Features: Undertaker (Mark Calaway)
Rating: NC17 for language and sexual situations
Usual disclaimer - own nothing but my original characters, all the other people own themselves, WWE owns the trademark names, I'm doing this to exercise my creativity and for the sheer pleasure of writing. Ask my therapist!
Whoa! Been a damn long time since I posted any fic, but I'm back now babies!
Thanks for reading and remember - feedback is love . . . /end obligatory attention whoring!
In the end, John managed to win the game over Matt. Harley had once again met her downfall chasing a flush, but since she and Mark were busily playing footsie under the table for their own amusement, she wasn't overly bothered.
Mark for his part had gotten cocky when it came down to the final three, and had gone all in, only to have his pair of jacks beaten by Matt with three tens. Still, it did leave his attention free to enjoy how it felt to have Harley rubbing her feet over his legs gently.
But once the game was done, and the usual post mortem and bull session started, they bid the others goodnight. As Mark said with a chuckle, "I don't think anyone wants to watch us cuddling on the couch, Kate!"
Harley had to agree, and they made their way back to her room, Mark's arm around her shoulders as hers went around his waist. They stood together in the hallway as she dug her keycard out of her jeans pocket and opened the door to her room. She turned back to Mark with a smile.
"Gonna kiss me goodnight?"
"You better invite me in first," Mark said, his eyes meeting hers.
Her eyebrows raised. "What happened to the man who wasn't afraid of public displays of affection?" she asked, but she stepped into the room and beckoned to him anyway.
"There's public displays of affection, Kate, and then there's kissing you goodnight properly," was his reply as he closed the door behind him and advanced on her.
She smiled up at him, tossing her keycard onto the table. "Properly? Oh m . . . "
She got no further than that, seeing the raw desire blazing in his eyes. It galvanized her into action, her arms going up around his neck as she all but flung herself into his arms. He pulled her close, bending his head to capture her lips in a hard, passionate kiss. Their tongues duelled, and Harley was dimly aware of his arms shifting lower on her back.
Suddenly she felt herself lifted into the air as Mark straightened, holding her around the hips, and her legs wrapped around his body almost on instinct as her grip around his neck tightened. He turned and pressed her back against the wall, his big body pinning her there as they kissed with ever-increasing passion, the pent-up desire from the whole evening culminating in this fevered embrace.
Breaking the kiss only for the need to catch a few gasping breaths, Harley moaned against Mark's lips as she felt his erection pressed against her, before kissing him deeply, her hands tangled in his hair, her legs locked tightly around his hips.
Mark groaned into the kiss as he ground his hips to hers, his hands gripping her fiercely. It was he who broke the kiss this time, burying his face in her neck as he turned around, leaning his shoulders back against the wall, panting softly with equal parts need and frustration as he held her up.
Harley unlocked her ankles from behind his back and wriggled against him, sliding down his legs as he let go of his grip on her. Her own breathing was coming faster, and the feel of his erection against her belly through his jeans wasn't helping to cool her passion. Her trembling hands came up to his waistband, but before she could undo a single button, he recovered his wits enough to place his over them, shaking his head.
"No, sweetheart," he managed to croak, ignoring how his dick twitched at her movements.
She moaned, looking up at him, her eyes pleading with his. "Mark, there are . . . other ways, things we could do. Things I could do for you."
He bit down on a groan, and then gently took her face in his hands, shaking his head more firmly as he looked into her eyes. "I told you I wouldn't be satisfied with just that pretty mouth, Kate. Not when I want all of you. And I'm willing to wait to get what I want."
A shiver ran through her, and she leaned up to kiss him lightly.
"The next month is going to drag. You know that, don't you?"
He just nodded, pulling her into a hug, trying to ignore his throbbing erection. She seemed to understand, stepping away from him after only a few moments, biting her bottom lip.
"I'm sorry about . . . " Her eyes dropped from his face momentarily to the bulge in his jeans and then immediately came back to his face, her cheeks flushing a little.
Chuckling, he reached out to stroke his hand over her hair. "I'd say it's not your fault, but . . . "
"I still wish you'd let me . . . "
His hand moved to her chin, tipping her face up gently so he could look into her eyes. "I said no, Kate. Won't hurt me to spend the evening getting better acquainted with my own hand."
