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It began as most things did, when it came to the grim reaper known as Grelle Sutcliff.
An open window, a flash of crimson, and a sinister cackle.
This was becoming far too common an occurrence, and each time Sebastian had to interrogate himself on why he allowed this to keep happening. And each time, he came up short, grasping for a logical explanation that simply wasn’t there. Each night, against his better judgment, he left that window open, unbothered by the bite of the cold evening air, anticipating a certain scarlet reaper’s appearance in his quarters.
It was irrational. Senseless. Grelle Sutcliff was a vexatious creature. Irksome, grating. Sebastian could think of a great myriad of words to describe her, none of them were likeable.
And even if she was likeable , what did that matter to him? A demon had no need for idle attachments; such things, things such as affection , they were fleeting, meaningless emotions. An impossibility for such beings, at least as anything more than a passing fancy.
The only mortal creatures Sebastian has ever felt affection for were those of a feline nature.
And yet.
She was in his bed once more. Their meetings were never pretty. No, their intimacy was just as severe, just as ruthless as Grelle herself was. As Sebastian was, beneath the tailcoat, beneath the etiquette, beneath the facade of the butler he was playing.
Their kiss was a clash of teeth and tongue. It was bruising, it was messy, scandalous, by the standards of Victorian propriety, but Grelle only smiled against his lips. She had already sliced his lip with her teeth—that was something Sebastian quickly learnt, the first time they had wound up like this, that those teeth of her’s were every bit as razor sharp as they looked—but she lapped up his blood like it was sweet nectar, a divine ichor.
Red. With Grelle, everything was red, crimson red, scarlet red. Red was the blood spilled between them, and red was the colour of her painted lips, smeared across his mouth. She liked him better like this; she had said that before, on a night much like this one. Liked him better with her kisses pressed into his skin, like red branding. He had told her what a chore those kiss-marks were to wash off in response, and she only grinned knowingly. Sebastian didn’t tell her to stop.
Grelle’s hand curled around his tie, tugging, her teeth sinking into the swell of his lower lip. Sebastian wasn’t quite sure when he began to notice the little minutiae of her appearance, the little trivial things like her fresh manicure, or the floral perfume she wore. Somewhere along the line he had become so painfully aware.
They parted, if only for Grelle to drop her gaze to the knot of Sebastian’s tie, pulling it undone with practiced fingers. Sebastian wondered if it was odd to meditate on the elegance of one’s hands. Grelle’s hands were just that, elegant. Long, slender, delicate, even. Sebastian was a demon, he was used to singling out a person’s insecurities. It was not hard to deduce that Grelle feared being perceived as masculine. Her hands, however, were no such thing. Well maintained, though worn with evidence of use, even with her favoured leather gloves, her nails long, painted with lacquer, each cuticle pushed back.
It was indeed probably bizarre to think so deeply on one’s hands.
Well, Sebastian was a demon, and when did they ever give thought to mortal standards of normalcy?
Grelle’s scarlet lips tugged at the corner, pulling down into a frown, her brow twitching in irritation. She tossed his tie to the side, barely restraining herself from popping the buttons of his collar. Sebastian opened his mouth, to question her on her bad attitude on such a fine evening, but she addressed it before the first syllable could exit his lips.
“William is running me ragged.” She says, voice coloured with distaste. “To berate me, berate my character and then turn around and work me like a dog. I am good at my job, he knows that, but sometimes I think he wishes to see me fail, to undermine every little thing — ” Grelle's sentence cut short, her breath catching as she remembered herself.
These little rendezvous, they were no strings attached. No feelings. No affection. Her emotions had gotten the better of her, a weakness, a flaw. Grelle knew better than to show her underbelly to a demon, as fond as she was of Sebastian. It was uncharacteristic. His eyes narrowed on her.
“The point is:” She drawled, regaining her posture once more, “I need to let off a little steam, and I want you to fuck me properly. You can do that, can’t you, Bassy?”
A smirk split across Sebastian’s features. Now, there was the Grelle he knew. A gloved hand caught her chin between his fingers, his eyes curving into crescents. “Now, if I couldn’t do that, what kind of butler would I be?”
Grelle cackled, her hands smoothing over Sebastian’s shoulder, releasing the tension that she had held in the slope of her shoulders. They had both settled back into the facades they held so close, and it seemed to put the reaper at ease. “Yes, and you’re one hell of a butler too, aren’t you?”
A singular, refined brow raised, his smile unmoving, “Well, you were the one to say it.”
“Mn, and now I say we get you out of these lousy clothes.” She agreed breezily, pulling at his shirt, careless of the wrinkles she created in the finely starched cotton. Oh well . It wasn’t the first time Grelle had sullied his clothes, and it wouldn’t be the last. Sebastian had come to terms with that.
“You know, Bassy, it’s rude to keep a girl waiting.” She adds, as if she has to sweeten the deal. After all, though affection may be a distant emotion to a demon, lust is oh, so familiar.
Her weight bares down into him, pressing the jut of her hips to his, lithe thigh slotting between his. Like this, her core brushes against his, pleasure sparking up his vertebrae. It draws a sharp breath from Grelle’s throat, a lively blush rising on her cheekbones— it almost makes him forget she’s a dead woman.
