Comfort me

~~~
Comfort Me.
Kuroshitsuji - Undertaker/Grell

A quick insight into what I think was going through Undertaker's mind during episodes 17 and 18 (the salt-pot episode and the ‘hug me!’ episode) followed by some Undertaker/Grell sexy-time ;)

Because I love this pairing so hard :)
~~~

They hadn’t gotten off to a very good start if Undertaker was to be honest. In hind sight, he probably shouldn’t have casually insulted Grell’s appearance when they had first met, but in his defence he had thought that Grell was dead at the time, a reasonable mistake considering Grell had been laying in a coffin pulling a rather gormless facial expression in his sleep. In any case, there was no need for Grell to go crazy and strangle him! Slight over reaction on Grell’s part, if you asked Undertaker, but then that was just what Grell was like - unpredictable, quick-tempered and slightly psychotic. Undertaker had been scared of him right from the start. For all the red-heads femininity and cheerfulness it was still difficult to forget that the man was a chainsaw-wielding lunatic.

Outraged, Grell had stolen Undertaker robes and his hat before stuffing the terrified man into a giant salt-pot. The Undertaker had been relieved when Sebastian and Ciel had turned up, it had calmed the red-head down - mostly because Grell was far too busy flirting with Sebastian to pay any further attention to the salty Undertaker.

It was whilst Grell had been flirting with the demon that Undertaker had realised how pretty the red-head truly was and he regretted his earlier comment - he didn’t want Grell to think that he didn’t find him attractive. In Victorian England homosexuality was illegal, which made it difficult to find other homosexual men, let alone such pretty and openly gay ones and Undertaker was worried that he’d already ruined any chance he had. He was jealous of all the attention Sebastian was getting but cheered up slightly when Sebastian made it perfectly clear (to everyone it seemed except for Grell) that he was not in the least bit interested in the red head and in fact, seemed to find him quite repulsive. Undertaker was in with a chance! Now all he had to do was win Grell over and try his best not to be frightened of him! Easier said than done of course.

Ciel and Sebastian asked Undertaker for his assistance. Usually he would insist on payment in the form of a joke but, after having glanced across at Grell, he quickly offered to help them for free thinking that maybe this kind gesture would help to win the red-head around and make Grell like him. This decision to was also partly due to Grell’s angry glare. Undertaker didn’t want to offend Grell any further - especially if it triggered another violent outburst.

But Undertaker started to lose hope. Grell would not leave Sebastian alone despite the demons rather forceful protestations and to make matters worse Grell flirted with just about every other vaguely attractive man that appeared - but he never flirted with Undertaker and instead just completely ignored him. To crush his spirit even further, in the middle of the library in front of Will, Sebastian, Ciel and Angela, Grell had shouted very loudly that Undertaker was a pathetic nobody and that there was no way he could be a Legendary Death God. Undertaker had hoped that Will’s inspiring speech about what an amazing Death God the Undertaker had been would impress Grell but apparently it did not and had just made the red-head even angrier. Grell had run forward, spun Undertaker around whilst looking him up and down with disapproving and unimpressed eyes, then irritably he had shoved aside the undertaker’s long grey hair that always hung in his face. Undertaker felt humiliated and ashamed under this scrutiny. His neck and cheek had long scars across them and he was sure that Grell would hate these imperfections. But then Grell saw Undertakers eyes and everything changed. A look of sudden surprise hit the stunned red-head until a smile crept across his lips and his expression changed to one of pure adoration as he gazed lovingly into the Undertakers beautiful eyes. “Hug me!” he had screamed, and Undertaker was surprised to find the red-head suddenly pulling him into a tight embrace. Grell’s face was pressed against his chest and bright crimson strands of hair tickled Undertaker’s chin as one of the red-heads hands gripped the Undertaker’s waist, holding him close, and the other pawed happily at his shoulder. A triumphant grin spread across Undertaker’s face. Grell did like him after all!

And then that damned angel caused such a commotion, completely distracting everyone, and the drama that unfolded resulted in Grell releasing him from his embrace, much to Undertaker’s dismay, and then Undertaker’s High-ranking Death God skills were required and he was forced to send Grell, along with the others, back to the monastery and therefore regrettably away from himself. Just when things were getting quite interesting between him and the red-head! So inconvenient!

