Time After Time

Saturday, October 15, 2011

12:31 AM

Red heels click unevenly on the London cobblestones and a gloved hand slides along the cool brick wall to keep a steady pace. A thin trickle of blood snakes its way down his temple and a pink tongue darts out to taste the sanguine fluid, savouring the taste.

The crisp, almost biting air of summering London at night tugs at red tresses and rustles clothing, stirring up the hemming of his beloved red coat.

His body thrums with the after effect of a fight, smiling a little at the memory. He winces as he steps a little to heavily on his left ankle which is sprained or maybe broken.

He was just finishing with another soul collection at East End (those slovenly drinkers did meet nasty ends at times) when he sensed that his demon was in the vicinity, probably running errands for the brat. Squealing in delight, he just couldn't resist the temptation to say hi.

Unfortunately his demon refused to play with him. Sebas-chan was solely fixated on his mission and barely spared Grell a moment's thought. He loved cold men, but being completely snubbed was something else in its entirety.

Demons and their foolish aesthetics.

Despite his charm and coy determination (which of course included a few teasing sentences punctuated with meaningful swings of his death scythe) , the encounter had ended with him being battered and bloody, having to stagger back home. He can still hear the rapidly departing footfalls of the demon as he wobbles unsteadily.

His death scythe was now alternating between partial walking support and partial dead weight. He laughed at his own joke while some blood decided to dance merrily down his wrist, making his hand sticky as it dried.

Grell trips on an uneven cobblestone and curses, barely avoiding the oh-so-embarassing mishap of falling on his face (or on his death scythe) by using the wall as a brace and fall to his knees instead. He definitely didn't need any more bruises there. One scratch on his beautiful face was one too many.

Okay, maybe he had been a little too persistent today, he was paying dearly for that now. But then again, was there ever any fun in leaving well enough alone?

He laughs a little more and then winces. The pain seems to be gripping him by the shoulders, shaking him, and he slumps back against the wall for a moment.

He should sit here for a while until his ankle stops that irritating throbbing.

Ah~ Will would lecture him again for reporting in late again. He closes his eyes and imagines the piercing green eyes and a pleasant shiver ripples down his spine.

"Sutcliff you're late."

A smile curves his lips and without opening his eyes just yet, his head turns to to source of the voice as if conjured by his thoughts alone.

"Will~" he breathes, and opens his eyes to find his supervisor looking down at him with that exasperated expression he usually reserved for moments like these. Grell feels his pulse quicken and he smiles wider, knowing that his smile would disconcert anyone else but Will.

"That filthy demon was here." Will looks around sharply, head tilted upwards reminding Grell of a vigilant guard dog. Almost as if he had caught onto demon scent.

Grell laughs softly, "I was saying hi~"

The corners of Will's mouth quirk downwards, from a neutral line into a disapproving frown. "I don't understand why you would frolick with that worthless soul-stealing trash." his death scythe immediately moves to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "And always letting yourself get beaten. Even worse."

"I didn't think you would." Grell lifts his hand and holds his breath for a moment, releasing it when Will reaches down to tug him upwards. He hisses as weight is placed on his ankle again.

He can feel Will's anger at the state of his injuries and hears the exasperated sigh as he is led to a nearby crate.

"Sit."

He obeys, perching himself atop the crate, creaky with old age and watches as Will produces a first aid kit. The kind that Shinigami are required to carry around although he knows Will's has alot more items in it. He always wondered what had happened to his. He never bothered carrying it around anymore.

"We'll deal with your ankle and the worst of the injuries when we get back. But I can't have you dripping blood everywhere. Honestly."

He reaches into the compact kit and using a wad of cotton and some antiseptic, he begins to dab at the smaller wounds in a meticulous manner. So very Will-like.

Grell takes the opportunity to study the lines and contours of his superior's face in its fixated frown, mouth muttering something that was silent to his ears as he worked at the blood on his hands.

Will has long, elegant fingers that are sure of their work and he swipes at the blood carefully, making irritated "tch-ing" noises as he does. Grell feels his own fingers tingling from the touches and the coolness of the antiseptic. It smelled like mint and alcohol.

Plucking a fresh wad of cotton from the kit, Will moves to Grell's face. The antiseptic stings and Grell sucks the air sharply through his teeth, ruining the effect with a shadow of a grin.

Grell looks into stern emerald eyes and feels his face heat as they stare back. Will's hands never stop moving and Grell imagines them to be a lover's caress and his eyes flutter closed.

The cotton is abruptly pulled away and Grell hears the first aid kit click shut. Will straightens and starts walking. Grell jumps up, ignoring the pain for a moment and latches onto his arm for support, the chainsaw clanging against the cobblestones before they're slung up onto a red shoulder. The frown on Will's face gets even deeper but he starts walking again.

"You're impossible."