Mists of Time... Duncan

Sometimes friends disappoint us. Sometimes we disappoint them.  Can damages be repaired?  What can be done about the expectations of others?

Duncan is prone to take people at face value, until he is hit over the head with an aspect of the individual he’s never seen and never expected.  He pulls back to protect himself, to try to understand.

Methos may know who “Methos” is, but no one else does.  No one else could.

Two strong, beautiful men,  Duncan trying to live his life according to an internal code formed by the Clan and his experiences.  Methos with a code, no one is completely without one, formed in such a different time, that he has become a chameleon to survive...    Or has he?

What happened in the hours after “Not to Be”?

Joseph took a cab back to his apartment over an hour ago. Amanda, bless her mercenary little heart, is off to Cairo, "to see a man about a camel." I wonder what she’s up to this time?

Suddenly, I’m exhausted. All the adrenaline is gone and I feel like a stuffed toy with all the stuffing gone.

Gone… Methos is gone.

When did he leave? I wanted to talk to him about… What did I want to say? I wanted… He saved my life again. I really need to tell him…

How long has he been gone? Maybe he hasn’t gone that far… My coat is there by the door and I’m up the stairs and on deck looking out around the barge.

The street lights are haloed by the mists.

It must be 3 or 4 in the morning by now. There isn't a soul on the street.

I know where his apartment is. The car coughs a bit. I’m gunning it too hard. Everything seems to be running in slow motion and it takes forever to get to his building and I have to park two streets over. I’m walking so fast, almost running, my heart pounding, afraid, certain he’s going to be gone if I don’t hurry.

In the silence, I hear a door shut and a key rattles in a lock. Footsteps are coming down the stairs and I suddenly feel him.

Out of the shadows around the front of the building comes another shadow. He drops the suitcases and he’s drawn his sword. Doesn’t he know it’s me?

"Methos?"

He’s looking at me, but I can’t see his eyes. "What are you doing here, MacLeod?"

His voice is cold and I stand there, tongue tied. I can feel him glaring at me. I have to come up with something… "I didn’t thank you."

"Thank me?"

God, why can’t I just spit it out? "You saved my life back there. I need to…" Oh, damn. I can’t talk to him out here in the middle of the street. "I… could we go somewhere… a drink?"

He’s not going to answer me. I can almost hear the wheels turning.

"I’ve got some really good scotch at the barge…"

"Mac, you don’t have to say anything. It’s OK." No, not cold, disinterested, a visiting dignitary returning to his own, far more civilized place.

He’s turning away, I’ve got to stop him.

"No, Methos. It isn't OK. You deserve… you deserve better." I reach out. I need to touch him, I’m not really sure why...

He puts the sword back in his coat. "Well," he drawls, "I suppose a drink won’t hurt anything." There’s that wry look on his face, the one I wish I could read. He picks up the bags and I move in to help him. At first, it doesn't look as though he’ll let me take them. Then, he surprises me and releases them.

He’s sauntering along beside me and I can’t think of anything to say on the long way back to the car. And my heart’s pounding two beats for every step, like the drums pacing the way to the guillotine...

He looks at me as though he can’t decide whether to get in or go back for his own car.

"I can bring you back here…" I stow his bags in the back of the SUV.

"Fine." And he slides into the passenger seat, tossing his hat in the back with his bags. Methos has a talent for sprawling on any handy surface. He proves it again. "So, Mac, why did you come over here?"

"I…" What can I say to him? I was afraid you were leaving and I’d never see you again… God, I can’t say that. He’d be back in his flat with every door locked and chains fastened… "You were going away?"

"Does it matter?" His voice is so flat…

"Yes." How can you ask? Of course it matters. How can I let you know how much it matters… What can I say?

He’s looking at me again, from under those impossibly long eyelashes. I don’t want him to go… There’s the barge. I reach for the bags, but he brushes me away. "Leave ‘em here, MacLeod. I have a train to catch."

