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). 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.

Foothills, California: 3 February 1998

W hen I finally climbed into bed, Richie had already turned off his lamp and snuggled down into the covers. I knew something was bugging him, since he usually waited for me to come to bed before he tried to fall asleep. I touched his shoulder gently, not trying to wake him up, but just to see if he was asleep. He wasn’t. He turned over, and I kissed him, but he pulled back and started to turn away.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. There were times when I knew he needed to be left alone, and those when I knew he needed to be prodded. This was the latter. I slid one arm under his head and shoved my shoulder under his. He responded by turning back and nestling his head in the hollow of my shoulder, just as I intended. It was his little boy needs security posture, and I was more then happy to indulge him. I loved the feel of his hair against my neck, the warmth of his breath on my chest. I brushed a kiss across his curls. “It’s about this Valentine’s Day thing, isn’t it?”

I was in the middle of preparing a quiz for the Ancient Life survey course when the doorbell rang. I wondered who it could be at that time of night, after supper but still early. We’d already ordered our Girl Scout cookies, and the Cub Scout popcorn and High School Band Booster’s chocolate bars had been bought and paid for months ago. Since Richie was washing dishes, I knew he would answer the bell, so I kept working.

“Hey, Professor.” Richie stuck his head in my study.

I finished the last question and turned around. “What’s up, Rich?” I asked.

“One of your students is here to see you. His friend is with him.”

It was Brian Emerson, a freshman in one of my language classes. We’d run into him when I took Richie to Disneyland. His friend , as Richie put it, was a grad student I’d seen around campus but didn’t know.

“Doctor Pierson, this is Greg Meyers,” Brian introduced his companion. He didn’t have to tell me they were lovers; the way Greg hovered over Brian was explanation enough.

“Call me Adam ,” I said, grasping Greg’s hand. He had a firm handshake, but his palm was clammy. I wondered what he was nervous about. “We’re not in class here.” Our two guests seated themselves on one end of the couch, so I sat in the chair facing them, and Richie perched on its arm. We’d finally bought the living room furniture at Christmas time, and this was the first time we’d had any guests.

I didn’t feel threatened by the students, but for some reason I put my arm around Richie’s waist, just as he casually rested his hand on my far shoulder. Marking my property? Asserting my dominance, here in my own home? If I bothered to analyze it, I could probably come up with a long list of pop-psychological explanations. It was probably that I wanted both of them to know Richie was mine . Then I realized Richie was sending them the same message about me.

“Profes -- I mean, Adam,” Brian began. “Greg and I and some of the other guys....”

“He means the GLSA,” Greg interjected. “The Gay and Lesbian Student Association.”

I felt Richie stiffen beside me. He was getting better at handling the labels, and this one wasn’t as bad as some. I rubbed his back and he relaxed again.

“Yeah,” Brian went on. “The GLSA wanted us to ask if you and David were going to attend the Valentine’s Day Dance. I mean, we know you went to the faculty Christmas dinner together, and we thought....” His voice trailed off, and he looked at his partner for help.

Greg finished for him, “We thought if you’d go to the dance, more of us might go, too. Usually it’s just the straight couples -- you know.”

“You want us to break the ice for you.” I didn’t mean to be so blunt, but I was distracted by the tension I felt from Richie. Every muscle in his back had stiffened, and the tendons in his neck nearly quivered. “I don’t know...”

“We heard about the faculty Christmas dinner. The way you were just -- there. Did you really dance together?” Greg asked. “That must have shocked the socks off old lady Hannigan.”

Richie blushed and I nodded. Yeah, we had shocked the faculty and their spouses. President Hannigan’s wife, in particular, had nearly fainted when Richie and I took the dance floor together. Of course, we’d each just danced with her as well. “We’re not the only same-sex couple on the faculty,” I reminded him. I carefully avoided the words that still plagued Richie, words like gay, and homosexual. The currently politically-correct term same sex couple was a lot easier for him to deal with than gay lovers.

“But you’re the only professor who is so open,” Brian responded. “And David is a student, too.”

“Richie,” my lover corrected. “Call me Richie.” The coffee maker chugged in the other room, and he hopped off the chair arm and headed for the kitchen.

That must have mystified Greg, because he got a funny look on his face. “How do you get from David to Richie?”

“It’s David Richards ,” Brian explained quietly.

Carrying a tray with the coffee and cups, Rich returned to the living room. “Yeah, my kindergarten teacher ran out of nicknames for David by the time she got to me, so I was always called Richie at school.” That was the story we’d made up when we came up with his new name. I thought it was inspired, since I didn’t have to remember to call him David .

I caught sight of Greg when Richie came back into the room. He stared at Richie -- my Richie -- with a look in his eyes that made the green monster of jealousy rise up in my heart. The tight muscle shirt bared Richie’s buffed shoulders, and curly, golden hair peeked out of its scooped neckline. He had worked out while I had cooked our dinner, and was still a little pumped up from the weights. Looking at him turned me on, and I shouldn’t have been surprised that other men found him attractive as well.

Richie had put a plateful of Oreos out with the coffee. I remembered the day last fall when he taught me how to eat them, pulling the two wafers apart and licking off the filling.

“Then you have two chocolate cookies left,” he’d explained. He dunked them into the too-full glass of milk he’d poured, then popped the soggy result into his mouth. He’d seemed like he was eight years old then, and he won me over to the twist and lick school of Oreo-eating, though I preferred coffee to milk for dunking. That day it came to me that this was one of the reasons I loved him. As old as I was, he could still show me new things, new ways of looking at life.

Both Brian and Greg split their cookies apart, like Richie did. But they traded halves, Brian taking both filling-laden sides, and Greg keeping the plain wafers to himself.

“Never could stand that filling,” he said, catching my look. “But Brian loves it.” He turned his head to watch his partner methodically lick the white filling from the dark cookie. A light came into his eyes, and he sighed.

Was that the way I looked at Richie? I could read on Greg’s face, in his body language, exactly how he felt about Brian. For centuries -- no, millennia -- I had tried to keep those feelings from showing. But where Richie was concerned, I was less and less in control. I’d wanted him for so long, thought I’d lost him too often, seen him through too much, to risk losing him because I couldn’t show him my feelings.

I’ve loved a lot of people over the years, but none had brightened my heart and soul like Richie does. Not a one of them came close to making me feel so young, so alive. None of them had felt so right . I turned to look at him, just in time to see his tongue snake out to lick at the thick white filling. I’d never thought to offer him the filling from my cookies, even though it was much too sweet for me.

“You want a taste?” he asked.

“No thanks,” I answered. “I know you like that part best.”

“No,” he admonished me. “This is the part I like best.” He dunked a plain cookie half into the steaming coffee, and fed it to me.

It isn’t a botanical mistake that coffee and chocolate grow in the same part of the world. Each flavor by itself is compelling, even addictive, but the two together are phenomenal. I closed my eyes and savored the warm, mushy morsel as it melted in my mouth.

“So, Adam....” Greg’s voice brought me out of my reverie, and I quickly swallowed and pulled my attention away from Richie. “Can we count on the two of you at the dance?”

G reg and Brian didn’t stay long after a single cup of coffee and some very forgettable chitchat. Richie became increasingly uncomfortable, squirming at my side, while we talked about the levels of tolerance and acceptance there on campus. While we were talking, Greg’s hand strayed to Brian’s thigh as they sat on the couch, his touch at first a caress, then a squeeze, and finally a full-fledged grope. As I expected, Richie couldn’t sit still, so he got up to move aimlessly around the living room. I finally explained to Brian and Greg that we couldn’t give them an answer without discussing it privately.