“Though,” She begins once more, because of course she does; Grelle never knew when to stop speaking. It was, after all, one of her most irritating traits. “I don’t think well behaved butlers invite women to their rooms in the dead of night.” That same grin was stretched over her features, the points of her teeth catching in the candlelight.
“Well, I have never claimed to be well behaved, have I?” He catches the tip of his glove between his teeth, pulling the garment from his hand an inch at a time. Slow, teasing.
The laugh that followed was a small thing, really no more than a huff, unlike Grelle’s habitual unhinged cackle. “No, I suppose not.”
She takes the opportunity to shed her overcoat—well, Madame Red’s overcoat. Why she continued to drag the old thing was unclear to Sebastian, but he was sure it had something to do with Grelle’s remaining mortal frivolities. Something like sentimentality. He did not care to know.
She brushes stray hair from her shoulders, red and glossy, just the same as her lips, stretched around her sharp smile. She paints a haunting picture, starkly pale, otherworldly eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. Sebastian’s mind conjures images of a carnivorous plant, drawing prey in with the sweet smell of nectar, only to feast upon their folly. That is what she is, would be to any mortal, an enchantress, a temptress. It was fortunate Sebastian was a demon.
His hands bare, he pulled at the ribbon around her neck, dark nails stark against the pinstripe. Usually so steady, they shook as she rocked against him once more, his stomach going taught. His eyes met hers. She had done that on purpose. His lip twitched.
So, this was the game they were playing tonight.
He abandoned the ribbon somewhere to the left of them as she draped her arms over Sebastian’s shoulders, plastering herself against him. Her breath was hot against his ear, a giggle in her voice as she spoke, “Sorry, darling, I'm so worked up tonight, you see. Impatient.” The words were whispered like a shared secret, and in a way, they were. This, this arrangement between the two of them, was a secret, after all.
She rolled her hips once more, settling into a rhythm, and she made these soft little sounds, breathy whimpers hidden beneath heavy sighs. If Sebastian was a gentler creature, he might’ve thought them cute.
His hands settled on her hips, his breathing turning harsh as her thigh pressed against him in just the right way, ecstasy flaring in his gut. He refused to admit the effect this crimson reaper had upon him, but this mortal glamour he had crafted for himself gave him away well enough. It was once a bothersome feature of this human body, but when it collided with her’s— it was bliss.
“You wear too much.” She muttered between gasps, hands curling into the back of his shirt. It was very bold of her to say, when all he wore was his shirtwaist and slacks, when she was still clad in her outerwear.
“Do you not wear a similar amount of clothing?” Sebastian bit back, using his grip on her hips to guide her in her movements, grinding her pelvis in tight little circles that had him sighing with pleasure.
“Yes, darling, but I have style unlike a certain demon I know—!” She gasped, lips brushing against his ear as their bodies moved in tandem. She was teasing him, Sebastian knew that, and he would not allow her to win, not in battle, and not in the bedroom. The two of them were caught with one question on each of their minds:
Who would break first?
Who would be the first to show their desperation?
Sebastian did not give her the dignity of an answer. He was not going to discuss aesthetics with Grelle Sutcliff— a woman’s who’s only fancy seemed to be the colour red.
Grelle couldn’t take silence for an answer, however, and he never should have expected more from her. She pulled back, if only to pull apart his collar, her lips pressing to the column of his throat. She painted the pale skin with searing red kisses, his jaw and his neck marked by her lips.
His hands slid up to cradle her waist, firm and solid beneath his hands. For a gentleman, you’d expect the give of flesh, but Grelle, Sebastian had come to learn, like any lady, wore a corset. She didn’t care for wearing it in a ‘proper’ manner, wearing the garment next to skin, but Sebastian supposed that being a woman of certain taste, she probably enjoyed the bite of it against her.
Her hair brushed against his fingers with every roll of her hips, pooling in the sheets with the sheer length of it. It was impressive, the length, but Sebastian supposed she had a long time to grow it out. Besides, it wasn’t the fashion for a lady to cut her hair, as scandalous as leaving it loose was.
“ Bassy ,” She cooed against his skin, hot against him, “What did I say about making girls wait?”
Sebastian chuckled lowly, tossing his head to the side as he pressed his thigh against her core. “Patience is a virtue for a lady.”
Grelle made a noise of frustration, fisting her hands in the fabric of her collar. She sneered, “I’m not a lady , I’m a woman .” Her voice broke over the words with a gasp. A lady was a woman of high birth, a lady tittered behind a fan, languished her days in a mansion, a lady has never worked a day in her life. There was a difference between a lady and a woman.
“And I’ve never been a very patient one.” She sat up, lengthening her spine, looking down upon Sebastian with a fire in her gaze. It was the sort of fire she sports in battle. It was entrancing. “So while I do so love the sounds you make when I’m inside you, I’m certain I requested you fuck me tonight.”
Perhaps Grelle had lost her own game of discipline, but Sebastian couldn’t bring himself to use that against her, not when such a vexing, bewitching , bothersome reaper was on his lap.
