Disclaimer: Zen&nancy don't 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 don't pick on us, it's all in good fun. Story title borrowed without permission from Sarah McLachlan.

Rated NC-17 for 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.

FUMBLING TOWARDS ECSTASY- DUNCAN

By Zen&nancy

I'm on my feet and fumbling for the katana before I know I'm awake. I hate that. There is nothing as totally disturbing and disorienting as being woken up by the presence of another Immortal. I'm halfway across the room, sword ready, by the time I wake up enough to really feel it. //Methos// What's he doing here? He's been gone for three months and even Joe hasn't been able to track him. Guess I should put a robe on, although it would be kind of fun to just open the door... just to see his face, but I'm awake now, and it's cold.

He knocks just as I get to the door, sword still with me just in case I'm wrong. Since we took Kronos and Silas together I've been able to hear him, it's like his quickening comes with a calling card. It was disconcerting at first, and I still don't trust it, but I like knowing when he's close by.

He looks the same. Something in my gut rolls over at the sight of him, standing out there in the rain, a careful three feet back from the doorway. Always careful, my Methos. I can't believe it's really you. What are you doing on my doorstep at three a.m.? What made you come back to me?

When he took off, after Bordeaux, I was angry at him for disappearing without even a "till we meet again, MacLeod", but in a way I was also grateful. It's taken these three months to try to understand everything. Understand him...never, he will always be more than I can comprehend. But I can accept him, what he's been, because I want to.

I realize that I'm just standing here staring at him and step to the side to let him in, setting the katana against the wall. A drink suddenly seems like more than a good idea, it's a necessity. Especially if I'm going to keep myself from saying something stupid. Turning from the sideboard to hand him a double shot of Glenmorangie, he accepts it, moving his lips in a ‘thank you' without making any noise. Which one of us is going to start this one?

What do you want, Methos? What kind of trouble have you brought to my door this time? The crazy thing is, it doesn't matter, I'm thrilled to see him. Thrilled as in a rush of pure joy went through me when I realized it was his presence I was feeling. The buzz of his quickening is still making me tingle, even with him standing here in front of me. I want to hug him until his ribs crack, I want to shout with happiness, but I still don't know why he's here.

Building a fire gives me something to do with my hands, and maybe it will convince him to take off his coat and stay awhile. He looks happy enough to see me, even if he isn't talking. Maybe this time he hasn't brought me the end of the world. I'm not sure I even care if he has. I don't know why I'm this nervous, it's certainly isn't the first time he's come back from god-knows-where to drink my alcohol, but he has that affect on me.

The fire has caught, and he's sitting. Sprawled, actually, long legs draped over my couch. He's not here though, his eyes are far away, looking at something in the past. I wish I could see what he's seeing. It happens to all of us, it's easy to get lost in our memories, I imagine his to be almost infinite.

This is ridiculous, he wakes me up at three a.m. to sit on my barge and woolgather without even so much as a hello? What the hell? Standing up from my crouch in front of the hearth I cross the room to stand in front of him.

"Earth to Methos," it's the first noise I've made since he got me out of bed and it comes out much harsher than I meant it to.

"Sorry, I saw a light on, I thought you might still be awake."

I feel guilty for bringing him back so abruptly, I made him jump. What kind of explanation is that? He saw a light on? On the barge? You can't even see the portholes from the street, I made sure of it when I docked it here. What is it Methos? I'm about to demand an explanation, the not-knowing is worse than whatever the catastrophe is going to be, but I don't want to put him on the defensive. He can be incredibly prickly, especially with me, I've noticed. I don't want to scare him off, I still can't believe he's really here. If he just wants to sit in front of my fire and drink my scotch, that's fine with me, utterly wonderful, actually.

"Do you mind if I sleep on your couch? I don't want to try to get a room at this hour."

Do I mind? Yeah, I mind, I'd much rather you crawled back into bed with me...there was a time when I thought that we really were going to end up in bed together, and it excited me and scared me and made me crazy I thought about it so much. It's embarrassing, just how disappointed I was when it didn't happen. Then Alexa came into his life and I was so happy for him...and so very sorry when he lost her. She was good for him, it was the only time I've seen him trust someone completely. Well, that's not true, he trusts me. That's why he's here, whatever it is.

"I know, you hate hotels," I just have to ask, my curiosity's got the best of me, where did you go when you ran away from us? "So where have you wandered back from this time?"

"Rome."

Rome? What kind of trouble can you get into in Rome?

"Nice trip?"

"Yeah."

Not very enlightening. Going for familiar territory, I offer him the bottle, "Another?"

"No, thank you, I'm fine."

Well that's just great, at least one of us is. I'm not fine...I'm going crazy. Half of me is dancing and shouting and laughing with happiness to have you back, sitting here in front of me. The other half is winding my insides in to a tight knot, worrying about what kind of danger you're in, and when you'll decide to tell me. Okay Methos, I can be patient, I can wait until you've figured out how you're going to manipulate me this time. I'm so glad to see you I won't even try to stop you, maybe then you'll figure out how important you are to me. It should scare the hell out of me, that I will do anything you ask of me, just to keep you here, but I've thought about us a great deal these past three months, and this time I'm not going to let you leave so easily.

