This story contains explicit scenes of sex between consenting adult men. If you are under age or don't care for this, LEAVE NOW. As usual, characters from Highlander: the Series belong to Davis-Panzer et alia ; I only play with them from time to time without any compensation. No harm; no foul; no profit. Anyone or anything new, however, is mine (left-overs again). Beta-read by Nikki Memmott. Thank you, merci beaucoup, tapadh leat, gracias, danke, grazie, spazebo, arigato. This story was originally published in the print zine, Chronicles of the Heart .
 2000 STIFfie Award Winner.
This is a sequel to A Candle for Cæsar .  Any errors are mine alone.

Rome, 16 March 1995.
Directly after “A Candle for Cæsar.”

I woke up suddenly, not sure where I was, not sure if my most recent memories were of reality or a dream.

As I took stock of the situation, I realized my head lay not on a pillow, but on a lean, hard-muscled chest, and the heartbeat I heard and felt was not my own. I felt arms encircling me, arms too long and too strong to be a woman’s, and I knew the memories were real. Memories of hard, driven sex, interspersed with ecstatic releases, memories of strong hands as gentle as rain, of a hot cavern of a mouth that tasted as sweet as melon, and most vividly of a steel hard cock that filled me both body and soul.

I’d slept with Methos.

I knew he wanted me; it was obvious from the moment we met. And I wanted him, too, but not like this. Not in the mindless, loveless rut that follows a Quickening. Those primal urges overwhelm even the strongest of us, forcing us to fuck anyone who would hold still or could be held still long enough.

I eased myself out of his embrace and rolled out of the bed. I was covered with dried semen, and the full feeling in my gut confirmed the memories of that ancient body pounding into me.

Thinking about it made me hard again. This was just a normal morning hard-on, though, without the power of the Quickening I’d taken the day before.

W hen Methos had asked me to come to Rome with him, I’d known it was for more than getting better acquainted. The way he sat straighter, and gasped when I’d said yes, confirmed it — he meant to seduce me on this trip.

I played innocent all the way to Rome, teasing him by undressing in front of him, giving him every opening I could, even a much-needed back rub our first night in Rome.

The massage aroused him, I noticed as he fled to the bathroom, but he didn’t seem ready to pursue it — still unsure, perhaps, of my feelings, of my desire for him. Well, I didn’t mind playing along; and I thought it would make things even more exciting later on.

I teased him even more the next morning. Coming back from my run, I could tell he’d jerked off in the bed, so I waited for him to finish his shower before I stripped off my sweats with only a jock strap underneath.

He blushed.

The thought of his wanting me as much as I wanted him got me hard.

I imagined my hands pumping his dick, and when I came in the shower, I fantasized I was deep inside that perfect ass.

M ethos shifted position when I rolled out of bed, but he didn’t wake up, so I grabbed one of the robes from the floor and took a quick shower, then ordered a room service breakfast. He woke up as I was ordering, and facing him I suddenly felt ashamed of how I had treated him — like nothing more than a whore hired to service my carnal needs.

“You okay?” I couldn’t think what else to ask him. Did you like it? Do you love me?

“I’ll live.” He smiled a little. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“I know I was rough on you.”

“Mac, I’m all right.”

I turned my head away, but Methos put a hand on either side of my face and turned it back. He looked into my eyes and held their gaze. “Duncan,” he said softly, then he kissed me. It was a gentle kiss, but I sensed he wanted more. I know I did.

My hands went to his waist, then my arms wrapped around him, and he intensified the kiss, his hands still on my face, his fingertips tangled in hair. When it was over, we both gasped for breath. Methos’s smile was broad and bright, but I still felt a little shy.

“I shouldn’t have put you through that,” I said.

“What are friends for?”

“That’s just it,” Macleod retorted. “I wanted us to be friends .”

“Not lovers?”

I couldn’t answer him. I did want to be lovers, but I wasn’t ready for him to move in or anything.

“The two don’t have to be mutually exclusive,” he went on, then side stepped to stand directly in front of me again. “I know your history, Highlander. I know about Cullen, and Hill. Gods, not to mention Amanda. You’ve had plenty of friends who were lovers as well.” He kept his eyes locked with mine. “We can be both, too.”