"Where are you going?" I hate this. I sound like a five-year-old pleading with his best friend to stay… Are you running from someone? Is there another terrifying enemy/lover out of the mists of time past…?

He doesn't say anything. I hang up my coat, and reach for his. He won’t look at me. I get the coats hung up and go over to the bar. I have a couple of bottles of fine single malt scotch, bought with the hope that Connor would visit. For some reason, I dig out the heavy, cut crystal old-fashioned glasses. They’re fine Irish imports and I never take them out other than the holidays…

Nervously, I pour a generous double into each glass. No ice, Methos said once that ice wasn’t something he ever got used to… Besides, this is old, very special scotch and the ice spoils the aromas. Did he tell me that?

He hesitates reaching for it. Our fingers barely touch… fire. His hand burns me. I almost drop the glass. He has such an odd look on his face. I want to look away. I can’t be seeing what I think I’m seeing. "Methos, I… I hope you like the scotch…" Well, that was certainly inane. What the hell is the matter with me? I’m not stupid, I can talk to kings and courtiers. I've talked to slaves and soldiers… I want…

"Humm, yes, nice scotch, MacLeod." He says, almost purring, and takes a second sip. His lips are wet and he runs his tongue over them licking off the last drop of his drink. I can’t look away from him. My heart is suddenly racing. What’s the matter with me?

He downs the glass and looks around the barge as though he’s committing it to memory. He’s going to leave me. He’s going away and I’ll never see him again. I can’t let this happen, I can’t. "How about a game of chess, Methos?" Panic makes me sound stupid, even to me.

He looks at the chess table. The men are set up; I've been working on my endgame. "You played against Darius, didn't’t you?"

I nod, too numb-brained to speak.

He looks at his watch and I realize he’s wearing one. He doesn't’t wear watches. He has on a pair of gray, tailored slacks and the Aran knit sweater and the black silk shirt under it fits him beautifully. He’s wearing a navy blazer, new? I don’t remember seeing it before. I don’t remember ever seeing him this dressed up.

I sit down on the opposite side of the board and start arranging the pieces. I can’t even remember how to set them up with him looking at me like that. Like...

He goes over to the bar and pours himself another drink. He brings the bottle back and looks at me, asking if I want another. Hastily, I swallow the last of mine and put the glass out for more. Methos pours another double for me and sits back down across from me.

Suddenly, he’s very different. The sprawl has vanished as though he’s changed skins. His shoulders are back, showing off a strong, muscular body. The long hands reach out to take one black pawn and one white one. "Choose." He’s challenging me. Suddenly, this isn't just a game. It’s Armageddon and I have no idea how it happened.

I point to his right hand. Black. I defend. Suddenly the barge is too warm. I’m too warm, probably the drink, so I pull off my sweater. He’s looking at me again. I can’t breathe. God, what is this? Concentrate, damn it.

He moves, pawn to king four. Conventional. He’s never conventional.

Cautiously, I move, knight to queen three. He’s studying the board. Now he’s looking at me… My stomach lurches, I’m going to be sick…

"Back in a minute…" I turn away, to go to the bathroom and I can see his face reflected in the porthole glass. Oh, my God. He looks so sad. The expression on his face breaks the heart.

I turn back, but the expression isn't’t there anymore. Did I really see… I go on into the bathroom and duck my head under the faucet. One good thing about the short hair, I can towel dry it.

The man in the mirror looks back at me. What should I do? What has him so upset? He was mad at me before… It doesn't feel like he’s mad… Through the link we’I've had since Kronos, I sometimes pick up on his dreams… I try to reach out…

All I can feel from him right now, is a wall, cold, concrete and stone. I close my eyes and try to concentrate on breathing. Slow, deep breaths… I can feel his presence, he’s edgy, worried? Something he wants… He’s so guarded. I can see something, hidden in the mists. A tall, dark haired figure, walking away from him. Is that Amanda? Now, all I can see is the mist…

Is that why he’s leaving? Did she say "no" to him? I can’t picture that. We aren't exclusive with each other. She’d be more likely to pull him into the middle of a threesome…

Oh, brother. She’d love that. Methos is as slim-hipped as she is. His shoulders are as broad as mine, though. He’s got long legs, even when he hides them in the heavy jeans and long sweaters. He moves like a cat, a cougar. Does he move like that in bed?