“Well, you might not have noticed, but you’re wearing more than I am, Grelle.” Sebastian pointed out, raising his brows.
“Mn, and I will remedy that in just a moment, but first,” Grell retrieved a small vial from her pants pocket, glass and ornate, tossing it to the demon to catch. “You never keep any in here. It’s like you prefer to see me in pain, Bassy.” She bemoaned, tossing her head back.
Sebastian rolled his eyes. This woman . “Last time I checked, you enjoy it when I make you bleed.”
She huffed, straightening her posture, “That’s beside the point!” She crossed her arms, “We can’t be having any of that sort of fun tonight, I barely have enough time off to visit you! William’s got me put on the first shift tomorrow, and I do, in fact, need to be able to walk to do my job.”
“Are you going to derobe?”
“Brute.” She slid off his lap, sock-clad feet hitting the cold hardwood, undoing her buttons with a deft speed. Her waistcoat hit the floor first, then her shirtwaist, standing clad in her slacks and corset, a handsome garment constructed of satiny scarlet coutil with lace edging. It was ironic, for the reaper to fight so fiercely against being considered a lady, for her corset was not some mere common undergarment, but that of a high born woman.
Sebastian traced the line of her silhouette, the nip of her waist and jut of her hips, the pale expanse of her shoulder blades. Sebastian had memorised each and every mole that dotted her back. There were twenty-two.
She tossed her hair over her shoulder, giving Sebastian a look over her back. “Now Bassy, you know I like it when you stare, but you’re wearing far too much yourself.”
Grelle had already done half the job of unbuttoning his shirtwaist for him, so he made quick work of discarding the garment, making no effort to fold the material to protect the cotton from wrinkles. It was far too late for it now, after Grelle had gotten her claws into it. He sighed, allowing it to lay heaped by his bedside. More work to do in the morning. It was unending.
His slacks and briefs were next, folded and forgotten by his bed, as his gaze fell onto Grelle, who left a chaotic pile of clothing strewn over the floor, her own trousers joining the disarray. She turned to him, unabashed, meeting his eyes with a fierce look, a look that was so very Grelle .
Sebastian froze, in a stupor. He didn’t know why he ever expected anything different from her, noticing her eccentric choice of underwear, hugging the slope of her hips and curve of her ass. It was a lacy thing, barely a scrap of fabric, red in colour, because, well, of course it was . It left nothing to the imagination, and Sebastian couldn’t begin to guess where she had got such a thing. He didn’t know why he still managed to be shocked by her antics, but shocked he was nonetheless.
But then again, was that not what he liked about her most? No matter how distasteful she was, she was never a bore, never the same. She burnt with the ferocity of a forest ablaze, and had the temperment of a hungry tiger. She was a breath of fresh air compared to the monotony of mortal existence.
Grelle stretched out like a self important cat, her arms lifting above her head, cocking her hip to the side. Her grin widened, a giggle falling from her sinful lips, “Like what you see?”
Y̶e̶s̶.
“No.” Sebastian scoffed, “What gave you that idea?”
“You were staring.” She replies, dropping her posture to cross her arms.
“I was thinking about where on god’s green earth you had found a garment like that. ”
She pouted, bending at the hip, leaning toward him. Sebastian did not miss the way her hair fell in delicate strands over her shoulder, or how the gloss of her lips caught the candlelight.
“For a demon, you’re such a prude.” She complained, sighing dramatically, continuing, “Besides, you’re hard; you must like, at least a little.”
“Were you not just humping me?”
Grelle let out a little sound, a little hmph. It was adorable, it was irritating. She stood straight, approaching the bed with even steps, flipping her hair over her shoulder. It fell over her back like the velvet curtain of a theatre house, “You’re no fun, Bassy.”
They were empty words, for as she said them, she climbed over him, settling herself in his lap once more. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter,” she muttered breathlessly, “I still need a good fuck– you can do that much, at least.”
Based on how she was behaving, Sebastian suspected that it did, in fact, matter.
Grelle quickly changed the subject.
“I kept my corset on,” as she spoke, her fingers danced across his shoulders, her voice thinning out, breathy, taking on a seductive lilt, “I know how you adore to take it off me.”
It was more of Grelle’s fixation than his, or at least, that’s what Sebastian told himself. She had made a whole thing about it, and insisted that Sebastian had some sort of fetish for corsets. Sure , it was upon learning of Grelle’s corset wearing habits that he first ravaged her, sure he may have accidentally lost control of his mortal form when he learnt that she wore it against her skin. Yes, he requested to be the one to remove the garment, and he had fingered the angry red marks it had pressed into her skin. And well , he did lace her back up in the morning– but that was beside the point. He did not have a corset fetish.
Sebastian was a demon, he had partaken in utter filth, acts that only the depths of the human mind had conjured up, and never had he had a fixation on any of it. He did not have a corset fetish.
Still, his hands found the knot of ribbon at the curve of her spine, pulling at the loop of the bow there. Grelle allowed her chest to expand in a deep breath as the corset shifted around her, loosening around her body.