Gathering my wits, I sit down next to him on the couch, "I'm glad you're back, Paris hasn't been the same without you."

He relaxes visibly, and so do I. I'm glad I found the right thing to say. I want to put him at ease, to let him know I'm glad he's here. Telling Methos how I feel has always been more difficult than it should be.

He looks exhausted, his eyes drooping and then flicking open again to check on me. He's going to fall asleep sitting up on my couch with his boots on, his empty glass held limply in his lap. I take it from him, setting it on the table in front of us.

"I'm still here," I tell him quietly, careful not to startle him this time.

He is such a paradox, he brings out all my protective instincts, makes me want to shelter him. Yet this man's power is something close to invincible when he chooses to use it against you.

Before he falls asleep, I have to know, "Methos, are you in danger?"

"No, I just wanted to see you," he mumbles, eyes half closed.

I reach to touch him, my hand falling on his shoulder. The muscles are tight cords of tension under my hand and I squeeze in gently. He came back, to see me. Really? I am shocked, overwhelmed, I thought I had lost his friendship forever. My brain tells my hand to let go of him, but I can't. I am so grateful, so glad he's here, I can't make myself break the contact.

My other hand moves to his back, rubbing the knotted muscles over his shoulder blades. Leaning forward a bit, he groans something that sounds like thank you as my hands move in circles, pulling the stubborn muscles off the bones. He was too thin when he left, now he's almost skinny. There is nothing but hard, tense muscle covering these bones. He's awake now, I can feel it, sitting so close to him, my hip pressed against his thigh. Digging into the rocks in his shoulders, the fabric of his shirt is bunching up under my palms. I slide my hands under the collar, his skin is warm under my palms. There is a tension between us, an attraction that right now feels magnetic, almost electric.

I want to tell him that it's okay, that there is nothing I will refuse him, no matter how much I may regret it later. I can't help it, it's true. I would do anything for this man, and it's taken me three years to figure out that I love him. I'm not very clever when it comes to sexual attraction I guess, I've never had to be. It wasn't until he disappeared, this last time, that I finally admitted to myself what it is I feel for him, that I love him, but I can't tell him that. Instead, I tell him,

"Methos, whatever you want, it's okay," for some reason I think he will somehow understand everything that means. He's looking at me blankly, awake now but uncomprehending.

"If you need my help with something, if you're in some kind of trouble, it's all right. We'll deal with it, okay?"

If he doesn't say something soon, I'm going to start shaking him. Finally, he looks at me.

"Thank you Duncan, but honestly, I didn't get myself into any trouble in Rome. I came back because...I missed everyone. I know there are things we need to talk about. I was honest with you when I told you I was Death, I was, but I was angry, and I wanted to make you angry. I wanted to get away and get myself and everyone else out of danger...I'm sorry it didn't work out that way. I decided that now that it's all over, I owe it to you to talk about it. I know you have questions about my past, and if you had asked before, Duncan, I would have told you the truth, I swear it, but you didn't, you just accepted me as I was..."

"I believe you. I don't want to judge you Methos, you don't have to answer to me. I do accept you. I'm glad you came back, even if it was only to explain yourself."

Perversely, I'm disappointed. I'm relieved to hear that's he's not in danger, I think I even believe him, so why do I wish he needed my help? He came back to talk, that's amazing, I should be happy, it's what I've been hoping for weeks. Even if it is only because he wants to justify himself. I don't care, I don't want to hear it, I just want him to stay in Paris, and be my friend again.

"Methos...will you stick around for awhile this time? Can you take that risk now?"

"Uh, well, I really don't have any plans. How's your beer stock?"

He makes me laugh, but I notice he avoided the question. All of them, actually. I was asking him a hell of a lot more than how many nights he'll spend on my couch, and he knows it. All of the sudden I can't take it any more. He's here, sitting on my barge in the middle of the night, and I'm never going to get a better chance. For three years I have kept this inside me, now I'm going to make him tell me if he feels it too. The worst thing he can do is leave, and I'm not going to let him leave. Not before he acknowledges this thing between us.

Taking my hands from his back, I take a deep breath, then reach for his hand.

"Methos..." this is terrifying, "There is something I want to talk about. I don't know how to start..." Oh god, I'm blushing. I can't remember the last time I was this scared trying to tell someone I wanted them...

"Do you feel this Methos? Do you deny it?" I ask him rather desperately, squeezing his hand. There is an energy between our palms, it feels almost like a tiny quickening, holding us together like magnets.

"No, but I should. I have to. MacLeod, do you even know what you want? I am not Amanda, this is dangerous, for both of us."