Where in hell did that come from?

He stays here so often. One night… I remember waking, seeing him with the moonlight shining on him. He was asleep on the couch and the blanket had slipped off him. The long curve of his back and buttocks looked like fine marble in the moonlight. He turned and he was so beautiful… I stopped breathing for a moment. Beautiful. Methos was beautiful. Oh, my God.

Is he in love with me? If that awful sadness I just saw means what I think it does, he’s leaving because he loves me and I never noticed. How could I be so dense?

My reflection has gone pale. Suddenly my world is upside down. Is this just reaction from the business with O’Rourke? Death... Death saved me from death... because... he loves me.

How could I not understand that he loves me? What do I feel for him? I think I’d better find some answers and fast, before I lose someone very special. I have to be honest with him. There’s been enough half-truths, truths omitted and lies. I want him to stay so we can find out what we feel. He knows what he feels. Do I?

I wipe off my face and hang up the towel. Time to face… What am I facing?

There’s a rose color showing at the windows, now. Methos must be as exhausted as I am. He’s fallen asleep in the big leather chair that is my favorite. His blazer is hanging over the closet doorknob. The sweater is laying on the couch. He slipped off his shoes, loafers, not the hiking boots he usually wears. Where was he going?

As quietly as I can, I open the chest at the foot of my bed. There’s a light wool blanket. I've given him to use before. I lay it around his shoulders and tuck the bottom around his feet. Graceful, elegant feet they are. He looks so young and so weary. How much of his weariness is my fault? He went away after… after I killed Richie… after I asked him to take my head.

If this sudden flash of insight, late though it is, is accurate, that was unbelievably cruel of me. As surely as I can see the sun rising, I know that I’m right. He was afraid that, in my despair, I would ask again and that, loving me, he might not be able to say no.

Then, when I went off to tackle O’Rourke… I wanted it to end... all of the battles, endangering the people I care about… He knew. The realization is like being hit with a brick. How many times has he felt the same way? He does understand it, all of it. That’s why he’s leaving…

He came all the way from Paris to warn me about Kristen. He nattered at me ‘till I took Richie’s sword to him, just to keep me from being guilt ridden. He left Alexa to help me overcome the Darkness. An image flashes, Methos on his knees, my hands dragging his jeans down… Did I do that? Did I rape him? I’m sick to my stomach.

The twisting in my gut is driving me to my knees. I fight the urge to vomit, swallowing back the bitterness. How could I do that to him? He’s never said anything… God, what could he say? And I had the nerve to task him about the Horseman.

Too much, coming on top of O’Rourke, this is way too much. I don’t know how I can face him. He has been so much a part of my life… The thought that he doesn't want to stay is unbearable. How can I make him stay?

The barge is warm even though the fire is almost out. I make my way quietly over to the fireplace and add enough wood to keep it going. I don’t want him to wake up cold.

The scotch is good. I finish off the drink and lean back in the other chair, glad I pulled them out of storage. He’s deeply asleep. His mouth is just slightly open. His lashes move, dreaming? What are your dreams, Methos? Do they include me…?

He trusts me. He’s always trusted me. Even though I've hurt him so often… even after I raped him... He still trusts me enough to fall asleep with me near.

I’m so tired. It feels as though I've been running for miles and hours and can’t stop. My eyes close and the darkness wraps itself around me.

There’s a hand on mine. I can hear someone but the words don’t track.

"Mac, wake up. You’re having a nightmare."

