A Worthy Offering; Highlander; R
Aug. 22nd, 2010 01:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
morgynleriTitle: A Worthy Offering
Fandom: Highlander
Rating: R
Warnings: Rape, violence
Characters/Pairings: Methos/female, Kronos, implied Kronos/female
Timeframe: 4000 BC, roughly
Word Count: 3056
Summary: Not all Immortals who seek Methos out are interested in wisdom or worship.
She's a mortal child, barely grown enough to be called a woman, worshipped as a goddess by her clan. Mortal only so long as she lives and dies a peaceful life, and he knows that isn't a luxury she will be afforded. Not an avatar of a goddess of battle and fertility. War and sex and death.
He doesn't intend to stay, until she asks him to. Because he sees her as a person, not just a symbol, a near-mythic figure. He can only accept, and hope he can prevent her violent death for as long as possible. Tell her of his long life, let her understand why he doesn't see her as the others do, pray that she never sees him as more than human.
A few precious years to grow into the woman she could be, strong and relentless, willing and able to lead the warriors into battle, their vengeful goddess. Leaving him behind to watch over the camp, the fields, the livestock like anyone else who doesn't desire to fight.
Until she never comes back, until the warriors return subdued and frightened, telling tales of a man who would not die, and cut down their leader, their bright battle-maid, and stole her body away. A demon, a monster whose scarred and painted face will be indelibly imprinted on their psyche for the rest of their lives. It's a vivid enough description for Methos to go hunting, to find this other Immortal who hsd given the girl the gift - and curse - that he's tried to prevent her finding.
Two long, patient years to track him down as he migrates in circles around the land the girl's people live in, always keeping just ahead of Methos. He isn't certain if the man had kept the girl, or if he's taken off her head, but he can't stop looking until he knows, one way or the other. For the sake of the people who'd adopted him, and the girl who'd looked at him with something other than fear or awe when she figured out what he was telling her.
When he found the camp, there is only a single presence tingling along his nerves, and no sign of anyone outside of the tent. He creeps closer, bronze knife in hand as he listens for movement inside, either the man or the girl. Cautiously lifting the flap with the point of his knife when there is nothing, taking a moment to look before he moves forward.
The girl is crouched in a corner of the tent, her eyes fixed on him with a mad gleam in them, uncertainty in her expression. Her lips move silently, forming his name, as though unwilling to break the quiet that pervades the area. He moves forward, the flap falling closed behind him, returning his knife to its place on his belt. Slowly, carefully approaching her so he doesn't startle or frighten her.
"He wants you to come." Her voice is a barely-audible whisper, her gaze fixed on him as he moved. "Says he's saving you a present, that you should have an offering worthy of you." She laughs, a breathy, broken giggle. "Am I good enough yet?"
Methos reaches out to touch her, stroking back a tendril of limp hair, not moving when she flinches back, her eyes widening at the touch. Waiting for her to realize he's really in front of her, almost surprised when she launches herself at him, clinging to him almost like a child. No sobs, no tears, just shudders hard enough to shake him before he wraps an arm around her shoulders, holding her close as she clings. Shifting his weight, and pushing her down and away when the presence of another washes over them, waiting in a patient crouch for the man to come into the tent.
"You're not impossible to track." The man doesn't come in, speaking from outside the tent. His accent is local, perhaps with a touch of something from somewhere further south, toward the rugged lands that overlooked the warm ocean. "And I'm not fool enough to come in there with you waiting, Methos."
"I'm sorry," the girl whispers, her hand coming up to grip the hem of his tunic. "I didn't mean to tell him your name."
Resting a hand on her head a moment before he pries her hand loose, Methos stands. The tent isn't large, and it's only a couple of steps to the flap, and out into the cool spring air, gaze going immediately to the man who he's been tracking for the last several seasons. He's shorter, his face painted in the intricate patterns that give Methos some clue as to who he came from. A scar puckers the skin above and below one pale eye, and there's little doubt other scars hide beneath the simple clothing he wears.
