The long, late-summer twilight was
almost gone. But the ground of the small, bare hillside where Methos sat was
still warm, still holding onto the heat of the sun. Warm, but hard on his
backside. He wriggled a little, trying to make himself more comfortable on the
stony ground. He reached under his bottom and found the stone that was poking
into him. It skittered and took a small waterfall of others with it when he
tossed it away. That was better, Methos smiled. So good to be alone and at
peace. So rare.
Methos lay back to look at the sky,
pillowing his head on his linked hands. He watched the quiet stars appear one
by one, trying to guess where the next one would appear. He never could, but it
didn't stop him from trying. Maybe if he stayed just a little longer?
No! Not now.
Name of the ancestors! Why now?
Methos stood and brushed the dirt
from his legs, tightening the leather thong that restrained his hair.
"Yes, Father, " he called, his voice light and reedy in the vast
nighttime silence that surrounded him.
So unfair to be only thirteen
summers and not quite a man. When he became a man at last he would go where he
pleased and stay out all night if it suited him, he thought defiantly. When he
was a man he would not have to sit alone on a hillside to look at the sky,
either, he would have someone to sit beside him. One day...
"The spirits will come to
carry you away if you stay out after dark. Come inside now!" His father's
voice was harsh and impatient, the tone that Methos knew better than to
disobey. "And if the spirits don't get you then my cane certainly will.
You have work to do."
Methos sighed, took one last look
at the night sky and began to walk down the hillside towards home. There was no
moon tonight. Where did it go when it wasn't up there looking down on them? Did
it visit some other world and shine on some other people who wondered where it
went when it was here? He craned his neck to look at the sky as his bare feet
picked unerringly over the familiar ground that led back to his family's hut.
The stars, too, were a mystery. They moved, traveled across the blackness with
the seasons. How did they do that? And the pictures they made, what did they
The stars reminded him of the
drawings the old ones left in the caves in the mountains, the caves that he'd
found with Demos that day when they had followed the wounded antelope far from
their usual hunting grounds. The pictures on the cave walls had been strange,
and wonderful, like nothing he had ever seen. Animals, some he knew, some he
did not recognize at all, ran across the bare rock, hunted by small men with
long spears and penises much too big for their tiny bodies. Or at least Methos
hoped they were, he would not like to think that there were men who walked the
earth so abundantly endowed. The thought made him laugh a little still, even as
he blushed to think of his own unruly organ.
The old ones had painted the stars,
too. Methos had recognized the patterns that crossed their sky every summer.
The old ones had painted them twinkling above the brave hunters and their
quarry. What had the old ones known about the sky that they had drawn these
So many questions. One day he would
know, of that he was certain. How he would learn all these things that he
sought was a little less clear. Curiosity burned inside of him; the desire to
know things sometimes outweighed his common sense. He asked too many questions
already, he knew that. He would ask about this or that, and his father would
get that look and growl and shoo him away, telling him that he talked too much
and worked too little.
His mother had not minded his
questions. They had made her smile and tell him how proud she was of his quick,
sharp mind. She had never been too busy to talk to him and explain the way of
things. But the fever had taken her last winter. Now he had to find his own
answers. He could do that too.
Methos paused at the entrance to
his family's hut, and lifted the hide that separated outside from in, feeling
the heat of the cooking fire come out to greet him. He took one last look at
the beautiful starry sky, sighed again, and went in.
Whispers of twilight-cooled breeze
feathered silkily across Methos' skin as he woke on the beach. Another one of
those strange dreams, memories, whatever they were. It seemed so real -- felt
so real. Was that small, curious boy really him? Perhaps. It was a nice thought
though, and for now he could leave it at that. He did wonder briefly why this
island had provoked the memories' return.
Methos looked up. The sky was that
peculiar shade of dark blue that existed only between daylight and night time,
soft and impenetrable. He drew the salt-heady air in through his nose and let
it go, sinking back to lie on the sand. With a deliciously long and satisfying
stretch he lay back and pillowed his head on his linked hands, watching the sky
with conscious gratitude. One by one the stars appeared, Venus and all her
handmaidens in a random sprinkle from east to west. Wonderful.
A rustling, rummaging, busy noise
intruded into Methos' peace. And went on unrelentingly. MacLeod. With a little
sigh, Methos stood, brushing the sand from his skin and went to find his lover.
He was where Methos expected him to be, hard at work, still.