After this ordeal, they all met again in the Undertaker’s Funeral Parlour for much needed cups of tea. Undertaker was happy to find that Grell was still flirting with him. The red-head was being extra kind and friendly, and insisted on making tea for everyone. He served Undertaker personally - with a smile and a flutter of his long eyelashes. It made Undertaker feel giddy and he couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he tried, distractedly, to give Ciel and Sebastian the information they needed. He’d much rather be flirting with Grell right now! Finally, the demon and the boy had left and Undertaker was filled with excitement - and fear - at being left alone with Grell. But no sooner had Sebastian and his young master stepped outside, than Grell had leapt across the room to the door, completely oblivious to the Undertaker who had been watching him hopefully, and chased after the demonic butler. Undertaker had sighed sadly as he sipped at his tea, feeling slightly comforted by the fact that Grell had been the one that had prepared it for him. Undertaker smiled to himself. It tasted so warm and sweet.

Early the next morning Undertaker was humming to himself whilst inspecting the latest batch of corpses when the bell jangled and the door burst open, a flash of red dashing into the room. Surprised, the Undertaker dropped the coffin lid he had been holding and the coffin slammed shut as he backed up a few steps with an alarmed look on his face. He heard a familiar sounding yell of, “Oh, Undertaker!” and saw Grell stood next to a pile of coffins.

Finally here they both were, alone in Undertaker’s Funeral Parlour, and yet again Undertaker was filled with a mixture of fear and delight. He was excited at the prospect of Grell flirting with him again, the red-head had been so nice and kind before, and finally the Undertaker could show that he returned Grell’s feelings - without angels, demons, Death Gods or Earls getting in the way. He rinsed his hands excitedly in the nearby basin, grinning happily and then turned back around to find Grell suddenly standing right in front of him, his lip quivering and a big, painful-looking bump on his forehead just below his hairline. Grell was far to wrapped up in some sort of harrowing emotional drama to flirt… just yet anyway.

“You’ll help a wounded and helpless lady, won’t you?” Grell said in a pitifully upset tone.

Undertaker stared at the bump and had barely opened his mouth before Grell had wrapped his arm tightly around Undertaker’s arm in a vice like grip and dragged him across the room and up the stairs to Undertaker’s small bedroom above the shop - whilst wailing about how he felt faint and aught to lay down - preferably on a bed.

Grell released his grip on Undertaker’s arm and staggered feebly, shaking his head miserably from side to side, his long red hair whipping behind him as he wailed woefully. He held the back of his hand over his forehead theatrically and all but fainted onto the nearby bed like a true damsel in distress. He whimpered and then looked sidelong at the Funeral Director, just to make sure Undertaker had caught the show and had fully understood the distress that Grell was attempting to display in order get maximum sympathy.

“Ohhh, my head hurts!” he sobbed miserably. “Sebastian is a devil to strike a lady. Such a fiend!”

Undertaker smiled at the red-head laying coyly on his bed. Very subtle Grell, he thought with an internal laugh, to use a pretext of feeling faint to get into my bedroom and onto my bed. But Undertaker still noticed with some annoyance the lustful tone to the words ‘Sebastian‘, ‘devil’ and ‘fiend,’ and mused on how the red-head didn‘t even seem angry for what Sebastian had done, as though he was just proud of any attention that he could get from the demon. “I’ll get you some ice,” Undertaker said quietly, “It’ll stop the swelling.” Undertaker often used ice to preserve bodies and had plenty spare. Plus, he was feeling angry at Sebastian and didn’t want Grell to know - the red-head would only defend the demon if Undertaker said anything. Just a few minutes to calm down and Undertaker knew he could hold his tongue.

“Oh thank you! I’m glad somebody knows how to treat a lady!” Grell called after him as the Undertaker left the room. Grell sprawled out comfortably and elegantly across the full length of the bed, kicking off his heeled shoes and then pulling his long legs up onto the bed and crossing his ankles.

