Title: You Can Leave Your Hat On

Author: Naria Lacour de Fanel

Fandom: Kuroshitsuji

Pairing: Undertaker/Grell Sutcliff

Rating: ADULT!! 18+, please! Not that that ever stops rabid yaoi fans…XD

Warnings: This piece of fiction is not suitable for those suffering from homophobia, prudishness, or those with anti-yaoi sentiments. If you suffer from these ailments, reading this is a risk to your mental health. So, redundantly: M/M! Some minor blood play (c'mon it's GRELL!!!!), maybe some spoilers if you haven't read the Jack the Ripper arc. BDSM…slight OOC (I.E. Grell is less annoyingly…whory? Still feisty, though! ^_^)

A/N: My reason for writing this: No Undertaker/Grell fics yet?! Well, that shall be remedied! Who WOULDN'T want Undertaker?! Seriously…XD Hey, they both like death. Go fig.


An ominous creak and the door swings open.

Another ominous creak and the door swings shut.

An eerie chuckle eminates from the darkness and a comely figure emerges from the shadows.

"Welcome to my-" but the rasping voice halts when the owner of said voice doubles over with a grunt.

"Oh!" the newcomer rushes forward. "Are you alright?" he questions as he approaches the hunched man.

Suddenly the silver haired man bursts into maniacal laughter, making the young man jump out of his skin.

That was unexpected.

"W-what?" the mousy young man questions, instinctually backing towards the door and tucking in on himself. The fear in his eyes is obvious even behind his glasses.

But the shopkeeper laughs until tears run down his scarred cheeks. The newcomer is not amused, but he manages to hide his frown.

"Oh," the madman gasps. His laughter finally fades, he wipes a tear away. "Oh, how I love a good laugh."

"I fail to see how I amuse you so," the young man pouts, sad that he has once again become the butt of a joke he doesn't understand, but this time at the amusement of a total stranger. The shopkeeper only smiles indulgently.

"Come now, my dear," he chuckles, suppressing the urge to laugh crazily again. "We both know that style of dress is most-" -a snort- "-unbecoming."

A blush instantly forms across the young man's cheeks.

"W-Who are you to judge?" he blusters. "The way I choose to dress is none of your business!"

"True enough," the silver haired madman coos, suddenly sober. He takes calculated steps towards the bespectacled boy, unconsciously nibbling on his own thumb in contemplation. "But it pains me to see someone as beautiful as yourself in such …" -he pauses, biting down on his thumb, searching for a word- "…drab…"- he says in a curious mixture of distain and amusement- "…apparel."

He stops to tower over the dark haired newcomer. The mousy customer looks up at him with wide-eyed fear, and the undertaker can't deny his amusement. He lifts a bony hand to cup the nervous boy's delicate face.

"You would look stunning in crimson." He draws his thumb across the boy's cheek and leaves behind a streak of scarlet. "Ah, much better," he whispers approvingly.

Instantly, the customer jumps back, clutching his cheek, a look of mortified horror on his face.

"What?! How can you-?!"

The undertaker chuckles in his infuriating way and once more invades the young man's personal space, forcing him back against the door.

"The souls of the dead do not lie and they have left their mark on you," he whispers menacingly, a warm tone of warning in that voice. "Death is my business, afterall," he continues matter-of-factly, pulling the ribbon out of the boy's hair. "There really is no need to hide from me, beautiful Reaper."

The look of fear on the boy's face instantly twists to a look of outrage and fury.

"And what makes you think I would show myself to you?!" the mousy young man fumes, obviously offended.

Another arrogant chuckle. Undertaker lifts his hand once more and gently runs his fingers through the silken chestnut tresses, and as he does the strands bleed from dark brown to their natural brilliant red.

"Because, I can best you in ways you could never dream of," Undertaker purrs dangerously, holding up the transformed hair.

Anger drains out of him as the brunette's eyes widen in shock, and again in recognition as he stares into the man's shadowed eyes.

