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 Joni Mitchell.

Rated NC-17 for homoerotic content

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


By Zen&nancy

I feel Duncan's arm heavy across the back of my neck. My eyes snap open, but I'm unable to identify what has woken me. No approaching Immortal, just the steady buzz of Duncan beside me, which quickly fades to the background as I wake up. I look around the barge, well, as much as I can see with his arm pinning me to the pillow. Our clothes are scattered all over the room; I think I spot my jeans under the coffee table.

Just as memory comes rushing back, images of him screaming beneath me and the taste of his blood on my lips flooding my brain, I identify the sound. Someone is knocking. Oh God. I manage to twist beneath him, squirming under his arm to face him. He's smiling slightly in his sleep.

"Duncan, wake up. Someone's here."


"Wake up! I think it's Joe."


Sleepy brown eyes squint at me. He pushes his head into my shoulder, snuggling closer.

"Duncan! Wake up now! Joe's at the door," panic creeps into the last few words.

"Okay," he mumbles, trying to pull me closer.

I hear the fateful sound of the door swinging open, and Joe's distinctive steps on the stairs.

"Mac? You here? I called..."

Maybe if I try really hard I can just convince my heart to stop beating now. Duncan rolls over, sitting up. He looks at me, his eyes laughing, the silliest grin I have ever seen spreading across his face.

I stare back at him, panic and outrage at his amusement warring inside me.

He throws his head back, and laughs, calling out resignedly,

"Yeah Joe, I'm here..."

"Your phone's out, I thought...Holy Shit!"

Joe is standing at bottom of the stairs, gaping at us. Duncan's laughter has erupted and it's catching. For a moment I stare at Joe's frozen face, and then I am curled up in the blankets, howling helplessly along with Duncan.

"Hi Joe..." Duncan manages between gasps of laughter, losing it all over again when I kick him.

Joe has begun to chuckle along with us, "I'll be damned...I never thought you two would stop dancing around each other. I guess you're going to tell me you want me to keep this off the records, too?"

It's too much, I curl farther into my fetal ball, making a violent grab for the blankets and dragging them over my head. I am very grateful for the properties of Immortal healing right now. I imagine what Duncan's body would look like this morning if he were mortal, and my stomach flips over.

"Adam, you can't hide under Mac's covers forever," my friend tells me, obviously savoring my embarrassment.

"Want to bet?" I growl back from under the covers, feeling the bed give under Mac's weight.

Just the thought of him striding across the room stark naked makes me blush. I cringe, feeling my face turning red. How does he manage it? He sounds utterly normal.

"Where are we going for breakfast?"

My jeans land on top of me, hard, but I refuse to move. I can hear Duncan dressing, identifying the sound of a zipper and then his steps moving into the kitchen. Soon the coffee pot is gurgling and he's back at the side of the bed, trying to wrestle the covers out of my clutched hands.

When he finally wins, stripping me of my blankets with a shout of glee, I'm very glad that Joe has retreated to the couch. Scowling at him, I leap to the other side of the bed. My jeans are on the floor in front of me and I yank them on, feeling only slightly better now that I'm covered.

Shooting him a furious look I stalk over to the living room, flopping into the corner of the couch. Joe is talking.

"I tried to call, did you know your phone's out?"

His gaze sweeps over the room, taking in the strewn clothing, the end table on its side, the broken candy dish and scattered magazines. The phone is in the corner, where it obviously went skidding across the floor. The cord is several inches away, the little plastic connector broken.

Duncan is in the kitchen, setting out coffee cups and milk on the counter.

"No, I'm sorry Joe. Maybe the storm knocked the lines down."

I can feel Joe's eyes on me, studying my rigid posture and the chaos of the room.

"I take it this was, ah...consensual?" he asks me softly, watching Duncan pouring coffee at the counter.


"Okay Adam, I'll leave it be for now."

"Thanks." I can't look at him. Can't meet Duncan's eyes either, when he presses a cup into my hand.

Duncan hands Joe his cup, returning to the counter for his own. He chuckles, sipping his coffee.

"Sorry for the shock, Joe, but you did just walk in."

