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. Anyone or anything new, however, is mine (left-overs again). This is an alternate ending to “A Day to Remember .” Written for Lore, as reward for posting her first story. Beta-read by Nikki Memmott. Thank you, merci beaucoup, tapadh leat, gracias, danke, grazie, spazebo, arigato. Any errors are mine alone. Author’s notes follow.

No connection to the store of the same name.

Southern California: 20 September 1997.

I t was the equinox, one of the two days each year that the day and night were of equal length. For most of Methos’s extraordinary lifetime, the equinox was a night of ritual and celebration. Almost every people he’d ever lived with had found some way to mark and celebrate this night. It was a special, even magical, time until modern disbelief made it a common, ordinary night.

The other houses on the quiet street were dark by the time they drove back to the small college town in the foothills, leaving the SUV in the driveway. The neighborhood had been one of a thousand subdivisions built in Southern California in the sixties and seventies, the houses nearly identical when first built, but now each with its own character and appearance. Methos had installed a keyless lock on the front door, and he quickly touched the numbers for the combination that let them into the dark living room. Richie walked past him towards the kitchen, turning on lights as he went.

“Beer?” the boy asked, his head half-way into the refrigerator.

“No,” Methos answered.

“No? I’ve never heard you turn down a beer, Old Timer.”

“There’s a first time for everything, kid.” He stood close behind Richie, still bending over to see into the fridge, and when the youngster stood up and turned he found himself wrapped in strong arms, a hungry kiss pressed against his lips. Methos felt the tension flow out of his lover as the kiss went on, urgent and demanding at first, then soft and sensual. When they drew apart it was only to kiss again and again, their hands grasping at one another, pulling shirttails from pants, fingering open buttons in a headlong rush to touch and be touched by the other. When finally they embraced skin to skin, their chests welded together with perspiration, their hands holding and stroking each other’s back, Methos tried to force words from his passion-blocked throat.

“Your birthday’s not over, yet, Richie. I’ve another gift for you.”

Pulling his head away from Methos’s neck, Richie grinned. “Another present? Where? What is it?”

The dark head inclined toward the bedroom, and the older man kicked shut the refrigerator door. “In there.”

He only just managed to catch Richie’s hand as he followed the birthday boy back into the living room. “In here?”

“No.” Methos gestured again with his head. “There.”

“Oh, there.” Richie’s grin broadened, and he quickly led the way to the bedroom. He looked around the room, seeing the hastily made bed, everything as they had left it that morning. “Where?”

“Right here, love.” Methos stood with his hands away from his body, palms out in offering. “Anything you want.”

“Anything?” Richie’s voice caught in his throat, but he forced the word out.

A nod, then a smirk. “Yep.” His eyes sparkled as he considered the wealth of possibilities the remainder of the evening would bring.

The young man took the offered hands in his own, his sapphire gaze locked with the hazel. They looked into each other’s eyes for a seconds-long eternity, then Richie spoke in a whisper. “Make love to me, Old Timer.” He pulled the older man towards him until they stood barely a breath apart. “All I want is you.”

There was such honesty in Richie’s voice Methos nearly cried. He felt tears well up in eyes and he quickly blinked them away.

“Oh, yes, love,” the world’s oldest man said, softly stroking the boy’s check with the back of this fingers, then running the pad of his thumb across the rosy lips. He leaned in to kiss the soft mouth, a gentle, chaste kiss that promised more. “Go drink your beer. There a couple of things I want to get ready.” He kissed the boy once more, then with a sigh, tore himself away.

He’d intended a romantic finish to the day, and had hidden scented candles at the back of the closet. Quickly he placed them around the bed and in the bathroom, lighting the thick pillars as he went. He started water running in the roman-style tub, adding a few drops of aromatic oil, and set out fresh towels. Dropping a CD into the stereo, he set it for continuous play, the volume low. On the bedside table he placed both massage oil and lube, finishing just as Richie walked back into the room.

Without a word Methos moved to his lover, and greeted him with another kiss. It was a soft, gentle kiss, without the fire he felt in his loins. He pulled back, just far enough so their lips wouldn’t brush as he spoke. “You trust me?” he asked, his voice low and even.

“S-sure.” Richie looked around the room at the candles bunched at either side of the bed and on the dresser in front of the mirror, and smiled. “This is nice.”