Of it's own volition, my other hand moves to his chest, covering his heart perfectly. I can feel it pounding through his shirt. He is trying to be the all-knowing-ancient-Immortal, but it's not going to work. I don't really know what I want from him, I haven't a clue. I've never even been with another man before, although I'm afraid to tell him that. Won't tell him, unless he asks me.

I speak without thinking, annoyed by my accent when it sneaks in, a dead giveaway that I'm upset, "Aye, I do. I want yew ta stay. I want yew ta talk to me. I want yew ta tell me why it's dangerous for me to touch yew. What is this Methos? Tell me, I'm noh afraid."

He is staring at me, the deep hazel eyes unfathomable, I draw another breath to speak, and he kisses me. The shock of his lips covering mine quickly fades to pleasure. His lips are thin, but very nice. His mouth moves over me softly, parting my lips with a practiced ease that I find devastating. He tastes so good, like ale and honey and spice. His tongue is exploring my mouth, moving inside me in ways that make me want his mouth somewhere else entirely. I don't even know what I'm going to say when I finally pull away from him, gasping,

"Methos..."

"No Duncan, we can't."

He's already moving away from me, scrambling for his knapsack and coat, but I beat him to the door. I'm not going to let him get away that easily, not this time. Anger comes quickly, covering up the hurt, and I shout at him.

"Not before you tell me why Methos! You ARE NOT going to just fly out of here and disappear, not this time."

His sword comes out of the coat lightning fast, stopping just a few centimeters from my neck. He's angry, too. Good, I'd rather have him angry than inscrutable. I freeze when the blade comes to a stop at my throat, but I'm not really worried about it. It's just his way of keeping a distance between our bodies, making sure I don't jump him. He won't use it, I'm certain. We've proved that before. I keep my eyes locked on his instead of looking for a way out. If he wants to argue holding his blade on me that's fine, but he's not leaving.

"Duncan, move away from the door. I'm sorry, we can't do this. I'm sorry I came here, sorry I bothered you, but you are going to move, and let me go, NOW."

Anger, hurt pride really, makes me speak before I think, "You will take my head because you kissed me and you liked it? Why do you deny me Methos? Are you afraid I will betray you?"

"MacLeod, I'm going to leave. Now get out of my way. You think that just because there's an attraction between us that I want to be part of your insane life? Don't delude yourself, Highlander."

Furious, I move against the blade, feeling it bite into my skin for a second before he pulls it back, hazel eyes flashing. My palms hit the center of his chest with all my strength, and he goes over backwards with a very satisfying thump. I land on top of him, catching his wrists in my fists and squeezing them for emphasis.

"If you will not talk to me, and you will not fight me, then you will give me what I want," I snarl, lowering my head to capture his mouth.

He tastes so good, I am lost the moment our lips touch, but I'm still angry, furious that he will walk away like this. My teeth bite his lower lip, drawing blood, before my tongue finds it's way into his mouth to explore him. I've wanted this for so long, just to kiss him...it feels so good that I forget that I am angry, that I have tackled him on the floor and my neck is bleeding.

He finally pulls his mouth back, gasping, "Are you going to rape me MacLeod?"

His voice is pitched low, shaky. Rape him? Never! I sit up off him quickly. I would never force myself on him, though I did not think him so unwilling. I'm confused, and hurt by his harsh words.

"Rape you? I dunna wish to rape yew. Yew are my friend, " I wince, embarrassed by my thick burr.

"Duncan," his voice is gentle, conciliatory, "Let me go, we can talk."

I realize I am still holding his wrists tightly, and release them. Red welts are already visible, marking my finger's hold around his hands. I feel guilty. Guilty and embarrassed and still angry. Moving to the couch as quickly as I can, I close my eyes, waiting for the sound of the door closing. Instead, he comes and sits down next to me.

"Duncan, I'm sorry, I reacted badly. Yes I am attracted to you, you are very desirable to me, but that's not something I can do anything about. Whether or not I decide to sleep with you is an entirely different issue. Why do you want to have sex with me? Have you ever been with another man in four hundred years?"

How did he know? I feel incredibly foolish, I know my face is bright red, but still, I'm elated. I never doubted that Methos has done just about everything when it comes to sex, he's lived too long not to have. Whether or not he wanted to do any of those things with me was what I wasn't sure about. One of us needs to have the guts to be honest here, and it's going to be me. I may never get another chance to tell him what I want, I don't care anymore how foolish it makes me feel.

"No, I've never felt this way about anyone before," concentrating on keeping the bur from my speech, I continue, "I want to be with you, I want to be close to you. I need you. I need to know what it feels like to be with you. I don't know why. What are you afraid of?"

I take a deep breath, watching his eyes. it feels good to have said it. I've been walking around with this inside me for three years, and if he leaves now, at least I can tell myself I did everything I could to keep him, that I told him the truth.

