Erik lay sprawled on Steve's bed. Steve had taken him to the arcade earlier and then they had gone to Bertucci's for dinner. Now they were back in Steve's apartment.
Steve had Erik pinned against the bed, caught between the man's legs. He grinned, eyes meeting Erik's as his hands roamed over the boy's naked chest. Erik lifted his arms, wrapping them around the man's neck, pulling his head down to Erik's lips. He could never get over his amazement at how gentle Steve was, how wonderful it was to actually enjoy sex.
He felt the familiar warmth of Steve's mouth on his. Hot, wet, sweeter then honey. His tongue like soft velvet inside Erik's mouth, his hands leaving trails of fire along Erik's naked body.
Suddenly Steve drew back, tensing. Erik gave an involuntary moan of protest at the sudden loss of contact.
"What is it?"
Steve looked back at him. "Shh… someone's coming."
Erik blinked in confusion. "What? How do you know?"
Steve got off him, finding and pulling on his jeans. Erik sat up on his elbow, watching as Steve left the bedroom. After a few seconds, he heard voices in the living room. Climbing out of bed, Erik grabbed his own clothes, quickly pulling them on before he hesitantly opened the bedroom door a crack.
There were two men in the room: Steve and another man. They were facing each other. Steve had his back to Erik. The other man seemed vaguely familiar. Olive colored skin, black hair pulled back in a ponytail, tall, fit. With a jolt, Erik recognized him as one of the people he had seen in Sherry's apartment. He had only gotten a glance at the man, but he was sure it was the same man.
"You killed them!" the man said. He had a strange accent… it sounded vaguely Scottish.
"They would have died anyway, MacLeod. I let them die happy," Steve told him.
The man – MacLeod – shook his head. "They were children, defenseless, and you killed them. There's no excuse for that."
"Someone would have killed them eventually. You know that."
MacLeod shook his head. "They didn't have a chance–"
"In the end there can be only one," Steve intoned softly. "They would have died anyway."
MacLeod drew his sword and with a shock, Erik realized that Steve was holding his own sword.
"It doesn't have to end like this," Steve whispered. He shifted his stance, ready to strike.
"No!" Erik cried without thinking. MacLeod's eyes jumped to him, but Steve didn't turn around.
"Go away," he told Erik, his voice soft and deadly.
"You're not going to kill him, are you?"
"Leave," Steve repeated.
"Promise me you won't kill him, Steve. Please?"
Now Steve did turn around. He walked over to Erik, stroking the boy's face. After a moment, he gave a slight, sad smile. "I promise," he whispered, and leaned forwards to kiss Erik lightly on the lips. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out two twenties, handing them to Erik. "Here. Go buy yourself a treat." Then he kissed Erik again.
"You won't kill him?"
Steve nodded. "I promise."
Erik took the money and hurried out of the room.
Once the boy had left, Steven returned his attention to Duncan. Duncan swallowed his revulsion at the sight of the older man kissing the boy.
"I see you haven't changed," he commented when the boy was gone.
Steven raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Still sleeping with children, though now you're beheading them, too."
Steve shrugged. "So? I'm immortal. I'm 600 years old. What does the difference of a few decades matter? If I met the boy again in ten years, you wouldn't even blink." The man paused then, his lips quirking. "Well, maybe you would. Have you gotten over that man and woman ideal of yours yet?"
Duncan stiffened. "Let's just get this over with."
"It doesn't have to be like this," Steve whispered.
"Maybe it didn't, but not after you murdered those children."
"You know you loved me once."
Duncan shook his head. "I was your whore. That isn't love."
"That's not what you said at the time."
It was early spring, 1863, and in a small room in an inn somewhere in Boston, two men lay in bed together. Soft, warm sunlight streamed in through the window above the bed.
Duncan lay with his head resting on Steven's chest. Steven was lightly stroking his hair. He could smell the Steven's warm, musky scent, could feel the warm, strong, solid body beneath him. Duncan couldn't remember ever being this happy, this contented. He wished it could last forever. He wished that he could just forget everything and stay here, like this for the rest of time.
He looked up, meeting Steven's eyes, feeling a warmth spreading through him as he saw the soft tenderness and love in the man's gaze. The golden sunlight poured gently over the man's face, making him seem unreal, like a dream of golden light. But he was real – firm and warm and real.
Steven caressed his face, watching him with eyes half-lidded in pleasure. Duncan reached up, pulling his head closer and kissing, reveling in the sweet, rough warmth of the man's mouth.
…not so different from a woman's…
And for the first time in the three years they had been together, Duncan didn't bother to shy away from the thought.
He drew back, smiling as Steven's hands slipped from his hair to his shoulders. His mouth found Duncan's throat, kissing him as his hands worked their way down Duncan's back. He nuzzled the soft, tender flesh at the curve where Duncan's neck met his shoulder, his fingers stroking Duncan's hips. Duncan inhaled deeply, breathing in the clean, musky scent of the man's hair mingled with the slight tang of sweat and sex.
Steven's mouth slid down to his nipple, his breath hot against Duncan's skin. Duncan moaned.
…better than a woman…
Duncan felt a chill at the thought. He pulled back, gently pushing Steven away from his body. Steven looked up at him in confusion
"Duncan?" the man asked, moving his hands from Duncan's hips to his face.
