Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso. I make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only.

Author's note: Warning: Yaoi, eventual Mpreg (sort of). This story also contains hermaphrodism/androgyny, though Grell's physiology is not meant to represent real life intersexed individuals.

He was in tears…again. In an effort to appease his urges, he had selected a young man that he'd met at the theater. This one was a writer, and he reminded Grell a bit of the young man that he and William had been assigned to for their first true reaping assignment. He was blond and ambitious and he loved literature and the theater. Grell found him appealing, and he was receptive when he approached him. Though he often felt more feminine than masculine, he found it easier to engage in his interests as a man than a woman. After all, he lacked breasts and his body was masculine for the most part, though slim.

Most of the men that responded to his flirtations were happy to share a bit of romance with him—until they saw past the illusion. The first thing they noticed was his teeth, of course. He could mask their appearance so that they looked like normal human teeth, but the minute his romantic interests kissed him, they could feel the unusually sharp points of them. They often cut their tongues on them, in fact, and the encounters generally ended afterwards.

Some of them got curious, though. They found his teeth interesting, and they would ask him to show them what they really looked like. These were the men that Grell tended to get lucky with; at least enough for some playing around. He'd had some fortune over the years, but it took finesse on his part. He either had to top, or he had to prepare himself in private and prevent his partners from getting too familiar with him when they decided to do a bit of fondling.

Tonight had been one of those nights. Unfortunately, Grell was so starved for affection after his recent failings with Will that he didn't notice how far down his trousers the writer was getting until it was too late. The young man obviously expected to fondle a pair of balls when he stuffed his hand into Grell's open pants to feel beyond his erection. When he found the female loins instead, he reacted first with confusion, then with dawning comprehension, and finally…with horror. He shoved Grell away from him, called him a carnival freak and threatened to cut his "parts" off if he tried to touch him again.

Watching him backing away from him with that disgusted look on his face was enough to make the reaper want to kill him, but he held back and let him go. Grell left the little back room in the theater, rejected and miserable. He'd made a mistake…moved too fast. He didn't control the situation and this was the price he paid for that.

Grell's eyes burned with tears of humiliation and shame as he leaned against the wall of the alley between two random London shops. He wiped at them and sniffed, wishing for all the world that he could turn back his own cinematic record and erase this awful night. He supposed it was his own fault for seeking out humans for his appetites, but he didn't want any of his Shinigami associates knowing the truth about him.

He cringed at the sound of people passing by on the street outside his shadowed little alley, and he waited in silence for them to keep going. He should just teleport himself out of this miserable, primitive mortal realm and seek the cold, lonely comfort of his apartment. How many nights had he spent hugging his pillow, fantasizing about a love that he would never find? How many times had he pretended that pillow was William, or Sebastian, finally recognizing his value and seeing him as something more than a pest to be toyed with?

Why did he always love the ones that hurt him?

Now thoroughly mired in self-pity, Grell started to cry again. He covered his face in his hands and he choked back his miserable sobs, not wishing to attract the attention of any nearby mortals. He shook his head and sniffed again.

"No. That's enough!"

He was Grell Sutcliff. He was idolized by the younger generation, dammit! He wouldn't let this beat him.

Unfortunately, he had nobody except himself to posture for, and it was hard to pretend he had an enraptured audience when real people were nearby to possibly overhear him. Grell deflated and sighed. Maybe he should go home. It was late, and the human world was only getting filthier by the moment. Gods, how humans could live in such primitive squalor, day to day, was beyond him. He…

He saw the door to a shop across the street open, and a tall, familiar figure stepped out from underneath the expansive, skull-decorated sign. Grell watched with mild interest as the eccentric mortician—who was actually a retired reaper of historic renown—stepped outside, dragging a large, heavy sack. There was a horse-driven wagon waiting by the curb, and the coachman watched as the man with the mane of waist-length, flowing silver hair dumped the sack into the back of it. There were other sacks of the same size and volume piled in the cart.

"That's it for the night," said the funeral director with a toothy smile, and he wiped pale hands tipped with long, black nails off on his dark garments. He looked up at the driver through the fringe of his long bangs. "Nothing unusual, just starvation. Someone needs to tell Her Majesty to start looking out for her people more."

The driver didn't respond verbally. Instead, he tossed a pouch of coins at the Undertaker. Were he human, the funeral director might not have caught the object, but his reflexes were so fast that he caught it before it even fully reached him. Onyx tinted nails curved around the swollen gray money pouch, and Undertaker's usually smiling mouth pulled into a frown. He started to make a remark to the driver, but he stopped himself at the last minute and sighed, pocketing the coin in his outer robes.

"Off with you, then." Undertaker slapped the rump of the horse, setting it into motion before the driver could. He watched the vehicle go, and then he shrugged his black-draped shoulders and turned around to step back into his shop.

At that moment, two adolescent boys ran past, and they pelted him with a rotten cabbage and a tomato.

"Creepy ol' creep!" they yelled as he turned around to see where the impact had come from.

Undertaker gave the fleeing boys a smile that could have put three more layers of ice on a glacier. "You lads don't know how lucky you are that I'm retired."

Grell's face scrunched in disappointment when instead of teaching the boys a well-deserved lesson, Undertaker opened the door to his shop and went inside. He wasn't sure why it bothered him, since he'd referred to Undertaker in those very same words himself, before. Perhaps it was because he'd never chucked rotten produce at him whilst doing it. Now, he found it horribly insulting, and a part of him cringed when he saw the old reaper keep going, retreating inside of his shop without further incident.

"If that had been me," reasoned Grell, "those brats would be in pieces, by now."

Undertaker's seemingly endless supply of patience intrigued Grell. Ordinarily, he wouldn't bother with the strange old fool on a good day, but he was feeling lonely now. He couldn't be sure, but he thought maybe Undertaker might be lonely, too. He'd never really taken time to get to know the old fellow, after all. He hadn't even believed he was the Legendary Reaper, until that time he'd lifted his bangs and seen his face for himself.

"Oh…that face." Grell lost his train of thought at the memory. He'd only seen a glimpse, but that was enough to compel him to make a total fool of himself and throw himself at him in the library. The eyes in particular were what had drawn him the most. They immediately sucked him in, making him lose himself completely in their ancient, silver-fringed splendor.

"Oh, those eyes," sighed Grell.