"Everything," he tells me, a whispered warning against my lips before he seizes mine. I put my arms around him, pulling him close against me. He feels wonderful, my hands run up his arms and across his shoulders, feeling the hard muscles. He is remarkably strong, all the power condensed on the light, deceptively thin frame. I kiss him back, trying to communicate how happy I am through this contact, my tongue chasing his between our open mouths. I want to feel his skin under my hands again, and find the hem of his shirt, sliding my palms up his chest. His skin is smooth, almost completely devoid of hair. Touching him like this is making my head spin. I am hard, just thinking about him touching me, what it will feel like. I want this so badly, I want him.

He is pressing me back against the couch, moving over me. I look up at him, aware of the huge grin on my face but unable to do anything about it. His eyes hold mine for a moment, and for the first time I can see desire in his expression. Hunger. I am a little bit afraid, I don't really know what he wants from me, but I'm willing. Then his mouth is on my neck, teasing and biting my healed skin until I squirm, unable to hold still under his hot tongue. He unties my robe, his eyes sweep over me, an expression that looks like a cross between desire and conquest on his face. His lips return to my throat, moving slowly across my collarbone and down my chest. It feels like his mouth is spreading fire over my skin, running in a direct path to my aching groin.

His lips are moving softly over my stomach, nuzzling into my hip. It tickles, and I want to laugh, to relieve the tension building up inside me, but it comes out a harsh gasp, as his lips close over my cock. He has taken all of me in one swallow, his lips stretched around the base of my cock. Incredible heat, wet, his tongue moving slowly, dragging up to the head and back down again. It is as if he knows exactly how it feels, exactly what I want. I am groaning, trying to be quiet and completely unable to control the sounds I'm making. He is holding me in his throat, caressing me, sucking my cock in ways I didn't know were possible. I barely even notice when he moves me, stretching me out on the couch to devour me from above. I can't seem to hold still, I'm squirming and shuddering, the sensations almost too much to stand. God, how, does he do that?

"Methos, oh, that feels so good. You are incredible. Oh, don't stop..."

He's going to kill me...my hands move to his head, twining my fingers around the velvety spikes of his short hair. His tongue dances over me with a devastating pattern of wet friction, faster and faster. All I want to do is get as close to him as I can, as deep inside the heat that surrounds me as possible. I am twisting and moaning, thrusting my hips up to meet his mouth. I can't seem to get enough air in my lungs, I think I've forgotten how to breath. I am moaning in broken Gaelic, saying that I will love him forever, that he is everything I want. In a fleeting moment of sanity I realize what I've told him, and I'm glad he doesn't understand.

Shuddering as a wave of intense pleasure rips through me, I try to pull his mouth away, the short spikes slipping through my fingers. His hands close around my hips, holding me tight, his fingers digging into my skin. I'm going to come, I'm going to come in his mouth and he's going to swallow my existence, he's going to take everything. I know I am already lost, but I'm frightened, he is so close to having all of me. A harsh, guttural cry escapes from my throat and I am falling, coming and coming in a long stream, buried deep in his throat. Pleasure, incredible release, and an emotion too sharp to name. It seems to go on forever, his mouth holding me deep inside him, milking me as the last shudders make me thrust into him sharply.

His lips release me slowly, his face pressed against my hip, I can feel him swallow. In my wildest fantasies, I never imagined that it would feel like this, that he would swallow my soul. I'm afraid that he is going to get up and leave, go away and leave me empty. I love him so much, and he has taken me apart, taken pieces of me inside him I won't ever be able to retrieve. Don't leave me, Methos. I'm afraid to look at him, afraid to see that he knows, and that he will leave anyway.

God, the pleasure, I'm still shaking, I can still feel his mouth moving over me. In 400 years, I have never felt anything like that. I know I have a huge grin spread across my face, but I can't seem to do anything about it. Reaching for him blindly, I catch his arm and pull him up against my chest. Opening my eyes, he is looking at me solemnly, his deep hazel eyes unreadable. I'm talking before I can stop myself.

"Will you stay, at least till morning? Will you let me try to please you?"

Something sparks in his eyes, and he moves off my chest slowly, twisting out of his coat. Watching his slow movements, erotic without even trying to be, I am filled with a rush of energy. I want to rip his clothes off, I want to hold him tight against me. Pouncing on him is easy, he's on his knees and goes over backwards with a satisfying yelp. Holding him down with my legs, I reach for his boots. The laces are wet, and knotted and it takes forever to struggle them off. He's laughing, squirming around a lot but not really trying to get away. Getting his jeans unbuttoned and the zipper down is easy, I bet he can get them off without even bothering, he's lost so much weight. Did Kronos think he could starve him into capitulation? Or has he been as depressed as I have for the past three months?

He's stopped moving, watching me while I pull off his socks, and then the jeans around his ankles, tossing them over the couch behind us. I want to see him naked so badly, it's hard to get his shirt off. My hands are shaking, and there is another layer of henley beneath the first. He's trying to help, but it takes much too long before I can look at him, naked beneath me. I want to memorize this, his long bones and white skin, the flush at his throat and the way his muscles stand out in relief on the tight frame. The sharp angles of his hip bones are beautiful, his skin is so pale, like marble. It takes my breath away, the grace, the power of him. There is nothing soft here, nothing to spare, only the hard muscles built up from recent sword-practice, a body pared down to the essentials of survival. What it does to me, to be able to look at him like this, to see him as I have in my dreams.

