Sacrifices
(Few months after Horsemen)
Duncan was kneeling before the other immortal's sword when he felt it. Presence. The fight hadn't been fair. He had been tricked, not that that made any difference now, no matter who showed up. Still his curiosity made him look up to see who was walking in.
Out of all the people in the world, Duncan could think of no one more unlikely to show up at that point than Methos. Duncan stared at the oldest immortal as he emerged from the shadows. Ok so maybe it wasn't so unlikely. Still Fate was surely torturing him. Duncan took in the grace of his movement, the way the shadows played on the angles of the other man's face, the way the light seemed to cause the pale skin to glow like stained glass lit with an inner light. He wistfully wished that the lean figure was not obscured by the long overcoat.
Duncan had long desired the other man, but the time was never right and then the Horsemen episode…no that was a lie. He, Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod, had been afraid, hiding in the pants of dozens of women to avoid being in love again. He couldn't decide which scared him more, to lose another love or to have a love that endured, possibly for centuries. All he knew now staring at the figure of his friend was that he had been a fool.
Duncan was so caught up in his own musing he almost didn't see the look of recognition on his challenger's face, how he had rushed forward at the sight of their visitor. "Anastios," the Greek man whispered almost reverently. His movement toward Methos was cut short however as a gun was raised to point at him.
Duncan stared at the sight. What was Methos doing here? The old man was still trying to save him? With a gun?
His challenger laughed abruptly. "You're here for him?" His voice boomed in anger, disgust evident. Then a dangerous smile split his face, sudden understanding dawning. "You would return to me in exchange for his life?" The immortal's sword pressed into MacLeod's neck leaving a thin red line.
The sound of Methos's voice washed over Duncan like a benediction, even though the words themselves broke his heart. "If that's what it takes, Theron. I go with you and you leave him here, unharmed." Methos stressed the last point.
Finally Duncan found voice to speak. "Don't…" he began but the Greek immortal shouted over him.
"Silence!" The man took a few cleansing breaths before speaking to Methos again. "What's to stop me from killing him and then taking you?" He gestured with his free hand to the mortals with guns also assembled in the warehouse.
Methos didn't even blink. "You'll never feel it again."
The challenger countered, "You think you could keep it from me?"
"You think I couldn't?" Theron appeared to consider this. Duncan had no idea what was going on, but Methos refused to spare a single glance at him. Finally the immortal spoke again. "So be it. But I'll let him go after you reacquaint me with why I agreed to this."
Methos acquiesced, showing his acceptance of the terms by lowering the gun. Duncan wanted to scream and shout for Methos to leave him to his fate, but he had no idea even what had been agreed upon. The other immortal wasted no time however. Immediately he shouted for his henchmen. They set upon the lean form immediately, wrestling him to the ground and then ruthlessly divesting him of his clothes. What was going on here? Duncan had known that Theron was a slaver or human trafficker as they say nowadays. That's why he was here in the first place, to save the day. The other immortal specialized in sex slaves, is that what was going on? Was Methos this immortal's slave at some point? Or had he also been a slaver, an accomplice?
The challenger continued speaking to the ancient. "You know I searched for you, after you left? I have never found another to take your place."
"I'm one of a kind," Methos answered from the floor. Sarcastic til the end, Duncan thought. What is it about Methos that people can't leave him alone? He couldn't answer that question but the answer to which side Methos was on became clear. The guards placed shackles on the ancient immortal's wrists and ankles but he wasn't restrained. Methos was then lifted from the floor and fairly shoved toward the Greek immortal.
Duncan watched the interplay between the two immortals. They acted like they had forgotten he was there and he couldn't decide whether that was a good thing or not. He had stayed on his knees in the same spot where he thought his life would end. Vaguely he thought about trying to rescue Methos but he knew he wouldn't make it a foot before being shot. It was almost worse than being restrained really.
Methos's forward movement was stopped by their captor's hands. He was turned to face Duncan and forced to his knees. Duncan stared at him, they were a mere yard apart but Methos's eyes never met his. When the older immortal wasn't looking at his tormentor, he was looking at the floor. His chin didn't drop however, his posture was perfect. With his Romanesque features, Duncan thought he looked like a captured nobleman not a slave.