He shook himself out of it, embarrassed. He'd just been horribly rejected. The very last thing he needed to be contemplating right now was another romantic encounter. Still, his eyes kept going to the Undertaker's shop across the street. It was getting late. Soon the old fellow would probably lock his doors for the night. That was probably for the best.

Grell started to turn and create the warp that would lead him home, but then a couple of kids ran past his alley and one of them shouted something at the other that made him stop cold.

"Come back, you freak!"

Grell shuddered and scrubbed his hand over his hair.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, my dear," he apologized to the client. "I had an unfortunate drop-off to make. They never listen to me, you see."

Undertaker adjusted the body he'd just finished embalming, and he checked all of her stitching. He nodded in satisfaction, and he tied the last knot off. "There now, pretty as a picture."

The doorbell rang, and he sighed. "Isn't that typical." He took the corpse's cold, dead hand and he brought it to his lips to kiss the top of it. "Please excuse me once again, Madame. It's been my experience that if I don't eventually answer, they'll just continue to bother me."

Undertaker folded the stiff arm back down over the chest carefully, and he covered the body up in its gauzy canopy, before heading up the stairs. The bell rang again and he grimaced with annoyance.

"You're spoiling my good mood, whoever you are," he warned aloud. "You'd better be prepared to pay the price I ask for, this time. I've got limited patience!"

Grell stood stupefied as the door opened and Undertaker stood glowering down at him. He completely forgot what he'd come there to do or say. He stood there with one hand poised in a knocking position.

"Um…oh." He ejaculated the non-response, and he stared up at him. "I thought, that is, I'm here to…"

Undertaker tilted his head to one side and his stance relaxed a bit. "Mr. Sutcliff," he greeted. He smiled at him, and that open, broad grin made Grell shiver—in a good way. "Why don't you step inside for a spot of tea?"

Grell looked around. Gods, did he want to? He'd once buried this man in salt, before he knew who and what he really was. "You aren't going to plant me in salt if I do, are you?"

Undertaker watched him for a moment, his expression hard to tell beneath the silver bangs. He began to chuckle low in his throat, and he shook his head. "I've let bygones be bygones. If I wanted to pay you back for that, I'd have done it long before now."

"Fair enough." Grell stepped into the shop, trying to ignore the little thrill he got from Undertaker's looming. He cleared his throat and he looked around for a place to sit. He wasn't surprised to find nothing but coffins available.

"Do you mind?" he asked, watching Undertaker warily as the taller reaper shut and locked the main door.

"Please, have a seat," offered Undertaker. He gestured at the newest coffin, sitting in the center of the room. "Make yourself comfortable, while I go and brew us up some tea."

Grell watched him as Undertaker went to the curtains at the back of the room. "You haven't asked me what I'm here fore."

Undertaker stopped, glanced over his shoulder, and snickered at him. "I don't need to, Mr. Sutcliff."

Annoyed by the presumptuous attitude, Grell crossed his arms over his chest. "Oh? Then tell me what I'm here for."

Undertaker went back behind the curtain and he called out to him as he began preparing the tea. "You've got something you want to tell me. I can tell by that troubled expression on your face."

Grell self-consciously ran a hand over his face. He wasn't aware that he'd been wearing a troubled expression. "And what if I'm here for information?"

"Then I must be out of practice on reading folk." There was the sound of liquid being poured, followed by a kettle being lidded. Undertaker came out from behind the curtain and he joined him, taking a seat on the coffin adjacent to Grell's. He tilted his head and studied him curiously. "You don't look like you have a question on your mind. You look like you have a confession."

Grell stared at him, and he wondered how in the hell he managed to do that. "You're good," he admitted with a sigh.

Undertaker grinned. "When you've lived as long as me, you learn a few things about reading people. So tell me, Grell Sutcliff; what's troubling you? What is it you want to tell old Undertaker that you can't tell to your friends, hmm?"

"My friends." Grell lowered his gaze, tasting the word. He shook his head. "I'm afraid I really don't have any of those."

"What about your coworkers?" persisted Undertaker. "That young blond fellow who's always calling you 'Senpai'. He's a friend, isn't he?"

"Ronnie." Grell smiled, and he shrugged. "I suppose. He's almost like a little brother, to me. I could also call Eric and Alan my friends, but still…I can't tell any of them this. I can't risk it getting out and if Will ever learned the truth, I'd…I'd just kill myself."

"That's a dramatic statement to make," observed the Undertaker softly. "What could be so terrible, to put a young chap like you with his whole future ahead of him in a suicidal state?"

A little surprised that Undertaker didn't mock his declaration or seem to doubt his sincerity, Grell took a slow, fortifying breath. He parted his lips to speak, but the only thing that came out was a terribly weak, desperate sounding squeak that had him blushing immediately. Undertaker smiled at him again, and it was unlike his usual, toothy grin. It was…kind.

"Take your time," advised the mortician. "The tea should be ready. Why don't you think on it while I go and pour us a couple of beakers?"

Grell nodded wordlessly, and he watched him go. The more he watched him, the closer he came to revising his opinion that Undertaker's flowing grace of movement was creepy. He didn't walk, really; he glided. The high-heeled black boots he wore hardly made a sound over the wooden floors as he moved. Grell listened to him rummaging around in the concealed alcove, and Undertaker poked his head out from behind the curtain to ask him a question.

"Do you take cream or sugar?"

"Just cream," answered Grell. "No sugar for me, thanks."

"Hmm, no sugar." Undertaker shrugged and grinned. "We can't all have a sweet tooth, I suppose."

He came out again a moment later and he brought Grell's drink to him, before sitting down again. He watched Grell sip it, and he grinned at the expression of pleased surprise on his face. "I make a good tea, if I do say so myself."

Grell nodded, returning his smile nervously. "Yes, you do. Not bad for a—er…" He trailed off uncomfortably, censoring himself for politeness' sake.

"A dusty old creeper?" guessed Undertaker with a grin. "I know how people see me, Mr. Sutcliff. At least you're good enough to keep me company, while you insult me."

Grell blushed in a rare moment of shame. "I…I'm sorry. I'm probably the last person in the world that should make fun of you for being what you are."

Undertaker shrugged benignly again. "It's only skin deep."

The remark reminded Grell of why he'd come here, and he hesitated. Could he trust Undertaker to keep it under his hat, so to speak? The ancient Shinigami stood to gain nothing by giving it away, but maybe he held a grudge he just wasn't expressing. Of course, most people would just wave it off as mad rambling from him, and take Grell's word over his.

