an Earl." He sighed. "But it seems I made the right choice in letting you go after him. He's killed once, at least. Even if he had succeeded in killing me, what's to say he stops at me? It was for the greater good."

"Yes, it was. Never doubt that, my compassionate young friend. I know you'd rather not hear this right now, but your station in life requires you to be ruthless, or you aren't going to last for very long."

Undertaker stroked the Earl's dark hair, admiring the blue-ish highlights in it. Your enemies—and you will have many of them—aren't going to give you any quarter. Today, you proved that you're willing to give as good as you get, and that's a good thing. I'm not saying that you need to start acting like a wanker like the rest of them, but you do need to show your social circle that you aren't a man to be trifled with. Think of it as survival if you must, but adopt a colder persona when in public."

The mortician winked at him, though the expression was hidden beneath his hair. "Death knows, I'm a bit familiar with the practice of decepton, my lord. Trust me in this. Only those closest to you need to see your true face."

The Earl sighed and looked up, raising his hands to push the soft white fringe from the reaper's face. "I know I must...but it doesn't mean it's any easier to be responsible for taking another man's life. Life is irreplaceable, and I believe it should be held a little more sacred than most men of nobility seem to. A death doesn't just affect the dead man, but also his friends and family. The Baron may have been a problem to be taken care of, but he was still a man with a family...he had loved ones who have now lost him."

"There's that bloody compassion again," sighed the mortician, but he smiled, unable to help but admire the young man's uncommon capacity for it. "You ust let me take care of the dirty work for now, but some day soon, you're going to have to pull that trigger yourself...and you can't afford to miss. Your enemies won't give a pig's fart about robbing your loved ones of you, and one day, you're sure to have children of your own to think about."

"I'm perfectly capable of doing what I need to, if necessary. If there are other ways to deal with something, I'd rather take that route, first."

Undertaker shrugged. "Suit yourself."

He stared at him for a moment, his gaze latching onto the noble's lips. "She'll make a good wife and mother, your Rachel. I don't sense a cruel bone in her body. You chose well."

"She's a good woman, and a great friend," Vincent agreed, meeting the reaper's gaze. "I've no doubt she'll be a great wife and mother."

Undertaker didn't fail to notice that he referred to her as a friend, and he leaned in closer to Vincent. "Any plans to take a mistress, then?"

His voice deepened to a husky drone as he reached out to sift his long black nails through the Earl's hair. "Or perhaps a consort?"

He was close enough to kiss him, if he wanted. He felt the need for some clarification though, before he plunged his fool heart into something that he knew he should not even be considering.

"I take my vows seriously, Undertaker. I have given her my word that she would be the only woman I touch, and I have no reason to go back on that promise. Nor do I have any interest to do so..." he trailed off, his tone softening as he eyed the reaper's thin lips. "...but I never said anything about not bedding a man, and I think it's afe to assume that a dance with death is far from breaking my promise."

His words impassioned the mortician, making his breath catch, ever so slightly.

~Don't do it, old fool. Don't—~

"Oh, I'll give you much more than a dance, my lord."

~Dammit.~i/

He kissed him then, his body and heart disconnecting from his common sense.

The young Earl couldn't help but smile into the kiss, shifting to straddle the ancient's lap. He was being greedy...he knew that...perhaps taking advantage of his companion. He was human and his life and youth wouldn't last long at all in Undertaker's eyes. He'd only hurt him if they continued this, but he couldn't help himself as he clung to every kiss they shared. Undertaker had to know that Vincent wouldn't last forever...he knew what he was getting into with him.

A bit surprised by Vincent's sudden shift in position—in a good way—Undertaker put his arms around him and he thrust his tongue into his mouth demandingly, issuing a low growl of delight. He let his hands wander a bit, sliding over the Earl's hips and around to his backside.

~Perfect, muscular ass or not, he isn't for you, old codger.~

"Shut it, brain," muttered the reaper aloud, his command muffled by the kiss.

Vincent paused, his eyes flickering open as he reluctantly pulled back. "I'm being too greedy, aren't I?" He whispered, hurt by the realization and small confirmation.

"No, no," insisted Undertaker, pulling him close again. "Don't listen to my babbling. I spend most of the time in the company of myself and the dead, love. I talk to myself sometimes, is all."