Duncan sat cross-legged in front of the simple hut
they'd built from deadfalls and driftwood. His brow was creased in concentration
as he worked at the lump of wood in his hands with the blade of Methos' dagger.
"MacLeod, do you ever stop? I
swear we must be the best-provisioned castaways on the face of the
planet." Methos couldn't help the indulgent smile that followed his words
as he slouched against a nearby tree.
"I just wanted to get this
finished before nightfall," Duncan answered, frowning as he laid aside the
bowl he'd been carving from a piece of soft wood. "Something you
"You. What else?" Methos
went to him, kneeling at Duncan's side, wanting to smooth the frown from those beloved
features and draw out the marvelous smile he knew was lurking in there
somewhere. "You amaze me, Mac. Even here in paradise you manage to work
more than you play." Methos pulled Duncan closer, smoothing his hands down the length
of the beautiful back.
Duncan opened his mouth to say something -- to
protest perhaps? Methos silenced him with a kiss, soft and full of promises.
"Come and watch the stars with me," Methos whispered as he drifted
kisses along the velvety shell of Duncan's ear. "There's a difference between
the pressing and the precious."
Duncan moved back a little from his embrace and
met Methos' eyes, tilting his head at a quizzical angle. A slow smile spread
across his face. There. That's what he was looking for -- that mouth was made
to smile. It never failed to melt something deep inside of him.
"You're right." Duncan was on his feet in a heartbeat, dragging
Methos up with him. "Come and show me the stars." Methos found
himself blessed with a small kiss before Duncan released him and ducked back into the hut.
"Just one moment though, I'll get something to take with us," he
called over his shoulder as he went.
True to his word MacLeod was back
in a flash, a bottle and a folded square of cloth tucked under one arm and a
wooden platter held in his hand. "Ready?" he grinned.
"For you? Always." Methos
took the hand that was offered to him and together they walked back to the
beach. "What have you got there, anyway?"
"Wait and see," Duncan grinned, tugging him along the path that
led back to the beach.
Shell grit crunched under bare feet
as they walked through the darkness to the starlit beach. As always, the pure
whiteness of the sand seemed to glow against the darkness beyond; sea and sky
merged into an infinite blackness. There was a quiet sound like the wings of a
bird as Duncan spread the cloth over the sand and motioned
for Methos to sit, settling beside him and placing the bottle and platter to
the far side as he did.
Methos lay back, feeling the
coolness of the sand penetrating through the thin cloth at his back. He
wriggled to make a more comfortable hollow for his body to rest in. Duncan lay beside him, catching up Methos' hand,
rubbing one sensual thumb over the back as he held it. Still he was restless;
Methos could feel the energy humming beneath Duncan's skin as he sat beside him.
"Shh..." Methos cut him
off with the soft hiss of sound. "Be still, Duncan. Just relax."
It was black now, the sky above
them, as deep and dark as the ocean and the tiny pinpoints of light were so
bright in contrast as to be almost white. They hung in clusters and drifts
almost close enough to touch. Orion stood guard across the center of the sky,
shield held eternally aloft. The constellation had worn many names in the time
since Methos had first looked at the patterns in the stars but Orion had
resonated with him. The hunter, forever on guard.
Not him. Not here. Not anymore.
Methos sighed and savored the freedom of it.
He felt the tension ease out from Duncan's presence, felt the younger man grow still
and peaceful at last. Yes.
"Thank you," Duncan said quietly into the starlit darkness.
"Thanks for reminding me."
"My pleasure." Methos
rolled up onto one elbow to look at his lover. "I love that you want to be
prepared for whatever happens and I know you need to be busy, but you can't
forget to enjoy life too. To be still, to just be, you know. We have all the
time in the world."
Duncan turned to face him and lifted a hand to
brush along Methos' cheek, his eyes searching for...something in Methos' eyes.
Perhaps he found it; he smiled and leaned in to brush a kiss over Methos'
mouth. "Yeah, I know. And I don't know anyone I'd rather be with. I love
"Beyond words, Duncan -- more than anything," Methos
For a deliciously expectant moment,
Methos thought Duncan would close the distance space between them
and fulfill the promise his dark eyes were making. Instead, he sat up and
reached for the supplies he'd brought with him.
