This story contains explicit scenes of sex between consenting adult men and references to sex between a woman and an underage boy.  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.  Anyone or anything new, however, is mine (left-overs again).  Beta-read by jam-wired and Elaine.  Thank you, merci beaucoup, tapadh leat, gracias, danke, grazie, spazebo, arigato.  Any errors are mine alone.

After “Prodigal Son”

“W ell, that’s a dead soldier,” Macleod upended the empty bottle.  Not a drop escaped before he righted it, holding the dust-covered bottle skyward.  “To old friends,” he said quietly.

Richie nodded at the sentiment.

They watched the sun rise, the pearly colors slowly shifting to the familiar tones of Paris before they made their way back to the Left Bank and Macleod’s barge.  Once on board, they were both a bit unsteady after sharing Segur’s gift.

“Boy, that stuff was stronger than I thought — ”

“That stuff was three hundred-year-old cognac — ”  Macleod turned to correct the younger Immortal just as Richie caught his heel on the step and fell forward.

Instinctively Macleod caught the boy under the arms, keeping him from hitting the floor.  The momentum of the fall, though, pushed Richie against Macleod’s chest and he pulled Richie to stand once again.

As the haze of drunkenness cleared Richie raised his head to find his face only inches from Macleod’s.  He could smell the cognac on the Highlander’s breath, feel the warmth of his larger body.  He felt Macleod’s hands change from helpful support to something more like an embrace.

“You know, I missed you, tough guy,”  Macleod's voice was softer than before, pitched just above a whisper.  His hands moved from under Richie’s arms to his back and Richie felt a subtle weight shift that brought their bodies closer together.

“Yeah,” he responded.  “I missed you, too.”  The fall had brought Richie’s hands to Macleod’s chest and he returned the embrace with a tentative caress over the broad shoulders.  Their eyes locked, and a moment passed that seemed like an eternity to these two men who could live forever.  “Are you going to kiss me or just stand there with a hard-on?”

Richie saw the surprise cross the Highlander’s face.  He tilted his head, and the corner of his mouth drew up in a quick smile before he spoke.  “I — I guess I’ll kiss you.”  His voice was suddenly husky and his uncharacteristic stutter made Richie smile. Macleod brought his head even closer to the boy’s but stopped just before touching his lips.

Sensing Macleod’s question, his need for confirmation, Richie moved his body so the growing bulge in his own jeans brushed against Macleod’s.

The first touch was tentative – Macleod’s full, almost pouting lower lip just brushing against Richie’s mouth.  Suddenly it was captured between those thinner lips, pulling them both into a harder, more demanding kiss.  Richie’s arms snaked around Macleod’s neck and his fingers delved into the long dark hair.  He held Macleod’s head firmly enough to say he wanted to continue but not so hard Macleod couldn’t break contact if he wanted.  He hoped deep in his heart that Macleod wanted this too, at least a little if not as much as he did.

The hands that had been supporting him moved not to push away, Richie blessed, but to hold their bodies together as firmly as their mouths.  They seemed to melt against one another as the kiss born as only a light brush of their lips took on a life of its own and they opened to one another, each of them probing, exploring the other’s mouth with his tongue.  They held each other more tightly, unwilling to let the other go, unwilling to give up this timeless moment of discovery.

Richie felt the fires build in him as he tasted and explored Macleod’s mouth, a dream he’d nourished through the months he had traveled alone.  Once again in Paris he had feared Macleod wouldn’t take him back, wouldn’t share his desire.  As their tongues jousted he knew that fear had been unfounded.  He felt Macleod’s hands move on his back, one still holding their bodies together, the other skimming downward to rest at his hip, cupping his ass, then pulling their pelvises together, the denim-covered erections pressed tightly between them.

Suddenly he couldn’t get enough air just breathing through his nose and his involuntary gasp pulled him away from Macleod’s mouth.  But Macleod wouldn’t let him go; he pulled and sucked on Richie’s lower lip until the kiss resumed.  He could spend the rest of his life here, Richie thought, with nothing more than Macleod’s mouth and arms as his world.  He moved one hand away from Macleod’s head and snaked his arm through the Highlander’s to return the crushing embrace, to feel the strength under too many layers of clothing.

Finally, with a lingering caress across Richie’s lips, Macleod pulled away, his breath hot and gasping. “’s’at what you had in mind?”

Richie couldn’t speak; he couldn’t catch his breath to make words come out of his mouth.  He couldn’t even remember how to form words.  Their bodies still pressed together, Macleod made small, subtle movements with his hip, and Richie couldn’t think at all.  All he could do to answer was nod and try to pull Macleod’s mouth back to his own.