We saw them out the door together, then Richie pushed past me and headed into the bedroom, a mumbled, “I need a shower,” thrown back over his shoulder. I followed him, but he’d closed the bathroom door behind him, our signal for privacy. Doors are usually left open, or ajar, in this house, our home, but a closed door means back off, so I did.

I cleaned up the coffee and cookie things before going back to the test I’d been preparing when Greg and Brian had arrived. I printed out the master, slapped a sticky note on it asking Jeanie to make the required copies, and made sure I had the next day’s lecture notes in order. As soon as I shut off the computer I realized I hadn’t checked my email, but decided to let it go. Nothing’s so important it can’t wait a day, I thought, then headed for bed myself.

That’s when I found Richie already trying to sleep. “It’s about this Valentine’s Day thing, isn’t it?”

I felt him nod on my chest. No words followed. Shit. I’d have to pry the words out of him with a crowbar.

“Okay, tell me about it.” I hitched myself up to sit, pulling Richie with me. He shifted around so we both leaned back on the pillows, but he still nestled in the curve of my arm, his head resting on my shoulder. I’d gone to bed like I have for centuries, wearing just a pair of shorts, but Richie wore a tee-shirt over his boxers. It clung to him, molded to his chest. I rubbed my hand up and down over his sternum trying to stay in the mentor role, but the warmth of his body next to mine made that damned hard to do. My loose-fitting shorts were already tented, but Richie’s body, usually so easily aroused, was quiescent.

“I don’t think I like having them come to our house.”

“Who? Brian and Greg?” I knew he meant them, but I wanted him to say it. I listened to him breathe for a long moment before he went on.

“Are we...” he began, but his voice trailed off into nothing. “Are we that obvious? Like them?”

“No, we aren’t,” I assured him. “But there aren’t many places where you’d feel safe enough to act like that.” I took the conversation back to his first comment. “What makes you uncomfortable about their coming here?”

“I felt so safe here. Nobody knew where we lived -- no watchers, no mortals, no other immortals. It just doesn’t feel as safe anymore.”

Oh gods. “Short of being holy ground, Rich, this is the safest place you’ll ever be.” I pulled him closer and wrapped both arms around him. “It doesn’t matter what building we’re in,” I whispered. “I won’t put you in any danger.” And I won’t let anyone else hurt you -- never again.

“It’s not that,” he admitted. He relaxed against me, and didn’t pull away again. “They know about us.”

“We haven’t exactly stayed in the closet, m’love.” I kissed his head, and he lifted his chin, putting his lips in range for a quick kiss. “You handled the Christmas banquet,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, “ he agreed. “But it was tough.” He softly kissed my neck and slid a hand around my waist. “It took six glasses of champagne before I let you take me out on that dance floor.”

I didn’t have to see the front of my shorts to know how my body responded to his words and caresses, and when he continued to kiss my neck and throat, I shifted my hips so he could feel my interest. A low moan was his only comment, but his hand slipped lower, diving under the elastic waist of my shorts, and he splayed his fingers across my ass.

We didn’t talk after that. Our mouths were too busy kissing each other, tasting the now familiar saltiness of the other’s skin, taking little nips that healed instantly. But when Richie engulfed my manhood I couldn’t help but cry out his name.

He slowly released me, then kissed and licked the whole length of my now-throbbing sex. He cradled my balls, the pressure of his hand just enough to send a jolt of energy to every inch of my body. I arched up, and again he took me in his mouth, using his tongue to bring me quickly to the edge of control. He released me again, kissing the swollen head of my cock before he said, “Come for me, Methos. I gotta have you.”

I had no choice. Every part of me responded to his plea, and again I cried out my love for this strawberry-haired Adonis who had become such an important part of my life. He sucked everything from me, then demanded more. My body tried to comply, bucking and heaving in time with his movements as he continued to squeeze and stroke that throbbing center of my being. When I could give no more I fell back onto the bed, my hands weakly dragging him to lie beside me, hoping his lips would find mine so we could share the flavor of my passion.

He kissed me deeply at first, filling my mouth with his tongue, the taste of my own essence still strong. He eased back, withdrawing slowly, so the loss was less devastating, less painful to bear. But when he finally did pull away, I felt a tear escape my eye, then the gentle, fleeting ghost of a kiss on each eyelid, and the cool touch of his fingers against my cheek.

Not in five thousand years had I ever felt so loved, so perfectly desired, and more tears escaped to run down the side of my face.

Gently, Richie kissed away the tears. “What’s wrong, Old Man?”

“Nothing, love,” I whispered. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Good,” he said. He kissed my cheek again, and I felt his smile. “’Cause I’m not done yet.” He rolled away from my side, skinned the tee-shirt over his head and pushed down his boxers.

I couldn’t think about anything else then, only Richie. I heard the drawer slide open and closed, and I knew he’d retrieved the bottle of oil we’d been using for lube. I slowly opened my eyes, and even in the darkened room I could see his face -- his broad smile, his sparkling sapphire eyes, the reddish-gold curls back-lit by the glimmer of moonlight shining through the undraped windows.

He positioned himself on his knees between my thighs, his rigid cock rising from its nest of golden curls. The sight of him made my breath quicken, and I felt my own organ stiffen again. There was an ache of emptiness in my gut that I knew he soon would fill.

“You watching, Methos?” he asked. His voice was deeper, huskier than usual. “I want you to watch me.”

Oh gods above. I hadn’t prayed to any particular god in a long time, but I thanked them all for letting Richie be part of my life. He wants me to watch him. I nodded, and sat up a little higher on the pillows. Pulling my knees up, I spread my legs as wide as I could, then lifted my hips as Rich stuffed pillows under them.

He rose on his knees and took his cock in his hand. My eyes leapt from his crotch to his face and back again, seeing him lick his lips as he slowly stroked his cock. He stopped long enough to pour a puddle of oil into his palm, then carefully spread it over the thick column of flesh. He tilted his hips, cupped his heavy balls in his oil-slicked hand, and lifted them towards me like an offering. He’s giving himself to me. He’s mine. He leaned his head back, the column of his throat a twin of his manhood, and a low moan rumbled from his chest.

He continued to stroke his cock, and fondle his own balls until drop after drop of his pearly essence ran from the darkened head, then he poured more oil into his hand. I knew what was coming, but still I was startled by the touch of his slickened hand. He rubbed the oil around my opening, then began to prepare me with his fingers.

We’d only been together a few months, but Richie had learned so well what I like and how I respond, it took him only a few moments to make me ready for him. By the time he pressed the swollen head of his cock into me, my chest was heaving and my hands gripped the sheet beneath me. He slid that hard, throbbing sex deep, filling the emptiness, easing the ache.

“Oh, yes, Richie,” I cried out. “More -- give me more.”

And he did. He pounded into me, each stroke hitting my sweet spot, sending mind-numbing jolts of energy to each cell, even every hair on my head. He grasped my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh, sparks of healing winding around his hands, tying us even closer together. He pulled nearly all the way out on each backstroke, then sank his entire length into my ass, over and over. Then when deep inside me. he pushed even harder, grinding his hips against me, like he was trying to push his whole body into me. I could have sworn he fucked me all the way to my heart, all the way to my soul.