Their captor fastened a black leather collar around Methos's pale elegant neck. Then the other immortal kneeled in front of the lanky man. "Kiss me," he said. Duncan was horrified but watched spellbound. Methos hesitated only an instant before leaning forward and pressing his lips against the other man's. The kiss was straightforward, but it was not without sensuality Duncan thought. It made Duncan angry, angry even at Methos. He knew he was wrong, Methos was being forced, but the old man just seemed so calm about it. Duncan started to move forward and found that a guard had moved behind him. He knew this because of the gun that was suddenly pressed against the back of his skull. The unknown immortal must have noticed his movement because he then gripped the back of Methos's head, forcing a deeper kiss. Then he pulled away laughing as Methos's eyes returned to the floor.
Their captor moved behind Methos, both men still on their knees. "Are you his lover MacLeod? Did you get to feel the smoothness of his skin, the softness of his hair? Have you breathed in his scent after fucking him, tasted him?" Duncan stared in outraged silence as the immortal's hand caressed the delineated muscles of Methos's torso, the other hand gripped his hair to pull back his head and suck on his exposed throat. Without loosening his grip on the dark hair, he spoke again, this time to Methos. "You know I could still kill him Anastios. I want you to beg me to fuck you."
Methos swallowed and Duncan knew how much that sentence would cost the other man. He couldn't imagine how he would feel if their positions were reversed. Then Methos spoke in a harsh voice, "Fuck me…please." He paused to take a shaky breath then tried again in a more plaintive tone, "Please fuck me Master." He closed his eyes as the other immortal's laughter grated over them both.
"Not yet," Theron said after he finished laughing. Their captor pushed Methos down so that he was bent over his own knees. The olive-toned hand lingered on the back of Methos's head before violently slamming the old man's forehead into the cement. Methos made no sound but Duncan could see the way his hands and eyes clenched before he gently rested his head on the cement again. Theron pulled out a knife.
He spoke again to Methos, "I will carve my name in your hide as many times as it takes for you to accept that you belong to me." He began to carve deep gouges into the pale-skinned back. Bright red blood flowed, staining the white dress shirt of their captor. Duncan heard Methos begin to breathe more deeply, finally opening his mouth to take in great gulps of air. Then Duncan felt it.
It was like the thrum of another immortal mixed with a sonic boom. It worked its way under Duncan's skin and vibrated the very air particles. It felt like power, raw and undefined. Duncan had to close his eyes. He didn't know whether he wanted to fight or fuck but he knew that he had instantly become hard as a rock. Then it disappeared. Duncan opened his eyes at the sound of their captor's groan.
"Did you feel it MacLeod?" The Greek immortal's attention was once again turned on his original captive. "It's his quickening. He keeps it restrained, but with enough pain…he loses control. I don't know why his is like that, maybe its his age, he never would say, maybe it's the number of quickenings he's taken, maybe its just him, or the culture he's from…Doesn't matter now that he's back though."
The knife bit into Methos's skin again, working up almost to the shoulder blades. Duncan could see the quickening already working to repair the damage. At least Methos was a fast healer, Duncan thought. Not that that would help with the pain though, the healing hurt as much as the wounding. He watched the blood running in rivers down the back, over the shoulders. It even ran down the back of Methos's neck, dripping down his face. The man continued carving until they felt his quickening again. Theron took a deep savoring breath, twisting the knife as his other hand moved to unzip his pants and draw out his erect cock. Then he threw the knife away. Methos seemed to try to burrow into the cement floor as the immortal's hands were parting the pale buttocks. The unknown immortal thrust his cock into the bloodied body.
Duncan wanted to look away, but couldn't. Like a train wreck he watched the immortal thrust viciously. Methos eyes stayed clenched shut but his breath came in harsh gasps. Both men were covered in blood; Duncan could even see that the Greek immortal's cock was covered in it. The force of the thrusts rocked Methos's body and the blood splattered. Some of it even splattered onto Duncan's face, but he made no move to wipe it away. And then it was over and he could feel the quickening drain away. Theron was draped over Methos, still deep inside the other's body. Duncan had watched the immortal torture and rape his friend and now he was petting the dark head like Methos was a favored child.
"It makes coming in him that much more incredible," their captor said standing up while still breathing heavily. He turned to his men. "Bring this one…and leave that one here."
