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Mists of Time... Methos With great thanks to the Beta Brigade, Vivianne and Cheryl and the others who snickered at me when I said I wasn’t really going to do more fanfic. Unfortunately for me, the boys are far too interesting to leave alone.
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”?
I had to stay back, not let him feel me behind him, not distract him… That look on him as he went out the door… He didn’t really care whether he survived, as long as they were safe. He wasn’t even going to fight. I don’t know if he quite realizes how close he came to dying. If I’d been a few seconds later… Ah, gods, I have to get away from here. I have to get away from him. I can’t continue tagging along like a guard dog or a big brother. This is very bad for my health. He’s bad for my health. I can not imagine how funny this must be to the Fates. I’ve always been a survivor, no matter what I had to do to ensure my life. In the last few years, I’ve risked all I have, all I am, for him. Why? What a lovely question, Methos. Why? He’s stubborn, infuriating; he plays judge and executioner way too often. He has about the same defenses against other people as a mouse against a herd of cats… He believes that people can be better than they are. Sometimes, he even manages to convince me… No. I have to get away. Close up the flat. The lease is paid through the end of the year and I can just renew it by mail. Why renew it? I shouldn’t even be thinking about coming back here. That lovely note from McGill University offering me a teaching fellowship; I like that idea. No one will look for me in the middle of a Canadian Winter. I can rent a place there and just concentrate on teaching ancient languages and nothing else. And what if another one like O’Rourke comes out of the darkness… Three O’clock in the damn morning and I’m out trying to park my car, half drunk on champagne I didn’t want… And Amanda is in his bed by now. Oh, no. Not the green eyed monster. He’s entitled to any comfort he can get, particularly tonight. Just because the damn adrenaline oversurge is causing reactions I don’t even want to think about, doesn’t mean I have the right to … Right to what? Get over it, old man. You had to pick someone whose sexuality is thoroughly centered on the female form. Not his fault. Hopeless. Time to leave and fast before I say or do something horrid. And that sanctimonious claptrap about knowing I didn’t want to hear… Well, I didn’t, did I? I didn’t want to hear anything except, “I love you.” Or something else along those lines, and he did say it, didn’t he? Of course, he said it to Amanda. Let’s see, shower, shave and off to the train. Vienna is lovely in the fall. The good suits into suitcases, no canvas duffels on this trip. E-mail the solicitor’s office and have them follow the latest contingency plans. In a month, I’ll be happily ensconced in Montreal and I’ll just stay away from the local Immortals, Watchers and other dangerous types. Dangerous types like MacLeod. Duncan MacLeod, of the Clan MacLeod, as though the clan is still his. He’d have been better off. Stupid Clan Chief, banishing him. He still holds himself responsible for all the ills of the world because of it. That’s at least part of what makes him so attractive, isn’t it? He’s got that ‘white knight’ thing down pat. I heard a shot and ran, saw Amanda drop. Saw him lay down the katana and walk over to Joe, and I was still not close enough… Seeing him, kneeling there with O’Rourke poised to take him, knowing I was only going to have one chance… Nausea… I have to get to the bathroom. There’s some soda in the fridge. Wash the taste out of my mouth. Even thinking about it makes me ill. Why won’t he see that he has to survive? And what will I do when that day comes, and I know it will, that someone tells me he’s… dead? No, I can’t think about it. Maybe its because I’m too tired or too drunk, but I can not deal with it now. Time to go. There’s an early morning train to Switzerland and I can make connections. I don’t care where I go, I have to go now. Lights off, appliances off. Not much in the fridge anyway, a couple of cans of beer, some coldcuts. Nothing I’ll miss. Journals are all in their safety deposit boxes with the usual notes to the bank officers to contact Dawson if there are no activities on the accounts for a given amount of time… Soon I’ll have to find another name. Dawson is aging. Both of us aged tonight, at least a hundred years. Lock the door. Matthew Adamson’s passport will do. I’ll have to be Pierson again in Montreal. I can let Joe know later. I hadn’t had time to tell him about the offer. MacLeod and I barely had time to talk about Claudia’s concert. It’s still dark out. Wristwatch says 3:54am. Watch and crest ring, suitcases and a hat, should confuse the hell out of anyone who might be watching. Down the stairs, only to feel the touch of another Immortal. Of course, it’s MacLeod. Am I surprised? No. Not really. This entire evening has been more fucked up than I could possibly believe. Why not MacLeod? I drop the suitcases and take up my sword. Maybe I can out wait him. Sure. The man has the tenacity of a wolverine. “What are you doing