“Mine,” he shouted as he came. “Methos, you’re mine!” Then he collapsed onto my chest, his head on my shoulder.

“Yes,” I gasped, feeling my own orgasm gathering in my toes, building throughout my body. As it rushed to the hard, throbbing center of my body, I cried out once more. “Oh, yeeeeessssssss!”

Richie held me as my body bucked beneath his, and when the spasms abated we lay together, breathing in unison as our bodies slowly relaxed into a euphoric drowsiness. We shared soft kisses and gentle, fleeting caresses while our bodies recovered, shifting positions as we reached for one another with our hands and mouths. I found myself nuzzling the sensitive spot at the base of Richie’s throat, and I kissed and softly licked the smooth skin between the pelt of hair on his chest and the stubble of beard on his face and under his chin.

He smoothed the hair from my forehead, his fingers combing the longer strands into the short. He hummed as I kissed his neck, then spoke softly. “Methos?”

“Yes, love?”

“Last summer, when I said I wanted you in my life?” His words, spoken so long ago, and far away, in Switzerland, were as fresh in my memory as though it had been yesterday.

“Yeah.”

“I meant I wanted to be in your life. I didn’t have a life. Any life I’d had was gone, thanks to Mac.” His sentences were separated by long moments of silence, punctuated only by his kisses and tender, random movements of his hands on my body.

I waited for him to go on. Once he started talking, that was best.

“You gave me whatever life I have now. It’s bad enough we hide our Immortality and lie about who we really are. I don’t want to lie about how I feel about you, or hide how we live.”

I nuzzled deeper at his neck, and moved my hips to touch his. “So we go to the Valentine’s dance?”

I felt him nod before he said, “Yeah. It’ll be our second date.”

“Does that mean I’ll get a kiss?”

Wednesday, 3 February 1998

From: Joe Dawson <bluesman@yahoo.com> Save Address - Block Sender

To: justaguy@hotmail.com Save Address

Subject: Possible sighting

Date: Tues, 3 Feb 1998 12:24:43 +0100

Hey, old man, I don’t know if you still check this account, but if it doesn’t bounce I’ll figure you’ll eventually get it.

I’m not surprised you disappeared after what happened. I want to thank you for refusing to take Mac’s head. I don’t think I could have handled any more that night.

Mac disappeared, too, and I’ve been busy trying to find him. I have no idea where he went, only that it wasn’t anywhere he’s gone to before when he wanted to get away. I’ve had 50 guys looking for him and watching his island, the dojo, even that pub in Glenfinnan that Rachel runs. Anyway, I took a day last week to go over some old reports, and came across the final report on Michael Grady. Turns out that Grady challenged someone named Adams at Disneyland, of all places, last September. Grady’s watcher didn’t recognize the other immortal, but he described him as tall and lanky with dark hair.

If this was you, my old friend, be careful. Grady’s man is on the look-out. He thinks that finding a previously unknown immortal will be a feather in his cap.

I’m stuck in Paris for the foreseeable future, since I’ve been named District Supervisor. That’s one way of telling me they think I’m too old to be out in the field. What do they know? If you’re around this way, look me up. I’ve got a new place called Le Blues Bar. There’s a door in the back if you don’t want to be seen. The beer’s on me.

Joe

From: Adam Pierson, PhD <a.pierson@foothillsuniv.edu> Save Address - Block Sender

To: bluesman@yahoo.com Save Address

Subject: Re: Possible sighting

Date: Wed, 4 Feb 1998 07:18:23 -0800 (PST)

Good to hear from you, Joe. I found a teaching position in a warmer climate than Paris and jumped at it. Don’t know who it could have been who took out Grady; I never met the man.

It doesn’t surprise me that the Highlander ran off. It was a terrible few days there. Shit happens. I’ve told him before -- live, grow stronger, fight another day.

Have a beer for me, Joe. Pity me all these freshmen who think history is just the past hundred years.

Pierson

Friday, 13 February 1998.

O f all the stupid superstitions mankind has come up with in my lifetime, this Friday the Thirteenth has to be the worst. This was my third class of the day, just before lunch, and in every one of them there had been students coming in late, disrupting the class, asking questions I’d just answered. I’m not a taskmaster, by any measure, but I expect my students to be on time and pay attention.

“Professor Pierson?” The door opened and an unfamiliar face looked in.

It was the third interruption since I’d started the lecture, and I was running out of patience. “Yes, I’m Pierson,” I answered.

“Oh, good. I found you.” He opened the door the rest of the way and entered the classroom, carrying a long, gold box tied closed with a huge, red bow. He thrust the box into my arms. “These are for you,” he said, turned around and left before I could say another word.

“Who are they from, Doctor Pierson?”

I didn’t recognize the voice, but the question brought a wave of laughter and giggles from the entire class. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. Blushing? At my age? I knew there would be no going on with the lecture unless I opened the box, so I set it on the desk and pulled off the ribbon.

From the size and shape of the box I had a pretty good idea what was inside, and who had sent it. I pried off the top, and inside were the reddest roses I’d ever seen, each of the dozen flowers just beginning to open from the bud. There was a card tucked into the foliage.

From the moment I’d opened the box, I lost all awareness of the classroom, of students seated before me. I picked up the card and read it, not even thinking to hide my reaction to Richie’s words of love. Sliding the card into the breast pocket of my shirt, I tried to pick up where I’d left off in the lecture. It was futile.

“No girl ever sent me flowers,” I heard from the back of the class.

“Steve!” a girl’s voice admonished him. “Doctor Pierson is...”

I looked up in time to see -- what was her name? -- Rebecca Turney clap her own hand over her mouth. “Yes, Miss Turney,” I said. My voice was a little odd-sounding, but I went on as if nothing were amiss. “You were saying?”

Miss Turney turned three shades of red before another student spoke up. “Becky just meant...”

“I know what she meant,” I interrupted. It didn’t bother me that my students knew I was involved with another man, but I knew it would be a problem for Richie. “The details of my personal life aren’t a topic for discussion here.” I looked back at the roses, and remembered what Richie had said about being less secretive. “I’m very lucky to have such a special person in my life,” I recited, knowing that was a concept Richie was comfortable with. I shuffled my lecture notes, and tried to get back to the day’s lesson.

“Oh, that’s SO sweet.”

“All I got was a card.”

“Are you gonna send me flowers?”

“How romantic...”

“I love Valentine’s day.....”

“Okay,” I finally said. On a whim I changed the topic I’d planned to assign for this week’s paper. I’d read enough about commercial shipping in pre-classical Greece. “That’s enough. I want a thousand words from each of you on the origins of Valentine’s Day traditions, with references. And don’t think it all started with Saint Valentine. Look into similar traditions in cultures other than western European. You’ve got a week. Now get out of here.” I’d never dismissed a class early, but I knew nothing else would get done today, and I couldn’t wait to get home and see what Richie had to say for himself.

As it turned out, I didn’t have to wait until I got home to confront Richie. He was waiting in my office. I felt him as soon as I rounded the corner from the elevators, and my steps quickened automatically. How could he do this, I wondered. It was so sweet, so romantic, so stupid. I wish I’d thought of it first. I didn’t know what to expect when I reached my office. I knew he was there, as he knew I stood outside the door. I juggled my books and briefcase with the box of roses and opened the door.