"What is it, love?" asked Undertaker softly.

Grell stared at him. He'd never heard him use that gentle tone of voice before, and the way he called him "love" made him blush again. Unused to being treated with kindness by anyone, Grell found himself wanting to open up to him even more. "I…I have to tell someone. It's such a burden, and it's been driving me mad."

"So I can see," said Undertaker with a nod. "Sometimes its easier to tell a stranger what you can't tell anyone else."

Grell sipped his tea and shook his head. "You aren't exactly a 'stranger', though. Close enough, I suppose. I really don't know much about you at all, do I?"

Undertaker chuckled. "There aren't many alive that do."

Grell considered it, and he took a deep breath again, willing himself to stay calm and just say it. He stumbled as he began to confess, though. "I'm…not what I appear to be."

"Who is?" reasoned Undertaker. "The lady that owns the dress shop at the end of the block entertains men on the weekends. The mild mannered bloke that runs the book store across the street is an expert archer, in his spare time. People think I'm a necrophiliac, but that's not true."

"It isn't?" Grell perked up with interest, though why he cared whether Undertaker violated corpses or not was beyond him. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me."

Undertaker laughed with delight. "That's quite all right. Like I said before; I know what people think of me. I speak with the dead, I prepare them for their special day with loving care, but I don't have my way with them. I prefer my bed companions to be alive and warm, Mr. Sutcliff."

Grell lowered his gaze. "I…see. Well, it's none of my business anyway." He looked at him again, and he decided to just say it. "I'm part woman."

Undertaker watched him silently, until Grell squirmed uncomfortably on his seat. "That is, I have lady bits."

The older reaper reached up to lift his bangs from his eyes, revealing that angelic countenance that made Grell lose his head the first time he saw it. He eyed the redhead up and down, before letting the bangs drop back into place. "You look pretty flat in the chest to me," he said.

Grell responsively laid a hand over his chest, and he sighed. "I don't mean up here. I mean…down there. I have both kinds of sex organs, minus one bit."

"Which bit might that be?" inquired the Undertaker with interest.

"T-testicles," answered Grell, flushing even brighter. "I don't have any. Instead, I have all of the female bits inside."

"So you have ovaries and a womb, too?" He sounded clinically intrigued, but not the least bit disgusted.

"Yes. They don't work right, though."

"No menstruation?" asked the older reaper.

Feeling like his face would soon catch fire, Grell shook his head. "I think sometimes I ovulate, because I get…um…pains. The only other person that knows about this is my Shinigami doctor, whom I've been seeing since I awoke as a reaper. He thinks I formed this way because I used to be a woman, and my body was caught between genders while it was forming under the direction of my soul."

Undertaker nodded. "I think I agree with him. I've seen this sort of thing before, in reborn Shinigami. The soul of the human chosen to transcend doesn't know if it wants to be male or female in the flesh, so the body compensates by attempting to make itself both. I've never seen it happen to reapers born of Shinigami parents, though."

Grell swallowed, and he began to tremble with relief. "You aren't revolted at all?"

Undertaker frowned in perplexity. "Why should I be? We're all just flesh bags anyway, and the worms make feasts of everyone when they die—Shinigami and human alike."

The redhead grimaced at the mental image that produced. "Lovely. Well, this…condition of mine is why I identified so strongly with Madame Red. I can't bear children, and sometimes I…I get so jealous of people who can. One of my coworkers and his wife are expecting their first born, and Ronnie threw a party for them last week. I had to sit through that thing with a frozen smile on my lips, hating them for succeeding to do something I never will. I don't even care for kids! Why does it bother me so much, to know I'll never be able to have babies with a man I love?"

"That's not a question I can answer for you. Mayhap you're just fighting with a biological urge to reproduce. Your certain you're sterile, though?"

"That's what Dr, Francis keeps telling me," sighed Grell.

"But you ovulate," mused Undertaker, tapping a black nail against his lips. "Could be your doctor's wrong. Your body could surprise you, some day."

Grell suffered a lump in his throat, and he took a sip of tea and swallowed hard to dislodge it. "I've given up on that fantasy. If I can ever even hope to find a man that will accept me for what I am, or win the heart of someone I already fancy, I doubt we can raise a family together. Some dreams just aren't meant to be."

He looked away as his eyes welled up with tears again, and he hated himself for his vulnerability. Undertaker moved, and Grell barely felt the air stir as he changed seats to sit down beside him. He worried his lower lip in his teeth when the older reaper cupped his chin and turned his head toward him. Undertaker took his top-hat off with his free hand and set it aside, before combing his fingers through his hair and sweeping his bangs out of his eyes. Grell was instantly caught in the ancient's gaze, enchanted once more by the beauty of those lazy, silver-lashed eyes.

"The way I see it, some fellow is going to get the best of two worlds, with you. If he doesn't know what a lucky chap that makes him, he's the king of fools."

Grell sniffed and he tried to hold back the tears, but they came anyway. They rolled down his blushing cheeks and fell to his shirt, and he couldn't look away from his host's encouraging gaze. "You're just saying that," he whispered.

Undertaker shook his head, and he started to wipe away Grell's tears with the fabric of his overlong sleeves. "Here now, don't cry. It always makes me feel helpless when a lady weeps."

That only made the tears come faster. "You don't…have to humor me that way."

"I'm not. You don't need breasts to be a lady."

He smiled handsomely at him, and Grell's heart began to beat faster and harder as a result. How could he have thought of this man as old and creepy? He looked to be no older than Grell—forever trapped in the mid-twenties, physically. The long scar winding diagonally over his face from the left side of his scalp to the right side of his jaw didn't distract from his good looks, and Grell found himself wondering where his sexual interests lay.

"Do you…prefer the company of ladies, or gentlemen?"

Undertaker shrugged. "Either or. I can appreciate all the different body shapes. I'm eclectic, that way."

"Oh." Driven as much by curiosity as by the older reaper's unexpected kindness, Grell laid his head on his shoulder for comfort. He took a shuddering breath when Undertaker's arm went around him to give him a warm, half-embrace, and he sniffled.

"It's all right," soothed Undertaker, speaking softly against Grell's hair. "You can cry if you need to. Least I can do is give you a bit of comfort. People like you and me aren't ever going to 'fit in'. I can't say I know what you're going through, but I do know what it's like to feel alone."