"Your door was half open, Mac. I was afraid I was gonna' find your head three feet from your body and this place blown to pieces," he looks around again, chuckling. "Well, blown to pieces...how did you manage to wind up with socks in the fireplace? Never mind, I don't think I want to know."

Duncan grins sheepishly, no doubt remembering the way he dragged me in here last night.

"Sorry Joe," but the look he gives me doesn't look sorry at all.

How can he be so...so comfortable? Last night I attacked him, and here he is, same old Duncan, smug and smiling.

"Seriously though, Joe, for Methos' sake, can we keep this between ourselves?" He's come back to sit on the edge of the coffee table.

Joe takes a moment to answer, studying first me and then MacLeod carefully, and I see apprehension creep into Duncan's eyes.

"Look, guys, I don't even know yet what this is yet," he says, gesturing between us with his hands, "All I can say is I hope you're going to be smart enough to keep from getting each other killed, and I'm glad you finally figured it out. I've been watching you two throw sparks at each other for two years now."

"So you'll keep it off the records?" Duncan pushes, turning pleading eyes on his Watcher.

"Yeah, for now, Mac. At least until you guys send out the wedding invitations."

I laugh shortly, glancing over at Joe, "You're taking this awfully well. Aren't you even going to accuse me of seducing him?"

I have absolutely no reason to take out my anger on poor Joe, and I bite my tongue, even more furious with myself. It feels like the world is slowly caving in inside me, my stomach contracts, and I taste bile in the back of my throat. Regret tastes just as bad as it always does. Incongruously, I'm angry at Duncan, for being so utterly unaffected, sitting there as if he didn't let me tear him to pieces just a few hours ago, as if he's not mine. Time, it's so elusive, I always want the power to freeze frame...

Joe looks me over carefully before he answers, he looks only mildly surprised, and somewhat concerned.

"Oh, I don't think there's any point in accusing you of anything, you'll just deny it. For the record, I think he seduced you, and I think you loved it."

He grins, and I feel a wry smile creeping around my face in return.

"Your awfully good at what you do, Joe Dawson."

I'm very glad that Joe turned out to be someone I can trust. Otherwise, he would have been very dangerous. He was meant to be a Watcher, I think it's in his blood.

He rubs the tattoo on his inner wrist absently, "Yeah, well, I've had some interesting teachers."

Duncan had been watching us quietly, perched on the edge of the table. He looks thoughtful. How can he possibly be so calm? I want to tell him I'm sorry, somehow, but I know I'll never find the words. I can't even look at him.

We go to a cafe two blocks down the river for lunch. The place is noisy and bustling with the business lunch crowd, and I'm glad when we finally get a table in the back corner and I can order a white belgium ale. Duncan looks at me mildly, his eyes very plainly disapproving of beer before breakfast. Leave me alone, MacLeod. Your morality is the very last thing I need this morning. I listen attentively while Joe tells Duncan about the boy I killed last night. He was a Baron's son, with large property holdings in the south. Apparently, he had huge gambling debts, and the distribution of the estate was becoming a hot topic among the parisian social set. I'm not even remotely interested. It is as if he never existed, and I'm grateful for that. I feel no remorse, nothing, about taking a challenge and a quickening so recklessly. It's what I did after that that's causing the heavy, sickening ball of guilt in my stomach. The ale comes, and that helps a little.

I'm glad when the topic moves to other Immortals, and I don't have to pretend to be interested anymore for the sake of acting human, which I'm not, by anyone's standards. Duncan orders us both breakfast, and sends the waitress away before I can ask for another bottle.

For a moment after she leaves there is an uncomfortable silence and then Joe laughs and cocks his head at us speculatively.

"You two sure as hell aren't acting like people drowning in the afterglow, you've barely said five words to each other. Is there something more here you're not telling me?"

That does get a reaction out of Duncan, finally. He lowers his head, blushing a little. It doesn't last long, he meets his friend's eyes and answers him quietly. I have to strain to hear him.

"No, it's um, a quickening thing. Things got a little out of hand last night, and I'm afraid Methos might have some regrets... but I don't."

He doesn't look at me when he says it, and I'm glad, because I can't hide my shock.

Joe looks irritated. "Well, that explains everything," he grumbles, looking across the table at me pointedly, to see if I'm going to say anything.

