Relay 8 – kbrand5333

Arthur peers through the grimy skylight just in time to see a dark silhouette rip something from Guinevere's head and throw it aside.

That'll be the wig, then. Luckily Arthur hadn't arrived to see Helios carrying Gwen's limp body over his shoulder, idly running his palm over her rear end. Luckily he didn't see him tear her expensive dress from her body, ruining it. Luckily he didn't see the look of unbridled lust on both Helios' and Lancelot's faces as they surveyed their quarry in her scant black panties and strapless demi-bra. Luckily he didn't see Helios bind her wrists and affix them to a hook suspended from the ceiling, bind her ankles to the chair she is currently slumped in.

Luckily for them, obviously.

As he surveys the scene, Arthur Pendragon feels his blood boiling in his veins, yet his mind contains the coldest, blindest fury. He knows what kind of a sick, twisted bastard Helios is. He knows that he gets off on torture of any kind. Male or female, young or old, it doesn't matter. But young and female? Young and female and attractive? Those are his extra-special favorites.

Beneath the fury is anger. At Guinevere. Damn her, if she had followed the plan, we wouldn't be in this mess. We would be back at headquarters right now, reporting to The Dragon. I wouldn't be on this roof, trying to see through this dirty skylight. Merlin and Gwaine wouldn't be God-knows-where. Where are they, anyway? And she wouldn't be restrained in a chair with Helios prowling around her, eyeing her like she's his next meal, while I sit up here trying to decide what the next move and…

…worry. About her.

That's a new emotion for Arthur Pendragon: worry. He was raised to be a cold killer. From the time his fingers were long enough to squeeze a trigger, his arms strong enough to steadily lift a gun.

The Dragon would have my head if he knew I had succumbed to worry, Arthur vaguely thinks, knowing that D would have no qualms at all about eliminating him if he so much as sensed a molecule of weakness. Son or no.

Where is Lancelot, anyway? Arthur creeps along to another skylight. Oh. Cowering in an office. No stomach at all, that one. He can hear Lance's muffled voice as he talks into his mobile. He can't make out the words, but the cadence suggests agitation. Questions.

Arthur smiles. Lancelot is wondering where his men are. They're in a culvert about 100 yards away. In a pile. He flips open his mobile and sends a text. When I was younger, so much younger than today are the words he sends. Then he starts to move.

xXx

Gwen blinks her eyes open and looks down. Oh. That's why I'm so cold.

"Good morning, my pretty pet," a gruff voice growls, seeing she's awake.

"Helios," she croaks.

"My reputation precedes me, I see." He lips curl into a sinister smile. Gwen cannot help but laugh.

"What's so fucking funny?" he snarls.

"That smile of yours. You look like the Grinch who stole Christmas."

"The what?"

She rolls her eyes. "Never mind."

He wheels on her, striding quickly up to her. "You are in no position to be cracking wise, my pet," he hisses in her ear. She turns her face towards him, gathers up what little moisture she can summon inside her mouth, and spits in his face.

Now Helios laughs. He wipes the spittle from his face and then licks it from his finger, closing his eyes lecherously.

"Up," he commands, reaching for a box attached to a thick cable. There are two buttons on it. He presses one, and Gwen feels herself being lifted by her already-stiff-and-approaching-numb arms, forcing her to her feet.

He lifts her high enough that she is just barely on her tiptoes, the chair strapped to her ankles balancing behind her, useless.

"Let's see if you have any fight left in you once I'm through," he snarls. He reaches for a thin piece of metal, extending it like an old radio antenna. He swishes it in the air menacingly.

That's going to sting a bit, Gwen idly thinks.

"Now, Pet," Helios approaches, sliding the metal antenna along his palm. "Information."

"I'll bet if you look, you'll find a telephone directory in that desk," she nods in the direction of a dusty old desk in the corner, "though I cannot vouch for how up-to-date it may be."

"Oh, I shall so enjoy silencing that smart mouth of yours," he growls.

She sighs and rolls her eyes at him, as if she is being merely inconvenienced.

"Enough foreplay, Helios," Lance's voice drifts down. "Find out what the hell she knows and have done already."

"Ah, there he is, the little chicken shit girl," Gwen grins, trying to turn her head, following the direction of the voice. "Don't have the stomach to do it yourself, you big girl?" she shouts. "Can't say I'm surprised. Couldn't even make it through Kill Bill without wincing, I recall. How are you even in this business, anyway, Nancy?"

There is a swish and a sharp sting as the antenna connects with Gwen's stomach. She doesn't cry out, doesn't even flinch. "I think there's a broken window in here. I feel a draft," she says, coolly.

Helios cocks an eyebrow, impressed not only by her balls, but her fortitude. And her taut stomach muscles as they contract, the only sign she's noticed the lash at all.

"Well, well, Pet, it seems you are indeed made of stronger stuff." Helios tosses the antenna aside, going to a menacing black leather doctor's bag for a different toy.

While he digs, motion catches the corner of Gwen's periphery. Arthur drops soundlessly to his feet, eyes on her. She nods slightly, and points her eyes up to the overlooking office.

Arthur winks at her.

"Ah, here we are, just the thing," Helios declares, withdrawing a black policeman's truncheon from the bag. He holds it up triumphantly, stroking it lovingly, and turns.

"Thank you." The closeness of Arthur's clipped voice startles him as the truncheon is snatched from his hands. The last thing Helios sees is Arthur's smirk as he clubs him with his own weapon. Then blackness.

