Hellraiser

The Undertaker bent down and lifted her duffle bag. "Thanks fer spending the night with me -I mean, thanks fer... fer lookin' after me, and, uh... Hell."

The Undertaker settled upon the first class seat, exhaling slowly and stretching out his legs. He longed to have a drink, but with the nagging headache he'd been enduring ever since he left the hospital earlier that day, it didn't seem like a good idea.

He sighed, his lips pulled downwards slightly. The thought of the plane taking off in a few minutes made his already upset stomach lurch.

He took off his sunglasses and placed them in his coat pocket. The pressure they exerted on the bruise near his cheekbone was aggravating both his headache and his nausea. He turned his head towards the window and closed his eyes, hoping people would get the hint and leave him alone.

"Don't get up," Lita said softly as she stepped over his long legs, lithesome as a cat, and seated herself next to the window.

There was a low, bell-like sound, and the pilot's voice was heard over the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome on board American Airlines flight 366, heading for Las Vegas, Nevada. Please fasten your seatbelts."

Lita leaned back in her seat, watching the Undertaker from the corner of her eye. His face was sallow and there was a thin film of sweat on his forehead, but she thought it'd be best if she said nothing... At least, for now.

Then he felt Lita's hand on one of his and he glanced at her with a rueful smile. "Sorry," he said. "I don't have problems with flying, usually."

It was the first time she'd ever seen him do that, and it startled her in way she couldn't explain. He should smile more often, she thought.

The plane started moving, and the Undertaker closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath. He tried to distract himself by thinking of other things -to his surprise, he suddenly found himself thinking about showing Lita around his house... And he felt a strange, pleasant sort of twinge inside his chest.

A limo was waiting for them at the Las Vegas airport; it was a thirty minute drive to Boulder City, the place the Undertaker called home. He'd slept for most of the flight, but he looked extremely weary by the time they reached the large, ranch-like house where he lived. It was nestled at the foot of dry, barren hills in a secluded area of the small town.

Lita noticed that the Undertaker's eyes seemed to soften at the sight of his solitary abode, and she was glad he'd been compelled to rest. He really needed this... to get away from all the fighting for a while.

The limo pulled up to the front door. As soon as the long, black car had come to a halt, the Undertaker emerged, followed by Lita. The driver went to the trunk and unlocked it, reaching for the Undertaker's suitcase and Lita's bag. The Undertaker tipped him, picked up their luggage and then walked to the door with Lita in tow as the car drove off.

They were standing in front of an immense room that combined both living and dining areas, with a high ceiling and hardwood floors. The very big and cozy-looking couch was made of a dark brown leather, and not too far from it, on the right side of the room, there was a fireplace set in a wall of country stone. All the other walls were covered with a faded, yellow-tinted stucco, giving the room a warm, Spanish-American flavor. To the left, a dining table stood before large windows that looked onto the backyard.

"Would you like something to drink? Are you hungry?" the Undertaker asked Lita as he walked towards the couch, shrugging off his coat.

"I'll show you where you can, uh, put your stuff an' all," the Undertaker said. He tossed his coat on the couch and went back to her side. "Come with me," he said, taking her bag from her hands and leading her down a long hallway that extended to the left side of the front door.

All the doorframes were about a foot higher than average. She imagined that this was one of the few places where the Undertaker truly felt comfortable.

"Here it is," the Undertaker said as he came to a stop outside one of the rooms. He turned the doornob and gestured for her to precede him.

"Why, thank you," she said, an amused smile stretching her lips. This is too weird, she thought. She stepped inside yet another large room, a bedroom decorated in dark shades of green accentuated by a rich, golden color that reminded her of the desert sand.

The Undertaker looked over his shoulder, his green eyes slightly puzzled. "I don't think there's much food in the house," he said, going through the last doorway on the left. "Sorry 'bout that. I'll give you the keys to the truck, and you can go into town to get some groceries -if that's okay with you," he added.

"No problem," Lita said. The small kitchen, she quickly realized, also opened onto the main room at the other end. A skylight above flooded the room with sunlight.