Her voice broke as she whispered, "Oh fuck!"
He leaned in to her, nuzzling his cheek to hers for a moment before whispering huskily, "What's the matter, sweetheart?"
She closed her eyes, trying not to sway towards him as she whispered, "Damn it, now I'm going to be thinking about you doing that, imagining what it looks like. And I'm going to have to do the same thing."
Now it was his voice that cracked. "I want to see that some day, Kate."
A little whimper was all she could manage at first, but she took a deep breath, trying to get herself under control before she spoke. "Only if I get to watch you too."
He dropped his head onto her shoulder with a deep groan, which she echoed.
After a long moment, she spoke again. "We gotta stop doing this to one another, Mark."
"How, Kate? I won't give up seeing you, and that's all it takes, it seems."
"I don't know! But damn it to hell, we aren't teenagers, we shouldn't have to be denying ourselves like this!"
"Hey," he said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close, "come on, you know there's a good reason for it."
She clung to him. "I know, Mark, but damn it, I miss you. I miss this." Her arms tightened around him momentarily in emphasis.
He could only sigh in frustration. He had wanted her to grow more comfortable with him so that she wouldn't shy away from intimacy, but he had no idea that would just fan the flames of the desire they both felt. And that made giving up what precious intimacy they had managed to enjoy that much harder.
"We'll figure something out, Kate," he said as his hand stroked over her hair gently.
She echoed his sigh. "I know." She nuzzled her head to his hand, looking up at him. "I don't want to say goodnight, but I think we should."
He nodded, although he didn't want to let her go either. But that was just going to get them back into trouble, sooner or later. He settled for a quick kiss goodnight, and left before he could change his mind about her offer, which was looking more tempting by the minute.
She waited until she figured he was a decent way down the hallway before going to the bed and lying down carefully, pressing her face into the pillow and letting loose the scream of frustration that had built up inside her. And then, just for good measure, she threw a temper tantrum, kicking her feet and punching the pillow. To hell with how much it hurt her tummy.
To say Mark and Harley spent an uncomfortable night would be understating matters considerably. At breakfast the next morning, neither of them looked as if they had slept particularly well. And where that might have been the spur for jokes, one look at either of them made most would-be wits reconsider.
It also didn't escape notice that she and Mark were, to put it bluntly, avoiding one another like the plague. Or more precisely, like they'd been unwillingly quarantined with the plague. There was no shortage of looks, mostly of the heated variety, but they sat at separate tables at breakfast. Again though, one look at either of them and the smart-ass comments died unsaid.
Harley was miserable. It did seem like the prudent course of action not to spend every moment with Mark, given the situation they'd gotten themselves into the night before, but that didn't mean she had to like it.
And she didn't. Not one little bit. And she discovered something rather surprising while she was not liking being separated from him. She'd gotten very used to just being with him. They didn't even have to be talking to one another - sitting at the same table with him while he held conversations with other people was enough.
That was quite the earth-shattering revelation. But it only served to underscore her current misery. It did seem cosmically unfair to be unable to enjoy his company without their hormones leading them astray. She pondered this quandry over her second cup of coffee, to the point where Bob had to ask her a second time if she was ready to leave for the venue.
As she stood up, Mark looked over at her from his table. And his expression said he was enjoying this separation about as much as she was, namely, not at all. That was all it took to decide her. It was time to take this bull by the damned horns. She told Bob she'd be right with him, and headed for Mark's table.
He saw her coming, and rose to his feet, a question in his eyes. She smiled at him as she reached him, and reached up to take his face in her hands, drawing him down gently to kiss him. A brief kiss, to be sure - she wasn't looking for more trouble after all. He responded with a smile of his own, his arms going around her to hug her gently. She sighed very softly and nuzzled her cheek to his for a moment, and then stepped back from him, her hand caressing his face a moment longer.
"See you for lunch?" Mark asked her, smiling.
"Sure," she responded with a smile of her own. "You know where to find me."
He nodded. "Have a good morning, Kate."
"You too, Mark."
She nodded and then headed out to find Bob. Feeling a damn sight better than she had before.
