My deepest thanks, as always, to my incredible beta - MacG for her endless encouragement, support and meticulous care and attention to my words and grammar :-).This Chronicle is set immediately after Lost in the Loving: Coming Home.
Duncan has been invited to Seacouver by Mary to a school event:
"Now - when are we going to see you in Seacouver? Mary has a very special school function that she'd love you to be present for, in late September. Any hope?"
"I'll certainly try. I have to be back in Seacouver for business in October so it won't be too difficult to come a few days early."
And thus, dear Reader, Duncan and Methos arrive in Seacouver to a very dusty Loft....
The early morning light streamed through the unshuttered windows of the Loft, bathing the Highlander in gold - and dust motes. He didn't mind. As he looked out over the Seacouver skyline he felt only warmth, despite his nudity and the coolness of the outside temperature.
No matter how many years passed, Duncan never tired of thinking about his first meeting with Methos. Their life together had so many mirror elements. He recalled their first meeting, when Duncan had arrived at Methos' door and entered unannounced. Sword drawn.
"Mi casa es su casa!" the Ancient had proclaimed when Duncan, a total stranger, had invaded his dwelling. There was no way, Duncan mused, that Duncan MacLeod would ever have let a sword wielding unknown Immortal enter his dwelling. Well - they might have entered it - but they would have left it a head shorter. But not Methos. His uncanny ability to do the utterly unexpected had no doubt been a large part of the reason for his surviving for five thousand years. The next unexpected thing he had done was to completely disappear.
So there had been no Methosian home for Duncan to make his own! But the offer was there - and the reciprocal obligations it placed on the recipient of Methos' generous hospitality. Some months later it had been called in when Methos had arrived on Duncan's doorstep in Seacouver, clearly expecting the same offer of hospitality. Duncan quietly chuckled at how manipulative the old bastard had been. For Duncan had been left with no choice but to offer his living space to Methos, in return for Methos' original offer (if not any actual hospitality). But Duncan had had no idea what repercussions his flippant mirroring of "Mi casa es su casa" to Methos would bring about. The most immediate result had been that he had lost ownership rights to his very comfortable couch, and any stray bottles of beer in his fridge.
Methos had gone on to assume that everything Duncan owned was now Methos' and, in every sense of the word, proceeded to take up residence in all the private spaces and places that Duncan had hidden away - even from himself. The really funny thing was that Duncan found that he didn't mind at all...
"The world's oldest squatter!" Duncan had once thrown at him, after they had become lovers.
"Do you want me to pay rent Duncan - or would you rather I pay in kind?" Methos had once moaned in heated whisperings, reminding Duncan of his legal rights as a tenant and of Duncan's obligations as a landlord.
Duncan had agreed that...well..perha-a-a-a-aps..if Methos continued to taste him like that, and kiss him like that...and swallow him like that,...gods... then Methos could indeed pay in kind.
And so Methos had.
And as a sensitive and caring landlord Duncan had felt it incumbent upon him, (he announced) to return the favor - often...
And each now offered shelter and a home to the heart and soul of the other. Each stood shield for the other. Everything Duncan owned was covered in Methos' fingerprints. Indeed, he wondered, standing by the loft window, whether he actually owned anything any more? He couldn't work out if that was a good question or not. Was there anything that his lover hadn't left his imprint upon? His indelible presence? He turned from the window, and looked over to the bed. The very untidy bed. He laughed and shook his head as a tousled dark head began to emerge.
"Are you intending doing anything useful, like bringing me a cup of strong coffee and a pump - or are you planning on standing there, posing, all day?" grizzled the world's oldest tenant.
Duncan rose to the challenge. "I thought I'd give you something to think about all day - me bathed in golden light. Wouldn't want you to think me a poor host," he smirked. Then he scowled in confusion as Methos' request sank in. "What do you need a pump for?"
"I'm flat, Narcissus. You've sucked and fucked me dry."
Duncan's laughter filled the loft. "Better be careful then old man or I'll huff and I'll puff and blow you away...out the window .. with all the rest of the dust..."
As he wandered to the kitchen, still in his naked glory, Methos allowed himself the luxury of the obvious reply. "I'm already blown dry. Where's that coffee MacLeod? I need moisture! I'm drier than the bloody dust motes this place is covered in! I'm turning into one."