"Whatever you want, all right?" the Undertaker said. Leaning on the counter, he rubbed his forehead. "I'm gonna have to lie down fer a little while."

"Don't worry about me," Lita told him. She hesitated for a moment, and then she patted his shoulder. "You just... go rest."

"You are a sweet thing," he told her at last, his voice touched by a tenderness that she hadn't known he possessed. "It's... somethin' I ain't used to."

"I bet you say that to all the girls," Lita joked shyly, giving his shoulder a friendly little slap. Her cheeks felt warm and her heart was thumping inside her chest. "Better get to bed, big guy."

"All right, red," he said, a yawn suddenly escaping him. "Make yourself at home." He started to leave, then he said, "Oh, my wallet's in my coat pocket... Take as much as you need."

She tip-toed to the door and watched him make his way down the hall, his limp even more pronounced than it had been before. He stopped in front of a door that was opposite the room he'd taken her to and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

Lita turned around and began investigating the contents of the cupboard and fridge; they were both pretty much empty. Her fingers drumming against the surface of the counter, she thought, okay. Okay. Better get some groceries in here.

She pushed her hair back. Waitaminit. He forgot to give me the keys. Her eyes darted towards the doorway. Could he be asleep already? He must've passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow. Keys. They must be around here somewhere...

Opening the cupboard doors, she quietly searched for them, looking into bowls and cups, and then going through the drawers.

Man, is this thing heavy or what, she thought, inhaling the strong smell of brand-new leather. She brushed its smooth surface with the palm of her hand -the image of the Undertaker lying there as the nurse cut away the coat he'd worn at Smackdown abruptly surfaced in Lita's mind, and to her annoyance, she felt herself blushing again.

The wallet was there all right, but after digging through all of the pockets, still no keys. Crud. Might as well grab some money... She took out two hundred, then hesitated, thinking about the sort of appetite a man like the Undertaker would have. She stuffed another hundred dollar bill down her back pocket, and wondered what to do about the keys. Even if she could walk to the store, she wouldn't be able to carry all those bags.

She left the room, walking down the hall. A mental image of the keys on the Undertaker's bedside table popped in her head, and she froze. The door to the Undertaker's bedroom was a few steps away, and she thought, maybe I can get a taxi.

But her feet seemed to move again of their own volition and she lingered in front of his bedroom door. I'm sure I wouldn't disturb him... He must be sleeping like a log in there.

The whole room was decorated in dark purples hues, and the furniture was black. As she'd predicted, the Undertaker was asleep, lying on the biggest bed she'd ever seen. He was resting on his side, one arm tucked underneath the pillow, the other folded against his chest, and his golden red tresses were streaming behind his head. He was snoring lightly; Lita smiled.

She stood there for a while, just watching him sleep. His face was completely relaxed and peaceful -almost childlike. Seemed strange to think of him as childlike, but he was, with his lips slightly parted and his fingers coiled in a loose fist.

He should have a blanket over him, Lita thought, gripped by an odd maternal impulse. She walked quietly out of the room, looking for a linen closet. She found it in the laundry room, and returned to the Undertaker's bedroom holding a huge comforter in her arms.

That was when she tripped on one of the Undertaker's boots, which he'd obviously kicked off while making a beeline for the bed ealier. Lita gasped, losing her balance and falling on the floor.

"Damn!" she hissed as she heard the Undertaker shift and groan. She hunkered on the ground, holding her breath, waiting for him to settle down again; instead, a sort of low growl drifted from above and when she raised her eyes, she saw him propped up on one elbow, looking at her.

"Uh... I was looking for the keys to the truck and uh, I uh, thought that they might be on your bedside table for some reason, and I -well I thought that I'd get you a blanket, and uh..."

"Oh," the Undertaker said, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead. "Here's the keys," he said, reaching over to the bedside table and holding them out to her. "I guess I must've clean forgot about that."

"Don't worry about it,"Lita said as she approached him, taking the keys and stowing them in her pocket. "I'm sorry I woke you. I... kinda tripped over one of your boots over there."

She put her hand on his shoulder, playfully pushing him back on the mattress again. "Ha ha. Joke all you want, big guy... Technically, I'm the one in charge 'til you're better, you know."

