Disclaimer: Zen&nancy donít own Duncan, Methos, Joe, or anyone else from the Highlander Universe. No money made here, no malicious intent. Characters, concept etc. owned by Greg Widen, Rysher, Panzer/Davis and a bunch of guys who make a heck of a lot more money than we do. Please donít pick on us, itís all in good fun. Story title borrowed without permission from Bob Dylan.

Rated NC-17 for violence and homoerotic content.

Thanks and adoration to Maygra. Special thanks to Moonpuppy for being beta goddess at the House Of Slack. Zen&nancy take the blame for any remaining mistakes.

BUCKETS OF RAIN- METHOS

By Zen&nancy

"One one-way fare to New Delhi please."

"Passport, ID, Thank you. For what departure date Monsieur Pierson?"

"Today. Now if possible."

The woman behind the glass looks up at me sharply. She has large glasses that hang on a gold chain. Steel gray hair is pulled into a severe bun.

"You want a one-way ticket to India, right now? Do you have any luggage with you Mr. Pierson?"

"No. Look, Iím not a terrorist, Iím a broken-hearted fool making the biggest mistake of my life. Your job is to sell me a ticket."

"Monsieur Pierson, the next train leaves at 7:45 p.m., which gives you six hours to get the necessary inoculations, and I strongly suggest more appropriate clothing. That will be 400 francs Monsieur Pierson."

My arm hurts from the damn shots, my bum hurts from sitting on this cold bench, and my heart aches like someone has wrapped their fist around it. There's a huge clock on the far wall, it says 5:03 p.m. I havenít slept for three days now, not counting a nap in the damn clinic's waiting room, and a few precious moments with him in my arms. I tell myself that Iím not thinking rationally, that sleep deprivation leads people to high degrees of rationalization and can cause them to make unlikely and dangerous decisions.

Thatís the only reasonable explanation, because Iím sitting here peeling at the new stickers on my passport and trying to find a lie to tell myself that will allow me to go back to him. Iím so close, almost out of this stinking, cluttered city. Less than two hours from now Iíll be on my way to bazaars and goat milk and jasmine rice and tea plantations that stretch for miles. Oh Duncan, what am I going to do?

I have a pounding headache, this place is much too loud. The public address system is deafening, and understanding all of the languages doesnít make it any more interesting. Putting my head down between my knees, I close my eyes, willing myself back to his bed, with the sun moving slowly across the floor of the barge. There is an ache in my chest, it feels like a steel plate has been put in behind my rib cage. Oh, god, it hurts. I want him, I want his laughter and his strong arms and his stupid Boy Scout rules and his broody moods. And most of all I want that incredible body squirming and panting beneath me. I canít do this. I have to do this.

What are you doing right now, Duncan? Are you cursing my existence? Are you storming around the city, furiously? Or are you curled up around your pillow, wishing I hadnít left you? You were so beautiful, so incredible. I havenít felt anything so strongly in a thousand years. The way you look at me, when Iím deep inside you, the way your eyes shine. Duncan, how am I going to find something to make life worth living again when all I want is you? I am so tired of fighting this Duncan. What would you do if I turned around and went back to your damn barge? Only one way to find out, old man.

"FUCK IT!" I actually say out loud as I head back to the ticket window.

"Hello, excuse me, I would like to refund my ticket."

"Monsieur Pierson?"

"Yes, I purchased this ticket from you this morning, and now I would like to refund it. As quickly as possible," I have lost my mind.

"I am sorry Monsieur, that is quite impossible."

"Nothing is impossible. People fall in love every day, and it ruins their lives. Please, I have to go back. Havenít you seen Casablanca?!"

"You are very lucky, Monsieur Pierson, that I strongly suspected you would change your mind, and I did not process your ticket. Please sign here. Yes, I have seen Casablanca, and I hope that you are making the right choice."

Itís raining again, and itís getting dark. Walking along the river, I wonder what heís going to say when I get to the door. I had the cab driver let me out a few blocks away, just so Iíd have this time to remind myself Iím a lunatic before I get there. I cannot believe I am doing this. I swore I wouldnít.

I know perfectly well that this canít work, not in any conceivable way. All weíre going to do is hurt each other. Then, eventually, one of us is going to take the otherís head, if we live that long. Not much of a prospect for romance. So why am I here, sloshing along the dark water towards his barge, again ?

Iím here now, no backing down, I can already feel him, moving towards the door. He throws the door open, standing in front of me in the same robe he had on when I woke him up last night.

"Duncan, I...." I choke up, making a small strangled noise as the lump in my throat expands. I donít know what to say, I donít know why Iím here. Except that I could not leave him.

"Methos," he says my name as though he canít believe Iím really standing here in front of him. Neither can I Highlander.

"Can I come in?"

He pulls me in, into his arms. Heís hugging me so fiercely, I think heís going to crack my ribs, and I am so happy. Iím laughing with relief and the unnamable joy of feeling his presence in my head. Heís not letting go of me, just drags me in his arms to close the door, and then to the couch.