He exhales in a long rush of held breath when I touch him, my palms flat on his chest. You are so beautiful, Methos, how can I deny this, when I want you so badly? Please, don't make me.

"I have been denying this attraction from almost the first moment I met you, do you know that?" I touch him and the words spill out of me, "I have been drawn to you in a way different from anything I have ever felt before, with mortal or Immortal. I fought it...but it didn't go away."

Stroking his chest, down his sides and across his stomach, the muscles fluttering beneath my hands. It feels good, to tell him the truth, the words come out in a rush as my hands move over his body,

"I ignored it for a long time, I didn't think about it, or tried not to. But every time I saw you the desire grew. After Bordeaux, I found myself analyzing what happened there over and over again. Being inside you like that, the double quickening, only made me want to be closer to you. I thought about you all the time, I kept going over every minute I spent with you in my head, trying to figure out if you felt it, too. You are so amazing to me, what you did to me just now...You devastate me, and I want to please you so badly."

His breathing is harsh in the silence, as I move over him, bending my neck to taste him. His skin is hot, slightly salty, with a faint smell of soap and musk. I can't seem to stop kissing him, his neck, his earlobe, the hollow of his throat, his collarbone. Touching him, kneading the tense muscles of his thighs, I am lost in his scent and his taste. Sliding slowly down his chest, kissing my way across his ribs, I want so much to please him. I want to hold him. My hand moves up to cover his hard length, and he gasps sharply. Did I hurt him? I wish that I had done this before.

"I'm sorry, did I do something wrong?" I whisper, looking up at him.

"No," his voice is shaky, his eyes tell me he wants this, maybe as much as I do.

I have to know what he tastes like. I bend my head, kissing the tip up his cock, catching the drop of liquid there on my tongue. I run my tongue around my lips, looking up at him, waiting to see if he'll stop me. He tastes good, like sex and desire, I want to devour him as he did me. I take him in my hands, drawing him to my lips to cover him with kisses. He moans softly when my tongue flicks out to run down the underside of his cock. He feels so alive in my hand, pulsing and twitching against my tongue, so different from pleasing a woman. I know what this feels like, and this, as I take him carefully into my mouth. Flicking my tongue quickly across the seeping hole, swirling down and up again, all I can think of is how I want to hold him in my mouth forever.

He is watching me, making soft, breathless sounds as I suck him deeper into my mouth. The smooth head of his cock pushes against the back of my throat, moving in minute, desperate thrusts. He is trying not to move, probably afraid he'll hurt me. He is very well endowed, I can only get about three quarters of him down my throat, but he doesn't seem to mind. He has curled his body around my mouth, panting in muffled gasps, his fist in his mouth. I'd be far more worried about whether I'm doing this right, if not for the way he is squirming and moaning around his fist. I open my eyes and crane my neck to look up at him, he is watching me intently. He tastes so good, I don't want to take him out of my mouth long enough to ask, but I have to know.

"Is this what you like Methos? Tell me what you want."

"I want to move to the bed," he groans, making me laugh. I jump to my feet, dragging him over to the bed and tossing him gently down onto the quilt. He's right, this is much more comfortable, but I think I could do that on a bed on nails and not mind too much. God, I want him. I want him so badly, I don't even know how to tell him.

He pulls me close, turning me onto my side, burying his face in my hair. It feels wonderful, stretched out full length against him, our hard cocks brushing against each other. His hand closes around our cocks, holding us together as he moves against me. My hips respond, thrusting back against the smooth hardness, I love the way he feels sliding against me. I can feel his heart beating rapidly against my chest, I close my fist around us, joining my fingers with his. We are moving faster and faster, our hands locked around our slick hard-ons. It feels good, wonderful. He is so close, I can feel that he is about to come. Having him thrusting against me like this makes me ache with desire, I want him inside me. I want to burn our bodies together until we fuse into one person.

"Methos?"

"Yes Duncan?"

"There is something...I want."

I want this, I have to know what it will feel like when he is inside me. I'm embarrassed, scared. I feel incredibly foolish, because I don't know how to ask him. Taking a deep breath, I pull out of his arms to roll onto my stomach next to him. My heart is pounding and my stomach is turning and my face is probably bright red, but I'm going to make myself say this.

"Will you fuck me? I want..." looking into his eyes is like drowning, but I force the words out. "I want...I want to know what it feels like to have you inside me."

His voice is tender, it makes me feel warm, as if he had touched me, "Oh yes, but not like that." He takes my shoulders in his hands, and turns me over on my back.

I look up at him, utterly confused, "How?"

