Chapter Text
Working Holiday (a Grelliam fic) by Shadow Wolfhawk
Fandom: Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji)
Pairing: Grelliam (Grelle Sutcliff/William T. Spears)
Chapter 1
The brunet adjusted his glasses with a sigh of frustration as he eyed his companion’s wardrobe choice. “Honestly… Did you bring anything other than ladies’ clothing?”
The redhead looked at him, trying to look as cute and innocent as possible. “Well, we are supposed to be undercover, darling ~,” he said.
“And just what do you propose our cover story should be – a man and his female companion looking to shack-up for the week?” Honestly, what was Upper Management thinking assigning the two of them to this mission? It was a routine collection – one competent reaper could have handled it alone. The Forensics Department was seeing to the rest. He leaned back in his seat, crossing his right leg over his left knee and folding his arms over his chest.
Red lips pulled back to reveal a row of dangerously sharp teeth, made all the more menacing by the Cheshire grin they formed. The younger male moved to the opposite side of the carriage to sit beside his partner. He wove his arms around the strong, black-clad one and laid his head upon the broad shoulder. Coyly, he walked two fingers across the sculpted chest, to toy with the black necktie. Sighing, dreamily, he nestled down, ignoring the agitation radiating from the other.
“We can always say that we’re a newly married couple on holiday,” he suggested, trying to hide the hope he felt that his partner would go along with his little fantasy. He knew the man well and knew that if he acted too excited about the idea, he would get a resounding ‘No!’ from him.
Instead, those cold green irises darted to the corners of their sockets to look at him from behind their stiff, rectangular frames, sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. “Why not just say I’m your butler?” he grumbled.
The younger giggled at the comment, at first, before realizing what was said. Or rather, the tone of what was said. He looked up at the other, trying to keep his excitement in check. “W-was that a – a yes?”
“Given your wardrobe, we don’t have many options, do we?” the man muttered. He looked, pointedly, at the redhead. “If we’re to carry out this ruse, we need to understand each other, first.”
‘There’s always a catch.’ The younger male sighed. “Yes, darling?”
“You need to behave yourself,” the brunet stated, flatly. “If you are actually going to pretend to be my wife –” the redhead squealed with excitement “– then you’ll have to act accordingly. You’ll need to curb your habit of flirting with every handsome man you come across.”
The other scoffed at the remark. “I’m offended, William! I do not flirt with every handsome man – only with those who catch my interest. And at least half of those, I’m only joking around with. I’m not as fickle as everyone seems to think.” He released his hold on his partner and turned away, folding his arms over his chest, his lower lip protruding in anger. “Contrary to popular belief – I do have standards.”
“The demon?” William asked, eyebrow twitching in agitation, still not turning his head to look at the younger male.
The tension in the redhead’s brow loosened and he looked back at the brunet. He could hear the disgust and, more importantly, the disappointment in those two words. “I have never taken Bassy seriously,” he said sincerely. “True, he’s gorgeous – but it’s all a façade. Just like his charm and manners. It’s not real and I know that. He’s playing a part, just so he can feast on some little brat’s soul. There’s nothing there to fall for.” He turned around and lay against William’s chest. “He’s the exact opposite of you, my love.”
A short puff of air escaped through the brunet’s nose as he stifled a disbelieving laugh. “You’re saying that I’m one of those who meet your standards, then, Grelle?”
A red clad arm slid up his chest to wrap tenderly around his neck. “You are my standard, darling. No one else has ever come close to making me feel the way you do.” There was a rare, calm sincerity in his voice that the other could not ignore.
“I apologize for offending you, Grelle,” he said, quietly after a few moments silence had passed.
“You’re forgiven, my darling.” Looking up at the elder male, he asked, “So, am I to be Mrs. William T. Spears for a few days, then?”
William blushed, slightly and swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. “I suppose it cannot be helped,” he agreed, sighing and adjusting his glasses as his partner turned into a squealing, wiggling mass beside him. “Honestly…”
They sat in silence for a long while, during which time, William did not try to remove the redhead from his person, as he normally would have. As they watched the snow-covered English countryside pass by outside the carriage window, William slowly slid his arm up around Grelle’s shoulders, keeping his eyes on the moving landscape. He supposed he would have to get used to showing the younger male some amount of affection for the next few days. Feeling his partner’s warm arm slide around him, Grelle settled down against the brunet and began to doze off. A short time later, the carriage came to a halt at the front door of their lodgings. As the coachman jumped down to open the door for them, William attempted to wake the redhead sleeping against his shoulder.