Lita swallowed and answered, "I... I... yeah. I thought... it just seemed like... well, I mean, you're a human being, after all, and you've been hurt and you were sleeping-"

The Undertaker gently drew her closer still. "That ain't somethin' I hear too often," he said, his voice as smooth and soft as cream.

Lita blinked a few times, and swallowed again. "You should... rest a bit longer. You were so tired when we got here... How about I go get you some Tylenols for your headache?"

"You don't have to go anywhere to help me with my headache, little girl," the Undertaker said, his hand stealing up her arm, his fingertips brushing her skin. Lita was reminded of a documentary she had once seen while spending another boring night in a hotel room -how an alligator controlled the pressure exerted by its jaws so that the fearsome beast could either crush bones, or delicately clutch its young, sheltering them in the most formidable of havens, and carry them to the water. She gazed at the Undertaker's powerful hand, touching her so tenderly, and there was a tickling sensation in her throat.

"I know that," she finally said, her throat clenched. As soon as she'd uttered the words, in her heart she knew that she believed it, though she couldn't explain why. This man would not hurt her...

She cradled his face between her hands. "It's okay," she said, stroking the pale red hair near his cheekbones. "I'm just afraid that... I'm worried that it's a little... a little too soon, you know, I mean... I think maybe we need to -to talk about it a bit more before..."

The Undertaker sighed again, closing his eyes. "I understand," he said, "I'm sorry. I... I don't know what got over me just now-"

"Shhh," Lita said, muffling his apologies with a kiss. "You didn't do anything wrong. It's just... I never guessed that the Undertaker... well... that he's got a soft side."

"It'll be our little secret," Lita said, kissing his cheek. "I promise I won't tell." She climbed off the bed and fluffed out the comforter, which she then lay over the Undertaker.

"You didn't rush me," she replied, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his black shirt. Her fingers shook slightly. I just need to make sure this isn't the concussion talking, she thought, struggling to quell her desire to rip his shirt open. "I wouldn't have let you go that far if I hadn't wanted you to. Besides... you're a good kisser."

Lita slowly straightened, chewing her lower lip. She couldn't take her eyes off his slumbering form. Her chest ached and everytime she thought of his kiss, her lips tingled pleasantly. Two days ago, she'd never even spoken to him once, and she doubted that she'd ever crossed his mind since she'd joined the company. He was the Undertaker... he had bigger fish to fry in the WWF.

But now... Now, everything was changed. Her fingers twitched as she recalled the urge she'd felt when she was unbuttoning his shirt... How she'd yearned to touch his chest. He said he didn't know what got over him, she thought. But what's gotten over me? I never expected he'd be like this...

She sat on the edge of bed next to him and caressed his cheek, his day old beard scraping her skin. "Whatsa matter, big guy?" she whispered. "The Undertaker can't have bad dreams."

"I'm not afraid," Lita murmured. But she was. She was more afraid than she'd been when he'd marched towards her at the airport, his tall frame brimming with hostility.

I wish I knew what was going on inside your head right now, Lita thought. Maybe then I'd know what's going on inside mine...

The Undertaker awoke a couple of hours later, feeling somewhat disoriented. His limbs were entangled in a comforter and he suddenly recalled his encounter with Lita, though it was hazy in places.

You goddamn oaf, he thought, tossing the comforter aside. He pushed his hair back with one hand, trying to remember exactly what had happened. He'd dragged her on top of him... kissed her. He could hear her voice, her halting protests -oh, hell.

The Undertaker swallowed, his heart hammering inside his wide chest. Take a shower. That's what I'm gonna do... and then I'll... I'm gonna find out just what in the hell went on. Oh God, tell me I didn't do anything to her.

He yanked off his clothes as he walked to the bathroom that adjoined his bedroom, his thoughts racing and then colliding with each other. When he'd opened his eyes, his headache had been nothing more than slight pulse at his temples, but now it was returning with a vengeance, thudding dully behind his forehead. He grabbed the edge of the bathroom counter, his chest wracked by ragged breaths.