The Highlander complied, bending his head again but this time he kissed only the corner of Richie’s waiting mouth, then moved his kisses across the boy’s face to his ear, his throat, his shoulder.

Finally Richie remembered how to speak, but the only words that would come were whispered.  “Oh, Mac.  Oh, yeah.”

“Yeah?” Macleod echoed, a broad smile on his face.  Their eyes met once again, now dilated with arousal and heavy-lidded with passion.

Still breathless Richie nodded again.  “Yeah,” he sighed.  He reached for Macleod’s face, eager to continue.  Macleod turned his face to kiss the palm of Richie’s hand and held it to his face.  He gestured with his head to the opposite end of the barge where the oversized bed and soft pillows loomed above the wood floor of the living area.

“Really?”  Richie had dreamed about this, hoped for this, but never did he expect it.  An embrace, perhaps a kiss, was all his often-bruised ego had let him realistically consider.

The streets of Seacouver were rough, full of the predatory scum of humanity that seems to find its way to any city with a port.  By the time he was fourteen Richie had learned that his long legs and slim hips were a currency on the street for protection and favors.  He reasoned that as long as he didn’t take money he wasn’t a prostitute, so he stole to eat and whored to live, developing a detachment that insulated him from the fact that he was being used and abused by the men who picked him up and let him stay the night in a cheap hotel room or derelict car.

By sixteen, though, he had lost most of the little-boy look that had attracted much of his trade.  As his beard began to grow in and his voice changed he was suddenly just another street corner hustler.

One day, though, a different kind of trick called him over.  This was a woman of means, driving a car worth more than most of the houses he’d been fostered in.

“How old are you?” she asked when he bent down to look in the window.

“Eighteen,” he lied, knowing she knew he lied.

“Get in.”

She kept him for a month, living in a mansion outside the city.  He catered to her every whim, bringing her breakfast in bed, rubbing suntan oil on her back, making love to her day and night.  She constantly demanded new techniques, at first erotic, then more and more deviant.  When she insisted on watching while her hairdresser used him, he knew it he had to leave.  He realized he was a prisoner in the gated estate and he began to plot an escape.  He’d take some of her jewelry, he decided, as compensation for the month.  But before he was able to put his plan into effect she turned him out.

“My husband will be home tonight,” she’d said with no more emotion than “get me a cup of coffee.”  She stuffed a handful of bills into his pocket and told him to leave.

Twenty one-hundred-dollar bills was the most money he’d ever had his hands on, more than he’d ever seen outside a drug deal.  Richie grew up a lot during that month. He learned he liked living well, but that it was not always worth the price.  He bought a used motorcycle with some of the money and squirreled away the rest, determined to stop hustling for shelter.  Confident the paperwork of his disappearance had been neglected, he went back to the group home Social Services where had assigned him when he became too old for foster care.  He got back in school, and with the exception of an occasional petty larceny, played it safe.  As he approached eighteen, however, he realized his nest egg wouldn’t go far once the group home sent him packing.  A couple of big scores was what he needed, he thought, and planned to break into one of the posh antique shops in the Heights.

His life changed.

His first sight of the Highlander: bare-chested, long hair streaming, sword raised, did more than frighten him; the Highlander aroused him and from that moment he had dreamed of the powerful arms, the sensuous mouth, and the piercing eyes.

Living with Tessa and Macleod, and working with him after becoming Immortal was all he should hope for, he thought, not believing he deserved the love he knew  Macleod could give. Macleod’s banishment had cut deeper than the Highlander knew and the gut-wrenching decision to return unbidden came at the expense of nearly all of Richie’s newfound confidence and fragile self esteem.

“Really.”  Macleod locked eyes with the younger Immortal, a broad smile on his face.  “Really!” he reiterated.  Eyes still on Richie’s, his eyebrows came together in a playful scowl.  “Unless this is all you want…”

Richie grinned until he thought his face would break.  A warm wave of joy washed over him and through him and he felt his heart swell in his chest.  He took Macleod’s hand in his and started towards the bed.  “Just — I never thought you’d…”

Macleod followed Richie, leaping up the steps to keep their hands linked.  At the bedside he pulled Richie back into his arms.  “You shouldn’t be surprised,” he said, his voice still low.  “In four hundred years I’ve tried — done — a lot of things.”  He raised his free hand to Richie’s head and ran his fingers in the curly hair, over the crown of his head to the back.  With only gentle pressure from his hand, he drew Richie’s face to his.  Their lips met hungrily this time with no hesitation, each of them knowing what he wanted, sure of the other’s acceptance.  The kiss lingered, soft and gentle at first then deepening with their desire for one another.