"You're-!" But his declaration is cut short by a silencing finger against his lips.

"It doesn't matter who I am," Undertaker whispers seductively, tracing the young man's mouth with a sharp nail. "What matters is what I can be for you, Grell Sutcliff."

At the sound of his own name falling from the lips of silver haired madman, Grell's knees buckle, but he still attempts to resist.

"Do you think I'm a woman of loose morals? That I'm easy?!" he haughtily snaps, though his voice is breathy with desire.

Undertaker chuckles, a sly grin on his lips. He presses himself heavily against the quivering young man, hands carefully closing around his small neck.

"I think you know the consequences of saying 'no'," he grins maliciously, fingers tightening around the delicate throat. The brunette tenses as he feels the contrast of the madman's cold metal rings and the pleasant warmth of those grasping fingers… those long nails softly digging into his skin, threatening more than just suffocation…that burning glare searing his eyes…those minute fangs shining maliciously…and the strength and heat of the very dangerous - very MALE- body crushing him into the door…

And he sighs in rapture. Jade eyes sparkle with obvious lust.

"Well, then, I suppose I must say 'No!'" he smirks, the beginnings of shark-like teeth gleaming.

The fingers arounf his throat automatically tighten enough to bruise.

Undertaker's grin only widens. "Good," he rasps, chuckling under his breath. "I do like a good laugh…"


Vibrant crimson splashes across milky skin. Beads of sweat roll down a heaving chest, a furrowed brow. Bruises from overzealous kiss marks begin to blossom. Curious hand shaped welts glow on shivering flesh. Scratches and bite marks well with blood. The creak and groan of aged and well loved leather. The jingle of chains.

And dark, rich laughter.

A disheveled death god kneels on a cold flagstone floor, hands pulled tightly above his head, a chain trailing from his shackled wrists to a heavy steel ring set in the stone wall behind him. He shivers, red hair pooling all around him, the only covering he has from the chill in the air. Blood cools on his bruised skin. He can still feel the firey trail of lips on his chest, the feeling of his nails digging into his captor's flesh…fresh blood on his tongue. He can still hear the roar of his scythe and the thick meaty sound of rending flesh. He had tried to make a fight of it, to prove that he was not of loose morals, to make sport of it…but it somehow turned into a frenzy of harsh kisses, scratching, nibbling, groping and grinding in a matter of moments…and somehow he wound up shackled to a wall!

"You got a little overexcited, didn't you?" a sultry voice chuckles. "If you hadn't gotten so out of control, I wouldn't have needed to restrain you."

The reaper thrashes, curses.

"But, you do look delicious like this," the captor purrs as he leans in to lick a long line the length of the young man's throat. "Beautiful…covered in my blood…Heh."

The young man moans wantonly then continues thrashing in agitation, furious about having his control taken away.

"Hrm…" the seductive voice muses. "I think that's enough foreplay, shall we get down to business?"

"D-Damn you…" the reaper's breathy voice pants with unsatisfied spite. "This is no way to treat a lady!"

"I did warn you," the silver haired menace chides with a smile, kneeling down to caress the frowning face with delicate strokes. The red-head presses into the touch, pulling his arms further into a painful angle. He gasps in pain, but Undertaker muffles his mouth with a searing and vicious kiss.

Grell whimpers with need, ignoring the terrible pain in his shoulders. Undertaker breaks the kiss at the sound with a smirk.

"Let me go," the green eyed death god whispers desperately. "I just want to-"

"Tut tut, milady," the madman chides mockingly. "It's hardly my fault you got yourself all…shackled. You've had your fun, your pound of flesh. Now it's time for me to claim mine," he says with a sadistic grin.

Undertaker roughly grabs a handful of the vibrant red tresses and pulls the reaper to his feet. Deep amber burns from behind a silver fringe into hazy jade with unmasked lust and raw male power. The promise of pain and pleasure is quite evident. Grell's breath catches in his throat, and Undertaker latches onto already kiss swollen lips as he forcefully presses his captive against the wall with his own body.