That did him in. Grell started to cry in earnest, and he grabbed a handful of Undertaker's garments and turned his face into his chest. Undertaker didn't seem to mind him weeping all over his shirt. He stroked Grell's hair with long, soothing motions and held him as he had the heartfelt cry he so desperately needed, and he told him all about his unfortunate encounter with the writer, earlier.

Eventually, Grell calmed down and the world didn't seem like such a tragic, hateful place anymore. He looked up at Undertaker, his cheek still pressed against his chest, and he tried to put the words together to thank him.

"Nobody's ever done this for me before," he said. "Just…held me like this and let me cry all over them. I usually just hug my pillow at night and pretend it's someone who cares enough to hug me back while I cry."

The minute he said the words, he wished he could take them back. "I…don't do that anymore."

Undertaker chuckled softly, but it was a kind sound, not a mocking one. "Sure you do, and that's all right." He wiped Grell's face off again, and he caressed his cheek with his nails, making a delightful shiver of pleasure race through him. "I'm happy to have been of assistance. I don't often get the chance to hold someone. Not many people want to get that close to me, you see."

"Why not?" asked Grell, honestly puzzled. After seeing his face and witnessing this side of him, he couldn't imagine anyone not swooning at the chance to be in his position. Undertaker's body was lean and strong beneath the robes, and his embrace made Grell feel safe.

"You ought to know," answered the older reaper with a grin. "I'm creepy, right? Most folks would piss themselves with fear, if I tried to embrace them. The little ones seem to like me, though."

Grell crinkled his nose, remembering the kids that had thrown spoiled vegetables at him. "They've got a funny way of showing it."

Undertaker laughed and gave him a squeeze. "Not those kids. The wee sort. Seems once they start hitting puberty, they start being afraid of me like their adult counterparts. The biggest cowards are often full-grown men, Mr. Sutcliff."

Grell nodded in agreement with that. "How pathetic they are. Sometimes I wish I'd been born naturally into this life, because it rankles me to know I used to be one of them." He looked down at his body and sighed. "And I wouldn't have this…condition, too."

"There's nothing wrong with the way you're made," assured Undertaker. "Maybe one day, you'll see that."

Grell blushed again. Ordinarily he thought of himself as fabulous, but then things like his encounter with that writer happened, and he was painfully reminded of how very different he was. He wasn't sure he believed Undertaker wasn't at least a little put-off by his physiology, but it was nice to pretend.

Feeling like he was getting too comfortable with the mortician, Grell checked his pocket watch and he sighed. "It's getting quite late." He reluctantly took his head off Undertaker's shoulder, and he reached for his forgotten beaker of half-drank tea. "I should finish this and be on my way, before I wear out my welcome."

"Not possible," assured Undertaker with a smile. "I find you quite entertaining, actually."

"Even when I'm crying into your robe?" Grell drank the rest of his tea down.

"Well, that part was more worrying than entertaining," admitted the ancient, "but I still enjoyed your company."

Grell gave him a hesitant smile back, and he set his empty beaker down and stood up. Undertaker got up with him and he saw him to the door. Grell paused when he opened it, and the turned to look up at the taller man with soft, grateful eyes.

"Thank you for putting up with me, and for listening. I don't know what I expected, but…you helped."

Undertaker smiled and he shook Grell's offered hand, placing his free hand over top of it in a warm embrace. "It was my pleasure, Mr. Sutcliff. Feel free to drop by anytime, in fact. My door is always open to you."

Grell bit his lip, and he feared he might start crying again. "Call me Grell. I think we're past formalities, after the display I made of myself in there."

Undertaker chuckled, and he lifted Grell's hand to his lips to kiss the top of it. "It wasn't as bad as you think. Have a good evening."

The next day, Undertaker's thoughts kept drifting back to Grell, and his confession. At first he chalked it up to scientific curiosity. He was always trying to learn new things about how bodies worked, and he found human biology to be a fascinating thing. He found Grell very attractive though, and he considered what he'd said to him about any future lovers he took having the best of two worlds. It was true; Grell had the potential to be the most versatile lover in the world, and Undertaker again found himself wondering why anyone in their right mind would pass up an opportunity like that.

As he began his work for the day, he became distracted by thoughts of what it would be like to make those fair cheeks blush with passion. He thought of the sound of Grell's voice, and he wondered what it would be like to provoke a moan of pleasure from him. He got so caught up in fantasizing about it that he stopped paying attention to what he was doing, and he hissed when he reached absently for the scalpel and cut himself on the blade.

"Mm, damn," he muttered, sucking the blood from his finger. "You need to put those thoughts out of your head, old boy. Should have learned your lesson the last time."

He sighed at his own self-admonishment. He vowed never to get in a relationship again, after things went sour with his previous lover. After that, he stuck to humans when his need for intimacy became pressing enough to seek interested parties out. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd dipped his wick, though. He pulled his hand away and looked at it, shaking his head.

"Sorry old friend, but you just aren't satisfying me enough, these days." The cut on his finger was already closing. He dropped his hand and he decided—against his own better judgment—to go a-courting.

"Ill be with you in a moment, chap," he promised his latest client.

The corpse didn't respond, of course. Undertaker took to the stairs leading out of the basement and he went to his desk in the front room of the shop. He took a seat and he waved a hand over the telephone. The rotary dial changed as if by magic, warping into a keypad that wasn't yet part of human technology. The numbers were written in Shinigami numerals, and Undertaker dialed one that he still knew by heart from his last doomed relationship. He put the phone to his ear and he waited for someone to pick up on the other line.

"Good day to you. I would like you to send someone to pick up and deliver something, for me."

He hoped he knew what he was doing, but his mind was as scarred as his face and sometimes things that seemed like a good idea were anything but. He thought it was worth the risk of getting burned again though, to have the opportunity to make the fantasies plaguing him come true.

"Hey Senpai," greeted Ronald the next day as he checked in at Grell's office. "You look different."

Grell looked up from his morning paperwork with a smile. "Different how?"

Ronald frowned in thought, and he hopped up on the edge of Grell's desk. "I dunno. You look…happy. You're smiling."

"I smile a lot, Ronnie," laughed Grell. "Will is always accusing me of looking unprofessional, because of it."

"Yeah, but there's something different about it this time. You look relaxed. Usually, you've got this strained quality to your smiles, like you're all tense underneath it."