I nodded.

“Now, I’d rather it’d been a little more romantic, maybe,” His voice was light and teasing.

“Not so….”

“Not so — intense?”

“Yeah.” I touched his cheek, and leaned in to kiss him again. “That would’ve been….”

“Yeah,” Methos interrupted, agreeing before I could finish my thought. It was like he knew what I thought, how I felt, and I knew at least a little of what was going on behind those strangely colored eyes. I held his shoulders gently in my hands, afraid to clutch him to me, afraid I’d push him past whatever limits he’d put on this. His shoulders were narrower than mine, but more muscled than a woman’s. The strength I felt in him excited me even more, and finally I drew him closer to me, until we were chest to chest. His hands were at my waist, I realized, and he had pulled closer even as I had. I could smell the musky scent of sex on him still, mixed with the spiciness I’d learned was him — something not quite cinnamon, not quite cloves, a little of each and neither.

He was taller than I, by only an inch or so, so my chin just cleared his shoulder when I turned my head to nuzzle and nip his neck. I felt his pulse beneath my lips as he stretched his head back, his throat vulnerable and exposed, and I thought of that first day we met when he offered me his head. I touched the tip of my tongue to the alabaster skin, and followed the line of the taut tendon up to his ear.

His breathing was faster now, and his hands clutched at me, his fingers digging in to my flesh. I could feel my heart beating wildly in my chest, my breath one gasp after another. I felt the heat rising from his body and I knew I was flushed and hot, too.

I moved my mouth away from his ear as he turned his face toward mine. Our lips met in a searing, burning kiss that robbed us both of breath and sent us spiraling into a maelstrom of desire. There was so much I wanted to say to him, so much I needed to hear from him, but I couldn’t speak with his tongue urgently exploring my mouth. His hands snaked inside my robe, and I let go of him for a second as he pushed it off my shoulders. In a blink I stripped him as well, then wrapped my arms around him. He slid his hands to my back, then skimmed lower to grab my ass, pulling our hips close. We were both hard, and our cocks met like swords en garde , then pressed together between our bodies. The heat was incredible, as though a fire blazed where we touched, and I knew this passion could consume us both.

“E servizio camera.” The knock on the door was like a bucket of cold water on us both. We leapt apart, instantly deflated.

“Damn.” I bent over and snagged my robe. “I told them to hurry.” I quickly wrapped the robe around myself and strode to the door. Before opening it I looked back. “You decent?”

Methos had picked up the other robe. “Go ahead, Mac. I’ll grab a shower.” I watched him disappear into the bathroom, his tight ass dimpling with each step. Before he closed the door, he turned back and we looked at each other. His face and chest were still flushed, and he smiled broadly before he closed the door between us.

I felt the twitch of arousal return to my flagging cock and made sure I was covered before I opened the door. I let the waiter in and fidgeted as he set up the meal I’d ordered. My attention was drawn by the sound of the shower, and the image of Methos, water streaming over his lean body, filled my mind.

“Signore.” The waiter’s voice intruded into my fantasy and I signed the check without thinking. My wallet was on the dresser, just where I would have left it had I undressed myself, and I pulled out several lire notes for a tip.

“Grazie, signore. Mille grazie.”

I must have given him too much, but I didn’t care.

What was I going to do? I wanted this man in my life, in my bed, but I wasn’t ready to reinvent myself like this, not now. I don’t think Methos is much the domestic type, and I can’t see us setting up housekeeping — at least in this day and time, and certainly not in Paris.

Paris holds too many memories of Tessa, and too many mortals know me as her lover.

No, this isn’t meant to be a domestic affair. We’re both too alpha type, too dominant to play house.

He was right about my past. I’d had friends who were also lovers, but with them it had been a friendship getting sexual without the raging passion I felt for Methos. Usually we tune out another Immortal’s presence when we were together for an extended time. But I found myself aware of him now. I could feel the thrum of his quickening in my head, filling my mind with his unique frequency, the ethereal vibrations exciting my entire body.