The gleam in his eyes is anything but worshipful, no matter what the girl might think of his reasons for keeping her, for doing whatever he did to her. Something else drives this man, brought him close to Methos and isn't letting him walk too far away. Greed, lust, a desire for power, perhaps, Methos has seen all of that in those that seek him out.
"What do you want with the girl?" Methos doesn't even use the name her people bestowed on her, certain the man won't care what it is, or what it means.
"She's proved useful bait, hasn't she?" The man smiles, expression bright and sharp. "Steal the woman, and the man who thinks she is his always follows."
The truth of that isn't one that Methos denies, though when she became his, rather than he hers, he isn't certain. It doesn't matter now, not here.
"You could have killed her, as you know our kind can be killed, and it would have had the same effect." Methos would have continued to track the man until he knew the girl's fate - though his original plan to take her back to her people isn't one that he thinks is viable. They won't understand what this man has done to her, how badly he's broken her. Even Methos doesn't know how badly he's broken her, only that he has.
"But the end wouldn't be as satisfying, or as interesting." The man shrugs, nodding past Methos at the tent when the flap is lifted again, the girl peering out cautiously. "Take her, if you want. She's as much a fighter when bedded as in battle."
Methos watches the man with a hooded expression, weighing his options. Take the girl, and leave the camp, leave the man to follow him again, to take her away again, or to bide his time, watch and wait until he's familiar enough with the man's abilities to kill him. It's a dangerous choice, no matter which option he takes. He could also, of course, attempt to kill the man now, without knowing if he'll win or lose.
"She's not yours to bestow where you will." Methos meets the man's raised eyebrow with a cold expression of his own. "She never was, even though you stole her."
He heard movement behind him, the girl creeping out, crouching beside him and pressing against his leg. Methos doesn't look down, though, holding the man's gaze instead, waiting for him to make the next move.
"Nor is she yours, if you can't hold onto her." His smile is cruel and sharp-edged as an obsidian blade. "But there is enough of her to share, don't you think?"
She's trembling against him, one hand creeping up to cling to the hem of his tunic. Methos can feel her pleading gaze on him, but he still doesn't look down at her. Silent for a long moment before he returns the man's smile with a cool one of his own.
"If you give me enough reason to do so." Methos curls his hand around the one of hers clutching his tunic, pressing a thumb into a pressure point to make her let go. Drawing her to her feet, keeping a grip on her wrist, and his gaze on the man.
"Kronos. His name." Her voice breaks the building silence, trembling and breathless, and Methos looks over at her at the same time Kronos does, irritated at the interruption of their staring match. She meets his gaze for a moment, some of the old strength in her eyes before she looks away again. Courage bolstered by his actions, but he doubts it will last.
"Enjoy the woman, Methos," Kronos tells him with a chuckle, moving to settle near the firepit, watching him from there. Pale eyes that give only the impression that he knows too well that Methos can't take her back, nor will he leave while Kronos can still follow him. "Or should I tell you how well I've enjoyed her since I took her from you?"
Her voice hitches, a faint sob of fear as Kronos speaks, and Methos can feel her sag, trying to drop back to the crouch she'd been in before. He refuses to let her, holding Kronos's gaze for a long moment before he pushes the woman back into the tent with a sharp command to stay there that he's almost hoping she'll find the strength to disobey.
"Why come searching for me, only to take her and lead me on a chase?" Methos sits across the firepit from Kronos, giving the impression he is as relaxed as the younger Immortal. "A chase you couldn't even be certain I'd give."
Kronos shrugs, another sharp smile on his face. "If you hadn't, I'd have killed her, and left her headless body in the middle of your village. Killed whoever it took to get your attention, even if it meant slaughtering everyone in that village."
"Why?" Most Immortals who come looking for Methos actually come directly to him for whatever they're seeking, rather than trying to draw his attention in this sort of... courtship.
"Because I can." Kronos shrugs again, reaching for a piece of wood to feed into the fire. "Do I need any other reason?"
"Do you want something from me?" Methos asks bluntly, still trying to decifer the why behind Kronos' actions. He barely knows the Immortal, and yet he's already proving one of the most fascinating ones Methos has ever encountered.