Grell raised a brow. "That's observant of you. Well, I'll have you know that the responsibilities of my position can be rather stressful. Maybe one day, you'll be awarded a junior management position and see for yourself."

"If junior management is that stressful, being upper management must be a bitch," reasoned Ronald. "No wonder Spears Senpai is always so stiff."

Grell snorted. "That man has always been that stiff, for as long as I've known him. He wouldn't be William T. Spears, otherwise. He sincerely needs to get laid."

Ronald laughed. "Good point. So tell me, is that why you're so relaxed, now?" He winked playfully at him. "Did someone get lucky, last night?"

"No, he didn't," answered Grell with a sigh, reminded of the miserable failure of his efforts, the night before. He smiled when he considered how the rest of his evening went, though. "But he may have made a new friend."

There was a knock on his office door and Grell leaned over to look past Ronald. "Enter."

A young recruit came in, carrying a vase with a single, perfect red rose in it. Judging by his uniform, he was one of the office delivery boys while he was starting out. "Delivery for you, Officer Sutcliff! This arrived just moments ago."

He carried it over to the desk, set it down, and gave Grell and Ron the "death" salute before heading back out the door. Grell stared at the rose, and he untied the note attached to the little vase and opened it. Ronald leaned in to read it too, and Grell was so surprised that he didn't bother to push him away.

"Dear Grell,

I quite enjoyed the time we spent together last evening. I think we would have even more fun together under better circumstances. I would like to see you again.

Yours truly,

Undertaker."

Ronald's brows went up. "Looks like you made more than a friend, Senpai."

Grell started to smile, and he picked up the vase to inhale the fragrance of the rose. "We'll see."

That was how it started. Grell began to visit Undertaker regularly, and he learned that the rose he'd sent was grown from his own bushes, out behind his shop. The ancient began to send him one each day, and though Undertaker rarely left his shop except for funeral business or to get supplies, they began to have dates. The odd box of chocolates made their way to his desk now and then, usually on a Monday, in appreciation for the time spent together over the weekend. Undertaker was fun, and he was so much more romantic than Grell ever would have suspected.

What began as an unlikely friendship steadily progressed into a relationship, but Undertaker was almost too patient, for Grell's taste. He had the talent for making Grell dizzy with his kisses, and when he discovered how sensitive his nipples were, he began to take advantage of it. One evening while they were making out, he fondled them until Grell came in his pants—with both sex organs. He'd never experienced a simultaneous orgasm before, and it left him a shaking, panting wreck in his arms. Undertaker—crafty old bastard that he was—seemed quite pleased with himself, and his whispered promise to do that to him at least once each time they saw one another made Grell's stomach constrict with lust.

Grell could honestly say he'd never encountered such an attentive, patient lover, but he was getting quite frustrated. That one brief, heavenly squeeze Undertaker gave him after making him come was the only time he allowed his explorations to go below the belt, and he kept stopping Grell and warning him not to get him too excited when the redhead tried to feel him up.

"You sure he's not a eunuch?" Ronald asked him when Grell complained about his sexual frustration, one day at lunch.

Grell shot him a nasty look, before cutting into his sausage. "No, he's not a eunuch," he assured. "I've felt his business pressing up against mind when we embrace. He's definitely intact."

"Hmph. So how big would you say he is?"

Grell raised a brow at him. "You're awfully interested in the size of my beau's equipment, for a heterosexual."

Ronald shrugged and grinned, reaching for his drink. "I just want to be sure my Senpai is getting the satisfaction he deserves."

Grell laughed. "Well, a lady never tells, but if I were to estimate based on what I've felt so far…"

He looked down at his sausage meaningfully. Ronald choked on his drink and drummed his fist against his chest as he coughed. "That big, huh?"

Grell smirked. "Well, I haven't had full confirmation yet, but I know his endowments are above average."

"Hmph." Ronald's coughing fit ended and he took a bite of peas. He chewed and swallowed before speaking more of his thoughts. "I don't get why he's waiting. You two have been together for what…a month, now? You're two guys…it's isn't like he can get you pregnant if he goes for it."

Grell's eyes went blank for a moment. "Not likely, no."

When Ronald gave him a perplexed look, he quickly covered up his slip. "He's just a gentleman, Ronnie. You do know what those are, don't you?"

"Not a clue," said the blond with a wink.

Grell sighed. "Heavens, what are they teaching kids, these days? Don't you ever treat your little girlfriends like ladies?"

"Um, most of them don't want me to," answered Ronald with a semi-sheepish grin. "Sorry."

Grell clucked his tongue and speared up a bite of sausage. "You really are a whore, Ronnie."

"Hey, I'm not that bad. I like to go out on a lot of dates, but I don't sleep with them all."

"And do any of these women know about each other?" Challenged Grell.

"Er…Deirdre and Lucy do," said Ronald uncomfortably, scratching the back of his head.

"And the others?" pressed Grell.

Ron shrugged. "Not so much."

"That's what I thought." Grell nodded sagely. "You need to be careful, Ronnie. Someone's going to get hurt, and I don't just mean feelings. Women can be vicious when slighted—much worse than any man. They won't just punch you or each other and call it a day. They will find a way to make a complete ruin of your life, if you cross them."

Ronald went pale. "Geez, what are you trying to do, scare me out of being heterosexual?"

Grell laughed and shook his head, scooping up some mash with his fork. "I'm trying to look out for you and help you practice a little common sense and courtesy. You're no good to me dead, Ronnie."

Ronald heaved a sigh.

Grell had to admit, Undertaker did put a lot of effort into this dinner. How he managed to cook everything on that little wood-burning stove he kept in the back was a mystery to him, but there was a selection of buttered cabbage, lamb cutlets and braised, butter potatoes. Undertaker was, he had learned, quite the chef. They sat down on the floor, using one of the coffins as a dining table. Grell adjusted his pillow and he smiled across the candlelit distance at his companion.

"It all looks so tasty. How did you cook all of this on that one little stove? You only have the one burner."

Undertaker waggled his fingers and grinned. "With magic!"

"Hmph, keep your secrets, then." Grell took a sip of red wine, and he sighed in pleasure. "This is nice."

"Aged thirteen years," said Undertaker with a nod. "I've become somewhat of a wine collector, over the years. I could show you the rack in the basement later, if you like."

Knowing there would probably be at least one dead body down there, Grell shook his head. "I'll take your word for it."

