Title: My Heart Belongs to You

Author: TheVampireLucinda

Featuring: The Undertaker, Paul Bearer, Goldust (!), Mankind; appearances by Shawn Michaels, Hunter Hearst Helmsley, and Jose Lothario

Disclaimer: Slash, slash, and more slash. And I'm not to blame this time! They did it to themselves! Rated M, though, for...non-consensual touching, and such. And dirty talk. I'm looking at you, Goldust. Also kayfabed, and, as always, the Undertaker really does have powers...

Summary: Coincides (sorta) with Of Death, Taxes, and Heartbreakers. Takes place in 1996. The Undertaker and Goldust are scheduled to have a match for the Intercontinental Title on an upcoming PPV. And although the Undertaker is the Master of Mind Games, the Golden Odd One has more than his share of tricks up his long, feathered sleeves...One shot.

A/N: I kid you not, the first part of this is verbatim from a Goldust promo from 96! Search for it on YouTube! It's one of the most disturbing things I've ever heard! (cough) And by "disturbing," I mean mildly arous—

TakerMuse: DON'T YOU DARE FINISH THAT SENTENCE, GIRL!

Me: Heh, sorry, Deadman, I just... (cough) Well, anyway, the next week on RAW was even MORE insane, because Mankind mandible-clawed the Undertaker into unconsciousness, and Goldust tried to ra—

TakerMuse: LUCINDA! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!

Me: (running) Gotta go! But, really, it was hot! If you can, watch the promo and the in-ring segment!

"That's right, Dead One. I'm coming."

The gold-clad wrestler inhaled deeply, voice dropping to a husky baritone as his black-rimmed eyes narrowed. He was a perfect picture of danger and seduction.

"Your worst nightmare is about to enter...your house. See, I am not afraid of the dark. As a matter of fact, some say I do my best work there."

He ran a black-gloved hand across his over chest, fingers ghosting over the Intercontinental Title before brushing across the already-hardened nipples on his chest. Slowly, he began to sink, head swaying teasingly as his lips parted in a subtle yet obscene way.

"The lights aren't going to be the only things...going down, Reaper. You too will fall to your knees, and you will never, ever forget the name of..."

A deep inhale, released in a heated, sensual breath.

"Goldust."

The Undertaker turned off the small television, a look of disgust etched on his shadow-hidden features as he sat in a high-backed chair. As he often did before facing an opponent, the Deadman was watching RAW, studying his future victim carefully.

However, as the weeks passed, Goldust was proving to be a particularly...unique foe, one who dared to go where no woman or man had dared go before.

"Jesus Christ, Paul. I'm pretty sure that counts as sexual harassment."

His manager and urn-keeper shook his head, a frown forming on his chubby features.

"He's just trying to play mind games with you-"

'Taker eyed Bearer dangerously. "That...freak just threatened to rape me! He wasn't very subtle about the fact that he wants me to—"

The normally stoic man shuddered. He couldn't even verbalize what he was thinking; it was too sickening to even imagine! Never before had anyone ever dared...thought to dare...to threaten him in such a way! It went beyond bad taste!

"Don't let him get into your head," Paul Bearer encouraged, hand coming to rest on the back of the chair. "He does this to everyone...Surely you won't fall for it, too..."

"Oh, there's no doubt about that part," the Phenom growled with a deadly smirk. "I'm going to kick his ass all around the arena when the time comes, and I'm going to take that title off his shoulders." His smile faded slightly, and a sigh escaped his lips. "Until then, though, I want him to stay the fuck away from me. The last thing I want is to have to fight off that weirdo Goldust, and that freak Mankind at the same time."

Although the Undertaker didn't see it, just behind him, Paul Bearer had a wicked smile growing on his face, as his thick fingers eagerly caressed the urn.

The Undertaker stared hard at the man in front of him, keeping his face a mask of indifference, even though his mind was racing.

'How in the hell did Goldust know I'd be here tonight?!' he wondered angrily, standing his ground in the ring as the gold-clad man came close—too close.

He could feel Goldust looking him over, the dark eyes hungrily drinking in the sight of his body. The sensation was like several feathers brushing over his skin, causing goosebumps to rise on the entire length of his arm as those eyes scanned him from head to toe. Even the hair on the back of his neck started to stand up, and he at last admitted to himself that he was genuinely and truly disturbed.

The Undertaker had never felt so...objectified before. This man, this fellow-wrestler who stood in front of him was looking at him as though he was nothing more than...

'It's like he really wants to...'