Methos managed to stand up by himself before being flanked by the mortal guards. Duncan saw him stop walking and pause. The younger man waited expectantly for his friend to turn and face him, to look him in the eye and say something, anything. But then Methos simply kept walking away. Duncan winced at the slamming of the door as they left the warehouse. He stared numbed at the puddle of blood before him, trying not to think about what Methos had done, what had happened, that the eldest had done it to save him. Leaning forward, Duncan violently expelled what had been his breakfast.
Methos blinked in the sunlight as they left the warehouse. It seemed to make everything that had just happened more real. No, everything /he/had just done. He couldn't remember feeling as humiliated as he did now. He had performed for an audience before but in front of MacLeod? He didn't think he'd ever be able to look into those big brown eyes again. He was too afraid of what he'd see there, horror, embarrassment, disgust, or the worst, pity. At least it worked you old fool, he told himself ruefully. He had hoped that despite everything Mac would win that this wouldn't be necessary.
They had come to a stop beside a limo. Methos followed the younger Greek immortal inside. He remembered enough to sit on the floor beside the other man's legs, folding himself in as comfortable a position as he could manage. He should be busy worrying about himself rather than what that overgrown Boyscout would think the next time they met, Methos chastised himself. He wouldn't be finding out anytime soon anyway since he would be spending the foreseeable future with the most sadistic master he had ever had the decidedly unpleasant experience of knowing. Still the thing that stuck in his craw the most was thinking that he wouldn't be there to bail the Highlander out the next time he did something stupid without thinking. And Methos was sure there would be a next time.
Duncan drove to Joe's straight-away. As he walked in, the small post-lunch crowd reminded him that he was covered in blood, his own and Methos's. Joe noticed immediately and excitedly ushered him into his office.
"What happened to you?" Joe said shutting the door behind him. Duncan noted gratefully that the old mortal had thought to bring a bottle of Scotch and glasses with him. Duncan reached for the bottle before replying.
"Methos has been…kidnapped." It was such an inappropriate word, but the Highlander couldn't think of a better way to describe the situation.
"Kidnapped? Did they leave a note; are they going to contact you?" Joe's protective instincts of the five thousand year old pain in the ass kicked into high gear. Normally that would cause the two men to snicker, but not now.
"It's not like that Joe," Duncan took a long gulp of his drink before continuing. "It wasn't me they wanted. It was him."
With that the whole story tumbled out. Joe drank his drink in silence. Joe knew that many of the older immortals had been slaves at one point. Being a foundling in most ancient civilizations was not a good thing, made worse by their need to be solitary and travel frequently. But reading about it was one thing, being made to watch the rape of a friend…It had been bad enough when Mac had received those photos of Richie's abuse as a child. Perhaps it was more expected though. Richie was younger; they had all realized how difficult it must have been growing up in the system being blonde and pretty. Methos just seemed so capable. Then again he did have an air of fragile vulnerability about him sometimes…That brought back the fact that he had given himself willingly. Joe couldn't believe it. Methos had given his life for Mac. It was almost more poignant than giving his head. Methos could be tortured for years, centuries, forever. Joe began searching watcher documents immediately.
The next morning Methos was musing on the universal use of the whip. Across time and space, it was always a popular form of torture. He shifted slightly, wincing at the pain that lanced through his shoulders at the movement. The ancient immortal was hanging by his wrists from the ceiling of Theron's bedchamber. His fingers had long ago gone numb. He had been left there overnight after Theron had whipped him and then fucked him while he hung there. Apparently the Greek immortal had lost none of his taste for sadism though he had not become any more creative over the years.
Methos held still as he heard the other immortal begin to stir. The fingers that traveled over his back caused the dried blood there to flake.
"Hmmm, someone needs a shower," Theron's voice was soft. Methos tried not to look too pleased at the idea. When his wrists were released however, Methos fell ungainly to the floor. He lay there, feeling the other man's possessive gaze on him. Hot anger and shame rose quickly but he tamped it down ruthlessly.
Last time Theron had taken great joy in trying to break him. Methos remembered still being kept in a box almost too small for him to fit in that was left in the hot sun, being starved for longer than he knew, being left impaled for weeks, crushed slowly beneath rocks…he had not given in until the Greek had threatened him with true death. Since life as Theron's slave already included such tortures as being whipped, burned, cut, drowned, beaten, and raped, Methos would rather not add anything to his lot. And this time it served the ancient's purpose to lull his captor into a sense of security.
