Author's Note: I feel terrible posting another story when I have two unfinished ones (actually I have half a dozen unfinished stories on my computer). But I have learned that you can't force a story, sometimes the best thing that you can do is to let a story ruminate in your mind and come back to it later. That being said, if you're waiting for another story to be finished, feel free to pester me about it.
They rode swiftly back to Duncan's estate, worried that the other two stepbrothers would follow them. When they didn't show, Duncan was even more worried that the two brothers were taking the time to regroup, to plan.
Methos' mind was in turmoil. He was astonished by his own actions and confused about what had happened to Caspian. It almost looked as if Mr. MacLeod absorbed his stepbrother's energy after death.
What kind of man was Mr. MacLeod? He didn't know the man at all but here he was, running away with the man. But Methos remembered the way the man had touched him, so gently. Even now as they were fleeing for their lives, Methos was acutely aware of the feel of the man that he was holding onto. Methos was confused by the emotions he was flooded with. He both wanted to snuggle closer and pull away.
Methos had been alone so long, he didn't understand this desire that caused heat to curl in his belly, this need, for what he didn't even know.
Suddenly the house was in view, causing Methos' fear to bloom until it seemed to fill his chest and he could barely breathe. Methos slid down from the horse when Duncan stopped it in front of the door.
The door was the whole of Methos' vision. He didn't notice the two immortals dismounting behind him or Connor then leading the horses away. The door opened.
"Joe!" Methos ran forward, throwing his arms around the older gentleman. When Joe's arms came up around his own waist, Methos started crying. He cried as he had not allowed himself to cry in ten years, great heart-wrenching sobs that shook his slender frame and had him clinging to Joe's shoulders. Methos cried for everything that he had lost and everything that he had endured.
As the tears slowed, Methos just felt exhausted. He tried to back away, not wanting Joe to have to bear his weight, but he stumbled…Duncan was there.
Duncan scooped the slighter man up into his arms, trying to be careful of Methos' injuries. He winced himself at the low moan that Methos issued before the man tucked his face into Duncan's shoulder.
He carried Methos down the hall and into the room directly across from his own. Carefully Duncan laid the curled form on the already turned down bed. Methos stirred then, wondering what he was doing on such a soft bed but Duncan gentled him, petting Methos' soft hair.
"Take off your shirt so I can put some salve on your back."
Methos was too drained to resist and his efforts to remove his shirt were ineffectual. Duncan peeled Methos' shirt off and practically arranged the young man on the bed, moving Methos onto his stomach with his head on the pillow. By the time Duncan was through administering to the wounds, Methos was fast asleep. Duncan removed the young man's shoes and pulled the covers up to Methos' waist.
Duncan paused outside Methos' room. He was surprised at the effect the reserved young man was having on him. When Methos had cried, Duncan's eyes had also been wet and now, at the sight of Methos sleeping peacefully, Duncan felt warm and contented.
Certainly this was not the first time that Duncan had felt desire for another man and he well admitted that he wanted Methos, wanted to bury his length inside that pale body, but his feelings had gone beyond simple lust. Was it possible to fall in love at first sight?
Methos woke the next morning and simply luxuriated in the feel of the soft mattress and smooth bed linens. The morning sun shone in through the room's two windows and he wondered how he had managed to sleep so long. Normally he woke before dawn to get started on his chores. Now he had nothing to do.
The door opened unexpectedly, startling Methos who pushed himself up to his knees and twisted himself around to see.
Two men entered the room, carrying buckets of water. He could hear the woman long before she entered the room, ordering the men about and commenting loudly on pretty much everything.
The woman, whom Methos guessed was MacLeod's housekeeper, was short and round, with a mess of dirty blonde hair piled on top of her head. She turned to Methos then as if only just noticing that he was awake, as if he could have continued to sleep through the noise they had made.
"Oh, good you're awake. I brought you some warm bathwater, thought it might…Oh my heavens! What happened to your back?! You poor dear, Mr. MacLeod forewarned me that you had had a rough time of it lately, that you'd need some extra food and such but I never…well…" She suddenly whirled around and strode into the bathroom.