"This is much nicer," he tells me quietly, "You don't have to do anything, just relax, let me play with you for awhile, okay? Have you ever experimented with penetration with a woman Duncan?"

"Okay. Umm, sort of," I feel my face getting hot, thinking about how sometimes when Amanda gives me head she does something wonderful with her little finger that makes me just explode. Of course, he is considerably bigger than Amanda's pinkie, and I think about this, trying to figure out if I'm scared or not. I take a deep breath, raising my eyes to meet his again. His eyes are reassuring, looking at me rather possessively, as if I am something breakable that he likes very much. I'm not scared, not really. He wouldn't hurt me, I know it, and I want him, very badly.

"Did you like it?" he asks me softly.

"Yes," I breath, lost in his eyes. He is touching me, petting my cock with his long fingers, stroking my balls with light, feathery caresses. My cock trembles, I didn't think I could get any harder. He's stroking behind my balls, his light touch making me arch up off the bed, the tension of the feeling drawing me tight, all my muscles tense. God, it feels so good. His fingers roam slowly up the cleft between my cheeks, spreading fire. He touches me again and again, the same sweeping caress that makes me shiver. His finger touches me more intimately, and I gasp.

"Do you like this?" he whispers silkily.

"Yes," I hiss, barely able to remember the word that will make him continue. Yes, I like it, yes, I want you to do that again, again, don't stop. Oh god Methos, yes.

"Do you have any lubricant?"

My brain is fuzzy, my whole body is tingling, so aware of his finger touching me I can't think of anything else. "Umm...Vaseline....in the bathroom."

He shakes his head, but his hand never stops, petting me, stroking, teasing, until I think I don't care whether he uses anything or not, as long as he puts his cock inside me.

"This will work better," he murmurs, reaching for a bottle of massage oil on my dresser. Coming back to kneel between my thighs, he takes my hips, pulling me up and towards him until the lower half of my body is spread across his thighs, my legs against his chest and my knees bent over his shoulders.

Comprehension makes me blush again, but I want this too badly to care what I look like right now. I watch him pour a little of the oil into his cupped hand, catching the scent of almonds in the air between us. He spreads the oil over my ass, and the slippery feeling of his fingers is even better. I squirm against him, trying to hurry his explorations.

I am vaguely aware of his tongue flicking lightly over my cock, which is dripping sticky drops of liquid onto my belly, but his finger is moving against me in small circles, and the feeling takes my breath away. He is pressing into me, so slowly that I don't realize he had entered me at first. It feels so good, I moan, trying to push back against that finger inside me. I want more.

"No love, lie still, be patient," his voice filters through the haze of pleasure, sounding very far away. "This is going to take a little time, but I promise it will be worth it."

I hope it takes forever, I hope he is never finished with me. I can feel him moving inside me slowly, rotating his finger. Oh, that feels so good...

"Does that feel good?" he whispers, smiling.

"Yes, very good," I hear myself groan, arching up against the finger pushing deeper inside me.

His eyes hold mine, somehow reassuring and exciting at the same time, telling me he knows exactly what he's doing to me, how incredible this feels. When a second finger joins the first, stretching me gently, my lips move, forming his name. No sound comes, he has stolen my voice, words are lost. He's stroking me, touching me deep inside, and the feeling is so intimate. I feel the burn of tears in the corners of my eyes and squeeze them tightly shut. It goes on and on, this slow invasion, the thrust of his fingers almost imperceptible at first, he moves so slowly, gliding in and out of me.

I am stretched wider, as a third finger joins the two buried deep inside me. I throw my head back wildly, moaning. It is too much, the feeling of him moving inside me like that, stretching me with gentle twists of his fingers. I'm scared, it's too intense. I'm going to come, or cry, and I don't want to do either, because then he'll stop. I feel myself shudder, my body trying to squirm away from the deep penetration of his insistent fingers. Oh god, I didn't know it would feel like this, fear turns my stomach and then his mouth is covering me. Sucking me deep into his throat with a tight suction, distracting me from the burn of his hand inside me. It is this wet warmth that envelops me completely, until I am floating somewhere just above the sweating, writhing body on the bed, moaning his name. His other hand is at the small of my back, holding me up to his lips, a warm solid pressure that makes me push up against the fingers inside me.

"Your mouth..." I moan, unable to tell him how he's going to make me come, that it feels too good, he's got to stop.

He uncurls from his position over my cock, his tongue gliding up me one last time. He is smiling, looking down at me with passion and something more tender in his eyes. His fingers slide out of me slowly, and I feel empty. The head of his cocks, slick with oil, nudges gently against me, oh god, Methos...

"Are you ready Duncan?"

"Uh...yes," I moan, not recognizing my voice. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, I'm not scared, but I expect it to hurt a little.

"Just relax," I hear him whisper, as the head of his cock pushes against me. Then he is inside me, and I tense up tight around him, too shocked to feel the hurt. He feels huge, pressing into me, murmuring soft words I can't comprehend. My eyes snap open, staring at him with wide-eyed surprise. I feel extremely vulnerable.

