'In My Life' Remix for Pat)
"You're back," Duncan said,
looking like he still didn't quite believe it.
Methos was having a hard time
believing it himself. But here he was, putting himself back in the line
of fire for the love of this man. Idiotic, probably suicidal, but at
this moment he couldn't live with doing anything else.
"I'm back." He reached up and
stroked the stubble along Duncan's jaw. Duncan leaned into the touch
and his eyes fluttered closed. He reached up and curled a
sword-roughened hand around Methos' wrist. "Mac," Methos began, words
choking in his throat. He let his hand drop from Duncan's face, but
Duncan wouldn't let him go, sliding his hand from Methos' wrist to his
hand, lacing their fingers together.
"Methos," Duncan said, his
voice catching. Methos wasn't the only one having trouble with the
words, it seemed. "Why?" Duncan asked, finding the one word Methos
still had trouble answering, even to himself.
"Why am I back?" He stalled,
searching for the words to make sense of it. He reached up with his
free hand and traced Duncan's bottom lip with his finger. Duncan's
tongue flicked out to taste him.
Methos watched him and
remembered the loneliness of the weeks since he'd been gone.
Remembering also the endless stream of challengers, Quickening after
unwanted Quickening. His gut turned cold with the memory of it.
Remembered how good it had been with Duncan MacLeod guarding his back,
warming his bed, keeping his life interesting. No one ever really died
of boredom, but it made living forever a real pain in the ass. But it
was more than that. Far more.
He looked up to meet Duncan's
gaze; clarity achieved in the blink of an eye. "Because," he said, and
stroked Duncan's lips with his thumb, "in my life I love you more."
Duncan had kisses waiting for
him, passion stored over weeks of denial, arms too often empty pulling
him close, warming him through. Even when they had to pause to get
themselves out of the parking lot and into some privacy, Duncan
couldn't leave him alone, driving one-handed with the other arm wrapped
around him, every red light a green light for kisses like rain after a
Home wasn't the loft, but the
arms of the man who hustled him through the doors and into the bed.
Need, not the place but the time. Immortal time, paradoxical, endless
possibilities, equally endless possibilities for it all to be cut short
with the stroke of a sword. The moment was all they had, all anyone
had. And that meant not throwing their moments away.
Duncan's mouth was at his
neck, devouring him with sharp, hot kisses. Methos arched back and
offered him…everything. Offered up his breath, blood and sweat in
penance for the pain he'd caused. Under his lashes, his eyes were wet.
He kept them closed.
It didn't matter.
Duncan stopped, lifted his
mouth away, went still. Methos dragged in breath, waited, opened his
eyes. Duncan was watching him, poised above him, his eyes full of some
nameless thing that looked like love and sadness. He stroked Methos'
face with a thumb, brushed away an escaping tear.
"You did what you had to do,"
Duncan said. "You were gone but you were never lost to me." He caught
up Methos' right hand, brought it to his chest. "You were here all
along." He drew their joined hands away, pressed them to the bed and
leaned in, kissing him softly and very thoroughly, just once. "You
always will be."
Beautiful, foolish, romantic
man. Methos smiled, blinked away the last of the regret in his eyes.
Duncan understood. Wherever they went, together or apart, it would
never be over for them. Methos reached for him, pulled him close as
Duncan's arms closed around him and Methos buried his face in the curve
of Duncan's shoulder, breathing him in, remembering him.
And then remembering wasn't
enough. Methos turned to him, blindly seeking his mouth and finding it
with a luxuriant moan. Wonderful mouth, sweet and hot, infinitely
responsive. Methos kissed him hard and long, sliding the shirt from
Duncan's shoulders while their mouths were otherwise occupied.
Duncan was already thrusting
against him, hot and hard through the layers of their clothes. There
was desperation in his kisses now, heat and need. Duncan's hands found
Methos' clothes, tore at them, baring his skin. Methos wriggled and
tried to help, as long as he could manage it without losing the touch
of Duncan's lips. There were limits to how helpful he was prepared to
Then they were naked, skin
sliding against skin, silken and sweat-damp. Duncan slid his mouth
away, slipping over Methos' jaw, down his neck and his chest. Methos
spread his legs and lifted his knees while he ran his hands over the
smooth expanse of Duncan's back. Maybe he nudged Duncan a little in the
direction of one nipple -- just a little -- and breath hissed between
his teeth when Duncan's mouth closed over it.
Duncan sucked and bit, sending
lightning singing through Methos' body, heating him through. Methos was
thrusting up against him, so close to losing it he had to clench his
teeth to keep from begging Duncan to just fuck him and finish it.
Duncan's hands and mouth were everywhere, scaldingly hot, searing him
to the bone.