Methos had been a slave and a whore many times in five thousand years, certainly as many times as he had been a master, probably more. The trick was to know what your captor wanted, and then to give it to them. Some masters wanted meek obedience; they wanted to believe that the slave had real feelings for them, that the slave grew to like their duties. Theron was not one of them. Theron thrived on owning leashed power, on the constant struggle for domination.
"Get up." The command irked Methos nonetheless. Obediently he rose and followed Theron into the huge bathroom. Under any other circumstances he would have loved a bathroom this big, the shower was certainly big enough for two unlike the one at a certain Scot's loft…Methos sighed at the thought of the Highlander. Best to put those thoughts away.
Methos stood in front of his captor, meeting his gaze then kneeled to remove the other man's pajama pants. He stared at Theron's arousal but was not commanded to do anything about it yet so he stood and adjusted the water temperature of the shower. In silence Methos washed first the other immortal's body and then his own. Theron's arousal never wavered but he made no sign as to how he was planning to satisfy his need. Methos was suspicious at the glint in the other man's eyes. He was also tempted to loose his quickening just to coax a reaction out of the man but he wanted Theron to continue to believe that Methos couldn't do that purposefully.
Walking back into the bedroom, Theron suddenly gripped his bicep and steered him toward the torture area that Methos had only recently been released from. Grudgingly he followed and was laid out on a table and then secured. Finally understanding dawned as electrodes were applied and a stick for him to bite down on was shoved in between his lips. The first shock was a warning, causing his muscles to tense but little else. The second caused his back to arch painfully. Theron played with the controls, several short bursts, interspersed with long drawn out ones. Methos felt that his muscles were so painfully tight that they might snap like a guitar string drawn too tight and the metal restraints were searing his skin. He just barely had enough mind left to loose his quickening.
Theron gave him a last long jolt, obviously enjoying both Methos's quickening and his pain, the sight of his muscles drawn tight. Then the Greek immortal yanked the restraints off and shoved Methos's legs onto the floor. Methos didn't think his legs would support his weight but that's not what his master had in mind. He was left bent over the table. While Methos muscles were still tense, Theron shoved his cock into the ancient man.
Methos gasped at the intrusion and spit out the stick. He struggled weakly, for show more than anything else really. In retribution Theron thrust in hard enough to puncture his inner walls. Methos could feel the blood spilling down his thighs before his quickening healed it. His captor loved the feel of Methos healing around his cock anyway.
After Theron orgasmed, Methos clung to the table trying both to breathe again and to rein in his quickening. Being electrocuted as a new experience, Methos had managed not to be tortured since its advent. Then Theron literally dragged the ancient man by his collar back into the shower.
Quickly Methos regained his wits and washed the blood off both men again and then dressed the master. He himself was not allowed to wear clothes. Then Theron led him around the complex by a leash like a dog.
They went to meet a potential buyer, a man and his associates who ran a few brothels in Southeast Asia and was looking for exotic additions to his collection. The younger immortal loved to have others see Methos submit to him. That would be the man's undoing Methos thought.
The Asian buyer whose name was Adirake seemed immediately interested in Methos. Theron must have noticed it too because he made a big show of caressing Methos at every opportunity even fondling his sex, bringing it to hardness. For his part the old man made a show of appearing indignant of the Greek's attention, but turning wide beseeching eyes to Adirake. Methos even turned up his quickening, the mortal wouldn't be able to feel it like an immortal but like pheromones the man would be drawn to Methos without knowing why. He hoped Theron would assume it was because of his shame at being subservient. Of course it also made the other immortal horny.
Methos was shoved to his knees right in front of the buyers. Methos took his time, laving his master's cock with his tongue before taking it deep in his throat. The Greek immortal thrust hard and only Methos's considerable experience prevented him from choking. But the ancient man did think that he heard a moan of approval from the Asian man. Good, he and Theron would be forced to move frequently but he had a suspicion that Adirake would be visiting often.