"You feel enormous," I tell him. He smiles, his hand on my hip, holding me still.

"It's okay," he croons softly, "Just relax, Duncan, let yourself feel it. I'm not going to hurt you. I'll go very slowly now."

I try to do as he asks, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. He feels so big, I can't decide if it hurts or not, because when he moves, pressing into me, he touches a spot that makes me groan, white hot pleasure racing through me. He stays still, and I start to get used to the feeling of being filled, invaded. He is so hard, I can feel him throbbing inside me. There is sweat on his forehead, and he is biting his lower lip cruelly. He is so beautiful.

He moves slowly, a long, drawn out thrust, moving deep inside me. Oh, the pleasure of holding him like this, squeezing myself around him and hearing him cry out, it is heaven. He is touching my cock, squeezing me rhythmically as he rocks slowly inside me. My hand gropes for his free one, locking our fingers and holding on tight. This feels so good, so perfectly right, to have you inside me.

"Ahh, Methos," I moan helplessly, lost to the pleasure, the friction of his movements inside me. I am on fire, moving against him with frenzied jerks of my hips.

"Love..." he hisses it, his teeth clenched, as if he would like to stop the word from coming, but he can't. It's okay, I think, spinning out on the edge of orgasm . It's okay because I love you too, and nothing in the whole world has ever felt like this. We are moving in synch now, my hips coming up to meet his thrusts, my muscles trying to hold him tight when he draws back.

He is panting, the sound harsh between us, moving with more force, his face flushed and his eyes tightly shut. It is pleasure, pure, terrifying pleasure, the way he is sinking into me, filling me with his cock, which feels twice as big as it did in my mouth earlier. I'm scared, scared that he's going to hurt me, scared because I can feel the orgasm building inside me, and it's monstrous. I'm afraid I will come apart, disintegrate in his arms.

"Shh, it's okay," he is leaning over me, freeing his hand from mine to hold me closer. "It's okay, I've got you."

His voice reaches the panic welling up inside me, and I feel myself melting. Melting, drowning, turning to liquid in his arms. The heat radiates from deep inside me, where his cock is stroking me with gentle pressure. He moves, altering the angle of our bodies, and when he sinks into me again, I groan, the pleasure setting off bright flashes of light behind my eyelids. Oh god, that's it, Methos, please, more, more, I'm going to come. I'm screaming, thrashing my head from side to side against the pillows. The orgasm envelops me, drowns me, throbbing and pulsing where he is touching deep inside me. I feel the hot stickiness of come on our bellies as he slides against me, gasping. His thrusts are shorter, faster, hammering into me with rapid movements, moaning when I clench tight around him. I am amazed that I can feel him come, I can feel him pulsing and shuddering inside me, and then the flood of hot semen, and his breathing, ragged in my ear.

He pulls out of my ass very slowly, but it hurts a little anyway. I feel sore, and completely overwhelmed. If he leaves me now, like this, I will die. I realize, rather belatedly, that I am crying, hot tears sliding from the corners of my eyes. His palm cups my chin, turning my face to look at him.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," I whisper, turning my face into the hollow of his shoulder, pressing my cheek to sweat slicked skin. I inhale deeply, trying to get a hold on my emotions, which seem to be unraveling like a ball of yarn. He is holding me, rocking me gently in his arms. Something in his eyes makes me wonder if he regrets this, or if he thinks I do.

"I'm sorry, that was...incredible. I didn't think it would be like that, that I would be able to feel your heart beating inside me. Don't leave me Methos, not now, please."

"Shh, it's okay, I'm not going anywhere," he whispers reassuringly, stroking my hair.

"Duncan, look at me, please?"

I raise my head, meeting his eyes. He looks sad. I know he's going to leave, that he thinks this is dangerous. He's right, it is dangerous, if he leaves I'm going to kill anyone I have to so I can find him again.

"If you want me to stay, I will stay, I promise."

"I want you to stay," I tell him softly, pressing my lips to his in a soft thank you, hoping that he can feel how much I love him.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks, his fingers sliding through my hair.

"No," I can feel my face getting hot, "Not at all, it was just...very intense. I loved having you inside me, so close. Thank you."

A strange expression moves across his eyes, then he smiles, "You are most welcome."

"Methos?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you usually....when you're with other men...do you ever..." my face must be purple, I don't know how to ask this, but I'm so curious...

"I like both, the dominant and the submissive rolls, but it has been a very long time since I have given myself to a man. Is that what you're asking?"

Who? I wonder. "Yes. Will you let me?"

"Yes, if you want to, but not tonight. You've exhausted me."

I laugh, feeling giddy and a little high. He is a drug, and I have no tolerance whatsoever, but I need him more than oxygen.

"I love you," the words are mumbled against his chest before I can swallow them. He is very still, not even breathing.

