Wake Up and Smell the Red Roses

SUMMARY: Grell has a pesky habit of sleeping like the dead—literally. Now poor Ronald has less than five minutes to wake him up before William catches Sleeping Beauty snoozing on the job!

GENRE: Friendship/Humor
RATED: PG / K+
NOTABLE CONTENT: Brief Language, Suggestive Humor, Brief Slapstick Violence, Historical Inaccuracies, & Total Reaper Randomness…but else what would you expect from Grell n' company?
PAIRING(S): Mild Grell/William, with a mentioning of Ronald/Mey-Rin

COPYRIGHT NOTE: I don't own Kuroshitsuji / Black Butler, Sleeping Beauty, or Liberty Party, sung by none other than Ronnie's Japanese seiyuu Kenn. :D
STORY TAKES PLACE IN: No specific timeframe. Anime-inspired, but has manga references, too.

Wake Up and Smell the Red Roses
Aiselne P.N.

After a long, hard day's work of reaping souls, two exhausted shinigami desperately needed a catnap to recharge their energy. Even immortal creatures required some means of bodily replenishment—death gods needed sleep and demons ate souls, to name two instances—small prices to pay for their supernatural impeccabilities.

Of course, just because reapers needed sleep did not mean they were allowed to catch some z's wherever and whenever they fancied (or "sleep around," for that matter)…especially whilst on duty in Shinigami Dispatch's offices. But the way Grell and Ronald saw it, they had completed their work, accounted for all deaths, and written the necessary paperwork. William was a slave driver, but even he could not begrudge his underlings' teensy-weensy nap if their jobs were officially finished. …Could he?

Just to be safe, Grell insisted he and Ron take their respite in the redhead's office, the one place William T. Spears avoided whenever possible. Most of the time.

The blond conked out in the plush chair to Grell's desk, whereas his senior took the loveseat by the red-draped window. Higher-level shinigami earned slightly more spacious and embellished workspaces, though Grell's office was virtually a hole in the wall compared to William's management suite (although its size was dominated by bookshelves and filing cabinets, not luxuries. Will did not take kindly to Grell's periodic means of "livening up" his office, either). Still, having a personal office, big or small, was better than not having an office at all. Rookie Ronald could not wait to get his own office someday!

But for the moment Ronald had even nicer things to dream about. He awoke with a huge smile on his youthful face, removed his black-rimmed glasses, and rubbed the sleep from his green eyes. "Mmm…what a great dream!" full of girls, drinks, and excessively loud music. What more was there in life? Ronald Knox was a man of simple pleasures.

Such a shame that his beautiful reverie ended so prematurely. Ronald Knox was always the life of any party, and he was just getting started when reality woke him up. Damn! The dream had been overloaded with sun, sand, volleyballs, and hot beach partygoers (all scantly-clad ladies, some unafraid to dance topless. Hey, it was Ron's fantasy, after all!). Women went wild as Ronald boogied on the pier, karaoke-singing the second stanza of Liberty Party.

And best of all? That Mey-Rin girl—the cutest, sexiest maid Ronald ever laid eyes on—had been in the crowd, making her way to the "stage" to sing and groove alongside her new blond boyfriend. And she was wearing the most eye-opening, jaw-dropping, historically-inaccurate, most bitchin' bikini Ron ever laid eyes on! Wow! He never realized Mey-Rin was quite so busty, either. The maid's pigtails were not the only things bouncing whilst she danced. WOW! Ronald could not keep his bug-eyes off her, and she could not keep her hands off him!

It was The. Best. Dream. Barring. None!

Dammit all to hell, why'd it have'ta end?!

The source of Ronald's cranky chagrin rang once again, cueing the drowsy boy towards the noisy telephone on Grell's desk (not three inches from where sleeping Ron rested his head, no less. Gods, that ringer was loud!). The junior shinigami doubted he was in a position to answer his senior's call, but Grell was not budging from his loveseat, and whoever was calling was bound to grow impatient.

Residing to reality and ridding himself of a final yawn, Ronald put his spectacles back on, shook the cobwebs from his brain, and then lifted the receiver. "Reaper Sutcliff's office. Who may I say is callin'?"

There was a brief but noticeable pause. "…Knox?"

"Oh, hey, Mister Spears!" smiled Ronald as he absentmindedly wrapped a finger around the phone cord and then leaned back in his chair. "What's cookin'?"

Ever straight to the point, William's voice droned, "Why are you answering Sutcliff's telephone, Knox?"