No need for words anymore.

Just sweet excruciating friction and HEAT!

A battle of tongues and teeth rages on as black claws wander aimlessly over the trembling flesh of the death god, a hand still fisted tightly into ruby tresses. It is maddening! Enough slack to stand comfortably, but not enough to reach out and grab his tormentor!

Grell is bound. He is sub. He is being molested. Rendered powerless. Heart pounding. Adrenaline rush. Fear of the unknown.

He has no choice….

…and he LOVES it!

He LOVES the thrill of being at another's mercy…especially when that being has completely overpowered him. Anticipation…So dangerous. So powerful. So enticing…So…arousing…

Panting. Moaning. Sighing.

Undertaker forces a knee between Grell's thighs, and the reaper arches his back with a broken cry. The silver haired menace smirks against the exposed throat and bites down hard enough to draw blood. It sends shockwaves of mind numbing pleasure down his bowed spine. Undertaker takes full advantage of the situation as he roughly forces one of the immobilized reaper's thighs up over his hip. He cruelly grinds his erection against Grell's, a satisfied smirk on his lips, and pulls away just as quickly. The red-head screams and wraps both legs around the shopkeeper's waist, trying to recreate the friction! Undertaker releases his hold on the death god's neck, and the handful of red hair…He licks the blood from his lips, watching as the poor reaper attempts to support himself by holding himself up by the chains. Undertaker decides to help and drags his hands slowly-agonizingly so- down the reaper's body to firmly cup the young man's ass, pressing their bodies harshly together once more.

Grell begins to shake in earnest. He attempts to undulate, to force more of that sweet just-out-of-reach pleasure…But Undertaker's strength stops him from taking what he wants. His insults and pleas are happily ignored.

A mischievous tongue wends it's way down the reaper's chest, leaving a blazing line of heat behind to drive Grell mad. He groans in frustration and desire. Questing fingers make themselves known as they teasingly stroke along his exposed cleft. Grell gasps and tenses and those same fingers are suddenly forced into his mouth, a chuckle from his captor in the background.

He attempts to protest, but a sharp nail draws a line down his lower back, rending the flesh, making him bleed more… making him forget his anger. He is lost in the feeling, it's meaning, it's truth, and it just feels so damn good!

And somehow the fingers are back, teasing his entrance this time, making him shudder and gasp in anticipation. He can feel his blood running down his back…coating those damnable fingers…The tongue is back, too…drawing circles around a nipple, yet carefuly avoiding touching it. Grell finds himself growling, wriggling, any movement, anything to make things move along!!

In response, a heavy hand presses on his lower back forcing their erections to grind a third time as those teasing fingers push their way inside, and teeth clamp down around his nipple.

Grell screams and shudders heavily, thrashing in his bonds from the surprise, pleasure, and the sheer amount of excess stimulation! He laughs as he sighs, and the Undertaker's mad laughter joins him. Grell is lost in the friction, the teeth, the thrusting digits stretching him wider for better things…the blood all around them, the not-quite-healed wounds stinging from sweat, aches and pains from soon to be bruises, the dazing and lusty heat filling his whole body.

He's moaning loudly and he doesn't care! And neither does Undertaker.

The teeth are gone, the grinding stops, and the fingers are gone…but they wrap themselves under the backs of his thighs as he is spread wide. A quick lifting of the hips and Undertaker lewdly rubs the head of his shaft along Grell's cleft, teasing, promising…

Grell yells some obscenity, then quickly falls into whimpering and begging when Undertaker nonchalantly continues to simply rub.

"P-please," the red head gasps, rolling his hips in invitation. "I-I n-need…"

The look of desperation on the young reaper's face is priceless.

"You need?" the madman asks with an infuriating smirk.

"I n-need-AH!" he pants as Undertaker teases him by slightly breaching the tight ring of muscle, but moving no further.

"Hmm? What was that?" the captor hums.