"We aren't squeamish, are we?" Undertaker smiled knowingly at him, and Grell sensed his wink even though he couldn't see it through the fringe of hair covering his eyes. He wished he knew how Undertaker always seemed to tell what was on his mind. He needed a better Poker Face, like Sebastian.

"I'm a reaper," reminded Grell airily. "Dead bodies and gore don't scare me. It's just not very romantic to peruse a wine selection with a corpse lying nearby, that's all."

Undertaker frowned. "I'm sorry. Some times you just need to set me straight, love."

Grell smirked at him. "It's all right. You try more than any man I've ever been with, and that makes everything you do rather romantic. I…"

He stopped himself from blurting out that he loved him. It was far too soon to make such a declaration, though he knew in his bones that he was already hopelessly in love with him. "If you really want to make it up to me," he said, gazing at him from beneath long lashes, "you could stop teasing me."

"Teasing you?" repeated the ancient. "I haven't cracked a joke since you got here, my sweet."

"I didn't mean that sort of teasing," explained Grell, He locked eyes with him and he reached across the table to lay his hand over one of Undertaker's. "I mean the sensual kind. I want to make love, tonight."

Undertaker moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, probably not even realizing how sensual the action appeared. "You've no idea how much that thought appeals to me, Grell. I've spent the better part of the last century with nothing but my own hand for company, and that gets quite lonely."

Grell squeezed his hand. "I can imagine. It's only been…um…well, I can't say because it isn't ladylike, but I haven't gone without for as long as you, and I'm ready to burst."

Undertaker smiled, and he brought Grell's hand to his lips for a kiss. "I have a confession to make."

"Oh?" Grell smiled and propped an elbow on the coffin's surface, then laid his chin in his palm. "Do tell."

"I'm a bit nervous. I know that's the last thing a lady wants to hear from her man, but you aren't the average—"

Grell pulled his hand out of Undertaker's and he colored. "If you're too afraid to be with someone like me, you should have just said so."

Undertaker sighed patiently and reached for his hand again. "I was going to say 'lady'," he finished, "and yes, I'm a little intimidated. First time and all that, and I don't know how you want it to go. Instead of getting mad at me, why can't you try teaching me? Show me what you like, Grell. Show me how to please you."

A charming blush suffused Grell's cheeks at those words, and he practically melted where he sat. "Oh, that was…a very nice recovery. Bravo."

Undertaker laughed brightly at that, and he clasped Grell's hand in both of his, still chuckling as he gazed back at him. "I was being serious, for a change."

"I know." Grell's smile softened on him. "And your sincerity alone is pleasing. I…I understand why you're uncertain. At least you aren't running away."

"I'd be a fool to do that," insisted Undertaker. "I want you. I just don't want to spoil anything. It's been some time and I've never been with anyone like you, so please be patient and forgive any awkward moments I might have."

Grell could have jumped over the coffin to have him right then, but he restrained his passion, and he gently pulled his hand out of his grasp to start eating while the food was hot. "I promise you, I'll be gentle." He winked at him, and he cut away his first bite of the lamb cutlets. His mouth watered immediately at the burst of flavors when he put it in his mouth, and he rolled his eyes in bliss.

"That's it, I'm kidnapping you to live in my apartment and be my personal cook."

Undertaker chuckled. "If it weren't in the Shinigami realm, I'd be happy to do that for you."

Grell let the matter drop. He would never get Undertaker to set foot in the next plane, unless there was some new emergency that required his services. He washed down his food with a sip of wine, and then he tried the cabbage. They chatted about theater and music as they ate, and their eyes caressed each other as they talked. The kept finding excuses to touch each other, and Grell was so relieved when they both finished eating that he sighed.

"Well, that was delicious," complimented Grell as he wiped his lips. He smiled at his companion, and he sensed his anxiety. It was oddly refreshing, to know that this ancient reaper was actually nervous about bedding him—and not just because he had two sets of genitals.

"I've got a pudding I can heat up for dessert," offered the mortician huskily, his eyes flashing behind the fringe of his bangs as he looked Grell up and down.

Grell put his napkin down and he got up. "I'm sure it's delightful, but I have a different sort of dessert in mind." He circled around to the other side of the coffin, and he sat down in Undertaker's lap. Grinning, he put his arms around his neck and he rubbed his cheek against his, like a cat.

"I want you tonight," Grell whispered into his ear. He removed the other reaper's top hat and he combed his fingers through his hair, brushing his bangs away from his eyes. "You aren't going to make a lady wait longer, are you?"

Undertaker grinned and shook his head, putting his arms around Grell. "Absolutely not, if the lady is sincerely ready for it. Just tell me how you want me."

"Naked, preferably." Grell winked at him. "Lovemaking tends to be a bit easier, that way."

Undertaker laughed in delight and gave him a squeeze and a smooch on the lips. "No, silly goose, I mean what role do you want to take?"

Grell honestly hadn't even thought of it. He just assumed he would take the role of the female, because that was how he pictured himself making love with Undertaker. He wanted Undertaker inside of him, but the thought of going the other way around was quite appealing, too.

"You would bottom for me?" asked Grell, searching his eyes. Undertaker didn't seem like the type, regardless of his physical beauty.

The ancient nuzzled his cheek and nodded. "Of course. I'll take anyway I can have you, love."

If he weren't already madly in love with him, that statement would have cinched it. Grell kissed him deeply, ignoring the cuts his teeth made against the inside of his mouth as it pressed against Undertaker's. The older Shinigami's tongue sought entry to his mouth, and he allowed it. He felt the swell of arousal growing against the bottom of his thighs, and he slipped a hand down, into Undertaker's lap. This time, he didn't stop him from having a feel and Grell smirked into the kiss when he palmed his growing length through the long shirt and black pants he wore. He grinned against his lips when he felt the evidence to support his suspicions. He couldn't be sure until he freed him from his breeches, but Grell was confident that his handsome ancient was a big boy.

"I want you inside of me," he gasped passionately against the other man's lips.

Undertaker kissed him harder, evidently approving of his wishes. His breath quickened when Grell started to rub him, and he broke away and gazed at him with lusty eyes. "Which entrance, love? We'll require some additional preparation if you want—"

"The female one," decided Grell easily. "I…I've never actually had a man inside of me there, before. I want to know what it's like."

