Disclaimer: I don't own Kuroshitsuji.

Contagious Desire Extra © blob80

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Fate plays games of sorrow,

Luck loves to stab,

Death awaits with surprise,

But together with you, my dear,

It all seems a bit more bearable.

Cheryll grunted, as her waist was squeezed beyond what could be considered common. Even for women of this age. Or perhaps she was just being overly dramatic—though she doubted it—she'd always worn the fitted suits of Reapers and had never envied the mortal women forced to walk around in tightly laced corsets and stiff layers. Yet, here she was in front of a full-length mirror in the dingy backroom of Undertaker's shop, being forced into a tight, dark dress that was surely half her size. Her bust practically spilled its meager top, popping out just as much as her widening eyes. Each squeeze was killing her and Undertaker's sultry smile certainly wasn't helping the situation.

"Ora~" he let out, pleased with himself. As the pain around her middle suddenly ceased, but a soft sting remained. Made more painful with each steady inhale. "You look lovely, my dear."

"Do I?" she all, but snapped.

"Terribly."

Words died in her throat, her mind unable to process anything other than the order it relayed to her lungs. She opted instead to glare at him. Something he merely continued to beam at, as he tilted his head in the direction of the mirror in a meaningful gesture. Knowing exactly what he meant, Cheryll turned to the dusty glass and stared at her reflection. A dainty woman of high social standing stared back in a deep blue dress that could have easily fed a dozen starving children. The glasses on her nose did little to the dress' overall appearance, and before she knew it, she found herself scowling at her reflection. Before she smoothed it back into her neutral mask.

Without a word, Undertaker offered his arm to her.

Cheryll stared at it like an insect that needed to be killed, before conceding to his silent motion. She placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her away from the dreary confines of his—their—shop.

Not much had happened since her grand decision to desert.

A few questions here and there. A rather heated argument between herself and William Spears, as he attempted to drag her back by force. That had ended with Undertaker somehow smiling evilly at him, until he let the affair rest. Everything else was just a whirl of random events strung together. Undertaker's shop, his teachings of how to embalm and beautify a body, his insane ramblings that he loved to share. Though he loved to hear her opinions about his utterings even more. Clearly, he was still trying to water the seed of desire within her. She didn't mind. But she wasn't particularly interested in his plans either. Perhaps with time, she would be. When she saw what it was he was so interested in, then she knew without a doubt that her own interest would be sparked. He had an interesting mind. One she wanted to dissect. And she knew him enough by now to know that he'd share his schemes soon. When the time presented itself at least. He was meticulous like that. Or perhaps he'd surprise her. She couldn't say.

With him, there were no certainties.

She'd met many people during her brief stay—most of them dead or as well as. A young earl and his demon butler, members of the Yard, men and women of the aristocracy; Undertaker was acquainted with them all. Sometimes she believed he had the whole of London under his thumb. But she knew that couldn't be the case. There was a Queen after all. Perhaps he just ruled the dregs of it. The dark underbelly inhabited by prostitutes, street urchins, and scum.

"Excuse me, Madam," a little boy walked up to them, snapping Cheryll from her thoughts. A poor little thing. His breaths were visible in the evening chill and his clothes spoke nothing of warmth. He held a tin cup up to her, seemingly having decided that it would be safer to approach her instead of Undertaker. Human women were supposedly known for the warm natures after all. "Any change to spare?"

She produced a single bill, not bothering to look at its amount. But from the way the boy's eyes widened, it must have been an absurdly large amount. He bowed repeatedly. A smile stretched across his lips, as he ran off into some back alley to wherever it was he so hurriedly needed to be on such a quiet day.

And they continued on their way.

Cheryll vaguely registered Undertaker humming the London Bridge nursery rhyme under his breath, his smile still in place. As they continued walking through the strangely calm streets. Men and women were setting up for a nighttime festival, and they quietly circled their stalls, peeking in on what they'd soon be selling, before the larger crowds came by. Men gawked as they passed, staring at her as if she were crazy. From their confused faces, it was clear to her that they were wondering what she was doing on the arm of London's resident mortician. And women were quick to turn their backs on them, whispering false rumors to the nearest person willing to listen. It was strange how human communities ran. Different they may be, but when it came to gossip there was nothing discernable from the rest of the world.

"What's on your mind, my dear?" Undertaker asked. "You've been awfully quiet."

"Your lack of glasses," she lied. "How can you see?"

"Sometimes blurs are more preferable to the horrors of clarity," he told her sagely. "Though in my case, instinct guides me."

"Your instincts then must be great, indeed, to be able to see so much."

"Step away from the looking glass and you'll come to realize a great number of things. It even comes with the added ability to sniff out a lie."

Her mouth twitched, before she schooled it into a thin line. "Is that so?"

"Why, yes. So, won't you tell me what's on your mind? Or shall I pry the answer from you? I do adore games. Even guessing ones."

"I am in no mood for another one of your plays, Undertaker."

"Yet you don't answer." He frowned, before steering her toward a nearby sweets shop.

"I'm just observing…" Cheryll conceded with a sigh. She closed her eyes and allowed him to bring her where he wished. "The humans, that is. Strange and fragile things. I can see why they caught your eye."

