Pairing: Duncan MacLeod and Methos/Adam Pierson
Disclaimer: The Highlander series and the characters therein do not belong to me. I am just borrowing these characters for fan-related purposes.
Warning: This story has male/male romantic situations. If you are offended by this, in particular in the Highlander fan base, please do not read this story. Again, IF YOU ARE OFFENDED BY MALE/MALE SITUATIONS, DO NOT READ THIS STORY.
As always, enjoy yourself. Comments are welcome, as well as ultra-shibby!
Duncan POV
It's said that the most beautiful water on earth is that of the Aegean Sea. It sparkles the purest of blues and stretches far into the horizon. It's humbling to imagine fierce Greek warriors flying across it in elegant warships on their way to Troy thousands of years ago traveling along the same body of water that I stand on now. The Carribean is beautiful, no doubt, but it lacks the immense history the Aegean possesses. It pales in comparison.
Like I do to Methos.
It's hard to believe that someone so seemingly young can hide so many years. Five-thousand years he's graced the world— though, not all of that time is what one would consider "graceful"— and is still standing. He was Death on a horse, riding around— nay, tormenting— the peoples of Africa and Europe before the clan MacLeod was even a passing thought in the mind of a Celtic barbarian. He witnessed first hand the fall of Rome, the invasion by the Mongols, the transformation of uncivilized Germanic tribes into advanced societies.
A blessing and a bane in all respects. So much time has passed for him that he has grown detached from the world, not daring to open himself up to anyone or anything, not fully. Two centuries of isolation will do that to a person.
It hurts me to watch someone I care about cut himself off from everyone. Were it not for his job with the Watchers, he might never have any human contact at all, immortal or otherwise. If only there were something I could do, some words I could say to ensure him that life is not the tragedy he seems to think it is.
"Duncan?"
I turn to find Methos standing beside me, looking at me with guarded olive eyes. I recognized him the moment I met him because of those eyes. They gave away his age, his knowledge. It's always in the eyes.
"Hmm?" I reply rather stupidly.
"You all right? You seem kind of distracted."
"No, I'm good. I was just. . ." My voice trails off with the realization that this is the chance I was hoping for. Yet somehow, I'm at a loss for words.
"Thinking?" he finishes my sentence. A wry smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he speaks, "It's easy to lose track out here. The sea just seems to go on forever. . ."
"Thank you for bringing me here," I say. After all, it was his idea to leave Paris for a few days and visit his old stomping grounds in Greece, to walk along the beach and watch the sun set in the far distance.
"No problem," Methos shrugs as if it means nothing to him.
"No, really, thank you. I know I haven't been a lot of fun to be around, since—"
"You don't have to say it," he cuts in. "I know what you mean."
The silence between us weighs on me and I go to make another comment when my voice is cut off by his mouth pressing against mine. My eyes widen for a moment and my initial reaction is to pull back, but his hand slips behind my neck and pulls me closer. What can I do but give in? Just this once.
Besides, I'm feeling romantic. Blame it on the Aegean.