Chuckling, Kronos leans back, watching Methos with a smirk on his face that speaks of more to his motives than what he says. "Only your company."
Methos refrains from pointing out that Kronos didn't need to kidnap the girl to enjoy his company, merely watching Kronos for another long moment. "You might at least have the hospitality to offer dinner, if you want my company."
"It will take time for it to cook, Methos. Go, enjoy the woman, unless you'd rather cook your own meal while I have some fun with her." Kronos has a cruel gleam in his eyes, and Methos lets his own expression settle into harsh, cold lines.
"You've had enough time with her on your own. I told you, she's not yours to offer."
"Nor yours to keep." Kronos pushes to his feet, going to where there is a sack hung from a high tree branch - a better place to keep food in a place where there are bears to be attracted by it. Clearly assuming that Methos would prefer to take time to satisfy himself while dinner is being prepared than to do the cooking himself.
Inside the tent, the girl is huddled in the same place she had when Methos had first found her here, watching the flap with all the fascination of a rabbit waiting for a snake to strike. Less surprise on her face now at his approach, not moving even when he sits on the pile of furs and blankets near her, only watching him. Waiting for a sign of what he wants, or a command, he's not certain which.
"Come here." He keeps his voice pitched low and soothing, smiling encouragingly when she crept closer. Patiently waiting for her to curl up at his side, her arms creeping around him, almost of their own accord. Methos rubs soothing circles over her back as she trembles, letting her simply soak in his familiar presence, to relax enough to stop shaking before he brings his other hand around to tilt her chin up. Watching her expression, the trust that's tempered by a lurking hint of fear and betrayal.
"Why didn't you tell me I would be like you?" she asks, her voice barely a whisper. Trusting him enough to speak, a flash of her strength and resiliance showing through.
"Because I didn't intend for you to." Methos strokes his thumb over her cheek a moment. "Sit up for me, hmm?" He gives her a warm smile when she hesitates, and she returns the smile tentatively, shifting after a moment to tuck her feet underneath her. Drawing her arms from around him, looking down at her hands in her lap for a moment.
Methos tilts her head back up again, turning her face toward his so he can read her expression. Uncertainty, mixed with fear and trust alike. He smiles again, curling his fingers around her jaw gently before he leans in to press his lips against hers. Feeling her stiffen, as if to pull away, and he tightens his grip a bit. Not willing to let her end this before he has a chance to show her that whatever Kronos has done to her, there's more to sex than pain and a man's pleasure.
He pulls back after a long moment, meeting her confused expression with a gentle smile.
"I don't understand." She is still taut with tension under his hand, and there's more wariness in her voice than before. "Why?"
"You're worth more than a simple tumble." He strokes her cheek again, gentle and patient. "I should have done this sooner, before you were taken by Kronos," he murmurs, leaning in to kiss her again, sliding his hand back and into her hair to hold her still. Keeping it light and gentle until she responds, hesitant and uncertain; he presses closer, running his tongue over her lower lip, a demand to be allowed in.
There's a tremble running under the hand he has splayed at the small of her back, and Methos pulls back after a moment, watching her expression. Confusion is the most prominant, and fear underlaying it. Not understanding what he's intending, or perhaps just understanding enough to be afraid of him, of what he might do to her.
"Trust me." He tucks a stray strand of hair back from her face, sliding his hand down to cup her shoulder. Holding her gaze until she licks her lips and gives him a little nod before he leans in and kissing her again. Encouraging her to respond, rubbing her shoulder as he once more deepens the kiss, keeping his hunger in check so he doesn't frighten her.
Only when she slides a little closer, one hand creeping up to hold onto his shoulder, does he move again, the hand on her shoulder brought down to cup her breast through the tunic she wore. Noticing the tension that ran through her at that move, and keeping his touch light and gentle as he slowly explores the body that hides beneath her ragged wrap.
Each move is two steps forward and one back, and its only the centuries that he's lived that give him the restraint to keep from simply seeking his own pleasure. Not until she lets him lay her back against the furs, watching him with a faint curiosity threaded through the turmoil of other emotions in her expression. Yielding as he unwraps her from her clothing, watching as he removes his own.