Ron sweatdropped as his eyes peered back at his still-sleeping senior, knowing full-well he could not tell their boss the real reason for Ronald's answering. "Uh…well, ha! Ya know Miss Sutcliff. She's always wanted a secretary. Haha!" Naturally, William's silence indicated that Ronald's attempt at light-heartedness went on deaf ears. Cutting his giggles, the rookie cleared his throat and then dared to ask, "Umm…why? Ya wanted to speak to her or somethin', sir?"

Another pause, seemingly more suspicious than the last, and Ronald prayed his nervous gulp was not heard over his and William's line of communication.

But after what felt like an eternity, the Dispatch manager replied. "No, thank you, Knox. Frankly, relaying this message to you is preferable to wasting ten minutes listening to that imbecile's attempts at phone-sex." Ron almost fell out of his chair after hearing that one.

"I'm calling to inform you both that my meeting with the board of directors finished and I will be passing Sutcliff's office en route to mine. I will stop in to collect your paperwork." And then another pause, and Ronald could just imagine his astute boss readjusting his glasses. "I am right in expecting your work to be finished, correct, Ronald Knox?"

"Oh yeah!" Ronald piped up, unraveling the cord to tear open a top drawer of Grell's desk where the senior filed today's-dated manila envelope. True, it was rude to snoop through a lady's drawers unauthorized. Ron expected to be lynched for snooping through Grell's desk…and honestly, Ronald was perfectly fine with dying after noticing a red-laced-unmentionable tucked in the same drawer. The hell?! The article somewhat reminded Ron of one of the swimming costumes he saw in his dream, and the mental images alone welcomed death. Before further permanent damage ensued Ronald slammed the desk shut. "Er, the file's right here, Mister Spears, stamped n' ready for ya!"

"Very good. I will see you in five minutes," and with a sharp click, that was all.

After hanging up the phone Ronald sighed, tossing the paperwork's envelope onto the desk's top. He was still dopey but now was definitely not the time to be sleepy with William T. Spears heading their way. Figures, the one time Grell and I hope Mister Spears'll avoid this office… But at least Ron had no worries regarding the completed paperwork.

However…

"Right. Miss Sutcliff, we've got company comin'," Ronald announced with a clap, pulling himself out of Grell's comfy chair and stretching fully. Arms folded behind his blond-black hair, Ron casually yet lethargically strolled across the office to the loveseat. The chap was amazed to find his superior still sound asleep, even after all the ruckus from the telephone and Ronald slamming desk drawers. And daftly, Ronald thought if he raised his voice just a tad higher it might arouse Grell. "Wake up, Sleepin' Beauty."

Sleeping Beauty, indeed. Grell slept on his side facing Ron, partially curled up on the small sopha and as content as a snoozing Cheshire Cat. One arm acted as a pillow for his head, the other clutched a ragdoll—which bore a striking resemblance to Phantomhive's demon butler—to his brown vest. The late Madam Red's coat mirrored a scarlet security blanket draped over Grell's lower half. Stiletto boots had been kicked off and left on the floor beside one of the loveseat's legs, and similarly, Grell's removed glasses dangled from their chain around his neck. Shinigami were rarely seen without their beloved spectacles, and Ronald found himself rather enchanted by the peaceful expression on his slumbering mentor's effeminate face. It pained him to wake Grell, but…

"C'mon, senior," Ronald goaded reluctantly, lowering his arms and hands to Grell's level to gently nudge the redhead's nearest shoulder. One nudge, two nudges, three nudges…four…five… "Senior?" Six…seven…eight… "Senior?" Nine…ten! "Senior! Yoo-hoo! Wake up!"

Sometime around the twelfth attempt Ronald's nudges became outright shakes, yet to his unparalleled shock nothing seemed to stir Grell. What the hell? How's that possible?! There being absolutely no response from the elder reaper, Ronald almost jumped to the conclusion that his dear senior was dead. But that was just plain silly…right?

Then again, Grell was not breathing.

"Miss Sutcliff!" Ron hollered quite literally into the carmine reaper's ear, not even eliciting a tiny jump from the started Grell.

That was when the novice began feeling his heart hammer, and he immediately dropped to his knees next to the loveseat to get the closest look at Grell. The finger he ran under Grell's nose proved without at doubt that the redhead was not breathing. But before Ron stopped breathing for an entirely different reason, he tore away the Sebastian plushie and seized Grell's slightly cooled wrist. Faint though it was, Ronald felt a living pulse.

