This is a joint venture of Kaana Moonshadow and myself. We had lots of fun writing it and hope you have as much fun reading.
We don't own Bishop, but we sure as hell wish we did.
Buffy friends might find the song somewhat familiar. The lyrics were just perfect for our story.
Bishop sat, seemingly focussed on working on his weapons, but in fact he concentrated on the rustling sound as the girl's dress fell to the floor, and he could not keep himself from peeking at her out of the corners of his eyes as she gingerly stepped into the tub, his heart accelerating nearly painfully.
Gods, she was beautiful. And soon, he would have her. He just knew it. He was getting there. Just a bit more patience, and she would swallow the bait, hook and all. If he was careful, and made no mistakes.
Before he had entered the hut, he had pulled up another bucket of water and cleaned himself as much as possible. It had not been easy to get the soot off, sticky as it was, but he'd done his best. Being dirty and stinking of sweat after chopping half a forest to splinters to vent some of his frustration was certainly not helpful while trying to lure her in. So he tried to clean himself up as much as possible.
The next thing was to get her to come to him. After what nearly had happened at the fireplace, she seemed scared out of her mind, and that would not do if he wanted to succeed in his plan. So he'd have to get her to calm down a bit, relax, and at the same time get her to come close again.
Because it seemed that his proximity, coupled with a bit of bare skin, did a nice job of confusing the hell out of her. He suppressed a grin. Honestly, that fiancé of hers had to be a right sissy. The girl certainly did not have a lot of experience, if the sight of a naked male chest threw her off her tracks like that.
But she should come to him, not the other way round, otherwise he might scare her again. If she thought it was her idea... well, that would be a different matter completely, wouldn't it?
And that was when the idea hit him. The scratch on his shoulder. She had been awfully worried about that, had insisted on patching him up, even though he told her it was nothing. If he played up on that, maybe...
And it had worked beautifully. He'd winced and hissed, pretending it hurt, but of course played it down with the same breath and was all manly and tough about it. The perfect lure, nearly irrisistable, bringing out every ounce of mother hen instinct she posessed.
It had been a full success. She'd all but forced him to sit down and let her have a look at the bandages. And a lot of naked skin as well. Looks good, indeed. How he had managed to keep a straight face at that he'd never know. Even now, thinking back at the words that had escaped her and the way her face went flaming red the instant she realised what she had let slip, he could barely repress a snicker.
And then – planting the idea of having a hot bath in her head, baiting her, riling her until she just had to prove she was not the wimp he accused her of being – he was very satisfied with his progress so far.
The important thing now was not to lose his head, and keep from rushing things. Even though it would be hard as hells with the vision of her naked body before his eyes.
He watched her reflection in the window of the hut as she slowly lowered herself into the tub and swallowed as his mouth went dry. Hard as hells might be a real understatement...
He tried to keep his breath deep and steady and returned his eyes to his scimitars. Much safer that way.
For long minutes, the only sounds in the cabin were the soft noise of the oiled cloth on his scimitars, and the occasional sloshing of water as she moved a bit in the tub. Glancing at her from time to time, he saw that she had closed her eyes and obviously relaxed a lot. Good. He had known a bit of warm water would be just the thing.
After a while, she started to wash herself, and he had to force himself to stare very hard at his scimitars, else he could not have guaranteed for his reactions as she lifted her legs up, one after the other, to run the soap along their length, water dripping down from her soft skin, gleaming like satin in the shine of the fire...
He cursed inwardly and ripped his eyes, involuntarily drawn to the display of beauty, away again. Patience. Patience. Patience.
The low burning that crept through his body seemed to tell him differently.
He forced himself to take deep, even breaths and to concentrate on his work. Whetstone. Cloth. Oil. Next weapon.
A soft hiss accompanied by a sloshing of water interrupted his thoughts, and he ventured another glance at the girl. She had managed to soap her hair, but now obviously had trouble rinsing out the foam, because the tub was too small for her to lean back and dunk her head under the water. So she ineffectively tried to scoop up water over her head, only managing to get soap into her eyes in the process.
His opportunity to gallantly come to the rescue. Knight in shining armour and all that nonsense.
Bishop got up, and she jumped a bit when she heard him approach, protectively curling up in the tub, blinking at him with wary, if watering, eyes. He sighed inwardly. Seemed like he still needed to proceed with a lot of caution.
"Get up", he said, carefully keeping his voice completely neutral when in fact the thought of her standing in front of him, completely naked, did very funny things to his breathing.
„Wh... what?", she stuttered, alarmed.
