Rating: R
Content: M/M sexual situations
Distribution: Go ahead, just let me know where.
Disclaimer: Much as it saddens me, I don't own these guys, so don't sue me for having a very creative imagination!
Summary: A little investigation turns into something Shane never dreamed.
April 12, 2000
The door creaked loudly as Shane McMahon slowly crept into the old abandoned house. He stood in the foyer for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness. He shifted his camcorder higher on his shoulder, making sure it was turned on, flicking on his flashlight. Off to the left was a parlor musty with age, the furniture draped in dusty oilcloths, looking like hunched trolls just waiting for an unsuspecting person to wander close so they could pounce and devour. To the right was a study, the books veiled in cobwebs. He entered it and slid a volume from the shelf, blowing a cloud of dust from the binding. "Shakespeare's Sonnets in Latin and French. He replaced it and moved to the teak desk, bare but for an inkwell, the quill pen so brittle with age that when he touched it, it crumbled into powder. He lightly twirled the huge globe standing by the heavily draped window, watching it spin, flecks of plaster and paint flying off.
He left the room and wandered through the house, cautiously peeking in each door before he entered, his heart pounding every time, expecting at any moment for some horrible creature to bound out at him. He recorded his impressions in a soft whisper, careful to aim the camera into every corner and shadowed alcove.
After exploring the upper floors, he made his way to the cellar door, resting a hand on the knob, trying to calm his jangling nerves. This was the last place to look, apprehensive of what he might find. He had his suspicions, but was unwilling to admit that they could be a distinct possibility.
Shane McMahon was an investigative reporter for the Town Crier, a local paper dedicated to exposing corruption both domestically and nationally. He was considered the top in his field, his specialty uncovering supernatural events and rumors and either proving them false or redeeming them.
His current case was of a prominent member of the community suspected of engaging in disturbing and mysterious behavior. He'd been researching his subject for the past month now and even went so far as to follow him, seeing where he went and what he did. He could neither prove or disprove the rumors and speculation.
That was until now. He'd noticed that his subject, Mark Callaway, the town's Undertaker, often visited this old house at the end of Cardinal Lane, So often that he'd frequently spend all day there. He'd tried to ascertain just what Mr. Callaway did in there till dusk, but the lower floor windows were boarded tight and he couldn't see in. Once he'd even dared to climb the old oak tree in the back yard and look in, but there was nothing to see but empty bedrooms.
Shane had finally become impatient. His editor was pressuring him to complete the investigation and write the story by the end of the week or be demoted to copy boy. He'd already wasted too much time on this case. Shane had been drawn into it like a moth to a flame. Mark Callaway fascinated Shane beyond anything he'd ever experienced. Just his sheer presence was enough to inspire both awe and fear.
The undertaker was very tall, topping almost 7 feet, with fiery red hair and mesmerizing green eyes. His pale skin, somber attitude, and perpetually black attire proclaimed his profession without asking. He wasn't handsome in the conventional sense, but sensually attractive. His eyes seemed to see through to the soul, laying you bare and vulnerable to whatever his cunning mind desired. His voice, low and gravelly, reminded one of dark, creepy graveyards, tombstones askew in the disturbed earth. He mostly kept to himself, rarely appearing in public except to charity affairs and replenishing his supplies.
Shane just couldn't seem to think of much else but Mark. His dreams were riddled with his image, the most prominent feature being those green orbs. He'd finally decided to make his move, choosing dusk, since Mark always did his work at night, leaving the house vacant. He didn't quite know what he expected to find, but he hoped to discover just what it was Mark Callaway did in this run-down abode. Especially, considering he had a magnificent mansion on the outskirts of town with lavish furnishings and servants up the whazoo!
Shane took a deep breath, commented that he was about to enter the cellar, then fell silent. He didn't know why he was whispering and tiptoeing around. There was no one here, after all. But this house seemed to demand it, as if to speak any louder than a whisper would disturb some slumbering beast who would wreak vengeance for his audacity.
He slowly opened the door and descended into the pitch blackness.