here, MacLeod? ” It doesn’t take much for me to glare at him. Quietly, his voice comes out of the darkness “I didn’t thank you.” What is he talking about? “Thank me?”His body is so stiff, none of his usual grace. He hesitates, “You saved my life back there. I need to…” Of course. I am touched, I don’t want to be… He’s going to have to handle this. I am not going to help. “I… could we go somewhere… a drink?” I hold my breath. I couldn’t speak if I wanted to. “I’ve got some really good scotch at the barge…” Four hundred years old? He sounds like a kid trying to wheedle a favorite uncle. That’s not what I wanted to be to him. “Mac, You don’t have to say anything. It’s OK.” I turn away to go. I have to get away before I let him see my pain. “No, Methos. It isn’t OK. You deserve… you deserve better.” I give up. Wolverine. I might as well put the sword away. We both know I’m not going to use it. “Well,” I drawl, “I suppose a drink won’t hurt anything.” I pick up the bags and he moves in to help. Sure, why not? I let him take them. I should take my car. Easier for a fast getaway and why, in the name of the name, am I going with him in the first place? Because I love him and I want one more memory to take into the mists with me… “I can bring you back here.” His eagerness is there, in spite of the exhaustion. “Fine.” I will not let him see how touched I am. Mustn’t give anyone something to hold over me like that. “So, Mac, why did you come over here?” We drive on in silence and he looks like hell. If I close my eyes… No, all I keep seeing is that bastard O’Rourke and his damn sword heading for Duncan’s neck. I have to keep swallowing to stop the gagging. He’s safe now and I’ve had way too much time to see the instant replay of that horrifying tableau. He looks out the car window. “I… You were going away?” “Does it matter?” Stay calm. Remember to breathe… “Yes.” We’re finally at the barge. He reaches over to take the bags. “Leave ‘em here, MacLeod. I have a train to catch.” I’m too tired to maintain the slouch. What difference does it make? I’ll be someone else before noon. “Where are you going?” I really don’t want to tell him anything more. I’ll have the drink and get out of here. He digs out a couple of dusty bottles and then manages to surprise me by taking out a pair of Waterford crystal glasses. He pours us doubles and I wait to see if he’s going to get ice. I told him once I didn’t like diluting good whiskey. For some reason I hesitate to reach for the glass, my fingers touch his and he almost drops it. I ache for him and this is certainly the wrong time and place for that. He looks startled and I turn away, hoping he couldn’t see the longing. Probably not. He’s always been clueless as to my feelings. Of course, I didn’t give him much to go on, did I? “Methos, I… I hope you like the scotch…” This would be entertaining if it didn’t hurt so much. Why do I feel like I’m headed full tilt into disaster? Well, I’m here, MacLeod. Your move. “Humm, yes, nice scotch, MacLeod.” I take another sip, and inspired by some imp of the perverse, let my tongue run over my lips, licking off the last drop of my drink. I down the rest and look around the barge. I can take the time now. Earlier, all I was concentrating on was the live man in front of me. The one we almost lost. My gut twists again. Gods, I’ll see that in my dreams for centuries to come. He’s brought back some of his furniture. It looks comfortable, more as I remember it. That’s a step in the right direction. Maybe he’ll decide to live, after all. “How about a game of chess, Methos?” His voice is unsteady. Why did he really come after me? I look at the chess table. He kept Darius’ set of chessmen. They are very old. Darius loved the game, the only warfare he would allow in his life. “You played against Darius, didn’t you?” He nods. He’s licking his lips, nervous as a new bride. I really need to quit thinking about sex. I check my wristwatch. I have about two hours before the train leaves. He looks at my watch and the gray, tailored slacks. He’s notices the sweater and the blazer. I seldom dress up. Being a ‘grad student’ means never having to dress up. He’s sitting down now, fussing with the chessmen. I feel the need of another drink and get the bottle. Yes. This is much better. It is good scotch and I offer to pour for him. He swallows his and puts the glass down on the table so I can fill it. OK, fine. I am not going to play this “everything’s just dandy” game. It’s about time he woke up. I’m leaving anyhow, so what the hell… I reach for the black and white pawns and hold them behind my back. “Choose.” The tone of voice isn’t really friendly… Why am I doing this? Challenging him to a chess game when what I really want… He points to my right hand. Black. He is the defender. Appropriate, eh. He’s sweating. He pulls off the white cashmere sweater and I have all I can do to sit there and look like I have my mind on the game. He is so beautiful. The light glows along his brow and the line of his jaw and I can see the dark shadow of his beard, beautiful. I use one of the basic opening moves, pawn to king four. How much attention is he paying? He brings out his knight. He’s caught me staring at him… “Back in a minute…” He