"So tall," Goldust was saying, reaching out and tracing the Deadman's outline, his fingers hovering mere inches away. "So dark, and cold..." He inhaled as he came even closer, eyes closing. "Ah, what is that...? That scent, it's driving me crazy..."

Consciously, 'Taker tuned the man out, his green eyes going dark as he tried to gather himself together. What in the hell about this man was throwing him off balance so badly?

'It must be because of Mankind,' he reasoned, still trying to block out the no-doubt offensive words being spoken to him even now. 'I'm just...distracted. And this freak is just another distraction among many...'

All of a sudden, however, the feeling of a hand on his own snapped him back into the present reality, and made his green eyes widen ever so slightly under the dark fall of his long hair.

Goldust was touching him.

"Out of his fucking mind," Shawn Michaels commented, sitting forward tensely in his chair. "Goldust is out of his mind! The Undertaker will fucking kill him."

Jose Lothario looked over at his charge with a raised eyebrow, a knowing look on his face. For some unknown reason, Shawn had been more than a little eager to watch the Undertaker's in-ring interview about his upcoming match against Goldust. Normally, the Heartbreak Kid wouldn't care, or even watch the show when he was at the arena...

Not only that, but Shawn was clearly pissed off at what he was seeing. But why?

"Shawn, we have to go," Jose asked, deciding to test the waters. "You're the Champ...You have to start warming up for your match tonight..."

Shawn waved the older man away, blue eyes still glued to the screen in front of him. "I'll be fine," he answered absently, watching as Goldust slowly took the Undertaker's hand in his.

Almost instinctively, he looked down at his own hand, remembering the time he, too, had touched the Deadman's hand.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered, becoming angrier with each passing second, even though he didn't understand why.

"Son of a bitch."

The brash Intercontinental Champion was still holding the stunned Deadman's hand, caressing the gloved palm, interlacing their fingers even as he spoke.

"Let me just...feel you, touch you, Reaper..." He took the Deadman's other hand. "Do you know what rigor mortis is? It's a stiffening of the—AHHHH!"

The Undertaker had heard enough.

With a violent twist, he brought Goldust to his knees, applying enough torque to not only break the odd man's wrist, but his entire arms as well.

He was going to make this man suffer.

Before the Reaper could succeed in his task, however, a sudden, sharp blow to the back of his head sent the Deadman sprawling to the mat, bright flashes of pain exploding behind his eyes.

He rolled over as quickly as he could, and when he looked up, he saw the brown-clad figure of Mankind, who had pounced on him and was raining down heavy blows on his face and head.

The Undertaker struggled to fight back, and managed to get the mad man off of him for a moment; but no sooner had he done so than a pair of thick fingers were shoved into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue and paralyzing him completely.

'Dammit...' he thought, with the last of his fading consciousness, the world going black around him as he struggled fiercely. 'How the hell did these two get...together...? Why...?'

His closing eyes drifted over to Paul, who, for some reason, didn't seem appropriately upset.

'If I didn't know better, I'd say that fucker was...smiling...'

'Taker gave one last try at getting free, but Mankind's weight was holding him down, and the Mandible Claw was as effective as always.

'Damn it, Paul,' was the only thing he could think before the blackness enclosed him completely.

And the last thing he saw was Goldust standing over him, sliding his golden robe off his shoulders with a triumphant smile on his face, and a look in his eyes that made the Deadman feel even colder.

Shawn Michaels watched the scene unfold with wide eyes, even going to far as to stand up and grip the edges of the monitor. Jose was in awe; he had never seen Shawn so animated and upset over someone who wasn't a member of the Kliq...or a lover.

"Get up, Undertaker!" he yelled at the screen, voice going rough with emotion. "Get up!"

Blood beginning to boil, he watched as Goldust knelt over the Undertaker's prone body, grinding his hips against the Deadman's. Goldust easily forced the unconscious man's hands over his head, holding them in place for a moment as he openly savored the feeling of dominance and power.

Sensually, slowly, the Golden One ran his hands down the length of the Undertaker's strong, muscular arms, sliding his body down the big man's unmoving form, running his hands over his chest and hips, and over the other man's clearly unresponsive manhood.

Shawn, who had been watching this odd scene entire time, suddenly stormed out of the room, a blur of rage and golden brown hair.

In a panic, Jose followed the fiery WWF Champion, at last catching up to him right before the man had stormed all the way out to the ring.