Harley spent most of the morning in Bob's office, working on the never-ending paperwork with her iPod on. Her ever-present rock music made the drudgery almost bearable, although she chafed at the restrictions that her recovery placed on her. She wasn't really cut out to drive a desk, fundamentally. She itched to be actually doing something with her hands, rather than just pushing a pencil.
Her mood improved a little once she moved on to her laptop to continue work on designing the opening pyros for the Pay Per View. Particularly reading her emails, which had her connecting her iPod and linking to iTunes to download some new music that had been sent to her. There were some distinct advantages to her links to all those bands, she thought with a chuckle as she started listening to a new album.
Still, eventually she needed to escape the office, and she grabbed a coffee from Catering before heading out to check on her crew. Technically, Bob was supervising them, but she still liked to know how things were going. Not that any of them needed much in the way of supervision, but this was currently the closest she was getting to doing what she really loved.
She wandered through the arena, sipping her coffee, chatting to various people and resisting the urge to kibbitz - her people knew their stuff, they didn't need her second guessing them. Everything was on track, as she knew it would be. She finished her coffee while chatting with Bob, and then decided to get some more work done on the opening pyro display. She'd been struck with inspiration watching her crew assemble the shells for the evening's show, and was eager to get her ideas down before she forgot them.
The computer program she used to design her displays allowed her to work backwards from the actual shell effect, and automatically calculated the detonation sequences for her, but sometimes she worked the old fashioned way, figuring the detonation manually and then slotting it in.
Even though there was no soundtrack for the display, as there often was with outdoor shows, she found it useful to use the theme song for the Pay Per View as a backdrop. It gave her useful timing points to work with, and also created a rhythmic display, even if no one could actually hear the music she was programming to.
Ben had also sent her a new program, which could take the detonation program she created and provide a visual simulation of the resulting display. That was a fun tool, and one she was sure she was going to be working with more often, as she flicked between it and the detonation program, tweaking the timing points, mixing the colors and generally having more fun than usual with her job.
Before she knew it, it was lunch time. She wasn't sure when Mark was going to be arriving, but it was probably time for her to check in with Bob and the crews. She rose from her chair with a careful stretch and headed out of the office, making her way through the arena's corridors towards the backstage area.
The roster were starting to arrive, and the venue was beginning to have that familiar crowded feeling that said a televised show was in the making. Harley exchanged greetings with people as she searched for Bob, finding him with a group of lighting techs and quickly getting involved in the discussion about the lighting rigs.
As the discussion ended and the group broke up, Bob grinned at her knowingly. She just shrugged - she'd never made any secret of preferring to be hands-on when it came to work.
She decided to make her way to Catering, figuring that was the most likely place to find Mark at this hour. On her way, though, someone called her name. She turned, and saw John Cena heading towards her. She stopped, giving him a wave.
He smiled at her. "Hi Harley."
She chuckled to herself - John had such boyish charm, it was hard not to return that smile. With interest, when he threw in those dimples for free. She smiled back. "What can I do for you, John?"
He looked at her seriously. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you and 'Taker need to stop coming to the poker games together."
She blinked in surprise. "Huh?"
"Yeah, the guys took a vote and . . . just, no."
What in the blue hell? They'd been playing poker together for months. "Why?"
"Because the eye fucking was putting everyone off their game!"
John gestured impatiently. "The eye fucking. Smouldering looks. Whatever the hell you want to call it."
She could feel a blush rising in her cheeks. But John still had more to say.
"Hell, we had a side bet goin' on when 'Taker was gonna leap across the table and start tearing your clothes off. That's a scary fuckin' thought, you know? I mean, not just havin' to worry about my beer goin' flying', but I gotta say I don't think I'm ready to see the Deadman gettin' it on right in front of me."
Harley could only boggle at him. She had to admit, there was a lot of truth in his words. Still, it was a little uncomfortable being reminded about the events of last night. Particularly if she and Mark had been the topic of conversation after they'd left. In fact, now that she thought about it, that was just a little impolite of them. She started to bristle.
Most people who knew her at all would have caught the warning in that tone, but John seemed to have the bit between his teeth.
"Yeah, really. I mean, we wouldn't mind if you still played some nights. Just - not with 'Taker. Is that cool?" He gave her a hopeful look.