Undertaker smiled tenderly at him, and he stroked his hair. "I'll be your first, then?"

Grell nodded. "Yes, you will…so be gentle with me."

Undertaker nodded. "I'll treat you like the flower you are, my dear." He eased Grell off of his lap and he stood up, offering a hand to him. "Come. Our first time isn't going to be on the floor."

Grell smiled and took his hand. Undertaker hardly ever used the bed in the back room himself, but he kept it changed regularly, and he slept with Grell in it when he stayed over. This was going to be a night to remember.

Grell hadn't overestimated his companion. Once the clothing began to fall to the floor, Undertaker seemed to shed any uncertainty he harbored, and he showed Grell what a generous lover he could be. He introduced him to the outstanding experience of being orally pleasured down there, once he got him undressed. Nobody had ever loved him this way, and Grell tossed his head helplessly as the other man's tongue flicked rhythmically against his clit. While he pleasured him with his mouth, he also fondled his erection.

For someone that expressed some uncertainty over how to proceed earlier, Undertaker was demonstrating an uncanny knowledge of Grell's body. He supposed he shouldn't be so shocked, considering the man's knowledge of human autonomy and his great age. In the back of his mind, Grell wondered if Undertaker had ever been with an androgynous reaper before, because he caught on so quickly. He couldn't wonder for very long, though, as the attention he was showering on his lady bits was quickly driving all coherent thought from his mind.

"Undertaker," moaned Grell, grabbing the pillows.

He was already coming, and he whimpered and lifted his hips off the mattress as the delicious inner spasms began. Panting and shaken, he barely caught his breath before a second orgasm came—this one centered on his male parts. He twitched in his lover's stroking hand, and he moaned as he came. He didn't make as big a mess as other men, but there was still some fluid. Undertaker stopped licking him, and he kept stroking him until he was spent. He stretched out beside him on the bed and pulled his hair to one side, before leaning over him to kiss his panting mouth.

"You didn't instruct me," he admonished softly, huskily.

Grell smiled euphorically and he looked up at him. "There was no need. My gods, how do you…have you ever done this before?"

Undertaker laughed. "You know I have, Grell. It would be a sad thing indeed, if I were a virgin at my age."

Grell stroked his chest, admiring the hard, lean muscles and the scars decorating it. "I meant with someone like me."

Undertaker shook his head. "I told you, I've never been with anyone like you. All I did was use my knowledge of how to pleasure both sexes." He smiled down at him and he rubbed the tip of his nose against Grell's affectionately. "I take it you're pleased?"

Grell looked down at the mess he'd made on himself. "I think that's rather obvious."

Undertaker grinned, and he kissed him lightly as he began to undo his pants. His boots were already lying on the floor, and Grell learned that the straps and buckles were what held them together up to his thighs. Eager to see him completely in the nude, he began to help him.

"You're so beautiful," Undertaker enthused, watching his blushing face with a smile. "Here now, just relax while I get out of these."

Grell stopped fiddling with the fastenings on his pants, and he tried to relax. Seeing the dismayed way he was looking down at his torso, Undertaker laughed and he got out of bed to procure a handkerchief from his discarded robe. Grinning, he came back to Grell and he wiped him off with loving care.

"There, better?"

Grell smiled up at him almost shyly. "I'm sorry to be so fussy. It's a personality flaw of mine."

"It isn't a bother," assured Undertaker.

He finished his task and he kissed him, before dropping the hanky on the nightstand. He got up again and he pulled his pants down and off, leaving his body covered only by the long, pale silk of his thick hair. Grell stared him up and down with wide eyes as he climbed back onto the bed with him, and he immediately reached down to grip his erection and stroke it. Undertaker pushed into his touch with a sigh of pleasure, and he began to kiss him again.

"I've wanted to feel your hands on me," admitted the mortician in a low voice.

"Likewise," gasped Grell, blushing again as he enjoyed a good feel. "I'm very impressed, you gorgeous creature. Are you as good with this as you are with your hands and mouth, though?"

Undertaker tucked his braid behind his ear and he winked at him. "We'll soon find out, won't we?" He slipped a leg between Grell's thighs, silently coaxing him to part them. "I'll ask just once more, Grell; do you want this? We can still stop, if you need more time."

"Oh hells no," said the redhead with feeling. "I'm not going to ask you to stop now! If you even suggest it again, I'll bite you!"

"Careful, to someone like me, that's just flirtation." Undertaker smiled as he lowered his mouth to his for another kiss. "Mmm, feels good, love." He began to pump into Grell's stroking hand slowly, clearly enjoying his attentions.

If he weren't so desperate to feel Undertaker inside of him, Grell might have been happy stroking him off to completion, or returning the favor and performing orally on him. As it was, the more he stroked the thick length of his sex, the more he wanted him inside of him. He began to harden again, ever so subtly. He squirmed with impatience and he bit his lip.

"Undy," he said softly, "I want you."

Undertaker opened his eyes and smiled curiously at him, tilting his head in an inquisitive manner. "'Undy'?" he repeated. "I don't believe anyone has ever shortened my name that way, before."

"You don't like it," reasoned Grell. "I shall refrain from doing it again."

"Oh, no need," assured Undertaker. He kissed the corners of Grell's mouth, his lips grinning against his. "I rather like it, to be honest. It's cute."

"Oh?" Grell smiled back at him. "Then it's my new pet name for you."

Undertaker laughed softly, but his breath caught and he sobered when Grell's stroking on his cock sped up. "Grell…my darling…I'm not going to last, if you keep that up."

Hearing the subtle tension in his voice, Grell took pity on him. He rolled over suddenly and he pushed Undertaker onto his back. Grinning down at him, he straddled him, and he rubbed the moist valley of his loins against the length of his cock. Undertaker groaned softly and cupped his hips, looking up at him with quiet desperation in his gorgeous eyes.

"You shouldn't tease a starving man," he warned softly. "I can't promise to behave for long, if you do."

Grell undulated slowly on top of him, and a flush of passion spread over his cheekbones. "It isn't teasing," he whispered, taking one of Undertaker's hands in his. He brought it to his lips and he kissed the fingertips, one by one. "It's a promise."

Undertaker's expression softened, and he shifted beneath Grell, grinding himself against him suggestively as the redhead delicately licked the pads of his fingertips. "You know how to make a man ache with need, kitten."