All around me... Behind me... They’re not real... but they are, I’ve fought them before. I can’t breathe, can’t move. Someone slashing at me, Richie? O’Rourke... Methos? A broad bladed sword... It slices across my shoulder, toward my neck. Too close, I can’t... The sword in my hand finally moves in a deadly arc and I wait… I can’t get back, panic. I struggle to get up.

"Duncan, it’s all right. I’m here. Stop crying, love. I’m here."

Dreaming, I’m only dreaming. There are arms around me, holding me... bringing me back. Tears are soaking my collar. I’m afraid to open my eyes. Concentrate on breathing, in and out, slowly.

He’s alive! The arms around me are his. He’s holding me against his shoulder, comforting me like a nightmaring child. His hair is wet and I can smell shampoo. The feel of the black silk shirt against my face reassures me, he’s alive and he hasn't left me. My heartbeats are slowing. The feeling of total panic eases off.

"Methos? You’re alive…"

That quiet voice answers, "I’m here."

I want him to keep holding me. "Don’t go."

There’s a stillness in his voice, a minor harmonic that sounds like… death.

"It’s best that I do, Mac. You’ll be fine."

"No, I won’t be fine." The tears have stopped, but I’m so tired and afraid… so afraid.

He lets go of me and turns away. I can feel him pulling away, pulling into himself.

"Methos…"

The early sun catches his face as he turns. His eyes are bright, tears? God, this is so hard. "Please, stay, I’ll fix us something to eat. We need to talk…"

He straightens up, looks as though he’s headed to the guillotine.

"Is there anything to talk about, MacLeod?" That minor key is echoing now, sadness…

Methos can maintain that he runs, but he’s a lot braver than I am. He stands there, looking into my eyes. I hope he sees the truth there. The truth that I care for him, love him… I have to find the strength to tell him. It isn't’t fair to either of us to keep hiding from that one terrifying truth.

I swallow, trying to get some moisture into a mouth that feels like cardboard. "I’m almost afraid to talk to you…"

He makes a face. "Afraid? What are you afraid of, MacLeod? You always want ‘truth’. Are you afraid you won’t like it when you get it?"

He’s annoyed. He knows me so well…"Yes… That’s part of it, I guess." I have to get this out. "You are… important to me. I didn't, couldn't say it, earlier. Yes, some of it is what you’'ve taught me. Some of it…" My throat keeps closing, I’m afraid to go on, but I have to. I stop to take a deep breath.

He’s standing there, just waiting. I have to look away. "I… I love you."

There, I've said it. Do I dare look at him? Will he be angry with me? Well, I've admitted it now, I might as well go for broke. "I love you… and I don’t want you to go away. Please, stay, Methos."

There’s a soft sound. I turn, his head is down and all I can see is his eyelashes and… his tears. Oh, no, I didn't’t want him to cry. I need to go to him, but will I make things worse? How could they be worse? Did I just make the biggest mistake of my life?

"Methos, don’t…" I can’t stand this. I cross over to him and put my arms around him. He almost jumps away from me. Now his eyes are examining me. They’re green and gold and amber and I’m going to drown in them.

"You managed to surprise me, Highlander." He pulls a linen handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes his eyes. My arm is still around his shoulders. Should I pull it back? His shirt is dark with my tears. He touches my face and I realize I’m one step away from crying, my throat hurts and I can’t breathe.

"Maybe we should both sit down, before we fall down."

Practical, even though all I can do is nod. He pushes me over to the couch and he sits down beside me for a moment then jumps up. "Let me put some coffee on. No, Mac, sit still. I know where everything is."

I close my eyes for a minute, listening to him moving around in my kitchen. My emotions are on a rollercoaster ride. He hasn’t gotten away from me. We will talk and somehow, we’ll make some sense of it. We’ll have the time… Please, God… we need to have the time.

I can smell the coffee. He’s added brandy to it. It tastes good.