When Undertaker got back into the room he was somewhat surprised to find Grell sat on the bed in a state of undress. This seemed very forward and confident even for the flirtatious red-head. But Undertaker quickly realised that Grell had just removed his red overcoat, his waistcoat, striped bow and had unbuttoned his white shirt and pulled it down over his shoulders, reminiscent of how he wore the red coat. He’d pulled his long hair over his shoulder in front of him to trail across his chest, revealing deep, painful looking scratches across the pale, delicate skin of his back.

Undertaker’s jealously was forgotten and was replaced with a sudden protective concern for Grell, as well as overwhelming hatred for Sebastian, for it had to have been the demon that had done this.

“Can you press the ice on my back to numb the stinging? I can‘t reach,” Grell said with pouting lips and a glint in his eye. Undertaker couldn’t believe how indifferent to the wounds Grell was, it was as though he didn’t even care that someone he claimed to love could hurt him like this. Undertaker held the little bag of ice against the bruised and raised red skin and felt Grell flinch.

“Oh, Undertaker, do try to be gentle with me,” Grell giggled playfully. Undertaker could feel his annoyance rising at the way Grell was downplaying what Sebastian had done to him. Grell peered backwards over his shoulder at Undertaker, gazing at him over the top of red-rimmed glasses. He gave a smile. “Don’t look so serious. They’re just war wounds from a battle of love!”

Undertaker’s eyes widened, his worst fears confirmed. Sebastian must have taken advantage of Grell’s weakness for him, used him for sex, abused him emotionally as well as physically without caring how this would damage the poor red-head. Those were no ordinary finger-nail scratches, they were too deep, more like claw marks. Had Sebastian been in his demonic form when he had fucked him? Undertaker took a deep breath and released it slowly. “He did this while… having sex with you? He doesn’t love you if he‘d happily hurt you like this!”

Grell’s eyes narrowed angrily. “Do you honestly think I’d have turned up here miserable and in tears if Sebas-chan had finally made a woman of me?! I’d be shouting my joy from the rooftops!”

“Then how…” Undertaker asked in confusion, pointing at the cuts along Grell‘s back.

Grell turned away from the Undertaker and snorted moodily. “I had been so helpful to Sebby yesterday, I thought maybe he’d like to show me how grateful he was! So I went to the Phantomhive mansion and sneakily searched all of the rooms until I found his bedroom and I waited there for him to finish his work. So romantic! I stripped and posed suggestively on the bed - there was no way any man could resist my feminine wiles! But when he turned up he just said I was trespassing on private property and to get out. I tried to reason with him but he just kept telling me to put my clothes back on and leave, so I thought maybe I could tempt him by getting on all fours in front of him, but he just made a panicked choking sound and stabbed me in the back with some cutlery… I thought that was a bit impolite so I left.” Grell crossed his arms and stared at the floor.

Undertaker laughed. He didn’t mean to. It was more of a relieved laugh than anything else. He was glad that Sebastian hadn’t taken advantage of Grell. And anyway, the story was kind of funny the way Grell told it, and Undertaker did love a joke after all - even if it was dark humour.

Grell however did not find it comical in the least and was both hurt and furiously angry that Undertaker was laughing at his misfortune. He’d honestly thought that if he’d offered himself up on a plate to Sebastian, that the demon wouldn’t be able to say no. Who’d have thought he’d turn up his nose at free, easy sex? Grell had literally begged him, all to no avail and it was so humiliating. When Sebastian threw Grell’s clothes at him he’d told him to cover up because the sight of him naked made him feel sick. He’d said that Grell was not a woman, he was nothing like a woman and even if he was he found him so disgusting that there was no way he’d touch him. That comment had cut deeper than the knives in his back had. Grell had barely gotten his trousers back on before Sebastian had forcibly thrown him out of the window, during which Grell bumped his forehead on the windowsill. The red-head had landed in a painful heap in a flowerbed under Sebastian’s window before having the rest of his clothes thrown after him. He’d crawled across to a nearby rose bush which he’d hidden under for a full half-an-hour crying. He didn’t know where to go. He wanted someone who could make him feel better, who could make him feel loved or at least just a little bit less pathetic, but he couldn’t think of anyone. He wished he was a woman, then all the men would flock around him, but he wasn’t. He flirted with just about any man who was vaguely attractive but it was always in vain, they always made it very clear that they were not interested. He had thought that because Sebastian was a demon he might be more likely to indulge in the sin known in Victorian England as more abominable than any other. He just wanted someone that wanted him in the same way he wanted them.

