tagCelebrities & Fan FictionUndertaker and Mickie James

Undertaker and Mickie James


A young woman wearing dressed in a cute pink outfit stood in the center of the ring. Behind her was an athletic looking blonde woman tied to a chair. Even through the cloth that bound her mouth, she was obviously terrified. Her eyes flitted around like trapped birds, looking for some way to escape from this woman who seemed to hate her for no reason.

"You remember Ashley, right? Your best friend Ashley?" Mickie James taunted someone backstage, laughing hysterically as she played with her hair which was done up in pigtails.

She smiled when she heard a womans laugh come over the sound system, and her smile was strangely innocent, considering she had a woman tied up behind her. Trish Stratus' music hit and the curvy blonde woman's champion ran to the ring, her eyes focused darting anxiously between Ashley and Mickie.

"If you come any closer I'm going to hit her." Mickie shrieked when Trish started to jump into the ring. Her voice suddenly held absolute, manic sincerity and the lovely woman's champion had no choice but to believe her capable of anything. She stopped right outside the ring and stood there, her large brown eyes desperately searching for an opportunity to save her friend.

Mickie, obviously glorying in the power she held in this situation, walked over to the ropes where Trish was standing anxiously craning her head, trying to see if Ashley was hurt. Mickie looked down at her idol with a crazed expression in her eyes.

"Don't you want to save your best friend Ashley, Trish?" Mickie's eyes whirled and sparkled crazily as she looked gloatingly over her shoulder at the bound Ashley, and Trish saw her opportunity in this moment of inattention.

While Mickie was still looking at Ashley, relishing her obvious terror, Trish grabbed Mickie's heeled boot.. She yanked it, sending Mickie tumbling out of the ring to land on the floor in a heap. Seizing her newfound advantage, Trish jumped on top of Mickie and started pummeling her with her fists.

Mickie instinctively curled up into a ball to protect herself from the other womans attack and Trish released her hold, jumping quickly into the ring. She sprinted over to the center of the canvas where Ashley was tied tightly to a chair. Desperately, she tried to untie the knots and free the helpless woman. Becoming completely engrossed in her task, she didn't notice when the still-gagged Ashley started moaning and gesturing with her head.

Trish had been too eager to get to her friend and her lack of forethought cost her. Mickie was suddenly right there, and the last thing Trish felt was her head driving into the mat in a Tornado DDT. She felt her world go dark around the edges as she passed out, her hair spreading over the canvas as she slumped nervelessly down to the floor. Mickie laughed again and walked slowly over to Trish's unconscious form.

Ashley could do nothing but watch in shocked disbelief as Mickie knelt down beside the fallen form of her former idol. Mickie's nose was still bleeding profusely from her attack and the blood dripped down onto Trish's cheek as Mickie held her head almost lovingly between her hands.

"Do you love me now, Trish Stratus?" Mickie howled insanely into Trish's blank face. She laughed once more as she bent down and pressed her full lips against Trish's slack, unresponsive mouth. She kissed her passionately then, without warning, dropped Trish carelessly to the mat. Trish lay there unable to respond, still unconscious.

Mickie threw back her head and laughed, her body convulsing with glee as she jumped energetically out of the ring. She didn't seem to feel any qualms about leaving Ashley tied helpless in the ring. She didn't even look back at her professed love as she walked towards the curtain that lead backstage.

A tall man, dressed all in black, watched the whole scene from the shadows just behind that same curtain. He was standing perfectly still and if you didn't know he was there, you wouldn't have been able to see him. His arms were crossed across his broad chest and his green eyes gleamed in his otherwise impassive face as he watched Mickie walk up the aisle towards him. Very few people would have known how to read the expression on his face, because to most people it would seem that he had no expression. But if you looked in his eyes, you could see something flickering slightly in their depths. Something that seemed very close to approval.

He watched her as she pulled open the curtain, making no move to show her that he was there. Her cheeks were glowing and her chest was heaving with her excited breath. When she moved past him she was practically bouncing as she walked, obviously still energized from the scene she had initiated with Trish in the ring. She was completely oblivious of his eyes on her as she walked down the hall and into her dressing room, closing the door behind her.

