There are voices in Michael's head,
shrill, constant and vile. No, not voices, he makes himself acknowledge
in a rare moment of clarity, that would make him just an ordinary
madman. No, it's just one voice. The voice he has known his whole life.
The voice of the Other, and it won't leave him alone. It's with him
constantly; even when he's wholly, fully himself, the Other is still
there, waiting for him.
Even now, with Duncan MacLeod
covering him with his big, hard body, touching him with rough, square
hands, tumbling him into bed with a glint in his eye and a grin on his
lips, it's not enough to keep the other away.
It's not as bad as it could be,
Michael's still himself, unlike the times when he wakes with blood on
his hands, his teeth...his cock. Those are the times when the Other is
in control and Michael is lost in the endless dark. This is nothing
like that. He is here, himself, with Duncan's hard cock driving into
him and the promise of a bright new life with Jeanette just around the
corner. He should be happy.
So, what is this creeping dread that
will not leave him?
It's a stupid question, really,
because Michael knows only too well what there is to dread. The seeds
of destruction, madness, are inside him. He's lived with quicksand
under his feet all his life. Is he himself right now, or this simply
another of the Other's deceptions?
Is Duncan really here with him,
taking him with such sweet, sharp pleasure, blindfolding him in silk
that smells just like Duncan's beautiful body and tying his hands tight
above his head, stretching him out so he can feel that good, dark burn?
Or will he wake later sticky but not sore, alone, knowing this is just
another fantasy and die a little as the dream fades?
Is any of it real at all? Jeanette,
Duncan, his life, his Immortality -- is any of it in any way real? And
if it's not real, would he want it to be? Duncan's hips snap harder
against his ass and Michael gasps, arching as the pleasure peaks. Right
now, the answer is yes. It
feels too real to be a
the Other whispers too far inside him to be in his ear. 'Is it
one or the other? Is it both? Will you ever know? Do you want
Michael shakes his head, trying to
banish the voice, knowing the futility even as he does it. He will
never be rid of the Other, not as long as he lives. He is no ordinary
madman and his madness will be as Immortal as he is.
But if he falls, as Michael thinks he
must, will his madness linger on? Will he infect the one who takes him?
Perhaps the darkness in him is something elemental, something that
can't be killed, something endless. Perhaps Quentin Barnes will lie in
wait inside Michael's killer, as he did inside Michael, waiting for his
moment to strike.
No. He can't believe that. One day
there will be an end to this and it will truly be an end. He will die
and take Quentin Barnes to hell with him. He has to.
Inside him, Duncan is coming, hot
breath on his neck and a hard hand on his cock forcing his orgasm to
come tearing out of him on a high, sharp cry and a bowing of his body.
For a few blessed moments, he's alone in his head, alone with the
searing pleasure that makes him gasp and buck and arch as Duncan drags
him back to himself, silencing the Other at last. It's beyond
wonderful, but over far too soon, and then the Other is back -- Quentin
is back -- whispering poison into his ear, telling him it was all a
The darkness is coming again, he can
feel it. It the only thing he is sure of. It's more real than the man
holding him or the fading ache of his body. Despair sinks him. Quentin
Barnes is coming back and Michael must take himself far away from
He would never understand.
A remix of McJude's 'Such is the
Nature of Insanity'. Written for the third hl_remix
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