Carson Kearns' Highlander Fanfic

Carson Kearn's Montage by Killa

Lost in the Loving Musing:
Dancing With Razors

by Carson Kearns

Warning, Background and Disclaimer


All standard disclaimers apply. The Highlander characters are the property of Davis-Panzer and are used without permission. But I'm not making any money out if this. This material may not be copied or distributed without my permission. Do not link, publish or post this material without permission.

Thank you everyone who has emailed me with comments. It's because of this feedback that I've been inspired to keep writing.....

Note: The title was inspired by the following lines from Bette Midler’s The Rose:

"...Some say love it is a river that drowns the tender reed
Some say love it is a razor that leaves your soul to bleed
Some say love it is a hunger an endless, aching need
I say love it is a flower And you its only seed
It’s the heart afraid of breaking that never learns to dance
It’s the dream afraid of waking that never takes the chance…"


Paris. 27th January, 2000. Luxembourg Gardens

I’ve been sitting here on this bench for hours, Methos, filling up my Antique Appraisal notebook. That’s appropriate don’t you think? Appraising you, appraising our relationship - in my Antique Appraisal notebook. Now that’s cosmic irony. I should write ‘a/f’ next to us – "all faults". Patina reflecting and refracting patterns of warmth and light…chips, knocks, cracks, scars – all proof of age and authenticity…bits of our souls worn away, broken…’distressed’ in the truest sense of the word.

I can’t even remember any more what our fight was actually about – just the usual shouting and the hurtful words. Your tongue flays me alive.

I didn’t tell Joe that this one was my fault. He probably knew. He knows me better than you do…well, in some areas he knows me better. He likes to take my side. At least he likes to pretend and it’s a game we both enjoy.

Last night I sat around Joe’s for hours – (maybe I hoped that you’d come) - watching Joe wipe the non-existent stains off the bar for the one hundredth time. He finally made his way to my side. I knew, Methos that it was only a matter of time – after all, that’s why I brood at Joe’s and not some other Bar. What’s a good brood without an appreciative audience? And Methos you sure as hell were nowhere in sight.

It goes without saying that Joe sympathised with me: "Geez, MacLeod – what’s the bastard done now?" See – how’s that for an objective opinion?

 Hours later we were both in total agreement that you are the biggest pain in the arse in the world and that it was beyond us both why I stayed. Despite hours of discussion neither of us could find a satisfactory answer to why I hadn’t taken your head years ago.

Maybe I don’t kill you because it’s hard to kill someone who’s a part of you. That was so clever of you. Because my killing of you would be killing myself. Can a person take their own Quickening? Guess it would be the ultimate in narcissism. You’d appreciate the cosmic irony of that wouldn't you. How do you do that? Make me laugh when I’m trying to be so angry with you.

I left Joe telling him that I was going back to you and the Barge and we'd sort it out " adults...".

But I didn’t come back to the Barge.....or you. I walked…I ran……

I asked you once what epitaph you’d choose for me. You gazed at me in that exasperated with youth way you so very often do…a "Will this child never grow up?" look, and finally said that I "…brought the seasons back into your life..". I suspect that that was a typical way of your cynically saying that I brought cyclones, typhoons, floods and droughts into your ordered, stable existence. Which is, of course, true.

That was months ago – before we went to New York Maybe New York is what this is about.  I miss Connor...I'll find him one day.  Maybe I'm still smarting at how unhelpful you were.  Then again maybe you're right - maybe I should just respect Connor's wishes to be on his own for a while but it hurts me to think that he seems to have cut me out of his life in the way that he has. 

I remember New York was hot. Not like now. At least the snow has let up for a while.…‘Tha I cho fuar’……so cold…cho fuar…cho fuar…I know I’m stubborn. I know I should be back at the Barge – with you. I’m still trying to work out why I’m the one to walk out of my own Barge. Our home. Is it Methos? Is it our home?

You make me so angry. Why is that? Why is it that you can trigger such fury in me? Why have I been wandering Paris for two days while you sit in front of a roaring fire in the Barge? I was going to write my roaring fire – what does that say, I wonder? That I’m possessive - that you don’t act like the Barge is our home…that deep down I still feel that you regard me as temporary and the Barge as a stopping off place in your relationship travels. Not that that stops you acting as if you owned everything I possess.

At least it's none of the important things - just my soul....….

But we both know it’s me who fears commitment.

