Standard Disclaimers: Duncan, Methos and Joe are the creation of Panzer/Davis and Rysher Productions, but they've become a life unto themselves and I've borrowed part of it to fuel my little fantasies. ;) No infringement of copyright intended. I ain't gettin' rich off these guys.Author's notes: WARNING! NC-17 rating and you know what that means. In this case, it refers to the fact that I've included a little graphical same sex (well, lots of it actually) and you shouldn't continue if you're offended by this. Thanks just have to go to Dail, my research expert, beta reader and finder of all stupid mistakes.
Oh, one other thing....if you haven't seen Comes a Horseman yet, there is minor spoilage within. So, if you have more self-control than I, you should leave now. But, honestly, I don't think this will ruin it for you. :)
The wafting aroma of fresh Kona coffee greeted Methos as he rolled over, automatically throwing his arm across the side of the bed where his lover should have been. He found a cold sheet instead, helping him make the connection to that delicious smell. His partner'd remembered his tales of lazy existence on the Hawaiian islands before they'd been commercialized with tourism and rich retreats. He was almost as happy then as he was now. Just another day in paradise, he mused sleepily.
He began the motions of getting out of bed when the stiffness of the soiled sheet beneath him acted as a reminder of the exceptional night he'd spent with the person whom he was convinced was his soul-mate. It made him relax back into the mattress while scenes of their hours in this very spot, as well as other venues in the loft, began to produce the reaction he'd come to expect whenever he thought of the object of his desire. The top sheet which lightly covered his prone body began to move ever so slightly as his cock stirred with the memory.
Last night had been their one month anniversary, so to speak. Four weeks to the day since he'd seduced Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. For days they'd secreted themselves in the loft, not allowing the outside world to interfere with their infant relationship. He wasn't sure what gods looked after horny immortals, but he would be sure to find out and leave an offering in thanks for the night they'd been sparring in the dojo and Mac had finally given in to the passions he'd thought were extinguished, but had only been banked just below the surface. Passions that Methos had felt from their first meeting in his Paris apartment. At the climax of their little practice session, Mac had backed Methos across the room and to his knees, stopping his sword a hair's breadth from the vulnerable spot between head and shoulders. Time froze and the two held their positions for what seemed an eternity. Duncan's blade resting casually at Methos' throat while the ancient immortal kneeled before the man for whom he'd burned in the dark hours of the night.
Their eyes locked for what seemed like an eternity, broken finally by his hand at Duncan's crotch. Whatever had possessed him to do that? Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound...Methos closed the few feet between them, still on his knees, as he reached his hand up and cupped the bulge which had made him believe at one time that MacLeod walked around in a constant state of semi-excitement. But the front of the Highlander's sweatpants revealed only his firm, yet unaroused cock. Even more intriguing. He must be magnificent when... Methos stopped thinking and just acted. The situation definitely called for action and not too much thought. If he stopped and rationalized, he'd chicken out again.
"Hey lazybones, get out of bed before I pull you out," came a voice from the kitchen, still a bit husky with sleep, interrupting his nostalgic interlude.
The source of the voice approached the lounging man and grinned wickedly at the scene greeting him. Duncan's lover was insatiable, of that he'd been convinced since their first night together, but now wasn't the time to indulge him, tempting as it might be.
"Did you forget your TV debut tonight? You said you wanted to go shopping for something to wear besides that grungy sweater you refuse to throw away."
The Highlander prodded Methos as he set the coffee cup he'd been carrying on the table by the bed. He bent towards his lover and was met enthusiastically by a pair of soft lips, followed shortly by a probing and most curious tongue. They kissed lazily while Methos did his best to persuade the already fully dressed Scotsman to come back to bed. His hands crept under the soft material of Mac's shirt to stroke the hard muscles beneath the shoulders, continuing southward to slide beneath the waistband of his slacks.
"Oh no you don't, you satyr."
Mac untangled himself reluctantly and got up quickly lest his resolve weaken. He also wanted to do a little shopping of his own today...without Methos. He wanted to buy a thank you gift for the man who'd taught him the art of unconditional, unbridled love. The man who'd released him from the demons who'd haunted him for years, nay, centuries. For the first time since his immortality began, Duncan MacLeod allowed himself to believe that something could last forever. And even though their relationship (that still sounded kind of funny to him) was still young, MacLeod felt he knew the ancient immortal better than anyone on earth.