He sits beside me. He’s looking at me as though I just fell out of the sky. Everything is flickering over his face, happiness and anger and wonderment… Oh, Methos. What have I done? I feel like I've got acrobats and a trampoline in my belly. I put the coffee down and reach for his hand.

"Methos… I’m sorry."

"About?"

"About not understanding… About being so blind." The lump in my throat is so huge I can’t get air past it, let alone words. He simply looks at me, waiting.

"I just didn't think you could love someone as young…"

There’s that look again. "Mac… Duncan, love chooses you, you don’t choose it. I've been around too long to worry about age… or sex, for that matter."

"Methos, I didn't’t remember…" His face shows that he remembers all too well. I have to do something to take that horrible, pinched look off his face. I’m holding on, trying to touch, to reach him, to keep him here.

He pulls back. He’s gathering himself to run again. I hurt him by remembering… I don’t know what to do next. I take his hands. His fingers are cold. I rub them a bit, trying to warm them. He’s looking at his watch.

"Please…"

He has his head cocked to one side, speculating. I sit there like a dressmaker’s dummy, my brain seems to be on permanent hold. Finally, he sighs.

"Duncan, I need to leave now. I do care about you. It’s just that there are too many problems for us to even be friends right now. Another day… You’re still angry about the Horseman and I… I need some distance.

I look at him. His eyes are completely shuttered, the light I saw in them moments ago is gone. "Methos… please, just give us some time... a few days to work things out. I’m finally beginning to understand how different your life was. I know you’re not the same man you were with Kronos." I turn away, I can’t look at him, but I have to say this. "I am sorrier than I can say about… hurting you."

His face is pale and his voice is tight, controlled. "Rape... isn’t about lust, MacLeod. It was about power and about you needing to control something when everything in your life was out of your control. It’s over. Forgiven. End of story." The animation is completely gone from his face.

"Then, stay. I don’t want to lose you… I've just begun to know you." I can hear the pain in my own voice. I’d get down on my knees if I thought it would work. He’s looking off somewhere, lost in his memories. I lift his hand to my mouth. His palm is warm now. I gently kiss his wrist, just where the pulse beats. He hasn’t pulled away but he’s not responding either.

I kiss the center of his palm and he shivers. I won’t let go. I need him here, with me.

His other hand reaches up to touch my hair, caress my cheek. I don’t want to start leaking tears again and I know my nose is getting red and I don’t care.

Suddenly, he pulls my head against his shoulder and my arms go around his neck. I want him, I can barely control the needing. He’s right… I don’t care about male or female… I want him, my dear, cynical, pain-in-the-ass, friend…

It’s been a long time since I made love with another man but I’m not really worried about that. Methos has enough experience for both of us and I’ll follow wherever he leads.

My lips barely touch his. I hesitate, what will I do if he refuses me? There’s a low painful sound from him and he lets my tongue enter. He tastes like toothpaste and coffee, the brandy is there and the warmth of him. His lips are so gentle against mine. He’s afraid, too. Why? I love him. Surely he doesn't’t doubt that…?

Yes. He does doubt. The Horsemen again. I didn't give him a chance, then. After all we’d been through, I didn't give him the benefit of the doubt…

He sighs and something suddenly changes. He’s kissing my eyelids, my brows… His mouth draws me into a whirlwind… I’m drunk with the taste and the scent… and the feel of him in my arms.

I want this, and it has to start somewhere. I let my hand brush against the line of his jaw. His sweater has got to come off. He doesn't’t resist and I lift it over his head, tousling his hair. The buttons of his shirt are horn, not plastic. The fabric is a heavy silk, lush against the solid muscles he’s never let me see. Carefully, I unbutton the front and the cuffs. I take it by the sleeves and draw it from him.

His skin is so fair. Mine looks almost black against it. The pectorals are firm, solid muscle, the cool morning air has his nipples tightened into hard rosy nubs. I brush against them and the muscles flutter across his belly. The baggy sweaters and jeans he wears so much of the time hide the sleek runner’s build. He takes in a harsh breath as my fingers stroke the dark velvet of his hair.