"Lancelot…" Gwen says as Arthur reaches for the remote to lower her down.

"He's being dealt with," Arthur says as she sits back down in the chair, her arms lowered as far as the winch allows, which isn't very far. He digs into Helios' toy bag, looking for something with an edge. "Leon and Percival are holding him. They're upstairs."

"Honestly? Nothing sharp?" he huffs, looking around the room.

"Pendragon…" Gwen says, trying to will some of the feeling back into her arms, but as they are still suspended over her head, it's not working too well.

"Zip ties… why the fuck did he have to use zip ties…" Arthur fishes through the desk.

"Arthur!" Gwen shouts.

"What?"

"I have a blade."

Arthur looks at Gwen, incredulous. "You do?" Good God, where on earth does she possibly have a blade?

"Yes."

"Where?" he asks, warily, trying not to look at her body. The thin pink stripe across her stomach from where the antenna struck her is not lost on him, however, and he decides to give Helios a kick as he walks past him.

"It's… in my bra."

Oh. Oh, dear.

"How on earth do you have a weapon in your bra?" he asks.

"Hey, these things can be considered weapons if used correctly," she says, thrusting her chest forward.

Oh, God, don't do that.

"But I have a thin titanium knife in a Kevlar sheath in here as well. Gaius made it for me."

"I suppose it's too much to hope that it's in the back?"

"It's designed to be masked by the underwire, Pendragon."

"Ah. So it's…"

"Yeah," she says, "sorry."

"What? Oh, um, right." He stands in front of her now. "Which one?"

"Left," she says. Arthur raises his hand hesitantly, hovering just over her right breast. "My left, Arthur, not yours," she whispers hoarsely.

"Right." His voice is equally nonexistent. "Um," he tries to decide how to angle his hand to allow him the fastest, easiest access to the knife tucked inside while touching as little of that amazing orb as possible.

Damn it, man, it was just a kiss. Meant to be a diversion.

"Look, I'm sorry this is so unpleasant for you," she snaps, "but could you get on with it? I can't feel my arms."

"Sorry," he croaks. "I'm just trying to figure out the best way to get…" Taking the bra off is not an option, he decides firmly. Then inspiration hits. He moves around behind her, and slowly reaches down, sliding his hand inside, skimming against her surprisingly warm skin.

"Guinevere, you're holding your breath," he says quietly, his breath warm on her ear. "Exhale, please. It will give me some more room to move."

She does as she is told, and Arthur notices her eyes are closed and her body is as still as a graveyard. Does my touch affect her the way hers does me?

He pushes his hand further in, gently, grasping with his fingertips, telling himself to ignore how soft her skin is, how supple, how firm…

He feels the end of something hard. There it is. He moves his long fingers to close around the end and pulls his hand carefully out, the stiletto grasped precariously between his index and middle fingertips.

Holy shit, I'm really glad I'm behind her now, Arthur realizes as he straightens up and part of him bumps the back of the chair she is sitting in. Disobedient thing, he curses inwardly.

He pauses, unsheathing the tiny blade. It is shaped somewhat like a metal nail file, no wider than a centimeter, if that. He tests the edge and finds it wickedly sharp. It is light and flexible, but strong.

Finally he allows himself to walk around in front of her, fairly confident that the more interested parts of him have calmed down. He reaches up and cuts the tie holding her wrists to the hook, and her arms fall down on his head like the two pieces of meat that they currently feel like to Gwen.

"Sorry," she says as he tucks his head down, worming it in between her arms, and momentarily she has her hands around his neck. Like a lover's embrace.

"Wrong direction," he mutters, ducking again and reaching up with his free hand now to pull her arms down. He slits the zip tie holding her wrists together and her arms flop uselessly onto her lap.

Arthur crouches down again and rubs her shoulders, down her arms, trying to get the blood circulating again. Her fingers have a bluish-grey tinge to them, and he holds her hands between his, rubbing briskly.

"My ankles, please," she whispers. Something in her tone makes him look up at her face. She is flushed, her skin unnaturally warm in the chill of this warehouse. Her eyes are inky dark, her lips parted.

All the signs are right there. Arthur swallows. Hard.

"Ow," she winces, flexing her fingers and arms now. "Pins and needles are a bitch," she complains while Arthur frees her ankles, rubbing the red marks on each gently as he does.

He is kneeling in front of her, his face nearly level with hers. They stare a minute in the thick, cold air, but neither feel the chill. Arthur moves closer, nudging her knees apart with his body.

"Hell with it," he says, and claims her waiting lips once again, his hand quick as lightning as it holds the back of her neck. She stiffens for just the briefest moment, then melts, and he feels her arms come back up around his neck, her fingers tangling into his hair. His other hand caresses the bare skin at her waist, snaking around her back, and she whimpers in the back of her throat as he pulls her closer.

Not a whimper. A purr.

"God," he pulls away just momentarily to curse, then his lips are back on hers, open and hungry, his tongue probing, sliding against hers in the most delicious fashion as she returns the kiss just as ardently, just as passionately.

"Well, isn't this romantic?" Helios' sarcasm filters through and Arthur slowly removes his lips from hers but remains very close.

"May I?" Gwen asks softly, smiling at Arthur.

"As you wish, my lady."

Gwen sees Helios approaching slowly, and just before he reaches Arthur, truncheon raised, she jumps up, quick as a flash, and smashes the wooden chair over Helios' head as Arthur dives out of her way, working in complete synchronicity with her.