"Donít talk Methos," he tells me, kissing me while taking off my coat. I swallow the laughter and it mixes with his kisses, a warm light that bubbles inside me.

"Iím sorry," I whisper against his lips.

"Shh. Donít talk," he tells me again, kissing me with a determination to drive all the ability to talk out of my head. Itís not very difficult. He leaves me breathless, staring into his eyes. Duncan, I canít believe Iím here, I canít believe Iím really sitting on the barge, letting you kiss me senseless. I can see eternity in his eyes. He is so happy to see me, I can see it in the way he looks at me.

This is insanity. I know it, and yet, sitting here letting him kiss me into oblivion, I realize it doesnít matter. Nothing matters more than this, because I canít make myself live without it. Iím just not capable of walking away from him, and he wants me. I can feel the want, and the relief, radiating off him. I donít care if it gets me killed. I canít care anymore about all the dangerous possibilities of loving Duncan MacLeod, because I am incapable of doing anything else. It feels good to let go. Something that had been drawn tight inside me snaps, and I collapse against him. He is so warm, his body radiates heat, It feels good to be gathered against his chest. Iím so tired.

"You win MacLeod," I smile up at him, hoping he understands.

"Aye, and I concede. When was the last time you slept, Methos? You donít look very well. Have you eaten anything today?"

"Have you?" I return, annoyed by his instant coddling.

"Well, no, but I could make us some dinner."

"Okay," a huge yawn interrupts whatever I was going to say next, and then heís dragging me off the couch again. The bed feels wonderful, and I canít really think of any reason to argue. He pulls the covers over me, kissing me softly on the lips.

I can hear him in the kitchen, the sounds of pans and water running are oddly comforting. My head is spinning, Iím exhausted. Sleep drops on me like an anvil and the last thing I hear is Duncan humming ĎAs Time Goes Byí in the kitchen. Weíll always have Paris, MacLeod.

The barge is mostly dark when I wake up, and for a moment Iím totally disoriented. Then I remember. The train station, the cab ride, and walking along the river in the rain for the second time in twenty four hours. Now Iím lying in his enormous bed and there's a fire crackling and Duncan is sitting in his chair, reading. He looks up at me even before I sit up. How did he know I was awake?

"Hi," heís smiling at me, watching me look around, trying to wake up.

"What time is it?"

He gets up, coming over to stand by the bed. " Itís 8:30. Did you get enough sleep?"

"Um, yeah," it takes me a minute to figure out if he means eight oíclock a.m. or p.m., a glance at the window tells me itís evening. Iíve only slept a couple hours, but it feels like Iíve slept all night.

"Are you hungry?"

"Ah, maybe, beer?"

Heís grinning at me, "Take a shower, wake up first, then you can have a beer."

"Okay," I scramble out of bed and realize Iím in my underwear. He must have undressed me. A hot shower sounds like a really good idea.

His shower is a little claustrophobic, but the hot water lasts and he has very fluffy, expensive towels. Borrowing his razor seems like an imposition, but I do it anyway. Who the hell is the fool in the mirror with the idiotic grin? I donít care. So what if Iím being incredibly foolish and itíll probably blow up in my face? Itís been at least a thousand years since Iíve done anything this reckless. Itís been more than a thousand years since anyone has made me feel like he does.

I look a good deal more presentable than I did when I showed up here, now I need clothes. Duncan is in the kitchen, getting me something to eat. I find sweat pants that are much too big, and a t-shirt that is a slightly less ridiculous fit and join him at the counter.

"Can I have a beer now?"

He smiles at me, and gets me a cold Scottish ale from the fridge.

"Iím very glad you came back. Thank you," heís talking to the floor.

"Mac...Itís not that anythingís changed, I still think this is a hopeless situation. I just couldnít do it. I was at the train station, and I had my ticket, and I couldnít get on that train. It hurt too much. This could cost us both a great deal, but not having you is worse."

"Methos, why do think that we are doomed? It doesnít matter, whether you make love to me or no, I will still be trying to defend you, and I will still be dragging you into my life, and you will still be showing up at three a.m. to drink my whiskey. I think we were meant to be together, I think that one day will follow the next and we will face whatever comes. Can you do that Methos? Just take it one day at a time?"

"I have to, because I canít begin to imagine a future without you. When did you get so smart Highlander?"

"Must be the company I keep. Hungry?"

"What have you got?"

He hands me a plate, linguine and clams in butter sauce. It smells really good, I realize Iím starving. When was the last time I ate anything?

He watches me eat, but I donít really mind. Iím thinking about what he said, that he really believes that fate has set our paths to cross, that this friendship was meant to be. I wish I had that kind of faith. After 5000 years, even karma isnít that simple. I guess itís as good an explanation as any for why I am completely unable to stay out of his life. Mac's life...it scares the hell out of me, the way he lives. Has anyone ever been less conspicuous? Well, maybe Julius Caesar. I warned him about that...

"Methos, what do want?" he looks scared.