Pulling the lacing slack against her back, his hands slid around the dip of her waist to the front of the corset, fingers brushing against the cool silver metal of the busk. He undid the knot at the apex of the busk, a bow formed of shiny red ribbon, before undoing each of the hooks. It was a methodical thing. The fabric of the corset was butter smooth between his finger tips. Gooseflesh broke out across the pale expanse of Grelle’s abdomen as the garment slid from her body, the corset abandoned at the edge of the bed.
Grelle was a lean woman; she had to be, her job required it of her. Her stomach was taught, her chest defined with musculature. She was a beautiful woman. That, Sebastian could give her.
“You’re still staring.” Her voice shocked him out of his reverie. “Your demon is showing.” She added, voice quiet. Her hand, so warm, cupped his cheek, thumb brushing beneath his eye. He met her gaze, his eyes reflecting cherry red light, pupils shrunken into inhuman slits. She let out a small sigh. Her face read with awe.
He blinked and the flaw was gone, the weakness erased, as though it had never been there in the first place. “Apologies.” He muttered, his hands squeezing her hips.
“ Bassy,” She cackled, wild and unhinged, “You know I love your demonisms, or whatever you call them. They really rev a lady up. And, I’ll remind you once more, it’s rude to make a girl wait, and I rather think you should take responsibility for what you’ve done to me.”
Grelle’s hands dropped, caressing the bare expanse of Sebastian’s torso, angling her hips to press against his once more. The friction was different now, new, more intense, only a scrap of lace between their lengths. He shuddered with the roll of her pelvis.
The point of her nail dragged across his chest, scratching lightly, tracing swooping shapes into his skin. “You can stretch me, can’t you? Mnh, you’re fingers always feel so good inside me, Bassy–”
“That’s enough, Grelle.” He swiftly derailed her before she could find something more salacious to say, a moan caught in the sigh of her voice. This behaviour was entirely unnecessary.
“You’re flustered.” She laughed, poking the swell of Sebastian’s cheek. Her smile softened as she giggled, it was a breath-taking expression.
Sebastian’s brow twitched with irritation. “I am a millenia old demon, Grelle Sutcliff, your tame words cannot fluster a being as ancient, as worldly as I am.”
“You’re flustered.” She reiterated, this time pinching his cheek.
No longer was only his brow twitching, no, now, his eye was twitching in tandem. Grelle, indeed, was an infuriating woman.
Sebastian grasped a handful of her scarlet hair, tugging harshly, without any mercy when regarding his strength. The reaper in his lap shrieked, hitting her palm against his chest in retaliation. To Sebastian, it was nothing more than a love tap.
“ Owww ! Ow, ow, ow! Bassy, what was that for!?” Her voice was shrill, her eyes squeezed shut, massaging her scalp with gentle fingers when the demon finally released her locks.
He huffed, “For being so infernal.” He paused, taking a deep, calming breath, “Take that.. Thing off, if that’s what you want, then.”
She smirked, an ominous glint forming in her wet eyes, “You don’t want me to keep them on, then, darling?”
“I can do much worse than pull your hair.”
“Right. Off they come!”
It was a small shame as he watched Grelle push the lacy garment down the length of her legs, a small part of him mourned. Perhaps he had wanted her to keep it on, deep down.
Well, there was no use dwelling on the past, for the lace was already lost somewhere on his bedroom floor, and she sat upon him, fully nude, skin upon skin, flesh against flesh. Her skin was flushed hot, warm against him, and so soft. She had regaled him in the past with her skincare routine, Sebastian hadn’t cared to listen, then. Perhaps he would have if she told him now.
She rocked forward on her knees, finding the corked vial of oil that had been lost within the fold of the sheets and pressing it into his palm once more. Bared of what little modesty her peculiar choice in underwear offered her, the length of her cock stood against the small pouch of her tummy, flushed a rosy pink, precum pearling at the tip. Somehow, even this most private part of her managed to be… pretty.
She really was a wonder of a woman.
“Well?” She prompted, looking at Sebastian expectantly.
Right. He was in the middle of something.
He uncorked the vial within his hand, the aromatic scent of the oil filling the air between the two of them. It was pleasant, floral; he didn’t muse too deeply on it. He spilled the oil over his fingers, subtly warming it with a little bit of demonic magic that he’s definitely not supposed to be using with the young master’s order, but what he doesn’t know won't hurt him.
Grelle held his shoulders, using the grip to keep her balance as she lifted herself up, off of his lap, settling her chin in the crook of his neck. It was a deceptively romantic position, her chest to his, her breath puffing against the shell of his ear. She let out a soft noise, visibly relaxing herself in anticipation. She did something to him. His own cock twitched beneath her.
“You don’t have to be that thorough.” She muttered, brushing her forefinger over his collarbone, “I think I’d be disappointed if it didn’t hurt at least a little bit .”
“I will keep that in mind.”
Sebastian used one hand to spread Grelle apart, exposing her to his probing hands, nails biting into the fat of her ass. He massaged over the furl of her hole with slick fingers, and Grelle shuddered in response, like rose petals caught in a breeze. She felt so human when she allowed herself this vulnerability, within whatever false safety she derived from falling into the cage of his arms.