~He isn't the one being greedy.~

~Didn't I just tell you to shut it?~

This time, he kept the mental argument to himself and he cupped the back of Vincent's head to pull him down for another kiss.

Vincent took a deep, shaky breath before their lips met once more. Just because the man spoke to himself didn't mean that he wasn't being greedy, falling in love with the reaper and hoping—no, expecting Undertaker to fall in love with him in turn—but once more, the skill of the reaper's lips and tongue pushed his thoughts aside as his mouth was explored.

Undertaker contemplated rolling the Earl over onto the sofa and claiming that perfect ass of his, but then a butler happened. Tanaka's soft knowck disturbed the flow of their lusty encounter, and the mortician nearly groaned in frustration as his voice floated through the door.

"Master Vincent, the Lady Duress is on the telephone for you. Shall I tell her you will return her call?"

"R-Rachel?" The Earl blinked and shook his head with a sigh. Things were getting out of hand, it seemed. He glanced at his companion, an apologetic look on his face as he pulled away. "No thank you, Tanaka. I should take it." He looked at Undertaker. "I apologize. I'll be but a moment."

Undertaker likewise sobered at the announcement. He waited for the Earl to climb off his lap and stand back up, before getting up from the couch. "No need to apologize, Earl. She is your betrothed, after all."

Deciding that now wasn't the time to explore this further, the reaper put his hat back on and glided over to the door. He put one hand on the knowb, turned and bowed to Vincent. "I shall take my leave of you now, but feel free to stop by or call on me whenever you like."

He paused in the act of turning the knob, and he half-turned to look at Vincent. "You know, you've managed to surprise me yet again. I fully expected you to want at least a smidgen of vengeance for your father's death. Are you certain you wouldn't like to spit on the Baron's grave, at least?"

Vincent shook his head. "Thank you, but death is punishement enough," he said, a little disappointed that the reaper was leaving. He picked up the phone from the cradle. "Rachel?"

The mortician left without another sound, tipping his hat to Tanaka on his way out. He ignored the voice of his common sense as he hitched his donkey back up to his cart and drove away.

Things were...complicated, but then all great loves were. He stopped the cart abruptly, making its carrier bay out in protest. Love? Was that really what he was feeling? It had been so long, he barely recognized it.

"Bugger," muttered the reaper, snapping the reins.

~xox~

The next day, Vincent got a letter from the Queen, assigning him to the task of working with the Yard to investigate the murder of one of her own guardsmen, in London. The body had already been delivered to Undertaker's mortuary, and the Earl was the only one he would discuss the matter with.

Vincent chuckled to himself. Crafty, stubborn old man, Undertaker was. He ordered his carriage and donned his heavy coat and a top hat. Cane in hand, he had his driver take him directly to the mortuary. The letter included all the basic case information that the Yard had already uncovered, so he had no reason to speak with them yet.

~xox~

"But why won't you discuss the matter with us?" Demanded the inspector, bristling. "You are impeding a very important investigation, by refusing to cooperate!"

Undertaker spread his hands, his oversized sleeves flapping with the motion. "I've already told you, INspector; my information is reserved for the Queen's Guard Dog...not a baryard mutt that can't even tell a decent joke. Do yourself a favor and keep your day job."

The middle-aged blond man curled his hands into fists. "How dare you! I—"

At that moment, the little bell hanging over the mortuary door rang, and Vincent Phantomhive came in. Undertaker smiled with genuine pleasure at the sight of him, hardly believeing it had only been a day since they last saw one another.

"Well, speak of the devil! Pleasure to see you agin, my dear Earl." The mortician tipped his hat at the young man, silently admiring the way he looked today. "I've been expecting you. I have a kettle of tea warming in the back for us."

He gestured at the two other men in the room. "This is inspector Dumb—"

"That's 'Plum'!"

"—and his assistant, Dingleberry—"

"Canterbury," corrected the younger officer.

Undertaker shrugged. "I'm terrible with names. You'll have to pardon me for that." He winked at Vincent with an amused smirk, though his bangs hid the gesture. "At any rate, these gents were just leaving."

"But—" the inspector started to protest, but Undertaker ushered him and his companion out the door before either of them could get another word out.