He sighed, giving his voice a slightly impatient, exasperated note, indicating that her worries were silly and irrational.
"Princess, you obviously can't manage yourself, so I'll help. Simple as that.", he answered. "Besides...", he grinned at her, not able to resist baiting her once more, „now you most definitely have nothing I've never seen before."
For some moments, she just stared at him, then he saw her eyes widen as she got his meaning, and the uneasy expression on her face gave way to anger. Good. If he wanted his plan to work, she must not be afraid of him. Anger was much better than fear.
„You looked!", she declared accusingly.
He grinned again, with real amusement this time. Gods help him, but she was cute in her indignation.
"What did you expect?", he continued to wind her up. "Anyway, I've seen it all now, so will you get up, or do you want to rub some more soap into your eyes first?"
For a moment, she glared daggers at him, and he smirked once more, his expression indicating clearly that he expected her to chicken out, and with a shrug turned his back to her, as if dismissing her, and had the satisfaction of hearing a sloshing noise again as she got up.
This was nearly going too smooth.
Suppressing another snicker, he took his mug from his backpack and turned back to her, standing in the tub with her back to him, naked as the gods had created her, her long, wet hair hanging in a heavy curtain down to her waist.
He swallowed, his amusement evaporating as other, fiercer emotions shot through him. How ever was he supposed to keep his cool when she stood just inches before him, totally naked, smelling of soap and her own sweet scent, her bare shoulders peeking tantalisingly through the wet strands of hair?
He inhaled deeply, trying to force his heartbeat to slow, to calm his breathing, and started to rinse her hair, scooping up clean water from the pot with his mug, trying not to touch her in the process. Safer that way. But it was no use, he could not get the soap out of her hair without helping it along with his other hand.
He let his left hand glide through her hair, fanning it out, so he could get it clean, his fingers grazing the skin of her neck repeatedly in the process, and a prickling feeling started to wander from his fingertips upwards.
He fought the impulse to lean in and press his lips to her neck, forced himself to concentrate on his task instead, but he could not keep his breath from growing short. He simply wasn't able to take his eyes from the small drops of water that glittered on her bare shoulder in the warm, flickering light of the fire, teasing him, beckoning to him... he wanted nothing more than to bend his head and lick away those little, sparkling pearls...
The girl leaned into his touch, sighing softly. His heart skipped a beat, and he could feel his control slipping, patience forgotten as a bolt of desire shot through him.
Heedlessly, he let his mug drop into the tub, his hands wandering from her neck to her shoulders. Leaning close, he slowly ran his tongue over her skin, his heartbeat turning to a staccato. He heard her gasp, a tremor going through her body, and he fought, fought against the hot wave of lust that flooded through him, as he gently kissed his way to her neck, taking it oh so slow, because he knew that if he allowed himself just one fervid move, his control would snap completely and nothing, nothing would keep him from taking her right here and now, whatever her feelings on the matter.
And that was not what he wanted, he tried to remind himself, even as his brain seemed to turn to mush. He did not want to take her by force. He did not want to press himself on her. He wanted to break her resistance, wanted to make her feel the same need that burned in him, wanted to see that passion in her eyes, wanted to hear her moan, wanted her to call his name...
Just the thought made his knees weak.
A low, growling noise rose in his throat, and, his control wearing thin, he sank his teeth in her neck, staking his claim on her. Marking her as his.
She made a strange sound, something between a sob and a moan and sprang forward, out of his grip, out of the tub, and then turned to face him, slowly retreating, trying to cover herself with her hands, panic written all over her face.
He'd scared her. Had not taken it slow enough. Stupid mistake. It just was so hard to keep the lid down on all the want that boiled up in him... But her face was flushed, her eyes were wide and unfocussed, her lips parted under her short, uneven breath.
Her wall was crumbling. But he'd have to be more careful.
"Get dressed", he said softly, not following her, even if the hunger inside him demanded to be fed. But that would be a bad move. He'd have to get her to feel safe again before he could try to undermine her defences completely.
He could hold back, he told himself. For now. Hunting elusive prey was a waiting game, after all. But his quarry was about to get caught in his trap, he could see. Just a little while longer.
He turned his back to her while she fumbled for her dress and took a deep swig out of his water skin, trying to get more of a grip on himself, trying to calm down at least some.
When the cessation of the rustling noises behind him told him that she had finished dressing, he turned again and slowly stalked her, his eyes fixed on hers. The flush on her face had abated somewhat, but when she saw him approaching, her eyes widened again, and she slowly retreated until her back hit the wall. Trapped, she could only stare helplessly, a wild mixture of emotions chasing each other in her gaze, and he could see her start to tremble again.
