========================================================================= Date: Tue, 2 Apr 1996 07:38:41 -0500 Reply-To: Sandra1012@AOL.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Sandra McDonald Subject: Seeds 1/2 Author's Notes: Not my characters, not my copyright, just my story. This was written because the idea was intriguing, and because I have no social life. But it's not just a story about Amanda's sex life . . . read through. Comments, criticism, is the idea interesting? and slices of virtual Oreo cheesecake if you like Richie to Sandra1012@aol.com Warning: Rated R for Adults only - sex, language, graphic images, and a little violence. Seeds by Sandra McDonald sandra1012@aol.com Hungry, hungry, hungry. Amanda Darieux was hungry. She gazed up from the street corner to the dojo in the building across from her and munched on a chocolate doughnut from a paper bag in her right hand. Fall had come to Seacouver, and with it chill winds and gray skies. She was thinking of leaving the States, going on to sunnier and warmer climates, but had a need to fulfill first. Duncan MacLeod better be home. He wasn't. "Took off down to San Francisco," Richie said in the office. He'd been delighted, and wary, to see her. Amanda expected no less. She considered Richie cute in a puppy sort of fashion. He was far too young for her, and very easy to manipulate. But also brave and strong, good at heart, well-meaning if headstrong and cocky. He'd been working out when her Immortal buzz hit him, and his gray tank top was soaked with sweat. The dojo was full of customers, mostly men, and the smell of sweat and testosterone in the air intrigued her. "What's in San Francisco?" she pouted. She pulled out a small bag of potato chips from her jacket and opened them. Richie finished drying his arms and chest off with a white towel. Flushed, his hair damp on his forehead, he reached for a water bottle. "Martial arts tournament. He went to see an old Japanese sensei pal. Might be back tomorrow." Amanda turned to look out the office window. She devoured the chips without even tasting more than the impression of saltiness. Her eyes roamed the men in their tight spandex, their firm muscles lifting weights, the incredible power in squatting thighs and legs. Any of them would normally do. But her desire demanded another Immortal, and MacLeod was in San Francisco. "Tomorrow?" she asked. "He said. Maybe later." "Maybe I could go down there," she mused. "Is something wrong? Something that can't wait?" The concern in his voice was touching. He truly was naive. "No," Amanda said. She found a candy bar in her other pocket, and opened it with a slice of her fingernails. Richie asked, with a smile, "Since when did you become the junk food connoisseur?" Amanda closed her mouth firmly on the long stick of chocolate and moved towards him. He instinctively retreated until he was backed up against the water cooler. "Do you want some?" she purred, moving her tongue around its edges. Richie's blue eyes, always startling in their intensity, widened. "What?" "You heard me," she smiled, and used her free hand to trace a line down the center of his chest. "If Duncan's away, maybe this is our opportunity to be together." Richie's mouth opened. Shut. Opened again. "Oh, Amanda, let's not go there, okay? This is some kind of trick, isn't it?" He edged out from his trapped position and snatched his towel up off the desk, as if it were some sort of shield. His expression had shaded into wariness again. "It's like a practical joke, isn't it?" Amanda leveled her best gaze on him. A look that had flattened better men and boys than him in the last eleven hundred years. "No joke, Richie," she said. "I don't want to be alone tonight." "I've got some friends," Richie said hastily. "How do you feel about blind dates?" "Do I understand you right?" Amanda asked in a low and incredulous voice, advancing again, her lip pushed down, her eyes wide with hurt. "You're saying no?" Richie stopped where he was, and appeared to give the idea a moment's serious thought. "I'm saying . . . this is not a good idea." "Says who?" Amanda tossed the candy wrapper aside and put both of her hands on his chest. She had him wedged up against the wall again, and this time he wasn't trying as hard to escape. "Duncan? He doesn't own me. I don't own him. That should be clear to everyone." Richie didn't answer. He was still a teenager, she remembered, in years as well as appearance. When he was three or four hundred he'd probably regret his youthful looks, frozen in time, but for now she was beginning to relish them. She pressed up tight against him, and felt through his sweats that at least one part of him was considering the possibilities. "Richie, this is between you and me," she said, both literally and figuratively, and reached one hand down between his hot skin and the soaked elastic waistband while her other hand went up to cup his chin. She pressed her mouth open and invading on his, her breasts against his firm chest. She could him rising harder to the occasion, his heartbeat doubling, his tongue meeting hers - Then, as if remembering where he was, that the whole dojo was just a few feet away, that Duncan and Amanda were known lovers, that he should not be standing there with her hand wrapped around him, Richie broke loose. "Oh, man," he said, wiping his lips. "Amanda, don't." This time his rejection sparked anger in her. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Am I too old for you? Too withered up and dried out? Or don't you like women who know what they're doing? Or did I misread you completely, and you don't like women at all?" A trace of raw hurt crossed his expression, quickly covered by a new toughness and traces of pink in his cheeks. "You don't have to get nasty about it," he retorted. "You know the way out." Then he was gone, towards the locker room, towards whatever, but definitely away from her. Amanda sagged against the wall, feeling her own heart start to slow down, the lingering taste of him in her mouth. Damn, damn, damn. She was still hungry. **** She told herself she could wait until Duncan got back, surely her hormones could wait that long, but her need required action, required fulfillment. Amanda decided to try Richie again. She went to his apartment long after dark, but he wasn't in and she had to pick the lock on his door. She looked around the small apartment, at the sports and travel and movie posters, at the dirty dishes in the sink and Salvation Army reject furniture. Whatever Duncan was paying him, it wasn't enough. She flopped down on his unmade bed. He must not have washed his sheets recently, because she could smell him, strong and young and virile, against the worn blue cotton. Amanda fished under his bed and came up with two Penthouse magazines. She leafed through them languidly, critically, and then tossed them aside. She went back to the dojo. >From the street she could see a light burning in the office. The stairs were dark, as was the hall. She crept upward, a sixth sense warning her to be quiet, and when she edged to the glass doors of the dojo she caught a quick glimpse of Richie and three figures in the middle of the darkened room. Richie was the easiest to spot, because he was kneeling on the floor with his hands roped behind his back. He must have sensed her, but he didn't even glance her way. Words from his captors floated out from under the wooden doors. "Tell us where MacLeod is," the tallest figure warned. "And we'll kill you quickly." "Why don't you go fuck yourself?" came Richie's defiant answer. The tall man backhanded him savagely, sending him crashing to the floor. The other two Hunters laughed. "Careful," one managed. "If you break his jaw, he won't be able to tell us where MacLeod is." The third disagreed. "No. If you break it, we just wait for him to heal it, the supernatural freak. Then we break it again." Amanda ducked down low under the glass panes and scooted down the hall to the locker room exit. The handle was inside, not outside, but she slipped out a thin lockpick from her jacket and pried it into the doorjamb. Within seconds she had it open. She slipped inside and moved carefully down the rows of battered lockers. The place smelled heavily of antiseptic and soap, and her feet glided silently over the clean towel. >From outside, more laughter. A sharp cry from Richie. Amanda forced herself not to hurry. If she hurried, she might make a mistake. She opened the supply closet, and found a ten foot hose coiled on a shelf above the deep sink. She screwed the hose on, laid the other end to rest on the floor, and turned the knob counter clock-wise. Then she moved to the showers, turning them on full blast and scalding hot, aiming their spray at the floor. Two of the Hunters came to investigate. She dropped the first one cleanly and expertly, with her sword through his stomach. The second managed a swing at her, but she ducked and slammed into him sideways, sending him crashing against the wall. He fired a gun blindly, the explosion very loud in the tiled room, and the blast nearly deafened her. She came up low and hard, knocking him down, and the crunch of his head against the floor told her he wouldn't be of any more trouble. The floor was flooding. Amanda lurched to her feet. Outside, the third Hunter called to her. "Whoever's in there!" he shouted. "You come out now, before he loses his head!" Amanda swiftly repositioned the hose so that it let water go across the dojo floor. Counted to ten. Prayed the Hunter wouldn't cut off Richie's head. Then she walked out, calm and cool, her sword lazy in her right hand. "I don't think we've met," Amanda said. "You don't look like a friend." The Hunter had dragged Richie upright with one hand yanking on the younger Immortal's short hair. The Hunter's other hand kept Richie's rapier at his throat. The blade bit into the soft flesh, drawing a thin line of blood. Richie had been beaten, and his green shirt was stained in several places from where they'd cut him. His blue eyes, scared and angry, were locked on Amanda. His jaw was set firmly against any cries of pain or panic. "I'm no friend of yours," the Hunter rasped. Amanda gave both men a smile. "If you say so," she shrugged. "But as for your friends. . . well, you might need to go help them. They're drowning. I'd say they have about thirty more seconds before they suck in enough water in their lungs to make resuscitation impossible." She was lying. They were already dead. The Hunter yanked Richie up higher, pressed the blade deeper. Richie was visibly fighting not to gag or resist. "Then go save them," he ordered. "That's your job," Amanda said. "Then I'll just take his head now and go save them. You'll be too busy to stop me. And when you're down on your knees, missy, I'll take yours." "That's an option," Amanda nodded, keeping her voice bright and cheerful. "But you see this water on the floor that we're standing in? You must have had the introductory course on Quickenings. Don't stand in water, don't stand between metal poles, you know, that stuff. Basic electricity facts. Because if you take his head now, or my head for that matter, you might as well just climb into a bathtub and drop a power transformer into it." The Hunter's eyes went wide. "You're bluffing." "Won't it be interesting when you die finding out?" Amanda asked. The Hunter drew back the rapier, slicing open if not actually severing Richie's neck, and plunged it into Richie's side. He tossed the captive at Amanda. She expected the move, and let him fall so that she could take down the Hunter. He was fast, and strong, but she got her knees around his head and snapped his neck. She crawled a few feet to where Richie lay in shock, his eyes glazing over, his blood running out all over the already wet floor. With a slice of her sword she freed his wrists. His eyes were dull with pain, but he could focus on her. "Glad you came back," he rasped. "Me, too," she said. She stroked his forehead. "It's okay. Go ahead and die. I'll take care of the mess." He nodded fractionally, and then his body went limp. end of part one