*****
Mark Callaway heard him approaching and was amused at the hesitant way his footsteps sounded on the rickety stairs. He had waited for Shane McMahon to attempt to find out his secret. Truth to tell, he'd expected him much sooner than this. He'd been fully aware of his surveillance of him, entertaining himself by leading him on wild goose chases, letting him come close to the truth, but carefully steering him away before he revealed it. He was much amazed at his persistence and boldness; trespassing on private property and video-taping his crime. He smiled predatorily. He wondered what Shane would do when he finally realized that his suspicions were indeed an actuality.
Mark waited.
*****
Shane's camera caught the furnace, then the bare pipes sticking out of the wall, the low wooden beams of the ceiling, the flashlight pointing out the unevenly laid flooring. He nearly fainted when he saw what stood in the middle of the room.
A huge mahogany coffin on a steel stand gleamed in the glare of the flashlight, the dark wood seeming to glow. He froze for what seemed like years before stepping cautiously forward. His instincts were screaming for him to turn tail and get his ass out of there, but his curiosity and duty compelled him to follow through.
He looked down at the closed lid of the casket, touching his fingertips to the cool wood, feeling a shiver of uneasiness crawling down his spine, tightening his belly until it felt like he'd swallowed lead balls. He screwed up his flagging courage and grasped the handle, aiming the camera to record everything, shifting the torch under his arm. He lifted the lid...
And screamed.
The camera slipped from his numb fingers, the flashlight following, crashing to the floor unnoticed. The beam of light from the torch was angled so that Shane's horrified gaze was riveted on the sight before him.
He looked down into the pale face of Mark Callaway, large hands crossed over his chest, long hair spread out on the midnight blue velvet of the pillow. His eyes were closed, features composed into an expressionless mask.
"Holy shit!" Shane breathed, his dark eyes wide with shock. They widened even more at what happened next.
Mark's eyes popped open, fixating on Shane with a fierce stare.
"Welcome to my humble abode, Shane," he rumbled in a mild voice. "I've been waiting for you."
Shane dropped his hand from the lid and stumbled back a few steps, his heart seeming to claw up his throat to lodge painfully. He couldn't breathe or think, his mind shutting down completely.
Mark slowly sat up, never taking his glittering eyes from Shane. "You've been very busy, haven't you, my boy?" he observed mirthlessly. "I've enjoyed leading you on a merry chase, seeing you muddling through your useless research, floundering through your incompetent pursuit of me."
Shane managed to gulp in air and gasped, "You-you're not...you're not really a...are you?
Mark grinned broadly, revealing a set of wickedly sharp fangs. "Oh, but I'm afraid that all your conjectures were true." His eyes suddenly sharpened, the pupils dilating until they appeared black. "Why don't you step closer, young Shane?"
Shane's mind abruptly calmed, feeling as if cotton batting had been pressed to his thoughts. He found himself moving toward Mark, halting at the side of the coffin. Absently, he noticed that he was garbed in a black-silk dressing gown, his feet bare, a long strip of his smooth chest exposed.
"I've been doing a little research of my own, dear boy," Mark murmured, reaching out to trail a finger down Shane's throat, smiling at the shudder that racked him. "You're pretty much a workaholic, aren't you? Never going out on dates, no parties, no little outings to release some of the tension of your high-pressure job... Poor Shane. What about your more...ahh, shall we say, baser needs, hmmm?" He caught Shane's hand and stroke the fingers almost tenderly. "You haven't had any intimate relations for over a year now, too wrapped up in deadlines and supernatural sensationalism to allow yourself to attend to your body's clamoring for more sensual delights."
Shane was surprised that Mark knew so much about him. He blushed at the intimidating man's words and tried to pull his hand away, but Mark effortlessly retained it, caressing his palm and the inside of his wrist. "Pl-please, let me go."
Mark chuckled softly, capturing his other hand and drawing him forward, so that he leaned into the casket. "You're afraid of me, aren't you, lovely Shane?" Shane blinked, the fear in his eyes readily apparent. "Ahhh, you are very wise to be terrified of me," he said, nodding in approval. "I could assault you at any moment and drain you within seconds."
Shane stifled a sob at the awful image, tears beginning to sheen his eyes.