"You're more a dust mite than a mote. You'd always find a way of getting under anyone's skin, no matter what life form you turned into." He paused to pour the coffees. "You're already scattered over everything I used to own," he smiled, looking up at his tousled lover. He proceeded to bring two large glasses of water and then two mugs of coffee to their bed and snuggled back into the linen wreckage. "You could help me clean the Loft if the dust is that offensive to you. It'd be a break from your free-loading."
Methos had no sympathy. "Well - that'll teach you to open your door to strangers - deserving as they might be. Besides, this is my home now, as well. You said so. However, I must say MacLeod, you really could make a bit more of an effort to keep it clean." Because the whining was accompanied by the clever smile, it didn't have quite the impact it usually did. His further complaints of being completely parched and denuded of all the moisture that his body had once had, finally bought a reaction.
"Well - there's nothing for it old man. Time for some drastic action! I'll add some water and see if we can get some life back into your dried out old cock." And so saying, he took a full mouthful of the iced water he had brought back to the bed. Sliding down beneath the covers he grabbed hold of Methos' muscular hips and expertly took his lover's clearly expectant cock into the water-filled depths of his mouth and throat. It would have all gone as planned had not Methos decided at that point to tickle the Highlander's armpits. The resulting shower of iced water all over Methos' stomach and Duncan's choked coughing and laughing soon had them tussling and turning each other over and over, first one way, and then rolling back across the bed.
Finally, Duncan conceded. "Not bad for five thousand year old dust. Thought you couldn't move? Thought you'd been licked and slicked and pricked dry?"
Methos gave him one of his enigmatic eye-smiles. "I was, youngling. Then I looked at you, standing by the window. Every self respecting speck of dust in the room woke up and headed in your direction. I was just reminding them who has tenant's rights."
Before Duncan knew what was happening he'd been flipped beneath Methos.
"I'm not letting any dust mite get prior access to this body, MacLeod," he whispered, as his mouth descended on the closest nipple.
Duncan started to chuckle once again and reached for his coffee as Methos continued to feast. "I can't tell you how flattered I feel - being fought over by dust motes, dust mites and an old fossil."
In between nipple suckling, Methos enlightened him. "It's not your fault that you attract all manner of life forms. None of them has a hope of dislodging me, however."
Duncan reached down to play with Methos' hair while Methos' mouth started to explore ever more responsive territory. "Mi casa es su casa Methos...my body is your body...my soul is your soul...," he assured.
Methos emptied his mouth of the succulent cock long enough to chastise. "You forgot to mention how all of your possessions are my possessions - including your beer."
Duncan's final semi-articulate phrases were something along the lines of his not realising that he owned anything more - but if he did, he was sure Methos would soon discover it and take it over. Duncan then mumbled something about owners having obligations to take care of their property, - that Duncan's cock should now be considered Methos' most prized possession, - and that it was in need of much tongue and throat massaging and polishing...not to mention kneading and squeezing and stretching and many other /- ing/ words - not to mention very very very close inspection...
Methos pulled back from his bodily housekeeping and proceeded to do as instructed, - and inspected Duncan's beautiful engorged cock very closely. He announced that he would keep it moisturised with his own oral juices until satisfied that not one microcosm of dust remained to challenge him for any landing rights. As he resumed his ministrations, he started to forcefully push the Highlander's thighs up - and out, and moaned in assent as Duncan took hold of each of his own thighs and left himself open for Methos' continuing feasting delight.
"Mmmmm," there being little even one as skilled as Methos could articulate, with a mouth full of slowly broiling raw meat.
"Methos...I think I like being eaten alive..." Duncan moaned, thrashing on the already ruined bed.
Methos started to insinuate his fingers into the Highlander's anus.
"If you're still capable of thinking then I clearly haven't been thorough enough in my inspections MacLeod. Let's try this area. You never know with those dust motes," the old man chuckled, as Duncan insisted that Methos keep checking -
Three fingers slipped in as far as they could go, and when Methos commented that MacLeod was a complete tart - and that he could at least pretend occasionally to be not in the mood...
"..and pigs might fly..." was Duncan's considered response...
And then Methos kept his left hand pumping the Highlander's cock, took as much as he could of his balls into his mouth and with the fingers of his right hand started to circle his anus. Eventually, he announced that he was taking pity on the Highlander...
"New hobbies are always fun," Duncan moaned...
Methos drew back onto his haunches, and announced that the Highlander would pay for that rude remark...