The fragrance of the candles had begun to fill the room and Methos felt his body respond to both their aroma and to Richie. “Don’t do anything.” He slipped Richie’s shirt over his shoulders and off. “Let me do it all.” His strong fingers unbuckled Richie’s belt, unfastened the waist band, and deftly lowered the zipper over the growing bulge beneath the denim. “Okay?”

Richie nodded. His breathing was fast, his nostrils expanding with each inhalation.

Dropping to one knee, Methos lifted a sneaker-shod foot onto his thigh, untied the laces and pulled off the shoe and sock, then did the same to the other foot. He took his time, though part of him wanted to rush, to move in a mad frenzy, to rip the clothes from his lover and ravish him there on the floor. But this had to be special, so he drew on skills learned millennia before, to calm himself in spite of his own desires. He lowered his leg so he knelt, then removed the remainder of Richie’s clothes to reveal the boy’s lean body, the fair skin burnished by reddish-gold hair. The sight of his lover’s body battered his resolve and Methos felt the familiar stirring of arousal in his loins. He sat back on his heels and breathed deeply, and in a moment he felt his pounding heart slow to a more normal rate. He stood and wordlessly guided Richie into the bathroom.

“A bath?”

“Yes, a bath.” Methos turned off the taps and gestured for the youngster to get in the tub. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you drown.” The hot, scented water rose around Richie’s body as he stepped into the sunken, tiled tub and sat. Almost immediately Methos saw the remaining tension leave his face, his body. “Just relax.”

Still fully dressed, Methos stepped back from the tub. He could feel Richie’s eyes on him, so he made a show of taking off his shoes, his shirt, his jeans. He slid his socks off, then stood in only his shorts.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Richie said, his voice suddenly hoarse. He leaned back in the tub, the water lapping at his chest. His erection broke the surface of the water as well, bobbing in and out of the water with each breath.

“I thought you might like to do the honors.” Methos’s eyes were riveted on the familiar golden body, the wet skin glowing in the candlelight

“I like to watch, too. Sometimes.”

This was something new. Methos had suspected a voyeuristic streak in the boy, but neither of them had ever spoken of it. The eldest Immortal hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts and slowly pushed the elastic band lower on his hips, stopping just as the band touched the base of his cock. He turned around, but kept his eyes on his audience of one as he dragged the stretchy band over his bum, revealing his ass, then turned back to lower the garment bit by bit. Richie’s eyes were wide, the blue almost entirely obliterated by the black, dilated pupils. His nostrils flared with each breath, and Methos knew he was struggling with control. The rampant erection now stood head above the surface of the water, and as Methos continued the strip tease the youngster unconsciously stroked himself.

Once past the slim hips, the now-swelling cock freed, the shorts fell to the floor around Methos’s feet. He posed for a moment, then stepped out and away from the clothes, back to the side of the tub. Sinking to his knees he leaned in to kiss his lover, his fingers lightly grasping either side of Richie’s face.

Methos touched his lips to Richie’s forehead, his eyelids, his temples, everywhere on the boy’s face before again claiming the moist lips as his own. He pulled back as Richie strained up to continue the kiss. His fingers brushed the hungry mouth, and he shushed away the coming complaint.

Using a real sponge and fine, French-milled soap, Methos washed, then rinsed every inch of Richie’s body. By the time he finished, Richie had stretched his head back to lean it on the rim of the tub, and his arms floated in the water, all tension and stress gone from the younger man’s body. Only the smile on his face and the occasional throaty moan indicated he was still awake.

Methos swung his legs over the edge to sit with his feet in the warm water, and he quickly washed himself before opening the drain.

“Richie, love,” Methos said. “Stand up.” He put a hand under Richie’s elbow to help him rise, guided him to step out of the tub and to sit in a towel-draped chair. Using the softest towel he could find, Methos patted the moisture away from the muscled shoulders, the chiseled chest, the lean thighs.

“I could get used to this, Old Timer.” Richie reached to run his fingers into the dark hair as his lover dried his legs and feet. “You do that very well.”

“I was well-trained,” Methos said, sitting back on his heels. “And my life depended on being good at what I did.” The green eyes locked with the blue, then slowly the dark-lashed lids lowered. He breathed deeply to banish the memories, and concentrated on the present. Sinuously, in a single motion, he rose to his feet and drew Richie to stand. The bath had relaxed Richie so he was no longer aroused, but Methos knew that would soon change. He was careful to keep their bodies apart as he once again kissed Richie’s lips, then wrapped the towel around the slim hips.