He opened the medecine cabinet, knocking a few bottles down as his fingers fumbled for the Tylenol. He shook about five in the palm of his hand and gulped them down with some water.

Okay. Now jus' get a hold a yerself, he thought, stepping into the shower. He turned on the cold water and gasped as it hit his skin, but soon he was thinking more clearly. I'm sure nothin' happened, he reasoned. Kane didn't smash your skull that bad.

He got out of the shower and dried himself with a large towel. Then he wrapped it around his waist and leaning forward, he studied himself in the mirror; the bruise on the side of his face had grown darker. He scowled.

The Undertaker glared at his reflection for a moment, then lowered his eyes, his anger dwindling faster than it had materialized. He ran his hand down his face. Damn it, Kane... it didn't have to be like this.

He smoothed a layer of shaving cream upon his cheeks and reached for his razor. He was dragging the blade across his skin when he became aware of a mouth watering smell floating in the air.

He quickly finished grooming himself and got dressed, pulling on a pair of blue jeans and a t-shirt which he tucked in his pants.

Exhaling loudly, he left his bedroom and headed for the kitchen, pausing for an instant before entering. She must be all right, he hoped. He buried his hands down his pockets and went in the kitchen.

Lita was standing over the stove top, stirring something inside a big pan. She raised her head, smiling through the steam. "Hey there! I'm making some soup for ya. Chicken vegetable."

"You're looking better," Lita said as she sampled the soup. "Perfect. Wanna taste? I made it from scratch, if you can belive it."

The Undertaker smiled, bending down and opening his mouth. I couldn't 've done anything too stupid, he thought. "Delicious," he drawled softly. "I can't remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal."

"That's too bad, Taker," Lita said, putting the spoon back on the counter. She turned to fetch a couple of bowls out of the cupboard. "You never... get tired of being alone?"

"That's a shame," Lita said, handing him one of the bowls. She looked up at him, her gaze locking with his. Then she averted her eyes and scurried to retrieve table spoons from the top drawer.

The Undertaker followed, suddenly wondering why he'd never noticed that thong sticking up her pants before; a rush of color rose to his face.

"This is probably gonna sound pretty dumb, but... are you glad that I'm here? I know I'm an uninvited guest... I never meant to pester you or anything-"

"Come on, red," the Undertaker said. "You were only tryin' to help, and I, well, I kinda behaved like a big ol' gruff an' all... I didn't mean to upset you at the airport, little girl. I'm jus' not used to bein'... fussed over, is all."

The Undertaker shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I... Hell. I'm afraid that I... well, truth is, I can't even remember, but... I think I kissed you earlier, when you came in my room 'n, uh, I jus' don't know what else I did."

The Undertaker let out a deep breath, relief clearly etched upon his features. "God, little girl... I was so worried I'd hurt you."

Lita's eyes grew bright. "No, Taker. You didn't hurt me." She looked at him for a moment, trying to smile. "You said you'd never hurt me."

She shrugged, attempting to laugh, but it came out more like a sob. "It was just the nicest thing I'd ever heard. I'm sorry," she said, rising as well. "Some kick-ass girl I am. Listen... I'm sorry I put you on the spot," Lita continued as she started walking away. "I shouldn't 've gone in there in the first place-"

"Lita, wait," the Undertaker said, his hand closing around her arm. "Don't go, I..." He sighed and said, "aw, hell..." He drew her in his embrace and, lifting her slightly off her feet, bent his head and met her lips with his.

Lita's eyes widened but soon he could feel her relaxing in his arms, her small hands sliding up his broad chest and gripping his shoulders.

She trembled against him and he said, "Are you scared of me, Lita? I don't want you to be scared. I know I look big 'n mean, but-"

"No, no," she hastened to reassure him. "Kiss me again," she said, her arms circling his neck and pulling him lower. "Kiss me, Taker..."

His arms tightened around her waist and almost squeezed the breath out of her. "God, you don't know what you're doin' to me," he said and he began devouring her lips with increasing passion.

Her fingers dug in his thick, red hair and she moaned as his tongue entered her mouth, caressing its moist inner recesses.