Oh Duncan, Iím sorry. Iíve really put you through hell, havenít I? I told you weíd hurt each other, and I didnít even mean to. I show up on your doorstep in the middle of the night, argue with you, seduce you, walk out in the morning, and eight hours later Iím standing in your kitchen again. God help us.

"Duncan, I shouldnít even be here. I should be on a train half way to New Delhi. I should stay the hell out of your life. I donít know why Iím here, because I know for a certainty that all weíre going to do is damage each other, but I just couldnít do it. Maybe, we should talk for awhile, and then I should go."

Heís come around the counter while Iím talking, and now heís kneeling in front of me, taking both of my hands. "Methos, no, please, you canít do that. If you try leaving me now I swear I will follow you to Mt. Everest if I have to. What we are, together...can you honestly tell me it is only lust? Have you ever felt anything like this before? I havenít."

I canít handle him on his knees, so I drop down on the kitchen floor next to him. Lust? No, itís not lust, itís insanity. The way heís in my blood, in my head, the way I feel when he makes these impassioned speeches at me and I know Iíll do whatever he wants me to. Itís insanity, thatís all, the way I love him.

My hands push against his, holding our palms against each other, like mimes. This time, Iím not going to try to separate myself, Iím not going to try manipulate anything, Iím not going to think about the future. I canít, all I want to do is stay here on the floor with my palms flat against his, staring into his eyes. No, I canít hurt him anymore.

"No, I have never felt anything like this before," I tell him, closing the small distance between our mouths to kiss him.

He holds still, our palms are still raised, pressed against each other at our sides. He lets me kiss him, opening his mouth when I ask with my tongue. This is what I need, this connection, this incredible sense of being inside him, a part of him. I know he feels it too, and I feel myself becoming whole again, all the splintered, broken parts of me coming together.

He pulls back, only enough to speak, and I can feel the energy in the air between our hands. "Will you stay?"

"Yes, I will stay, as long as you want me, I swear it," I promise him recklessly. I watch the muscles in his face relax into a smile, and I think I have never been happier, doing something Iím sure will get me killed.

This time, when we kiss, it feels like heís trying to crawl inside me. He is so passionate, so incredible. Our tongues wrap around each other, I think we are going to devour each other. Heís trying to pull me to my feet without breaking the kiss, Iíve got to stop letting him drag me around like this. Although, it feels wonderful. When we finally have to breath heís backed me up halfway to the couch, and weíre standing in the middle of the room, pressed against each other, gasping.

He takes my hand, leading me over to the couch and pulling me down against him. His arms around me feel so good, I want him to hold me this tightly forever. He is so strong.

"Iím not going to let you go," he tells me, his voice is thick, his eyes are dark with passion.

"Donít," itís all I can say, and then he is kissing me again, very softly. I love him so much, and he is kissing me so sweetly. Over and over again, these soft, gentle kisses, until I think I will die from the feeling. To be loved like this, it makes me feel more than Immortal, it makes me feel invincible. Reckless, wildly happy, and I think I would do anything, kill anyone, to keep this forever. His tongue slips into my mouth, stroking, soothing the wildness of the desire building inside me.

He is pulling at my t-shirt when the phone on the desk rings, making us both jump. He scowls, holding me tighter, but it doesnít stop. Two, three rings...

"Um, that would be the phone."

"Stay," he growls, kissing me fiercely before getting up to answer it.

"MacLeod. Hi Joe, um, well, only sort of. Whatís up? Tonight? What time? Can I bring a date? Okay, weíll be there. See you then."

Iím going to kill him. At least once.

"MacLeod! I am not your date!"

"You mean you donít want to go see Joe play a late set a Mauriceís?"

Itís that angelic smile, I see it, and I just want to strangle him. Itís definitely going to get him killed eventually, but Maurice has excellent ales.

"Okay, but you're buying."

He's doing that mock outraged-highland-warrior thing. Well, he does know how much I drink.

"Youíre the one who said I was your date, MacLeod."

"Oh all right, but you canít call me MacLeod, not at all. Itís not polite, especially for a first date. You have to call me Duncan."

"This is ridiculous," I tell him, but I go along with it anyway. Heís bewitched me, I guess. "What time are we to be there, Duncan?"

"Ten. Do you want to borrow something to wear?"

"No, letís not make this any more obvious, I think I can wear my own jeans thank you."

"Youíre no fun."

"Iím lots of fun, you're the killjoy who wants to go out."

"Iíll make it up to you," I canít think when he looks at me like that, not at all.

"Okay."

I watch him as he walks over to his dresser, the robe falling to the floor. If heís aware of me watching him, he is completely comfortable under my admiring gaze. Well, he has no reason not to be, he is the most beautiful thing Iíve ever seen. Heís chosen black jeans and a white silk shirt with a mandarin collar. I guess heís out to torture me.

My jeans are in the bathroom, I decide I can steal a pair of dry socks and a shirt. After all, Iím already wearing his t-shirt, it seems silly to put on the wrinkled henley Iíve been wearing for the past two days. A black cotton oxford makes me feel much better, I like wearing black, I like the way it makes my skin look so pale. I catch a glimpse of us together in the mirror, heís putting his hair in a tie at the back of his neck, Iím stealing his aftershave. Yes, we definitely look dangerous.