He was leaning against the bookshelf in the farthest corner of the small office, his arms folded in front of his chest. There was a smile on his face that could have lit half of Southern California. I carefully closed the door and pushed the lock button. It wouldn’t hold up against anyone who really wanted to get in, but it would stop any students who wandered by hoping I was holding extra office hours.

“They’re beautiful,” I said without any preamble. “But more than a little disruptive. I had to let the class go early.”

He dipped his head. “They were supposed to come during your office hours. The delivery guy got messed up, and... I’m sorry.”

Everything I was carrying landed in the desk chair and I pulled Richie into my arms. “It was perfect,” I whispered, my lips brushing his. He tried to smile, but I kissed him, hard and long, my hands pulling at his shirt. I shoved my hands under the cotton chambray, the heat of his back a magnet to my touch.

Richie welcomed my kiss and returned my embrace, holding me tightly, then lowered his hands to grasp my ass and pull our hips together. I could feel his erection beginning, and I knew I was just as aroused. Oh gods. I remembered where we were, and I pulled away. “We can’t do this here.” Oh how I wanted him, right here, right now.

He just looked at me, eyes still a bit unfocussed, his lips swollen from the kiss. He breathed heavily for a moment, then tucked his shirt back into this pants. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s go home.”

There was such a look of disappointment on his face; I couldn’t stand it. “What the hell,” I muttered. “I want you now .” My hands went to his belt of their own volition, my fingers fumbling with the buckle, then fighting with his to open the zippered fly. Before the zipper was halfway down, I could tell he’d come prepared for just this eventuality. “My, my,” I said. “You’re ready for anything; aren’t you?”

“Gee,” he said, feigning innocence. “I knew I forgot something this morning.”

His smile, and the way his blue eyes lit up drove me crazy. I yanked his jeans down and pushed him back against the bookshelves, then dropped to my knees in front of him. He was hard, but not fully erect yet, and I watched as each breath, each heartbeat raised his cock to full salute. Following the pulsing vein I licked the shaft from the base to the crown, then covered the velvet head with my lips. He slid easily into my mouth and I opened my throat as he thrust his entire length into me.

I held his hips still then, and pulled back a bit, then took him again, repeating the rhythm until a shudder wracked his body and he came, filling my mouth and throat with the bitter-sweet essence I craved. I sucked and swallowed every drop, then gently released him. I leaned my head against his belly while we both caught our breath. His hands drew me back to my feet, ready to kiss him again.

His mouth was bloody where he had bit into his lip to keep from crying out. I kissed the already healing wound, licking at the blood, then leaned into a long, deep kiss. Losing myself in the kiss, I hardly noticed when he slid his hand up under my sweater and shirt, palms flat against my skin, roaming once over my back, then following my ribs around to my chest. He lightly brushed his fingertips across both nipples at once, then pinched them between his thumbs and forefingers.

“Aaa-aah!” I broke the kiss and gasped as twin jolts of electricity radiated from my chest.

“Yeah, you like that, Old Man?” he asked, but before I could answer, he captured my mouth again, and this time the kiss was his. He stepped forward, forcing me to step back two steps and my foot hit the edge of the couch. I sat down, pulling Richie with me. He put a knee on the couch on either side of me, then sat back. He’d pulled up his jeans, but they were still open, his already recovered erection framed by the faded denim. He skinned the sweater over my head, then unbuttoned my shirt.

We didn’t need words; we moved as one so I lay back on the arm of the couch and stretched my legs the length of the seat cushions. It was upholstered in cheap vinyl that tried to look like leather, and we’d already learned it was easy to clean. As we moved, I realized how hard I was. I wore my pants looser than Richie wore his, but still snug, and now they were strained to contain my erection.

“Come on, Kid.” I could barely get the words out. “Now would be good...” I didn’t know how much longer I could control my own reactions, and Richie didn’t make me wait.

Before I knew it, my pants were opened and pulled down, and Richie had slid to kneel on the floor at my hip. Strong hands grasped both my cock and balls, and he bent his head to lick almost reverently at the wrinkled sac. I wanted to arch up into his mouth, lean my head back and close my eyes, but some other part of me wanted to watch him. I forced my eyes back open, and brought my head up just in time to see him take my cock into his mouth.

In all the languages I know, there aren’t words to describe how I felt, how Richie made me feel. It was like he was worshipping me, giving everything he was just for my pleasure. And I was so close, so ready, it didn’t take much to bring me to the edge and over, then into the warm darkness that follows.

I felt the familiar weight of Richie’s head on my chest, the tickle of his hair at my nose. He still knelt on the floor, but leaned his upper body across mine, and my arms wrapped around him. I didn’t think he was asleep, just still in that euphoric zone we often shared afterward.

“M’love,” I whispered, kissing his forehead right at the hairline. “We gotta clean up and go home.”

He lifted his head, and reached to kiss me. He didn’t say a word, just smiled that brilliant smile at me, then pushed himself away and stood up. It was all I could do to keep my hands away from his still exposed cock, but he quickly stepped out of range and tucked himself back into the jeans, then straightened his shirt and zipped up.

I just lay there for another moment, savoring the still warm feeling I had deep inside, the lingering tingle of arousal in my cock, the clamminess of sweaty flesh against the vinyl couch. Even the discomfort of the cheap upholstery was part of it all, and I didn’t want to lose any of it.

The tap at the door sent both of us scurrying to get presentable. The second tap stopped the breath in my chest.

“Professor Pierson?” I breathed a sigh of relief, but still hurried to zip my trousers and run a hand through my hair before I opened the door just enough to look around it.

“Yes, Jeanie?” I asked the department secretary.

She blushed, but looked me right in the eye. “Here are your tickets for tomorrow night,” she said, and put an envelope in my hand. She walked away, but called over her shoulder, “Have a good time, you two.”

Saturday, 14 February 1998.

T he afternoon seemed interminable. Richie spent the day tinkering with the motorcycles, and I spent a couple of hours marking papers, the endless curse of educators everywhere -- and in every time. When it came time to dress for the dance we found ourselves in the bathroom at the same time. We’d long since worked out our personal routines so we didn’t trip over each other in the bathroom, the twin sinks and mirrors just one of the features that had sold this house to us last summer.

I’ve been shaving myself with a straight razor for millennia, but the peripheral view of Richie in nothing but a towel, leaning over the sink to look closely into the mirror, almost made me slit my own throat. I closed my eyes and continued shaving.

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“What?” I asked, carefully working on my right jaw.

“Shaving with your eyes closed.”

“I started shaving a couple of thousand years before they invented mirrors, Kid.” I concentrated on the correct angle of the blade against my skin, wanting as close a shave as I could get without shedding blood to get it.

I’d never liked the semi-shaved look. I think it reminded Richie of Macleod, so I was careful to shave closely every day. I remember when we talked about my hair, whether or not I should let it grow longer, and Richie was adamant that I keep my hair short. It’s a little longer on top and in the front than it was, but no ponytails for me.

The Kid was wearing his hair longer again, since the curls made him look younger. That way, I’d explained to him, he’d have more room to age before he’d have to move on and start over.

If anybody bothered to do the math, the paperwork I’d submitted to this college said I’d started graduate school at sixteen, but I’d already lived twelve years as Adam Pierson, and to get another ten out of him I had to start fudging his age. I knew I could do thirty, thirty-five, but forty would be pushing believability, even with adding grey to my hair. Already it was time to start building my next identity, or to dust off one of the old ones.