"You!!!" Grell shrieks with finality, shocked at the desperation in his own voice. But, damn! He was such a tease! "I need you! Please!?"

"And I thought you'd never ask," Undertaker purrs. "As my lady wishes."

He winds his arms around the lithe reaper, and he finally presses in. He sinks in slowly, savoring the heat, the tightness…he knows he's drooling.

Grell sighs as he is finally filled, all his anger flowing out of him once more to simply enjoy the carnal pleasure.

And then they MOVE. Slowly. Ever so slowly. To get used to one another…to gain control..to learn their initial limits. Sweet slow joining-

"JUST FUCK ME ALREADY!!" Grell screams, shattering the serene moment. Undertaker scowls a little, but it twists into a mirthful grin. He roughly slams into the redhead, so hard, in fact, he drags the young man's body up the wall. Of course, Grell screams. He can feel the stone grating against the skin of his own arms…he can only assume it's hell on the death god's back.

"M-more…"Grell shudders. Undertaker explodes into mad laughter as he slams into him again, even harder than last time.

Grell can only moan incomprehensibly. Hmm. They're both drooling.

Undertaker continues his assault, forcing the reaper against the wall harder each time, and it's getting more and more difficult to control. So warm. So painful. So right!

Neither of them can breathe. Can't think. Can only feel, and so they follow the language of their bodies, their cries, their moans and submit to their dark desires. A writhing mass of flesh and sweat. An impassioned joining of two men who revel in death.

A thrust and a cry. Heat building further.

Heady moans, fingers digging harshly into soft skin…Fingers entwine around hard chains…

Stone scratch scratch scratches, making more blood flow. Slick.

Incoherent screams of pleasure, and telltale warmth spreading through the lower belly.

Desperate cries, violent thrusts, and the world walks a tight tight wire. Can't breathe!


And the world falls white.

Jingle! Clang!

Undertermined time passes. Both men come to their senses are covered in blood and semen, and they are both sore. And they are somehow in a heap on the floor! Puzzled, Grell lifts his arms and sees his wrists are still decorated with leather manacles, their chains still quite attached. Undertaker looks from the manacles to the wall and sees that the steel ring has been quite forcibly removed. Bits of stone and dust litter the floor and themselves. He muses to himself over not knowing his own strength and turns to Grell with a wide smile, obviously pleased with himself.

"Well, I have learned something new today…" he hums. Grell looks at him suspiciously.

"And what is that?" the reaper asks, if only to get the man to stop smiling so…eerily.

"Even when engaging in physically taxing…and pleasureable-" he says with a pronounced leer- "…activities."

He pauses.

"You can leave your hat on," he smiles as he adjusts his trademark top hat still jauntily perched on his head.

Grell sighs and buries his face in his hands.



Hmm, well that was interesting, huh? I've always wanted to see Undertaker and Grell together…and I knew it could never be fluffily happy cuteness (As that would make the world implode), it would be rough, tense, and rather…sadistic…? Bwahaha. Grell don't like no sissies, he likes his men strong and dominant…I also want to believe (and have a strong suspicion I am wrong) that the drama queen whore act is just to annoy the shit out of Sebastian. Because annoying Sebastian is AWESOME!! Undertaker is creepy but, I have a feeling that he's more than what he seems (check out the poll I have on my ffnet profile XD) like, maybe he's King of the Death Gods or even Death himself. Grell would certainly not pass up the opportunity to be bested (and thoroughly sexed up) by Death himself!! Sorry about the title, but I got it stuck in my head. I think Undertaker does not remove his hat for anything, much like Jack Sparrow! Hooray for Joe Crocker and striptease songs… I don't know when this would have happened, so probably before the Jack the Ripper arc. Mehbe he was spying on Ciel's sources of info? Huh? Huh? Meh. Whatever. Mansex. Which I am bad at writing by the way. Smut is just not my thing to write…THINK about, yes, write, no. I mean, really, who thinks about HOW they have sex WHEN they have sex?! I sure as hell don't! Don't take this story too seriously! ^_^