W ith the force of a habit formed over centuries, Methos woke a few minutes before dawn. He lay still for a moment, eyes closed, absorbing the day. He felt... good. No shadows lingered from the night before, and the day ahead seemed full of promise. He still wasn’t used to it, this sense of well-being that stole over him whenever Richie was near, and the feeling was never stronger than after a night spent sleeping in Richie’s arms.

A smile curled his lips as he acknowledged that he was stalling. It was time to open his eyes, but the anticipation of seeing Richie beside him was so sweet that he always put it off as long as possible. Instead he focused on the way the rest of his senses told him Richie was near — the sound of Richie’s heartbeat under his ear, the heat from Richie’s body spreading warmth wherever they touched, the smell of Richie that was inescapable now that they were close, but that followed him even when they were miles apart. Methos considered turning his face to taste the skin so tantalizingly close, but he knew it would not end there. Instead he nuzzled his nose lightly into the hair on Richie’s chest and forced his eyes open.

Good morning, he told his lover silently. Taking a long, quiet look at the sleeping figure, he let the peace of it seep into his soul. Beautiful. Gods, Richie, you’re so beautiful.

Tearing himself away, Methos went to the living room to greet the sun the way he always did. The task had become considerably easier since his day began officially starting with the sight of Richie rather than a dark, empty house, and it was still an unaccustomed pleasure to face the day ahead with expectation rather than simply the will to survive.

When the sun had risen but Richie had not, Methos considered starting breakfast — the smell of food was sure to bring his perpetually hungry partner to the kitchen — but he realized there was no longer any pressing reason for either of them to be awake at such an early hour. His morning ritual had been satisfied, and although he wasn’t tired, the prospect of another hour or two in bed with Richie was sounding better all the time.

Now that he’d let the thought in, the lure of holding Richie, breathing him in, proved irresistible. Long-legged strides carried Methos to the bedroom in time to see Richie angling himself up on an elbow.

“What time is it?” the younger man asked, his voice husky with sleep.

“Early,” Methos reassured him.

“Okay,” Richie nodded, bleary blue eyes trying to focus on Methos. “You done with your thing?”

“Yes,” the elder replied, his lips curving into a tender smile.

“Are we getting up?”

“No, Rich. Go back to sleep.”

Staying stubbornly awake, Richie threw back the covers and waited for Methos to settle back into bed. Only after Methos was spooned up behind him did Richie truly relax. He sighed deeply, whispered, “love you, Meth,” and allowed sleep to overtake him once more.

It had happened again, Methos realized. Richie had somehow stolen yet another part of the heart that was already completely his. It was enough for Methos that he loved Richie — simply being able to feel that much was a luxury he never took for granted. The fact that Richie loved him back was a miracle. Still, what never ceased to amaze him was the way he kept falling for Richie. Out of nowhere — BAM! — and he was lost, just like the first time, over and over again.

For once the weather forecast was accurate, and a soft rain began pattering on the roof. Except for the rain and sometimes the whirr of the refrigerator motor the house was completely still. Methos’ mind wandered at random for a while, but he kept coming back to the rise and fall of Richie’s chest as he breathed. Up and down, deep and steady, punctuated occasionally by quiet sighs or dreamy murmurs — Methos was riveted. As an experiment he shifted so there was a tiny buffer of air separating him from Richie, and he smirked to himself when the sleeping figure closed the gap immediately. He pressed a kiss into Richie’s hair and the small frown that had appeared between Richie’s eyebrows cleared.

“I sleep better when you’re here, too,” Methos whispered to his lover. “I search for you in my dreams.”

He paused to place a kiss on Richie’s shoulder, but found more words welling up inside him. “Do you know what it means to me to be able to say that? I have dreams now, Richie. You gave them to me.”

Methos fell silent once more, trying to fit his emotions to words that just didn’t seem adequate. “How do you do this to me?” he finally wondered aloud. “Five thousand years, hundreds of languages — I should be able to tell you how I feel, what you make me feel, but I don’t have the words.”

Finally Methos sighed and gave up. “I love you, Richie. I love you. Is that enough? Does that tell you how necessary you are? I’ll say it again. I love you. I love you so much.”

The last words had barely left his lips when, with a deep breath, Richie woke up. He turned to greet Methos with a sleepy grin. “Morning.”

“Good morning,” Methos smiled back, then frowned slightly. “Did I wake you?”

“Yeah,” Richie admitted, his grin widening.

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you kidding?” Richie laughed. “You can wake me up like that anytime. I love hearing you saying you love me.”

“I love you,” Methos repeated, helpless to stop the words from spilling out even if he’d wanted to. Then he saw the shine in Richie’s eyes and relaxed. It was enough. Richie understood, probably better than Methos understood himself.

Reaching out to wind a stray curl around his finger, Methos asked, “Did you sleep well?”

“Oh, yeah. Like a baby.” Richie leaned in for a kiss, but the growling of Methos’ stomach stopped him. “I thought that was my line,” he teased. As if on cue, a rumble was heard from his own midsection. “Like I said,” Richie chuckled before getting his kiss and getting out of bed.

The sight of the dark gray clouds visible through the bedroom window brought him up short. “Damn.”

“Let me guess,” Methos said, “The rain puts a wrinkle in your plans for today?”

“Sort of. I was going to go over and check on Maria’s parents, that’s all. I can still do it, but I don’t like to ride when it’s crappy like this.”

“It’s not a crappy day,” the elder man argued. “It’s perfect.”

“Perfect?” Richie asked incredulously. “Look at it, Methos. It’s miserable out there.”

“I am looking,” Methos replied quietly once Richie’s eyes were back on him. “And it looks beautiful from here.”

“Methos,” Richie breathed, letting the warmth of his lover’s words wash over him for a moment before walking into the arms held open for him.

After a long, contented embrace Methos said, “I’ll drive you to Maria’s parents.”

Richie’s head snapped up and he searched Methos’ face. “You will?”

“She makes pancakes on Sunday mornings, doesn’t she?” Methos shrugged. “I like pancakes.”

“You want to stay for breakfast?” Richie asked, stunned.

“If that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, Methos, of course it’s okay,” the younger man replied, his lips slowly curving into a full smile. “They’re dying to meet you.”

“Oh, great. What have you been telling them about me?” Methos groaned.

“Just a couple things,” Richie hastened to reassure his lover. “How smart you are, for one. How good looking you are. How much I love you.”

“What time do they get home from church?” Methos questioned, his voice low and husky with passion.

“We have about half an hour,” Richie responded eagerly, his eyes flicking from the bed, to Methos, and back again.

Casting a regretful glance at the bed himself, Methos shook his head. “That’s what we get for sleeping in,” he sighed. Then he lifted twinkling eyes to Richie’s. “Now we only have time for a shower.”

“Gee, that’s too bad,” Richie commiserated with Methos. “I guess that’ll teach us.”

The ancient immortal frowned. “Is that herbal conditioner upstairs or downstairs?”

“Downstairs,” Richie answered after a moment’s thought.

“Ah,” Methos nodded. “Because that peach is. . .”

“Peach. Yeah, I remember. So, downstairs?”

“If you think we can make it that far,” Methos challenged.

“Fine,” Richie sighed, taking Methos’ hand and dragging him towards the bathroom. “Peach.”

Trailing along behind Richie, Methos had to admit that mornings like this were what made every day with Richie truly beautiful.

© 2002 Nikki Memmott