It wasn't long after that that a stagehand, innocently adjusting the set, received a nasty scare when a patch of darkness removed itself from the rest of the shadows and became a man. His startled gasp earned him a hard, glittering look and he suddenly remembered urgent business that he had to do elsewhere. Anywhere but here.

The man in black ignored the stagehand scampering off, turning his head slowly towards Mickie's dressing room, where she had disappeared moments ago. His boots were silent as he began to move towards her closed door.

* * * * *

Mickie bustled around her dressing room, her face still lit up with the same strangely child-like and beatific smile she had worn in the ring. She was humming Trish's music as she sat down at a vanity-table and removed the elastics that held her hair in pigtails. She picked up a brush and started working it through the tangles that had been created in her hair during her tussle with Trish.

In her mirror she could clearly see the room behind her, and as she was gazing dreamily at her own reflection, the door right behind her swung slowly open.

At first she was worried that it was Trish or even Ashley come for revenge, but she could see the whole room reflected in her mirror and soon realized that no one could be in the room with her. It was not a large room and the door was set dead center in the mirror. There would be no way for anyone to sneak up on her. She laughed self-mockingly at her own jumpiness and went back to brushing out her hair.

The floor behind her creaked slightly. Still nervous, Mickie whirled around, her body moving so fast that her hair flung out in a semi-circle around her head.

A man was standing right behind her. It was impossible for anyone to have entered the room without her knowing but he was still there. Her first impression of him was one of blackness and large green eyes.

He looked familiar to her, although it took her awhile to figure out who he was. One of the SmackDown wrestlers, she thought. Mickie didn't pay much attention to SmackDown because Trish was on Raw, but she realized that she had seen this man before. Everyone had. He had been around for years.

It was the Undertaker. Towering over her seated form, clad in black leather, she had to admit he was intimidating. His hair, flowing down over his shoulders and down his back, gave the impression of darkness but the light caught it and flared within it redly. She thought she could have dealt with all of these things, with his size and obvious strength, but she lost her composure when she saw his eyes staring down at her. She found herself unable to speak, probably for the first time in her life.

Fighting off her fear with limited success, she got unsteadily to her feet with the vague thought that he wouldn't seem so enormous if she wasn't sitting. Even standing, he towered more than a foot over her.

He stood and stared down at her, showing no sign of telling her why he had invaded her room. She realized suddenly that she didn't know anything about him. Although she rarely paid attention, she knew the other wrestlers chatted incessantly about their families, but Undertaker never took part in any of those discussions. Actually, now that she thought about it, he was rarely seen outside of his infrequent appearances on SmackDown.

He seemed to take his wrestling character overly seriously though. She had always believed that his persona was just an act, but the way he stood with his arms over his chest, staring at her, was too much. He showed no sign of even the slightest break in character. And then there was the fact that he hadn't appeared in her mirror which she didn't really want to think about too much.

She shook the thought away. Crossing her own arms she tried to glare at him, although she knew the effect was spoiled by her having to look up at him to do it. When he finally spoke she jumped, hating herself for doing so.

"Congratulations." His voice was rough and dark, and she had the sudden and completely irrelevant thought that it suited him.

Mickie nodded at him a little uncertainly.

"For what?" She was happy to note that her voice showed none of her unease, sounding just as bouncy and confident as ever.

Still, Mickie was unable to ignore her breath catching in her throat as the Undertaker stepped even closer to her. The denim of her short skirt actually brushed against the black leather of his long coat. This close she could smell him. Irrelevantly, she noticed that he smelled like masculine musk.

Sometime while she was musing he had started talking. She shook her head, berating herself for daydreaming with such a dangerous and unpredictable man in her dressing room. She didn't know a lot about him but she did know that he was not someone to take lightly.

"Trish underestimated you, and she suffered for it. You were willing to do whatever it took, even kidnap someone."