I figured that Richie could pass for thirty in a pinch, if he wore his hair shorter and put on some weight. But that gave him at most twelve years in an identity, less if he stayed in one place. Richie’s new identity split the difference between his apparent age of eighteen and his true age of twenty-three. At twenty-one, he had room for some past, but was still young enough to make this identity last a decade or so, with a little fudging down the line. It was attention to these little details that kept us from drawing attention to ourselves, from being discovered.

Richie was right about one thing, though. Hiding our immortality and true identities was quite enough; the more open we could be about our lives, the less likely it was people would be suspicious of who and what we were. So we lived openly, but quietly, not denying what we were to each other, and taking full advantage of the growing acceptance of same-sex couples in society.

How I would have loved to have had Richie with me all those centuries ago in Greece. Our relationship would have been openly exalted and celebrated, and everyone in the city would have known that we belonged to each other. I’d thought about buying Richie a ring to wear, just as a token, a symbol of our feelings for each other, but it smacked of long-term commitment, and I wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.

Oh, I’m certain about my feelings for the Kid. He makes me feel whole and alive and young, and I can’t think of a better definition of being in love. And the sex? Well, that’s something else, too. I can lose myself in him, with him, and not know where I stop and he begins. I’d never felt totally safe involved with another immortal, not with Byron, not even with Amanda, but I know in my soul, as deep down as I’ve buried it, that Richie will never be a threat to me. And I’ve sworn by all the gods I’ve ever worshipped that I’ll never hurt him.

I nearly cut myself when Richie’s arms snaked around my waist from behind. He should know better than to do that, but what the hell, I’d heal. He leaned his head on the back of my shoulder, his hair still damp from his shower. He pulled himself close, our bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle.

“Whatcha thinking, Old Man?” he asked. His voice was low, but there was a hint of mischief in the rhythm of his words.

I put the razor down and turned around inside the circle of his embrace. Half a dozen sarcastic quips flitted across my mind, but I ignored them and decided on candor. “How much you mean to me,” I answered him as honestly as I could.

His breath caught for a second and he smiled. “Aw, you’re just being sappy ‘cause it’s Valentine’s Day.”

I held his face between my palms and gently kissed him, then guided his head to my shoulder and held him for a long moment. “That must be it, Kid.” My voice nearly gave me away, about half an octave lower than normal.

Gods, he felt good in my arms. I stood still, feeling the warmth of both his body and of his soul. We breathed in tandem, and I could have sworn our hearts were beating in time with each other’s. It was almost painful to push myself away from him and turn back to my almost forgotten task. “Unless we’re planning on making a late entrance, we both better get a move on.” I caught his smile in the mirror and winked, picked up the razor and continued where I’d left off.

“R eady?” I asked in a whisper. My eyes drank in Richie’s appearance as we stood outside the ballroom: dark suit, white shirt, same as me. The red ties marked the day, and the finishing touch of twin red rosebuds in our lapels added just a touch of romance. I could hear music through the closed double doors.

Richie tugged at his cuffs, and smoothed his jacket. He took a breath and blew it out sharply. “Do we go in holding hands - or what?”

A smirk crossed my face. We were supposed to be making a statement, breaking the ice for other couples, but I didn’t see the need to act like a couple of love-sick teenagers. “If you want.” I straightened my tie and reached for the door.

He shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He started to shove his hands into his pockets, then remembered he wasn’t wearing jeans. Instead he reached for the other door and grasped the handle. His eyes seared into mine, and he nodded once. “Ready.” It wasn’t a question.

A number of possible scenarios had gone through my mind. I had pictured everything from every head turning to stare at us to total indifference. As we stepped into the ballroom we each scanned for exits, our survival instincts paramount for an instant, and I made note of the placement of the buffet tables and the bar. Round tables surrounded the dance floor, and a low stage stood ready for a band. Our eyes met again.

“Dinner?” I asked. “Or a drink first?”

“Drink. Definitely a drink.”

Before I could steer Richie toward the bar, I heard my name.

“Dr. Pierson.”

Both of us stopped dead in our tracks, then after a heartbeat or two, turned. I found my voice first, and responded. “Dean Hastings. How nice to see you.” I extended my hand. “You remember my partner, David Richards?”

Richie glanced at me when I said the word partner, but recovered quickly.

“We met at the restaurant,” he reminded her as they shook hands. “Last September?” He smiled that wonderful smile, and his eyes seemed to sparkle. Charm ON.

Dean Hastings opened her mouth, but nothing came out. I made eye contact with the man who stood behind her, and realized it was her husband, not the man she’d been with when Richie met her before.

“Oh, yes, of course,” she finally managed to say, recovering her composure with the grace of many years’ practice.

“And this is Mr. -- ” He hesitated, aware the Dean’s husband may or may not be named Hastings .

“Bob Hastings,” the older man supplied, and enthusiastically shook our hands. “So you two are....” He looked back and forth between us.

I knew what he was fishing for, but decided to play clueless for the moment. “Assistant Professor of Ancient Studies,” I volunteered. “And Richie’s an undergrad this year.” With a discreetly placed hand at Richie’s back, I steered him back toward the bar.

“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Hastings,” Richie said over his shoulder.

Halfway across the room, he finally put two and two together. “That wasn’t the guy we saw at the restaurant, was it?”

“No.”

“So that’s why you said she wouldn’t out us.”

“You got it, Kid.” We reached the bar and I pulled out my wallet to buy each of us a glass of wine. The catering service the university used never brought anything except domestic beer, and national brands at that. Now, I’ll drink anything in a pinch, but Budweiser is at the bottom of my list.

“Where shall we sit?” Richie asked, touching his glass to mine. “Not with Brian and Greg and that group, please?” There was still a lot of tension in Richie’s body, and I could see a quirk at the corner of his mouth.

Spending the evening at the dance, together but not obvious, was all I could expect from Richie. Socializing with other same sex couples would be much more than he was ready to deal with, and to be frank, that group as a whole had very little to offer me. It wasn’t about making society accept you, or making a statement. What it meant to me was sharing my life with the person who completed me in every way I could imagine. I’d do anything, though, to make life easier for this man - this man I loved with all my soul.

The ballroom was filling up as the cocktail hour drew to a close, and we’d have to find a place to sit soon. I saw some of my students staking out one table, and I thought that might be the best choice. “Mind if we join you?”

Richie had already put his wine glass on the table and pulled out the chair to sit down. “I think this is fine, Adam,” he said, then turned to the student next to him. “Hi. I’m Richie.”

Dinner was uneventful, unless you count Dean Hastings’ dropping her plate at the buffet table when Richie quietly asked her about her companion from the restaurant. No one else heard the exchange; she blushed; Richie beamed.

Desert was served, more types of chocolate confections than I ever thought I’d see in one place. There were chocolate cheesecakes, truffles, brownies, chocolate napoleons, cakes that oozed chocolate when cut, and more I couldn’t put a name to. I stuck with one serving of a three-chocolate mousse, and watched as Richie loaded a plate with six different treats.

“You’re going to eat all that?” I asked.

“Mmmmm m mmmm,” he mumbled, his mouth full. “Just a taste,” he qualified after he swallowed. “Of each one.”

Then the band began to play. There had been background music during dinner, but as soon as the live music started, couples wandered onto the floor.