"Well now, John, I don't know. Have you discussed this with Mark?" There was an edge in her voice now, one that would have sent anyone on her crew running for cover, screaming "Incoming!" as they did.
John dropped his eyes with a little shrug. "I was . . . kinda hoping you'd tell him."
Her eyes widened. "You're tellin' me cos you don't have to guts to tell him, aren't you? You chickenshit!"
"Aw c'mon, Harley!" John pleaded with her. "Everyone knows you got the Deadman wrapped 'round your little finger! He'll take it from you! If I told him, he'd chokeslam the life outta me!"
It was about then that Harley started to get the very strong suspicion she was being played. Despite that very earnest expression, there was a twinkle of amusement in John's eyes. And out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Matt Striker loitering nearby.
During her time with the company, she'd learned about the strong sense of fun most people had, and the long tradition of practical jokes and pranks. Unfortunately for John, her growing friendship with Mark had also taught her how effective his far more psychological methods of warfare could be.
She gave John a steely stare, her hands on her hips. "Is that so, John?"
People were starting to pause, observing this little scene, which was pretty obviously what John was hoping for. After all, a good prank needed an appreciative audience. Harley flicked a gaze around and then ignored them, her eyes boring into John's face. He did a passable imitation of Vince McMahon's gulp of terror, complete with bobbing Adam's apple, nodding.
"He'll kill me, Harley!"
It was too perfect, really. She abandoned Mark's methods for her own far more direct approach, resisting the urge to grin. "He'll kill you? Motherfucker, I'll kill you! I'll just enjoy it better!"
Paul Levesque, who like so many others had stopped to watch, couldn't help his laughter, instantly recognizing the quote from his movie debut in Blade: Trinity. The laughter quickly spread, but Harley stood her ground, and simply raised an eyebrow at John.
John held it together a moment or two longer, and then cracked, grinning with a boyish shrug. His grin faded, though, as Mark came up behind Harley silently, fixing him with an intense gaze.
Harley was under no illusions - she wasn't that scary, except to her crew, and she suspected the reason for John's expression stood almost seven feet tall and was looming menacingly over her shoulder. Still, every prank needed a winner, and she firmly intended to be it.
"You got something to say to me and my man, John? Well, here we are - why don't you just spit it out?"
John knew when he was beat. He made a little gesture of "Well, see, it's like this . . . " and then turned and fled, an expression of cartoonish terror on his face and Matt Striker at his heels, amid general laughter. But Harley still had a parting shot.
She called after him. "You can run, John, but you can't hide. And your next entrance is going to come with a new pyro that'll be aimed right at your ass!"
John lost it completely then, conveniently right beside Lillian Garcia, burying his face in her shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her, apparently overcome with laughter. An effect somewhat spoiled when he lifted his head to grin and wink broadly at anyone who was looking.
As laughter erupted around them, Harley licked the tip of one finger and marked a point in the air. "That's one for me."
Mark lay his hand on her shoulder, and she looked around at him. There was just the hint of a smile on his face, an expression she was coming to know very well. And treasure.
"Hey chief," she smiled.
"I see you've having a good day, sweetheart," he said as his fingers caressed her gently.
"It's improved out of sight, now you're here." She paused a moment, then dropped her face into her hand. "Oh God, that was so damned corny!"
He threw his head back and laughed, pulling her into a hug. "Won't get any argument from me on that, Kate! But I think I can cut you some slack."
She wrapped her arms around his waist and returned the hug, smiling up at him. "And why's that, Mark?"
He brushed her bangs from her eyes with one finger, regarding her with that hint of a smile again. "I did rather like hearing you call me your man just now."
Harley blinked in surprise, and felt her stomach do a little flip-flop, remembering she had indeed called him 'her' man. She guessed she'd finally gotten her head around the fact that they had a relationship, after all. And that wasn't scaring her near as much as it once might have.
The other surprise was that her hormones weren't messing with her head at the moment, despite being held so close to Mark. And that was damned nice, she thought, hugging him again before looking up at him.
"Let's do lunch, chief."
He chuckled. "I'd love to do lunch with my woman."
As they wandered towards Catering, he asked her idly, "So what was it John wanted to say?"
Harley just burst out laughing.
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