His smile lit up and she could just imagine the flash of his eyes beneath those ridiculous bangs. Undertaker's current appearance may not have held all the menacing passion it once did, but it was certainly cute. And it fit him strangely well. Though she still preferred the familiarity of his previous mask. Still, she had to give him credit. He could assume a startling number of veneers, yet was still somehow able to retain all of his obsessive enthusiasm.

"Tragically beautiful things, aren't they?" he said, squeezing her hand that lingered on his arm. His fingers were as cold as hers. His touch, however, was a forgiving thing. And she could hardly imagine him wielding a death scythe. Perhaps it was because of his absurd hairstyle. "Though they're very lucky, wouldn't you agree?"

"Lucky?" she asked. He nodded enthusiastically. And from the smile spreading across his lips, she knew he wanted her to ask. So, she did. He seemed to have a strange fascination with desire. "How so?"

"Because they're going to die, of course!" he exclaimed, garnering the attention of a few curious passerby's. Some had children, and their parents promptly covered their ears, as they forced them away from the 'strange couple.' "All of these humans you see today were the chosen bunch out of billions of others that could have been born. They'll experience pain, hardship, love, and death. I don't know whether I should feel sorry or happy for them. What's even more amazing is that many willingly choose to extend their sad lives. And isn't that just wonderful?"

"I suppose it is… shall I say, curious?" Cheryll muttered, unsure. As she urged Undertaker to continue walking. He'd stopped in the middle of the street and the lack of movement left her cold. "Though not interesting enough to quell me into a series of questions."

"Then what is?" he asked, briefly touching his head on the top of her own.

"Your own thoughts on the matter," she said seriously. "Your mind is very complex, Undertaker."

"You flatter me." He laughed, hiding his smile behind his free sleeve. "Though I am pleased to see you wanting, my dear. No matter how small your desire, I promise to both cultivate and satisfy it."

"For what purpose?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. Though she knew she wouldn't receive a proper response. Those were rare, indeed. And when he merely smiled down at her, she left it be. Cheryll's gaze rolled away from his disarming grin and over to a nearby shop, where a beautiful evening gown sat on display for everyone to see. It was an expensive thing. And she found herself staring at the out-of-place teddy bear at its side.

She must have been staring for longer than she realized because Undertaker was suddenly tugging her into the small shop and, true to his previous words, placed the plushy safely in her surprised arms with nothing more than an entirely too wide smile.

"Tired?" Undertaker asked, slowing his steps to match hers. "We've been out for quite a while."

They'd been walking non-stop, passing by shops and sneaking up on a few of his more amusing acquaintances. It was truly a pleasant day. And though he found amusement in watching her squirm uncomfortably in her dress, work never ceased. Seems even in the mortal plane, he couldn't fully escape the demands of his trade. Especially in a city as dangerous as London. Where people fell as easily—and as frequently—as flies.

"I'd like to get out of these clothes," Cheryll told him. "I'm having difficulty breathing."

Undertaker gasped in mock scandal. "Why, I didn't realize I was making you feel so… daring. Was our outing too adventurous enough for your clearly perverted tho—"

"Undertaker," she called, placing a finger to his lips, successfully silencing him. His lips split into his trademark grin against her skin and she shivered at the sensation.

"Yes?" he whispered.

"Hush."

"Of course, my dear."

"Well, then…" she began, gathering the absurd amount of things they bought—sweets, mostly—and placing her free arm back in his. "Shall we head back?"

"Is that truly what you want?" he asked.

She muttered something that sounded like confirmation.

"What was that? I didn't quite hear you," he said, voice dropping into a pitch that could only be considered whiny. "Speak louder, my dear."

Cheryll turned, not quite smiling. But there was something in her eyes that made him slip his fingers from her grasp and place them over her face to pull her stubborn cheeks up into a full-blown smile. She tried to bat him away. To no avail. Despite his appearance, he wasstill a legendary Reaper. While she spent most of her own time a slave to the Administrative Division.

"Come now," he pouted. "Will you really make me force it from you? You know I have no qualms about forcing you to smile. Sometimes I wonder if a glasgow grin might make you more agreeable."

Cheryll wanted to scowl, but his fingers were relentless. And when he finally loosened his hold for a brief moment, her cheeks stung from the pressure. Undertaker looked at her expectantly and though she didn't particularly hate that expression, she didn't like it either. Rubbing her cheek, she dropped it in favor of brushing his bangs from his eyes in order to expose the cool chartreuse beneath.

"I said," she emphasized, tiredly exhaling, as her eyes involuntarily traced the scar that ran along his face. "Yes, I want to go home."

He bent down, nose slipping past hers in a way that had her cheeks flaring all the way up to her ears. But she didn't dare move away. His presence and emotions were too immense. Too encompassing. His affection was equally so.

"Cheryll, heart," he whispered, "was that so hard?"

A/N: I was bored and since I just finished my first novel, I decided, "Well, damn, I feel like writing something more on the sophisticated side. It certainly can't hurt to get my fanfiction groove back while awaiting responses for my query letters." And so this epilogue was born. This is also a sort of apology for removing Demonic Appraisal from my account, as I wanted to recycle the characters. Please excuse any typos. I just typed it up today. Anywho, I hope everyone enjoyed this. Even if it did lack action and all. As I said, it's mostly just a one-two step thing, so I could get back into my fanfiction groove.

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