I wanted him, and not just in my bed, his mouth hot on my cock, swallowing me whole. The memories flooded back — not so much of what I’d done to him, though I know I’d been too rough — but more of the incredible things he had done to me. He’d taken every inch of me, and swallowed every drop. I can’t remember every being fucked like that, each of us so much a part of the other, so I couldn’t tell where I stopped and he began.

I dressed quickly as Methos showered, hoping the barrier of clothing would dampen the still fervent urges I still felt. Oh, how I wanted him. The world’s oldest man in my bed, making love to me as if I deserved him.

I’d felt so protective of him when we first met, ready and willing to fight his battles, anything to ensure his continued survival. “You cannot fight my battles, Macleod,” he’d reminded me, immediately putting me in my place, only a few centuries to his five millennia. Then — then he’d offered me his head.

I still don’t know if he truly meant it, or if it was merely theatrics to gain my protection without asking for it. It had turned me on, his holding my sword to his own throat, and it was all I could do to resist the temptation to grab him then and there. I’d looked into those chameleon eyes as he lectured me on passion and insisted he no longer had it. I thought then he was telling me he wasn’t interested in me, but when he called the police on Kalas to protect me, I knew better.

The shower stopped and I poured a cup of coffee for Methos then greeted him with the steaming cup and a kiss. It caught him unawares, but he seemed happy about it. I could taste the toothpaste, smell the shampoo in his still damp hair. It was a short, sweet kiss, and as we drew apart a connection lingered. He took the coffee from me, a smile of thanks in his eyes, and he sipped the steaming beverage.

Methos didn’t say a word as he helped himself to a sweet roll and sat at the small table. I grabbed a bunch of grapes and pulled one off with my teeth, then offered the fruit to him.

Instead of taking the grapes in his hand, he leaned forward and grasped a single grape in his teeth. A quick jerk of his head snapped the stem, but he held the red globe, rolling it between his teeth before he sucked it into his mout. He chewed slowly, never taking his eyes from mine. I can’t remember watching anything as erotic as his eating a single grape. My cock reacted, but I tried to keep my breathing even. I couldn’t take my eyes off his face, the gleaming hazel eyes, the aristocratic nose, the mouth that could do such incredible things to me.

Using my teeth, I pulled another grape from the bunch, but the thin skin burst with the light pressure, and a drop of juice trickled onto my lip.

Before the sweet juice could flow down my chin, Methos caught the liquid on his finger, lifting it back to my mouth. I kissed his finger, sipping the drop of juice. Without a word he rose from the table and came into my arms. I couldn’t tell who was kissing whom; our mouths met and molded to each other, our tongues slipped into the other’s mouth, and our mutual embrace held our bodies tightly together.

Finally, I pulled my mouth from his and spoke. My voice was hoarse and gasping as I said, “I want you — all over again.”

Teeth bit at the base of my neck, sending a surge of energy like a bolt of a Quickening directly to my already attentive cock, and I felt it swell and harden again. “An’ it’s no’ the Quickening this time.”

His tongue lapped at the spot he’d bitten, and I realized he’d drawn blood. The tendril of blue healing energy moved from my neck to him, arching around his head and back to my throat, and I could feel his erection rising against my own. “Then take me,” he whispered against my neck, and we flung ourselves onto the bed.

I pushed him down, untying his robe as I kissed the length of his long neck, following the taut tendons to the base of his throat. I felt Methos’s pulse throbbing beneath my lips. How many millions of times had that heart beat? As I nipped at the alabaster skin his pulse fluttered, then quickened. I felt his throat vibrate against my cheek as he moaned aloud. His hands clutched at my shoulders, my silk shirt little barrier to the long fingers digging into my flesh. He pulled the back of my shirt from my pants, then ran his hands over my back.

I moved to kiss the cleft of his bare chest, and ran the tip of my tongue along the line of his sternum.

“Off,” he gasped. “Get this off.” He pulled the shirt up farther, skinning it over my head, but the sleeves caught on my wrists.

I sat back on my heels, kneeling next to his long, lean body as I forced my hands through the cuffs. He pulled my belt loose and fumbled at the fly of my trousers. I tossed the shirt aside and rose up on my knees so he could manage the zipper without emasculating me.