Thanking every deity he could name, Ron took a moment to lean back against his knees, trying to regulate his own laboured breaths. Once his brain began to function, the situation finally dawned on Ronald and he nearly slapped himself. Although in his defense, he had only heard about Grell's odd sleeping habit. This was the rookie's first time witnessing it.

Grell Sutcliff had an odd quirk—well, many quirks to be precise, but at the moment Ronald was only concerned with his senior's habit of sleeping like the dead. Literally.

When Grell first developed the wont Ronald could not say, but he doubted it was anything new. His senior was a stickler for "women's beauty sleep," which was all well and good, but as usual Grell took matters to the extreme. Because death gods' bodies were humanlike, they needed to breathe, sleep, eat, and so forth, but just not as constantly as mortal people. It was no skin off a reaper's neck to be deprived of oxygen for several hours. And somehow—do not ask Ron how—Grell had discovered that by shutting down his body's functions near-completely, it sent the shinigami into the deepest, most rejuvenating of sleep (and it eliminated that unseemly snoring, no less…not that ladies ever snore, of course). His heart still pumped, but it was so faint that only someone of Grell's supernatural ilk might notice if listening closely.

Such explained why Grell once awoke in one of Undertaker's coffins when he foolishly took a nap in the human world. Passersby naturally assumed the red stranger was dead, and some nameless Good Samaritan sent the corpse off to London's mortician. When Ronald first heard the story he did not believe the yarn, but now…now, yes, he could imagine Miss Sutcliff getting herself into such a predicament.

Thank heavens Grell's body adapted to a sleeping schedule; like anyone, shinigami accustomed themselves to falling asleep and awakening at certain times. Grell's habit only posed a danger if the reaper slept out of schedule…for example, taking an unexpected catnap in his office, when their boss was less than five minutes away.

Ronald felt a wave of dread wash over him. Oh shit. Grell was not dead, but he (and his underling) may very well be if stringent William T. Spears unearthed the partners' unauthorized siesta. Whether or not their paperwork was completed would not be the issue for which William would punish his sleepy underlings.

"Senior! Oy! Seniooor!" although Ronald could not afford to shout too loudly, lest the rest of Dispatch overheard. But yelling into Grell's ear accomplished nothing, and shaking his shoulder yielded similar results. Ronald knew better than to slap Miss Sutcliff's precious face, too.

Her face… Oh, it really, really did kill Ron to see his senior's truly tranquil expression—unchanged, even after the blond's attempts at waking him. Grell's full lips were curled in a subtle smile, parted ever so slightly for the points of his serrated teeth to peek through. Grell must have had a pleasant dream…but this fiasco was rapidly becoming Ronald's nightmare!

What do I do? What do I do?! The panicked boy pawed his hair. Five minutes were not long and the clock was ticking at an alarming speed. Should I call Mister Spears and tell him to meet elsewhere? It was not a bad idea, except it was guaranteed to pique the manager's suspicion, and Ronald already garnered enough of that when he answered Grell's telephone. Nah, that's no good.

Let's see…I could bring the paperwork to Mister Spears, meet 'im halfway in the hall, still pretendin' to be Miss Sutcliff's secretary and whatnot. Alas, it was standard procedure for managers to speak with senior shinigami regarding their juniors. William always asked for Ron's progress report, and that was something only Grell could provide. Nope. If give my own progress report I'll just look like I'm tootin' my own horn.

Above all else, William was bound to notice something strange if Grell Sutcliff did not accost him at some point during the day. Not that the raven-haired reaper encouraged such behaviour, but he could set his watch to it. And with the redhead and blond working since dawn, Grell was due for some "overtime" with his dear Will. Else, the boss immediately assumed: 1.) Sutcliff was slacking off, 2.) Sutcliff was up to no good, 3.) Sutcliff snuck off to woo that noxious demon again, or 4.) all of the above.

I don't wanna' get Miss Sutcliff in trouble, even if Grell and trouble went hand-in-hand. Ronald was equally responsible for his and his senior's down time. The boy was mature enough to acknowledge his choices, good and bad.

On the other hand, I don't wanna' test Mister Spears' patience, either. 99% of London Dispatch's employees dreaded the mere thought of being leveled by William T. Spears' infamous death-glare. Only the remaining (red-haired) 1% found Will's glare to be orgasmic. Ronald would never understand Grell's taste in men.