Methos didn't know what to do, what to say. For ten years he had had no one to talk to, no one who gave a damn about him or his welfare and now there seemed to be a preponderance of persons who were overly concerned. He was gratified, but still ashamed. Surely he wasn't worthy of such interest and he was uncomfortable being the center of attention.
"There I put some soothing bath salts in. You go ahead and hop in now, dearie. It'll only sting a little at first. I'm Mrs. Carmichael; if you need anything just ask for me."
With a smile the woman left the room closing the door. Despite that, Methos could still hear the woman's voice as she walked down the hallway.
Sliding out of bed, he went to the bathroom. He was awed by the sight of the tub with steam billowing from it. For the last ten years, he had bathed himself with a washcloth in the kitchen with cold water.
Quickly he stripped off his pants, blushing at his vague remembrances of Mr. MacLeod taking off his shirt last night and tucking him into bed. Methos felt like he had died and gone to heaven when he stepped into the bath. The water did sting his back as he sat down, but he didn't care, the pleasure far outweighed the pain.
He stayed there in the bath until the water became tepid. He wondered again that no one had come for him, wanting him to do something to earn this respite.
Methos was just stepping out when he heard the door open again. He tried to pull on the robe that Mrs. Carmichael had left for him, but he hadn't pulled it closed by the time Mr. MacLeod stepped into the bathroom.
Duncan stopped at the sight before him. Methos blushed hotly under that avid gaze and pulled the robe closed. Stepping forward then, Duncan opened the robe again, exposing Methos' body to his gaze.
He couldn't help it, he was transfixed. Methos' body though lean and undernourished was beautiful, pale skin covering clearly delineated musculature, strong broad shoulders tapering to a tiny waist and powerful thighs, hairless except for his groin where Duncan's eyes were drawn. The lax cock twitched under his gaze.
Methos turned his face away. He was afraid, feeling vulnerable and exposed. No one had ever looked at him the way that Mr. MacLeod was looking at his body. Methos had often been viewed as an object but never with this peculiar mixture of possession and desire. He didn't want to be possessed, he wanted to be loved. And yet his body was responding, becoming hot and edgy.
When Methos' slight frame began to tremble, Duncan felt contrite. He brought the robe together and fastened it. He stroked his fingers over a prominent cheekbone before gently turning Methos' face back toward him. The young man's eyes were golden in his nervousness. Duncan wondered what color they would be when Methos was aroused.
"Shh, love, it's alright. I admit that I want you, I want to take you to my bed and make love to you. But I'll not force you. You have no reason to be afraid. I'll give you time, as much time as you need, so that we can get to know each other."
Methos nodded and dropped his face. Mr. MacLeod's words had affected him as much as the man's gaze had. He didn't know what he wanted and he was surprised that anyone would care about his feelings. Mr. MacLeod was certainly attractive, but he didn't want to be with anyone like that unless he trusted them, loved them. Methos still felt afraid and confused by his current situation.
Duncan's fingers underneath his chin lifted Methos' face again. The Highlander kissed Methos, soft at first and then deeper as the younger man opened his mouth on a gasp. Duncan ran his tongue over Methos' lips and then suckled the bottom one before pulling away.
Methos kept his eyes closed as the kiss ended. It was the first time that he had ever been kissed. His heart was pounding and he felt as if his stomach had dropped out of his body. Mr. MacLeod's lips were so soft, the kiss so tender, Methos found himself wanting the moment never to end.
When Methos opened his eyes, Duncan brushed his thumb over the other man's lips and then leaned in for a short peck. He smiled, thinking that he would get Methos into his bed yet. Strange, that they had only just met and he was already thinking how empty his life would seem without Methos.
"I left some clean clothes on the bed for you. They're Connor's so they shouldn't be that big on you. Come on downstairs for breakfast when you're ready." Duncan spoke before leaving the room and heading downstairs himself to wait for his guest.