In His Life
(Another '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 drought.

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 be.

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 wanted more.

A mere three weeks had never seemed so long. "Fuck me," he whispered against Duncan's mouth. "Fuck me now."

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 thick, inside.

"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 breathlessly.

"Yeah," Methos managed to gasp. "Close."

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 again. "Duncan?"

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.

"Methos?"

"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."

The end


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