“Grelle?” He gently shook his sleeping partner, only gaining a sleepy groan in reply. “Grelle, wake up.”
“Welcome to the Golden Lion, sir. Best lodgings around,” the driver said, opening the door. Seeing the man trying to wake his companion, he asked, “Everything alright, sir?”
William sighed, inwardly, before turning to the young man with a soft look. “Everything’s fine, lad. It seems that the journey was more tiring for my wife than expected.” He threw in a light chuckle to sound genuine.
The coachman seemed convinced and laughed, lightly. “Our country air does that, my lord. If you’d like to take the lady inside, I’ll bring your bags in for you.”
“Much appreciated.” He adjusted Grelle’s red cloak around the smaller male, gently lifting him into his arms and stepping out of the carriage. The coachman ran ahead to open the door of the lodge for him, before returning take care of their luggage.
Stepping inside, William looked around the entry hall. It was warmly lighted by the old, wrought iron chandeliers overhead – no doubt installed sometime in the last century – and the two stone fireplaces on either side of the room. Soft fur and oriental rugs dotted the oak floors. The matching wallboards were decorated for the season with wreaths and garlands of evergreen tied with red and gold ribbons. Sprigs of holly were tastefully strewn across the mantles. Some people were seated in the armchairs and sofas in the lounge to his left. One elderly woman looked up and, seeing the sleeping woman in his arms, smiled at him. He returned the gesture and gave a slight nod in greeting before moving on to the front desk. To one side of the desk was a staircase leading to the upper floors, and beyond was a formal dining room meant for the lodge guests. To the other side of the desk, next to what appeared to be a ballroom, was a hallway leading back into the tavern. A young, dark haired woman spotted him and, slapping away a drunken hand reaching for her, walked up this hall to the desk, preening along the way for the handsome man standing there.
“May I help ye, m’ Lord?” she asked, sweetly. By her accent, she from much further north than Winchester.
“My wife and I would like a room, please,” he said. He mentally started at how easily he called Grelle Sutcliff, of all people, by that title twice now.
The girl visibly deflated at hearing the woman he was carrying was his wife and immediately became all business, her potential ticket out of there now gone. She opened the large, leather-bound register. “Let’s see…” she muttered, still trying to sound polite, “We should still ‘ave a room ‘r two available. ‘Ere we go – there’s a room on th’ top floor. It’s part of a private suite tha’s completely vacant at th’ moment. Ye may end up sharin’ th’ common room with another guest, but at least th’ rooms ‘r on opposite sides. Would tha’ do?”
“Is that all that’s available?” William asked.
“’Fraid so, sir,” she said, sympathetically. “It’s th’ busy season, after all.”
“It’ll do, then.”
She took the key from its hook on the wall behind her. Nodding towards the doorway, she asked, “Those yer bags comin’ in?” He looked back, saw the coachman bringing in their luggage, and nodded. “One moment.” She turned back down the hall to the tavern. “Oy! Davey! Come help bring these bags upstairs!”
“A’ight, a’ight!” came a gruff voice over the din. A frumpy man, not much older than her, with dark, curly hair and thick side-burns came stumbling up to the desk. He clearly had been drinking – by his reddened face it was a long habit – but he was not so sloshed that he could not function. “Where they goin’?”
“Suite on th’ third floor,” she said.
“Got it.”
He stumbled over to the coachman and relieved him of a few of the bags. The hungry look he had given the sleeping redhead did not go unnoticed by William, who instinctively tightened his grip on Grelle. The motion caused the smaller male to stir, but he only nestled closer to the warmth of William’s chest and was instantly asleep again.
“Follow me, m’ Lord,” the girl said.
She led him upstairs to the top floor and down a long hallway to the back of the building. She unlocked the door to the suite and allowed him to carry Grelle into the common room, which sported the same décor as the lobby. A cozy fireplace was lighted in front of them and was flanked by large windows with a view of the frozen lake behind the lodge. To the left of where they stood was the door to one of the two bedrooms. The girl opened this door for him and waited for him lay his bundle gently on the queen-sized bed. He returned to the common room as the two men brought in the baggage.
“Where would you like these, sir?” the coachman asked.
“Right where you’re standing is fine,” William said, closing the bedroom door, quietly behind him. “I’ll take them in myself, later.”
“Right, Gov,” Davey said, plopping the bags down at his sides and holding out his hand expectantly.
