Her name was Victoria, and she was the most beautiful thing in his life.

She was particularly narrow, that was one thing that stood out right away. She had been crafted for a lady years before the woman ever intended to die; and when she had, the coffin was too slender, and the family had to commission another. Undertaker had barely been able to conceal his smugness when they put that inferior being into the ground, boxed up in cheap pine stained to look expensive, resting on pillows filled with sawdust rather than down. Victoria was a queen amongst her subjects, set proudly in the middle of the room – rich dark mahogany with elegant curves giving way to sharp ridges. There were little figures etched into the side and on the lid, gold leave pressed into their details. Everything about her was perfect down to her rich crimson lining, plush and soft with a nice plump pillow, a perfect resting place for the departed. Undertaker had crawled in several times before, setting the lid in place above his head and breathing in the overly sweet scent of myrrh, a resin he felt suited her – so he kept the sachets in her corners filled with it. He liked to imagine the first handful of dirt being thrown, and then eventually would find himself fantasizing about being buried alive, held forever in place between Victoria's rigid, unforgiving walls.

It had been a while since he had allowed himself that particular pleasure. And up until now, he had never found someone who would be worthy of occupying her. He was jealous of her embrace, of course it could not be shared with simply anyone.

Undertaker grinned. He placed his hands on Victoria's lid and slid it away, just enough to peer inside. He was greeted by a shock of blonde and black hair, the top of Ronald's head. Undertaker snickered and slid the coffin lid down further, slowly unveiling Ronald's face. The reaper looked like he was still out cold. That was fine. Undertaker could be extremely patient.

Undertaker lifted Victoria's lid away entirely, setting it down next to her and making his way to the foot of the coffin where rested the much desired white brogues, whiter than bone, and the trim ankles that were attached. Undertaker reached down with barely concealed glee, pinching the hem of Ronald's trousers between his fingernails and pulling them up, daring to steal a glimpse at such perfection, such form. Undertaker pulled up Ronald's trousers a little further and scooped one hand underneath the unconscious reaper's heel, supporting it. He lifted Ronald's leg up and pressed his lips to the jutting joint, siding his tongue over it before planting an oh-so-delicate kiss against the skin. His teeth ached. He wanted to bite it.

Not famous for his restraint, Undertaker bared his teeth and opened his mouth, clamping his jaws down on the toe of Ronald's shoes, loving the overwhelming smell of new leather than slid down his throat and permeated his nose. Undertaker moaned and pulled his teeth away, tracing his lips backup to Ronald's ankle. Another lick, and then he nibbled. Apparently that was enough.

"Holy shit!" Ronald swore, trying to jerk his leg free. Undertaker let it go, looking up and grinning, his expression pure lechery.

"Where am I?" Ronald tried to sit up, but he fell back into the coffin, feeling a little dazed. "Am I in a coffin? Holy shit…" he lowered his voice, looking horrified at the Undertaker. "You put me here. In this…thing."

"Her name is Victoria, do not be rude to my love." The Undertaker said, sliding his hand over Victoria's smooth, unyielding side. "She seems to like you almost as much as I do, Ronald Knox."

Ronald cringed, drawing back as far as he could in the coffin, placing a hand to his head. He tried to remember how he got there, but his head felt fuzzy. He wouldn't be altogether too surprised if the Undertaker had removed his brain and now had it pickling on a shelf somewhere.

"You, like me?" Ronald let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "Really, I…" he didn't get the rest of his words out. Without warning, Undertaker grabbed his face and slammed his head against the coffin. The back of his head hit the edge, and stars burst across Ronald's vision. He cried out and tried to push the older reaper away, but he was just too weak. Or maybe he had greatly underestimated the strength of his elder.

"You don't need these," the Undertaker purred, pinching the bridge of Ronald's glasses and lifting them off his bewildered face. Undertaker balanced the glasses on one of the coffin's edges and then set to work loosening Ronald's black tie. Ronald closed his eyes and turned his head, moaning in protest. "No, no…."

"Of course," Undertaker pulled his hands away. "Why should I do it for you? You will undress for me. Come now, boy," his voice darkened, "I am your elder."

There was no mirth in his voice, now. No trace of the playful old pervert Ronald had come to know. This manifestation of the Undertaker was very powerful, insidious – a true reaper, a god of death.

Ronald was terrified. He sat up in the coffin, his trembling fingers reaching up to finish loosening his tie, letting the ends hang limply around his neck. He did not look up as he loosened the first few buttons of his white shirt. It was difficult with his gloves. Ronald pulled them off with is teeth, then continued to shed his clothing as commanded. First his blazer, then his shirt.

He did not get to the pants. The Undertaker grabbed his hair again, gripping it close to the root, and pulled Ronald out of the coffin, flinging him across the room. Ronald felt the wind getting knocked out of him as he hit the wall opposite, crumpling to the ground immediately after impact, every limb so sore they were screaming.

The Undertaker stood behind Ronald, setting his hands on the younger reaper's bare shoulders. His touch burned like liquid nitrogen…Ronald barely felt it until the pain from the blisters forming on his skin shot down the length of his arms. He bit back a scream.

"I don't need to tell you that you're mine," the Undertaker said. "You already know your place." He leaned over, his lips tickling the shell of Ronald's ear. He sank his nails into Ronald's shoulders, dragging them down his back all the way down to his hips. His nails left angry red trails in their wake that belatedly started to bleed. Ronald squirmed, biting his tongue so hard it bled. He spat blood onto the floor, feeling it slide down his chin.

"Why?" Ronald whispered, a soft whimper squeaking by his lips as well. "Why me?"

The Undertaker grabbed Ronald's chin, forcing his head back, he leaned over and seized his lips in a kiss. Ronald's surprised moan was swallowed in the exchange, the interim of pleasure followed by sharp pain as the Undertaker bit down, hard, on his bottom lip. More blood gushed over Ronald's chin when the elder reaper pulled back, dribbling down his chest, painting it dark red.

"You and Victoria complement each other so well now," the Undertaker sounded immensely pleased. He dipped his fingertip into Ronald's blood and placed it to his lips, licking it away. "Your blood is as crimson as hers."

Ronald's throat went dry. "You didn't answer my question." He said hoarsely.

"I have unhealthy obsessions," the Undertaker said. "And they don't need reasons."

~My apologies for the abrupt cut off. This is definitely going to be a multi-part story. So TO BE CONTINUED...~