Mark tisked, catching a teardrop as it fell from his lashes. He brought it to his lips and tasted it, outlining Shane's mouth with the wet finger. "Don't weep, my love. I have no intention of killing you...yet." He sifted his hand through Shane's dark, shoulder-length hair, grunting at its silkiness. "I have other plans for you before I turn my mind to...well, we'll discuss that later. You see, my lad, I must confess that I've neglected my carnal desires for quite a while, as well, and feel the need to sate them. Since you have wandered into my domain...uninvited, I might add...I believe that you will do quite nicely."
Shane whimpered helplessly, unable to make his limbs obey his commands. His lips trembled as Mark gracefully vaulted from the coffin, shutting the lid lovingly stroking the rich, dark wood.
Mark was amused by Shane's fear, skimming his fingers over his cheek, gently curling a hand behind his neck and drawing him forward. He bent his head to brush a light kiss over those full, quivering lips. "There's no need to be afraid of me, sweet Shane," he whispered, voice deep and velvety, sensual...hypnotizing. "I'm going to give you more pleasure than anyone has ever experienced in their mortal existence."
Shane shivered at the warm, moist puffs of his breath against his face, feeling a liquid heat enter his body at Mark's words. He gazed up at the large vampire, wondering if this was what mind-control was like. His fear was fading like a wisp of smoke, to be replaced by surrender; a total relinquishment of his will to whatever Mark wished of him. Mark smiled, tracing Shane's lips with his thumbs, silently urging him to open his mouth. He did so, gasping as Mark plundered the depths, conquering him with one stroke of his sinuous tongue. He swayed toward the bigger man, clutching his robe tightly, his knees having grown rubbery.
"Mmm...I think you're beginning to warm to me, sweetheart." Mark laughed quietly, abruptly lifting the smaller man in his arms and sitting him on the lid. He deftly removed Shane's clothes, taking a moment to admire the pale, leanly muscled body before arranging him so that a leg hung on either side of the casket. "I suppose that you know how to pleasure yourself, right?" Mark inquired, strolling to the end of the coffin and crossing his massively muscled arms over his broad chest.
Shane tentatively nodded, his face blooming a hot pink.
"Show me," the green-eyed vampire demanded harshly.
Shane cleared his throat nervously, wondering how he'd ever gotten himself into this. "Y-you mean here? Right now? I-in front of you?"
Mark's lids drooped to half-mast, the pupils black as burning coals. "Right here. Right now. In front of me."
Shane's eyes glazed a little as Mark exerted his mindpower on him. His hands raised up, fingertips resting on his chest, thumbs barely circling his nipples. They sprang to attention under his plucking.
"Roll them between your fingers, love," Mark rasped, eyes nearly glowing with the intentness of his gaze. "Pinch them hard."
Shane obeyed, moaning as sparks of delight flickered through him. He glided his hands down, then laid them on his thighs, slightly rubbing in small circles, slowly inching upward. He lifted his feet, planting them on the handles on either side of the casket, his knees spread wide, exposing all of himself to Mark's avid perusal.
"Yes, Shane," he growled deep in his chest. "you know exactly how to display yourself to the best advantage, you little whore."
Shane flinched, but didn't stop his exploration. His fingers toyed with his balls, tugging and squeezing them until they became full. His eyes fluttered shut as the pleasure began to flood him. He gripped the root of his shaft with one hand and slowly, sensuously started pumping it. He used his free hand to trace his fingers up and down the throbbing veins, opening his eyes and looking down to watch himself. His hips tilted forward and back, matching the rhythm of his hand. He gently pinched the head, groaning as a stab of enjoyment shot through him.
"Enough!"
Shane looked at Mark, blinking dazedly, his body on fire and needing relief. "Wh-what?"
Mark set his hands on the wooden casket, leaning forward, his eyes boring into Shane. "You've done your job too well, love," he murmured. "Lie down. No, leave your feet where they are."
Shane reclined backwards until the cool mahogany was pressed into his heated skin. He looked down to see Mark dropping his robe and climbing onto the coffin, his eyes widening at the magnificence of his body. He was powerfully built, but lean and well-proportioned, the many colorful tattoos seeming to float and ripple over the flexing muscles. He swallowed as his meandering eyes fell upon the already engorged staff of the pallid vampire, thick and long, almost pulsing with a life of its own. He shuddered at the size, his buttocks clenching at the thought of that enormous column buried deep inside him.