She hummed, rolling her lip between her teeth, “Go on, then. Why the stalling?” The words were half hearted, a second thought to the press of her hips back against Sebastian’s exploratory fingers.
Well, at least, when the two of them took a tumble into bed like this, on nights such as these, her word was law. Sebastian prodded at her rim until he felt it give to his first finger, followed by a slow slide into velvet heat, one knuckle, then two, then three. Her nails dug into the meat of his shoulders, a small sound, a little nmph, caught on her breath.
She rocked back a little, pouting, “I did tell you there’s no use in being thorough. Give me another.” She insisted, as breathless as she was from adjusting to the stretch. There was no arguing with Grelle when she was like this. Sebastian could only sigh and give her what she wanted.
She was not nearly loose enough for another finger, the stretch of her rim taught as he massaged against, but what Grelle wanted, she would get. His other hand left her to reach for the vial of oil once more, pouring it messily over his fingers and Grelle’s hole. It was slick and filthy and as his next finger slid into her it made a lewd, wet sound.
Grelle gasped, her back arching. It was a difficult stretch, Sebastian knew that, and yet she moaned all the same. She was a sadomasochist through and through, and shouldn’t have expected any different. He curled his fingers, pressing against the heat of her walls, obfuscating any direct stimulation to that very precious part, if only to see cry for it.
Her thighs twitched, her cock leaked tacky precum over his stomach, a whine catching in her throat. She muttered something, he didn’t quite catch it, far more focused on scissoring his fingers apart, coaxing her rim to loosen up for him, for something much larger to come.
He was so focused upon the methodical process of prepping her for what was to come, he hadn’t even noticed the warmth of her hand slipping from his shoulder, not until he felt elegant fingers curling delicately around his own length, and it was only then that he noticed how sensitive he had become.
His breath caught as she stroked him in these light, teasing strokes, the clasp of her fingers loose around him, thumb circling over his sensitive head, pressing her nail into his slit. She was playing with him, just as he was with her, avoiding hitting that heavenly spot within her in hopes to see the reaper beg; but she would not bed, and neither would he.
His nerves sung with this barely-pleasure, a quiet melody sung in his veins, nearly silent. He was sure she felt just the same.
Then, between little whines, Grelle spoke. It was quiet, barely muttered, the playful movement of her hand unending. “You know, Bassy, I am glad you did indeed turn out to be quite big, or else I’d be rather disappointed.”
Sebastian choked, jerking slightly– what a thing to admit on a whim, certainly she must know what she’s doing. She shifted the angle of her wrist, twisting her grip on his cock, her thumb sweeping over his slit. It was downright sinful. Who was the demon and who was the reaper, again?
“Well, I suppose I’m glad I lived up to your standards, then.” He replied, choosing to pointedly ignore just how shaky his voice sounded in his ears. A third finger slipped inside her, splaying them, stretching her as wide as her body would allow him, using his thumb to spread the drip of excess oil over her rim.
He gave a small, shallow thrust with his fingertips, running the bads of his fingers over his walls, and it was only then that he deemed it appropriate to give her the satisfaction of dragging the pads of his fingers over her prostate.
She let out a startled groan, her hand reflexively tightening on Sebastian’s cock, her hips rocking back against him, chasing the stimulation, the pleasure, like it was the high of a drug. To her, maybe it was.
“I’m ready, I’m ready,” She gasped, her chartreuse eyes meeting his with a certain intensity he couldn’t place, “C’mon, darling, give it to me, I need it now. I need you to fuck me into the floor.”
“That would require first breaking the bed, which would be rather a pain to replace, and I can’t imagine the young master would be very happy with me if I–”
Grelle made a noise of frustration, reaching up to grasp a fistfull of Sebastian’s hair and tugging sharply, repaying his earlier actions in turn, “Turn. Of. Phrase. Sebastian!” She emphasised each word with a pull to his scalp. “Just fuck me! Fuck me like you hate me; you do hate me, you can do that, at least.”
“Indeed.”
The woman sighed, hand dropping from his head to smooth over his shoulders, “Good. Great. Magnificent, even.”
Sebastian pulled his fingers free of her, not missing the wet sound that followed the movement. It was then, with those final words that Grelle slid off of his lap, raising a singular brow as she turned back to him, waiting for him to move.
She didn’t have to say a word, he got the idea. In society, there was this idea that sex meant marriage, meant love, lovemaking, but what transpired between him and Grelle was anything but. Besides, she was in a mood today (though Sebastian didn’t have much credibility in that regard to speak of, he was always in a mood), she was in a time squeeze, and wanted to let off some steam. Nothing more, nothing less. She wanted something less intimate. Sebastian could do that.
He moved, making room for her to settle down against the mattress, her knees sinking into the sheets, her hands fisting in his pillow. Her hair fell over her shoulder, pooling like spilled paint against the blankets. She gave him a look from over her glasses, sitting askew on her nose bridge. Her hips swayed, her spine curving. She painted an enticing picture.
“Well? What are you waiting for?”
It was enough for Sebastian, in a moment he was upon her. He spilt what was left of the oil over his cock, not giving much thought to the process; his mind was entirely focused upon her, focused on the red she-devil in his bed, the honey trap that was this maddening grim reaper. He needed her too.