“Okay, so far?” He didn’t wait for a reply, but with a hand on his back, Methos directed Richie back to the bedroom, to the side of their bed. He pulled the bed open and took the damp towel away. “Get comfortable, and I’ll be right back.” He backed away, watching as Richie propped up the pillows and sat against the headboard. Quickly he hung the towel to dry and turned out the light. He carried the still-lit candles into the bedroom, adding them to the others. With no other light in the room, the flickering candle flames cast strange, multiple shadows on the walls, their light reflected in the mirror over the dresser, gilding the two fair-skinned men with a patina of gold.

He could feel Richie’s eyes on him as he moved around the room, then knelt at the side of the bed. “Is there anything else you want?” His arms ached to grab the boy, but his plan called for a romantic, sensuous night to finish the celebration of Richie’s birthday.

Still relaxed from the bath, lulled by the soft music and candlelight, Richie smiled lazily, and repeated what he’d said earlier. “All I want is you, Old Timer.” He pushed himself to the center of the bed making room for Methos to sit next to him. “Make love to me.” It was a demand and a request, an order and a plea, and Methos knew he was powerless to deny his young lover any pleasure.

Soft caresses and light kisses covered the boy’s grinning face. Long fingers skimmed over burnished skin, their light touch tantalizing, teasing, and tickling. He drew long strokes down the sensitive skin on the inside of each arm, while he nibbled and nuzzled his way along the long tendon that ran from ear to sternum, then gently laving the deep notch at the base of Richie’s throat. He felt the vibrations as Richie moaned deeply, and he could feel the boy’s breath quicken. With his hands and mouth, Methos set to covering every inch of his lover’s eternally young body, combing his fingers through the pelt of red-gold hair that covered his chest, flicking at the flat nipples as he came across them, pinching and tugging at them as they rose into hardened buds. He followed with his mouth, licking, sucking, and nibbling wherever his hands roamed.

He made his way slowly down to the flat abdomen, but skirted around the rising column of flesh. He watched as it grew in length and girth before his eyes, the crown darkening with every beat of Richie’s heart. His own breath caught in his throat as he watched a glistening drop gather at the tip. Well trained, indeed, he thought. Skills once used to please the owner of his body now pleasured the owner of his heart.

Richie’s long legs were Methos’s next venue for the continuous stimulation, and he traced the long muscles with the tips of both his fingers and tongue. Richie lay still through it all, his ragged breathing and straining erection the only signs of his arousal. But when Methos ran his tongue like a finger along the sole of his foot, Richie arched up from the pillows, a wordless cry announcing his pleasure.

“Oh, god, Methos,” he cried. He tried to sit up and reach for Methos, but he fell back onto the pillows, still breathing heavily.

“Hmmmm,” was all Methos said, and continued to lavish his attentions on the sensitive feet. He noticed the boy’s hands clenching the sheet, and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Richie’s head twisted back and forth, and his moans, at first low and quiet, grew louder until each breath was audible. His erection bobbed with each movement of his chest, and as Methos watched, another bead of pearly fluid collected at the darkened tip and slid slowly down the pulsing shaft.

“You’re killing me, man.” Husky and low, Richie’s voice was almost unrecognizable, but still music to the ancient ears.

“Shall I stop?” he teased, and sat up and away.

Richie’s eyes went wide, the black of the pupils nearly obscuring the blue. “Oh, no. God, don’t stop.”

“Whatever you say.” The old man’s control was strained , and he needed several slow, deep breaths before he could go on. He ran his hands lightly up the long legs, easing them apart. His fingertips and nails traced along the sensitive inner surface of Richie’s thighs until they just teased at the pendulous sack that hung between them. His mouth followed his hands, and he first blew a warm breath over the furred pouch. Methos smiled as he watched the boy’s body react. Gently he licked the soft skin with the softened flat of his tongue, then pulled each of the enclosed orbs into his mouth, one and then the other, his hands holding Richie’s hips still as his upper body writhed with the increased stimulation.

Releasing his delicious mouthful, Methos looked again to his young lover’s face. Highly flushed, Richie’s eyes were nearly closed, his mouth open to breathe. The flush extended down his chest, the skin reddening beneath the golden hair. He’s so beautiful, the old man thought. And he’s mine. He smiled as the shudder of desire washed through his own body, and he finally released the guards he’d put on himself. He felt his own face and chest flush as his manhood came to attention.