heads for the bathroom like he’s going to be sick. Does my desire upset him? Every Immortal over the century mark has had same sex affairs… Before all the gods, I want him. I want him to want and need… and love me. I can hear the clock. That ticking is going to get irritating in another minute or so. What in hell is he doing in there? I take another drink, feeling as though I’ve crossed the Rubican again. I am suddenly so tired. I’d like to sustain that flush of anger, but… I lean back and close my eyes. By the time I open my eyes, the rising sun is showing through the portholes. He’s half curled in the other chair. There’s a blanket wrapped tightly around my feet. He can be so affectionate. I decide I need another shower. Maybe it will help. Yes, I definitely need another shower, a very cold one. I don’t want to take too long. I just need to wake up. I’m getting dressed again when I hear a low cry from the living area. My heart starts pounding and my mouth dries out in an instant, has someone gotten in? Is he in danger again? He’s been crying in his sleep. The collar of his shirt is wet. Oh, Duncan, what are you dreaming? “Mac, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.” MacLeod is struggling against something, I try to soothe him. “Duncan, its all right. I’m here. Stop crying, love. I’m here.” He heard me. Oh, gods... Did I slip and call him, ‘love’? Damnation. He’s trying to breathe, great, gulping gasps of air. The tears are stopping. I pull him into my arms and let his head fall onto my shoulder. He’s shuddering, with the anguish of that nightmare. “Methos? You’re alive…” “I’m here.” His voice is so quiet. “Don’t go.” “It’s best that I do, Mac. You’ll be fine.” I let go of him and straighten my shirt. The sweater is over on the other chair and I decide to go ahead and put it on. The chess set sits there, mocking me. Yeah, I was going to push it. No. I’m just going to go ahead and leave. “No, I won’t be fine, Methos…” He says my name again, like a caress, “Methos?” The sun is bright and it makes my eyes ache, I rub them. Even the shower hasn’t gotten all the grit of a sleepless night out of them. “Methos, please, stay, I’ll fix us something to eat. We can talk about it…” I guess it is time to bite the bullet. “Is there anything to talk about, MacLeod?” I look at him, the most beautiful man I’ve seen in centuries, and I want to believe that we can talk, that we might be … There is an awareness in his eyes that wasn’t there earlier. He isn’t a stupid man. Has he figured it out? I can see him swallowing, trying to speak. “I’m almost afraid to talk to you… “ I can’t believe he said that. My voice is harsh, “Afraid? What are you afraid of, MacLeod? You always want ‘truth’. Are you afraid you won’t like it when you get it?” “Yes… That’s part of it, I guess. 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…” He swallows again and turns away from me. His voice is so soft. Say it, please be brave enough to say it, Duncan... “I… I love you. I love you… and I don’t want you to go away. Please, stay, Methos.” I can’t help a sound that seems ripped from deep inside my gut. My eyes fill, I mustn’t cry, he’ll think he’s offended me. He loves me? He loves me. I could die now, hearing that. But living is more important than ever. He loves me. “Methos, don’t…” He moves to my side and I can’t get my breath for a moment. “You managed to surprise me, Highlander.” I’ve got a handkerchief in my pocket and fumble with it to cover emotions that are too much to handle. I wipe my eyes. “Maybe we should both sit down before we fall down.” I have to do something, preferably something ordinary before I fall apart. “Let me put some coffee on.” He starts to get up, “No, Mac. Stay there, I know where everything is.” He keeps several kinds of coffee and I decide on the Kenya. I grind it and put it in the French press. He has a good brandy too and I add some to the cups. I need it and I’ll bet he does too. I put everything on that brass tray and carry it out to him. His face is so open. Every emotion flashes across it. He’s a lousy liar. Maybe he means what he said? “Methos… I’m sorry.” “About?” “About not understanding… About being so blind.” He’s fighting to get words out. “I just didn’t think you could love someone as young…” Oh, no, Mac. That’s a cop out. You are not going to get away with that. “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 remember…” What? Oh, no. The dark quickening… The look on his face... Gods. I hoped you would never remember that, Duncan. I pull back. I need a minute. My hands are freezing. He takes them and gently starts rubbing them. I’ve already missed the damned train. No matter. There’ll be a train to somewhere. “Please…” “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.” He’s looking at me and his eyes are almost black with his pain. “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 am sorrier than I can say about… hurting you…” “Rape… That wasn’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,” “Then, stay.” His voice is so quiet I have to strain to hear. "I don’t want to lose you… I’ve just begun to know you.” He takes my hand and lifts it to his mouth. My hands are warmer now… He kisses my wrist. His