I can't believe we're going to have this conversation in front of Joe. No, we're not. If I've learned anything in 5000 years, it's when to disappear.

"Well, it's been lovely, but I think I'll be leaving now. Have a few errands to run today. See you back at the barge Mac," and I'm gone before they know it.

I walk fast, expecting to feel Duncan following me with every step. He doesn't. I wonder if he's angry. Well what the hell did he expect me to do after a line like that? No regrets indeed. Well that's just peachy-keen Mac, that's great, so everything's just fine, nothing has changed. Not bloody likely! I swear, he can be so...dense.

What the hell does he think last night was, that he has no regrets, and yet he can walk and talk and joke as if it had never happened? What in god's name possessed him to throw himself at me like that in the first place? It's too much, his trust, I can't handle it. I can't trust myself to protect him from the monster inside me. Right now I hate Kronos so much. More, I think, than I ever have before. I wish I could bring him back and kill him a thousand more times, make him somehow feel the desperation I feel, the self-loathing and the fear. I hate him for bringing the monster buried deep inside me back to the surface. I hate him for destroying Duncan's faith in me, for ruining his picture of Methos, the world's oldest Nice Guy.

There's a bench and I fall onto it, too tired to walk anymore, and no closer to being able to face Duncan. It's chilly and I've been walking fast for several miles, the sweat on the back of my neck makes me shiver. Once I begin to shiver I can't stop shaking. I drop my head to my hands, trying to remember the last time I cried in public, or the last time I cried at all. I can't remember, and I don't really cry. A few hot tears leak out, but nothing much can get past the steel plate in my chest.

I'm trying to remember exactly what happened when he brought me inside last night, what he said. I remember waiting for him to return, on deck, feeling like there was a hurricane inside me. At that point I was still in control, still able to contain the madness. Then he came and spoke, I couldn't even understand what he was saying, but his voice held me, steadied me. The next thing I can remember he was kneeling in front of me, telling me to let him do this for me, that he knew how it felt. No Duncan, you cannot possibly know, even in your dark quickening, you didn't feel this. You don't have the ghost of Death inside you, you don't know anything about the need to destroy.

If he were mortal I could have seriously hurt him, I could have killed him. Duncan, how could you let me do that to you? If I were in my right mind, in control, and you wanted me to take you forcefully, I would have...but to give yourself to me like that, when I was so far out of control... I never would have stopped if you told me to. I am profoundly grateful that he didn't, if he had, if he had freaked out and fought me, I could have killed him. I was that far gone.

Even after Kronos, and the double quickening, I'm not sure he really understands what I am, who I've been to the world. Today I'm not sure I do either. Especially because even after what I did to him, I'm not thinking about running, I'm not even considering it. I'm just sitting here shivering and wondering what the hell I'm going to say to him when I finally give in and go back to the barge. What can I say? That I'll never lose control again? I cannot possibly promise him that.

It's getting dark, and it's a long walk back to the river. It takes me nearly the whole way back to decide whether or not to try to tell him I'm sorry. I won't. He doesn't want my apology, doesn't understand that I can't lose control like that. It occurs to me that he may see the events of last night very differently. I know he enjoyed it. Does he even realize how deeply his submission affected me? How much I want, and fear it? I sure as hell hope he's ready for this conversation, because I know I'm not.

I feel foolish knocking, but I don't have the guts to just walk in, either. He keeps me waiting for a moment and I wonder what he's doing. He's cooking, and it smells wonderful. What is it about the smell of baking bread that means comfort? It never changes. He has a smile for me, but he doesn't speak, going quickly back to the large pot simmering on the stove.


"No, stew. I know you didn't get to eat breakfast, and I figured stew would sound good on a day like this."

"It smells absolutely wonderful. Thank you."


"What is it Duncan?"

"Thanks for coming back."

"I'll always come back Duncan," I'm humbled, and also ashamed, that he's thanking me for returning to him. That he feared that I would leave him, after everything he has given me.

"This is almost ready, do you want to build us a fire?"

"Sure, will it earn me a beer?"

He laughs, and digs one out of the refrigerator for me, "Here, advance payment."