Wonderful to be right about some
things. Duncan had brought the salvaged bottle of
champagne they'd found washed up a few days before, and the last of the
"No glasses, so I guess we'll
have to share." Duncan's smile was wide and lazy and promised all
sorts of delights to come.
"Sharing is good," Methos
murmured, watching his lover's deft fingers as Duncan eased the cork free with a small pop. Duncan offered the first mouthful to him and
Methos took a deep pull, letting the cool, creamy fizz wash over his tongue.
"A good year too. Want a taste?"
Duncan ignored the bottle and leaned in close.
"Oh yes...a taste is just what I want."
Methos held his breath as that
beautiful mouth came closer and settled, feather-light, over his own. Lips
parted against lips and tongues danced a waltz in slow motion, each move
achingly perfect. Long and slow and sweet. A fine tremor was shaking him when Duncan pulled away at last.
"Yes...sharing is very good,"
Methos managed to whisper.
"More then," Duncan picked up the bottle and took a long drink,
his eyes never leaving Methos'.
"Mmm..." Methos murmured,
transfixed by the hunger in the amber eyes.
Duncan closed the distance between them and found
Methos' mouth again. His tongue pressed for entry and slipped silkily inside.
The clean, sharp taste of the wine tingled as Methos' tongue swept it from his
lover's mouth. Duncan pulled away slowly, gently catching Methos'
lower lip between his teeth as their lips parted.
Duncan picked up the bottle again, something dark
and dangerous lighting his eyes. The bottle lay like an offering in his hands.
Methos accepted it and took another mouthful, tasting Duncan on the rim. It wasn't nearly enough but he
drank deeply anyway.
Duncan lifted the wooden platter he'd brought
along. "Hungry?" he asked, his voice rumbling low in his throat.
'Oh yes...' Methos thought with a
helpless little hitch in his chest. He nodded, unable to voice a response in
any language at that moment. A tearing hunger was racing through his body as he
imagined the sensation of taking that smooth, taut body inside his own and
letting it fill him. Suddenly Methos' whole body ached with need.
Sweet fingers pushed golden amber
stickiness between his lips. Methos parted his lips gratefully, sucking in the
fingers as well as the treat they held. He wrapped his hand around the strong
wrist and held it captive, laving every drop from the honeysweet skin. He heard
Duncan's breath catch in his throat, feeling the
pulse quicken under his fingers. Gods he wanted this man -- every time as
intensely as the first time.
"More honeycomb." Duncan rasped, his hand still held prisoner, the
gentle lapping of Methos' tongue sending sparks from fingertip to groin.
"Trying to sweeten me
up?" Methos' voice was a dark whisper of breath against Duncan's skin.
"I think you're probably sweet
enough." Duncan almost laughed out loud at the face Methos
made in response to that. But it did Methos no harm to be reminded of how
wondrous he found him, Duncan thought. There was a sweetness about him, a sense that he
found it surprising to be loved so.
But Methos was never off-balance
"You sure?" Methos
challenged with an eyebrow raised and a graze of teeth over Duncan's knuckles that sent shivers chasing down the
younger man's spine. "Perhaps you should come here and check for yourself.
You've been known to be wrong about me before." With a final bite to the
tip of Duncan's finger, Methos grinned insolently and
scooted back away from him.
"I think I should definitely
find out for myself." Duncan stalked his lover on hands and knees across the dark cloth,
loving the expectant look on Methos' face -- half joy and half lust, and all
for him. Methos sank back onto the sand as Duncan loomed over him.
A wicked grin flashed in the dark
as his lover's arms came up to draw Duncan down. "You know they invented the word
'cocksure' just for you, MacLeod," Methos murmured just before Duncan silenced the foolishness with a kiss.
Methos writhed beneath him, all
pale sweat and need. Duncan kissed him fiercely then, plunging his
tongue deep into the sweetness of his lover's mouth. Nothing ever, anywhere,
tasted quite like Methos -- his skin, his cock and especially his small,
sensual mouth. And the sounds Methos made, was making now, urgent little
noises, desperate pleading sounds that encouraged him, just made the need burn
Duncan slipped a hand between their bodies and
wrapped it around Methos' shaft. The heavy cock filled his palm, the velvet
covered hardness surging desperately and Methos moaned again, wrapping his arms
around Duncan -- holding him tight.
"Mac, please!" But the
plea drifted away on the breeze, Duncan paid it no mind, Methos was a long way from
being as needy as he could be -- as needy as he would be soon.