"Run along now...shoo. The Earl and I have business to discuss. Off with you."

He practically shoved them out the door. "Have fun playing in the yard, boys."

Undertaker shut and locked the door, ignoring the inspector's outraged complaints. He turned around to face Vincent. "Now, where were we?"

"I heard you were being quite the stubborn old chap," Vincent said, glancing out the window at the two men, "but I hadn't quite expected such a show. There are less troublesome ways of getting me over for a visit, Undertaker." His lips curled into a small smile as he removed his hat from his head.

"You know I never do things the easy way," chuckled the mortician. It occurred to him that here in the privacy of his shop, he and Vincent could do whatever they liked together. That could be a dangerous thing, indeed.

"Wll, I should pour the tea and get down to business," said the mortician, "but first..."

He crossed the room and pulled the Earl into his arms for a fierce, demanding kiss of greeting. All over again, Vincent's professional front melted away as he was swept into another kiss by the ancient. A small moan made itself known in his throat as he pressed up against the taller man.

That one little sound threatened to be Undertaker's undoing. He purred with satisfaction, savoring the taste and texture of the young man's lips, mouth and tongue. He claimed it all aggressively, wanting him more with each passing moment. Vincent was no shy virgin; he could tell. He briefly wondered how many other men he'd shared his body with, but he really didn't care...so long as he was the only one, from now on.

Driven by possessive impulse, the mortician backed his companion up against the nearest wall and grabbed his wrists, pinning them over his head and holding them there, as he'd done the night he kissed him under the mistletoe.

"You're mine, Earl," he decided aloud, his voice a soft growl of desire. "Say it."

"I'm yours, Undertaker...I'm all yours," breathed the Earl lustfully, sliding his left leg up along the reaper's and hooking it on his hip to pull him in tight, groin against groin. "And you are mine."

"Indeed I am." Undertaker ground himself against Vincent, reveling in the intimate press of their hardened groins through the layers of clothing. His lips traveled to the Earl's ear as he held his wrists firmly in place, and he caught the lobe between his teeth, giving it a tug before kissing it.

"I want you entirely too much for my own bloody good," he purred, "but for now, I'll settle for this."

He ground against him some more, creating a wonderful friction that made him groan. How easy it would be to toss their current obgligations out the window and lay claim to his body in the most intimate ways possible.

"You are sorely mistaken if you think I don't wish for the same thing," whispered Vincent in a low, husky tone. "My dream last night...you were in it."

"Oh?" Undertaker grinned against his ear, and he traced the outer shell of it with his tongue. "And what was I doing in this dream of yours, hmm?"

"You weren't seeing to the dead, that's for sure." Vincent smirked. "Your guest was very much alive and screaming."

"In pleasure, or pain?" He rubbed against him some more, hissing at the sensation. He might just mess his knickers soon, he was getting so randy.

"Maybe a mixture of both," admitted Vincent.

"I see." Undertaker smirked. "Maybe we could make that dream a reality, when we've completed our duties."

He was again sorely tempted to put said duties on hold, but he didn't want to encourage bad habits in the Earl. Being frivolous was fine for the mortician, but Vincent's survival in this world of royal politics he'd been born into depended on him putting busienss before pleasure and staying alert.

"To get to that point, then, we'd have to start with you telling me what you refused to impart to the Yard," Vincent pointed out in a soft purr.

"Right," agreed Undertaker with a little sigh of regret. He released Vincent's wrists and bit back his sexual frustration. Their time would come. At least he knew beyond a doubt that his desire was mutual. "I'll go and get the tea. Make yourself comfortable, my lord."

He decided to play one last time before going to the back to fetch their refreshments, and he gave the Earl's bottom a pat.

Vincent paid no mind to the touch to his rear as he followed the man to the curtain that he guessed led to the reaper's personal living space. "Comfortable? Where, in a coffin?" Vincent let out a small chuckled. "I dare say I do not plan to get comfortable in one of those any time soon. Don't you have proper seating?"

Undertaker cast a grin over his shoulder at him, and he parted the heavy black curtain, making a graceful, inviting gesture. If he and Vincent were to become lovers, the young man would eventually wind up in his personal suite anyhow. "By all means, Earl, come in and have a seat in the kitchen. I'll give you the tour after we've conducted our business. It's not much, but it's tidy and cozy enough."