"We make a striking couple," he murmurs in my ear, putting his arm around my waist and smiling at our reflections.

"Yes, we do," heís right. With his white shirt and dark skin, long hair, dark eyes, and my black shirt, white skin, short hair, light eyes...yes we are remarkably beautiful together.

"Ready?"

"Almost." I turn, pulling him against me for one more intoxicating kiss before we leave. Oh, he tastes so good. The way he feels against me, it makes me dizzy.

"We could stay, get there a little late..." he whispers provocatively in my ear.

"If we do, weíll be more that a little late. When I finally do get you in bed, Iím not going to let you up for at least two days," I tell him, my lips hovering near his ear. I can see the tiny shiver that caused before he grins, grabbing his keys.

"Then let's go, I donít think Joe will wait two days."

Maurice's is packed, but a table is waiting for us near the stage. Joe nearly chokes on his drink when we walk over to him and he sees who Duncanís Ďdateí is.

"Hi Joe," I wonder if heís happy to see me. At the moment he just looks shocked.

"Adam! What the hell are you doing here? I thought youíd disappeared. MacLeod?" Joe looks worried, I guess I canít blame him.

"He decided he couldnít live without me," Duncan is grinning. I canít decide if I want to kill him or not. His smile is contagious, I laugh instead, but make myself stop when it starts to sound slightly hysterical.

"I couldnít live without good beer and good blues. Am I welcome?"

"Of course youíre welcome. Maurice! Get this man a beer."

"A New Castle please. Thank you Maurice."

I can tell Joe wants to ask me a thousand questions, but his band is ready and theyíre calling him.

"You two have a lot of explaining to do," he warns us, going to the stage.

"Iím sure youíll think of something," Duncan tells me, still smiling.

"The truth is okay. I couldnít live without you," I tell him quietly, sitting in the chair Maurice has placed a pint in front of. Duncan gets scotch. He falls into his chair, reaching for his drink. Iíve managed to shock him. Shocked myself, too, but it feels really good. I donít care, tonight I donít think I care one bit if it goes down in the chronicles that Duncan MacLeod stole Adam Pierson's heart. Well, hopefully Joe will be a bit more tactful.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, completely."

Oh, this is fun, heís speechless. When was the last time I managed to leave him completely lost for words? I could enjoy this. The band has finished tuning up and Joe is talking, which gives him an excuse to turn away from me, towards the stage.

The band is great, and Joe is having an especially good night. Sometimes I forget how good he really is, heís so humble about his music. I wish I could give this man the gift of Immortality, I hate thinking that someday weíre going to lose him, and his music.

Four New Castle Ales and a set later, Duncan and I are sitting in companionable silence, the music having taken us out of ourselves for a little while. Under the table, he takes my hand. I almost pull away, but the mischievous look on his face convinces me, and I let him interlace our fingers.

A second later, the uncomfortable tingle of recognition runs up my spine, and we both wince as the sound of another Immortal approaching fills our heads. Itís a young one, I can tell, the quickening is simple, not overpowering. I wonder if Duncan knows how to read the layers of sound and judge his opponent's age. Thatís about all I have time to think before a young-looking, very tall blond man in foppish clothing is standing in front of us.

"Which of you is Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod?"

His voice suits him, snotty and affected and very British. God but how I hate this Ďretroí phenomenon is the fashion world. He is dressed in a frilly while silk shirt, with laces, black velvet leggings and a fancy, frilly, long coat. I wouldnít have been seen in Elizabethís court dressed like that for a hundred pounds. And this cocky little snot has barged in and wants to challenge the legend. I almost donít believe it, my nightmare is happening, right now, and I feel giddy, I feel like having some fun. My sword arm tingles, I can feel the rush of adrenaline coming a second before it hits, and I jump to my feet.

"That would be me. Do we know each other?" I ask him, sure the answer will be no.

Duncanís mouth is open, he is about to say something, but I donít think he can figure out what. For the second time tonight, Iíve managed to leave him speechless.

"No Sir, your reputation precedes you. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Peter Winston, of York."

"And why should I care who yew are, Peter of York?" I can mimic a slight burr perfectly well. Duncan is looking daggers at me across the table.

"Such manners, I had thought you far less of a barbarian. The legend, it seems, precedes the man. I have come to call you out, MacLeod. It is reputed that you are the best sword in Europe at present. I would like to stake a disagreement with that dubious fact by severing your head. You have five minutes to say your good-byes to your companion."

Duncan is furious, and heís finally found his voice.

"I'm Duncan MacLeod, you pompous fool!" He manages to keep the volume just under a shout, but he looks like heís ready to strangle the young dandy.

"Dunna be foolish, Adam, Iíll be back in noh time. Order me another ale," I turn back to Peter of York, who looks annoyed. "You will haí ta forgive my student, he is impatient for conquest. After yew Sir..." I extend my arm, the other hand is tucked on the hilt of my sword, wrapped in my coat over my arm, but free of itís sewn-in sheath.