He spent a long moment looking at the straining, leaking erection before him. A large, distended vein ran up the underside, with smaller blue veins branching off and wrapping around the turgid pillar. “Know what I’m gonna do now?” Methos asked, his voice slurred by desire. He knew Richie wasn’t capable at this point of answering, so he went on. “I’m gonna give you the blow job of your life.” He traced the large vein from base to tip with his pointed tongue. He circled the dark crown as if it were an ice cream cone, spiraling from the rim to the center with its dark slit and drop after pearly drop. He kissed the tip, sipping away the salty fluid, and spiraled his tongue back to the rim, around and under it, then back down the shaft.

He wanted to ask Richie how he liked that, how it made him feel, but he couldn’t force words from his mouth. Driven on by the pent up and finally released wanting and needing, he could only continue to lick and suck on the throbbing organ before him.

He felt the tremors in Richie’s belly, as the boy neared the limits of control. That was the signal to move on. Taking a deep breath, and swallowing to open his throat, Methos covered the leaking crown with his mouth, sliding down the pulsing shaft as he took the entire length into his mouth and throat. One hand ringed the base and the other continued to fondle the heavy balls. He felt them pull up and knew he had brought Richie close to release. A little pressure at the root of the large vein would prolong the ecstasy, he knew, and his thumb applied just the right amount of pressure, not so much to be painful, but enough.

Slowly, little by little, he pulled back, releasing the straining shaft a finger-width at a time, all the while keeping a strong suction on the velvety head, his tongue moving across the sensitive surface, his lips sealed around the thick column of flesh. Again and again he took the boy into himself, keeping him from climaxing, until he felt long fingers tunneling in his hair, and heard Richie’s frenzied voice calling.

“Methos — oh, Methos — You gotta let me come. Oh, god, I’m dying. Methos, please, let me….”

Releasing the pressure of his thumb opened the dam, and with another shout of his lover’s name Richie poured his essence deep into Methos’s throat, his hips bucking with each spasm, until he was finally empty. Reluctantly, Methos gave up his prize as it softened within his mouth, and gently kissed the last drop away before he moved to lie along Richie’s side, their mouths instantly meeting in a deep, possessive kiss. Soft moans of satisfaction sounded deep in Richie’s throat, and they grew louder as Methos ground his steel-hard member against him.

“Oh, man,” Richie whispered, still breathless. “That was awesome.” His hands skimmed over Methos’s sweat-slicked back, his flanks, his hips, then one slid between them to the caress and stroke the ancient one’s manhood while the other cupped the rounded ass, holding them tightly together.

A sigh escaped Methos’s lips as he was pressed harder against his lover, the light, feather touches on his cock sending wave after wave of tingling energy to this toes, his fingertips, his brain. “’at’s good,” he murmured, so close to losing himself in his lover’s embrace.

“Your turn, Old Timer,” was whispered in his ear, and the gentle tug on his earlobe sent him perilously close to losing control. He pulled himself back from the edge, breathed deeply and forced aside his urge to let go.

“What do you want?” the oldest immortal asked again.

“I want you,” Richie repeated, and kissed his ear again, the tip of his tongue tracing the curve of the upper shell. “Inside me,” he whispered. “Now.”

The words sent a jolt of desire deep into Methos’s center, and his heart seemed to swell in his chest. His young lover had never offered himself before, and gods, how Methos wanted him. He had dreamed of making love to Richie for years; of thrusting himself into that perfect ass; of the boy’s responding as he poured his essence deep inside. He knew exactly how he would prepare the boy, how he would make it incredible for both of them.

Stroking the boy’s face with the backs of his fingers, he smiled into the intense blue eyes. “I’ve wanted you so long,” he admitted.

Richie held his gaze for a long moment before speaking. “Then take me, Old Man.”

Methos stretched an arm to the bedside table where he’d left a bottle of massage oil, and laid the bottle on the bed within reach. He rolled back to lie again next to Richie, fitting his long body snugly to every angle and curve of the youth’s form. He ran the flat of his hand over Richie’s chest, down his flanks and back, then cupped the far side of his neck in the palm. The long fingers extended into the strawberry blond hair, still too short at the neckline to curl.

“You’ll have to tell me what to do,” the boy admitted. “I’ve never done this part before.”