Vincent nodded and followed him back, pausing to glance around at the surroundings. He was curious to see if the man lived as grimly as he worked. The living area was just as the mortician described it; clean and cozy. The floorboards creaked a little here and there when stepped on, but they were polished and there was a carpet runner with deep purple and black covering the floor in the hall leading from the entryway. Damask wallpaper of grey and black covered the hallway walls, and silver sconces in the shape of the fleur de le provided a warm glow to see by.

Undertaker guided him through a small archway to the left, a few steps into the hallway. "Here we are," he said as they stepped into the kitchen. There was a small round dining table of cherrywood against the corner of the small, dark brick kitchen, and the mortician pulled out one of the two matching wooden chairs for Vincent to sit in.

"Have a seat, my dear, while I pour us some tea."

He went over to the granite-topped counters, where he'd already set out a pair of clean beakers. He rummaged in the ceramic container of cubes next to the small brick hearth to remove the iron kettle hanging over the coals.

"I'm afraid I'm all out of cream," apologized the reaper. "How many lumps would you like?"

"Two, please...those...you haven't used those for anything...strange, have you?" he asked, eyeing the beakers as he sat down and folded his hands together atop the table.

"Of course not," assured the mortician, "I'm just forever breaking my china when I stumble in here for coffee in the mornings, so I gave up replacing it. I have a surplus of these."

He poured the tea, dropped the sugar into it and brought the containers over to the table. He peered at Vincent through his bangs and he felt a little embarrassed for the first time over his choice in tea ware. "I know that you are more accustomed to elegance, love. I apologize for the crudeness."

Vincent waved off the comment. "I was just making sure there wasn't some possible residue of some embalming chemical on them. They are a strange choice for drinking tea from, after all."

"Understandable concern, young lord," said the reaper. He took his seat across from the Earl and he sweetened his beverage before getting on to business. "Now then; as you undoubtedly know already, our friend in my basement met his demise thanks to a cut to the throat. What the Yard doesn't know yet is that the guard in question had an interesting letter on his person..."

He paused and he dug an unopened enveloped out of his robes, which he handed over to the young man. "As you can see, it's addressed to the Duke of Buckingham. The guard was trying to warn him in code. Look the letter over and see for yourself; you're good at decoding."

The Earl sipped his tea and took the letter, unfolding its slightly rumpled paper and scanning it with his eyes, letting it sink in before working to decode it—at least to get a rough idea. It likely would take him more time to do so properly, if the code was created to be tricky.

Undertaker allowed the bright young man some time, and when he saw the way the dark brows furrowed and the expressive brown eyes widened, he knew that he wasn't alone in his interpretation. "She's begun killing off her own, Vincent."

All thoughts of sex and desire fled him as the mortician thought on the matter. "I didn't just arrange this meeting for my own lusty purpose; the Queen is tying up loose ends, and getting rid of folk she thinks might whisper her business to her enemies."

"But why?" demanded the Earl. "Her Majesty has only let her most trusted know her secrets—and none knows all, save maybe her personal butler." He sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking up in thought. "Someone must be pulling her strings, planting seeds of mistrust."

"Whatever the reason, I think you should be extra careful," advised the Undertaker. "You and your family have gathered a lot of information about the monarchs over time. If she thinks for one moment that you might reveal secrets about the royal family, you'll be next on her list."

"The Yard can't know, either," said Vincent. "They'd go snooping where they shouldn't. They would be putting their own safety at risk."

Undertaker grimaced. "Actually, I suspect someone in their ranks is already involved. While it did present a good excuse to get you here alone with me, I wouldn't have shared that note with those blokes anyway, for fear it would get back to the wrong person and further endanger you. If an informant thought you knew of the conspiracy, well..."

He spread his hands, letting the sentence finish itself.

Vincent sighed and shook his head. "If the Queen is behind this, there isn't much that can be done."

Uncommonly protective feelings welled up in the mortician's breast. Undertaker wasn't one to coddle and he knew very well that Vincent could defend himself, but was it enough? "I'd like to resume our lessons, twice per week. There are still things that I can teach you and I want you to learn them all."

"You are really worried that I'll become a target, aren't you?" Vincent observed, "even though I've only just taken up m father's title as Earl and the Queen's Guard Dog."