He walks in front of me, silly ambitious child that he is, and continues towards the entrance. I take one step to follow him and Duncanís hand closes over my wrist.

"Methos, what the hell do you think youíre doing?" It is as angry as a stage whisper can be.

"Oh come on, Duncan, you get all the fun. Let me fight for a change. Do you seriously think that one is going to beat me?"

"No, of course not, heís an egotistical child. Youíre not serious, are you?" He is looking at me very strangely, his features caught somewhere between a smile and a frown, but mostly he still looks shocked. When was the last time I felt this good, this alive?

I twist out of his grip and head for the door, startling him enough to dart down the alley several paces ahead of him.

"Are yew ready, Peter of York?" I call out, trying to keep the laughter from my voice. When was the last time I thought sword fighting in a Parisian alley was fun? Yes, Iíve lost my mind. I love it. He comes out of the shadows without ceremony, and when we are standing a few feet from each other, weapons drawn, he makes his first engage.

He's sloppy, but heís very tall and his sword reach is way too long to discount completely. He undercuts, parrying and dancing backwards, loosing his composure already. How much practice has this child had? Not very much, from the way heís fighting tonight. Iím not wearing the harness that holds my second blade, but Iím not going to need it. Duncan has caught up with us, heís leaning against the wall of the alley, his hand on the katana. My brain registers his presence, but I donít bother to listen to whatever heís saying, Iím having too much fun.

Peter of York is pretty surprised when he comes at me in a sharp thrust and comes back up without his sword in his hand. He jumps back, eyeing the blade, itís only about a foot away from him. Heís looking at me like a deer caught in the headlights, wondering if Iím going to let him pick it up. Not tonight. Iíve had my fun, and now I want to get Duncan back to the barge and ravish him. My kick knocks him to his knees and the sword comes up to meet his throat.

"Do you want to walk away, Peter Winston of York?"

"Yes!" he gasps, he canít believe Iím not going to kill him. Neither can I, except that right now Duncan is sort of pissed at me. If I take this kidís head, heíll be in a first-class rage.

I pull my sword off his neck and he stumbles forward. I look at Duncan, who has started to walk towards me, he is smiling. I can feel the current of air before he can shout the first syllable of my name.

"ME..."

The child has made a dive for his sword and is sweeping towards me. Spinning left, his blade meets air and then mine comes down, taking him cleanly. It happens too fast for him to ever have known I killed him. His body falls with a wet, disturbing, thunk. Duncan has stopped dead in his tracks, staring at me. The wind rushes down the alley, swirling blue energy. I see Duncan step back as the first sparks of light hit me. The energy rushes through me, pain and ecstasy all at once. A brief flash of the life of the arrogant fool I have taken; he was a bastard. Then the lightning wraps around me and I shout mindlessly, the energy running up and down my spine as the Immortal quickening grounds itself inside me.

Itís over fairly quickly, he was young. Duncan reaches me just as I start to fall, and catches me under the arms. I slump against him, watching the last threads of blue energy sinking into my skin. It crackles on my nerves, making me shudder. He hangs on to me when I sway, wrapping me into his long coat.

"I wasnít going to, Duncan, I was going to let him walk away," I gasp, trying to get my breath.

"Methos!" he's shaking my shoulders, but gently. "Iím glad you took him! Donít you ever scare me like that again."

He lets me go when I pull away, unable to stand still with the kidís quickening running around inside me. Just wait for it to settle, it will be okay, he was only a young one, it will be okay. I let the words run around in my head, walking a little way up the alley away from the body, gulping sour air.

"Methos, wait. Go back to the barge, Iíll slip back inside and speak to Joe, heíll have someone take care of this. Iíll meet you back there, okay? Here, take the car," heís holding out the keys to the Citroen. If heís going to let me drive his car, he must love me.

Itís a nice, sane thought, and I hold on to it for dear life. "No, I think Iíd rather walk, thanks. Iíll meet you back there."

I start walking, hoping he wonít stop me again. He doesnít, and Iím grateful. I hate this, the rage that comes when I fight, when I take a head. I like to think Iím farther away from the creature that was Death than this, but oh, god, the power, the rush. Blood lust, battle lust, and just plain horny lust are raging inside me. I want to keep fighting, I want to find something to obliterate, preferably human. I want to fuck someoneís brains out. No, breathe, think about Duncan, think about Alexa, think about anything but the feeling of the power rushing through you when you took his head. I keep walking, fast enough to beat Duncan to the barge, in spite of him having the car.

He finds me sitting on the deck, watching the water slap against the hull.

"Methos, are you okay?" he calls softly, walking towards me.

"Yeah, Iím fine."

He puts his arms around me, and I tense, fire running up and down my fried nerves. Oh god, I want him so badly, Iím afraid Iím going to tear him apart.

"Methos, itís okay. You had to, he was going to take you from behind, after you let him go. There was nothing else you could have done. If he had killed you....I swear, I would have..." he started out trying to comfort me, but heís the one whoís shaking.