Social dancing is much less formal a pursuit these days than it has been through most of history. Waiting until the floor was occupied but not yet crowded, I stood, and put out my hand, palm up, to Richie. “Shall we?”

Silence stretched around the table and reached to the nearby couples. Those wonderful blue eyes looked right into mine as he took my hand and rose from his chair. Without another word we walked hand in hand to the dance floor.

I’ve learned the dances of a hundred tribes, of a thousand eras, but the dance we danced was unique among them all. I being the taller more or less led, but Richie’s hands snaked around my waist, my arms wound around his shoulders, and we moved in time to Unchained Melody. The silence swept through the room like a wave, but it evaporated before it became complete, as the men and women shrugged off their surprise and returned to their conversations. After a few moments, when the ceiling didn’t fall in, and no one fainted, my young lover lay his head on my shoulder and relaxed into my embrace.

“Mmmmmm,” I hummed my pleasure and was rewarded by a squeeze that circled my body. I felt the heat of his hands through my jacket and shirt and I closed my eyes, shutting off the rest of the world, content for my universe to be only my lover and me.

E ven at midnight, it was mild for February. Leaving the dance, we decided to walk through the quiet campus. The night sky was clear, but the moon hadn’t risen yet, leaving the park-like grounds dark, dotted by pale circles from the occasional street lamps. The groves of live oak and cedar trees were blacker holes in the darkness. We walked alone, for once comfortable enough to hold hands, our long dark coats making us little more than moving shadows in the darkness. Then, as we walked on, our arms eventually snuck around each other’s waist, each of us pulling the other closer. It was so good to feel his body next to mine, his hand on my hip. Our pace slowed, and we stopped, just high enough on a knoll to see across the valley toward the ocean.

The street lights were diamonds on black velvet, the brightly-colored neon signs like sapphires and rubies scattered among them.

“That’s awesome,” Richie whispered after a long moment. He leaned his head on my shoulder, and I felt him take a deep breath that he released in a contented sigh. “It’s so peaceful -- you could almost believe nothing bad was going down out there.”

I had to blink tears back from my eyes at that, the breeze must have picked up and got into my eyes. I squeezed his shoulders, and was about to turn and kiss him when I heard my name called out -- one of my names, anyway.

“Adams!”

It wasn’t an Immortal, we both knew, since neither of us had felt him approach. I guessed it was that glory-seeking Watcher Joe had warned me about.

“Disappear,” I told Richie under my breath. “Wait for me at the car, but stay out of sight.” He knew better than to argue with me, but I didn’t really expect him to go all the way to the parking lot. If he hid in the trees, though, that would be enough.

I walked directly toward the anonymous Watcher while my lover melted into the shadows. I put him out of my mind, as much as I ever can, and tried to stay calm and look casual. “What do you want,” I called once I was within range of a more normal speaking tone. Voices would carry in this crisp night air, and I wanted to keep this as private as possible.

“You’re Adams, right?” His voice wavered just a bit, enough for me to know he was scared.

I felt a darkness creep over my soul, shutting off those parts Richie had opened up first with his trust, then with his love. I wasn’t Adam Pierson anymore; I wasn’t even Ben Adams. I’d gone back, all the way back, back to being Death. I pulled the collar of my coat up, and wished it was the hooded cloak of days past.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I could tell he heard the menace I put in my voice; his face blanched. I didn’t really want to kill him, but I wasn’t sure what else I could do. An old -- well, not old to me -- aphorism came to mind, and I decided to try its advice. Honesty. What a concept.

“My name is Pierson. Adam Pierson. I’m a professor here.” I was close enough to him now I could see the dark smudge of his tattoo on his wrist. Focusing on the identifying mark, I went on. “You’re a Watcher, aren’t you?”

He followed my eye to his wrist and turned his arm inward so the tattoo was hidden, but he didn’t answer.

“I used to have a tattoo, just like yours,” I said, touching my wrist, wishing for a tell-tale scar. “I worked in research in Paris.”

It worked like a dream. Gods, the man was gullible. I could have told him I was from Publisher’s Clearing House and he had already won a million dollars, and he’d trust me now. We were suddenly old buddies, fraternity brothers, long lost friends. He was Paul Rockwell, I learned, eventually hearing more about him than I really wanted to know. Ever.

“Why did you quit?” he asked after a few moments of banalities. We started walking, and I managed to steer us in the direction I knew Richie had gone.

“I got scared,” I lied. Well, not really a lie, but the rest of it would be. “After the Council put Joe Dawson on trial - you know about that?” He shook his head, so I took a different route. “When Jacob Galati killed all the Regional Directors?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I heard about that. You were in Paris then?”

I gave him the Cliff’s Notes version, leaving out my contributions both to Dawson’s defense and recovery and to Galati’s capture. “When I realized there were Immortals out there who wanted to kill Watchers, I talked them into allowing an early retirement. Besides,” I went on. “I was finishing up my doctorate, and wanted to get on with my life.”

“I could have sworn it was you that took Grady’s head.”

“You actually saw the beheading? The Quickening?” I hoped I sounded suitably awestruck.

“No,” he admitted sheepishly. “I was trying to keep out of sight. I only overheard some of the challenge.”

“So why did you think I was Adams?”

“God, I should have known better.”

I stopped short, and so did he. Putting a friendly hand on his shoulder, I asked quietly, “Paul, what did you do?”

“I lied in my report. I said I’d seen the fight and everything.”

“You aren’t the first Watcher to do that,” I said, more honestly than he would ever know.

“If my supervisor finds out -- ”

I had a flash of inspiration. Now I knew how to get this guy off my back and make sure he never came looking for me again. I pulled one of my cards from my wallet and wrote a few words on the back. “Get yourself to Paris, and give this to Joe Dawson. He’s a Regional Director now. He’ll take care of everything.”

Paul couldn’t thank me enough, and wanted to buy me a drink. Finally I convinced him it was no big deal, and there was someone waiting for me. He left me standing in about the same spot where I’d left Richie.

I knew Richie was nearby, and as soon as the Watcher was out of sight he made his way out of the grove of trees where he’d disappeared into the shadows.

“What was on that card you gave him?” my lover asked as he approached.

I kissed him before I answered, both from carnal desire and to complete my return to being Adam Pierson. I could almost feel the veneer of civilization come over me again, like putting on a well-broken-in pair of hiking boots. I could bury Death deeply, but he was still there, still very much a part of who and what I was.

“Just a note to Joe,” I answered. “Joe will keep him so busy he won’t have time to think about me.” I hung my arm across Richie’s shoulders and we headed for the car and home.

“W hy didn’t you tell me somebody was looking for you?” Richie demanded loudly as soon as we were in the car.

“I didn’t want - “ I paused while I backed out of the parking place. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“What if he’d made us, Methos? What if he reported finding us to the Watchers?”

“He didn’t.” I tried to keep my voice low and calm, but I knew he was truly angry when he called me Methos in public.

“But what if he had ?”

The familiar route from campus home came mindlessly to my hands and feet, operating separately to drive us home.

Richie sat against the door in silence the rest of the way home. I pulled the car into the garage, stopped the engine and turned toward him, finally able to pay attention. I hate trying to argue while driving. “Okay, Richie,” I began. “Out with it.”

“What,” he snapped. I could see him pull back, more emotionally than physically.

“What is it that’s bugging you?”

“You’re treating me like a kid.” His voice became petulant, and I sensed the hurt he felt.