The girl and the coachman instantly became uncomfortable under William’s steely gaze, but Davey was too inebriated to notice or care. William reached into his pocket and pulled out a shilling, flipping it to the drunk, who clumsily caught it in his hands. He gave a sick, rotted grin to the gentleman and stumbled back down the hall, no doubt to spend his earnings on another pint.
“Sorry ‘bout ‘im, sir,” the girl said. “’E’s a nice enough fellow when ‘e’s sober, but we can’ ever seem ta keep ‘im tha’ way.” She gave William an apologetic look. “Unfortunately, I can’ jus’ toss ‘im out, either. ‘E’s a rotter, but ‘e’s family.”
“Well, there’s nothing for it, then,” William shrugged. “Do you need me to come back down and sign the register?”
“Oh, no, m’ Lord,” she said. “You and th’ Missus can do tha’ in th’ mornin’.” She handed him the keys to the room. “If ye be needin’ anythin’, ye jus’ ask fer Abigail.”
“Thank you.” He turned to the coachman, reaching into his other pocket and pulling out a guinea. He placed it in the young man’s hand. “And, thank you for your help, young man. Go and warm yourself up before you head out again,” he said, slipping an extra shilling into his hand.
“Bless you, sir! Good night to you.” He tipped his hat and hurried off with Abigail following behind him.
William closed the door after them and turned to the baggage. Quietly, he carried them into the bedroom.
Grelle began to stir on the bed, shivering at a slight draft. He sat up on hearing something shuffling around on the floor and saw William unpacking his clothes and putting them away in the dresser. For a moment, he forgot where they were. Suddenly remembering that he was going to play William’s wife during this mission, he grinned, giggling silently and wiggling in his glee. William must have caught the motion in the corner of his eye, because he turned and looked at the redhead.
“Finally awake?” the brunet asked.
“A lady needs her beauty rest,” Grelle giggled, stretching a little before standing and going over to his own luggage. Once his gowns and cloak were placed neatly in the wardrobe alongside William’s jackets – which he was relieved to see extended beyond his usual black work suits – he turned to his ‘husband’ with a smile. He pressed himself against William’s front, not as aggressively as he normally would have, and worked absently at straightening the brunet’s jacket. “Are you sure you’re alright with this, darling? Us pretending to be married, I mean?”
It was a sincere question, which, oddly, eased William’s mind a little more about the act. “It’s fine. They already believe you to be my wife, anyhow.” His thumb and forefinger gently grasped Grelle’s chin, tilting his face up, and making the redhead look him in the eye.
‘Those beautiful, cold eyes ~’ Grelle felt his knees growing weaker by the moment.
“Behave yourself,” William continued, “and I’ll keep playing along.”
The younger male rested his hands against the other’s chest and rose up on his toes slightly to lightly touch his lips to the corner of the brunet’s mouth. He smiled at William’s sharp intake of breath, lowering himself back to normal height and tucking his head up under the taller one’s chin. It was bold, true, but William was not pushing him away just yet.
“We’ll have to be convincing, after all. Surely Mister Spears would not deny his young wife a small kiss here or there in public? Would he?”
William swallowed, blush spreading across his cheeks once more. What had he gotten himself into?
Later that evening, William and Grelle joined several other guests in the dining room for dinner. The older male was dressed in a finely tailored black evening suit, with a rich purple waistcoat and matching silk ascot adorned with a red-jeweled tiepin, over a white silk shirt. Grelle was seated to his left, his long red mane piled neatly atop his head, held in place by dozens of pins, the messy fringe at the front curled and swept to the side, with a few stray strands falling in lovely curls around his face and neck. He was wearing a simple, yet elegant red gown, accentuating his figure in the most feminine way and somehow giving off the illusion of a modest, but flattering amount of cleavage. William could not help but stare the first time Grelle had walked out in that dress. If he had not known any better…
William shook out of his thoughts as he was addressed by the man across from him. He was a heavy-set man, around twenty years older than William, with a thinning mess of gray hair and thick walrus moustache. His deep, gruff voice held authority – no doubt from years in the army, the brunet wagered by the two medals hanging prominently from the left breast of the man’s dinner jacket.
“So, what’s your line of work, young man?” he asked. “You seem to be fairly well off for your age.”
“I’m certainly not a wealthy man, sir,” William replied, politely. “But I do make a fair living from my accounting firm in London.”
“Ah,” the man barked. “Run the business yourself, do you?”