When he moves to guide her hand to touch him, she stiffens, and pulls away, fear drowning out other emotions, and Methos tightens his grip to keep her from moving far. He's worked too hard at this to let it go, and leans in to kiss her, hungry and impatient now. Sliding his free hand down her body, drawing a shudder from her that he could interpret as desire or fear - and prefers to think of as the former even though he knows is more likely the latter.
He doesn't give her a chance to protest, pressing her legs apart with one knee, then the other. Letting go of her wrist so he can lift her hips, pulling away long enough to meet her gaze with a gentle smile as he thrusts in, reaching up to wipe her tears away a moment later. His hands roam, remembering where he'd drawn favorable reactions, and using the knowledge to bring her some measure of pleasure.
Keeping her held close to him afterward for a long moment before he allows her to squirm away, sitting up when she curls herself back into the same space as before. Her place when Kronos isn't tormenting her, likely, barren of more than a blanket between her and the ground. Methos watches her for a long moment before he pulls his clothing back on, and hands her back her own. Waiting patiently for her to pull the tunic back over her head, and pulling her out of the tent with him.
She resists the pull until he tugs sharply, nearly pulling her off her feet, before following close behind him, dropping to a crouch where he lets go of her wrist. Methos can feel her watching him, the almost palpable beat of fear against his back as he settles across the fire from Kronos once more. The pale eyes of his host are amused and calculating, Kronos watching him without even bothering to look at the girl. Dismissing her as unimportant.
There's nothing said, merely some roasted meat passed over, enough to split between them, and some scraps to give to the girl when they're done. Kronos barely gives her time to strip the bones clean, dragging her back to the tent as Methos follows, not entirely certain if he should interfere, or if he truly wants to. The girl isn't nearly what he'd hoped she'd still be, and in the end, his survival is better served by letting Kronos do as he pleases with her.
Notes: There may or may not be more with Methos and Kronos and their first mutual victim. There will be at least one other story that ties into this one, set just after Cassandra escapes.
Fandom: Highlander
Rating: R
Warnings: Rape, violence
Characters/Pairings: Methos/female, Kronos, implied Kronos/female
Timeframe: 4000 BC, roughly
Word Count: 3056
Summary: Not all Immortals who seek Methos out are interested in wisdom or worship.
She's a mortal child, barely grown enough to be called a woman, worshipped as a goddess by her clan. Mortal only so long as she lives and dies a peaceful life, and he knows that isn't a luxury she will be afforded. Not an avatar of a goddess of battle and fertility. War and sex and death.
He doesn't intend to stay, until she asks him to. Because he sees her as a person, not just a symbol, a near-mythic figure. He can only accept, and hope he can prevent her violent death for as long as possible. Tell her of his long life, let her understand why he doesn't see her as the others do, pray that she never sees him as more than human.
A few precious years to grow into the woman she could be, strong and relentless, willing and able to lead the warriors into battle, their vengeful goddess. Leaving him behind to watch over the camp, the fields, the livestock like anyone else who doesn't desire to fight.
Until she never comes back, until the warriors return subdued and frightened, telling tales of a man who would not die, and cut down their leader, their bright battle-maid, and stole her body away. A demon, a monster whose scarred and painted face will be indelibly imprinted on their psyche for the rest of their lives. It's a vivid enough description for Methos to go hunting, to find this other Immortal who hsd given the girl the gift - and curse - that he's tried to prevent her finding.
Two long, patient years to track him down as he migrates in circles around the land the girl's people live in, always keeping just ahead of Methos. He isn't certain if the man had kept the girl, or if he's taken off her head, but he can't stop looking until he knows, one way or the other. For the sake of the people who'd adopted him, and the girl who'd looked at him with something other than fear or awe when she figured out what he was telling her.
When he found the camp, there is only a single presence tingling along his nerves, and no sign of anyone outside of the tent. He creeps closer, bronze knife in hand as he listens for movement inside, either the man or the girl. Cautiously lifting the flap with the point of his knife when there is nothing, taking a moment to look before he moves forward.