He's subdued, giving me time to be the first one to speak. His movements in the kitchen are deliberate and graceful, he exudes a quiet sense of peacefulness and purpose.

It's not until I've got a fire going that I realize he has removed every trace of last nights' violence. Is that for my benefit or his? It's easier to face him, without the broken glass and overturned furniture to remind me.

Duncan is taking the bread out of the oven, and watching the pleasure on his face is the best thing that's happened all day. The loaves are perfect, he sets them on the counter and brushes them with butter. The beer goes down easily, maybe this won't be so hard after all.

"Dinner," he calls to me softly, setting two plates on the table.

I go back to the kitchen for two more of his Scottish ales, then join him at the table. Dinner conversation consists of me telling him three times that his stew is perfect. I can't remember the last time I ate anything you could really count as a meal. I devour half a loaf of the warm bread and two bowls of stew. He's sitting back in his chair, sipping his beer and watching me eat, looking pleased and somewhat indulgent. Tonight I'm inclined to let him get away with it.

I watch him toy with his napkin. I can tell that he's trying to figure out how to say whatever it is he has to tell me.

"Methos, I know I freaked you out this morning in the cafe, I'm sorry. We don't have to talk about it, about last night, not if you don't want to. I would like to know what it is about what we did that you're having a problem with, but not until you're ready to tell me."

"Why did you do it?" my voice sounds harsh to my ears, but it doesn't seem to bother him.

"Do what?"

"Throw yourself at me like that, when you could see I was out of my head."

"Because you needed it, needed to let it out. You hold yourself so tight, Methos. I know that you think you have to, that you fear the capacity for rage inside you, but sometimes you have to let go. It's good to do it with someone who loves you."

There's a pause while I digest his answer, and then before I know fully how I feel about what he's said, he asks me, "Why did you do it? Why did you want to fight Peter of York?"

"I don't know, I was happy, maybe I was trying to prove something to myself, that I wasn't afraid of living."

There's a short silence, while we consider each other's answers.

"Why do you trust me?" I ask him abruptly.

"There is no reason, there is no why, I just do. Maybe because I need you, or because I have no reason not to. I realized that while you were away you know, I have no reason not to trust you."

"What did it mean to you Duncan? To submit to me?" My words come out barely above a whisper. I take refuge in my beer, watching his eyes.

He smiles, and it lights up his whole face, "Everything. It was the most compelling thing I have ever felt. It was, life affirming, and intensely pleasurable."

He doesn't look away from me when he speaks, smiling briefly. He's searching my face intently, trying to puzzle me out. Good luck, love, for goodness sakes, clue me in if you figure anything out.

"Can I ask you, what it meant to you?" he asks hesitantly.

I'm afraid to answer. I polish off my beer, buying time.

"Duncan, what happened with Kronos, brought back a great deal more than bad memories..." I hesistate, this is hard. Best just to plow ahead, try to tell him the truth. I love him so much, I have to. "Maybe that's one of the reasons I can't bring myself to leave you, I need you. I need you because your goodness makes me remember the possibility for goodness inside myself. I did enjoy what we did last night, tremendously, Duncan. I hope you can understand why I am both awed and horrified by the way you gave yourself to me. Don't ever do that again Duncan, not like that, not after a quickening, please. I was not in control of myself. If you had told me to stop, that you didn't like something I was doing, I wouldn't have been able to. That terrifies me. That's not how it's supposed to be, love."

"If you keep giving me all these sweet endearments you'll swell my head completely. You do realize how it makes me feel to know that the world's oldest, most powerful Immortal desires my company, don't you?" He gives me a smile that can only be described as devastating.

"I desired your company for years before I met you MacLeod, " I laugh, happier than I would have thought possible three hours ago. How does he do this, make everything alright? He can soothe my tangled emotions better than anyone else ever has. He is so amazing. "And I love you," I tell him quietly, following my thoughts out loud. "I mean it though Duncan, I want you to promise me, never after I've taken one, not like that. I don't ever want to be anything but one hundred percent with you, when we're together. I wasn't last night, I was lost in the madness in my own head, and that's dangerous."

He takes my hand across the table, making the gesture a part of his words.