Duncan slid his hand lower, his fingers trailing
over Methos' balls, down to the smooth skin beneath, teasing around the
"Yes..." Methos squirmed
and spread his legs wider.
Duncan's fingers circled but did not enter.
Methos' pelvis curled up and an urgent whimper escaped his throat. Duncan slipped down the slender body, stopping to
draw a small brown nipple into his mouth, letting his teeth graze the pebbled
nub. Methos hissed and lifted his shoulder, pressing towards the touch. Duncan sucked the nipple deeper into his mouth for
a teasing moment, then let it go.
Leaving that torment for a moment, Duncan sat up between Methos' legs and slid the
flats of his hands back along the silk of Methos' skin to his shoulders.
Slowly, achingly slowly, Duncan drew his hands down the trembling body. And Methos was
trembling, the pink flush of his skin following the path of Duncan's hands, visible even in the moonlight. Duncan could not tear his eyes away, Methos was
beautiful and abandoned and compelling beyond words.
He stroked down the slender hips,
using the tips of his thumbs to tease at the straining shaft. Methos groaned
distractedly and Duncan could see his lover was almost past teasing.
The long cock dripped milky fluid that pooled in the hollow of Methos' navel.
Too much, too beautiful to resist. Duncan bent to it, using the tip of his tongue to
lap every drop from his lover's skin, loving the sounds of wordless ecstasy
that followed his touch. He dropped one soft kiss to the tip of the glistening
cock and looked up into the dilated eyes that followed his every move.
"Duncan...I want..." Methos' voice was almost
"I know you do," Duncan smiled. "What do you want,
Methos?" he murmured as he stroked lazily over long pale thighs, slipping
down occasionally to tease at the dark curls that lay between.
"You. I want you inside
me." The look in the gilded eyes was hungry and urgent.
Duncan's breath caught in his throat. In all the
weeks of their life here, this was something he'd barely thought of. He had not
missed it, not with the discovery of the searing joy that Methos brought to his
possession of his body. He'd never once felt anything but equal, loved and treasured
in every way. The blinding pleasure of having Methos moving within him, filling
him, taking his breath away with every stroke over his prostate, had consumed
him so he hadn't even stopped to consider that perhaps Methos wanted it too.
Had he been selfish then? Inconsiderate? Duncan frowned.
"Don't do that," Methos
whispered, stroking a long hand down the side of Duncan's face. "Don't start to brood and
overthink this. This is now, and right now I want you to fuck me. Do you want
to or not?" The low, silky baritone was almost a growl by the end and it
made the small hairs on the back of Duncan's neck stand on end.
Duncan reached for the aloe leaves from the pocket
of Methos' discarded shorts and smiled dangerously. "Be careful what you
wish for." Not for the first time Duncan was thankful for their discovery
of this little plant whose leaves, when split open, exuded a clear, thick juice
that made a perfect, if odd smelling, lubricant.
He coated one finger in the clear
juice and teased again at Methos' ass, trailing the lubricant along the cleft.
Methos sighed and opened himself wider; his eyes drifting closed in ecstasy. He
was totally focused on the pleasure Duncan was giving him - Duncan could see it in every line of his beautiful
"I wish you could see what you
look like right now, Methos," Duncan rumbled deep in his chest. "You are so
beautiful." He slipped the first finger inside Methos at last, and was
rewarded by a gasp and an arch that met his touch. "Every breath, every
tiny little moan, every inch of your skin..."
"More," Methos gasped,
arching down into Duncan's hand again.
Drizzling a little more of the
juice onto Methos' cock, letting it run haphazardly over the tightening sac and
down between the smooth pale cheeks, Duncan watched and waited. He heard Methos' breath
catch as the clear fluid trickled down over his perineum and finally onto the
finger that slipped, slowly and steadily, in and out of his body. Then it was
two, delving deep into the heat and the damp-silk softness, gentle as breath,
easing at the tightness of muscle and flesh, stroking over the sensitive little
gland hidden within, growing bolder with every gasp of pleasure.
With his other hand Duncan smoothed the excess juice over Methos'
cock, circling and stroking it. It lay reddened, fully erect and glistening,
throbbing faintly with the beat of the blood that filled it, against Methos'
taut belly. The urge to take it into himself was almost overwhelming; Duncan closed his eyes and he could feel the
sensation of that beautiful hard cock slipping inside him, but that would wait
for another time. They had time.