"What the hell are you thinking?!" he yelled, restraining the angry Heartbreak Kid with his arms, forcing the younger man back a few steps. "What's wrong, Kid?"

"He needs to stop touching him!" Shawn was screaming, consumed with a blind rage of which he knew not the origin. "He needs to stop touching him!"

The two men struggled fiercely, and it wasn't long before Shawn had made it to the entrance way, determination etched on his face even as Jose pleaded with him to stop.

"Shawn, don't! You'll get into trouble with Vince! If he sees you...!"

"I don't give a damn if he sees me!" Shawn yelled back, the declaration giving him a small burst of energy, just enough to break free. His hand reached out, and his head just made it out of the curtain...

With a gasp, Shawn felt himself tackled to the ground from the side, albeit gently and carefully.

"Jesus, Shawn! What's wrong with you?!"

Shawn rolled over, struggling against his assailant, only to find that it was Hunter who had stopped him.

"Let me go!" Shawn demanded, not caring that he was half-way out onto the stage. Consequences be dammed, he had to get to that ring and help the Undertaker. "Look what he's doing to him!"

Utterly confused, Hunter looked up, and although he didn't release his grip on Shawn's waist, he followed the Heartbreak Kid's angry blue gaze to the ring.

"The Undertaker?" he whispered, feeling a pang of jealously mixed in with his overall confusion.

"He needs to stop fucking touching him!" Shawn yelled, although he had stopped struggling, knowing very well that Hunter was strong enough to restrain him on his own. "That freak needs to stop touching him! He's...hurting him!"

"Hurting him?" Hunter's jealously immediately faded into concern. What the hell had gotten into his best friend?

Tears of frustration filled Shawn's blue eyes as he watched the scene unfold in front of him. No one was there to help the Undertaker, and he could see Goldust smiling, fully confident in the fact that he could now easily have his way with the Undertaker for as long as he pleased.

Shawn closed his eyes tightly, standing very still as his fists curled tightly at his sides. Before Hunter and Jose could drag him back to the locker room, he gave one last, heart-felt cry.

"Undertaker, get up!"

All of a sudden, full consciousness returned.

Compelled by a power that he was certain had its origin neither within himself, nor the urn, the Undertaker sat up.

In a rush of gold and feathers, he watched as Goldust ran from the ring, the smug look he had worn before now replaced by one of pure terror as he fled.

The Undertaker gave chase, vaguely aware of Paul somewhere behind him, trying to keep up as he pursued his target.

However, the chase was half-hearted, and when he was sure that the Odd One was gone, 'Taker turned to Paul, staring hard at the man for several moments. Though his expression was neutral, his green eyes spoke volumes

Ashamed and afraid, Bearer lowered his head. "I'm sorry," he apologized, appearing very contrite. "I...I was too weak to help you..."

"That freak touched me, didn't he? I was out, but my skin feels like...Someone touched me..." He only barely suppressed a shudder. He hated that feeling, of skin having come in contact with his own. Some had chalked it up to him having some sort of mental disorder, but he was certain that the tingling sensation in his skin after being touched was a negative result of the dark powers he possessed.

Paul Bearer managed a small smile. "Don't worry, he didn't get very far. You were quick to stop him!" He held up the urn triumphantly. "Your power is damn near unlimited! I thought you were out cold, but, no! You rose! As you always rise! Oh yes!"

'I was out cold, you idiot,' the Undertaker thought sourly, not sharing in Paul's enthusiasm. As he turned to walk away—heading straight for the shower in his secluded part of the arena—there was something nagging at the back of his mind.

What was bothering him more than Goldust's hands on him—although that truly did bother him—was the fact that some other power had allowed him to sit up after being knocked out by Mankind. Discreetly, he looked back at Paul, who had been acting strangely over the past several weeks. Paul hadn't raised him; he was certain that he hadn't raised himself.

So the question was: Who?

Shaking his head, 'Taker determined to take on that puzzle another day. Tonight, he was sore, and tired, and desperately needed to shower. He could smell Goldust's scent all over his clothes, and the fragrance of Marlena's disgusting cigar still lingered in his long hair.

Of course, all of that took a backseat to the revenge he had to plan out.

But the question was still there, and it wouldn't leave his mind. Who in the world had given him the power to sit up, to shrug off his injury and rise in that moment of crisis?

Just as he was stepping into the darkness of his lair, whether a trick of fate, or a game of destiny, Shawn Michaels' entrance theme began to blare over the speakers.

The End! Those two certainly had a lot of interesting interactions before they clashed in 97...

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