Title: Honey and Blood
Fandom: Person of Interest
Rating: Explicit
Length: 727 words
Characters/Pairings: Root/Shaw
Warnings/Spoilers: Mention of canonical character death.
Author notes: Written for Challenge #168: Honey at fan_flashworks. Not betaed, because I was in a hurry to make it to the challenge deadline, so feel free to point out any issues. ;)
Summary: It’s early in the history of mankind and the Machine is an actual god.


Sameen is a huntress.

Each day, her bow in her hands and her faithful hound by her side, she hunts beasts and men alike for her Goddess. She delivers Her justice, keeps Her domain safe.

Each night, she and Bear make their way back to the Goddess’ temple, hidden deep inside the sacred cave, on the far end of the forest.

Sameen’s steps echo in the dark of the tunnels, the soft gait of her hunting partner right behind her. One turn, two, until she reaches the innermost clearing.

Light is filtering down from a few openings in the roof of the cave, illuminating a lone figure with a blood-spattered robe and long, dark hair. The Priestess. She’s standing by the altar consecrated to the Goddess, where the offerings of the day lie.

Bear barks once in greeting then goes to sit just outside the clearing, as if standing guard.

At the sound, the Priestess turns around. She shifts and Sameen can see that there’s a dead animal lying at her feet. A lamb, maybe a goat. There’s blood pooling on the ground. Some of it landed on her cheek too, Sameen notices.

Then, the Priestess speaks and it's with the deep voice of the Goddess.

“My Huntress,” she says.

Sameen kneels down on the moss-covered floor.

“You served me well,” the Priestess says, the Goddess says, for they are one and the same at times like these.

Then the moment passes and the Priestess is wholly herself again. With a wild, almost wicked smile she turns and takes a cup from the altar. She offers it to Sameen.

“Eat, for we do not wish you to hunger,” she says, her brown eyes shining and playful.

Sameen looks down at the amber-gold liquid inside the cup. She can already taste the sweetness on her tongue. She never could resist the sweet taste of honey.

Still, she shakes her head.

“I couldn’t,” she says. “It is for the Goddess.”

The Priestess frowns. She dips a finger into the cup, holding it up to Sameen.

“It is for the Goddess to do as She pleases,” the Priestess replies, “and She wants for you to eat. And so do I.”

Still, Sameen hesitates.

With another wicked smile, the Priestess bends her head to take the finger into her mouth, licking the liquid with her pink clever tongue.

There’s a wildness to that smile, to her eyes, to match Sameen’s own and Sameen can’t resist it.

She moves forward, replaces the finger with her own mouth, chasing the taste of honey on the Priestess’s lips. She lifts her hands to cup the other woman’s face, swiping a thumb over one cheek to wipe away the bloodstain there.

There’s a tight ball of fire inside Sameen’s body and a roaring of blood filling her head.

Soon, Sameen has divested the Priestess of her tattered robes and has her spread on the bundle of furs lying in the corner, all long, pale limbs and dark curls.

Soon, Sameen is lying between the Priestess’ spread legs, chasing no longer the taste of honey but the metallic tang of the other woman’s moon’s blood.

She feels drunk. On the taste on her lips, on the smell filling her nostrils.

She takes pride in the Priestess’ cries of delight. Later on, she delights in her Priestess’ hands, bringing her to completion.

Afterward, they lie spent on the soft fur, arms around each other, the Priestess’s heart beating against Sameen’s own.

She was used to be alone, Sameen thinks, too wild, too cold and unfeeling. But she’s not anymore. Not now that she has the Goddess, not now that she has her Priestess.

---

It’s a cold winter morning and Sameen is lying the Priestess’ body into the clean earth. For there are no wars more terrible than the ones Gods wage (and the ones mortals wage in their name).

There are no tears in Sameen’s eyes, no scream in her mouth.

Sameen’s fingers, stiff with the cold, are squeezing a strip of cloth she has taken from her lover’s blood-spattered robes. The Priestess’ own blood this time.

“Can you hear me?” the Goddess whispers to Sameen’s ear.

Sameen does.

Her Goddess has her lover’s voice.

Her lover is dead, Sameen thinks, yet she still lives within the Goddess.

Sameen is not alone. She won’t ever be again.