His hand held her hip, thumbing the jut of her pelvis as he lined himself up with her entrance, smearing precum over her hole. She shivered with anticipation, a small squeak leaving her. She had always been so vocal in bed– he supposed that was congruent with her particularly loud personality.
She asked to be fucked properly, fucked into the floor, that, Sebastian could do. There was no time for Grelle to catch her breath, no slow slide, no gentle adjustment. In a blink, the slap of skin on skin, flesh on flesh, wrung out through the silent room. Sebastian stooped over her, his hand finding purchase in the sheets beside her head, the other keeping a tight grip on her hip, pressing bruises in the shape of his fingers into the skin there.
She gasped, head falling forward, fingers fisting in his pillow as her body shook. Her back arched so beautifully, and she wasn’t nearly as bothersome as she was typically, when she was like this; that is to say, part of Sebastian liked her better like this.
Her forehead fell against the pillow, breath coming in hot pants. Sebastian’s searing gaze roamed her body, taking in her flushed skin, the freckles that dotted her shoulders, the long, vertical scares that puckered her inner arm, spidery and white. The first time she had undressed in front of him, she had said to him, “ Don’t even think about mentioning it .” In a tight voice, before moving on as if nothing had happened.
His hips drove into her, the bed frame knocking against the wall with the force of the movements. He had asked for no preferential treatment when being assigned his room by the young master; his bed was just as cheap and shoddily made as any servant’s. Grelle had only once made a comment on the matter, with a complaint of course. “ Everyone in this god forsaken manor will know you’re rearranging my guts ,” She had told him, in the most gratuitous manner as she could muster.
Baldroy, who was down the hall, had in fact put it together (Finnian was far too simple-minded to think anything of it), teased him about having a ‘ lady-friend’ and swore his silence on the matter to the young master. He hadn’t seen Grelle come in or leave, however, which was what was really important. Her identity could never be found out.
A moan escaped her, her hips jerking with each thrust, precum beading at the head of her neglected cock, leaving a wet patch in his sheets where it pressed against them. Ecstasy coiled in Sebastian’s gut, like a tightly wound spring, his nerves lit in a ravaging blaze. He angled his hips to hit that spot within Grelle dead-on, bullying it with his cock.
“ God, ” She gasped wetly, sweat beading at her temple. Sebastian bent at the hip, his hand abandoning his hold on her side to grasp a fistfull of her hair, pulling her face away from the pillow she had buried it in.
He met her eyes, flashing with demonic light, and something one might call possessiveness. “ God can’t help you here. ” He told her in a fierce whisper, his words punctuated by the onslaught of his hips.
She shuddered, her eyes slipping shut with a flutter. Her hips rocked back against him in these little movements, little bounces, searching for friction, any at all. “Please, Bassy, darling , I won’t last long tonight,” She begged, helpless beneath him.
That was fine, that wouldn’t be a problem, she could be as quick a shot as she liked. That only meant that Sebastian would fuck her through it, into overstimulation and up another crest, until she came again. There had always been an agreement between the two of them, that there would be no mercy, no tenderness, and he wasn’t about to start now.
He postured straightened, ceasing the dirty grind his hips had halted to. The sound of skin on skin filled the still air once more, each of Sebastian’s thrusts punctuated with little moans from Grelle, little ‘ ah, ah, ah’ s. Her fingers clenched and unclenched in the pillow beneath her head, her hair a knotty disarray. Her lipstick had long since been smudged across her mouth, mascara bleeding, she looked a debauched mess. She was captivating.
Sebastian was positive he wasn’t in any better a state. Surely, this human skin of his would be flushed, his hair a tangle upon his head, Grelle’s red kiss marks pressed into his lips, his cheek, his neck, and shoulders. They made a pair, the two of them, lascivious, shameless . A demon and a reaper. Two play-butlers, two imposters.
One of Grelle’s hands moved to curl around the bed frame, clutching it as if for dear life. Her voice became a babble of, ‘ yesyesyesyes,’ broken and breathless. She was getting close, Sebastian could feel it in the way she clenched around him, the way her thighs rubbed together. He was not unaffected himself, and he was bereft to admit the groans he allowed to escape his throat.
He wouldn’t lie, she was heavenly around him. Hot and wet and velvet and everything he needed after a long day with the fools he called the Phantomhive servants. With Grelle, there was no fear of breaking a frail mortal body, she could take it, take his everything, and he could allow himself, if only for a little while, to let go of the stress that accumulates feigning a mortal life. Pleasure brewed within his nervous system, growing, coalescing.
And then, all at once, her body went taught beneath him, Grelle’s face contorted in a silent moan. There was a blissful fraction of a second then, where time came halting to a stop, bliss consuming her, and then, just as suddenly as it came, it was gone.
Her body went limp beneath him as she gasped for breath. She grasped at the tenderals of a fading orgasm, her eyelashes fluttering as her brain caught up with her raw nerves.
Sebastian did not let her bask in it.