lips press, my heart beats against them… I can’t pull away, gods, I don’t dare respond. I have to get out of here… He takes my hand and carefully places a kiss in the center of my palm. I’m shivering and trying to hold on and terrified of letting him go on… He’s holding on to my hand, I can’t… I have to. I reach out to touch his face, stroke his hair. He’s holding back tears again, the kind of desperate, tired tears you see in children who have no remedy for their pain. I cannot stand this. I pull him into my arms. He’s got his arms around my neck and is hanging on for dear life. He’s leaning against me and the anatomy against my hip is not an illusion. It’s been a long time since I needed a lover this much. She died. Love is part of my humanity that I try not to act on. Too many have died. It simply hurts too much to open myself, to be vulnerable, again. I am vulnerable to him, though. I’ve had male lovers, matching strength has a quality, a lure… a freedom. Perhaps, it’s the mirror, the idea of making love to one’s self… He is so different, though. His muscle structure is strong, fully developed. Where I am the greyhound, he is the wolfhound. Odd… even in thinking of his counterpart in the animal world I see him as a protector. And myself as the runner, running from…? His hair has gotten long enough to curl at his neck and ears. I can taste the salt tears. When his hair was long, it escaped the ponytail on a regular basis. I like it short, too, its thick and glossy, and beautiful. My hands smooth it back from his face. I can’t fight this anymore. I gently kiss his eyes. His lashes taste salty. His lips are so warm. I press mine against his face and yield to the temptation of his mouth. He tastes like coffee, the brandy is more a scent than a taste. And then warmth of him, shyly kissing me back. His lips are so gentle against mine. I let my tongue touch the full lips. His hips move against me, Adonis reborn in this autumn morning. His tongue answers mine, touching, tasting, searching out all my secrets. I am so naked to him. Gods above, this is so dangerous. I sigh against his cheek, feeling the beard stubble. His skin is dusky, almost Phoenician, one of the black Celts…sensual. It is just too much. I take his head in my hands, holding him so that I can kiss his eyelids, his brows… I will have this, even if there is no future, I will have today… His eyes open, looking almost drunk with his rising passion. Duncan has made some sort of choice. His strong, square swordsman’s hands caress the line of my jaw, my neckline. He lifts the hem of the sweater and pulls at it. Reluctantly, I lift my arms so he can take it. He strokes the black silk under it, and slowly unbuttons my shirt. Is this what he wants? This is taking more courage than I have. The feel of his hands under the shirt, pulling it down over my wrists, sends shivers through me. These slacks are loose, but my shorts are getting way too tight. He has my hand tightly gripped in his. “Methos… The bed is more comfortable.” I nod. My voice isn’t working at all. Breathe, Methos. You have to breathe. I stand, he’s still clinging to my hand. He tugs at it and I yield, putting my other hand on our joined hands and following him. I can’t help smiling at him, he’s so eager and frightened and… young. Has he done this before, I wonder? Well, now what, MacLeod? We’ve made it to the side of the bed, and his smile could light half of Paris. He waits for a moment, deciding what to do next, then reaches for my belt. Good choice, Duncan. My belt is dropped on the rug. Gently, he reaches for the waistband of my slacks. His hand is dark against the fine grey wool. Clever fingers slip the catch and ease the zipper down. My briefs are more than tight and I can feel the damp spot his touch has caused. I caress his cheek and run my hand along the elegant line of his jaw. There’s a line surviving in the Anglican Marriage Ritual, “and with my body I worship thee…” He is looking at me like that… He’s kneeling here at my feet, his hands warm against my ankles, and I cannot breathe. “Fair’s fair, love.” I smile at him and lift him to his feet. I start unbuttoning his shirt. He slips off his shoes and starts to take off his slacks, but I want to do that, and I hold his hands against his broad chest and he shivers as I remove the slacks and briefs in one move. The sight of him brings me so close to orgasm... I haven’t reacted to anyone this viscerally in many years. I need to look away, control… Hold fast… Isn’t that his clan’s motto or something? A sound, too soft to be a moan, and I turn back to face him. “You are so beautiful, Duncan.” He is absolutely still. The need to touch, to taste him again washes over me like the Great Flood. I have gone back millennium to the old rites, the affirmation of life and the Goddess and elders who celebrated it. Simple lust would have been easier, Methos… but when was anything ever easy with him? “Methos…” I lay down and reach up to take his hand and pull him onto the bed beside me. We turn towards each other, magnetized, unable to stay apart. He touches my hair… Tentatively, I touch his lips, first with my fingers, grazing the fullness of the lower. The kiss starts out very