He stopped when he was nearly touching her, his gaze still holding hers. She looked like the proverbial rabbit, facing the snake, hypnotised. He lifted his hand and gently ran his fingers over her cheek. He bent forward and her eyes closed, while she drew in a shaking breath.
"Turn around so I can fasten the laces", he murmured into her ear, his voice low.
Her eyes opened again, confusion written all over her face, and he had to keep himself from smiling. Not what she had expected.
She turned, still looking confused, and he slowly laced the bodice of her dress, taking care to let his fingers graze her back as much as possible. Again, she shivered under his touch.
When he was done, he went back to the tub, drew his shirt over his head and let it drop to the floor. When he turned again, he found her eyes glued to his chest, quite a bit of colour in her cheeks now.
Again, he had to repress a confident smile. This was a game of cat and mouse. And in that case, an old and cunning cat against a young and inexperienced mouse.
"I'm afraid I will have to ask you to renew the bandages later, mousie", he purred, while he opened the knot that held them and slowly, carefully removed them, watching her as her eyes followed his hands as if hypnotised by his movements.
Oh yes. This was going to work.
Slowly, he put the roll of gauze aside and dropped his hands to his breeches, starting to undo the lacing there. Again, her eyes followed his movement, and she grew beet red, and made a weak, squeaking noise. Just like a mouse.
"Wh... what are you doing?", she asked, her voice shaking.
"Taking a bath, little mouse", he answered, still in that low, vibrating voice. "There is quite a bit of soot left in my hair, remember?"
With that, he dropped the breeches, the proof of his desire still very visible. For a moment, her eyes remained fixed on him, then she squeaked again and hastily turned away, retreating to her blankets, bringing as much distance between them as possible.
Smiling like a cat now, he stepped into the tub and leaned back in the warm water, his arms resting on the edge of the tub, closing his eyes, forcing himself to relax even further.
He was getting to her, no question about that. She was more afraid of her own reactions than of him by now. If he continued to pour oil into that fire...
The warm water helped to ease his tension some, and after a couple of minutes he took the soap, ducked under the water and started to wash himself, starting with his hair. Then he got up, shook himself, sending drops of water flying, dried himself using his shirt, and slipped into his breeches again. He put his shirt over the back of the chair so it would dry, picked up a blanket and threw it on the floor.
Time for the last act of this little play.
"Come here, mousie", he called out.
She had avoided looking at him up to now, but now she threw him a panicked glance.
"Your hair will dry much quicker in front of the fire", he said.
Still looking nervous, she came over nonetheless, seemingly relieved to find him dressed at least partly, and sat down on the blanket. He lay down next to her, lifting one hand and let his fingers glide through her wet hair lazily, again and again, fanning it out to help it dry.
After a while, she relaxed and closed her eyes, seemingly enjoying his ministrations. The burning in his blood had dimmed somewhat after the bath, and instead he now felt a strange, nearly tender feeling rise in him as he watched her face, so peaceful now...
"Sing for me, little mouse", he said softly, and without thinking. As soon as he said it, he realised he'd really like to hear the sound of her sweet voice once more before she died.
She opened her eyes slowly, as if waking from a dream, and blinked at him in surprise. But then she closed them again, drew a deep breath and her clear voice rose with the words of an old song.
Early one morning, just as the sun was rising
I heard a maid sing in the valley below
"Oh don't deceive me, Oh never leave me,
How could you use a poor maiden so?"
He listened intently, his eyes fixed on her face, the words of the song, combined with her lovely voice making him feel as if a ring was constricting around his chest, making it feel tight and breathing hard. It was a bittersweet feeling, a mixture of longing and ache, and he thought of what he would do tomorrow. For the first time, the thought brought a sharp pang of regret.
He did not want to kill her anymore. The realisation hit him like a hammer between the eyes. The thought of shoving her down that cliff made him cringe, and the thought of her gone brought a surprising amount of pain with it.
He kept listening, confused by what he felt, trying to figure out what the bloody hells was happening to him.
When the song was finished, she opened her eyes again and looked at him with a small smile on her face, but the ache was still growing in his chest, and he could only hold her gaze wordlessly.
She must have seen something in the expression on his face, because her smile faltered, and she asked quietly: "What?"
He let his fingers wander from her hair to her throat and gently touched it. "The marks are nearly gone, little mouse", he said, softly.