"Alright Methos, I swear, on my love for you. I will give you space and time the next time you come back to me after a fight, and I won't throw myself on you." His eyes sparkle, "No matter how much I'd like to."

"Thank you," I relax, knowing that now that has given me his word, it will never happen again, no matter what. Duncan's word is like iron that can't be melted.

"You're welcome." He grins at me saucily, "Should I be offended, that it pleases you so greatly when I promise not to have sex with you?"

"Never that," it feels good to grin back at him across the table. Unconsciously, our fingers have interlaced, and my thumb is stroking his palm. I didn't even notice I was doing it...

"Prove it," his eyes issue a challenge that is so inviting I can't even imagine refusing him.

"Come here," I tell him, pushing my chair back from the table.

He comes to me without any hesitancy at all, his movements are smooth and flowing. I love the way he makes so little noise when he moves. He is so beautiful, with the anticipation of pleasure in his eyes.

He kneels in the space between my chair and the table, leaning in for a prolonged kiss. I could die here happily. His lips are always so warm, so inviting. I want to crawl inside him. I settle for insinuating my tongue into his mouth. His hands slide up and down my thighs, his touch is light, his fingertips trailing along the inside seam of my blue jeans. This is incredibly provocative, the implication of those fingers. His hair's thick and wonderfully silky, I bury one hand in its length, massaging his skull. He's groaning into my mouth, his tongue becoming more forceful.

"Methos, I want you so badly," he sounds surprised.

It's hard for me to remember that all this is still very new to him, being with another man. It is very different, I think. When I'm with a woman I'm always more outside myself, concentrating on what I'm doing and why. With another man I can lose myself completely. There is a feeling of safety, of sharing an experience equally, that I can't find with women, no matter how much I like them.

"I know," I tell him in a whisper, kissing him back passionately.

"Can I..." he's trying to talk around our kiss, as if he can't bear to pull us apart even long enough to ask for more.

"Yes, anything," I tell him softly. Yes, love, anything you want...

I have barely answered before he is pulling us both to our feet. I'm surprised when he doesn't drag us up the steps to the bed. Instead he is pushing me back gently, until the table is against the small of my back. I wonder what I agreed to? His arms come around me and the feeling of his strong body against me is better than anything, ever. I press against him, insinuating myself into his curves. I fit perfectly between his hips, the small height difference makes it even nicer. The rock hard bulge in my jeans rubs gently against his balls. He shudders, nuzzling my neck. Oh, that is wicked...

His hands are roaming restlessly across my back, I can feel the strength in his arms, holding me pressed against him from knee to shoulder. "I want..." he mumbles against my neck, making me shiver.

"What love, what do want?" At this point I would gladly give him a continent.

"I want to look at you, I want to see you naked. You are so beautiful Methos..."

I push against his chest with my palms and he moves back two small steps. His eyes are bright, hungry. This makes me feel like nothing else ever has, to see him wanting me like this. Euphoria.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. It's been a long time, but I remember how to do this. Slowing each movement until it is graceful and deliberate, I lift the heavy sweater I'm wearing from my body, and it disappears somewhere outside my line of vision on the floor. The air is cool on my bare chest, I raise my arms above my head in a prolonged stretch, arching my back as far as it will go, until I am bent over backwards, my hips thrust forward. I come back up slowly, flexing my abdominals to hold the pose a moment longer. Stealing a quick look at his eyes gives me all the confidence I need to continue; they are smoldering.

I turn my head away, eyes cast down, and with a sharp tug to the button and zipper of my jeans, drop them casually to the ground. I'm not wearing underwear. One step and a little kick and I'm free of them. I hear the sharp intake of his breath, but my eyes stay unfocused, somewhere to his left.

It feels good, to let him look at me, to know that I am the object of his desire. I haven't always felt this safe, displayed for another's pleasure. I'm holding myself still, my arms loose at my sides, hips thrust slightly forward. I know that my body is aesthetically pleasing, but the way his quickening is throbbing in my head makes me more aware of it than I have been in centuries. I want to give him unimaginable pleasure. I stand very still, letting him look at me.