Grell smiled, pleased by the sentiment. Undertaker really, truly wanted him, and he wasn't a bit put off by his unusual biology. It made his heart soar, even as it steadily returned him to a hardened state of readiness. Grell lifted up, and he gripped the base of Undertaker's erection to hold it steady. He positioned it and he gingerly began to sink down upon it, unfamiliar with doing it this way. Undertaker watched him, and he began to fondle his nipples gently.

It was a tight fit; tighter than Grell had expected, in fact. He understood that lady bits were designed to accommodate a man's girth, even when he was endowed like Undertaker. What he hadn't counted on was the presence of a maidenhead. He learned that he had one in a most painful way, when Undertaker moved beneath him and drove himself deep. Grell gasped and went wide-eyed with shocked pain, and Undertaker immediately froze.

"Oh, love," gasped Undertaker with understanding. He immediately sat up, and he embraced the whimpering redhead gently. "Shh, easy now…just give it a few moments. I'm sorry…so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

Grell accepted the apology, because he'd been just as clueless as Undertaker and he couldn't rightfully blame him for it. He returned his embrace and tried to relax his body. His erection deflated a little from the discomfort, but Undertaker's gentle kisses and touches worked to keep him from completely falling out of the mood.

"I should have known," sighed the ancient. His lips moved along Grell's throat, and his hands stroked his back. He slipped one of them between their bodies to fondle his cock, gently stroking it back to full swell. "I'll do my best to make it up to you, my dear."

Grell kissed him trustingly, and he began to move carefully, taking his time with it as he familiarized himself with the feel of being penetrated down there. The pain was ebbing away steadily, to be replaced by the delightful fullness inside. When he shifted on top of him, he felt his cock press against a spot inside that made a thrill go through him, rather like the spot inside his other entrance, but more muted.

Grell moaned and he began to rock, listening to his body's instincts. It was easy to just let himself go with such a generous man. He never would have imagined Undertaker as such, but he was never happier to be proven wrong. He whimpered softly, his pleasure rising as his body recovered from the pain of the breach. He grabbed a handful of the older reaper's silver hair and he urged him to tilt his head back, baring his scar-striped throat. When he complied, Grell bent his head and he licked the scar, tracing it with his tongue and feeling the vibrations of his voice against it as Undertaker murmured his name.

"You can take over, now," Grell suggested breathlessly. He wanted to see what he could do.

Undertaker gazed at him thoughtfully. "You're sure about that?"

Grell smiled. "I'm sure. I trust you, my dark love."

He half expected Undertaker to laugh at his poetic drivel, but the man was obviously in too much of an excited state to bother. He rolled over, taking Grell with him and pinning him beneath him. His eyes blazed down at him and his handsome visage was tense with lust. Grell cried out as he withdrew to the tip, and then thrust back in. He did it slowly, but he didn't pause once he began entering him. He kissed him as he slid in until he filled him completely. When Grell didn't cry out in pain, he withdrew and did it again…and again after that. His breath caught and he kissed him more deeply, cutting his tongue on his teeth.

Grell returned his kiss eagerly, tasting the salty blood in his mouth. He locked his ankles behind Undertaker's back, panting and moaning with each steady thrust. Undertaker began to pick up speed, his hips pumping with practiced skill. Grell responded gingerly at first, unsure of how to move when taking it this way. He soon found it was much the same as with anal sex, and his moans grew increasingly louder and more frequent as the pace of their lovemaking increased.

Undertaker's hair tickled as it glided over his skin, and he found the sensation pleasing. He'd never been with someone that had as much hair on his head as he did. Here was this wild, unkempt creature that he wouldn't have seen himself with before, giving him more pleasure than Grell had ever experienced with another person before. He watched the expressions of lust on Undertaker's face as he took him, and he began to cry out with every masterful thrust. He blurted poetic endearments to his lover, encouraging him not to stop. There was still a bit of an ache inside, but it paled in comparison to the pleasure of feeling Undertaker's rigid cock thrusting inside of him.

Undertaker balanced on one arm and he gripped the redhead's erection again, stroking it as he pumped over him. Grell rapidly approached another climax, and he was quite vocal about it. He yelled his companion's name helplessly as he began to constrict around his pumping sex, and he grabbed his flexing ass to squeeze it. Undertaker groaned heavily into his ear, his breath quickening with excitement. He started to tense up, and Grell slipped his hands around his hips to caress his tight abs and chest, feeling the raised tissue of his scars beneath his palms. Undertaker's breath caught, his eyes shut, and he bucked inside of him. He grunted and moaned in a low voice, slowly opening his eyes to gaze down at Grell as he filled him.

When he was spent, Undertaker lowered his mouth to the redhead's and he kissed him tenderly. Grell's cock was still erect, but he didn't mind when the silver reaper stopped fondling him to balance his weight on both arms. Undertaker was trembling and it was with a bit of surprise that Grell realized he was trembling, too. He kissed him back; overcome by feelings of warmth he'd only really ever felt for one other man. He would never have William in his bed. He'd come to accept that. What he had with Undertaker made up for that, though.

"Thank you for that," sighed Undertaker against his lips when he broke the kiss. He grinned. "And I mean that sincerely."

Grell chuckled, wincing as the bigger man shifted a little on top of him. "It was my pleasure. You were magnificent."

"I thought I was rather clumsy," sighed Undertaker, "but so long as you enjoyed it, I'm satisfied."

He kissed him once more, and then he withdrew from him. Grell felt the stickiness between his legs that couldn't be associated with natural lubricant or semen, and he looked down to find his pale thighs stained with blood. "Oh, my. I really did make a mess."

Undertaker noticed as well, and he rubbed his thigh and kissed him again. "Not to worry. The sheets will wash and I'll fetch a washcloth to get you cleaned up. I could draw a warm bath for you too, if you're a bit sore and want a soak."

"Maybe tomorrow," sighed Grell sleepily. The experience had been so intense and satisfying that all he really wanted to do was hold Undertaker and go to sleep. "Just don't leave me for very long. I want you in my arms."

Undertaker smiled broadly at him. "As the lady wishes. I'll be back before you know it, love."

Grell smiled back and he sighed in contentment, snuggling deeper into the blankets. It really was a comfortable bed. He drifted off without realizing it, and he didn't even feel Undertaker gently cleaning him up, before joining him. He instinctively snuggled into his naked warmth when the older reaper got back into bed with him and covered them both up.

-To be continued