Deftly Macleod slid the jacket and shirt from Richie’s shoulders reveling the fair, freckled skin beneath.  He ran the palms of his hands over the planes of the boy’s chest, fingertips tangling in the curly golden hair that covered him.

Richie leaned into the continuing kiss, Macleod’s caresses fueling his passions.  He fumbled at Macleod’s buttons, awkwardly pushing the clothing aside and away, then mirrored Macleod’s caresses across the Highlander’s own chest.

Finally breaking away, Macleod bent his head to Richie’s neck, covering it with small kisses, using this tongue and lips and teeth to excite the young man even more.

Richie gasped as Macleod’s mouth moved over his neck to his shoulder and twisted his body to bring the throbbing center of his being closer to its twin.  Then with their bodies pressed close together, each of them holding the other tightly, he bent his head as well, learning the taste and texture of Macleod’s shoulder and chest, feeling the strength of the corded muscles of his neck.

As one, they reached for each other’s belts.  With practiced ease, Macleod opened Richie’s trousers enough for them to drop to the floor, puddling around his feet, leaving him clad only in briefs which barely contained his still growing erection.

“Shhh,” he soothed Richie’s frustration when his belt remained obstinately fastened despite Richie’s attempts to loosen it.  “Sit down — take off your shoes.”  Macleod’s voice was tender and caring, his gentle instructions giving focus to Richie’s movements.  Quickly Macleod dropped his own pants and kicked off his boots.  He was about to skin off his briefs as well when Richie reached a hand to stop him.

“Let me — please?”  Richie’s blue eyes were wide, the pupils dilated with his desire.  His face was flushed – his lips swollen from their kisses.

“Sure,” the Highlander agreed.  “Anything you want.”  He removed his hands from the waistband of his briefs and let his arms drop to his sides.  “I’m all yours.”

A sly smile crossed Richie’s face.  “You sure you want to say that?  I mean — what if I — ”

Macleod’s fingers, laid gently across Richie’s lips, stopped his voice.  “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”  He stroked his fingertips across the boy’s lips, the touch like a soft kiss.  “I’ll never lie to you, Rich,” he promised.  “Not about this — not about anything.”

The younger Immortal leaned his cheek into Macleod’s hand.  He knew the strength in those hands, the power in the well-developed body.  But now he could only feel the gentleness of his caresses and see the tender expression on his face.  It was almost too much for him to bear: too much passion, too much trust, too much love.  The blue eyes held steady on the brown, and he nodded an acknowledgment as his hands went to the band of Macleod’s shorts.  He brushed his fingertips along the edge of the elastic, touching both skin and cotton.  A gentle tug on Macleod’s hips brought him a step closer to Richie, moving his feet between Richie’s, their knees touching.  Slipping his fingertips inside the elastic from behind the hips, Richie slowly slid his fingers towards the front.  With his eyes locked on Macleod’s he nearly missed the shudder that crossed the flat abdomen when he touched the twin hollows just in front of the hipbones.  But he couldn’t miss the sudden intake of breath that accompanied the shudder.

Richie grinned.  “Ticklish?”

“You wish.”  Macleod’s hands reached for Richie’s shoulders, the tips of his fingers barely resting on the fair, freckled skin.

Sliding the elastic away from the sensitive spots, Richie replaced his fingers with his lips.  He drew the tip of his tongue lightly across the area to be rewarded by another shudder and gasp.  He repeated his actions on the other side to the same effect, but this time the shudder was stronger, the gasp deeper.

Macleod gripped Richie’s shoulders, digging his fingers into the lean flesh. Richie chuckled, his mouth still busy tantalizing the not-ticklish spots.  Lifting his head away, he pulled the waistband, down, and off, finally releasing Macleod’s erection.  For a long moment he stared, memorizing everything about the organ, the way it rose from the dark curls where the distended veins wrapped around the firm shaft, how the intact foreskin retracted enough to reveal the dark slit, a drop of fluid already oozing.

“Something wrong?”