“Richie,” I said. “M’love...” The words wouldn’t come, and I didn’t want to say anything stupid. I put my hand on his shoulder and squeezed, as if I could force his understanding of my feelings into him that way.

“Adam -- Methos,” he sighed. I heard a catch in his voice, and he closed his eyes. The harsh light in the garage caught on a single tear that rolled down his cheek, and I caught it on my finger. Without another word, he launched himself toward me and I caught him in my arms, his head bowed against my shoulder so the curls at the nape of his neck brushed my chin. “Let me in, Old Man,” he whispered. “You’re shutting me out.”

“That’s the last thing I want to do, Kid.” I held him close to me, ignoring the steering wheel digging into my side. “But I want you to feel safe.” I kissed the back of his neck, and he sighed. “I want you to be safe.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I’m not really a kid, you know.”

I crossed that nickname off my mental list. “Yeah, I know,” I said into his neck. “You’re a grown man. An immortal.” The next sentence formed in my mind, and I knew I had to say the words. They were the hardest words to say, no matter the situation. I took a deep breath. “You’re the man I love more than life itself.”

I felt him catch his breath, and his arms tightened around me. After a moment, he sat back from my embrace. “Then what are we doing out here in the cold when we have a perfectly good bed inside?”

It seemed to take forever to get to the bedroom, and once there it was only moments before the jackets, shirts, shoes, and trousers were piled on the floor. Richie pulled my undershirt over my head and I dropped my arms around him, crushing the lithe, golden body to mine, finally claiming his mouth in the kiss I’d waited all evening for. Gods, he tasted good, and I made sure I tasted every bit of his mouth before we came up for air.

“Ad -- Methos -- oh, god -- bed,” he sputtered. His bare chest was already flushed with arousal, the rosy nipples peaked and hard. The snug briefs were bulging with his erection, as my boxers were tented high. He shoved the last remaining garment down past his hips, then stepped out of it, and that glorious cock stood tall and proud. He pulled me to the bedside, and still holding me by the shoulders, fell on the bed with me following him.

If I’d been thinking clearly, I’d have been surprised the bed didn’t collapse beneath us. Richie must have expected us to return horny; he’d turned down the bed before we left, so the soft, dark blue sheets were open and waiting. I tried to roll over and raise myself over him, wanting to kiss and caress every inch of his incredible body before sucking his cock until he screamed his release, but he fought me, and for a moment we wrestled for position, our lips locked together. With a frustrated groan, he pulled at my shorts, ripping them open at the fly, and flung them aside. We ended up with him on top, my legs spread with my knees up on either side of his slim hips. Our cocks were trapped between us, and I could feel his balls hanging over mine. His arms were extended, like he was doing a push-up, so that his chest was a few inches above me, and he leaned his head down to kiss me.

“God, Methos,” he gasped between kisses. “I want you.” He pressed another kiss to my mouth, his tongue thrusting into me before I could open to him.

It felt strangely empowering to be taken almost forcibly like that. It wasn’t a conscious decision, but I relaxed back into the pillows and let him take control. He knew what I liked, what made me sigh and moan, and he did everything he could with just his mouth and hands. Those long, strong fingers of his were everywhere at once, it seemed, combing into my hair, tracing the curve of my ear, and then he pinched and tweaked the dark, sensitive circles on my chest. He used his whole body to seduce me, holding his chest just above mine, so the fine golden hair tickled me, arousing me beyond what I thought humanly endurable.

I didn’t know how much longer I could hold on. I was already gripping the sheets, my knuckles white. He hadn’t touched my cock with his hands or mouth yet, and I ached for his touch, the remembered heat of his mouth covering me a burning image in what was left of my mind. He pressed another raping kiss to my mouth as he ground his hips into me, our steel-hard cocks rubbing together like swords in a duel. With his mouth on mine, his tongue filling me, I couldn’t tell him of my need, of my desire, of my love.

But he knew. He knew what I wanted, what I needed. He groped blindly for the lube on the bedside table, then pulled back, sitting on his heels between my feet, and as he covered his weeping, blood-darkened cock with the gelled oil, I stuffed pillows under my hips.

I closed my eyes in anticipation as his head bowed, but he touched me only to move my balls out of his way. I gasped and shuddered at the first swipe of his hot, wet tongue over my entrance, and I gave myself over to the waves of incredible pleasure he initiated first with his tongue, then with his slickened fingers, and finally with his long, thick cock.

He moaned as he slid into me, and I felt my body accommodate his size. He began a slow, even thrusting, pushing deeper with each stroke, grazing my prostate with each withdrawal. Faster and faster he drove into me, our voices united in our cries. “Faster... Harder...” I urged over and over, my voice becoming hoarse. I thought my own cock was going to explode. I was leaking all over my belly, and using that as lube I brought myself to the edge.

“Do it, Methos,” Richie ordered. “Make yourself come.” He thrust again, deeper than ever. “I wanna see you come.”

I couldn’t deny him. My body was no longer my own, everything I was belonged to Richie. I gave my balls a light squeeze, and as he again buried his full length into me I let loose, and shot stream after stream across my abdomen and chest. He held himself inside me through all the spasms, and I knew he was pouring his own essence deep into me. Without withdrawing he fell over me, and we both slid into the oblivion of our passion.

I woke up at dawn, as always, the warm bulk of my lovers’ body nestled closely with mine. He lay half on top of me, our legs entwined, his head on my shoulder. His breath ghosted across my chest in an even rhythm. Richie wouldn’t wake up for hours if I let him sleep, but now that I was fully awake and aware of him in my arms, my cock had a different idea.

Of its own accord it swelled and rose, brushing against Richie’s leg, sending waves of arousal to the furthest reaches of my body. Toes tingling, I hooked my heel around one of his legs and drew the lithe body over my own, my hands sliding over the smooth skin of his back, and I buried my face in the curls on top of his head, drinking in the lingering, musky scent of the night’s lovemaking.

From his breathing, I could tell Richie was still asleep, but I felt his cock harden and rise against my leg. I couldn’t stop the low moan that rumbled though my chest, escaping my lips as he lifted his head for a good-morning kiss.

“Mmmmm,” he hummed, sleep thickening his voice. “’Morning, Meef...” He faded out, halfway into saying my name, and nuzzled back into the curve of my shoulder and neck.

Meef, I said to myself, and smiled. In five thousand years, no one had shortened and slurred my name quite like that. The sound of it, the thought of it made me want him even more. I skimmed my fingertips across his shoulders and back, then down to his hip to the back of his thigh. Richie was particularly sensitive there, I knew, and after a couple of strokes he began moving against me, awake and aroused at the same time.

“My turn,” I whispered, and I rolled us over so the slender, golden body lay before me, his rampant erection jutting skyward. He had made me his last night; now it was my turn to make him mine. A quiet morning deserved soft, quiet kisses, so I began by gently brushing my lips across his eyelids, along the line of his jaw, his finely chiseled cheekbones, the tip of his nose, then finally settling into a soft, but sensuous kiss. At the same time I dragged my fingertips along the side of his chest, down his flanks, then slid my hand back up through the forest of golden hair that covered his body.

The fair skin quivered under my touch, and I continued stroking the tender place on his side. I moved my kisses across his jaw and down his neck.

“You gonna keep teasin’ me?” Richie’s voice gasped in my ear. He twisted his hips, trying to slide his cock under my hand.