He’s opened his eyes and the mix of pain and unfettered joy I see there gives me the courage to go on.

We are going to move from the couch, though. I want him in my bed ... in my life. Will he come with me? I take his hand and rise, pulling him up beside me. "Please, Methos… The bed is more comfortable." He nods, sleepy-eyed, passion? Oh, I hope so.

The bed has never seemed so far away. He stands, I can feel the hesitation in him. I won’t let go of his hand. Then, his other hand rests on our joined ones. He’s searching my soul with those odd, beautiful eyes. What is he seeing? I’m scared to death that I’ll foul this up, somehow.

He smiles, almost shy… I know I’m grinning back at him like a loon, but I can’t help it. We sit on the edge of the bed and I don’t know what to do next. I reach over to unfasten his belt. The leather whispers through the loops of his trousers. I drop it on the Oriental rug beside the bed and wait until he smiles again, giving me permission to reach for the waistband of his slacks. The fine wool almost burns my fingers as I slip the flat metal catch and take the zipper tab. He shifts just slightly, the zipper open now. There’s a damp spot on the straining front of the silk briefs. I gently brush against him and the heat of his erection brings me to an aching hardness.

He caresses my cheek and his fingers leave trails of fire along my jaw line and neck. I take the slacks down to his ankles and slide them and his socks off. The briefs are next and I know what I've suspected for so long. The master of the boneless sprawl has the body of a young god.

Nothing conceals his slim, strong body now. Sparring with him gave me some idea of his real strength but not until now have I been certain of the beauty in his long, elegantly muscled form.

Tessa would have insisted he pose for her. Tears almost break through at the thought… Would she understand? She was so wise. Her love opened me up when I’d nearly forgotten how to love. She accepted me…

His love… his acceptance of me, all of me-the darkness that I try to pretend doesn't’t exist, as well as the good I try to hold on to… Does he know how much that means to me…?

"Fair’s fair, love," he says, and pulls me up to unbutton my shirt. His hands are so warm I can’t stay still. I stand up to toe off the loafers and start to undo the slacks, but he takes my hands, kissing them, and holds them against my chest with one hand as he stands and finishes undressing me with the other.

A sound, too soft to be a moan and I stand there, waiting on the edge…

"You are so beautiful, Duncan."

My name sounds like seduction or a benediction on his lips. The open longing on his face washes over me. God, I want him.

"Methos…"

Like a dancer sinking into a bow, he settles himself on the bed and puts out his hand to take mine. He draws me down beside him. It feels so strange to lie beside him, strange, but so right. His body is almost luminous in the early morning sun. The light paints a rose wash over his shoulders and belly. Almost without thinking about it I reach out to stroke a hand through his hair. It is dark velvet, damp with sweat, now. His long slender hands touch my face again and I am alive under his touch. I can feel the sunlight warm against my face. The heavy silk of the comforter shimmers against my back and every sound is brighter, clearer. I will remember this, forever.

The kiss starts slowly, both of us gentle, wanting to take our time. His tongue grazes mine and tastes my lips as though he’s found a wine he’s never had before. I let my mouth open, inviting him in. There’s a sound, felt more than heard, against my mouth and he’s taking my breath away with his passion. I’m warm…

That night we battled under the bridge, he told me he didn’t have the fire, the passion. How could I ever have believed that … His eyes burn through me. He knows everything I have ever been, will ever be…

I pull him on top of me, feeling the heat of his cock dragging against mine. I must have him. I need to feel his pulse beating in me. He pushes my shoulders down against the green comforter and kisses me again. He takes my cock and squeezes, just enough to keep me from coming. My body is shaking. I press against him, bringing my hip against his, begging wordlessly for him to take me.

