The Grey Butler.

Funeral

"How would you like your tea, Master Vincent?" Cedric asked, his cockney accent abandoned from his real low, growling reaper voice since he and Vincent were alone. He spoke huskily, leaning into Vincent and letting his own silver hair rest on the villainous noble's shoulder, trying and failing to supress the occasional giggle. He was enjoying being the butler. All that access to expensive things, soft silk and fine food. Hypocritical? He didn't think so. After all, he wasn't here for money or objects or food. He was here for his Vincent. Vincent was all that mattered t him. But at that moment, Cedric was starved for attention, turning himself around and lolling against Vincent's shoulder, groaning loudly just to be noticed. "When do we get to try out your bed?" Cedric purred, just to try and illicit some kind of attention. They had only kept having sex in the morgue, which was what Cedric had become the butler to get away from.

"Cedric please," Vincent chastised, shoving the old reaper off of him. Everyone else was petrified of Cedric, both in the reaper realm and in London. Vincent wasn't. He was ruthless, although not nearly as ruthless as Cedric could be. But Cedric would never let Vincent see that side of him. His murderous little secret. He pretended t be weak, to surrender. But if he was ever crossed, he would become Death again. "I'm getting married in two weeks. I don't need you stressing me out,"

The world seemed to shatter around Cedric's ears, the noise seeping into his brain like formaldehyde and giving him a headache with its acidic little explosions. It was a weird sort of feeling, like he had been disappointed by himself. By his own weakness and inability to keep Vincent as his and exclusively his. "So soon?" he gulped.

"Yes Cedric," Vincent drawled, annoyed at having to always explain this. "I'm getting married. It won't change anything if that's what you're worried about,"

"Like hell it won't!" Cedric snarled, feeling himself gain control of his reaper abilities. Feeling himself become death. Become ruthless. Become a killer. "You realise you'll have to fuck her right? Maybe have a child? You'll be lying to both of them. You'll be entering a sacred commitment and still be sneaking away and lying. You're unfaithful in every way. An emotional infidel. A physical infidel. A manipulative fucking infidel who's playing her to get what you want!"

"You can't talk to me like that," Vincent snorted, standing up to confront Cedric.

"I can talk to you however the fuck I want!" Cedric defended, rising to his full height and adjusting his posture so that he was taller than Vincent. When he slouched, which was all the time, he was shorter. "You don't control me like you think you do. You're forgetting what I am,"

"I know what you are," Vincent contradicted, stepping even closer so that their faces were inches apart. "You're delusional. You think everything will be your happily ever after and we'll ride into the sunset in a fucking carriage shaped like a coffin. Why do you even care about lying to Rachel? You wanted to kill her!"

"I'm much older than you. You don't understand the ancient traditions,"

"Because fucking married men is totally an ancient tradition!"

"Shut up!" Cedric grabbed the front of Vincent's shirt, puling him close and wrapping the fabric in his fingers, the nails tearing and digging through the fabric and digging into the pale, noble chest. And they fucked on the table, loudly and for a long time, with Cedric holding Vincent down below him, being the dominant for the first time in their relationship.

^

Two weeks later.

Cedric sat on one of the gravestones, watching the stone crumble from the old mound, the crudely carved name almost eroded away to nothing. He had no official business there, but he felt like this was his own - and maybe Vincent's - funeral. He wanting to be as close to Vincent as possible, but was of course banned from the wedding. Therefore he got as close as he could. The church graveyard. He sat there, having a mini-funeral for himself, red roses being crushed and bleeding sap in his white, cold hand. He had even brought a shovel. He couldn't help but gaze into the church through the tinted pink-purple windows he so loved, through the black mesh he could see the shadow of who could only be Vincent, standing there wearing a fake smile, using that soft voice and beautiful eyes to manipulate his...his wife. Cedric watched the shadow move slowly, subtly across to connect with another shadow. The kiss. And there church bells began to sound, low and long, ululating in Cedric's ears like a blaring ambulance siren.

Cedric hid behind the gravestones as he watched the happy couple exit, the flowing white dress like a ghost fluttering behi9nd Rachel as she smiled for the people in the concession, the happy squeals of delight sounding just like the devastated wails of mourners. Cedric stayed at the grave all night, watching the church turn dark as it became deserted, the graveyard full of tramps and degenerates, all of which knew not to bother Cedric when he was there. Cedric smoked his opium and caressed the cold glass pipe in his cold white hands, a present from Vincent last Christmas. Cedric had asked for a night in Vincent's bed, but he got the pipe instead. He dropped the pipe between his basket-shaped legs positioning around it. He watched the glass shatter, extremely weak and blown very thin. The present had been luxurious, extremely expensive on the black market. Vincent had even gone through someone other than Cedric to acquire it, and he didn't have much competition in all of England for drug paraphernalia. And it felt so good to just let it break.