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"Get off me, you old loon!"
"That is awfully rude, my dear assistant! I'm don't look THAT much older to you!"
Undertaker twirls a strand of your hair around his long fingers, batting his eyes at you under his fringe of white hair.
You flick his forehead, grumbling, "I'm not your assistant. And give my hair back. You'll get lice in it."
Cackling, he easily slips his arms around your waist, pulling you back against his lean, hard frame, "I'll have you know, my hair is quite well maintained, sweetums."
"Your stupid hair is in my nose!"
Oh his grumpy darling.
He grabs both your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours and pulling them upto caress his face, and croons, "—such cute little hands~"
You pull your hands back, flushing and smack his shoulder, wriggling out of his grasp. He clearly permits you to do so, though refusing to relinquish your hand.
"I would appreciate my hand back."
Undertaker's amused laughter echoes around his dinky shop, as he covers the distance between you in barely a second again, and uses your hand to twirl you around slowly.
"Take a round around the room with me??"
You shoot him an exasperated look, "There's no music."
"The music is in our minds, my dear assistant."
Shaking your head, you allow him to twirl you again, and again and again, moving around the tiny, dark coffin shop with a surprising amount of agility, swinging in steps that were most definitely not a part of any dance form, and closely avoiding tripping on his oversized black smock. You squeak when he briefly picks you up and dips you low, giggling as he did so, and immediately setting back into the dance again. Dancing to some music that only the two of you could hear.
Finally slowing down, Undertaker gazes down at you; hair wind-swept with exhilaration, eyes bright and panting slightly, slowly swaying. You absent-mindedly trace the long scar on his face, head resting on his chest, and a wave of affection washes over him. He briefly rests his cheek on your head, brushing his lips against your forehead.
You bite your lip in an attempt to keep your frown on, unable to remain annoyed very long, when he looks down at you with that crazy grin on, and green eyes peeking out of white bangs.
.
.
"Scowls make one age faster, you know."
"Oh shut up!!"
Undertaker brushes his fingers over that ticklish spot on your waist mischievously, sighing dramatically, "I don't like your tone, pudding."
"You—you! Stop stop!" You cry, laughing uncontrollably as the chaotic menace gets to tickling you.
"Unfortunately, I require some payment in exchange. A kiss will do nicely."
He looks down at you, bumping his nose with yours, watching you bite your lip hesitantly, a blush blooming on your face, and look away to hide that adorable bright smile on your face.
"You're addicted...Fine." You grumble.
The moment he releases you, you escape behind a coffin, and cry, eyes gleaming, "Go, run all the errands first. The—then, I'll give you your kiss for today."
Cackling at your pleased looking expression, Undertaker places his hat on his wild white hair, hunching into his usual look again.
"I will be awaiting it, my sweet assistant!"
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Flames. Red- and strangely green flames blaze around till sight can see. These flames, in fact, extend to the borders of the nation. The entire continent. And every standing mass of land with people living on it.
Except for the tiny green garden that stood untouched. Unburnt.
Ciel Phantomhive grips the gaping wound in his stomach, his blue eye boring into the tall figure wearing black, his wild white hair all around him, holding a long, deadly sharp Death Scythe in his hand.
Undertaker surveys the destruction around him clinically, green eyes blank.
"Undertaker, tell me wh—why?"
—Undertaker made his way out of the shadows into the street leading back to his shop, the minor 'errands' for the day finished. Somehow, nowadays, a life gathering information on the underbelly of London didn't seem all that sedentary to him anymore.......and he felt a lot happier than he was as a Reaper. And he knew why.—
Ciel coughs out some blood, "The who—whole world...is destroyed. Gone. Why?"
Undertaker's green eyes remain cool as he stares at Ciel, his usual wide grin twisting his face, but almost jagged,
"Because, my dear young Earl....of you—you humans."
—Time to go and annoy his amusing, adorable assistant, and perhaps see if he could sidle some kisses too(?)—
Tossing his head, Undertaker smiles unnaturally, green eyes gleaming with hatred instead of his usual laconicism.
He throws his hands out theatrically, "This was necessary....because, well, you humans don't change. Century after century after century, you destroy everything."
He steps closer to a beautifully crafted white box lying in the middle of this garden, flowers of every variety, books and other knick knacks covering it.
"—Everything good and beautiful."
—He cracked open his main door,
"My darling assistant!!!! I have retu—", stopping short on smelling the metallic tang in the air.—
Undertaker brushes a finger over the cover of the coffin, curling it into a fist, and faces Ciel again, cackling and tilting his head, "—A Reaper gets quite tired of it eventually."
The red blood splattered on the walls.
A limp body.
And glassy eyes.
That true, hidden smile torn apart.
.
.
.
Undertaker stared at you in the glass coffin, pressing a kiss to the frame and smiling affectionately.
"I did get my kiss, after all, my dear assistant."