Kuroshitsuji One Shots

↪ massages | undertaker

edited: 28/03/2020

_______________________

The stress was as clear as day.

Though he held no frown upon his face and no sigh escaped his lips, his smile dimmed a little, his fingers tapped a second longer, his eyes remained unfocused more often and his back was more hunched, more tensed.

It was easy to see but only because you knew him, not because he told you, the stubborn arse.

The Undertaker was, as stated, a stubborn man, and as far as he was concerned, if he did not need to say anything, he would not. It was just unfortunate that the things he deemed 'not worth' talking about weren't the same as you.

He'd pretend everything was okay if it meant he didn't have to 'worry' you, and honestly, it annoyed you to no end. It frustrated you even. You wanted to tell him he was being stupid, that he worried you more by not saying anything but you couldn't.

Trying to get Undertaker to talk about his problems was like trying to get an answer out of a brick wall.

But it wasn't as if you could just wait until he collapsed from the stress, and as long as he refused to speak, you couldn't even help take over some of the problems causing that stress.

So, you decided you'd take matters into your own hands and kill two birds with one stone; get him to explain what was going on while also getting him to relax.

After sneakily buying an ointment that supposedly helped relax tense muscles, you decided you needed tp practice first, and who better than Meyrin and Bard, the only ones of the Phantomhive's 'excellent' servants that were willing to let you massage them.

It wasn't even that hard to get them to agree; you'll help them do the duties they're terrible at and they let you message them.

You thought it went fine, in all honesty. You were even a little proud of yourself, you who had no previous lessons managing to massage like a pro. The two must have enjoyed it too, for they gave a shriek (Meyrin) and grunt (Bard) of surprised happiness.

You felt you were ready. So, determined and confident, you made sure you had everything and then waited for the right moment. After an eternity, the Undertaker finally sat as the moon shone down from the dark sky.

He must not have realised you were there, for the sigh he let slip through his lips was rugged and deep. His stress was more evident then, his shoulders hunched and painfully tensed.

You shook your head and focused on the task at hand. This just gave you more reason to do it now; you had to get rid of this stress, after all, and as soon as possible.

You shifted the curtain quietly, finally removing yourself from the back room, where you had waited (in)patiently for the Undertaker to finish up. The shuffle of fabric caught his attention and instantly, his whole demeanour changed; he smiled and stood, his arms held open for a hug.

But it didn't take a genius to see he was still tense and his eyes still held fatigue. You sighed and made sure to grab the ointment on your way over, placing it down on the counter once you were near enough.

You pushed him back down and sat in front of him, giving him a look when he made to stand again.

"Turn around and take your shirt and coat off." You demanded, giving him no room to disobey. You weren't going to dilly-dally and try any small-talk with him, because not only would it waste both of your time but the Undertaker would know something was wrong instantly.

Though, you realised a second later, maybe you came across a little too strongly, and maybe you should've been a little more gentle. He hated being ordered about, especially so strongly.

Fortunately - or maybe unfortunately-, he was too tired to protest and instead just huffed. He shifted in his seat to get comfortable before slipping his coat off with an air of seductive grace. He did the same with the shirt, and you weren't sure if he knew what he was doing or not.

He probably did, the bastard. Though you wouldn't say you minded.

Once everything was off, you took a moment to take in his pale-white skin, the faint scars almost translucent but you could see them still. You gently traced them without a second thought, and then paused when you felt him tense.

You quickly realised what you were doing and moved backwards with an apologetic look. He rolled his eyes but thankfully relaxed.

"Why, my dear, did I need to take my clothes off?" He finally asked, and you couldn't help but roll your eyes. Of course, he'd asked after taking his clothes off.

You ignored his question in order to show him, carefully pouring some of the ointment into your hands and rubbing them together to coat your hands better. Then you gently swung his chair around, ignoring his surprised expression, and placed your hands on his back.

Almost instantly, you could feel him tense and so you waited for him to relax again. It took a moment but eventually, he did so. You took it slow, making sure not to dig too deep or rub too hard.

With each gentle rub and nudge, you could feel the muscles slowly softening and you could see his eyes slip closed. Unbeknownst to yourself, though, his mouth was open in a silent gasp.

It was going fine, much better than with Mey-Rin and Bard, and you could feel your confidence rising... and then he moaned. It was a loud moan too, like something you'd expect from someone who was having sex; it was throaty, deep and pleasureful, loud and so goddam sudden, and because you weren't expecting it, you stopped.

There was a silence that followed that only served to make the situation more awkward- and then you quietly gulped and carried on. You continued to rub his muscles, mindful now to avoid any more moans, and the noises that did come out of his mouth were quiet enough to ignore.

As soon as you had finished, you stepped back, glad he was now more relaxed and rubbed your greasy hands on the apron you were forced to wear under the roof of the Undertaker.

Turning, you screwed the lid back onto the bottle, and when you turned back again, you were mindful not to stare into his eyes. You weren't sure what he was going to say or do about that moan; after all, it's not something you would not be embarrassed about.

"So, um-," You paused and then coughed, hoping to hide the little squeak your voice held, "- I hope that's helped a little. I've noticed you've been stressed- and don't even think about disagreeing. I've noticed, I'm not blind!" You snapped as he opened his mouth, possibly to protest, and just like that, your mind was off the subject of his moan.

He huffed and you rolled your eyes.

"Adrian, please, next time you feel ill or stressed, tell me so I can help. I'm not just here to help with the shop, remember? I'm here to make sure you don't kill yourself!"

He smirked over in your direction, and said, "Grim Reapers can't die, remember?"

You glared at him, hands clenching around the bottle as you resisted the urge to throw it at him, and said, "You know what I mean, idiot."

The Undertaker still had that smirk on his face when he stood up and you knew, despite his fringe covering his eyes, he had winked at you. He was just that type of idiot.

You huffed as he wrapped his arms around your waist, crushing you into his chest and you stayed there if only to stop him from seeing your crimson face.

"Don't worry, love. If it's that pleasurable any other time, I'm definitely telling you." He promised, and then leaned down to your ear, "Maybe we can do more than just massage each other too."

And yep, you definitely weren't staying here any longer.

Huffing, you pushed against him but he tightened his grip, causing both of you to go into a struggle. Neither of you minded, however, because shortly after that struggle, panting and giggly, you both went to the bedroom to do more than massage each other.