As soon as they were loosened, my trousers fell to my knees and I kicked them off to join my shirt. I was hard, my erection trapped in snug briefs. As uncomfortable as the briefs were, I ignored them and fell on the ivory form that lay before me. Again our mouths met with searing heat, each of us hungering for the other. Back and forth our tongues frantically traded possession of the other’s mouth until I slid away, the need for oxygen finally overwhelming.

Empty lungs gasped for air and I moved down to the smooth, heaving chest. Even without the covering of hair, Methos’s chest was not at all feminine. His lanky frame disguised the strong, toned muscles. The flush of arousal extended across the pectorals, and the darker circles of his nipples were still plain to see. I thumbed both at once, the nubs rising into hardness immediately, then replaced one hand with my mouth.

I flicked my tongue across the protuberance and was rewarded by a low pitched moan as his back arched reflexively off the bed, pushing the sensitive flesh deeper into my mouth. Without hesitating I pulled on the nipple, sucking hard as I continued to tease the tip with my tongue.

“Mac!” Methos shouted, his hands clutching at the bedding. His cock was steel hard between us, and I could feel the dampness of the first drops of pre-cum.

Yes, I thought. He’s mine. I pinched and twisted the other nipple, and he arched again. As he fell back onto the bed, I released him from my mouth, and moved farther along his torso toward my ultimate goal. Rising from a nest of black curls, but for his underarms, the only hair on his body, his cock, long and intact, bobbed with every breath he took, swelling and darkening with every beat of his heart.

The oldest man alive lay with his legs splayed, one knee bent so the bottom of his foot rested on the mattress. I touched the back of his knee, and ran my fingertips up the inner side of his thigh, and watched a shudder wrack his body. The wrinkled sac between his legs tightened as my hand approached. My fingertips brushed the soft skin, which slipped over the ovoid jewels within. I cupped my hand beneath it, lifting its weight in my palm, the heat burning my hand. I looked past his sex, along the chiseled ivory abdomen and chest. Methos had stretched his neck back, turning his head from side to side, every breath a moan of pleasure. I gently squeezed his balls, feeling them roll beneath my fingers.

His moan became a gasp, then a cry. “Oh, god, Mac. Please.”

Begging. Methos is begging for me. My cock got even harder at the thought. I want him. God, how I want him. And he wants me. I felt a smile cross my face. I was ready. Breathing deeply, I took in the true scent of him, musky and strong. I’ll never forget that scent, no matter how many centuries — or millennia — I live. I felt it infuse with every cell in my body, and Methos became part of me, never to be removed.

With just the tip of my tongue I traced the prominent vein from where it emerged from the dark forest, up the length of the column of flesh, until I could surround the caped head with my mouth. I swirled my tongue around the edge of the foreskin, tasting the velvety head inside. I felt his hand on my head, fingers in my hair, and I hummed deep in my throat. I slid farther down on the shaft, taking more and more of him into my mouth, then my throat, until my lips touched the silky curls. I breathed steadily through my nose, repressing the urge to gag with my desire — no, my need — to bring pleasure to this beautiful man.

Still holding his balls, I felt his orgasm begin, so I was ready when the spasms filled me, and I held him in my mouth until his last shudder faded. When I finally released him, his flaccid cock lay limply at his groin. We shared the last vestiges of his essence in a deep, gentle kiss. He stroked my hair, his fingers tangling in the long strands, the touch of his hands in my hair sending waves of energy tingling all the way to my toes. I never expected such a simple caress to excite me so much, I moaned at the sensations that coursed through my body, all centered on the touch of his hands.

“I meant it,” he said, his voice still hoarse, his breath still labored.

The ache in my groin reminded me I still wore the constricting briefs, and I didn’t know what he could mean. “Huh?”

“Mac — Duncan,” he began. He called me Duncan again. The sound of my name on his lips thrilled me. Most men called me Mac , but the intimacy of my first name made my heart swell, and I moaned. He kissed my forehead, then moved his hands down my back. “Take me,” he repeated. “I want you inside me.”

“Oh, yes.” I felt him push my briefs away, and my erection sprang to full attention, ready for the next round. “Meth-Methos…” I could only gasp his name, suddenly the only thing in my mind, but then it was filled with images of what we’d done and what we could do. I really wanted him again. I wanted to watch him come as I fucked that beautiful ass.