Lita's small complaints emboldened him and he lifted her off the ground; she wrapped her legs around his waist, her tongue becoming more inquisitive and intertwining his.

"Yes," he rasped, his voice heavy with desire. He was so used to fighting, he'd almost forgotten how sweet love could be. He felt as though Lita had reached deep inside of him and clasped something which he'd refused to admit existed -yet, her touch now made that secret, forbidden part of him throb unbearably.

She smiled and kissed his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, the arch of his eyebrows, his eyelids, then moved on to his neck, her lips brushing the spot where his pulse betrayed the frantic beating of his heart.

The Undertaker's head fell back slightly as Lita's tongue skimmed his skin from the base of his throat all the way to his chin, which she gently clutched with her teeth. Then she renewed their kiss, suckling his upper lip.

He kicked the door open and soon he was lowering her to the bed, supporting himself upon his elbows so he wouldn't crush her with his massive weight. His hair fell like a curtain on either side of her face and once more his lips sought hers.

His face sank into the mattress next to her cheek, and he shook as her fingernails trailed along his spine. Her legs tensed around his butt, drawing him closer to her crotch, and the Undertaker cried out softly.

"Your wish is my command," he said in his deep baritone. He sat back upon his shins, and with one smooth gesture, he removed her pants, casting them aside.

Lita reached up, undoing his jeans, her eyes lit by a spark of mischief. "Why don't we see what we got here?" she murmured.

The Undertaker licked his lips in anticipation and his eyes rolled back as she exposed his stiffened, jaunting cock and caressed it with lingering strokes. He rocked his hips, his hands slipping underneath her tank top and then fondling her breasts through her bra.

"I -I won't be able to... to wait much longer," the Undertaker drawled, his Texan accent even more pronounced than usual, his hard cock surging from the mass of red curls in his groin. "God, little girl... oooh..." he moaned, screwing his eyes shut as she toyed with his solid shaft.

His fingers closed around the edge of her thong at her hip and he ripped them off, his chest rising and falling with the force of his hoarse, gulping breaths.

Once again he placed his elbows on either side of her, his body pressing down on hers slightly, and she embraced his neck, her eyes peering into his expectantly.

She pushed his pants down his buttocks and gripped the hard muscles there. "Come on... I want you... inside..." Lita begged.

Lita groaned as, inch by glorious inch, he worked his swollen penis deeper inside her moist passage. He stopped, allowing her to get used to his size, and kissed her again, tasting her soft, pliant lips.

"I wanna feel you... against me," Lita sighed, her hands clutching his shirt in tight fistfuls; with one arm, he yanked it over his head, one of the sleeves still hanging carelessly around the arm that he was using to prop himself up, his red locks cascading upon her face. While he was doing so, she arched her back, her fingers unclasping her bra, and as soon as she had squirmed out of it, his chest met her yielding breasts, gently crushing them, the softness of her flesh intoxicating him.

"Lita... Lita..." he repeated, rubbing his cheek against hers. Her inner muscles grasped his distended sex in a secret embrace and he gasped harshly.

Then he began taking long, measured strokes, his buttocks tensed in firm curves, his hips rocking her with a languorous rhythm.

Her fingers curved around his neck and her mouth widened as he slowly increased the speed of his thrusts, his engorged cock shoved deep inside of her, his crotch joining hers again and again.

Long strands of hair hung before his eyes as he lowered his head, his lips ravaging her mouth. He rolled his buttocks, delighting in the way she bucked beneath him.

He flexed his haunches, driving himself into her with furious intensity, his hands closing into fists. Then suddenly, he felt her convulsing against him and it pushed him over the edge -semen rushed from his cock in a fast and warm torrent, his pleasure uncoiling amidst guttural shouts.

The Undertaker's body sagged as release coursed through him, but he somehow managed to support most of his weight. He blinked, and to his astonishment, tears began spilling from his eyelashes.

Lita's arms enfolded his head and she pulled him upon her chest. "It's okay," she soothed, caressing his golden red hair as he wept.

She felt his arms snaking around her and lifting her off the mattress, dragging her along with him as he sat upon the bed. He held her against him like a doll, kissing her fiery red hair.