A big rough palm curved around
his cock and almost sent him over the edge. Helplessly, he bucked up
into Duncan's grip. Fuck, he could never get enough of this. His teeth
found skin and bit, Duncan's shoulder, the side of his neck. He ran his
hands into Duncan's hair, held him still and kissed him again, longer,
deeper. Never, ever enough of this.
But, more, he definitely
A mere three weeks had never
seemed so long. "Fuck me," he whispered against Duncan's mouth. "Fuck
Duncan slid off and turned
Methos on his side, curling around him. And, god, that was perfect,
wrapped in the warmth and strength of Duncan's arms and legs with the
hard, blunt heat of his cock nudging at his ass. He breathed deep while
Duncan fiddled with lube, imagining how it would be, spinning out the
anticipation. Then Duncan's hand was on him and he shifted one leg
forward and opened to him, reaching back to grab a handful of warm
haunch, encouraging him, maybe pushing him along a little. Duncan
chuckled in his ear, nuzzling him while his cock pressed, slow and
"Damn, you're lovely," Duncan
whispered into his ear when he was all the way inside and rocking into
him. "Missed this…missed you so much."
Then Duncan was curled around
him with one hand on Methos' cock and one at his chest, rubbing across
his aching nipples, while his cock stroked him deep inside. Methos lay
his hand over the hand on his chest and laced their fingers together.
"Missed you, too," Methos breathed.
The slow rhythm picked up.
Duncan's hand moved a little harder over the length of Methos' cock in
long, perfectly thorough strokes from base to tip. Methos whimpered and
Duncan's hips thrust a little faster, hitting him at the perfect angle.
Methos made a concerted effort to stop thinking of how easily he could
have missed having this ever again, and gave himself up to the
sweetness of sensation.
Duncan's breath was hot and
humid at the back of his neck, quick with the effort of his striving.
More, he still needed more. Methos rolled onto his belly, taking Duncan
with him. He spread his legs wide, tilted his hips up. And then Duncan
was fucking him fast, his hands tight on Methos' hips. Methos moaned
and let Duncan batter at him, long and hard.
And, god, it was perfect,
every touch reminding him how well this man knew his body, knew just
what he needed, how he needed it to hurt, just a little. Duncan hooked
his hands under Methos' hips and lifted him, thrusting even harder
until Methos was right there.
So close and hovering at the edge and poised there, holding himself at
the edge, savoring the coiled sharp-sweet tension of almost coming.
"Close?" Duncan rasped
"Yeah," Methos managed to
Duncan thrust with a rough
twist of his hips and god, that was it, all too much and maybe he
managed to cry out, "Now!" but
he'd never know because he was coming, spurting in hot, helpless jets,
shuddering and tensing with fireworks going off behind his eyes, and
then, finally going utterly limp while Duncan pushed deep and came
inside him in rapid, stuttering pulses.
Then Duncan's weight was on
him, spread hot and damp and delicious along his back, breathing hard
against his neck. Duncan slipped his hands along Methos' arms, twined
their fingers together and held him while his racing blood quieted.
God, he was glad he'd come
back. He could live without this, but he damn well didn't want to. But
there was no way he could stay. Not now, not in Seacouver. There was
only one thing for it, though he hated to do it.
"Duncan?" he began, even
though the pillow muffled his voice. He lifted his head and tried
Duncan grumbled under his
breath and rolled off, just far enough so they could lie on their sides
facing each other. "Mmm…?" he murmured sleepily.
"Don't go to sleep yet,"
Methos said, running his hand through the hair on Duncan's chest and
tugging, just a bit.
"What is it?"
Duncan looked like he was
still only half-awake and Methos wondered for a moment if he'd been
sleeping much lately. He reached out and stroked the backs of fingers
down the side of Duncan's face. Duncan's eyes opened fully and met his.
"I can't stay here," Methos
told him gently.
Pain flickered through
Duncan's eyes, was shuttered quickly and hidden away. "I understand."
Methos didn't think that was
true. "How do you feel about Mexico?"
Orgasm must have fogged
Duncan's brain because he blinked slowly, twice, and repeated,
"Mexico?" as if he'd never heard of such a place.
"Yes, Mexico." Methos grinned
at him. "Decrepit old monastery near the beach. Holy ground and
sunshine. Tequila, me and thee, if you can bring yourself to give up
the rain-soaked joys of Seacouver."
"I think I can manage that."
Duncan's smile was a brilliant and wondrous thing, but all too brief.
He sat up and folded his legs in front of him in a loose half-lotus,
his face gone serious once more. "Are you sure about this? You'd be
safer without me."
Methos reached out and took
hold of one broad, strong hand. "I'm sure." He sat up and brought his
legs under him. "Forever is too long to be alone."
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