"Put your arms above your head and clasp the handle," Mark instructed, poising on hands and knees like some predatory animal...sleek and deadly.
Shane hastened to comply, trembling as Mark leisurely moved up the lid until he was hovering between Shane's thighs. He stared down at the lovely, sprawled Shane for a very long moment, grunting in appreciation before bending down to capture his lips, probing the sweet depths with his tongue, a hand holding his jaw as he angled his head for a deeper invasion, his long hair flowing around them like a flaming curtain.
"Ahh, so sweet," he rumbled, dropping lower to ravish the tender vulnerability of his throat, lightly scraping his teeth over the fluttering pulsepoint, suppressing the urge to sink his fangs into the succulent flesh and drink deep. He rested in the hollow, licking the warm skin, growling low in his chest when Shane curved up against him.
Shane whimpered as Mark spiraled his wet tongue around the tight nub of his nipple, closing his lips around it and suckling gently, his hands smoothing over Shane's ribs. He moved to the other, biting hard. Shane gasped in pain, then groaned as Mark soothed the wound with a warm tonguewashing.
"Please, Mark..."
Mark raised his head, looking into Shane's dark ones. "You will call me Master. Is that clear?"
Shane nodded, only able to focus on what Mark was doing to him. He gasped sharply as Mark's hands drifted lower, lightly skimming his fingers over the satiny interior of his thighs, slowly letting his mouth follow. He worked his way down one thigh and back up the other, hesitating before taking both of Shane's balls into his mouth. He delicately nibbled and tongued them, grazing the edges of his fangs over the skin, nipping them, careful not to draw blood. Shane began to beg, his hips arching toward him. Mark raised his head, studying his lover thoughtfully, enjoying his distress. He lowered his mouth, halting just before actually touching him, letting his warm breath puff tantalizingly on his sensitized skin. Then, he brushed a featherlike kiss on the tip, flicking his tongue out to lap up the pearly drops of moisture.
"God, Master...please!"
Mark tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth curving up into a faint smile. "Please, what, Shane? Please stop? Or is it please suck me?"
Shane looked at him with frantic need. "Yes, suck me...yes, please."
"Please...what?"
Please, Master."
Mark nodded in approval and enclosed the head of his cock in wet heat as a reward. He infinitesimally inched him down his relaxed throat, applying the barest amount of suction. He barred his forearm across Shane's hips to prevent him from bucking, curling his sinuous tongue around the thickness, tracing the throbbing veins, gradually working his way back up, releasing him briefly. "Is that what you wanted, love," Mark husked, running the backs of his fingers up and down the straining length of his cock.
Shane licked the sweat that had formed above his upper lip, body racked with tremors. "Yes...yes, that's what I want."
"You don't want me to take you fully in my mouth and suck you deep, making you scream with pleasure?" Mark taunted in amusement, gently pinching the head, then rubbing a thumb over the tiny hole, bringing it to his lips and tasting him again.
"Mar-Master...I really want you to suck me...please, I can't bear any more."
The green eyes watched him impassively for a very long time, his fingers never stopping their teasing and stroking. He abruptly bent his head and took Shane completely down his throat, burying him to the root. He drew upward, sucking strongly, repeating this over and over, relishing Shane's whimpers and cries of delight. Mark cupped his buttocks, lifting them to give him more pleasure, rising and falling rapidly, wanting to bring him to the edge quickly. Just as Shane's panting whines grew more intense, his shaft swelling, readying to spill, hips jerking uncontrollably, Mark released him, laying him back down and sitting back, legs dangling over the sides of the casket, observing Shane's reaction.
Shane whimpered in extreme disappointment, his eyes fluttering open to see Mark watching him. As soon as their eyes locked, Mark's hands deliberately began to stroke himself, pumping slow and easy. Shane sucked in his breath harshly, his body growing even more aroused at the sight. He sat up and pushed Mark's hands away, taking over his ministrations. His dark eyes intent on the other man's. He tugged and squeezed, fondling his balls, observing his face tightening as his desire increased, until he slapped Shane's hands away and wrapped his arms around him, lifting and turning him so that he lay on his stomach. He thoroughly wet his fingers with his own saliva before trailing down the valley of his buttocks, fingering the puckered hole. He eased them inside, one by one, carefully stretching him open, letting his body adjust.