“Just relax, Richie,” he said. “I promise you’ll enjoy this.” He pulled Richie’s mouth to his and they kissed again, their tongues dueling at first, then settling into a long, slow exchange. While they kissed, Methos’s hands directed Richie’s body to turn, moving him to lie on his side with Methos behind him. Placing a firm pillow in front of Richie, Methos pulled the boy’s upper leg up, bending the knee to rest on the pillow. Keeping constant contact with the lithe, firm flesh, Methos slid himself into position.

With feather-light caresses, he traced a random pattern over Richie’s hip, little by little moving onto the round, flawless ass. He thought a blessing in old Persian for whoever invented the flip-top cap as he thumbed open the bottle of oil, dispensed a few drops into his hand, then capped the bottle again. It was just enough oil to slicken the ivory skin, reducing the friction, but heightening the sensations as Methos continued the random, teasing caresses over the boy’s buttocks. A little at a time, he added more and more oil, and soon his meanderings spread the lubricant along the crease between the globes, skimming past the puckered opening.

The sigh that escaped Richie’s lips when his most secret spot was first touched told Methos to take another step, and he returned his oil-slicked fingers to the circle of darker skin, increasing the pressure with each circuit. Richie pulled his knee up closer to his chest, and pushed his hips back, seeking even more intimate contact. “Oh, yes,” he gasped, his breathing fast and swallow.

A single digit found its way through the muscled ring, sliding into the hot, tight channel. A quick brush against the prostate brought a surprised shout of pleasure. Methos smiled and repeated the touch, then slid a second finger beside the first. He twisted his hand, easing the probe in and out, each time brushing the very sensitive gland. Richie’s moans were nearly constant, and Methos used a third finger to stretch the tight opening even further.

“Me-Methos,” he gasped, turning his head to look over his shoulder. “Oh, yeah.”

“Shhhhhh, love,” Methos crooned. “This is only my hand.” And with that he slid his fingers from the boy’s body and quickly oiled his erect and weeping cock. Before going on, he stretched up and softly kissed the luscious mouth, just touching the rosy lips with the tip of his tongue as he pulled back. “Ready?”

The long-lashed lids closed briefly over the sapphire eyes, and the young Immortal nodded. “Uh-huh.”

Methos dropped a kiss on the damp skin of Richie’s back, then held his hips. They were both ready. It was time. With a slow, steady pressure Methos broached the youngster’s last virginity. He held a moment, the swollen head of his penis just inside the rings of muscle, and felt the boy’s body adapt to the welcome intruder. Then one slow, gentle slide until the entire length of his manhood throbbed deep inside his lover.

“Good,” Richie gasped. “’at’s so good.”

Methos hummed his pleasure and concentrated on a smooth pull-back, then a faster, harder thrust, the steel-hard cock filling Richie, each touch to his prostate making him shudder, each spasm bringing Methos closer to his own edge. The boy was so hot, so tight, he almost lost himself in the unbridled lust that threatened to overwhelm him. Each thrust became faster and harder, each back stroke shorter, until the thrusts ground pubis into anus, the two bodies joined and welded with oil and sweat.

So close was his climax, Methos could nearly reach out and grab it, he continued his rhythm as he reached under Richie’s leg to grasp the hardened, neglected organ. His hand was still slick with oil, and it slid up the turgid shaft to the dark crown. He grazed his palm over the velvet head, then down again, repeating the movement over and over, each time moving faster than before, keeping time with the ancient rhythm of their joining.

Richie’s orgasm began in his toes and fingers, the spasm traveling up the long legs and down the strong arms to meet in the very center of his being, the power swirling around inside him before pumping the boy’s essence into the waiting hand. Before the spasms abated, Methos found his own release, and shot stream after stream deep inside the golden-haired, ivory body.

Shudders took over both men as the adrenalin dissipated and their breathing and heartbeats returned to normal. With a sad sigh Methos slipped his flagging cock from the paradise he’d found, then folded Richie into this arms. He kissed the boy’s temple, his cheek, his eyelids, and his nose before softly pressing against the warm, succulent lips. It was a gentle, languorous kiss, both of them without energy to demand or to seek.

It was a timeless time later, as they lay in each other’s arms, Richie’s face tucked into the perfect curve of Methos’s neck and shoulder, the old one’s arms and legs wrapped around protectively and possessively. “I didn’t know it would be so won’erful.”

“Glad you liked it, kid.” Methos kissed the damp, curling hair. “Sleep,” he suggested, his own eyes closing. There would be no dreams for him that night, he realized. His dreams had already come true.

This page last updated
22 August 2002

© 2000 Emma Keigh