"Beautiful..." he whispers. I go to him, reaching for the buttons on his shirt. There is a lump in my throat that won't let me talk. I love him so much. I get his shirt off with some help, the heat coming off his body is distracting me. He smells so good, like expensive aftershave and the river and Duncan and sex...

"But not nearly as remarkable as you," I tell him in a low voice, sliding his shirt off his shoulders.

"Do you really think so?"

"Fishing for complements, MacLeod?"

"No!" It takes a moment for him to realize I'm only teasing him. Then he smiles. "It's only that I haven't spent much time contemplating a man's beauty. Am I really what you find desirable? I'm curious."

I would wager that the number of people who have refused these eyes in the last four hundred years is less than a dozen.

"Oh yes, you are far more than just desirable. You are sensual, erotic to the point of being magnetic. For two years I have suffered, resisting the urge to reach out and touch you." My hands deal with his jeans, shoving them down his thighs with something less than finesse, then slide the silk boxers smoothly off his hips. When I reach for him, wrapping my fist lightly around the head of his rigid erection he gasps softly, swaying forward towards my touch.

"Come," I tell him, "I want to take you to bed."

"Yes," he agrees quietly, following me across the room and up the three steps to the bed.

We fall to the bed, arms and legs wrapping around each other hungrily. The contact of his skin feels better than anything I can remember. His quickening beats steadily in my head, and I imagine that I can feel something more than the usual static/feedback feeling that is almost a sound. I imagine that I can feel his love.

He groans softly, and begins to tell me in broken sentences how good it feels, that this is what he wants forever. He is so hot, his body really is radiating heat. My tongue traces the hairline behind his ear, damp with sweat. Oh Duncan, you taste so good, feel so wonderful in my arms, how did I ever manage to resist this?

I know I've gotten to him when he starts mixing up his languages mid-sentence. I love that he is so vocal, that he talks to me. I'm nibbling slowly down his neck, my hands on his heated skin gentle and firm. I am totally absorbed in the wonder of touching him, of feeling his body respond to me. I want to make this last for as long as I possibly can. His skin is very soft, and the muscles beneath my palms are totally responsive. He's panting softly, shivering when my tongue darts out to circle his nipple. Sucking gently, I let my fingertips skim lightly across his stomach, marveling at the definition of the tense muscles. He moans, letting me feel his relief and his anticipation when my mouth trails down the center of his chest. His hips come up off the bed a little, I am trailing light butterfly kisses back and forth across his stomach, just inches away from his seeping cock.

"Methos, you make me feel so much...you could kill me like this...please, oh paramour, my only..."

I've slid down his body to nuzzle the soft skin of his inner thighs. The things he says to me when I have him like this make me want to hold him down and fuck him for the next hundred years. He is so alive under my mouth. I trail soft kisses up and down the length of his cock, listening to the moans of pleasure increase in volume. Starting at the head, my tongue begins a pattern of small spirals. Teasing the seeping hole until his moans are almost screams. Finally I take pity on him and move down to concentrate on a spot on the underside, just at the top of the shaft. Spirals turn into figure eights, my tongue flicking faster now across the tight, swollen flesh.

He is grinding his hips into the mattress, his hands are hovering over my shoulders, but not trying to restrain me. The pleasure I get from giving him satisfaction is like no other. Tonight I think I could come just from listening to him tell me how much he likes this, and everything it means to him.

My hands go to his hips, pressing him down into the softness of his bed as I draw him into my mouth.

"Methos..." my name is a long, drawn out moan on his lips. I breath deeply, pulling him gently into the back of my throat. My tongue is still dancing up and down him, captive in my mouth. He's groaning softly, his hips making minute little jerks under my hands, trying to follow my mouth as I move up and down him.

It is so good, to have him like this, to know that he is mine. Time has disappeared, along with every other danger. I am completely absorbed in the pleasure of giving him pleasure. He is telling me that what I make him feel no other ever has, that this is paradise. He makes me feel like a god. His hips are slippery in my hands, slick with sweat. He is gasping for air, his hands kneading my shoulders spasmodically. The temptation to stop is there, I know he is very close, but I could pull away now and leave him gasping, hear him beg me to finish it...but I can't, I love him so much, all I want to do is give him ecstasy. Insinuating the fingers of my right hand between his legs, I stroke him lightly. Keeping my touch light, stroking the delicate skin while he finds the rhythm of my thrusts and begins to push back into my mouth. I enter him gently with one finger, and he groans my name.