And so Methos had pulled the Highlander's backside up onto his thighs and sat, as if transfixed at the sight spread out before him. "God I love you in this position, Duncan. Flat on your back, holding yourself wide for me. Put your legs on my shoulders. I want to feel your weight. I want to feel them pulling me into you," he gasped.
Duncan groaned at Methos' words, thinking of what Methos had done to him in Paris only days before...endless days of being lost in the loving...
...and immediately positioned the backs of his thighs as close as he could to Methos' chest and hooked his knees over Methos' shoulders. He used his feet to pull Methos and his glorious cock closer to his anus, which was being caressed and further opened by the expert use of Methos' thumbs. Methos let his fingers dig and knead into the golden skin of Duncan's backside.
Duncan's world exploded as Methos then plunged deep inside him, without warning. "Fuck! I love it when you punish me," he chuckled. He felt the coarseness of Methos' pubic hair hitting his backside and cried out for all that Methos wanted to give him.
Methos gave neither of them time to recover, before taking Duncan's cock in both of his hands and commencing to milk it for all it was worth. Duncan's hands soon joined Methos' and amidst incoherent lustful screams of pleasure (or so Methos insisted some time later) both Immortals gave themselves up to what seemed like hours of their usual fare - completely impure, sinful, hedonistic, sensual delight.
"Christ, MacLeod! Your cock's like a fucking throttle!"
How he had the energy to laugh, Duncan had no idea. "If you call it a joystick, I swear I'm finding a new lover," he lied. At least he thought he did. In truth he had no idea what was being muttered aloud and what was trapped inside his exploding body. He wrapped his legs tightly around his lover, using the incredible strength of his calf muscles to push Methos in and out of his body - relaxing his legs as Methos pulled out - adding their force as Methos thrust in.
Over and over...
Again and again...and again...
When their orgasms came, both simply kept holding onto any piece of flesh in the immediate vicinity - anything to ground them to this reality. This time and place. This millennium.
Finally, one of them was capable of speaking.
"The blinds are up."
"The sun was shining on us," Duncan pronounced.
"Lucky sun," Methos smiled. "I envy its being able to touch all of you at the same time..."
Duncan quickly whipped his hand down to prevent Methos withdrawing his cock from its very pleasurable current position - inside Duncan's anus. "Leave it there. Once the shock has worn off it'll realise it's in friendly territory and start exploring," he muttered, hopefully.
Methos laughed and shook his head, reached across for the now cold coffee, (without withdrawing, - a feat only possible for the well endowed, he pointed out) and drank the entire mug.
Duncan opened his eyes and luxuriated in the warm sun now bathing them both. In the golden light, beams of exhausted, moisture laden dust were collapsing all about them.
Methos gave a knowing smile. "I see what you mean MacLeod. Now we're covered in dust again. Wouldn't want you to think me a poor tenant." And so saying he washed his mouth out with the remaining water, and bent to start the endless cleansing that the Highlander's body seemed to require. Fortunately.
"Methos," Duncan groaned.
"I think some dust settled on my mouth..."
Methos laughed. "Good. It'll clean off when you dust my prick."
"I love spring cleaning..."
Methos groaned. "Never say I don't indulge you, Highlander. Your wish was my command."
Duncan chuckled - with effort. "I said the Loft needed cleaning Methos! Don't think that this gets you out of helping me spring clean the Loft."
"You're a born cynic, MacLeod. You said I didn't do enough cleaning so I haven't stopped exhausting myself ever since. Make up your mind, youngling. This seems a fair trade to me. You keep me fuelled with lots of beer and gourmet food. I clean you. You then clean the Loft! It's the cycle of life. Logic's impeccable. Worked for me for millennia."
Duncan could but agree. "You're right old man. Beats me why they say that good help is hard to find. Guess I was just lucky," he smiled, reaching to trace the sensuous planes of Methos' face.
"Guess we both were," Methos agreed. "Now - what needs cleaning next?" he innocently inquired, starting on the Highlander's neck.
Duncan settled back, and prepared himself to be wonderfully put upon. "I'm not sure old man. I think you should do a general
exploratory and give me a quote," he suggested.
Methos' response, Duncan was sure, (could it be heard amidst the laughing and the sighing) was no doubt utterly and totally obscene.
Life, he decided, was good.
Even if he didn't own anything anymore. Except, of course, Methos.
Being so utterly lost in the loving of one such as Methos was not a bad thing, he decided. Indeed, life was good. Very good indeed...
|Copyright © Carson Kearns 2001||