Shane moaned under his breath, rearing back against the invasion, hooking his toes in the handles, his hands in the ones near the top, pleading for Mark to take him.
Mark chuffed quietly, it not quite reaching a chuckle, his body clamoring for relief. He spat into his palm and slicked his shaft, making sure he was sufficiently lubricated. He didn't want to damage the boy, after all. He removed his hand from Shane and guided himself to his entrance.
Shane bit hard into the meaty part of his arm, attempting to fight back the tears of pain as Mark cautiously pushed inside, his body instinctively tensing. The discomfort, however, swiftly gave way to a delicious fullness. He levered himself up onto his elbows, rocking backwards to take more of him. ""Yeah...oh, yeah, Master...more!"
Mark groaned, delving deeper, letting him accommodate, trying to hold onto his control, nearly losing it when Shane wriggled, attempting to urge him on. He thrust, embedding himself deep, murmuring Shane's name as the snug heat enveloped him. He slowly withdrew, then plunged back inside, both men nearly whimpering at the sweet friction.
"God, Shane...tight...you're so tight," Mark gasped, rocking in and out in an easy rhythm, not wanting to rush anything. He grasped Shane's hip with one hand, reaching around with the other to deftly pump his cock, matching the tempo of his smoothly working hips.
Shane was insane with hunger, feeling almost animalistic in his desire to finish. He balanced himself on the heels of his hands and half-sat in Mark's lap, panting his name as he tried to ride him. He cursed in frustration when Mark banded a heavily muscled arm around his waist and forced him to be still while he continued his maddening pace.
Mark wanted desperately to just pound Shane into oblivion, but he also wanted this to be the best encounter of both their lives. He thrust effortlessly in and out, grunting with each instroke.
Shane couldn't stand any more! He gripped Mark's forearm, heaving himself up and slamming down on him, growling ferally at the exquisite sensations, spikes of pleasure jolting through him. "Come on, Master," he gritted, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. "Please, finish me. Fuck me....now!"
Mark's tenuous control snapped. He shoved Shane down, bracing his feet on the steel handles, raising Shane's hips and pulling him closer, then began plunging hard and fast, hips snapping back and forth, eliciting loud mews of encouragement. "Shane...ooooh, so good. I want you to come for me now. Come for me," Mark demanded, slipping a hand beneath him to jerk and knead his cock, urging him to obey.
Shane's breathing wheezed in his throat as he spiraled upward, the pinnacle of ecstasy looming close. He strove for it, tilting his hips, in a frenzy of need. "Oh, yeeeesss!" Shane mewled. "Like that...harder...oh, Master, I'm coming...coming..."
Mark endeavored to drive him over the edge, lunging savagely until Shane stiffened, shrieking as he spurted his seed over his stomach and Mark's hand, convulsing at the intense climax.
Mark exhaled sharply, twisting his hand in Shane's hair and wrenching him back into a sitting position. "Ride me," he murmured sibilantly. "Make me come now."
The exhausted Shane obliged, bouncing firmly on him, licking Mark's hand clean as he brought it to his lips, tasting himself. He swiveled his hips for the maximum penetration, moaning in surprise as he felt himself growing stiff again. He angled the downward strokes to rub his prostate, leaning back and raising his arms, curling them around Mark's neck.
"mmmm, you're a clever little bitch, aren't you, my Shane?" Mark whispered in his ear, tracing his tongue down his throat, pausing at the rapidly beating pulse, lingering thoughtfully. "Faster, baby," he ordered softly, the underlying strain becoming apparent. He resumed stroking Shane's cock, working to bring him off quickly. He waited for that precise moment.
Shane couldn't believe that he was coming again! That had never happened before. He arched and writhed, striving for release. When it came he screamed, barely noticing the tiny pinpricks of pain in his neck, swallowed up by the waves of pleasure.