Mickie laughed nervously, her eyes being drawn continually upwards by his intense green stare. Time after time she jerked her eyes away from his, only to realize soon after that they had returned there against her conscious will.

"Um, thanks Undertaker. But you know, a lot of people call me a psycho."

He shook his head and she watched as his hair moved against his broad shoulders. Why was she noticing all these things about him? His hair glistening in the bright light, his muscles playing beneath his skin, the leather smell of his coat; how could these small details be so visible to her?

Wondering dimly at her own presumption and sudden lack of fear, she slowly extended a hand and laid it on his chest above his shirt as he started speaking again. Strangely his flesh was cool to the touch, though the room was warm.

He looked down at her hand resting on his chest but did not comment.

"You are no more insane than I am. Like you, I do what is necessary to get what I want." His eyes bored into hers as he raised his hands from his sides and laid them gently on her bare shoulders.

Mickie shivered as he slowly drew her into his arms. If his chest had been slightly cool, his hands were like ice. They send delicious tremors through her body and caused her nipples to harden into tight little points. She shook her head trying to clear it, not understanding these disturbing reactions her body was having.

He held her in his arms with a gentleness that was strangely sinister, perhaps because he was clearly capable of great strength. She looked up at him and again felt like her body was reacting without her consent as she reached her arms up and wrapped them around his neck. She hung off of him, her breath coming out of her mouth in little gasps despite her efforts to keep it under control.

His hands slid down over her shoulders and onto her back. His voice was even lower than usual when he spoke.

"You and I are much alike in our methods."

She nodded, able to clearly remember several occasions that she had seen the Undertaker kidnap people on television.

"You're right."

Her admission seemed to open a floodgate within her, and she let go of the last of her inhibitions. As she pressed herself against him, she could feel something hard pressing hard against her stomach. It was hard to tell through the obscuring leather, but it felt like it was quite large. Craning her neck, she looked up at him with her lips smiling and parted in obvious invitation.

He understood. Leaning down, his mouth claimed hers. She felt her lips open in reaction to the insistent probe of his tongue, and he thrust it into her mouth.

The sensations his mouth and hands were sending through her body where overwhelming, so, throwing all caution to the wind, she launched herself at him. His hands went to her waist to steady her as she jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist. Locking her arms firmly around his neck, she attacked his mouth with a series of savage kisses.

If he was surprised by her sudden change in behavior, he didn't show it. Instead, he crushed her body in his strong arms and carried her, still clinging to his waist and chest, to a small pink overstuffed couch. She didn't let go as he sat down, so she ended up straddling his lap while facing him. Their lips didn't part once the whole time.

Mickie felt like her body was on fire, a marked contrast to his cool skin. His hands traced icy patterns over her heated flesh and she tossed her head back in reaction to the feelings he was stirring inside of her. Her hair flew with the motion of her head and she moaned as he slid his hands over her sides.

Unable or at least unwilling to hold herself back anymore, her hands moved to the surprisingly soft black cotton of the shirt he wore. With a kind of insane laugh, she dug her long nails into the fabric and ripped it off. Shreds of the cloth flew all over the room.

He laughed at her urgency, a very low, soft and, once again, strangely sinister sound. It echoed through the small room as he slid his chill fingers under the hem of her pink shirt. The skin beneath broke out in instant goosebumps as his cold flesh met her warm skin. Slowly, he moved his hands upward, drawing her shirt over her head as he went. Deftly he unhooked her bra and it dropped, unheeded, to land on top of her recently discarded shirt.

She cried out as she felt the air hit her naked skin. His hands were all over her body as he placed his mouth upon hers once again. They slid up her thigh and under her skirt, resting momentarily on the white cotton of her panties before moving them deftly out of the way. She closed her eyes and raised her her hips towards his gently probing fingers, moaning her encouragement as he slipped them inside of her.

Suddenly, he pushed her and she slid over his legs to rest on the floor. He stood and quickly pulled down his pants. Looking up at him towering over her, she knew what he wanted from her and it was the same thing she wanted.