The girl is crouched in a corner of the tent, her eyes fixed on him with a mad gleam in them, uncertainty in her expression. Her lips move silently, forming his name, as though unwilling to break the quiet that pervades the area. He moves forward, the flap falling closed behind him, returning his knife to its place on his belt. Slowly, carefully approaching her so he doesn't startle or frighten her.
"He wants you to come." Her voice is a barely-audible whisper, her gaze fixed on him as he moved. "Says he's saving you a present, that you should have an offering worthy of you." She laughs, a breathy, broken giggle. "Am I good enough yet?"
Methos reaches out to touch her, stroking back a tendril of limp hair, not moving when she flinches back, her eyes widening at the touch. Waiting for her to realize he's really in front of her, almost surprised when she launches herself at him, clinging to him almost like a child. No sobs, no tears, just shudders hard enough to shake him before he wraps an arm around her shoulders, holding her close as she clings. Shifting his weight, and pushing her down and away when the presence of another washes over them, waiting in a patient crouch for the man to come into the tent.
"You're not impossible to track." The man doesn't come in, speaking from outside the tent. His accent is local, perhaps with a touch of something from somewhere further south, toward the rugged lands that overlooked the warm ocean. "And I'm not fool enough to come in there with you waiting, Methos."
"I'm sorry," the girl whispers, her hand coming up to grip the hem of his tunic. "I didn't mean to tell him your name."
Resting a hand on her head a moment before he pries her hand loose, Methos stands. The tent isn't large, and it's only a couple of steps to the flap, and out into the cool spring air, gaze going immediately to the man who he's been tracking for the last several seasons. He's shorter, his face painted in the intricate patterns that give Methos some clue as to who he came from. A scar puckers the skin above and below one pale eye, and there's little doubt other scars hide beneath the simple clothing he wears.
The gleam in his eyes is anything but worshipful, no matter what the girl might think of his reasons for keeping her, for doing whatever he did to her. Something else drives this man, brought him close to Methos and isn't letting him walk too far away. Greed, lust, a desire for power, perhaps, Methos has seen all of that in those that seek him out.
"What do you want with the girl?" Methos doesn't even use the name her people bestowed on her, certain the man won't care what it is, or what it means.
"She's proved useful bait, hasn't she?" The man smiles, expression bright and sharp. "Steal the woman, and the man who thinks she is his always follows."
The truth of that isn't one that Methos denies, though when she became his, rather than he hers, he isn't certain. It doesn't matter now, not here.
"You could have killed her, as you know our kind can be killed, and it would have had the same effect." Methos would have continued to track the man until he knew the girl's fate - though his original plan to take her back to her people isn't one that he thinks is viable. They won't understand what this man has done to her, how badly he's broken her. Even Methos doesn't know how badly he's broken her, only that he has.
"But the end wouldn't be as satisfying, or as interesting." The man shrugs, nodding past Methos at the tent when the flap is lifted again, the girl peering out cautiously. "Take her, if you want. She's as much a fighter when bedded as in battle."
Methos watches the man with a hooded expression, weighing his options. Take the girl, and leave the camp, leave the man to follow him again, to take her away again, or to bide his time, watch and wait until he's familiar enough with the man's abilities to kill him. It's a dangerous choice, no matter which option he takes. He could also, of course, attempt to kill the man now, without knowing if he'll win or lose.
"She's not yours to bestow where you will." Methos meets the man's raised eyebrow with a cold expression of his own. "She never was, even though you stole her."
He heard movement behind him, the girl creeping out, crouching beside him and pressing against his leg. Methos doesn't look down, though, holding the man's gaze instead, waiting for him to make the next move.
"Nor is she yours, if you can't hold onto her." His smile is cruel and sharp-edged as an obsidian blade. "But there is enough of her to share, don't you think?"
She's trembling against him, one hand creeping up to cling to the hem of his tunic. Methos can feel her pleading gaze on him, but he still doesn't look down at her. Silent for a long moment before he returns the man's smile with a cool one of his own.