"I can't help it Methos, I tried," I tell him, touching him with shaking hands. "I know this is more than you want, more than you think we can handle, but don't sneak out of here in the morning, okay?"

"It already is morning," he tells me softly, but his voice is sad and I know he's going to be gone when I wake up. I would give anything I have, I would give a hundred years of my life, to have the words that would make him stay. I don't, there is nothing I can say that will change the way he feels. He will leave, to protect himself, to protect me. Somehow the fact that he can do it, that he is able to walk away from this, makes me angry again, but that hurts, I don't want to be angry at him. I bury my face in his chest, feeling very vulnerable and slightly ashamed of myself. It hurts so much, knowing he will disappear, leave without a trace. What if someone finds him? What if he doesn't come back? Fear closes my throat as I search hopelessly for an argument that will make him stay, if only for a little while.

Before I can force any words past the lump in my throat, he kisses my forehead, murmuring, "Sleep Duncan, dream well."

He lifts my chin with a finger, pressing his lips to mine softly for one last kiss. I try to summon all my love, all my need, into this covert goodbye of his. I don't want to stop kissing him, my lips move over his desperately, trying to beg him to stay. He pulls away though, smiling at me, allowing me to see the pain in his eyes for just a moment. My head falls back onto his shoulder. I sigh, pressing my cheek to his chest. Right now, this moment in time, we are here together, he is holding me and I can feel, I am sure, that he loves me.

His hand strokes my hair, splayed out around us on the pillows, touching me with a soothing caress I know so well now... I love him, love him so much I don't know what I'll do when he's gone, but I'm falling, drifting off to sleep, soothed by his voice murmuring softly in my ear.

The bells wake me, filtering through the sounds of Sunday afternoon traffic on the river. I reach out blindly across the bed, opening my eyes slowly when my hand encounters nothing but cool sheets. It's a bright spring day, the sun is streaming through the portholes, making hazy patches in the air where dust motes dance, and bright patches on the dark wood floor. I watch the particles moving in the sunlight, not moving, not wanting to wake up. I don't want to think yet. I can still feel his hands touching me...

I roll over, burying my face in the spot next to me where his body has made a faint impression in the mattress. I inhale a deep breath that breaks from my chest in a painful sob. I need you, why aren't you here? I want to tell you I love you a thousand more times. I want to tear out of here right now and track you down and shake you really, really hard, and beg you to stay with me.

Stumbling out of bed, my muscles complain, my calves cramp up and my back aches. I feel like shit, I feel worse than that. It hurts, it feels like someone has kicked me in the gut repeatedly and I don't want to get up. I do anyway, because if I curl up around the pillow that smells like his hair and cry I'm never going to stop.

There's a note propped up on my desk, a few lines of his sharp, spiky handwriting on it. Did you have to do this? Couldn't you have at least stayed to tell me whatever that says yourself?

Duncan,

I'm sorry, forgive me, not goodbye, just until we meet again... Please, understand, I can't bear to have you for only a little while, so I will not try to have you at all. I could not stand to let the game come between us, as you must know some day it will. So I leave, and take you with me everywhere I go. Be strong, live, fight another day,

M.

Not much of a note, but then, he's always been lousy at good-byes. Damn you Methos, you're such a coward, and I miss you so much already. What am I going to do now? I don't want to do anything. I want to go back to bed for at least ten years, maybe then when I wake up you'll be on my doorstep, in the rain, again.

It's a quarter after four, p.m., I can't remember the last time I woke up this late. I think it was about six or seven when I fell asleep in his arms. Wherever he's gone, he's far away by now. Making coffee is comforting, a routine that I have followed for hundreds of years. Listening to the coffee brewing, leaning against the counter, I'm counting off all the places he could have gone. South America, back to Rome, India, Tibet, Switzerland, Amsterdam, back to his apartment down the river...no, It's been rented out, I know because I walked by a lot the first month he was gone. God Methos, why did leave? Why did you come to me like that in the first place? To explain yourself? You explained nothing. I understand you no better now than I did before you left us, and now you have my heart. What am I going to do?

Pouring a cup of coffee and wandering listlessly to the couch, I notice one of his shirts, stuffed half under the coffee table. He must have forgotten it, he never leaves anything behind on purpose. I hope it's not cold, wherever he's gone. I pick it up, burying my face in the dark fabric. It hurts, it hurts to breath, my chest is tight and the backs of my eyes ache. I am never going to feel like this about anyone else in the entire world, no one will ever be like you. No one will ever feel like you felt, pressed against me. Live, Methos, fight, survive. Please, God, let him come back to me. I pray he will, and that he will be the same, I hope he never changes. Even if he does, for the man he is today, I will love him until the end of time.

all the fear has left me now and I'm not frightened anymore

it's my heart that pounds beneath my flesh

it's my mouth that pushes out this breath

and if I shed a tear I won't cage it

I won't fear love

and if I feel a rage I won't deny it

I won't fear love

Song lyrics borrowed without permission from Sarah McLachlan

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