I turn around, returning the embrace, letting him reassure himself that Iím here, alive. Oh, how I want him. I am so hard it hurts. Iím aching and trembling with need. This is so difficult, I want him, and Iím afraid, afraid Iím not going to be able to control myself. Iím afraid Iíll hurt him.

Heís walking me to the door, and unlocking it, leading me down the few steps and into the center of the room. My coat gets thrown over the chair, and then his hands are fumbling with my jeans, fighting them down to my ankles with amazing speed. Oh god, Duncan, donít do this.

"Duncan, wait, no," heís on his knees, shrugging out of his coat, reaching for me.

"Why? You need this. Itís okay, I know what itís like, afterwards. Let me do this for you," and with that simple explanation he has taken me into his mouth.

I hear myself groan, losing control, balance, everything. Iím on the floor, and his mouth is on my cock again, hot, sucking me hard, wonderful. It only takes a few sharp thrusts into his wet throat before I explode. Coming is like feeling the quickening all over again, like being electrocuted, but it feels so good. All I can do is writhe on the floor, moaning, coming in his mouth in quick, shuddering streams.

When itís finally over, Iím still hard, and Iím still in his mouth. Wild, dark brown eyes are looking up at me, heís caught my frenzy. Oh, Duncan, I am going to eat you alive. I pull out of his mouth, pouncing on him in one leap. Weíre wrestling around on the floor, kissing and biting and tearing each otherís clothes off.

Iíve got him pinned, my knees on his elbows, devouring his mouth, his lips are so soft. I bite the lower lip, feeling a rush of pure desire go through me as my teeth sink into his soft flesh. He moans, arching his hips into the air. Heís pretty well stuck like this, Iíve got all the leverage, and all my weight on his pinned arms has to hurt. Heís not complaining though, not really trying to get away either. He twists his mouth away from my teeth, trying to bite my neck. No, Iím not done with your mouth cher, not nearly. Iím biting his cheek, his tongue, the soft inner lip I pull into my mouth. I canít stop, I canít help it, I have to have this. Moving down his neck with quick, hard nips of teeth followed by tongue, I am fascinated by the red and purple marks appearing like tracks down his flesh. Wrapping his ponytail tightly in one fist to hold him still, I slide off my knees and down his body.

"Oww!" he moans, but heís still not fighting me, just squirming enough to start a fire from the friction between our bodies. Biting his shoulder, I relax the fist in his hair, and take his hard cock in my other hand, changing tactics. He goes completely still. Good boy. I wonít hurt you, caro mio, of course not, as long as you donít resist me....

Heís moaning again, my teeth have found a nipple buried in the soft dark hair on his chest. Flicking my tongue rapidly, holding the tight nub in my teeth, heís pushing his cock against my hand. Duncan, you are so beautiful like this, forgive me. My teeth sink into the soft, sensitive flesh of his side, leaving a darkening bruise as I slide down his body. Heís trembling, sweating, arching up to meet my lips as I move down his stomach. Stroking his thighs, I take a deep breath, trying to maintain a measure of control. I can feel him trembling against me, waiting. I open my eyes, staring at his beautiful cock. It really is, so pretty. I run my tongue slowly from base to tip, just barely letting him feel the scrape of my teeth at the top.

"Ohh," it comes out of him a soft plea. He's shaking, biting his torn lips, arching up against me. How can I resist this? I sink my teeth into the softness of his inner thigh, making him scream. His blood coats my lips and I take his trembling cock in my mouth. I am, surprised, and pleased, that he is still totally hard. Oh Duncan, you donít know what youíre doing to me.

I scrape my teeth lightly up and down his cock, holding him with my lips but refusing to close my mouth around him and give him the warmth and friction heís craving. I can tell when his cock makes the decision that this is pleasure, and nip delicately at the tip.

"Oh God, please," he cries out, throwing his head from side to side. I am stroking his length lightly with my fingertips, up and down, while my teeth hold the very tip of his cock, my tongue flicking roughly over the seeping hole. This is so good, I wonder how long I can hold him like this.

Every muscle in his long body is flexed and rigid, heís arching up into my mouth, pushing his way inside in spite of my teeth dragging over him. You need it, donít you Duncan? You need it so badly the pain isnít pain anymore. I let him fuck my mouth, pushing desperately into the back of my throat. Heís earned it. A few quick, sharp thrusts into the wetness of my mouth, and he comes, spurting hot liquid all over my lips, chin, cheek.

I chuckle, reaching for a discarded shirt to wipe my face. He is lying there with his eyes closed, a huge grin spread across his face. His breathing is starting to even out as I crawl up to his shoulder. The marks my teeth left on his skin have mostly healed, even the deep bite on his thigh has closed. In a way, I wish there were a way to keep them there for a little while, I loved seeing the imprint of my teeth in his skin. I reach up to touch his cheek, hoping heíll open his eyes.

"Duncan, are you okay?"

"More?"

"You want more?"

He opens his eyes, looking at me with undisguised wonder, "Yes, please. Your teeth, the way you feel, on top of me, holding me down, I want more."