"If you give me enough reason to do so." Methos curls his hand around the one of hers clutching his tunic, pressing a thumb into a pressure point to make her let go. Drawing her to her feet, keeping a grip on her wrist, and his gaze on the man.
"Kronos. His name." Her voice breaks the building silence, trembling and breathless, and Methos looks over at her at the same time Kronos does, irritated at the interruption of their staring match. She meets his gaze for a moment, some of the old strength in her eyes before she looks away again. Courage bolstered by his actions, but he doubts it will last.
"Enjoy the woman, Methos," Kronos tells him with a chuckle, moving to settle near the firepit, watching him from there. Pale eyes that give only the impression that he knows too well that Methos can't take her back, nor will he leave while Kronos can still follow him. "Or should I tell you how well I've enjoyed her since I took her from you?"
Her voice hitches, a faint sob of fear as Kronos speaks, and Methos can feel her sag, trying to drop back to the crouch she'd been in before. He refuses to let her, holding Kronos's gaze for a long moment before he pushes the woman back into the tent with a sharp command to stay there that he's almost hoping she'll find the strength to disobey.
"Why come searching for me, only to take her and lead me on a chase?" Methos sits across the firepit from Kronos, giving the impression he is as relaxed as the younger Immortal. "A chase you couldn't even be certain I'd give."
Kronos shrugs, another sharp smile on his face. "If you hadn't, I'd have killed her, and left her headless body in the middle of your village. Killed whoever it took to get your attention, even if it meant slaughtering everyone in that village."
"Why?" Most Immortals who come looking for Methos actually come directly to him for whatever they're seeking, rather than trying to draw his attention in this sort of... courtship.
"Because I can." Kronos shrugs again, reaching for a piece of wood to feed into the fire. "Do I need any other reason?"
"Do you want something from me?" Methos asks bluntly, still trying to decifer the why behind Kronos' actions. He barely knows the Immortal, and yet he's already proving one of the most fascinating ones Methos has ever encountered.
Chuckling, Kronos leans back, watching Methos with a smirk on his face that speaks of more to his motives than what he says. "Only your company."
Methos refrains from pointing out that Kronos didn't need to kidnap the girl to enjoy his company, merely watching Kronos for another long moment. "You might at least have the hospitality to offer dinner, if you want my company."
"It will take time for it to cook, Methos. Go, enjoy the woman, unless you'd rather cook your own meal while I have some fun with her." Kronos has a cruel gleam in his eyes, and Methos lets his own expression settle into harsh, cold lines.
"You've had enough time with her on your own. I told you, she's not yours to offer."
"Nor yours to keep." Kronos pushes to his feet, going to where there is a sack hung from a high tree branch - a better place to keep food in a place where there are bears to be attracted by it. Clearly assuming that Methos would prefer to take time to satisfy himself while dinner is being prepared than to do the cooking himself.
Inside the tent, the girl is huddled in the same place she had when Methos had first found her here, watching the flap with all the fascination of a rabbit waiting for a snake to strike. Less surprise on her face now at his approach, not moving even when he sits on the pile of furs and blankets near her, only watching him. Waiting for a sign of what he wants, or a command, he's not certain which.
"Come here." He keeps his voice pitched low and soothing, smiling encouragingly when she crept closer. Patiently waiting for her to curl up at his side, her arms creeping around him, almost of their own accord. Methos rubs soothing circles over her back as she trembles, letting her simply soak in his familiar presence, to relax enough to stop shaking before he brings his other hand around to tilt her chin up. Watching her expression, the trust that's tempered by a lurking hint of fear and betrayal.
"Why didn't you tell me I would be like you?" she asks, her voice barely a whisper. Trusting him enough to speak, a flash of her strength and resiliance showing through.
"Because I didn't intend for you to." Methos strokes his thumb over her cheek a moment. "Sit up for me, hmm?" He gives her a warm smile when she hesitates, and she returns the smile tentatively, shifting after a moment to tuck her feet underneath her. Drawing her arms from around him, looking down at her hands in her lap for a moment.