Teasing sounded like a good idea, so I kept my hands away from the now-rigid shaft. I pinned his thighs to the bed with my knee across them, and his shoulders with my own hands. Holding him motionless, I attacked him with my mouth, kissing and licking at his neck, such a sensitive area for any of us, then pulling and sucking the dark circles of his nipples.

Richie squirmed and bucked beneath me, this game familiar to both of us. Stretching his hands above his head, he grasped the spindles on the headboard and stilled his body. He would keep his hands there, as though they were bound, until I touched them. I kept my knee across his thighs, but moved my hands away from his shoulders, again stroking and teasing his ribs and flanks.

His chest heaved with the effort to lie still, but only his head moved, rolling back and forth as he gasped for air. When I flicked my tongue around and into his navel he cried out, at first a wordless moan that escalated into affirmative encouragements. Even without my touching his cock, he was close to orgasm. Carefully avoiding his straining manhood, I lapped up the puddle of pearly fluid that had spilled from the rosy head. With the pre-cum still in my mouth I kissed him hard, sharing his essence as our tongues dueled.

The tendons in his forearms stood out as he gripped the headboard, and I could feel the muscles in his legs contract and tense as his climax neared. I tore my mouth from his and took him in my mouth, swallowing his entire length. I held the posture for a moment, long enough to shift position and bring my legs around so I faced his feet. I breathed deeply and slowly through my nose, then slowly pulled back, my lips tight around the throbbing column of flesh. When my lips caught on the ridge behind the swollen crown I swirled my tongue.

“Oh god! Methos!” he cried, then repeated my name with every breath as he lost the fight to keep his body still. His hips arched up, pushing his cock back into my throat, and I let it slide in, keeping my lips tightly closed and using my tongue to stimulate the ultra-sensitive flesh. I pulled back again, and we settled into a frantic rhythm. We were both close, but I knew we could go higher before... before...

I gently cupped his balls in my hand, my fingers moving them inside their soft pouch. Little by little I increased the pressure on the ovoid jewels, and his shouts became incoherent. I was hard and leaking myself, and I couldn’t keep my other hand from wrapping around my own shaft and pumping in the same rhythm. Feeling his shudder begin I pushed my hips against him, trapping my cock between us, and sucked on him like there was no tomorrow.

He’d already surprised me, holding on so long, so I wasn’t really shocked when his strong hands kneaded my buttocks, then pushed between the cheeks. His touch at my opening pushed us both to the edge, and with one last thrust of his hips, he drove his cock deep into my throat as his spit-slickened finger broached the tight ring.

Which of us came first was impossible to tell, but he filled my mouth and throat as I poured myself over his chest. As soon as I swallowed I released him, but I was still impaled on his slender digit, now deep inside me, twisting to find that special spot.

My first cry was no more than a shout, and he twisted his finger once more, this time grazing his target, and I came again, his name echoing in the room.

“M ethos?”

I didn’t know how much later it was, but the late-winter sun was higher in the sky. I didn’t think I could do any more than grunt, so I did. Somehow I’d turned around, and my head was pillowed on his shoulder, his arms around me.

“You okay?” He combed his fingers through my hair, and I nestled even closer in his embrace.

I kissed his shoulder before answering. “Never better, love.”

“Do we have anything to do today?”

It was Sunday, and we didn’t have anything planned, but I had an idea. It was an idea I’d considered and discarded before, but now, well, now it seemed right.

“We can lie here all day, read the paper, and trade blow jobs.” I knew that would appeal to him. He loved the Sunday comics.

“Sounds like a plan, Old Timer.”

I traced spirals in his chest hair, and felt his heart beat faster. “Or we could go to the mall so you could pick out your Valentine’s Day present.”

Richie sat bolt upright in the bed, nearly bouncing me onto the floor. “I get another present? You mean, more than last night?” He grinned broadly at the prospect of picking out his own present, and his eyes sparkled like sapphires.

“Last night wasn’t a present, love,” I assured him. “That was celebrating.”

With the trip to the mall as motivation, it didn’t take us long to shower, shave, and dress. I decided against cooking, since we’d end up dawdling over coffee and the comics. But I hadn’t counted on the staff at the IHOP all being students from the University. We had become an item.

A blushing coed led us to a booth and left giggling. The bus boy who poured our coffee was in one of my classes and he stuttered as he told us to let him know if we needed more coffee.

I started to ask Richie if he was all right with everyone knowing about us, when I caught his expression out of the corner of my eye. His eyes were dilated, the black pupils nearly overwhelming the indigo blue irises. That was usually a sign of arousal in him, and I had to wonder what he was thinking. When I turned my head to look at him, he lowered his gaze and blushed.

“It’s not so bad,” he said, answering my unasked question. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I can get used to it, I guess,” he added. His hand reached across the table, his fingers interlacing with mine.

I smiled at his touch. A month ago he wouldn’t have dreamed of touching my hand in public, let alone such an intimate gesture.

“So what’s my present gonna be?” he asked after the plates of pancakes, eggs, and sausage were set in front of him.

I’d ordered an omelet, and played with the hash browns before answering. “You’ll see,” I said just before filling my mouth.

Richie’s pancakes were half gone before he spoke again. “I thought you said I got to pick it out.”

I washed down the last of the potatoes with orange juice. “You’ll get to choose which one,” I allowed.

“Which what?” he pestered. There was a glint in his eye, and I knew he wouldn’t let this rest.

I put down my glass and glared at him. “You’ll see,” I said, my voice low and hard. The blue eyes widened at the change of tone, but my wink put him at ease. I had told Richie about my past -- well, some of it, anyway -- but he didn’t often see that side of me. I kept Death buried deeply, but like last night, he manages to surface when needed.

The mall was crowded, even early on a Sunday afternoon, but I found a parking space only a short hike from the monstrous building. We didn’t build them that big even in ancient Egypt. Once inside, I oriented myself and steered us directly to the shop I’d chosen.

“Adam,” he asked, looking at he glittering merchandise in the display cases. “Why are you stopping here?”

“This is where we’re going to pick out your present,” I answered him. “That is, if you want what I’ve chosen.” I had a moment’s panic that he wouldn’t want the gift.

“Can I help you?” The young man behind the counter wore a name tag that identified him as Mike. At least he wasn’t one of my students.

I made eye contact with him and nodded, then returned my gaze to Richie. I wanted to see his face when I said, “We’d like to look at rings.”

Author’s notes:

Click to see a photo of the ring Richie chooses.

Here is the text of the message Richie enclosed with the roses...

My Love is like a red, red rose,
That’s newly sprung in June.
My love is like the melody,
That’s sweetly played in tune.

“My Love Is Like A Red, Red Rose”
-- Robert Burns

And the source of the title...

Love Of My Life

Where you are, that’s where I wanna be
And through your eyes, all the things I wanna see
And in the night, you are my dream
You’re everything to me

Chorus:
You’re the love of my life
And the breath in my prayers
Take my hand, lead me there

I can’t forget the taste of your mouth
From your lips the heavens pour out
I can’t forget when we are one
With you alone I am free

Bridge:
Everyday, every night, you alone
You’re the love of my life
Everyday, every night, you alone,
You’re the love of my life

Outro:
We go dancing in the moonlight
With the starlight in your eyes
We go dancing till the sunrise
You and me we’re gonna dance, dance, dance

-- Carlos Santana & Dave Matthews

This page last updated
22 August 2002

© 2001 Emma Keigh