His hands are everywhere and I move with him, almost dancing... letting the rising heat between us carry us along. He kisses my nipples and they ache, hard and wanting and directly connected to my groin. I lick a droplet of sweat from his neck, kissing the pulse points.

"Methos, please… "

"Please? What do you want me to do, Duncan?" He’s smiling at me. I've never seen this open, loving, wonderful smile before. My world is upright again and my heart is overflowing with the wonder of the fact that he loves me.

I arch against him, trying to show him how much I need to have him in me.

The low sound that comes from him could be my name or a prayer. I can’t tell. He is lying there, the rose and gold morning light warming the pale skin and I can’t breathe.

I’m shivering, cold or excitement, it doesn't’t really matter. I need him so badly…

I stroke the velvet warmth of his cock and the weight of his balls. His hands are in my hair, holding my mouth against his lips. They’re warm against mine. His tongue touches my face, my eyelashes… I am melting in his fire, drowning in waves of sensuality I never knew were there.

He kisses our joined hands and I feel as though I’m going to faint. His hand barely touches my cock and I bite my lip to keep from coming.

He has to stay, I need the reality of his touch, need to feel him moving with me. The muscles of his shoulders are strong and sleek. There’s no bulk, just the smooth swift motion of him in a fight and… in bed. His mouth is touching my nipples and licking along my ribs, it tickles.

He pauses, looking up at me with such delight in his face, and I realize that I haven’t seen much in the way of happiness in him. Even with Alexa, the knowledge that she was dying was always there. Oh, Methos, how long have you wanted this?

He’s kissing me again. I open my mouth willingly, sighing, yes, in his ear. He reaches gently between us and takes my cock in his hand. He cups my balls and the gentle pressure feels wonderful and I can’t help moving against him.

His hand touches my mouth and I let it open to him. I suck hard on his finger, wetting it, feeling him press against me as I do. He caresses my back and I shiver with the anticipation of his next move.

His finger strokes beneath me. He’s located the opening and I’m trying to stay still enough for him to breach it. His wet finger makes chilly trails along the cleft of my ass. He’s pressing through the tight ring of muscle and my blood is racing at his touch.

"Duncan, where do you keep the lubricant?"

His voice is dark and causes chills. I half roll to my side and open the drawer of the bedside table. The tube is cold and I hesitate for a moment before giving it to him. He’s almost laughing, the look on my face must be something to behold.

His long fingers caress my cheek and he bids me, close my eyes. He knows I’m caught between fear and the desire to have him deep inside me. His fingers are at my groin and move down, slipping past tight muscle leaving my fear behind. There’s a burst of heat and I feel lightnings flicker through my balls and belly.

He is nibbling at my neck, teasing along the hairline and driving me crazy. My hands stroke his hair, like petting a cat, and I tease his ear with my tongue.

My legs are wide apart now, and he eases my thighs up over his so that our cocks and balls are close together, rubbing and making me push against his belly.

The gel is much warmer now and he covers our cocks with it.

"Is this what you want, Duncan? We don’t have to do this…"

I can barely get a strangled "Yes", out. He presses himself against the entrance and takes my cock in his hand, running fingers around the head, teasing me. Suddenly, he’s inside and the pleasure of it blazes over me. I feel as though I’m on fire.

Slowly he rocks in deeper and pulls back, almost slipping entirely out of me. Then, he’s so deep in me that his pulse is pounding against my heart and soul. I’m gasping for air, my own climax approaching like an out of control freight train.

He thrusts into me again and I scream as if I’m dying and now he’s calling my name and I can feel the pulsing flood of his orgasm pouring heat through me as my body responds and his belly and chest are covered with the proof of my pleasure.

For long moments all I can do is shudder against him. There’s no time here. He pulls me down beside him and his arms are holding me close…

"Methos… Stay with me…"

His voice is low and sleepy, "I’ll be here when you wake, love… promise."

My head is resting on his shoulder and I take his promise into the darkness with me.

-30-

To Mists of Time II

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