No, he worked her through it, hand finding the length of her cock. He returned her teasing from earlier, returned it tenfold, her cock softening and oversensitive. His thumb pressed mercilessly into her tacky head, spreading her own spend over her length. She gasped out a sorrowful, ‘ hurts, ’ but when with Grelle Sutcliff , such an exclamation was, in fact, a good sign.
Her cock filled out in his grasp in record-time, as was a typical reaper refractory period, and he pressed her into the mattress, hand flat, splayed over her back, nails digging into skin. She moaned, trying with futility to press back against his unending thrusts.
She didn’t utter a word, her moans growing more broken by the moment, but truthfully, Sebastian couldn’t say he was much better, consumed with nothing but the thought of chasing his own climax. That was what this agreement was for, in the first place. Fulfilling one’s own earthly desires, nothing more, nothing less.
Her legs kicked out, thighs twitching with over stimulation, pinned to the mattress with nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Sebastian took from her body what he craved, concern for Grelle’s own pleasure long since lost to him.
He did not care to notice how his shadow contorted, grew, distorting, twisting, falling over the room. Nor did he pay any mind to how his nails sharpened, pressing divots into her flesh as he took and took and took, lusted for, hungered for, craved, and consumed.
Pleasure sung in his veins, harmonised with the sin that sat beneath his skin, begging for release from the tight walls he had built around it. Grelle’s knuckles were white as she clenched the sheets between her fingers, and with her strength, it was a miracle she hadn’t torn it apart yet, scattering feathers over his bed.
Her face was hidden, she had long since buried it into the sheets, and it was only in that moment that he noticed her glasses had fallen from her face, pressed beneath her just, hanging from her glasses-chain. It couldn’t be comfortable, Sebastian didn’t care. His hand shoved her into the bed and did not let up.
His hair hung in damp strands in front of his face, swaying with each bed-shaking thrust, his breath coming heavy pants. His voice broke over a groan, his hips snapping against hers, and he felt that coil within him began to snap. His wordless moans became intelligible, not in English, no, not in the language his contract demanded of him, but in sharp, whispered Latin, “ Dulce, divinum infra me, tu me labentem facis, me mollem facis.”
“me infirmum facis; tu me minuo.”
“frustraris me; tuus sum.”
He was gone. He barely remembered to pull out before spending over her lower back. He wouldn’t usually be so thoughtless, this would make it a chore to clean up and a chore to shove her out the window she came in through, but any concern about the matter was lost when Grelle made the smallest of noises, her thighs twitching, and it was enough to tell him she had reached her second orgasm of the night.
His limbs buzzed with the hazy afterglow of his peak, limbs, joints weak. He released her, hand retracting from her back, and she sucked in a gasp as it went.
She threw a look over her shoulder at him, repeating her past self, “You are a brute.” A smile grew across her lips as she spoke, her eyes lidded with satisfaction. Grelle was congratulating him on a job well done.
Sebastian took in the state he had left her in. Her makeup was ruined , streaks of coal black mascara bleeding across her face, her red lipstick smeared across her left cheek. Her hair was full of knots. There was a bruise on her hip, her shoulder, red gouges in her back where his nails had dug into flesh. Her swell of her ass was inflamed with repeated abuse. She was a wreck. She reveled in it.
“You know this, and yet you comment on it like it’s a brand new revelation.” Sebastian cocked his head to the side.
“And? Am I wrong in my observation? Hmn, I have to say, I do find myself wistful for my days as the butler Grell Sutcliff. It was amusing to see you play house. Pretend to be something other than the beast you are.” Her smile turned sharp as she spoke, folding her arms beneath her cheek.
“I am but a butler; a humble servant of my master.”
She laughed. A soft thing. A vulnerable thing. Something so… un-Grelle. “For now, sure. You’ll change your tune once you’ve decided you’ve had enough of playing with your food. Anyone with eyes can see how hungry you are.”
His eye twitched, “A meal worth the wait is best savoured.”
Grelle’s eyes slipped closed, basking, it seemed, in this quiet, small moment in the eye of the storm before she would all but disappear in a flurry of scarlet and crimson.
“Whatever you say, Sebastian.”
His gaze fell to the line of her spine. The wounds he had left on her back were beginning to well with blood. Divine blood, a reaper’s blood. What irony, for a reaper and demon to collide in such a way. Spilling blood, but not in the name of the ancient feud between their races, but instead in the name of perverse hedonism. He huffed with amusement. What a pair they made, indeed.
He rose from his place on the bed, taking even steps toward his wardrobe in the corner of the room, carefully avoiding the clothing strewn over the floor. From the lowest shelf, he retrieved a bottle of vinegar, cotton buds and gauze, stashed away here for cases in which the young master deemed it too suspicious to have Sebastian heal his wounds himself. For when he demanded of him to play human. Play house.
Grelle only spared him a stray glance when she felt his weight settle on the edge of the mattress before they slipped closed once more. “What are you doing?” She asked, the question only half-hearted, muffled by her folded arms.
“You said you had been assigned an early shift tomorrow.” Sebastian replied, as if that were all the clarification needed.
He uncorked the vinegar, pressing the cotton bud to the open mouth of the bottle, allowing it to soak the pungent liquid, before pressing it to her open wounds, tacky with fresh blood.