As soon as he had said it, he could have slapped himself. What an absolutely moronic thing to say, considering he was trying to seduce her. Clever move, reminding her that he was about to kill her. And since when was he afflicted with bouts of honesty?
He wrecked his brain for a way to make up for that blunder, but already realisation dawned on her face as she understood what he was saying, and she averted her gaze quickly. "How... how are you going to do it?", she asked, and he could hear she was trying to prevent her voice from shaking.
Too late to pull back, it seemed. That left only one way to go: Forward. And somehow, for whatever reason, thinking about killing her tomorrow had taken the thrill out of his hunt completely. And left him aching inside.
"I will to throw you down the cliff", he answered, his voice toneless.
"So... I'm going to drown", she said, and this time, her voice quivered. A single tear trickled down her cheek, but she did her best to appear brave.
A long forgotten part of him, a part of his soul he thought had been dead for many years, rose from the dark drawer he had buried it in and made him feel a wave of pity for her. He had not thought himself capable of feeling pity anymore, but there it was.
He stroked her cheek and said, hesitatingly: "If you want me to... I can make it quick, snap your neck first, so you won't feel any pain."
She turned her face to stare at him, her eyes swimming with suppressed tears, and swallowed. Then she said, nearly inaudibly: "Yes, please." And after a pause: "Thank you."
Gods. She was thanking him?
He did not know what to reply to that, so he silently continued fanning out her hair, so beautiful, so soft. She returned her gaze to the fire, hugging her arms around her knees, making her look like a lost little girl. But she did not cry, she did not beg.
Her bravery touched something in his heart hysterics would never have been able to reach, and another wave of tenderness rose in his chest. He took her shoulder and drew her to him. She seemed like a doll, passive, as if nothing he did mattered anymore to her. Maybe it didn't, considering what was about to happen to her.
He drew her down, until she was stretched out beside him, her head on his shoulder and her hand coming to rest on his chest. He continued to stroke her hair, now nearly dry, and closed his eyes, savouring the feeling of having her close, of her body against his.
It felt so good... and again, not in a physical way. It felt... peaceful. Warm. Lying there, the girl in his arms, the warmth of the fire surrounding him, for the first time in years, he felt peace.
He did not want to lose that feeling again.
Yet tomorrow, he would kill her with his own hands.
She stirred a little in his arm, but only to find a more comfortable position on his shoulder, and snuggled a bit closer. He nuzzled his face into her hair and pressed a soft kiss on her temple.
Her hand started to move on his chest, lightly stroking through the wiry hair there. He closed his eyes, wanting to purr like a cat, wanting to stretch under her touch...
Screw everything. He would not do it. Devils take the rest of the money. He would just take her with him, keep her, run off with her into the woods somewhere. No matter where, as long as nobody found her there. He'd keep her and make her his.
This was his second chance, the opportunity to change the past, and by the gods, he would not waste it.
He drew a breath, searching for the right words to inform her of that change of plans, feeling strangely uneasy. Not that he'd leave her a choice in the matter, but for some reason he feared her reaction. If she was horrified at the prospect, if she rejected him... it would hurt. Gods help him, but it would hurt.
"Listen...", he started, when suddenly he felt her hand trail further down, following the thin line of hair that ran from his chest down his belly with her fingertips.
It was as if all his blood fled his brain, rushing to his lower body, and he could feel himself grow hard in seconds. His spine bowed of its own accord, his stomach muscles contracted under her touch, and he forgot what he was about to say as his whole body seemed to burst into flames.
"Playing with fire will get you burned, mousie", he squeezed out, breathlessly, rolling to his side, capturing her mouth in a savage kiss. No more holding back.
For some precious moments, her mouth opened under his, welcoming him, her hands clutching at his shoulders, and the burning in him seemed to intensify even more as she returned his kiss. But then, suddenly, she made a small noise and drew back, her hands pressing against his chest, trying to push him away.
He caught her behind in his hands and pulled her harder against him, the sensation ripping a deep moan from his throat. His mouth wandered to her ear, nibbling at her lobe, his breath coming in gasps.
"No, mousie", he whispered hoarsely into her ear, feeling her shiver when his breath tickled her. "This time, you won't run from me. This time, I won't let you off the hook."
No going back from this point.
Sucking and biting his way down her throat, his fingers sought the lacing of her dress and started to pull impatiently.
She shivered violently, her hands scrabbling at his chest frantically, catching in the chain of the amulet. "Wait", she pleaded, her voice full of panic. "It will break..."