Methos tilts her head back up again, turning her face toward his so he can read her expression. Uncertainty, mixed with fear and trust alike. He smiles again, curling his fingers around her jaw gently before he leans in to press his lips against hers. Feeling her stiffen, as if to pull away, and he tightens his grip a bit. Not willing to let her end this before he has a chance to show her that whatever Kronos has done to her, there's more to sex than pain and a man's pleasure.
He pulls back after a long moment, meeting her confused expression with a gentle smile.
"I don't understand." She is still taut with tension under his hand, and there's more wariness in her voice than before. "Why?"
"You're worth more than a simple tumble." He strokes her cheek again, gentle and patient. "I should have done this sooner, before you were taken by Kronos," he murmurs, leaning in to kiss her again, sliding his hand back and into her hair to hold her still. Keeping it light and gentle until she responds, hesitant and uncertain; he presses closer, running his tongue over her lower lip, a demand to be allowed in.
There's a tremble running under the hand he has splayed at the small of her back, and Methos pulls back after a moment, watching her expression. Confusion is the most prominant, and fear underlaying it. Not understanding what he's intending, or perhaps just understanding enough to be afraid of him, of what he might do to her.
"Trust me." He tucks a stray strand of hair back from her face, sliding his hand down to cup her shoulder. Holding her gaze until she licks her lips and gives him a little nod before he leans in and kissing her again. Encouraging her to respond, rubbing her shoulder as he once more deepens the kiss, keeping his hunger in check so he doesn't frighten her.
Only when she slides a little closer, one hand creeping up to hold onto his shoulder, does he move again, the hand on her shoulder brought down to cup her breast through the tunic she wore. Noticing the tension that ran through her at that move, and keeping his touch light and gentle as he slowly explores the body that hides beneath her ragged wrap.
Each move is two steps forward and one back, and its only the centuries that he's lived that give him the restraint to keep from simply seeking his own pleasure. Not until she lets him lay her back against the furs, watching him with a faint curiosity threaded through the turmoil of other emotions in her expression. Yielding as he unwraps her from her clothing, watching as he removes his own.
When he moves to guide her hand to touch him, she stiffens, and pulls away, fear drowning out other emotions, and Methos tightens his grip to keep her from moving far. He's worked too hard at this to let it go, and leans in to kiss her, hungry and impatient now. Sliding his free hand down her body, drawing a shudder from her that he could interpret as desire or fear - and prefers to think of as the former even though he knows is more likely the latter.
He doesn't give her a chance to protest, pressing her legs apart with one knee, then the other. Letting go of her wrist so he can lift her hips, pulling away long enough to meet her gaze with a gentle smile as he thrusts in, reaching up to wipe her tears away a moment later. His hands roam, remembering where he'd drawn favorable reactions, and using the knowledge to bring her some measure of pleasure.
Keeping her held close to him afterward for a long moment before he allows her to squirm away, sitting up when she curls herself back into the same space as before. Her place when Kronos isn't tormenting her, likely, barren of more than a blanket between her and the ground. Methos watches her for a long moment before he pulls his clothing back on, and hands her back her own. Waiting patiently for her to pull the tunic back over her head, and pulling her out of the tent with him.
She resists the pull until he tugs sharply, nearly pulling her off her feet, before following close behind him, dropping to a crouch where he lets go of her wrist. Methos can feel her watching him, the almost palpable beat of fear against his back as he settles across the fire from Kronos once more. The pale eyes of his host are amused and calculating, Kronos watching him without even bothering to look at the girl. Dismissing her as unimportant.
There's nothing said, merely some roasted meat passed over, enough to split between them, and some scraps to give to the girl when they're done. Kronos barely gives her time to strip the bones clean, dragging her back to the tent as Methos follows, not entirely certain if he should interfere, or if he truly wants to. The girl isn't nearly what he'd hoped she'd still be, and in the end, his survival is better served by letting Kronos do as he pleases with her.
Notes: There may or may not be more with Methos and Kronos and their first mutual victim. There will be at least one other story that ties into this one, set just after Cassandra escapes.
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Date: 2010-08-22 07:41 pm (UTC)Renee
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Date: 2010-08-22 08:11 pm (UTC)