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).  This has not been Beta-read.  You have been warned.  Inspired by the song by Dan Hill; lyrics follow.  Any errors are mine alone.

Paris: 18 May 1994.

T o sleep soundly in another’s presence, especially among us Immortals, is the ultimate trust.  Propped up on one elbow, I look at the man sleeping next to me, his golden-red hair catching a stray beam of street light, and I smile.  He’s young, so much younger than I am, and in sleep he looks even younger, the relaxed features taking on an adolescent cast that he’ll never outgrow.  In some ways I feel sorry for him, forced into Immortality so young, never having the chance to grow into a man.  He’ll be a boy to the world forever, his face and body only hinting at the potential a mugger’s bullet and Immortality stole from him.

First he was my ersatz son, then my student, and now my lover and friend.  I welcomed him into my bed so soon after we passed out of the teacher-student part of our relationship, I wonder if it was too soon.  There should have been more time, I think, for us to be friends.  For him to feel more like my equal. Because though he is so much younger, in the rules of the Game we are equals.  No one of us has advantage over another; we must all fight one on one with no interference.  I can no longer fight his battles, nor he mine.

But it wasn’t only my idea, our sleeping together.  He wanted it as much as I did, and though we had both had more than a little to drink, I seem to remember it was he who began it all.

“Are you going to kiss me or just stand there with a hard-on?”

That was three days ago.  And in those three days, we haven’t been out of each other’s sight for more than the time it takes to take a leak.  There have been other times that we’ve spent this long or more together, even sharing a bed that week at the cabin, but never with the intensity of these last three days.

Everything between us is new.  We’ve played chess a hundred times since he broke into the antique store; but yesterday’s game was different.  The energy between us when his hand brushed against mine as he reached for his bishop, the distraction we each slipped into between moves was all a part of this newness.  At one point I even forgot whose move it was.

Now I want to protect him even more.  Before — he was my student, and though I found him attractive, and cared about him very much, that’s all it was.  Now — now I know I couldn’t take his leaving, or god forbid, his death.  I don’t fear my own death, but now I cringe at the thought of being alone again.  Maybe it’s too soon after Tessa’s death for me to get involved.  Maybe it’s too soon since his first quickening.  Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Too many maybes.  I like certainties in my life.  I want things to be black or white, good or bad, yes or no.  Yet I know the world is full of grays, from charcoal to silver, with every shade in between.

He stretches out his legs and rolls half-way over, pulling the bedding with him, clutching the sheet to his chin.  I pull the sheet back to cover myself, trying not to wake him up in this hour so far before dawn, but he rolls back over and opens his eyes.  I can tell he’s not quite awake.  “Shhhhh.  Go back to sleep.”

“Mmmmmmm,” he hums, and reaches a hand towards me.  He touches my face and smiles.  “I thought you’d gone.  I was cold.”

I pull him into my arms and kiss his head, the curls tickling my nose.  “I’m here,” I whisper.

He snuggles deeper into my embrace and is sound asleep in a heartbeat.  I don’t deserve such trust.  I could take his head while he sleeps, but here he is, oblivious to the danger.  I’ve slept with other Immortals, but even Amanda doesn’t sleep this soundly when she’s with me.

Is it his youth?  He had a hard time trusting us at first, and Tessa and I both had to continually remind him he was welcome in our home.  Is it some remaining traces of father/son-ness between us?  Does he still see me as his teacher?  Sometimes when we touch, the honesty in his face is too much to bear, and I have to close my eyes and hide from his gaze.  I hold him — my friend, my lover — and I want to hold him like this forever.

Tears sting my eyes.  Are they tears of joy?  Or of fear?  I’m happy for the first time in months, but I’m so afraid of the possibilities.  He could leave me.  He could die.

It’s still hours before daylight, and I must sleep too.  It’s hard for me let go like he does and let sleep take me over.  My awareness of his presence keeps me from the same depth of sleep he’s reached.  But I’ll sleep well enough, maybe even a little better for the comfort of his warm body, and the memories of making love together.

I shift a little, finding a more comfortable position, holding him close until I’ve settled.  I pull the sheet and blanket over both of us, for even in May it can get chilly on the river, especially just before dawn.  I close my eyes and take one more deep breath to settle my mind, and his scent, masculine and musky, seems to fill me, and then I know.

I know why I’m so afraid to lose him, why I wonder at his trust.  I know why I lose myself in his eyes, and why his touch brings such exhilaration.

It’s love.

This page last updated  
21 August 2002

© 2000 Emma Keigh
 

SOMETIMES WHEN WE TOUCH
Words by Dan Hill; music by Barry Mann

You ask me if I love you, and I choke on my reply,
I’d rather hurt you honestly than mislead you with a lie.
And who am I to judge you on what you say or do?
I’m only just beginning to see the real you.
[Chorus]
And sometimes when we touch, the honesty’s too much.
And I have to close my eyes and hide.
I wanna hold you till I die, till we both break down and cry.
I wanna hold you till the fear in me subsides.

Romance and all its strategy leaves me battling with my pride.
But through the insecurity some tenderness survives.
I’m just another writer still strapped within my truths;
A hesitant prize-fighter still trapped within my youth.
[Chorus]
At times I’d like to break you and drive you to your knees.
At times I’d like to break through and hold you endlessly.

At times I understand you, and I know how hard you’ve tried.
I’ve watched while love commands you, and I’ve watched love pass you by.
At times I think we’re drifters, still searching for a friend,
A brother or a sister. But then the passion flares again.
[Chorus]

© 1977 McCauley Music Ltd. & ATV Music Corp. & Mann and Weil Songs, Inc.