"Do you?" I growl softly, stretching out on top of him again.

"Yes," he looks up at me, eyes burning, cheeks flushed.

"I think I should take you to bed."

"That sounds like a very good idea," heís grinning, wiggling out from under me without any difficulty and jumping to his feet. Thinking about how he really held himself still underneath me and let me devour him like that makes me lightheaded. I wonder how far I can take him?

Taking him over to the bed, I push him down on his stomach and fall on top of him, letting him take my weight. His back is broad, heavily muscled, tapering to a very narrow waist. He is so warm, radiating heat. I love lying on top of him like this, feeling him breath.

I push my face into the back of his neck, exposed with his hair pulled back in the ponytail. Letting my teeth graze the skin, he shivers. I lick the goose bumps that rise, and he moans softly. I sink my teeth into the skin, biting him like a mother cat getting ready to pick up a kitten. I guess the instinct is there, because he relaxes instantly, sighing.

My fingernails rake down his side, leaving four long, red tracks. Heís ticklish, I can tell from the way he squirms. Biting my way around to his earlobe, I rake my nails down his other side, harder.

"Ohh, I like that," he moans softly, stretching beneath me.

"So do I," I tell him, biting his neck. "Turn over."

He rolls onto his back, but canít seem to lie still. Straddling his hips takes care of that. He goes still beneath me very quickly, watching my eyes. My hands roam over his body possessively, leaving more red marks. I pinch his nipples, watching the red flush thatís spreading along his collar bone. He whimpers, softly.

Never in my wildest dreams did I think he would respond like this. He is so open to me, it gives me a rush of power and deep satisfaction to have him submitting to me like this. He is exquisite, arching up to meet my teeth as my mouth moves over his chest, marking him. I draw blood at the side of his neck, such a vulnerable spot. He hisses through his teeth, and grinds his hips into mine. Licking at the drops of blood, I move to his lips, letting him taste his surrender in my mouth.

"Mmm. Methos..." he moans into my mouth, rubbing his hardening cock against my hipbone. I want to be inside that mouth again, I want to watch my cock disappear between his lips. Breaking the kiss, I move slowly up his body, until my aching cock is hovering over his lips.

"Suck it," I whisper, watching intently as he raises his head to take me into his mouth. His eyes are open, watching me, gauging my reaction. Oh, thatís heaven, the warm moist softness surrounding me, sucking gently. It feels so good. Itís hard to believe he'd never done this before last night. Talk about natural talent. He is drawing me slowly into his mouth, bending his neck and trying to find a more manageable angle, but I like him like this. I am mesmerized, watching him struggling to get my cock down his throat. I reach to the back of his head, yanking out the fancy silver hair tie and tossing it to the top of the dresser. Sinking my hands into his hair, I thread it through my fingers, wrapping the long locks around my fist.

I raise my hips, pushing into his mouth. Kneeling above him like this, I can thrust straight down his throat. He isnít resisting, he isnít scared. His hands grip my thighs, holding on to me tightly as I press into his mouth, but the rest of him is totally relaxed beneath me. His tongue swirls around me, playing with me, his eyes ask me very plainly for more. I wince at the gag reflex as the head of my cock thrusts across his tonsils, but he relaxes again as I press deeper, until his lips are stretched around the base of my cock. Looking down into his eyes, I can see what this is doing to him, what it feels like to have me on top of him. invading his mouth like this. I donít want to move, I donít want to let him breath, I just want to stay here with my cock buried in his throat, drowning in his eyes. Heís starting to choke a little, and I pull out of his throat reluctantly.

"Iím sorry," he whispers, his voice is hoarse.

"Oh no, donít be sorry," I kiss him, pushing my tongue into his mouth.

He's moving restlessly beneath me, his lips are moving soundlessly, forming my name. He is the most incredible thing I have ever seen. Closing my hands around his wrists, I pull his arms up over his head, I just want to look at him like this, stretched out underneath me. Tightening my grip on his wrists makes him twist his hips in a helpless, beautiful response. He likes this so much, being held down, being helpless. Somewhere in the back of my head, I knew he trusted me this much, but to see it shining in his eyes like this... I want to have him forever, I donít ever want to have to give this up.

Squeezing his wrists hard, pressing his hands into the mattress and then releasing them, he understands I want him to keep them there. Sinking my nails into his skin just above where I held his wrists, I scrape slowly down the length of his arms, leaving long red tracks all the way to his armpits and slowly, slowly down his sides, dragging my nails over his ribs. He keeps his arms above his head, holding reasonably still, so I lower my head and sink my teeth into the place where his arm connects to shoulder. His cry is muffled. He's turned his head into the opposite shoulder, his hair falling across his face. Raking my nails quickly down his chest, I hold him still with my mouth, cutting him with my teeth just until he bleeds. I lick the wound, rasping my tongue across the indentations my teeth have made until the cuts start to close. I hold him down with my legs thrown out across his thighs.