With a sigh of resignation, Methos crawled out of the bed, unashamedly sporting a raging hard-on, the product of his brief encounter with Duncan's mouth, not to mention those delicious memories. He took the long way around the bed, through the living room, and dropped the empty cup in the sink of the kitchen before finally heading to the bathroom for a cold shower. He knew MacLeod was watching him as he straightened the furniture from their romp the previous evening and he wasn't going to make the denial of morning love easy for him.
As Methos closed the bathroom door, Mac could hear him whistling one of Joe's latest tunes and had to smile at the memory it invoked.
**"You've got me wrapped up, tied up,
all tangled up in your web."Tied up indeed, he mused as he folded the silk scarves and returned them to the drawer by the bed.
*****
MacLeod was remembering their first night also as he flopped on the couch with his second cup of java, listening to the reassuring sounds of the shower. He simply enjoyed knowing that Methos was there. He allowed his mind to wander, which seemed to be having an effect on other parts of his body as well. He would never forget the scene he now played back.
Him, standing in an offensive stance, his blade resting on Methos' neck, while the older man (hard to think of him in those terms when he actually looked younger than the Scot) knelt before him, his eyes daring him to do...he wasn't sure what. But there was a definite challenge in that look.
Duncan had been too shocked to move when he'd felt Methos' touch between his legs. And by the time he'd recovered enough, he found himself reluctant to do anything about the hand which grasped him firmly, yet gently through his sweats. Still, he couldn't look away. An eyebrow quirked above one hazel eye while Methos' free hand slowly removed the sword from the general vicinity of his throat. With the weapon effectively out of the way, he'd risen to face the Scot, allowing Duncan a very close-up view of the man who had been known to cause an occasional twinge below his belt, though he could hardly admit it, even to himself. Mac still hadn't uttered a word or made a move to remove the questing hand. Then he'd felt the faint stirring of interest and shifted on his feet slightly. Strong fingers began moving slowly and lightly across his swelling cock and when he'd finally opened his mouth to speak, he was effectively halted by a kiss full of more passion and need than he'd ever experienced in his life.
It was then that he'd realized he didn't want to stop Methos. He realized in that instant that their friendship had always been leading to this moment in time... and he was glad. They'd made love right there on the dojo floor, violently and desperately. Rolling off the mat onto the hardwood floor, draped across the exercise bench, on the stairs leading to the showers, and then in the showers themselves.
The showers...Duncan quickly rose from the couch and found himself removing the clothing he'd just donned. He entered the bathroom quietly and stepped into the shower behind his partner, who was rinsing shampoo from his hair and hadn't heard him come in. A hand snaked around Methos' stomach and grasped him firmly, pulling him slightly off balance and roughly back against the Highlander's chest. Methos choked on the water which ran down his throat when he'd gasped at the surprise attack, then turned his head, peering between strands of wet hair and suds at the chiseled features of his love. Relaxing, the lithe figure of the elder immortal rubbed against the hairy roughness of Mac's chest and almost purred.
"Change your mind?" he rasped in the Scotsman's ear as he leaned back to nibble on that portion of his body.
"I was thinking about our first shower together." That's all he needed to say. The two men's hands were everywhere, generally followed closely by their mouths. With the help of a little soaped up body gel, Methos was ready and waiting for Duncan when he entered him, his cock slipping in like he was coming home. They rocked gently to Mac's rhythm and Methos reveled in the sense of fullness and completion. The men where no longer two halves of a whole, but rather one sexual being whose moans and grunts of pleasure filled the room like the steam which engulfed them. Methos felt those wonderful, delightful fingers wrap around his own engorged shaft and closed his eyes in blissful rapture. It didn't get much better than this. He felt Duncan pick up the tempo as teeth sank deep into his shoulder and the Scotsman growled his need. He was an animal taking his mate, marking his territory... and Methos was willing to have it so. There was nothing he wouldn't do for his lover and emotions welled within his chest as Mac found his peak and clutched Methos to him with a fierceness created from love and need.