He drew back slightly, but his fingers determinedly continued to untie the laces. Her gaze fell to his chest and she froze, her eyes widening.
He looked down and saw that the amulet had somehow opened, and the girl was staring at Riana's picture, her face ashen. Then, slowly, her cheeks started to turn an angry red, and her eyes narrowed.
When she looked up at him, her gaze was cold, and she pushed against him violently and scrambled back, to her feet. Surprised by her sudden vehemence, he let go, and she stood before him, staring down at him.
"Get your filthy hands off me!", she hissed. "Did you really think that I would welcome your touch, when I have a man like Cedric by my side?" Her voice was icy as she went on. "He's a fine man, noble and honourable, while you are… you are nothing but a common thug, crawling around in the dirt, not worthy to hold a candle to him. You are disgusting. You are scum!"
At the end of the sentence, her voice caught, and she turned her back to him abruptly, marching over to her blanket, sitting down, hugging her knees to her chest, staring at the wall demonstratively.
It felt like a knife was twisting in his heart. Rejected. He'd thought he'd found her again, found a second chance, but history was only repeating itself. He'd been rejected once more, in favour of some pompous, sanctimonious fool who deemed himself above other folk because of that halo surrounding his skull.
This time was even worse, because, self-righteous jerk that the paladin had been, he at least had been a man worth that noun, strong and capable in his own right. But to be rejected for some pansy like that Cedric, a perfumed, polished knock-off of a man, who, considering that scene Bishop had witnessed in the woods, very likely secretly preferred boys... it was just too much.
A pain ripped through his stomach, so intense he wanted to curl up and cry, but his pride would not allow him to show her how much it hurt. So he forced himself to get to his feet, stomping over to her, shoving her flat on her blankets with his foot. He crouched down, yanking her leg out under her and clamped the iron ring around her ankle.
"I may be scum, princess", he snarled, "but you're nothing but fish bait, and you'd do good to remember that. Maybe you'll feel different about my filthy touch when that ridiculous dress is pulling you under the water!"
His hand went to her hair, grabbing it roughly, pulling her head back so she had to look at him. "By the way, you could have easily escaped that day, if you had run in the other direction", he sneered, then shoved her away, grabbed the blankets and got to his feet. "Let that thought keep you warm tonight."
He marched over to his bedroll, fighting the urge to howl in pain, to take the lopsided chair and smash it against the wall, to trash the hut, go on a senseless, violent destructive spree just to vent his pain and fury on anything.
He threw himself on his bedroll, but could not stand the inactivity, his mind racing, his stomach knotted, the pain still ripping through him like hot knife. He'd have to do something, anything, to keep his mind off things.
He sprang up again, snatched a log of wood from the pile next to the fireplace, grabbed his dagger and started to hack away at the wood mindlessly, his thoughts in a turmoil.
He was such a fool to let himself fall for her innocent act. She was just like all the others, uppity bitch, only out to tear a man's heart from his chest and rip it apart.
To think he had been willing to throw in his lot with her, take her with him, maybe teach her how to live in the woods she loved so much... To think he had been prepared to let her in, had been ready to trust again... no, had been wanting to trust again, desperately wanted it to be true...
Only to have her throw the name of that sissy fiancé of hers into his face when he was at his most vulnerable.
She had made him vulnerable.
Oh, he'd enjoy throwing her down the cliff. And he'd draw it out, to see her cower in fear. Common thug, huh? Well, he could act like one if she insisted.
Without thinking, he worked on the wood, trying to fight the pain down, to remind himself she was nothing to him, there was no sense in feeling that hurt, when his eyes registered what he was carving at last.
A lily.
He had carved a bloody lily.
Yelling in frustration, he sprang to his feet, hurling the piece of wood into the corner of the hut. He wanted to scream at her, tell her to get out of his mind, but he would not let her triumph, would not let her see what she was doing to him.
But he could not stand feeling like this any longer. He'd sworn to himself not to let it happen again, never to let anyone in again, and he just could not endure it anymore. Could not take the pain. Hells knew he had been hurt enough to last him a lifetime.
He stormed out of the hut, into the shed behind it and grabbed two bottles of alcohol out of the rack. He'd drink himself senseless, drink until he passed out, and when he came to, that horror of a night would be over, and he could get rid of her and forget all this ever happened.
He drew the cork of one bottle with his teeth, spitting it out. Then, lifting the bottle to his mouth, tilting his head back, he drank deeply, the fiery liquid burning as it made its way down his throat.
When he returned to the hut, the first bottle was already half empty.