Not wanting to lie, but also not wanting to explain, William made a small consenting gesture, as he reached for his wine glass, saying, “I worked hard for many years to get where I am.”
The man seemed satisfied with the answer, giving a brisk nod of approval. “Excellent! We need more dedicated men like yourself in this country.”
William avoided answering by taking a sip of his wine and was rescued after by the elderly lady seated to the other side of Grelle.
“Not so dedicated to their work that they forget about their families at home though, Colonel.”
“Bah!” The man took a hefty drink of his own wine.
The woman looked to Grelle. “I certainly hope that’s not the case for you, dear.”
Grelle blushed a bit and looked at William. “William has worked many late nights, but it’s all for us.” He laid his hand over the brunet’s and gave him a sweet smile. “He works very hard to give us a good life, and I’m so very proud of him.”
William saw that rare sincerity in his partner’s eyes again and instinctively gave his hand a small, gentle squeeze.
“If I may ask, dear,” the woman said. “How long have the two of you been married, now?”
“Oh – um… not very long actually,” Grelle confessed. ‘About four hours, at the most.’
“I notice that you’re not wearing a ring.”
“Well –” Grelle glanced down at his bare hand, not sure how to answer that one.
“That would be my fault, Madame,” William interjected, coolly. “I haven’t been able to purchase one as yet, and we could not wait until I did.”
Grelle smiled and gave his hand a light squeeze. “Surely, you could afford one,” the lady said, skeptically.
“Indeed – but it’s simply a matter of finding the right one,” the brunet explained. “I’ve yet to find a ring that would be perfectly suited to her beauty.”
The woman tittered at his charm, feeling flattered for Grelle. She patted the redhead’s hand. “Ring or no, you certainly picked a keeper, my dear.” She then turned to speak with the other ladies present.
Grelle leaned closer to William. “That was uncharacteristically romantic of you, Will,” he whispered in his ear.
William placed his own lips close to the redhead’s ear in turn. “You did say we needed to be convincing,” he said, quietly, brushing the tip of his nose against Grelle’s neck for emphasis.
The younger male giggled at the motion and lightly smacked his wrist. “I’m not sure if I should kiss you or slap you for teasing a lady like that.” The elder chuckled and straightened up.
After coffee and desert had been brought out and many of the guests continued to linger and chatter, the two excused themselves and returned to their room. William collapsed on the sofa in the common room in front of the fireplace, undoing his ascot and the button of his shirt collar. Keeping up his role of the ever-dutiful wife, Grelle brought him a glass of brandy from the decanter on the sideboard before sitting down beside him. Pulling his feet up onto the cushions beneath him, he draped his arm along the back of the sofa, fingers toying with the soft brown locks at the back of the other’s neck.
“Thank you, Grelle.” William sipped slowly at the brandy as he gazed absently at the flames dancing inside the hearth.
“Well, we made it through one dinner, at least,” Grelle said, breaking the silence. The brunet hummed in agreement. “Looks like they believe us.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Grelle’s eyes darted towards the bedroom. He noticed William’s eyes move towards the room as well, his finger tapping the side of his glass. They had avoided the topic since he had woken up from his nap.
“Umm…”
William downed the rest of his brandy in one gulp, set the glass down on the coffee table and stood. He walked to the bedroom, quickly changed and reemerged dressed in his usual black suit, with the large black ledger in hand. From thin air, the long pruning pole appeared in his right hand and he went towards the window. He turned to Grelle once the window was opened and adjusted his glasses.
“We have work to do.” With one smooth, cat-like movement, he leapt through the window and up onto the roof.
Grelle sighed, heavily, resting his chin on his hands. “Yes, darling…”
The redhead shivered as he stood beside William, who was intently reading through the ledger in his hand. Even after having changed into his usual suit, the only outfit consisting of slacks that he brought with him, and pulling his beloved red coat up around his shoulders, Grelle was still cold. He looked over at his partner. A gust of cold wind blew over them, but William did not so much as flinch. He was such a cold man already, the redhead doubted that winter weather even affected him.
He giggled at the thought.
William’s cold, emerald gaze snapped over to him, startling the younger male, who then began poking the tips of his index fingers together as he pouted, innocently.
“How many days before the collection?” he asked.
“Less than three days.” He pushed his glasses up with the tip of the pruning pole. “Provided nothing goes wrong, that is.”
“Do you suppose it’s a demon?”
