| Carson Kearns' Highlander Fanfic |
Lost in the
Loving Musing:
Dancing With Razors
by Carson Kearns
carsonkearns@hotmail.com
|
NC-17 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:
|
Paris. 27th January, 2000. Luxembourg Gardens I’ve
been sitting here on this bench 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 I left
Joe telling him that I was going back to you and the Barge and we'd sort it
out "...like 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 "…b That
was months ago – before we went to New York 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
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…Joe...you, after
Bordeaux....So don’t get too blasé 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. 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 me.....my 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 ...so 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:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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.
"…My
only food is sighs "…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.
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…"
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?
|
 |
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, … 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…. Until
you took me to Iona I had lost my faith in everything.
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…"
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.
"For
the years of my life are numbered, It
wasn’t until Kampuk that I remembered how lost I was, in the loving of
you… 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…
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… 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? 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.
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?…"
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....
~~~~~~
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 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!
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. 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 me...you make me so hot for
you…
Take me
fiercely, Gradhach, once again.
(Duncan. 2000)
Gourmet Seduction
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Skewered
Sun of Alba,
sex-seared son
Semen-ploughed
and seeded
Smeared and kneaded
Spitted
Scottish
tender-loins and limbs
Blooded, baked
and basted
Trussed and tasted
Pitted
Warrior
leg-spread feasting
Fresh flesh
sucked right off the bone
You broil, you
moan…
Suckled
Stewed and
stripped and chewed and ripped
Such
succulence, such heat
Such tender
meat…
Speared
Rare firm
flesh, you turn, you burn
Your sizzling
crackling craved
Your scorched
skin laved…
Sated
Juices dripped,
and licked and sipped
Your carnivore
complete
My lust replete...
Surfeit. 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.
****************************
'I love it
when...' and 'Gourmet Seduction' channelled from Methos and Duncan via Carson
Kearns.....
***********************
Your glistening
meat teeth-stripped
your predator,
your mate
mouth-cleans the plate… (Methos. 1999)
Carson
Kearns
Endnotes:
‘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
| Copyright © Carson Kearns 1998-1999 | Contact Carson
Kearns: carsonkearns@hotmail.com |