I bite him again, not quite as hard, just below the first, moving quickly in a straight line down his pec, taking sharp little tastes of his salty skin. My teeth close over his hard nipple and he tenses up, muscles flexing. My tongue flicks over him, fast, until the skin is tight and incredibly sensitive. Now I bite him, hard, but only for a second. He yelps, thrusting his hips up off the bed. Isnít that interesting? Licking down his chest , biting quickly after every few scrapes of my tongue, I have him so sensitized, so aware of my slightest touch, that he cries out sharply, afraid, when my tongue sweeps across the head of his cock. Oh, yes. Turning my head, I bite deeply into the soft flesh where hip meets thigh.

"Oh Methos, please, take me. I need...I need you."

"I know," I tell him, moving up between his legs.

I touch him everywhere, sliding my flat palms over his chest, stomach, sides, hips, thighs. Sliding over all the places I have marked with my mouth, spreading the desire, and his awareness of my touch, over every inch of him. He is shivering under my hands, holding himself up for my touch.

"Comment divin," I canít help telling him what he looks like right now, begging me to take him, with his body reaching for my touch.

The bottle of massage oil is still lying on the floor at the end of the bed, where I dropped it last night. I pour a generous amount into my hand, covering my cock as quickly as possible. Iím so desperate, so hard, I want inside him now. Heís looking at me with smoldering eyes, long arms still stretched above his head. Oh, he is so beautiful. I think I need him as desperately as he needs me.

Moving up between his legs, he lifts his hips to let me shove a pillow beneath him. I lay down on top of him, taking his shaking body into my arms, my cock nestled between his thighs. He raises his hips, pulling his legs up, knees bent, heís trying to move against my cock, whispering my name. Bracing my weight on my arms, I lift my hips to press my slick cock to his entrance, holding myself there with the last of my control.

"Please..."

Just one word, exhaled as I press carefully inside him. He is so incredibly tight around me, it hurts until he starts to relax, taking big, deep breaths, watching me through slitted eyes. I know this hurts, that he's fighting it, trying push me out of his tight passage, but his mouth is begging me to stay.

"Oh, you are so big Methos, it hurts, please, wait, donít move, stay. Oh god..."

"Shh, itís okay, itís okay," I kiss him, gently, letting him suck on my tongue in his mouth as I push a little further inside him. Oh, yes, Duncan, this is what I want. He feels so good pressed against me, trembling in my arms.

His hand creeps towards his cock, trapped between us, rubbing against my belly.

"No," I catch his hand, biting the inner wrist, "Just feel it."

He moans softly in protest, but his hand falls back above his head, twisting the sheets in his curled fingers. Buried deep inside him, I hold still, not moving at all, waiting for him to need this as badly as I do. Slowly, his body relaxes, accepting the invasion. I concentrate on the sound of his breathing, he moves just a little, rocking his hips, pulling me deeper inside him. I pull out of him slowly, until just the head of my cock is still inside him. Covering his lips, I take his cry into my mouth as I plunge back into the slick heat.

His arms wrap around me tightly, his hips pushing up to meet me as I move inside him. Our mouths devour each other, our tongues thrusting against each other as we move together. He rocks against me, urging me to a steady rhythm. I am lost inside him, moaning against his neck, moving faster and faster, helpless against the tidal wave of desire that is pushing me into him. My hands grip his hips, holding him down, slamming into him. Suddenly he is gripping me impossibly tight, and I can feel the orgasm rippling through him, contorting his muscles. He moans my name, shuddering, and it sends me over the edge, riding the wave in frenzied, sharp thrusts into his body, coming and coming until I think I will die from the pleasure.

He is holding me so tight, his arms locked around me, his face pressed into my neck.

"Thank you," he whispers, pressing a kiss behind my ear, "I love you Methos."

I pull out of his body very gently, kissing his forehead when he winces, squeezing his eyes shut. I touch his face, letting my hand curl around his cheek. I donít want to move, but I slide off his chest to lay on my side, pressed against him.

"Duncan..." I choke up, I donít know how to tell him how much I love him, what it was like to take him, to let my hunger loose. "You are so precious to me...you are my salvation. I love you, and it terrifies me." He pulls me into his arms, warmth and comfort and peace.

"I am going to love you until the end of time," he tells me softly, pressing a kiss into the hollow of my throat before falling into an exhausted, sated, sleep. I follow him willingly, more content than I can ever remember being.

buckets of rain

buckets of tears

got all them buckets comin' out of my ears

buckets of moonbeams in my hand

You got all the love, honey baby

I can stand

I been meek

and hard like an oak

I seen pretty people

disappear like smoke

friends will arrive, friends will disappear

if you want me, honey baby

I'll be here

Like your smile

and your fingertips

like the way that you move your hips

I like the cool way you look at me

everything about you is bringing me misery

little red wagon little red bike

I ain't no monkey but I know what I like

I like the way you love me strong and slow

takin' you with me, honey baby when I go

life is sad life is bust

all you can do is do what you must

you do what you must do

and you do it well

I'd do it for you

honey baby, can't you tell

Song lyrics borrowed without permission from Bob Dylan

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