His entire body tenses up before he comes. I can see the ripples of his orgasm when it begins, he shudders, curling around my mouth. His eyes are open but unfocused, his mouth is open, hair plastered to his forehead in damp tangles. The way he looks right now evokes so strong an emotion that I want to sob, he so beautiful. I pull him deeply into my throat instead, my hands still on his hips, holding him down as he floods my mouth with his passion.

"I love you," he whispers, his head falling back against the bed.

He looks up at me, panting. He's still trembling, he has the most beautiful glazed smile on his face. Watching the tremors running over the muscles in his chest, I have to reach out and cover his pounding heart with my hand. Magnificent, the sight of him like this literally takes my breath away.

He's having trouble catching his breath, I can't help grinning at him.


"Yes love?"

"You're going to kill me one of these days, you know that?"

"Well, it's not like I wouldn't get you back," I tell him saucily, crawling up to his mouth to kiss him.

He laughs weakly, "You're dangerous."

"You knew that."

"Aye, I did," he tells me softly, pulling me against him.

Plastering myself against his body, he feels so damn good. I need him.

"You feel so wonderful in my arms Methos, do you know how happy this makes me?"

I can't resist, "No, show me."

He laughs, and rolls us over until he is on top of me. "It would be my very great pleasure, mon amour."

He leans down, nuzzling my neck. His breath is warm, giving me goose bumps. His weight on top of me is wonderful, everything I have ever wanted. I pull him down, holding him against me tightly. I just want him to stay here on top of me and let me wrap myself around him. I slide my ankles over his calves, wrapping my legs around his. My cock is trapped between his legs, I arch my hips, and a sigh of pure satisfaction escapes.

"I love the way you look beneath me Methos, you are so erotic," he's whispering in my ear, and it's making me shiver.

"Let me make love to you Methos."

His voice is caressing me, so sensual that it's hard to concentrate on what he wants, to make myself release my arms wrapped around him and let him move. I am achingly hard, but all I want to do is keep him on top of me.

He lifts his weight from me, bracing on his elbows to disentangle our legs. Moving so that his legs lie inside mine, he slides back, rising to his knees. His hands come down on my shoulders, flat palms sliding slowly over my chest. His touch spreads fire, I am so aroused it's hard to keep myself still beneath him. I'm not still, I'm squirming and writhing, trying to follow his palms sliding over my body, to increase the contact of his touch. What I want is to reach up and pull him back down on top of me, to have his weight and his heat and to wrap myself around him and thrust up against him until I come.

"Shh, let me give you what you need."

His palms slide down my chest to encircle me lightly in both hands. His touch is almost more than I can stand. I groan. His slow, measured movements are drawing me closer and closer to oblivion, with no hope of reaching it.

He has moved up between my legs, his big hands span my hips and lift me up onto his thighs. He's only barely touching me, his hands still moving up and down, encircling me with a feather light touch.

His gentle grip releases me and I cry out, feeling the sting of tears in the corners of my closed eyes.

"Shh, I love you. I will never leave you," his hands are caressing me so sweetly, gradually trailing back to test the entrance to my body. One slick finger probes gently. I open my eyes. He is squeezing lubricant from a tube into his palm, closing his eyes briefly as he spreads it over a very impressive hard on.

I want this more than I have ever wanted anything. I need him inside my body, a part of me. "Please...now," I gasp, when his finger begins to thrust gently.

"I don't want to hurt you," he murmurs softly.

"I don't care, please Mac, I need you."

"I'm yours," he tells me, withdrawing his finger and raising his hips to press against me.

His hands are parting me gently, nudging the slick head of his cock until his is almost inside me.

"Methos, love, please don't let me hurt you...tell me..." the very tip of his erection presses into me, "Tell me if I'm hurting you."

Oh Duncan, I want you inside me so badly, I don't care if you rip me in half. He's penetrating me so slowly, I can feel each millimeter of his cock as it spreads me wide, pushes inside. For a moment there is white hot pain, my eyes see only white light and my body contracts away from the invader.