Mark drank voraciously, still driving deeply, tasting the sweet nectar of his climax. He growled as he finally came, erupting in hot pulsing bursts. He concentrated on taking as much as he could from the now unconscious young man, stopping short of completely draining him. He sealed the wounds with soft flicks of his tongue. He gently laid him down, withdrawing and planting light-almost tender-kisses on his cheekbone and temple, brushing his damp hair back, watching him closely for hours, unable to keep from caressing his silky, flawlessly smooth skin.
"Beautiful Shane..." he mused quietly. "You are quite a surprise to me. I wonder what others you have hidden in that remarkable brain...and body...of yours. Shall I linger to find out?"
*****
Shane awoke with a pounding headache and a mouth as dry as the Sahara. He blinked his eyes open, hearing a groan. It took him a moment to realize it was coming from him. He sat up gingerly, cradling his throbbing head, letting it settle down before looking around him.
He saw that he lay at the foot of the cellar steps, his body awkwardly sprawled on the floor. Then noticed that he was fully dressed. He cautiously stood, groaning again, then went to pick up his flashlight. In a second, his pain was forgotten as he gaped at what he saw...or rather DIDN'T see before him.
The coffin was gone. He swept the beam around the room, catching sight of the furnace and pipes again, seeing his broken video camera on the ground...but where the casket had stood, there was only a bare floor. The thick layer of dust that covered it looked as if it hadn't been disturbed for years. He just stared at it for an unknown amount of time, his mind unable to comprehend what he was seeing.
He eventually came back to himself, shaking off the cobwebs. He picked up his recorder and slowly went up the steps and out of the house. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was 1:30 in the afternoon. He'd left his apartment yesterday evening at 7. He felt numb and confused. Had he just imagined last night? He put a hand to his neck, half-expecting to find the puncture marks of Mark's teeth.
But there was nothing.
He went home and fell into bed, instantly sinking into a deathly still slumber. He didn't wake for three days, feeling achy and out of sorts when he finally did. He called in sick to work not wanting to be around people right then. He moped around for most of the day, trying to understand what had happened to him. He gradually came to the conclusion that he must have fallen down the steps and hit his head, causing the wildly erotic hallucinations. The fall must have also broken his camera.
But no matter how hard he tried to believe that logical explanation, his mind kept going back to the feelings evoked in that 'trip'. It just seemed too damned real to be a dream. He remembered the sensation of Mark moving inside him, the exquisite fullness, the intense orgasm...
But what other explanation could there be for what he'd experienced but a dream. There was no evidence that there had been anyone in that cellar for years other than himself. He got a headache trying to sort things out in his confused mind.
*****
The next day, he went back to work, telling the editor that there was no need to continue the investigation on Mark Callaway. It was a dead end. He went to his office and went through his stacks of mail and messages, absorbed in the job he neglected since diving headlong into the enigma that was Mark Callaway. He was surprised when his colleague, Mary Dylan, popped her head in and told him it was checkout time.
Shane rubbed his neck wearily, tidying up his desk before going home. As he stepped in the doorway, his eye was caught by the broken camcorder and an idea struck him. There was a way to prove if what had happened really happened. There wouldn't be much picture after he dropped the camera, but at least he would see the coffin briefly.
Excited now, he extracted the tape from the cracked plastic and metal and went to the VCR, popping it in and anxiously waiting for the tape to roll.
He saw all the stuff he recorded in the main house, fast-forwarding it to when he stood at the cellar door. He descended the stairs.
He saw the furnace...outthrust pipes....ceiling beams...
The camera swung to take in the center of the room...
Shane stared silently, not really surprised at what he saw.
Empty space. No coffin. There was a soft curse and the camera fell, abruptly cutting off as the workings smashed.
It had been a dream. Camera's didn't lie.
He valiantly pushed the whole incident to the back of his mind, refusing to think about it, working on just living his life as normally as possible.
But in the deepest part of the night, his slumber was invaded by erotic dreams. The feel of hands, tongue and body tormenting him. He'd wake sobbing Mark's name as he came, spilling himself over his stomach.
*****
And in the darkness outside Shane's open window, the undertaker would grin smugly, moonlight gleaming on his sharp fangs, whispering Shane's name. He'd slip into the shadows, the sound of his wicked laughter drifting away on the night breeze.