"To these deviants, your inexperience makes you a more attractive target," explained the mortician. "The sooner they knock you off, the better. Your house is in a vulnerable state right now, with you adjusting as the new head of it."

Undertaker sipped his tea and opened the jar of bone-shaped treats on the table. He took one for himself and he slid the jar toward Vincent in offering. "I know you're a fine swordsman and a witty tactician, but you're in a transitional period...ripe for the picking."

"I just don't understand these rivalries...I never have," sighed Vincent. "My father made many enemies, and now they are mine. I'd never wish such a thing on my own son, should I be blessed with one."

"That's the unfortunate result of being born a noble," sighed Undertaker. "People think having money makes folk happy, but I tell you, some of the happiest people I've met had nary a shilling to their names."

He took a bite of his biscuit and he contemplated the remainder of it as he munched. "Your sons and daughters are going to have a time of it just like you, sure enough...but if you pass down your knowledge, they'll have the tools they need to survive...and they'll have me, even after you..."

He trailed off with a frown, lowering his gaze. "Well, they'll always have 'Uncle Undertaker', anyhow."

Vincent looked away with a frown. 'After I grow old and die, leaving you behind,' he mentally finished the statement. "It must be difficult, living forever."

"Sometimes," agreed Undertaker. "It's not uncommon for my kind to grow so world-weary that they wish to leave it. Suicide thins our numbers more than starvation, sickness or mortal injuries. That's why I do my best to stay entertained, you see."

"Seems depressing, if death itself wishes for death." Vincent sipped his tea once more and looked up at Undertaker. "Having little to live for...we humans have such short lives, we have to make the most of it and we aren't ready for death a lot of the time, but you are the opposite, aren't you?"

"To a certain point," said Undertaker. He propped his elbows on the table and he steepled his fingertips together thoughtfully, his smile returning. "But you know, Vincent, there are still so many wonders to see in this world, even for someone as old as I am. It's when you stop looking for them that you're fucked...er...pardon me."

Vincent froze, blinking at the reaper before starting to laugh. "Ah, you were always a man with free words, but it still throws me off at times."

Undertaker shared his laughter, delighting in the sound of it. Vincent had always had a rich, warm laugh that inspired others to smile when they heard it. "Happy to entertain you, my lord," he chuckled when he could speak again. "You see? You're nothing like your peers. They'd have gone red-faced and sputtering with indignation, had I said that in front of any of them. Stuffy peacocks!"

He burst into laughter again.

"Even my father would have," agreed Vincent as he calmed his laughter, though it could still be heard in his voice. "He was very much for tradition and propriety. He'd be turning in his grave if he knew the truth about me."

Undertaker nodded, coughing a little as his last mouthful of tea went down the wrong way. "Indeed, my friend. He would indeed. I think your late mother would be proud of you, though."

He sobered a bit, and he looked at his tea with a sigh. "Continue with the investigation, and track down the party responsible for the death of that guard...but do not mention a word of what we've spoken of today. I'll burn the letter I found, and it will stay between us."

The Earl nodded. "Were there any clues on the body?"

A bit of cloth and blood under the nails," answered the mortician. "I had a closer look under the microscope. Looked to be lace of some sort, so either the killer is a lady, or a rather fancy-dressed assassin. Now, I've never known a professional assassin to wear frills when trying to sneak up on their prey, unless they use deception to get close to them. I've really got a hunch that you should be looking for a woman, not a man."

Undertaker took another sip of his tea and he frowned at it. "I think we could use something stronger than tea. I've a good Port begging to be shared. Care for some, love?"

"Not much, I am here on business, after all," said the Earl, his mind distracted with the evidence he'd been given.

"Of course," answered the mortician in understanding. "I won't be but a moment."

He took his beaker and Vincent's, and he carried them away to the sink to be washed later. He rummaged through the cabinets to procure the bottle of Port and the appropriate glasses. After pouring the drinks, he returned to his guest and offered one of them to him, before sitting down with him.

"Cheers," offered the reaper, holding out his glass.

Vincent smiled and lifted his drink. "You are a horrible influence on me," he joked, clinking their glasses together, "drinking before supper."