You’re the one who had sixty eight wives (did you really I wonder? You’re such a liar…) and countless lovers. When I think about it you’re a complete tart, tumbling into relationships with hardly a second thought. You fell in love with me so quickly…before you even met me. Well – you said you did. But you say a lot of things and I never know whether they’re true or not. You kept turning up in my life when I gave you so little encouragement. What a contradiction you are. You somehow leave everyone thinking that you’re a loner – that you’ll sneak off out of my life. Heaven knows I push you hard enough....

But I’m the one who has trouble with commitment.  I'm the one who needs to be watched.

I left Tessa a few times. Connor brought her to me the last time. I was going to leave my family and clan after I lost Debra to Robert. The more I think about it the more I see me running. I ran from Scotland after Culloden and stayed away for 250 years. I ran from Anne. From Richie…Theresa…, after Bordeaux....So don’t get too blasť Methos – I don’t have a great record when it comes to commitment. Well - technically that's not really true.  It's not the actual commitment I have trouble with - it's the cost on my friends and lovers of my commitment.  I’ll find a rationalisation to justify doing what I feel needs to be done. What I feel – not what I think – what I feel. My heart was always my undoing, Gradhach.

I don’t know who’s the more stubborn, Methos?

Why is it so fucking hard with this relationship? It was never this painful with Tessa. We’d fight and yell like banshees but it was always over quickly. I could always control my anger around Tessa so why can’t I with you? Is it just that too much has happened since Tessa…since she died? Am I that out of control nowadays? Or is it you – is it just that you bring out this vicious, hurtful, poisonous side of me that I always managed – most of the time - to keep under control? Is it because you’re an Immortal that I don’t feel the need to hold back with you?

I think that we play dangerous games Methos – I really do.

I can’t recall ever speaking to a lover as I’ve spoken to you. But no lover has ever taunted and provoked me like you do. Is it a game with you? Is it part of pushing me to see how far you have to push to make me leave? Maybe that’s what I’m doing too? Damn – I don’t want to think. I just want some peace and quiet. This is what I get when I let you distract me so often from doing my daily meditations. Do you see why they’re so important Methos? Do you really understand how close to chaos I am every single fucking day?

"Brought the seasons back…" you said. Brought Winter back, maybe. There’s a lot to be said for being content with Spring and Autumn, Methos. Maybe you should have been content with them… You don’t need my long Winters. You say that my high summers make up for it. But you’re lying. Huh…that would be a surprise! Methos lying...And high summers are short and intense – they sear and burn and leave you scarred if you’re not careful.

And we’re never careful.

Maybe that’s why I’m sitting here in the Luxembourg Gardens – because a sensible part of me, buried under inches of snow, knows that our being together is the most senseless thing in the world – and that it can only result in a nuclear winter of death and pain and heartbreak.
It’s so cold…if you were here you’d touch me…hold me…you always warm me. Melt me. Just when I’m feeling most numb you find life in me. You spin a thread and you pull me back. Even when I’m so very tired of climbing.

cho fuar…cho fuar…

Sometimes I just want to spin myself inside that thread and never come back – never emerge. Just feel its silky tendrils trapping me inside it forever…. I wonder if that’s what it feels like to have your Quickening taken and subsumed? That terrifies me. Not death - the thought of being trapped somewhere dark.......when we take Quickenings Methos do we also take people's souls?  That's what terrifies soul being trapped....tell me it isn't so...

When we make love there’s a part of me that wants to lose myself inside you forever. Never come back…pull your body around me and disappear inside it……crawl and climb and hide inside you……

God I’m cold…I should leave here and come home…but you make me so angry, Methos. Your smart arsed comments. The way they cut into me. You‘re one of the most cruel people I know – do you know that? You always pick something inspired to cut me with. Being with you is like trying to dance with razors.  My body heals - but you always cut so deeply...… But I can’t pretend to compete with your inspired brilliance when it comes to using language as a weapon. How often have you used it to bring me to my knees? That’s why I left so quickly this time. I knew what you’d do – I knew we’d start yelling and hurting and competing for the best and most vicious lie to slice and gut and fillet each other with.

I’ve been in so many dark places lately. I fear the dark places where I think Tessa and Richie are. I know I still spend too much time visiting their graves, talking to them. I know it frustrates you… I don’t know why there are so many things that still seem so unfinished for me, or what I have to do to make it stop.

So many dark and lonely nights many...where I’ve sat, night after night, searching for the boatman to ferry me over the Styx…but he never came Methos. You did. Death. How’s that for more cosmic irony? I sat there praying for Death to come to me and Death came. Did you enjoy it? Have you liked it Methos? Would my Mother have warned me about you?