Sure of her intuition, she reached boldly up and grasped him in her small hand. She could feel him grow even harder as she shifted onto her knees in front of him. His hands came down and his fingers tangled in her hair as she opened her mouth and extended her tongue to lick the salty tip of his cock.

He made no noise or gesture except perhaps that his hands tightened even more into her disheveled hair, but she was certain he approved. She opened her mouth again, but this time he thrust his hips and slid smoothly between her willing lips.

Even here, he was cold. He smelled wonderful and tasted even better but it felt like taking an enormous ice cube into her mouth. It was terrifying and perfect when he started moving within her mouth. Moaning deep within her throat, she reached around and grabbed his hips to pull him deeper into her.

Without warning, he pulled out of her mouth and pulled up his pants. She looked up at him inquisitively. He didn't leave her puzzled for long. Extending his hand to her, he helped her off her knees. He crossed his arms over his broad chest once she gained her feet and she stood before him feeling a little like she was on trial.

Suddenly self-conscious under his piercing stare, she crossed her own slender arms over her full breasts. He shook his head in denial of her attempt to cover herself from his eyes. Slowly, he reached out a large hand and drew her arms away from her breasts.

She tried not to shake as his intense eyes roamed over her body. He seemed to take in all the details. The way her hips curved, the soft swell of her large breasts and even the way her nipples were hardening into rigid little buds under his gaze. Standing straight, she threw her shoulders back and returned his gaze, feigning a boldness she didn't feel. She was feeling many things, mostly lust, but she was a little surprised at her self-consciousness. Mickie James was many things but timid was not one of them.

His eyes lit up like green fire with something she thought was desire as he looked over her body. He took a step, closing the distance between them and drawing her into his arms again. She could feel her nipples hardening as her bare chest was pressed against his. Moaning a little, she felt quite daring as she smiled up at him.

In response he lowered his face to hers again. Their lips locked, and then he was picking her up in his massive strong arms and carrying her back to the couch. Standing her up on it, he ran his hands over the curve of her hips before grasping a double handful of her skirt. He tugged sharply downwards. Anxious to be naked in front of him, she kicked her feet and sent the skirt flying across the room.

While still standing on the couch, clad now only in her underwear, she watched as he stepped backward. Her rapt gaze stayed on him as his fingers went to the button on his leather pants. Deftly he unbuttoned them again. They slid down his long legs to pool at his feet. He stepped out of them and negligently kicked them out of the way.

Now it was her turn to stare. She found herself unable to take her eyes off of him. His long hair flowing over his shoulders, his arms, chest and legs powerfully muscled, the paleness of his skin broken only by his numerous tattoos. And most exciting, the way his cock was thrusting up into the air, long and hard and thick.

She was suddenly not able to wait any longer for him. She jumped down off the couch and walked over to where he stood. Placing her hands against his abdomen and trying not to get distracted by the way his muscles felt flexing under his skin, she pushed him urgently towards the couch.

He resisted for a second and she got the impression that he was doing so just to prove that he could. Then he moved with her hands, allowing her to direct him towards the couch. Reaching up, she placed her hands on his shoulders and exerted pressure. Once again, for a time he did not move, easily resisting even when she put all her might into it. It was as if her strength was a tiny thing next to his, as a child's might be to a full grown man.

Just when she was about to give up hope, he sat abruptly. She quickly scurried into his lap, moaning as his cold hands went around her waist. Easily he positioned her so that he was resting right at the entrance to her body, almost but not quite inside of her.

She could feel her whole body stiffen with the overwhelming desire to have him. She waited eagerly for him to pull her down but he showed no sign of doing so. He merely sat with his hands on her waist, watching her face with no expression.

"I want you." she confessed, her hands running over his chest, shoulders and back.

He nodded as if her confession was no surprise to him.

"Then take me." His voice was low and almost unbearably intimate.

She didn't need any more encouragement. Grabbing onto his large shoulders, she thrust her hips down. She was very wet and, even though his size was a little daunting, he slid into her with very little resistance. She forgot how to breath for a second, sitting impaled on him.

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