"I happen to take great delight in being a horrible influence." Undertaker grinned broadly and took a swallow of his Port. "It's one of my best qualities."

"Just what have I gotten myself into, falling for a man like you?" The Earl chuckled, taking a sip of his own drink.

"At least I keep things interesting," said Undertaker after taking a swallow. "I don't know how you can bear those social gatherings you attend. I honestly think the most boring people in the world have conspired to breed within the monarchy. Perhaps you and Lady Rachel will liven up the gene pool, when you have children."

I tolerate them, I don't bear them. Personally, I plan to host no more than I absolutely have to. Nothing like my father had. Thank you." He sipped the port again after his glass was refilled.

~xox~

As it turned out, "not much" ended up becoming "a whole lot". As they sat talking, flirting and laughing, they both forgot moderation. By the time evening fell, they'd drunk the entire bottle of port. Undertaker regarded it with mild surprise, and he looked at Vincent to see him teetering in his chair. He jumped up to catch him before he could hit the floor, putting his arms around him to steady him.

"My, my," said the reaper with a sloppy grin. "It seems we've outdone ourselves, my—hic—lord. You're in no condition to go any—hic—where now. Can you stand at all?"

"Iiii can barely s—hic—t." The Earl grinned up at the reaper holding him. "But what does that have to do with going anywheres?" He playfully poked Undertaker's nose, missing his target once or twice before landing his finger on the tip of it.

Finding his actions adorable, the reaper laughed and hiccupped again. He rubbed his nose affectionately against the finger pressed against it. "I think I should get you into bed and call your driver—hic—in the morning. It'sh a nice, comfy bed."

"What, you don' sleep in a coffin, you creepy old man?" teased Vincent with a slur. "Oh! W'gotta tell T'naka!"

"I do prefer my coffin," said the mortician, "but I have a nice, big bed, too. Here, I'll take you to th' phone..."

Guiding the unsteady monarch on legs that were only a little more stable than his, Undertaker took him back through the hallway and through the curtained entryway. He half-carried him over to his desk and leaned him up against it, taking the phone off its cradle and handing it to him. "I'll dial," he offered, peering down at the rotary.

"Get th' right number—hic!" Vincent grinned, taking the offered phone and holding it to his ear. A moment later, he heard the other end ring a few times and then Tanaka's voice answered.

"Tanaka? I'm calling to say I'll be home t'morrow, so please don't—hic—worry about me!"

"Sir, is everything all right?" Asked the butler. "You're yelling."

"I'm not yelling! I swear!" Vincent giggled, and so did Undertaker. "Just had a drink too—hic—many an' I'm staying over."

Tanaka sighed. "Very well, my lord. Shall I send a carriage for you in the morning?"

"Yes, please. Thanksh, Tana—hic—ka!" With the hiccup, he set the phone down and turned to smile at the mortician. "Business is done!"

Undertaker gave him another sloppy smile. "Well-hic—done, my Vinny. Come, let'sh get to bed." He put a steadying arm around him, stumbling a bit himself as he guided the other man back toward the curtain.

"Hey, is...Undertaker yer real name?" Vincent asked, leaning against him.

"Has been for many years," answered the reaper, "since long before you were born. Here we—hic—are, my love." He pushed the door to his bedroom open, flicked the lights on and revealed a huge canopy bed with black sheets and pillowcases, and a pink canopy, of all colors.

Undertaker bumped into the wardrobe and swore, nearly losing his balance. "Like I said, I don't sleep here often, but I keep it—hic—nice and clean, with fresh bedding."

"Pink...suits you." The Earl chuckled, stumbling in and flopping on his back on the bed as he reached up to loosen his ascot.

"It's—hic—actually my favorite color!" Undertaker put a finger to his lips. "Shhh, don't tell anyone."

He helped the Earl get situated and helped him get his shoes off. "There," he said with a smile as he lifted his legs onto the bed and positioned him so that he was lying on his back. He started to climb in with him, but he tripped on his own feet and ended up sprawled sideways over Vincent's legs. He tried to get up and failed, his hat falling off his head and rolling off the bed, onto the floor. Vincent was already passed out.

"Maybe I'll just—hic—sleep here, then."

Undertaker folded his arms and pillowed his cheek on them, soon joining his guest in drunken slumber.

~xox~

-To be continued