Grelle hissed, jerking, quite nearly attacking the demon at her bedside. “ Ow! What- what the fuck Sebastian!? ” She demanded, lifting herself from the sheets, head whipping toward him.
“These wounds, left untreated, will slow you down tomorrow morning. If you have them treated at the dispatch, they will ask questions. This is the most logical course of action.” Sebastian said, matter-of-factly.
“That doesn’t explain why!” She retorted, very nearly screeching. Never, never, had aftercare ever been an agreement between the two of them. Disgust coloured her features, the hair of her arms standing on end.
“I would advise you to lay still and allow me to finish.”
Grelle did not fight him. He could, at least, give her that much. She went limp beneath him, grumbling about something or other, sucking in a breath when Sebastian renewed his efforts to clean her wounds. Her muscles were pulled taught, bracing for the sting of the vinegar, eyes screwed shut.
He did try to be brief. Pain as a tool during sex, used to stimulate one’s pleasure, was an entirely different beast when compared to unwanted, unwelcome pain.
He gave a once over to each of the five punctures he had left carved into her skin, not feeling one bit guilty, if only a bit disappointed with himself for losing his tight grip on his mortal form. She had asked for it, she wanted pain, craved pain. Sebastian had only delivered.
He was thorough, though he couldn’t quite remember if reapers were vulnerable to disease or not. Well, it was better to be safe.
The cleaning was followed with gauze, cut into cotton squared and taped down with spare medical tape he kept in his bedside drawer. He caught Grelle’s gaze as he moved. She looked at him like he had grown two heads. He paid it no mind, or at least tried to, betrayed by the sinking feeling forming in his chest cavity.
“Can I get up now?” They were the first words she had spoken to him since he began to tend to her wounds. The silence that had permeated between them had been charged. It snapped like a string, all at once.
She shifted onto her knees, brushing her hair over her shoulder, falling over the bandages, obscuring them from view like they had never been there to begin with. She looked a bit lost, chewing on her inner cheek.
Sebastian rose from his bed, already pulling his cotton briefs back up the length of his legs. His shirtwaist and trousers were deposited into a washbasket by his door. He gathered Grelle’s clothes as he went.
This, at least, was something resembling normal.
He didn’t attempt to help her dress. She was no child, Sebastian would not demean her by doing so.
He did help her lace back into her corset, however. He had only done so once prior, during their first dalliance. Goosebumps broke out over her skin as he touched her. She shook. It was so unlike her. He couldn’t discern whether it was produced by fear or revulsion.
“Kindness doesn’t look good on you, darling.”
The words startled him, Grelle had been so quiet. Unusually so.
“Why play lover? Play caring?” It was odd, to be interrogated by a woman as you laced her corset.
“I did no such thing. I acted in the most practical manner, in my own best interest, nothing more. People might’ve asked questions, if you had sought treatment elsewhere. You have obligations early in the morning.”
“Questions that I could have answered easily. With lies, sure, but easy lies. You’ve left me in worse states, and yet you’ve never felt the need to treat my wounds before. Why start now?”
There was a pause. A moment of silence. His mind was searching, grasping for a sensical answer, anything at all. He came up short. He tugged the laces of Grelle’s corset sharply. A fit that one would usually achieve in two, three tugs, he had done in one. She keeled over from the breath it struck from her, gasping.
“I’ve already answered your question.” He tied the slack into a knot as he spoke, stepping away from her like a man burned. In a way, he was.
Her head whipped his way the moment she had the breadth to move. Grelle’s eyes burned with something he could not identify. She was hot on his heels, pressing in close, her finger jabbing against his chest. He could feel her hot breath on his lips, her head tilted to meet his eyes.
“Bassy, that was a bullshit answer, and you know it.” It was a fierce whisper, her eyes narrowing. She paused, mouth twisting into a frown, “What are you playing at?”
He did not reply, his face remaining still, unchanged, as stoic as a statue of stone.
Grelle seethed with anger. He could see it in the furrow of her brow, the shine of her eyes, in the way her nostrils flared and her lips twisted. She seized his jaw in one hand, nails digging into the flesh of his skin.
“When you touch me, it is with lust, or with malice. Don’t you ever handle me in such a way again.”
She squeezed.
“When you talk to me, it is with loathing or disgust. Do you understand?”
Sebastian was immovable.
“I never did anything but.”
Her nails were threatening to break skin.
He gave her what she wanted.
“If you continue to speak like I have any fondness toward a creature such as yourself, I’ll make you regret taking your own life.”
“ Good .”
Grelle released him, backing away from him all at once. She did not look at him, turning her back as she gathered up her clothing. She dressed in silence. Sebastian didn’t dare to break it.
She exited through the window, as she always did. She looked just the same as when she came, now, if a bit worse for wear. When she smiled on her exit, all sharp teeth, he thought, for a moment, that she was going to pretend as though what transpired between them never had happened at all.
But then, Grelle Sutcliff, the scarlet reaper, spoke her departing words, honeyed and sweet, and it was all Sebastian needed to know that she would not allow him to live this down.
“Sebastian Michaelis, I detest you.”