Pulling the pillows out from under his head, I stuffed them under his hips. He spread his legs even further, pulling his knees back to offer himself to me. He pulled his lower lip under his teeth before he spoke again. “Duncan,” he said. “I need you now.”

He snaked a hand to the table and tossed me the half-squeezed, uncapped tube. I coated my cock, already weeping and ready. But I wanted this to be good for Methos too, not only for me, and I slicked up my fingers as well. I bent my head to place a reverent kiss on his cock, then another on his balls, each kiss bringing a shudder the length of the ivory body, a quiver of the strong jaw.

One finger traced the puckered opening, and I watched him clench in response, then relax. Over and over I stroked him, then slid my index finger into the winking orifice. At his gasp I pushed further, to the first knuckle, then the second. I twisted and pumped with the single finger until he squirmed and writhed, his chest heaving with great gasps. I pushed in farther, found the hard nub of his prostate, and he nearly jumped off the bed, his cock turning to steel before my eyes. Pulling out, I slid the next finger in as well, stretching the pliant muscles. Soon he accommodated three fingers, and I knew he was ready for me.

Still looking at his face, I pressed the weeping head of my cock to his entrance, and slid inside. As much as I’d stretched him, he was still tight around my cock, a hot, burning tightness that sucked me in, and I couldn’t help but push deeper. With a constant pressure I sank my full length into that beautiful, perfectly formed ass. Fully engulfed, I ground against him, then slid back and plunged in again, my heartbeat and his breathing setting a rhythm I couldn’t deny. He reached for his own manhood, sliding his fist around the shaft, pumping himself to the same rhythm. He came fast, and I watched him grimace as his body spasmed in its release.

I knew it could be more, for both of us. Gritting my teeth, I pulled out entirely, then flipped his hips over, his torso following to lie chest down, and quickly entered him again. My whole being was centered in my cock, deep inside him, crashing into the swollen gland with every stroke. I held his hips still as I pounded into him, faster and faster as we spiraled higher until I couldn’t pull back again. I pushed at him, trying to go even deeper, and I felt him spasm again, weaker this time, but still tightening about me over and over.

He twisted his head around to look at me, his mouth open and gasping, silently calling for me to finish it. “Dunc…” was all escaped his lips, but it was enough to open the floodgates of my passion, and I poured myself into him, falling across his back before it was over. My hands reached to his head, stroking and petting the short, spiky hair before one last orgasm jolted through me from my toes to my fingers, and I collapsed entirely.

I don’t know how long we lay like that, but I’d slipped out of him, totally flaccid for the first time since the Quickening. As our breathing slowed, we both recovered, and Methos turned beneath me. Then we lay as we had before, his arms around me, my head on his shoulder. We were still there when the chambermaid knocked on the door only to be chased away with a shout.

W hen we finally showered again and dressed, it was afternoon. We left a large tip for the maid and left word at the desk to please make up the room as soon as possible. Then we went for a walk.

I’d spent time in Rome on occasion, and Methos had lived there for years, even centuries at a time, but we avoided all the historical sites, instead window shopping in the tourist dives, wandering from shop to shop full of tee shirts and knickknacks. I caught Methos’s eyes every so often, his gaze clear and steady to mine. In the sunlight his eyes were that greenish gold I remembered, nearly sparkling as I looked at him. I blushed, I think, and turned away, all too aware of the people around us. Did they know? Was it so obvious that we had just made love?

“Mac,” he said, returning to my surname. I missed the intimacy of Duncan, but we were in public. He looked around, and I matched his search. “It’s okay,” he continued. He touched my cheek and smiled. “Nobody here cares. We can…” The expression on his face changed as he looked into my eyes and he shrugged. “Whatever.”

I was driving him away already. I could feel his disappointment, but to be honest, I wasn’t that comfortable with our acting like lovers in public. It was still awkward, but I decided to get over it. I reached for his hand and interlaced my fingers with his. “I’m okay.” I closed my eyes for a moment, took a breath, then opened them again, a smile on my face. “Come on.” I pulled him by the hand back onto the street, and we kept walking.

This page last updated
21 August 2002

© 2000 Emma Keigh