Richie heard Macleod’s voice as though it were from far away.  “No,” he whispered.  “Not a thing.”  He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and, with a silent prayer of thanks bent his head to kiss the drop away.  He laved the full length of the pulsing shaft, his tongue soft and warm, then circled the tip before taking Macleod’s manhood deep into his mouth and throat, pulling back with a constant suction, releasing only to circle the tip again, like licking the dripping ice cream from a cone.  Again and again he took him, shifting his hold from Macleod’s hips to his ass, his slim fingers kneading the tight muscles.

Macleod kept his grip on Richie’s shoulders, his hands holding the fair head to his groin.  He flung his head back, and his chest heaved as he breathed in unison with Richie’s movements.  He moved his hips, thrusting deeper into Richie’s throat, then pulling back until he was almost free of the soft warmth that surrounded him.

Richie moaned as more and more of Macleod filled him.  He felt the abdomen tighten and knew Macleod’s climax was near.  This was too fast, he thought.  He wasn’t ready.  “Mac,” he gasped, pulling his mouth away.  “Not yet…”  He breathed deeply, trying to still his own excitement.

Before he could catch his breath, Richie found himself pushed back onto the bed, Macleod’s hands pulling his briefs down and off before the Highlander climbed over him and joined their mouths once more.  More than their mouths meeting, melding, their bodies met, both erections pressed between them.

This time the kisses were soothing and Richie felt his heartbeat slow and his breathing calm.  He let Macleod continue the kisses, slow and soft, and the caresses that accompanied them were gentle and light, fingertips skimming across the surface. He could feel his body relax under Macleod’s touch and knew the Highlander was purposely slowing the pace, making this first time last as long as possible.

When he could breathe easily again he tried speaking, pulling his mouth away from Macleod’s.  “Mac,” he whispered, their lips still touching

“Mmmm?” was the only reply, though the caresses never stopped, the fire in their loins still burning.

“What do you want?”

Macleod finished that particular kiss, sucking Richie’s lower lip for a long heartbeat.  “I told you,” he managed to say, his voice thick and low.  “Anything you want.”

“What do you want?”  Richie asked again, his voice clearer. He levered himself up on his elbows and forced Macleod to stop the meanderings of his hands.

The Highlander smiled, and Richie grinned back.  “Do we really need to talk about this?”  Macleod strained up to kiss Richie again.  “Can’t we just go with it?”  They kissed again, the gentle, growing pressure of one mouth against the other pushing the younger man back onto the bed, his head slightly raised on the single pillow.

It was an unmeasured time later Richie heard another word mumbled against his mouth.  “You.”

“Huh?”  He had forgotten what questions he had asked.  He only knew he liked what Macleod was doing to him, that he wanted this to never end.

“I want you.”

Richie hummed deep in his throat.  “I’m all yours,” he repeated Macleod’s own words.  It was time.  He was ready.

With a deep breath he tightened his embrace around Macleod’s chest and rolled them both over.  He pushed up on his hands to look deep into the brown eyes.  He didn’t say another word, just nodded and dipped his head to take his kisses along the line of Macleod’s jaw and down his throat.  He felt the pulse at the base of the throat quicken under his lips, and he continued his journey across the muscled shoulders, meandering through the thick hair, over the hardened nipples, and finally down towards the still erect shaft.  He nuzzled the deep navel, probed it with the tip of his tongue before he once again paid homage to Macleod’s manhood.  With more control this time, he once again took Macleod into his mouth, at the same time cupping the heavy sac with their sensitive balls, squeezing gently, stroking with the tips of his fingers.   He circled the base of the throbbing organ with his hand, pumping in unison with his mouth, bringing a cry of pleasure from Macleod as the trembling began again in the flat abdomen.

Richie pulled away, circling the sensitive tip one last time before he stretched his body beside Macleod’s lying face down on the bed.  He turned his head, blue eyes meeting brown once more.  “Please?” he asked.  His breath was coming in gasps now, his desire threatening to overwhelm him.

Macleod pulled Richie’s face to his and kissed him soundly, then reached into the drawer for a small bottle of massage oil.  He moved to kneel between Richie’s thighs, spreading them apart.  He first applied the fragrant oil to himself, and then to Richie, then grasped Richie’s hips with both hands.  “Wait,” he said, and moved away , sitting back on his heels.  “I want to see you.  Turn over.”

Richie obediently flipped onto his back and raised his knees up to untangle himself from Macleod, who still knelt at the foot of the bed.  Lifting Richie’s legs to his shoulders Macleod moved forward, bringing his very ready erection to the barely prepared opening.  He used his fingers, gently at first with more oil, then more forcefully as Richie responded, and then with one continuous thrust he sank himself into the welcoming sheath.