A month went by. Theron was leading him around their newest abode after meeting with the Asian buyers again. Adirake was even allowed to touch Methos this time. The ancient immortal could smell the smaller man's desire, noticed how the man tracked his movements, bent near to capture his smell and feel his warmth, the way Adirake would lick his lips in anticipation. Methos played it up, looking forlorn and vulnerable, but he felt sick. He didn't want Adirake's touch anymore than he wanted Theron.
Methos was tired of acting, tired of having another touch him when they knew nothing about him. Methos ached to be in MacLeod's presence, to be with people who knew who and what he was, even his faults. Surely Macleod would forgive him now. Things had been strained after the Horsemen debacle but surely the Highlander could see the depth of his loyalty…then again Methos was slightly embarrassed by his own need to see the man safe. He didn't want to be /needy/. He was five thousand years old for fuck's sake. Methos couldn't explain it, how he had fallen in love with the man at first sight and he couldn't fight it, didn't want to fight it. He wanted MacLeod to accept him as no one else had, as no one else could.
They had stopped to chastise a pair of serving women. Methos's gaze was caught by a vase sitting on a table nearby. It was a Ming vase, similar to the one he had tricked MacLeod into destroying in revenge for making him part of the de Valicourt fiasco. A faint smile tugged at his lips. He was jerked out of his pleasant remembrances by shouting. Methos took in the Master's raised voice and tense stance and the two women's frightened faces…his hand reached out and knocked the vase off the stand. It shattered into a million pieces. It didn't matter, he was already in hell. When the master's furious gaze turned towards him however, he had the good grace to drop to his knees, his hazel eyes wide…
Duncan felt like he and Joe were always a step behind. They would get a lead on the slaver only to get there and discover them gone. This time they were a bit quicker though. The immortal had not had time to move all of his slaves. He and Joe were interrogating two female slaves who had been left behind. The stories that the women had told had made both men cringe in horror, but it was the story they told when asked about the tall dark haired slave with a large nose that interested them most.
"Yes I do remember him. The master had him on a leash, took him everywhere. I think the master killed him though." One of the women started.
"It was all my fault!" the other began crying. She managed to choke out the next sentence through her tears. "I had embarrassed the master in front of guests, he had come to reprimand me…the vase was priceless…"
Duncan soothed her while the other woman explained. "The master was going to kill us, I'm certain, but he did it on purpose. He knocked over the Ming vase, had to really stretch to reach it without disturbing his leash…the master was furious. He used the broken pottery pieces…tearing into his flesh, he looked so afraid! The master dragged him off then…" Duncan's tears mingled with the female slaves, he would not give up.
Methos woke that day with a purpose. The Asian buyers were coming again this morning but the ancient was making sure that Theron would be late. The Greek was in rare form that morning anyway; twice he had raped Methos until they were both covered in blood. Now the lanky form was suspended from the ceiling by his wrists again. Burns and brands covered the length of his flesh, even the insides of his thighs. But Theron had been saving a special iron, a long thick cylindrical one. The younger immortal drew it out of the fire ready to use it now. Methos's quickening was at full force and he could hear the Asian men outside the door to Theron's bedroom. The Greek was too engrossed in his tortures to pay attention though. He rammed the last iron inside Methos's entrance, pulling it in and out, raping the man with it. Methos's screams weren't faked.
Leaving the still hot iron inside Methos's ass, Theron released the ancient's wrists, immediately thrusting his cock inside Methos's mouth as the slave's knees hit the floor. His cock muffled the elder immortal's screams.
Methos was not incapacitated as his captor thought though and the Asian men would now be occupying the attention of Theron's guards. Adirake would be demanding to get in after feeling the ancient quickening and then hearing Methos's screams. He surged to his feet, catching the Greek man by surprise. Using his advantage, Methos broke the olive skinned neck. Then he picked the lock to the safe where Theron kept his sword. Methos had no qualms about taking the slaver's head where he lay.
The noise of the quickening drew everyone, guards and buyers and even other slaves into the bedroom. Methos didn't have time to worry about it as he was being attacked by that bastard's essence. Still when it was over he had the wherewithal to throw himself at Adirake for protection. Everything was in chaos, the bedroom destroyed. The Asian buyers had already called for backup and the guards were at a loss as to what to do about the death of their master. The guards were attempting to radio Theron's associates.