gently, seduction, not attack. He presses against me and I let my tongue barely touch, teasing his lips, seeing if he is willing to open to me. The heat of him forces a sound low in my throat, animal noise from lifetimes past. I open my eyes, I want to see him as the fire takes him… as my fire takes him. Suddenly, he gasps and pulls me on top of him. I stretch and move against his hips. He is so hard. I let my knee slide easily between his thighs, just grazing against his cock. It jumps against me and I feel the answering pulse in my own. I move up, letting my hair brush under his chin and along his cheek. I push his shoulders down against the dark green of the coverlet. His back arches, throwing him against my thighs and belly. He is too anxious, too needy for this to last as long as I would like it to. No matter. My fingers encircle his cock and squeeze, lightly, to ease him back. I stroke his balls and take his cock again, a firmer touch this time. He moans and the sound of it pushes me back to the edge. I let my hands learn his body, touching, petting, caressing the solid strength of him. I’m trailing kisses over his nipples, suckling just enough to harden them. I feel his tongue at my neck, his lips burn. “Methos, please… “ “Please? What do you want me to do, my love?” He is squirming against me and I can feel my own control beginning to slip away. Old words for making love, for the beloved come to me… This is something I’ve wanted for so long. There is a need for tenderness with him, and I kiss our joined hands. He is shivering and trembling like he’s about to faint. I taste his lips, his eyebrows and his lashes. His hair is thick silk in my hands. His face flushes and pales as his need grows. I caress his cock, his balls. He is so hard and I know he needs to come. He’s touching me, caressing my shoulders. Its as though he needs to reassure himself that I’m real. Oh, Duncan, I am real. For the first time in centuries, I am real and alive and, gods above, how much I love you… His nipples taste faintly of salt and sandalwood and I let my tongue touch the soft mat of hair around them, too. He is staring at me. I can’t seem to stop kissing him, that is surely the most kiss-worthy mouth in this world. I edge my knee further between his legs, opening him. His cock jumps against my hand and his groin presses against me. I want to be inside him but I need to know if he is willing to go that far, I don’t want to hurt him… I lay my fingers against his mouth and he licks them, wetting them thoroughly. Very slowly I ease my fingers along the crease between those beautiful cheeks. Ah, there it is, tight and hot and waiting for my attentions. He is already moving in the rhythms of our sexuality. I’m afraid he’s too tight, too tense for me to do this without hurting him. “Duncan, where do you keep the lubricant?” He is still for a moment then rolls slightly away from me to reach the bedside table. From the look on his face, the gel is cold. Mustn’t, daren’t laugh. But that look is so funny. I bite my lip and take the tube, looking down to keep from seeing his expression. Gently, I bring his legs up so he can rest his thighs on mine. I want this to be face to face, I want to see his face as he comes. He is moving constantly, pushing his cock against my groin and my cock is just as hard. The gel has warmed in my hands and I coat his cock liberally with it. Both of us are aching and needy. I hold both rods tight against my belly for a moment. I need to be sure that he is OK with this… “Is this what you want, Duncan? We don’t have to do this…” His answer reassures me. He has courage this one… I make sure there is enough lubrication. I want him to enjoy this… The heat of him is almost enough to take me over the edge before I even enter. I caress his cock, distracting him to ease things. He relaxes just enough and I’m inside that blessed heat. Ah, there it is, and he responds to my touch with a flush of heat that flares through both of us. I start a slow rocking motion knowing that neither of us can last very long. His pulse rate is climbing and it pounds against me, gathering me up into the firestorm. I wanted to take this slowly, but I can’t hold back. He’s moaning against my throat and I surge into him so deeply... I can feel his heart beat in the depths of my soul. One more thrust and he’s screaming my name and I feel him coming over my chest and belly and his climax sets off mine and I’m calling his name like a mantra as I pour myself into him. I gather him into my arms stroking him to ease his shudders and let him know he is loved. “Methos… Stay with me.” At this moment in space and time I can not refuse him anything. I’m too tired to think beyond tomorrow. “I’ll be here when you wake, love… promise.” He nestles against my shoulder asleep before he can take another breath. His heartbeat slows back to normal and the sound of it comforts me. You are more than I ever hoped for, Duncan, and I will love you now and always. The sounds of the water against the hull of the barge and my Beloved’s breathing draw me down into sleep. I cannot promise to stay forever, Duncan, but I will be here when you wake. ~Finé~ Comments, virtual
chocolates and good scotch are always welcome. |