Dodging the bullet was out of the question, and there was not enough time for Ronald to seek anyone else's help or input on how to wake Grell. It was a problem the junior shinigami needed to solve on his own, and quickly! But what else could Ronald do, short of banging one of those huge Chinese gongs (and even that racket could not guarantee to break Grell's bloody coma)?!

Think, Ron! THINK! If you were Miss Sutcliff, what would wake you up? Stupid question.

Grell already told him once: "Nfu, silly Ronnie! Don't you know how the tale of Sleeping Beauty ends? The lovely lady only awakens after a gorgeous prince kisses her. With tongue~!"

Ronald's face became as white as a ghost. Whether or not Grell could hear him, the lad stared down at the redhead's lips and stated for the record, "Miss Sutcliff, ya know I love you, but I am not French kissin' ya!" And he was not stupid enough to wait for William to do the honours.

Although…as fearful as Ron felt knowing Mister Spears loomed ever closer to their office, the boss did inadvertently trigger an idea in the lad's head. One way or another, handsome guys always won Grell Sutcliff's attention.

Come to think of it, a kiss was not the spell-breaker during Grell's rendezvous in Undertaker's coffin, either—the ex-reaper insulted Grell, or so the overdramatic redhead claimed. Whatever happened, the Undertaker obviously did not kiss Grell to wake him up, and it was no secret that Grell found the mortician fetching (though that, too, was beyond Ronald's fathoming). Miss Sutcliff practically had radar set for hot men, and evidently that radar worked on conscious, subconscious, and unconscious levels. Ron quit asking questions a long time ago.

And when it came to the redhead's love-hunting, Will had been the reigning champ at the tippy-top of Grell's hit-list for well over a century (whether the boss liked it or not). The trick for Ronald was finding a way to use Miss Sutcliff's attraction to Mister Spears, without Mister Spears actually being in the room, and doing it all within the remaining minutes (possibly seconds) left before Mister Spears came knocking. Ronald liked a challenge as much as the next rookie looking to prove himself, but today's affair was plain ridiculous!

But he had to try! Grell taught his understudy never to go down without a fight, and certainly never roll over and die. Think, Ron, dammit! Miss Sutcliff's not dead! Think of somethin' that'd grab her attention right outta' her sleep!

What were the odds that today's debacle was nothing more than a bad dream on Ronald's behalf? Riiight, those odds are as good as me wakin' up and findin' out my fantasy beach party actually happened, swimsuits and all. And to think Ronald woke up such a happy young man after that dream…

…But it did give him an idea.

It was a long shot, but with no options left, Ronald leaned down to speak into his superior's ears once more. He swore he heard footsteps outside Grell's office, or maybe it was the boy's own heart pounding in his ears. Whatever the case, it was now or never. Cupping his hands around his mouth, the Ronald forced himself not to crack as he made the obligatory announcement:

"Hey, Grell, is that Mister Spears walkin' around in a cozzy?"

"WHERE?!" Sure enough, Grell shot up like a switchblade, proving his death-like sleep did more than simply recharged his batteries—it supercharged them. Ronald thanked his paranormally-imbued reflexes for preventing any collision.

In fact, Ron wisely leapt onto the desktop, far enough away to maintain his own guiltlessness whilst his wide-eyed partner frantically looked back and forth for the source of his wake-up call. Thank the gods Grell was still half-asleep, thank the gods his glasses were still around his neck, and thank the gods shinigami were blind as bats without them.

Perched all-too casually atop Grell's desk, swinging his long legs over the side like the most unsuspecting of children, Ronald took a few cues from his senior's self-proclaimed acting skills.

"Heh, well now, look who finally decided to wake up and smell the red roses," Ron teased, feigning utmost innocence. "Welcome back, Miss Sutcliff!"

Grell's green, glazed eyes were still scanning the room, but between his grogginess and lack of spectacles his survey yielded zero results. Plain as day, the redhead could not quite differentiate what still was, and what was no longer, a dream. But after rubbing the sleep from said eyes, the redhead then stifled a yawn before turning towards the sound of Ronald's cheerful voice.

"Ronnie? Argh, what time is it?"

"Time for us to submit our paperwork," answered the blond, patting the manila envelope next to him on the desk.

"That late, eh?" Grell yawned once more, stretching his lithe limbs. "You should have woken me up sooner."

Ron wanted to keel over but figured ignorance was bliss. "I'll, uh, keep that in mind next time, senior."