Methos begged Adirake to get him out of there; they had almost made it to the outside door before they were stopped. The immortal left the man there, fighting two guards to get out of the building and sneaking across the grounds. Fortunately the grounds guards had been recalled to the house itself to stop all the other slaves from escaping. Methos reminded himself to call the police with some anonymous tips once he made it safely away. No one knew more about Theron's business than he did now.
Duncan and Joe had arrived at their latest breadcrumb. Duncan was driving around the property first, just taking a look around, when they saw a dark haired figure up ahead. It was Methos, he was staggering into the road naked…Joe rolled down his window and yelled for the other man to get in the car. Duncan held his breath as Methos stared at Joe as if he didn't recognize the man. Then the ancient man got in the back seat. Both younger men were overwhelmed with the smell of the ancient in the small vehicle. He smelled like blood and sex and burnt carbon and the ozone of a quickening.
Duncan drove quickly away. They actually weren't that far from Seacouver, and Duncan wanted to get Methos back to the loft immediately. He practically had to bite his tongue to keep from asking what had happened to the slaver. He was going to take care of Methos first, that had to come before revenge. He looked at Methos in the mirror; the other man appeared glazed still.
"There's a blanket in the back, Methos," Duncan said. The older immortal started, he apparently had given no thought to his nakedness. But he diligently got the blanket and wrapped himself in it before going back to sitting and staring at the floor. The drive was silent from there on, neither Duncan nor Joe knowing what to say.
After dropping Joe off, Duncan pulled up beside his place. He opened the door to the backseat, offering a hand to the other man, but Methos just brushed past it, not looking at him. When they got upstairs, Methos went immediately into the bathroom closing the door behind him.
Once inside Methos shuddered in relief. It was painful to be near the Highlander again. He was so exhausted that he thought any minute he would break down and he didn't want to do that in front of the younger immortal. He'd already embarrassed himself enough. If he could just be alone for a while, maybe go back to Paris for a month, he would be fine, everything could go back to what it was before he thought. He turned on the shower and sat down in the bathtub.
Duncan began to worry. Methos had been in there a long time. He knocked on the bathroom door and Methos spoke for the first time since he had escaped. "I'm fine, MacLeod."
Duncan sighed and then opened the door. Seeing Methos sitting with his knees against his chest and his arms around his knees, he moved forward in alarm. Methos scowled and stood up. Duncan turned off the shower noting that it had gone completely cold. He said so.
"I hadn't noticed," Methos replied. Duncan got a towel but Methos snatched it away. "I'm fine." The older immortal brusquely ran the towel over his body and hair, before rushing out of the bathroom. Duncan followed.
"Methos," Duncan started grabbing a long pale arm. Methos averted his face and attempted to pull out of the other man's grasp. Duncan held on and pulled the lean form in close.
Suddenly Methos began to struggle in earnest. "Duncan let go!" Duncan continued to grip the biceps of the other man, holding on despite his friend's struggling. "Duncan, NO! I can't…" Dark green tear-filled eyes looked desperately up at large doleful brown ones for the first time, "I don't deserve this." And with that the tears began to fall. Methos suddenly gave in to how alone he had felt, how much he didn't want to feel that way again, not since the Highlander had walked into his apartment in Paris. Methos found himself clutching the other man's arms rather than pushing against them. Duncan simply pulled Methos in close, his hand guiding Methos's head to rest on his shoulder. Duncan caressed the dark wet hair at the base of the older immortal's skull with one hand and the cool damp skin of the pale back with his other. He could feel the shuddering of the other man's silent sobs, felt the wetness on his shoulder. After a good minute, Duncan felt the slim body go lax. He tightened his grip to prevent the man from falling to the floor.
"Shhh, Methos. Come on, let's get in the bed." He guided him backwards over to the bed. He got the ancient under the covers but Methos didn't seem to want to let go of his hands. Duncan toed off his shoes and prepared to slide under the covers himself. "Is it ok if I take off my shirt and sleep with you?" Duncan didn't want to make the other man uncomfortable. Methos nodded still staring at him with pleading, sparkling-wet eyes.
Duncan lay down on his back and touched the immortal's shoulder. Methos was only too ready to return to the warm circle of arms. The younger immortal gathered the lean form to him, tucking the other man's head under his chin. Methos kept his limbs tight to his own body, but he was still grateful for the contact. The heat of Duncan's body was comforting and Methos let a few more tears slide down his nose before falling asleep.