Grell didn’t even have any real friends that he could turn to right now. He thought of Will. The Shinigami put up with him reasonably well but Grell knew that Will didn’t actually like him and that he would not get any sort of comfort or sympathy from him. Will would just say, “told you so.” because Will hated demons, especially Sebastian. Grell thought the Shinigami was handsome, but Will had told him, in a professional and calm tone, trying to let him down as gently as possible, “Grell. I’m not homosexual, so get back to work and please stop stroking my leg.”

Grell thought of all the men he’d flirted with, of all the disgusted and horrified reactions he’d received, feeling more and more hatred for his own horrible manly body, and then he remembered Undertaker. How could he have forgotten? The only man that hadn’t been disgusted, that hadn’t recoiled - the only man that had actually smiled warmly in response to Grell‘s flirtations! Suddenly a glimmer of hope appeared in the red-head’s mind and Grell’s tears stopped flowing. Grell felt happy that he might be in with a chance with the funeral director, not just because Grell would be happy with the sexual attention of any man right now, but because Undertaker was a fellow Shinigami with a fondness for death, and he was so handsome and sexy. Such chiselled facial features, such deep, penetrating eyes. His skin was so smooth and soft, his hair was so silky, and Grell knew that under all those robes Undertaker had a slender and well toned body. He’d seen it whilst stealing his clothes but Grell had been so angry with him that he hadn’t taken the time to fully admire it. How lucky Grell would feel if Undertaker did like him! So he’d climbed out from under the rose bush, dried his eyes and tidied his long hair before making his way over to the Funeral Parlour.

But now here was Undertaker laughing at him. Such a sexily-sinister laugh normally, but right now it just made Grell feel angry and humiliated. The laughter was quickly cut short when Grell’s hands shot forward and grabbed the Shinigami by the throat and threw the Funeral Director down into the bed. Undertaker’s fingers, underneath his long black sleeves, pawed at Grell’s hands, trying to make him let go, but Grell was too angry to comply. He had the Undertaker pinned beneath him as he strangled him.

“Do you find it funny!?” Grell yelled in a fit of rage, “I know he doesn’t even like me - let alone love me. I’ve tried everything. I told him he could do anything he wanted to me, any sexual depravity, and he still didn’t want me! Not even for a play thing! Is that funny?” He could see the panic and fear in Undertakers eyes, his beautiful eyes which always made Grell feel weak at the knees, and he started to feel ashamed that he was hurting him. He stared down into those eyes and Undertaker stared right back, and suddenly Grell felt something against his cheek and realised it was Undertaker trying to wipe away his tears with his long sleeve. Grell hadn’t even realised he’d been crying. Such a simple and gentle gesture but it meant a lot to Grell and he found himself letting go of Undertaker‘s neck. Undertaker gasped for breath and back away suspiciously across the bed, rubbing his sore neck nervously, but Grell looked too deflated and miserable now to be dangerous. He’d pulled his legs up to his chest, wrapped his arms tightly around them and buried his face against his knees. He really was crying now, all the emotions he’d felt under the rose bush had returned. Undertaker apprehensively edged closer to the red-head, half expecting him to lash out again. “You can do better than that bastard of a demon. He’d be lucky to have anyone even half as good as you.”

“You really think so?” Grell sniffled, continuing to keep his face hidden against his knees behind a veil of red hair.

“Definitely. You are a very beautiful lady,” Undertaker assured him and then gently patted Grell’s naked shoulder.

Grell looked up again, his grief-stricken expression was gone, replaced with something predatory and a big, toothy shark grin was plastered across his face.

“Oh Undertaker, are you going to take advantage of this upset lady?” he asked hopefully whilst turning towards Undertaker with puckered lips.

