Highlander
Mar. 13th, 2006 08:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
logovo1Revisitando fics preferidos para ponerlos en mi del.icio.us.
Heat Goes to Cold fue mi fic preferido en Highlander y creo aguanta releidas.
Methos siempre fue mi personaje preferido de esa serie. 5,000 años. Nomas de pensarla, uff.
Escrito en segunda persona, funciona perfectamente para vivir un día dentro de un hombre tan viejo que puede ya ni se acuerda de su verdadero nombre, que por eso solo responde a Methos.
Sometime way, way back, you used to do this slow, eased awakening. Before the Horsemen, before Troy, before Hammurabi, you slid into consciousness at the scent of dew, the bleat of goats and sheep soft, soft outside the tent. With a woman whose name you can't remember, and whose facial features have been erased, forgotten save for the intensity of rich soil-earth eyes, you would roll over lazily on the furs covering the floor, and your naked skin against that animal skin would shiver. Then you would smile into that set of matching sleepy eyes, growl playfully in a language long dead, and crush your face to her breast, tasting the woman time has told you it is impossible to fully recall.
Heat Goes to Cold fue mi fic preferido en Highlander y creo aguanta releidas.
Methos siempre fue mi personaje preferido de esa serie. 5,000 años. Nomas de pensarla, uff.
Escrito en segunda persona, funciona perfectamente para vivir un día dentro de un hombre tan viejo que puede ya ni se acuerda de su verdadero nombre, que por eso solo responde a Methos.
Sometime way, way back, you used to do this slow, eased awakening. Before the Horsemen, before Troy, before Hammurabi, you slid into consciousness at the scent of dew, the bleat of goats and sheep soft, soft outside the tent. With a woman whose name you can't remember, and whose facial features have been erased, forgotten save for the intensity of rich soil-earth eyes, you would roll over lazily on the furs covering the floor, and your naked skin against that animal skin would shiver. Then you would smile into that set of matching sleepy eyes, growl playfully in a language long dead, and crush your face to her breast, tasting the woman time has told you it is impossible to fully recall.