Methos woke up still in Duncan's arms. Oh gods, he thought. Last night he had given into overwhelming emotions, but in the harsh light of morning, he felt a fool. He began to move away, but Duncan's arms tightened around him. The younger man pressed a kiss to Methos's temple. Methos stopped breathing, afraid to ruin whatever spell Duncan was caught in.
Duncan spoke, his warm breath rustling the short dark hairs of his companion, "I like this, waking up with you, holding you. Is that ok?" Methos only nodded before giving into the temptation to look at the other man's face. It was filled with warm affection. A broad olive-skinned palm caressed the back of Methos's head as Duncan started, "Methos, I…" Then Duncan kissed him. Their kiss was soft and questioning. Methos answered, kissing back with more force, letting his passion show.
Duncan pulled back smiling at the other man whose face was lit with morning light. "I've wanted to do that for a long time." He brought his other hand up to caress Methos's cheekbones with the back of his knuckles. They kissed again. Methos felt himself smiling too. It was too perfect. Duncan rolled them over so that the old man was beneath him. No sooner had he done so than Duncan felt Methos's body go limp.
Duncan looked back up at his partner's face. The smile had disappeared along with the light in Methos's eyes. He sat up, kneeling over the other man. Cursing himself for scaring the ancient man, he pulled Methos's limp body up, crushing it to himself. He whispered softly, "Its ok Methos, you're safe. I won't hurt you, come back to me."
After an agonizing few seconds, Methos came out of his flashback. He took in a deep shuddering breath, his arms coming around Duncan's shoulders. "Methos? Are you ok? Oh God I'm so sorry." For a moment they just stayed like that, clutching each other desperately.
"Methos I…I'm so sorry, what you must have been through." Duncan's eyes were full of unshed tears and his chest ached with unsaid emotions. Methos was shushing him and wiping his tears away with long elegant fingers. But Duncan needed to say this, needed to say everything.
"I'm not worthy of your love." He pressed his own thick, dark skinned fingers against, Methos's lips to silence the man. "But I need it, I need you and I should have told you every day how much you mean to me and I'm sorry for every time I hurt you…Methos I love you."
At those words, they were both still, just looking into each other's eyes. Then Duncan felt a slight rumbling seeming to come from Methos's body. Then he realized it was the other man's quickening, but this time it was different. It was still powerful and raw but no longer undefined. Now it wrapped Duncan in warmth and…love. The feeling filled Duncan and enfolded him and he knew how inadequate his words had been in comparison. He would just have to show Methos then.
They kissed, deep and exploring like they had an eternity to fill with love. Duncan laid Methos back down on the pillows. He wanted for Methos to feel his love and yet his hands only ghosted over the pale skin. Still the ancient immortal arched into the touch, his eyes open and fixed on Duncan's own.
Duncan stared down at the ancient man, feeling suddenly like he had managed to coax a wild animal into his bed. Methos had this feral innocence about him, reminding Duncan of the stories of the fey folk of his youth. They weren't evil just mischievous and occasionally cruel like children who had never known parents, like nature itself. They didn't know any better or they had never known any different. And Joe's words on the telephone came back to him, "Imagine an immortal so old he doesn't remember the time of his birth."
Still feeling the encompassing love, Duncan began slowly. He laid soft kisses all over the beloved face, Methos's forehead, his temples, eyelids, prominent nose, high cheekbones, chin. His tongue traced over the rosy lips and nipped at the man's jawline. Duncan was attentive to every nuance of his partner's response. He listened to every in-draw of breath, every sigh, gasp and moan. He felt every twitch, every tremor.
When Duncan pressed his lips to Methos's pulse, the old man shivered. When he licked a nipple, Methos moaned and arched when Duncan bit it. The Scot wanted to explore every inch of pale skin. He was entranced by the man's strength, running his tongue along the edges of every clearly delineated muscle, pectorals, abdominals, biceps. He couldn't get enough of the softness of the ancient skin, like a five thousand year old baby.
He shifted, gently parting the runner's thighs so that he could lie between them. Methos's cock was perfect, thick and tall, jutting proudly from a nest of dark wiry curls. Duncan leaned in closer to smell the intoxicating manly scent. Methos's hands were in his hair, stroking but not rushing him despite the old man's obvious need. Slowly he licked the drops leaking from Methos's cock then swirled his tongue around the soft exposed head.