He freezes, the head of his cock holding very still inside me, "Are you okay?"

"Yes, kiss me."

He does. It hurts when he leans down, altering the angle of the unyielding flesh inside me, but his mouth makes me forget it. He's making love to me with his mouth, caressing me with long, languid strokes of his tongue. Oh, I love this. I moan into his mouth, lifting my hips up to receive him. He moves very slowly, pressing into me with absolute control.

Beads of sweat stand out on his forehead, he is panting softly over my mouth.

"Oh Methos, you feel so amazing."

"I love you," I have to tell him, as he buries himself inside me.

He exhales slowly, his eyes hold mine. I can see absolute wonder in his eyes.

"You are my everything," he tells me, his voice shaking.

I am utterly lost in his eyes, I feel as though he has reached inside me and wrapped himself around my heart. I can't stand being this far apart from him, the distance between our bodies is something I can feel. Reaching for his hands to interlace our fingers I arch my back high, using his strength to pull myself up. There is something shockingly intimate about sitting on his lap, my legs wrapped around him, with his cock impaled inside me.

"Mercy!" he gasps, as I settle in his lap, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.

"Mmm," is the only response I'm capable of.

Fortunately, he doesn't want me to talk. His mouth covers mine hungrily, his tongue is demanding. Kissing him back, pressing even closer to him, I feel like I'm trying to pour myself into him though our mouths. We both remember breathing at the same time and come apart gasping.

Bracing my hands on his shoulders, I arch into him, rising up until he is barely inside me. His hands go to my hips, guiding me down with a cry of pleasure.

We move together beautifully, in perfect synch. I feel as though we have been lovers for a thousand years. His lips cover mine, his tongue in my mouth is completion. The thought flashes across my mind that this is where I have always needed to be, that it is his love that will heal me, and then we come together. He holds my body tightly to his heaving chest, absorbing the tremors coursing through me.

I don't know how long we stay that way, our arms wrapped tightly around each other. He's buried his face in my neck, his strength holds me against his chest effortlessly.

"Stay with me," he whispers harshly against my throat.

"Shh, I love you," I kiss his forehead, damp with sweat.

He lowers me back to the mattress, curling up behind me and pulling me back into his arms.

"Stay with me Methos," he implores again, his voice still harsh.

Instinctual panic wells up, but I push it back down firmly. I love this man.

"Duncan, look at me. I will stay. I won't promise you forever." I cover his lips with my fingers, "No, love, listen to me. I can't talk about the future, I can't even imagine it. Do have any idea exactly how long five thousand years really is? Can you imagine it? The only thing that's real for me is now. If I look in either direction, forward or back, I will get so lost...and that is my greatest fear."

He's afraid. Oh Duncan, love, don't be so afraid, don't need me so much, you're scaring the hell out of me. You can't lose me. You won't outlive me, like all the other ones you've lost, and I won't leave you, not ever, but I cannot possibly promise you tomorrow.

"I want you here, with me."

"I am, and I love you, and I will wake up here with you tomorrow. And tomorrow night you can hold me just like this and I will tell you that I will be there in the morning." Please, let it be enough. I need him too, but I can't possibly promise him that I will never leave. Maybe before Kronos came back I could have, but now I know I can't, and I won't lie to him.

"It's enough," he whispers against the back of my neck, but he holds me even tighter and I know it's not. He wants me to promise him forever, right here and now. Duncan, you are still so innocent, how am I going to make sure that you never lose it by loving me?

His body relaxes against me, draping himself around me like a blanket.

"I will always love you, until the end," he murmurs sleepily in my ear, pressing his palm over my heart.

I let exhaustion creep over me, thinking hazily that I can only pray that it will be long enough to give him all the love I feel.

I'm frightened by the devil

and I'm drawn to those ones that ain't afraid

I remember that time you told me, you said,

"Love is touching souls"

surely you touched mine

'cause part of you pours out of me

in these lines from time to time

oh you're in my blood like holy wine

you taste so bitter and so sweet

oh I could drink a case of you, darling

still I'd be on my feet

I would still be on my feet

Song lyrics borrowed without permission from Joni Mitchell

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