Richie cried out and reached for his lover as he felt himself filled, possessed, beloved.  Their hands grasped each other’s arms and with a great heave Macleod lifted Richie’s torso from the bed and held him on his lap, slipping his arms through so the long legs crossed behind Macleod’s back, holding them even closer together.

Richie’s own erection still begged for attention, and Macleod slid one hand between them. He stroked and pumped at the throbbing organ, his fingertips playing gently over the sensitive, exposed tip.  He moved his hips and his hand in unison, rising into Richie at the same instant as he pulled and pumped, ringing the firm shaft with his strong fingers.  He held Richie’s body close to his own and bent his head to nuzzle and kiss the shoulder closest to his mouth.

Sex on the streets had never been like this for Richie.  His other experiences with men had never been with anyone who had cared how he had felt or whether or not he was hurt, or happy, or even satisfied.  Macleod was gentle but still forceful, tender but still demanding.  His hands caressed, bringing Richie to a peak of ecstasy he’d never imagined possible.  The sweet penetration of his body, and the constant caresses and kisses kept him breathless, his heart pounding ever faster.  He could no longer contain himself, and as he felt himself ready to climax he cried out to his friend, his lover, his universe.  Wordless, primal sounds came from the boy’s mouth, and he arched even closer to Macleod’s very being, pushing himself farther down onto Macleod’s lap, trying to impale himself even more, trying to merge more totally with the Highlander, trying to become one being, one body, one heart.

No longer could he control his responses or his actions.  As the pressure in his testicles built immeasurably, to finally explode between the two men, he tightened around Macleod’s invasion, the muscles spasming over and over, and before he had spent himself, the Highlander poured his essence into the hot, tight channel.  The spasms continued, milking the last drop from Macleod’s body.

Spent and satisfied, but not sated, they fell to the bed a tangle of arms and legs, sticky and sweat-slicked.  Easing himself from Richie’s body, Macleod never gave up an inch of intimacy, keeping their bodies close, his strong arms pulling Richie’s still heaving chest against his own, wrapping his legs over and around the younger man’s hips.  A recurring shudder passed through Richie’s loins, each a tiny orgasm without ejaculation, each one a message to Macleod of the boy’s lingering passion.  They settled together, Richie’s head on Macleod’s shoulder, both of their chests still heaving as they breathed almost in unison.

When he could breathe without gasping, Richie nuzzled into the hollow of Macleod’s throat.  He kissed the throbbing pulse beneath skin still damp and ran his tongue along the long tendon, tasting the salt of Macleod’s sweat.  Richie continued his kisses, small, soft caresses with his lips to the strong jaw, scratchy with stubble, then to Macleod’s waiting mouth.  Their kiss was deep and slow, the tenderness between them mirrored by the gentle caresses of their hands and even their feet as they touched each other in every place they could reach, their hands skimming over the skin, fingers tangling and untangling in each other’s hair.  Once again Richie’s fingertips wandered over the not-ticklish spot on Macleod’s flank, but this time, instead of a subtle shudder, the Highlander bucked in response, another erection beginning.  Suddenly Macleod thrust his tongue into Richie’s mouth, the kiss becoming more demanding, more powerful.

“Hey, Mac,” Richie said, pulling away.  “Not yet, okay?”  He stroked Macleod’s cheek to ease the separation. “Later,” he promised.

Macleod turned his head to pull the fingers into his mouth, holding the fleshy part of Richie’s fingers between his teeth then sucking the knuckle before kissing the younger man’s hand.

“Mmmmm,” Richie hummed, a tingle beginning again in his groin, too.  “Mac,” he whispered, his voice full of contentment.

“Yeah?”

“What took you so long?”  He squirmed around and levered himself up on his elbow to look down into the brown eyes.  “I mean,” he went on.  “Why didn’t this happen before?”

“I was with Tessa, and you were too young.”  He closed his eyes for moment as Richie pushed a lock of dark hair away from his face.  “Then you were my student.” He reached to pull Richie’s head toward his, a kiss waiting.  “You’re not my student anymore.”

“What a graduation present.”  Richie pulled back from the kiss before it could initiate anything more.  “Do I still have to sleep on the couch?”

Macleod smiled at the memory of his own words.  “I kinda thought you’d want to sleep here — now.”  Richie lay his head on Macleod’s shoulder, nestling into the curve of his neck, a contented sigh escaping his lips.  Macleod turned his head and gently kissed the boy’s forehead and whispered, “Welcome home.”
 

This page last updated
21 August 2002

© 2000 Emma Keigh