“That’s for Forensics to figure out. I haven’t sensed one, yet, but that doesn’t mean that it’s not out hunting right now. We should scout the immediate area as a precaution.”
“Well ~ Shall we go for an after-dinner stroll, then, my love?” Grelle giggled, that infernal machine of his roaring to life in his hands.
William sighed as he glared at the lethal instrument. “How you ever got approval for that confounded thing…” he grumbled, but was cut off by the buzzing of the blade. “Remember what I said about behaving yourself, Sutcliff – it applies to that thing, as well.”
The redhead spun over to him, pressing back against the taller male and wiggling his hips, chortling viciously as he kept the blade pointed safely away from his partner. “Don’t worry, darling – no more paperwork than necessary on this job.” He lifted a black-gloved hand to stroke the sharp jaw above him. “I promise.”
The brunet rolled his eyes and shrugged the other off of him. “Then let’s go. We’ll scout the perimeter for three miles out.” He snapped the book shut and it vanished from his hand. “And let’s be quick about it – some of us didn’t get to take a nap today.”
The two leapt from the rooftop and disappeared into the trees, the redhead’s manic cackling drifting on the evening air.
“Well, we can’t avoid it, now.” The two stared at the single bed in their room, silently debating what should be done. Grelle glanced at William and saw his brow twitch, the telltale sign of his frustration. “One of us could take the couch out in the common room… although that could be rather difficult to explain should someone come in. And I’m sure neither of fancies the idea of sleeping upright in an armchair all night.”
William pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes screwing shut as he let out a heavy sigh. “I suppose we’ll have to –” He groaned at the thought, “- we’ll have to share it.”
The redhead looked at him. “Well… if you’re alright with that, Will?”
“Just keep your hands to yourself.” William went to the wardrobe and began to hang up his suit.
Grelle fought to contain his excitement. He was going to share a bed with William! True, there would not be any cuddling or funny business – but at least it was a start. He fetched his nightclothes from the dresser and went into the private bathroom to change. When he came back out wearing a red flannel nightgown, the brunet was dressed in a set of blue and white striped flannel pajamas and was lying in bed, leafing through his ledger once more by the light of the oil lamp on the bedside table. The redhead padded over to the bed, laying his red silk robe over the footboard and climbed under the blankets beside his partner.
As he braided his long mane, he looked over William’s shoulder to read the pages of the ledger. The redhead’s brow furrowed in confusion – those were not the collection files. The pages were aged and filled with fine script. They appeared to be sporting some old water damage and – was that dried blood? As he studied the script a little closer, he realized that he knew that handwriting…
“Will,” he asked, his voice quivering slightly with the realization, “is – is that -?”
William snapped the book shut and adjusted his glasses in agitation. “Yes.” He saw no point in denying it.
“You’ve had it all this time?”
The brunet nodded, his fingers carefully tracing the cover of the book. “I collected the pages before we returned to headquarters that day. I’ve been working on restoring the original manuscript of-and-on for the past seventy years.”
“The original?” Grelle asked. “Are you saying there’s a copy floating around somewhere?”
“Only the one I’ve been writing up. Some of the pages are too badly damaged from the snow or caked with blood to be able to read the passages in full. I’ve been copying down what’s still legible and filling in the rest by reviewing the author’s record.” He glanced over at his partner. “It’s been a lengthy process, as I can’t always get to the Library, but soon I hope to have a completed copy.”
Grelle reached over to run his manicured fingers over the book. “Why didn’t you tell me that you kept it?”
William merely shrugged. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “I suppose because it just never came up in conversation.” He looked at Grelle. “I didn’t know you were so sentimental over it.”
“Me?!” the redhead said. “You’re the one who kept the book – and you were the one who decided that his life didn’t matter.”
“I never said his life did not matter, Grelle,” the older reaper corrected. “I determined that he would make no significant difference in the world if he were to live. So, we collected his soul as we were instructed. And it turned out to be the right decision, did it not?”
“Still…” Grelle mumbled. “You could have told me that you kept his book.”
“Well, now you know.” William set the ledger on the nightstand and turned down the lamp, settling down under the blankets. “We should get some sleep, now. We have more work to do tomorrow.” He removed his glasses and placed them on top of the book, turning onto his side so he faced away from the younger male and pulled the blankets up over his shoulder. “Good night, Sutcliff.”
The redhead pouted a bit, but removed his glasses and settled down for the night as well. “Good night, my darling.”
“I’m not your darling.”
How we doing so far? You still with me? Sweet! On to the next chapter! ^_^