And when I most despair from lack of shelter I remember that you are my shelter – my only shelter. And I understand a little of tranquility – at least for a while…

I know the Book of Job off by heart. I know that whenever you see it on the coffee table or on my chest when I’ve fallen asleep that you always put it away somewhere. But I don’t need it physically. I know it off by heart…After Richie’s …after Richie’s ..death…I thought that so much of Job seemed to have been written for me:

"…My only food is sighs
And my groans pour out like water
Whatever I fear comes true
Whatever I dread befalls me.
For me, there is no calm, no peace:
My torments banish rest…"

"…whatever I fear comes true…". Well - I fear your death. I fear your absence from me. I fear that you will take the summer with you and leave me here in this cold and bitter place…and I’ll be trapped forever….

Cho fuar…cho fuar…Chan eil mi airson tilleadh…. I don’t want to go back to those cold dark places inside me and around me. Why is it suddenly so hard to think in English and so easy to think in Gaelic? Maybe it’s all that religion…all those lessons about Divine Retribution, taught so long ago by my Mother.

Chan eil mi gur n-iarraidh, Methos – I just don’t understand you. Sometimes I almost accept that I never will.

Should there be a balance in our lives? We haven’t found one. We either burn or we freeze.
But you comfort me.  And I don’t know why you bother any more. I love the way you reach across and use your thumbs to wipe my tears away. And when you let yourself just be yourself you always look at me with a look of such endless longing and such pain. I just want to curl up into nothing and have you surround me with your body and mind. Without you there is no protection. There is no haven ….only the dark wind-lashed tender places.

I make you so angry when I get like this…which is why I’m not doing it in front of you. See how thoughtful I’ve become? All that book work you think I’m working on is really me doing what you suggested so many times – adding a parallel series of journals to Joe’s. At first I felt stupid – now I can see how you became so addicted. For someone so naturally introspective as us both it’s a very addictive past-time…

After Richie’s death – when you took me to Iona, - you know that I couldn’t get the Book of Job’s words out of my soul…But you were so clever…you knew… you knew me…you started quoting it back at me, knowing that I was just waiting for the right time to find a way to end my ridiculous life. You kept telling me that you knew...and you’d sit there holding me, as we looked out beyond the Treshnish Isles. You quoted Job at me:

"Why give light to a man of grief?
Why give life to those bitter of heart,
Who long for a death that never comes?…"

Why indeed?

The wind on Iona was bitter that summer - but I sheltered in your warmth. I was conscious of nothing but your strength, Gradhach, as you wrapped that thread around me and refused to let me fall, or jump or go away and hide for a thousand years…you just kept quoting Job back at me:

"May the day perish when I was born, …
may that day be darkness,
may God on high have no thought for it,
may no light shine on it
may murk and deep shadow claim it for their own
clouds hang over it…"

It was as if your saying of it started – eventually – to dilute it. It opened up a channel right through to my heart and soul and gave the poisonous intent somewhere to go…and it travelled towards you. But you called it forth and fought it and grounded it….and I can’t remember now how many times I gathered that poison and held it fast and nurtured it and fed it with my blackness before launching it at you. I’m a warrior. My weapons find their marks. They penetrate the shields of my enemies. And for so long I was determined that you were my enemy. You refused to let me die. You fought my will and my desire, my desperation and my despair. You lanced my soul. You took my weapons into your own body and every time you did that it gave me less leverage. Eventually I had few weapons left….
And all the while the winds of Scotland swirled and sucked and whipped us both and the Atlantic roared its fury and reminded me of the forces that had shaped you and me. 

Until you took me to Iona I had lost my faith in everything.

"For the years of my life are numbered,
And I shall soon take the road of no return…
My days have passed far otherwise than I had planned,
and every fibre of my heart is broken…where then is my hope?
Who can see any happiness for me?…"

It wasn’t until Kampuk that I remembered how lost I was, in the loving of you…
And we somehow came through it – even after I made you stay away when I returned to Paris and fought Ahriman. I’m still not convinced that you even believe in Ahriman. But you believe in me. Well - maybe you do....maybe....

And I learned to forgive myself.

I like the way the snow is coming down on me now. These cold and bitter flakes of death…gently stroking me, touching me, enticing me….. caressing me. Lulling - seducing… pulling me towards the void….It’s the turning of the year Methos….that’s when Darius died – and Richie died.

Spring and Autumn……..the turning of the seasons…

28th January

I knew it was you. I know your Quickening now. I stopped writing and just waited for you and you came to me and sat down and took my hand and put it in your pocket. And we said nothing because there was nothing that could possibly be said. Or was it that we both feared opening our mouths in case some residual poison still lurked…just waiting…
So we said nothing and sat there for what seemed like hours. Nothing else existed in the world for me but you, sitting next to me on that bench. Just being there. I loved it when we finally rose and you pushed me against that tree and kissed me like that – such longing and lust.