Duncan looked away. Better than a woman? No, no man could ever be better than a woman. And especially not this one, this… child molester. That was why he was here, after all. Right? So that Steven wouldn't rape children anymore?
"Duncan? Are you all right?" Steven asked, his voice concerned and confused.
Duncan looked back at him, meeting his eyes.
And he was lost, lost in a world of soft green… tenderness, love, lust, need, confusion… all mingled in the man's deep, ancient, expressive eyes. Beautiful, soft eyes, filled with need. And suddenly Duncan realized that Steven didn't care that Duncan was a man… it didn't matter to him, not one bit. All that mattered was that he wanted Duncan – wanted him for who he was, respected him for who he was in a way that went so much deeper than gender or age or anything else.
His breath caught in his throat as he met that intense gaze and all thoughts were washed from his mind. All thoughts save one.
…I love this man… this person… I love him and want him and need him just as much as he wants me…
And suddenly it didn't matter that they were both men… because suddenly Duncan realized that they weren't both men. They were both people, both immortals, and both in love. And nothing else really mattered.
He leaned forwards, catching Steven's familiar lips in his own, pulling him closer, pressing their bodies as closely together as he could. After a moment of surprise, Steven relaxed into his embrace, lips parting for Duncan's eager tongue. His arms settled comfortably around Duncan's waist, holding him close.
"…I love you…" Duncan gasped against Steve's mouth.
Duncan stared at Steven, realizing that they were suddenly standing closer to each other… close enough that all Duncan had to do was reach out, just a little, and he could touch Steven.
"That was a long time ago," he gasped.
Steven took another step closer and Duncan could almost smell the man's familiar scent. He was watching Duncan, his gaze as intense as it had been back then… over a century ago.
"Time is relative… especially when you're immortal."
Their faces were so close they were practically touching. All Duncan had to do was lean forwards, just a little, and their lips would be touching.
"You're body doesn't seem to think it's been such a long time," Steven breathed, his eyes flicking to Duncan's crotch.
Duncan flushed hotly, suddenly painfully aware of his body's well-conditioned response to Steven. He clenched his fists and took a step away from Steven.
"No," he said firmly, lifting his sword.
Steven blocked MacLeod's strike, stepping out of the way. For the next few minutes, they danced around the room, striking, blocking, dodging each other's swords and Duncan realized that either Steven was far better than he'd ever given the man credit for, or he'd improved his skill a great deal over the last century.
Duncan ducked Steven's sword, striking with his own. But Steven blocked his blade, twisting it out of his hand and sending it flying across the room. Duncan's mouth went dry as he tried to scramble away from Steven's blade. But he was trapped; there was nowhere to go. Behind him was the wall and in front of him was Steven, his sword sharp and lethal.
I'm going to die. I'm really going to die, Duncan realized. There was nowhere to go, nothing to use as a weapon. He was really going to die… the thought filled his mind, paralyzing his body with fear.
Steven's sword swung up in an arc, blade flashing in the light, cold, hard, deadly,
This wasn't real… he was dreaming…he had to be dreaming…
Time seemed to slow as the sword descended over Duncan's head. No, no, no, no! Duncan couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't breathe…
He could hear the hum of the sword as it sliced through the air, could see the feral gleam in Steven's too-familiar eyes, the way his lips thinned in determination, the way his muscles rippled beneath his sweat soaked shirt as he brought the sword down…
Duncan closed his eyes, pressing his body desperately against the wall as the hum of the sword's movement filled his ears, bracing himself for the impact…
But it never came. There was a harsh thud as the blade hit the floor, sending vibrations through the floor.
Slowly Duncan opened his eyes, staring at the sword, its blade now embedded in the wooden floor. His body felt suddenly limp with relief.
He lifted his eyes to Steven who was staring at him with a blank expression.
"…why?" Duncan managed to ask after a long silence.
Steven looked away. "I promised Erik I wouldn't kill you. I keep my word."
Duncan stared at the man in confusion, opening his mouth to say something, but Steven cut him off.
"Go, now. Before I change my mind."
Duncan didn't move. He wasn't entirely sure he could move if he'd wanted to. All his strength seemed to have rushed out of him when he heard the sword hit the floor and all he could do now was stare at Steven in amazement.
The man pulled his sword from the floor, sheathing it. Then he extended his hand to Duncan, pulling him to his feet. Duncan felt an electric shock as he touched the man's rough, calloused hand and realized that he was still hard.
His cheeks flamed and he dropped his hand as soon as he had his balance, refusing to look at Steven. Steven retrieved Duncan's sword from where it had fallen and handed it to Duncan.
Duncan took it numbly.
"If you want, I'll leave," Steven said softly.
Now Duncan stared at him.
"And I'll stop killing pre-immortals." He leaned forwards, almost touching his lips to Duncan's, and Duncan realized that the man was just as hard as he was. But then he stepped back and turned away. "Just promise to take care of Erik for me… he deserves a family."
Duncan nodded and Steven gave him a small smile.
"And maybe someday we could…"
Steven looked at him with grief and exhaustion mingled with amusement. "Maybe someday. But not today."
Then he turned his back on Duncan and Duncan slowly made his was out of the apartment, feeling intensely disoriented and confused.
He paused at the door as something occurred to him. "How will I find Erik?"
Steven laughed. "I guess you don't want to pick him up where he's usually hanging out. I could pick him up and drop him off at your place before I leave."
Duncan nodded and left.