Then it was the other's turn and Methos turned around to face MacLeod as his tongue plundered and pillaged the bounty of his mouth. He wrapped Duncan's long, wet hair around his hands as he pulled the Scotsman to him.
"I want your mouth on my cock, Highlander," he ground out between kisses and began to push the dark head downward.
Duncan complied with enthusiasm, tracing a path with his tongue and gentle nibbles across the smooth chest and lower to the neat line of hair which started at Methos' belly button, pointing the way toward secret pleasures. Mac tenderly sucked the skin of his balls, now taut with excitement, and he felt the long, slender cock bob excitedly, begging for attention. Methos sucked in his breath when he felt the heat of Mac's mouth fully engulf him. A groan from above and slender fingers wound deeper into the long hair like it was his lifeline. It didn't even seem like a minute before he'd exploded into the warm mouth of his lover. He pulled the face into him as the last drop was wrung from his body and he reluctantly released the dark head which kneeled before him.
They finished their shower, which was now most definitely on the chilly side and got out together to begin the day anew.
The rest of the day went as planned, with Duncan presenting Methos with a large, leather bound journal of ancient Greek history he'd found in an obscure little antique shop downtown. The book was in that language, one of the oldest known to man and Methos was loathe to put it down when it came time for them to leave for their evening engagement. Yep, it'd been as Methos had mentally predicted that morning...another blissful day in paradise.
*****
The following days were a blur in retrospect. Methos balled his fists, screamed his frustration and damned whatever gods might be finding his current Hell humorous. The abrupt appearance of Kronos...and Cassandra. Why after all these thousands of years, when he'd finally found peace, had the ghosts from his past arisen to haunt him? They'd crossed the centuries to shatter his world and he'd make them pay.
And what about Mac? Had he lost him forever? Was he just another ghost in his past? It certainly seemed so now. He closed his eyes as the anguish of their last meeting flashed across his mind. Why didn't he try to explain better? But then, what was there to explain? Duncan MacLeod could never live with someone who had raped and pillaged...and enjoyed it. He could have told him he was sorry and he'd wished he'd never done it, but would that be the truth? In all honesty, Methos did not know the answer to that. It was part of what had made him the person Duncan had fallen in love with. It was lifetimes ago and couldn't possibly be compared to the world as it was today. It was a time when Methos was looked upon as a god. Whatever he wanted he got. Wherever he wanted to go, no one stopped him. No, he couldn't say he was sorry. But the Highlander wouldn't listen and Methos had been in no mood to persuade. He'd grabbed him and shoved him up against the car, pressing their bodies together and totally lost it. Instead of kissing him then and there, as he should have, making him want to listen...and want him, he'd admitted to the atrocities only hinted at before. He'd thrown them in the Highlander's face with gloating fierceness. And now Methos knew in his heart of hearts that the Highlander would never forgive him the things he'd admitted to. It was plainly evident in the last two words he'd heard come out of those warm, full lips which he would probably never taste again. "We're through." So cold...so final.
Methos grabbed his coat and his sword and slowly walked out to the 4X4. He hadn't given much thought to the next step, but he wasn't ready to face Mac again and what else was left to do? For one shining moment of his five millennium lifetime, he'd held happiness in his hand. But it wouldn't be restrained and had flown away. Would it be another 5,000 years before his sins would be redeemed and he was allowed that gift once more?
He started the vehicle and cranked up the stereo, heading instinctively towards Joe's Bar. It seemed that's where they always wound up in a crisis and maybe the watcher would have some words of wisdom for the oldest living immortal.
He'd left his Queen CD in from their last excursion together and bitter tears coursed down the smooth features as he drove to the music and thought about how unfair it all was.
++"Who wants to live forever...?
There's no chance for us,
It's all decided for us,
This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us."Yep, just another bloody, fucking day in paradise.
The End?...I hope not
** Jim Byrnes "Wrapped Up, Tied Up", words slightly altered to fit gender.
No harm done, none intended.++ "Who Wants to Live Forever" by Queen
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