Duncan let his eyes drift over the faintly pulsing
shaft, then up the lean body to look into Methos' face once more. Methos had
sucked his lower lip in between his teeth; biting it and making it swell. He shifted,
restless and needy as Duncan drove him deeper and deeper into arousal.
gasped. "Come on, Mac. Stop fucking around..."
Duncan moved in close and lifted Methos' hips
until they lay on his bent knees, draping the long legs over his shoulders with
a kiss to the irresistibly tender inside of one knee. Duncan took his shaft into his hand and held it,
poised at his lover's entrance. Slowly, he pressed forward, just a little, just
enough to push the spongy tip past the tight muscles -- and stopped. So very
tight...and hotter than Duncan could have imagined. Methos twitched and moaned, arching
towards him, impaling himself onto Duncan's cock.
Too much to resist -- the searing
heat of the willing body -- so Duncan plunged himself all the way inside it. And
had to stop. He dragged a deliberate breath into his chest as he looked into
Methos' eyes in the moonlight. A slow withdrawal and an even slower return set
the rhythm, a gentle, easy rocking that let him feel every molten silk inch of
his lover's body as he moved within it.
"You're too far away,"
Methos murmured, "come down here where I can hold you." He reached
out and caught one of Duncan's hands in his own.
Duncan laced the fingers with his own, pressing
Methos' hand to his mouth before releasing it with a kiss. He leaned forward to
unfold his legs and lower himself onto his elbows so that their faces and
bodies were aligned. This was better, with the warm length of Methos pressed
along his body and the beautiful hazel eyes fixed on his own.
"Much better," Methos
whispered, stroking Duncan's face as he began to thrust again. "I
love to watch your face when we make love. It's like I can read every thought
in your mind."
"Every thought? Then you know
how much I love you." Duncan began again with gentle thrusts, relentless as the ocean.
"About as much as I love
you." Methos met him with surging hips, rising to meet each thrust.
"As much as that?" Duncan reached out and linked their hands, bracing
The beautiful body beneath him was
arching, gasping, responding to every stroke of Duncan's cock. "Not possible." The depth
of emotion in the green-gold eyes had Duncan's fingers clutching tight. He could never
lose this - never.
"Yes!" He slammed into
Methos, dancing ever closer to the edge as Methos lay bucking and writhing
uncontrollably beneath him.
Then the first tight spasm of
Methos' orgasm sent Duncan rocketing over the edge into his own.
Absolutely unlike anything he'd felt before. The heat and the pressure combined
until Duncan was sure their flesh would fuse into one,
if it wasn't too late already. Scalding fluids splashed against their bellies
and Duncan felt something inside himself give. His
back arched and his hips gave a last desperate thrust as he poured himself into
the blanketing warmth that was Methos.
A vast stillness filled him as Duncan spun slowly back to Earth. It was as if
everything he had ever been or known or done was at peace inside himself, just
for those few moments. The world, the past - even the future faded into
Still joined, Duncan rolled them to one side, holding Methos
close against his chest, stroking him, gentling him back to the world again. Duncan loved this man in his arms, beyond reason --
beyond life even -- always. Duncan pressed a kiss to Methos' temple, letting his hands drift over
pale, starlit skin as luminous as porcelain, loving him as he had first done --
with eyes and fingertips.
Softening, he slipped from Methos'
body, and used a corner of the cloth to clean them both. Methos was quiet,
rolled onto his side, his head pillowed on a bent arm, watching Duncan with an unfathomable look in his green-gold
eyes and an enigmatic smile on his lips.
"What?" Duncan smiled as
he settled back down next to his love again, leaving a little distance between
them to let the soft breeze feather around them and cool their bodies. His
hands, though, still sought his lover.
"Hush, MacLeod. Lie still and
look at the stars..." Methos gestured briefly skywards, then rested his
hand on Duncan's chest.
While they lay, still and quiet in
one another's loose embrace, a cluster of stars fell from the sky. A meteor
shower beginning as if on cue, the sparks leaving firefly trails behind them in
the night. Beautiful and too perfect to be real. Duncan glanced at the man beside him, not really
surprised to find Methos watching him instead of the stars.
"Did you make a wish?"
Duncan flicked a look towards the show in the sky
and let his eyes drift back to his lover. He let the joy inside him curve a
smile around his mouth and answered at last, "What's left to wish for?"