 I love it when you want me like that. Do you realise how often we solve our fights by scorching away all traces of them with sex?
I think, after that kiss, that I told you I was sorry. I know whatever it was we’d fought about was no doubt my fault but I suspect that I just wanted to skip that part and just get back to the Barge to get fucked stupid. It always puts everything in perspective for me! 

We fight…scream….flay each other alive…..and it always seems to end up with one of us being totally dominated sexually by the other. These fights never end with us making love. Maybe that’s fitting – they start off from an excess of passion and heat and that’s how they end. So maybe, after all, we do know instinctively how to get balance in our lives.

And after we’ve seared and burned each other into oblivion things seem to be back on an even keel again and we make love  – until the next time. Do you ever worry Methos that we might be doing this on purpose? Because I love it when you make me your whore. I do. No-one has ever made me feel like that – no-one has ever been strong enough to hold me down and I love it. Here’s a present for you.

I love it when…

I love it when you best me –pin me down,
clamp your thighs around me, hold me down.

You take me, play me, bend me to your will –
fuck me fiercely, Gradhach, take your fill.
I love to feel you throbbing deep inside -
feel you wear me, tear me, as you ride.

So dominate me, Gradhach, hold me down.
Leave me bound and breathless - tie me down.
I love to be your plaything – be your whore
Have you take me, wildly, - leave me raw.

I love to feel your strong hands hold me wide,
my ankles pushed apart – my body tied.
My sweat soaked hair spread wild for your delight
My body penetrated, hot and tight.

I love it when you best me - pleasure's pain.
Take me fiercely, Gradhach, once again. 
(Duncan.  2000)

Jesus, Methos – imagine poor Joe’s face if he ever reads any of this.

Sometimes I think that we have too much time on our hands.

Fucking hell Methos, I just re-read this one you did for me for my birthday last year…it was so cold and the fire was so hot…you made me lie there while you licked and tasted every inch of my body...whispering over and over about skewering me..eating make me so hot for you…

Gourmet Seduction

Sun of Alba, sex-seared son
Semen-ploughed and seeded
Smeared and kneaded

Scottish tender-loins and limbs
Blooded, baked and basted
Trussed and tasted

Warrior leg-spread feasting
Fresh flesh sucked right off the bone
You broil, you moan…

Stewed and stripped and chewed and ripped
Such succulence, such heat
Such tender meat…

Rare firm flesh, you turn, you burn
Your sizzling crackling craved
Your scorched skin laved…

Juices dripped, and licked and sipped
Your carnivore complete
My lust replete...

Your glistening meat teeth-stripped
your predator, your mate
mouth-cleans the plate… 
(Methos. 1999)

How about I do kebabs for us tonight?…Except that I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to eat anything off a skewer without getting a raging hard-on because I know what you’ll be thinking. And all I’ll be able to feel will be your teeth using my cock like a meat skewer, sucking it and stripping the meat off it…sucking it down to the bone…

See what you do to me? This started off with me in a fully fledged 10/10 Scottish vintage self-pitying full-blown brood and it ends up with all of that heavy blood and iron sinking to my cock. And then you entice and tease and taunt and seduce all of that tension and tightness and darkness right out of me.

And leave me sitting here grinning stupidly – raising a glass to poetry and the acts that inspire it.

A-nochd, Methos. Tha an t-acras orm….Tonight I’ll be your gourmet lover…As my old friend Montgomerie once fantasised "…so sweet a kiss yestreen frae thee I reft, in bowing doun thy body on the bed…". Prepare to be mounted Methos. And I’ll forget everything I said above that was less than gracious and was so utterly self-indulgent. Well – most of it…

And who, you will wonder, was Montgomerie fantasising about?  And your wondering will bring your heart and your mind and your body home to me......

You bring me such joy – such utter, complete, total joy.

Carson Kearns

Tha I cho fuar’ – I am so cold.
Chan eil mi airson tilleadh’ – I’m not returning/I don't want to go back.…
Chan eil mi gur n-iarraidh’- I don’t understand you.
Tha an t-acras orm’ – I’m hungry.
'A-nochd, Methos. Tha an t-acras orm..'  Tonight, Methos. The hunger is on me/I am
Alexander Montgomerie.  C. 1545 – c.1610


'I love it when...' and 'Gourmet Seduction' channelled from Methos and Duncan via Carson Kearns.....


7 April 1999.
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