Undertaker would always regret what he did next. He leant backwards away from Grell so that the red-head wound up just kissing the air. He wasn’t entirely sure why he had backed away, well, actually he was. It was because he was painfully aware of the razor-like, extra sharp set of teeth that had been moving towards his face like a hungry piranha. He’d had visions of Grell biting his nose or tongue clean off. Well, they did look very sharp and Grell could be quite erratically violent as Undertaker had well learnt. In fact Undertaker had fully expected Grell to react to this unintentional rejection by strangling him again, but Undertaker was instead surprised to see Grell hang his head down miserably and give a sad sigh before turning to glare at Undertaker. “You know, you‘re worse than all the others - you led me on. I really thought you… oh, you should have just punched me to start off with, just like everyone else does. It would have saved a lot of time and energy-”

Grell moved to stand up, all set to storm out of the room dramatically, imagining angrily kicking over a few coffins on his way outside, but found a pair of long black sleeves, presumably with hands hidden inside them suddenly wrap around his arm and pull him back down onto the bed.

“No! It’s just - your teeth!”

“What’s wrong with my teeth!” Grell yelled. Had he not been insulted enough today without his teeth being dragged into it?

“Oh they’re perfectly pearly white,” Undertaker said quickly with a worried smile, “they just look very sharp!”

“Ah, I see,” said Grell, straightening his red-rimmed glasses with a quick smirk and suddenly wrenched one of Undertaker’s hands away from where it had been holding tightly onto Grell’s arm. He pushed the sleeve back to reveal a hand with long, slender fingers and long, black finger nails and pulled the hand towards his mouth - which drew a worried yelp from the Funeral Director - and he gently pressed Undertaker’s index finger against one of the pointy teeth. Undertaker was surprised to find that the tooth was actually surprisingly dull.

“You see? They’re only as sharp as anyone’s canine teeth would be,” Grell informed him. Undertaker’s tongue flicked across his own teeth - Grell was right.

Undertaker’s finger ran along the row of teeth, pushing deeper into the red-head’s mouth. Grell’s lips closed around the digit and he sucked on it whilst licking his tongue across the probing finger suggestively and seductively peering over the tops of his red glasses. Undertaker let out a little laugh and then plucking the spectacles carefully from Grell’s nose and placed them safely out of the way. He removed his finger before quickly replacing it with his mouth, kissing Grell passionately. His hand snuck around behind Grell to the nape of his neck where he stroked the soft, red hair with his fingers. Grell giggled happily as they kissed, their lips parting and their tongues rubbing together. The red-head threw his arms tightly around the Funeral Director’s shoulders pulling himself as close to the other man as he could. Grell was so happy that he had finally found someone that returned his feelings and he was so glad it was Undertaker. Excitement and anticipation bubbled up inside him, it had been such a long time since any of his flirtatious efforts had paid off that part of him couldn’t believe this was truly happening. Undertaker’s other hand clung to the small of Grell’s back, and then pushed it’s way up under the already dishevelled shirt to rub circular motions on his soft skin making the red-head shiver happily before quickly wriggling out of his white shirt altogether. Undertaker’s fingers roamed across the smooth skin of Grell’s back whilst being careful not to touch the deep scratches higher up. Grell was fumbling with the knot in the pale grey sash that was slung across the Undertaker’s chest down to his side until finally Grell whipped the thing off and then set to work on removing the other man’s black robes and any other item of clothing that was getting in between Grell and Undertaker‘s naked body. Grell wrenched the Funeral Directors knee-high boots off and threw them to the floor where they landed in a heap beside Grell’s own high-heeled shoes. Grell then pounced on the Undertaker, shoving him roughly down into the bed and knocking the man’s top hat off sending it tumbling to the floor. The red-head fumbled impatiently with Undertaker’s trousers until they too were in an untidy heap on the floor and the Undertaker found himself entirely naked with a half-naked Grell - still regrettably wearing his trousers - towering over him with a big toothy grin and excited eyes. Grell leant down and kissed Undertaker hungrily on the mouth then trailed kisses down his jaw line and neck. He licked a trail across Undertaker’s chest before sucking and licking a pink nipple. The Funeral Director’s hands moved across the material of Grell’s trousers to squeeze his ass, drawing a gasp and a giggle from the red-head, then fingers pushed underneath the waistband to rub between the cleft between his ass-cheeks making Grell shiver. Undertaker’s hands moved to the front of Grell’s trousers and fiddled with the buckle of his belt, not an easy task with a body writhing over him and blocking his view. A wicked grin appeared on Grell’s face and his slender fingers stroked down Undertaker’s stomach before grazing over the silver hair at his groin, pulling a gasp from the Undertaker’s lips. Grell’s finger’s wrapped nimbly around Undertaker’s cock, his thumb stroking lazily across the head in the moisture that had already formed there. His fist tightened and he begun to pump the hard flesh making Undertaker cry out, throwing his head back. The Funeral Director’s fingers trembled and slipped uselessly on the buckle as he tried to undo the trousers through the onslaught of pleasure.