Methos's knees were parted and bent, feet flat on the bed, his chest arching as he strove not to thrust into the wet heat engulfing his sex. Duncan heard the breathless cries as they became words, "Duncan…" He moaned around Methos's cock at the sound of his Christian name on those lips. Begrudgingly he lifted his head to look into Methos's eyes but then looking was not enough and Duncan captured those lips with his own, swallowing the other immortal's resultant moan.
When they parted Methos continued, "I want to feel you inside me." He must have seen Duncan's concern and hesitation. "Please Duncan…Gotta get back on the horse right?" Duncan smiled in spite of himself. His need to protect the old man had warred with his need to deny his lover nothing but Methos's genuine smile had tipped the balance. He reached in the bedside drawer for the lubricant.
Methos was breathing deeply and Duncan stroked a high cheekbone. The elder immortal turned into the large hand, brushing his lips on the palm before turning wide, exposed eyes up at his partner. Duncan could see the pain of past hurts in those eyes and a soft pleading hope.
Their eyes remained locked as Duncan rubbed a lubricated finger against the other man's entrance. Duncan's other hand rubbed Methos's thigh soothingly. He waited until Methos pushed down, seeking more before inserting the tip of a finger. He rotated the digit experimentally then saw Methos lick suddenly dry lips. Duncan bent down to kiss those lips, trying to offer reassurance, trying to keep his lover grounded in the now.
He pressed his finger in farther, registering Methos's widened eyes and parted lips. His finger brushed the other man's prostate causing his lover's head to thrust back against the pillows, exposing the long white column to Duncan's hungry mouth. One of Methos's hands clutched Duncan's shoulder, the other rested lightly on the forearm of the hand that was fingering him, as if to remind them both that he wanted this.
Methos swallowed once before speaking, "More." Duncan sat back on his heels as he withdrew his fingers to add more lubricant. He caressed fluttering abdominal muscles as he slowly inserted the two fingers. The muscles in Methos's jaw clenched momentarily and Duncan paused, closing his eyes at the memory of what he had seen the elder immortal endure, knowing that that was only a small piece of the horror.
Duncan was in awe of Methos's strength, that the man would be able to face his fear so soon, that he could experience pleasure so soon, that he would want to give himself to Duncan after having everything taken away. Methos's hips undulated, signaling his readiness and his want.
Duncan took deep breaths to quell his own fear as he covered his own cock with more than enough lube. With great care, he lifted Methos's slim hips and slid his knees underneath the other man. After positioning his cock, Duncan leaned forward and slid his arms underneath his lover, to cradle him. Then he slowly pressed in.
Methos did not tense at the intrusion but the cry that escaped him cut Duncan to the core. Again he stilled. Methos was breathing quick and shallow. But long-fingered hands came up to cradle Duncan's face and long legs wrapped around his waist. They were completely wrapped around one another. Duncan pressed all the way in, moaning himself at the hot tight sheath that accepted him. And he immediately felt guilty, this was for Methos.
But Methos smiled up at him and rocked Duncan forward with the force of his legs. Duncan began a soft thrusting rhythm, angling them until…there, Methos was moaning in enjoyment and sweat broke out all over the pale skin. Duncan licked the beads that collected above the thin upper lip.
He could feel Methos's hardness between their bodies but had no hand to spare for it. Then Methos snaked his hand between them to fist his own cock in rhythm to Duncan's thrusts. Duncan sped up wanting to be as deeply inside Methos as possible when he came. Suddenly Methos stiffened in his arms and came crying Duncan's name and spilling his seed on both their bodies. Duncan thrust once, twice, clutching the lean form in his arms tightly as he cried his own release, "Methos…" It was a soft plea whispered into his lover's neck.
They did not release each other, simply rearranged themselves so that Methos's smaller frame was lying cradled against Duncan's larger one again, their arms and legs still entwined. Methos's quickening still surged around them, unabated. Duncan began to think it was a relief to the other man to let it go for a while but they both knew it was dangerous. Slowly it faded from the Scot's senses.
Duncan never asked him why, why he would risk so much for Duncan. And he never told Methos not to do it again. It was just the way things were, he supposed. And he knew why.