After returning his glasses to their proper perch, Grell ran a hand through his slightly disheveled locks. In fact, he was a tad surprised to find his overall appearance more disorganized than usual. An's coat had slinked to the floor, his hair needed a brushing, and where had his Sebas-chan doll wandered off to? Grell was not the type to toss and turn in his dreams due to his sedative sleeping methods. Only nightmares unsettled Grell's rest, and he certainly did not have one of those. If the redhead did not know better he would have sworn an outside force had jostled him during his sleep—kinky-sounding, though not nearly as enjoyable as the fantasy Grell just emerged from.

"Someone looks like she had a pleasant nap," Ronald knowingly noted, watching Grell's notorious grin curl lewdly.

"Oh indeeeed, Ronald," Grell gushed, combing fingers through his long carmine hair. Reveling in the reverie's memory, the blushing shinigami smiled happily. "My beloved William was in my dream, as always. And oooh, what a bloody tease he was~! Avoiding me at every turn, yet all the while he wore the most mouth-watering, sexiest—WIIIILL!"

Not one second after Mister Spears opened the office door did he slam it shut just in time to shield himself from Grell's open-armed assault. After the redhead's inevitable crash into the door, William subsequently kicked the door back open and effectively sent his red nuisance flying into the opposite end of the room. The comedy of errors could not have been better choreographed as far as the onlooker Ronald was concerned.

"Honestly," William exhaled, paying no mind to the whimpering moron in the corner. Expecting and finding the paperwork Ronald promised over the telephone, the boss wasted zero time in approaching the desk and collecting the file. There was a none-too-pleased narrowing of his eyes upon seeing Ron sitting unprofessionally atop Grell's desk, but once the rookie hopped to his feet William had no further complaints.

After quickly leafing through the envelope's contents, the manager turned to Ronald. "Everything seems to be accounted for. You're free to clock out if you choose, Ronald Knox."

Music to Ronald's ears. "Yessir!" He did not need to be told twice to get the hell out of that office, especially before his senior's garbled head put two and two together. But lucky enough for Ronald, Grell had more imperative matters on his mind.

"Eeh? And what about little ole me, Will?" Grell pouted all too sweetly, recollecting himself and sauntering towards to his favourite boss. The bizarre absence of Grell's coat and shoes did not go unnoticed by frowny-faced William, either, made obvious by two-inch drop in the redhead's already-shorter stature. "That paperwork's mine, toooo. Don't I get to leave early? I'm sooo tired after such a loooong day."

It took every ounce of supernatural strength for Ron not to snort aloud. This coming from the comatose redhead who was snoozin' like the dead not a moment ago.

"You still have to file Knox' progress report, Grell Sutcliff," William replied, busy and in no mood to indulge his subordinate's inappropriate flirting. "Not to mention last week's damage report that you conveniently keep avoiding. And I still have yet to receive your authorization papers for that eyesore you call a death scythe!"

"Myyy goodness, Will, you're so uptight!" and Grell melodramatically flung his arms around the man's tense shoulders, rubbing them a tad too provocatively for William's liking. "Honey, you're a veritable bundle of nerves. That simply won't do, not at all!"

Red-faced once again, the grinning Grell rested his head in the crook of his superior's manly neck. "Tell you what, Will, what say you and I leave early tonight and take a little midnight stroll along the realm's waterfront? Just. The. Two. Of. Us~! I can recommend the most perfect of swimwear for that scrumptious body of yours, my darling~!"

Lost in his little world—and make no mistake, it was Grell's world, not Will's (not something Will would admit to, that is)—the crimson shinigami cooed throatily, intimately, as his fingers began descending across William's frame. "Nfuu~ or if you prefer, we don't need to wear anything—"

It was the second time in less than a minute that Grell kissed the wall at the opposite corner of his office, and this time William made sure his strike did enough damage for the pervert to get the message.

"Honestly!" William reiterated, preferring to give his attention to Knox opposed to his perpetual annoyance. Retracting his pruning scythe, the black-haired boss fixed his glasses and scoffed in disgust. A professional office was no place for such shameless behaviour…especially in the presence of a novice reaper! Spears cringed to imagine all of the bad examples Grell set for poor Ronald. He could only pray perversity was not contagious.

Rhetorically, the black-haired shinigami pondered, "Beaches? Swimwear? Where on earth does Sutcliff get such deviant ideas into his brain?"

Knowing it best to let sleeping dogs lay, Ronald shrugged all-too-innocently. "Don't look at me."

The End

A/N: Hope this silly little vignette brightened somebody's day (writing it certainly brightened mine). Reviews & feedback are always appreciated!