“Your face is turning a most wonderful shade of red, Undertaker!” Grell beamed before letting out a surprised laugh as Undertaker retaliated by forcefully yanking Grell’s trouser’s down his thighs. One of Undertaker’s hands held onto the red-head’s hip while the other trailed up the inside of Grell’s legs. The back of his hand brushed against Grell’s balls and he cupped them in his hand, squeezing gently, before reaching further upwards and wrapping his fist around the firm flesh of the red-head‘s cock. Grell whimpered, his face pressed against Undertaker’s neck, his back arched, and his knees planted firmly either side of the Funeral Director’s thighs. Peering over the top of Grell’s red hair, Undertaker could see his ass hovering up in the air and the pale skin of the small of his back. The view fed Undertaker’s arousal all the more and the movement of Grell’s hand teasing his aching cock made him feel dizzy with pleasure.

Grell moaned. He raised himself up on his elbow to get a better view of the other man’s face. Undertaker was pleased to note that Grell’s cheeks were also flushed and his lips were parted as his breath came in long, sharp gasps.

Grell stared at him with green, desperate eyes. “I want you to fuck me,” he murmured, “please.”
“If you insist - it would be rude to disappoint a lady, after all.” Undertaker said with a mischievous smile.

The Funeral Director pulled a little glass jar of some sort of lubricant out from a pocket of the black robe that was draped across the bed. He brought his hand up to his mouth and chewed off the ends of the long, black fingernails of his middle and index finger before dipping his finger’s into the jar and coating them generously. He knew that his nails would grow back soon enough - they broke often enough in his work as a mortician - and right now he was more interested in making Grell whimper and squeal. His other hand wrapped around an ass cheek whilst Grell shifted forward so Undertaker could reach better. The red-head stared at the little glass bottle suspiciously. “What is that?”

“It’ll just make it easier and less painful.”

“Yes. But what is it? Do you usually carry lube in your pocket?”

Undertaker laughed.

“Is it embalming fluid?!” Grell demanded.

“Shh,” Undertaker whispered noncommittally and pushed a finger into Grell’s tight hole.

The red-head winced and gripped the bed sheets tightly in his hands. He whimpered and pressed his face against Undertakers neck. The Funeral Director could feel the other man’s breath against his ear.

