Methos did touch the young man then, gripping Richie's forearms to pull him up to stand and then pushing him gently toward the couch.
"Shhhh, just sit."
Methos went into the kitchen to get a fresh beer for Richie, hurrying back. He left the mess of the spilled beer on the floor. He would clean it up later but right now he didn't want Richie to spend too much time with his thoughts. Sitting beside the redhead, he handed over the beer. Richie's hands only mildly shook as he attempted a sip. Again the ancient man was struck by a strong desire to cradle the young man in his arms, to feed him grapes or something, and to keep him safe…happy.
"Tell me." Methos meant for his voice to be gently persuasive, to invite confidence. It didn't work.
Richie shook his head fiercely. The younger immortal sat on the edge of a cushion, his forearms on his knees, cradling the beer in his hands.
"Richie, when I was a slave," Methos stopped, horrified at his own words. Was he really considering telling Richie about that, baring his soul here on this ugly floral couch? But then he looked up into the younger man's face. Richie must have realized Methos's own reluctance to talk about the past, his own horror and Methos was amazed at what he saw. Richie's face showed such tender concern, offered such strength.
Yes if Richie needed him to, Methos would relive the worst experiences of his life, in memory or in reality. Funny that he had thought MacLeod had made him live again, risk again, love. That was nothing compared to the follies that Richie's blue eyes entreated him to. MacLeod may have reintroduced him to life but Richie made Methos happy about it.
But it wasn't as simple as that. Methos had chosen to love Alexa despite the impending loss of the woman. But loving another immortal was different, in some ways worse. He had been forcibly reminded that he could not shield her from death any more than he could shield Richie. But with another immortal, the possibility of getting involved in each other's challenges was high. The risk to Methos was not only emotional but also physical, it was too easy for relationships amongst immortals to lead to death. Richie might be young but he was his own man and he would make his own decisions. And Methos might very well not agree with those decisions, but he would have to live with them.
And yet he couldn't walk away from this opportunity, this chance at happiness. The second that Richie had woken up in that hotel room, Methos felt like his options had been taken away. It was like a second chance had been dropped literally into his lap. He had been forced to interact with the young man, forced to acknowledge this latent desire. How could he let it just slip away? All he had to do was spill his guts.
"Sad to think that I can't remember the first time that I had sex, can't remember the other person's face. I never remember a time when I was other than I am now, don't remember being younger. I remember having to learn how to read and write but not how to use a sword. In those days being enslaved was quite common. More than that, in one way or another most women or even men did not choose their bedmates. And we by our very nature are vulnerable. We travel often, alone, we have no family, we are not native. But it wasn't just the violence, that was bad enough but they were violent times."
Methos stopped, seeing Richie's perplexed expression. He sometimes forgot how much the world had changed, how repulsive the casual violence of his own ancient past was. He let a wry grin crease his face.
"The world was different then, I feel like I say that a lot." Richie attempted a smile in return but it didn't reach his eyes. "'Life was nasty, brutish, and short' as Hobbes said. Cruelty and pain were to be expected. I endured pain but I also inflicted it." Methos looked down at his hands, unable for a moment to meet Richie's eyes.
"Is that why…the Horsemen?" Richie's voice was almost apologetic at mentioning that episode of the older man's life.
"Perhaps. By that time I was a thousand years old, a thousand years of love and loss and violence. And I was angry, angry at the world at the universe for making me this way…But this was after, perhaps it was a punishment. At the time I certainly thought so. I was captured, one of the barbarian horde as Rome would later say. I knew that once they stripped off my battle garb that I would look young, they thought me exotic." Methos grinned that smug, too-knowing look that was so familiar.
"I was sold. I had been a slave before, had been beaten into submitting, into doing manual labor, had been taken by force. I endured, but this time I was bought by an immortal. He thought that I was very young, that I had had my first death in the battle. He wanted meek obedience, and I gave it to him. I thought it was the best way to survive, bide my time. Whatever he wanted, I even pretended to enjoy it. He liked to uh…watch. He would give me to traders, mercenaries, barbarians, tell them that I could take whatever punishment…flogging is a perennial favorite…"
And for a moment it was like he was there again. They had moved around a lot but Methos felt like he could smell the wood-fire smoke, the unwashed bodies of the men he had been given to, the German forest outside. Methos's voice was impassive as he recounted the episode. He had been flogged and Methos had cried out like the weak, submissive slave that he was. It was what he wanted, his master. Methos had felt the man's eyes on him as he was passed around. Phantom pain spiked across his back as he remembered being laid on a table. His legs had been lifted and he had been impaled without preamble.
Methos made a coughing sound, as he recalled almost choking on the flesh that had filled his mouth even as he was being fucked, filled, surrounded. He didn't even see the tears that filled Richie's eyes. But it was what occurred after being raped that Methos dreaded remembering. When he had lain exhausted on the dirt floor, covered in his own blood and other men's cum. Then his master would come to him, offering comfort, wanting Methos to cling to his strength. And the worst was that Methos had wanted to take that consolation. It had been easy to nuzzle the man's neck. It had felt good to have the man's arms around him, gathering him up, bathing him off.
So good that when the immortal had led his slave to his own bed, Methos had been only too willing to please him. Methos had been treated as a dog, an infant, and a porcelain doll all wrapped together. It wasn't the first time that his body had been taken without his consent but it was the first time that he had used it to gain an advantage. It wasn't the violence, it was that he had participated in his own defilement. He was with that master for a long time, two hundred and fifty years.
The story was halted by the feel of Richie's arms encircling him, and Methos was suddenly aware of how much his story had been affecting his listener. He felt ridiculously touched that Richie wanted to shield him from the pain of his own past. Damn he had been telling the story to reassure the younger man, to show Richie that he wasn't alone in his experiences, that it was ok to talk about. Methos knew that he had been a fool to think that the memories wouldn't still be painful. Great, show the kid that the pain never goes away, that's the message he wanted to send.
Methos restrained a sigh as he brought his own arms up to wrap around the other man. He couldn't tell Richie that he would forget but he could show the youth that he could move on, still live and still love, still let himself be loved.
He pulled back out of Richie's embrace just a little and brought his hands up to the beautiful freckled face. He looked into those blue eyes that shone now with sadness and concern and spoke softly, "Thank you." Then he laid gentle kisses all over Richie's face and finally his lips.
Then he stood up. Methos could feel Richie's surprise. "Come on, let's make dinner." He didn't miss the young man's relief either. This wasn't tit for tat, a story for a story. Richie would talk when he was ready and Methos would only try to make the other immortal comfortable.