Author: Naria Lacour de Fanel
Fandom: X-over, Hellsing and Kuroshitsuji
Paring: Rip Van Winkle/ Grell Sutcliffe
Warnings: None. It's crack fluff.
AN: THIS IS YOUR FAULT, DIGI!
"Chinese?" the redhead offered innocently as he manicured his nails.
"No," came a bored reply from the dark haired woman lounging on the sofa.
"Italian?" he tried again absentmindedly, buffing his nails to a fine shine.
"Nein," the Huntress sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Too oily."
"Nein. Too spicy," she answered with a sneer, the stirrings of irritation creeping into her tone.
"German?" he offered with a small smirk. The only answer he received was a pointed glare and an angry scowl.
"Oh, fine, fine," he sighed. " Ah…Canadian?"
"Vhat? NO!" she snapped, her patience running out. "Vhat the hell do you mean Canadian?"
"Calm down! It was just another option. You're being so picky!"
"Vell who's fault ist that? You're supposed to help me make up my mind!"
"Well I'm not psychic, you know!" the redhead snapped back with a huff.
"Then you are qvite usless, mein schatz." Rip grinned viciously at the man across the room. He looked at her askance, pondered her pseudo insult for a moment, and remembered that she wasn't quite in her right mind. He could forgive her a few bouts of misplaced anger. He answered her in kind with a lascivious smile as he padded towards her and knelt at her feet. He uncrossed her arms and took hers hands into his own.
"That may be so for many things," he said sweetly, pressing her palms against his face. "But I'm useful in the most important ways."
He lewdly ran his tongue from wrist to fingertip and gently suckled on her fingers as he held her gaze. Satisfied when a faint blush graced her cheeks, he sighed softly and released her hands to wrap his arms around her waist and rested his head upon her swollen belly. Rip's irritation almost instantaneously drained away as she found herself petting Grell's soft red hair.
"Ist true, I suppose…" she sighed in resignation. Grell simply smiled to himself in contentment as he listened to her breathing and the faint but strong heartbeat that echoed in her belly. The Huntress couldn't stop the smile that crept onto her lips as she watched him lay there.
"You want fast food," the redhead said breaking the peaceful silence.
"Do I?" Rip asked with an unsure grin.
"Yes," Grell answered as he stood up. He walked over to the armchair to pick up his coat and turned back to her. "I do believe the University down the way has a remarkable track team. Shall we go grab some lunch for you then?"
"Ja," she chirped happily as she took his offered hand. "I haven't had English cuisine in a vhile!"
"Oh good!" Grell chuckled as he handed Rip her beloved musket and shouldered his precious death scythe. "Then let us paint the town red, my love!"
And they made their merry way to wreak mayhem and bloodshed in order to feed the Huntress' craving, a happy (if homicidal) family in the making.
If you don't get it, Rip's a vampire. Hurr! Mmm...Tasty hoomins.
Yes. Grell and Rip MUST breed! They must! I mean, they're meant for each other!