“You alright?” Undertaker asked with a smirk, feeling the red-head’s deep breaths against his throat. Grell nodded then trembled as Undertaker started to move his finger back and forth, he groaned as he felt another finger, slick with the lubrication, push it’s way in and join the first in a steady rhythm. It felt sublime, usually he had to resort to doing this to himself but having Undertaker doing it felt a thousand times better, and then there was the anticipation of knowing that soon something even better would be replacing those digits. Grell groped blindly for the glass jar, his face still buried against the other man’s neck as Undertaker fucked him with his fingers. The red-head coated his own fingers liberally in the fluid before reaching in between them both and grasping Undertakers stiff cock in his hand and coating it with the lubricant. The Funeral Director moaned under the other man’s touch and pulled his fingers free from the warm, grip of Grell’s hole. He started to sit up, desperate to bury himself deep inside of the red-head’s tight ass only to find himself being forcibly pushed back down and pinned into the bed yet again. He stared up into the grinning Shinigami’s bright, green eyes, a triumphant yet playful look on the red-head’s face. Grell leant back, straddling Undertaker’s hips and giving him the first full view of the front of Grell’s naked body. Undertaker let his eyes trail appreciatively across the pale skin of Grell’s sweat-dotted chest, staring at his pink nipples, at the loose strands of dishevelled crimson hair that clung to the dampness of his chest, down to the shock of red hair at his groin, framing the hard, reddened member, beads of pre-cum forming on the head. Grell shifted his weight and Undertaker felt his own cock press deliciously against the other man’s tight entrance. The Funeral Director reached behind the red-head and pulled Grell’s ass cheeks apart as the smaller man sunk down onto his lap, swallowing up the Mortician’s hard cock. Grell gasped as he impaled himself, liking the dizzying mixture of pain and pleasure. His mouth hung open, his eyes closed tightly and his eye-brows knotted together under the torrent of sensations. Once Undertaker’s cock was all the way deep inside of him he kept still, getting used to the feeling of being penetrated, and then finally, with a shaky groan he started to move his hips, rocking up and down, impaling himself again and again as the excruciating pleasure built up and his breaths became more desperate. He cried out as he felt Undertaker raise his hips to meet his downward movements and as the Mortician’s thrusts became deeper Undertaker’s hands moved up to hold Grell’s hips tightly. Undertaker’s guttural moans joined those of the red-head as they rocked desperately together, Grell’s neglected cock, urgently hard, bobbing with the movement.

Undertaker’s hand moved across and gripped Grell’s cock, stroking and squeezing it. Grell was making the most erotic, desperate sounds now. Grell’s hands went out in front of him, supporting himself on shaking arms, his back curving as he leant forward. “Don’t-” he whimpered, his breath catching in his throat and Undertaker was surprised to find Grell’s hand suddenly trying to bat Undertaker’s hand away from his cock.
“I want to cum just from you fucking me… like a woman would,” he said quietly.

Never-the-less, Grell still found himself letting out a disappointed whine when Undertaker let go of him. The Mortician’s hands returned to the red-heads hips, stroking the soft skin and running his finger’s up and down Grell’s thighs. His grip returned to the Shinigami’s hips and he held onto him tightly as he sped up his thrusts, deeper and faster, sending Grell into renewed moans as the red-head sat up, straightening his torso and throwing his head back, his lips open as his whole body quaked uncontrollably. Undertaker watched Grell’s hard, twitching cock as the red-head ejaculated, spilling his seed across Undertaker‘s stomach. The Mortician’s frantic thrusts fed Grell’s orgasm all the more and the red-head looked down into Undertaker’s lustful, half-lidded eyes, just visible through loose strands of grey hair. Undertaker stared right back up at him, his thrusts becoming desperate and erratic, the sounds Grell was making, the sight of him cumming, and the delicious, tightness of Grell’s ass all sending the Undertaker over the edge as he came deep inside of him. They continued to rock against each other for a few moments, milking the last of their orgasms, before the rhythm slowed and Grell weakly lifted himself up and then collapsed with an exhausted sigh on top of the Funeral Director. Grell’s hand swept Undertaker’s silver hair away from his stunningly beautiful eyes and the red-head fiddled distractedly with a grey braid whilst grinning at the mortician who let out a happy little laugh which was met with a cheerful giggle and then Undertaker’s already half-lidded eyes closed completely, a blissful expression plastered across his face. Grell rested his head against the other man’s chest and smiled as Undertaker lazily draped an arm across Grell’s back, still being careful not to catch the cuts on the red-head‘s shoulders. Grell closed his eyes too, a contented expression on his face and then they both fell asleep.

The end.

~~~
Authors Note:

I’ve heard the ‘hug me!’ bit translated as ‘embrace me’ and ‘hold me’ too. I think I like ‘hug me’ best :)

It doesn’t matter how dominant, forceful, and aggressive Grell is, he’ll always be the uke in my opinion because he likes to be the lady :D

If you started poking your teeth with your finger during Grell’s informative speech you get a gold star *
~~~