The Elvis Minutes #08


I Want You, I Need You, I Love You




Finally I have Methos in my bed. Naked and sprawled across my bed as if he owns it, he reminds me of a marble statue, a representation of one of the mortal sins perhaps, or maybe all seven. Wrath--I'd been pissed at his interference with Kristin, and at my own mishandling of the situation. There was no reason Methos should have had to endure Kristin's quickening. Sloth-- the way he lies, all loose-limbed and wide-spread is the epitome of decadent hedonism. Envy--although I don't know if I would ever want to be five thousand years old, I think of the wonders he must have seen, the ages he's experienced. So, yes, I envy his age, and his survival.

Pride--he sleeps heavily, completely worn out, because of me. He had barely even stirred when I wiped away the majority of the mess we'd created with a warm cloth. I snicker and grin at the barely conscious figure. Four hundred years is nothing to sneeze at, Old Man.

Greed--I want more. Of him. Of this. My hand ghosts across his chest. He stirs, but remains asleep. Greed's evil partner, Gluttony, is also represented--I could swallow Methos whole and still not have enough. Of the surprisingly silky skin that I couldn't stop my hands from caressing. Of the talented mouth that evoked in me sensations I have never felt before, shivers and quivers and breathtaking quakes that endlessly rippled through my body and brushed briefly across my very soul. Of the long, deft fingers that danced in places never touched, and conveyed a tenderness, a sacredness which I didn't think possible between two men.

And last, but not least--not the least at all--Lust. I wanted him that first moment in Paris. I wanted him when he stood dripping before me, placing my sword at his neck. I wanted him after he disappeared, and I wanted him when he returned. I wanted him when my bed was full with Amanda. I wanted him when he showed up at my door announcing, "Candygram!" I wanted him when he taught me the lesson about surrendering my sword so easily. I wanted him when he was laughing at my chivalrous tendencies. I wanted him when he challenged Kristin. I wanted him as he writhed under her quickening. I wanted him as I slid into his ass. I wanted him as he slid home in mine. I want him now. And I fear I will want him tomorrow...and beyond.

But that's a dream that will remain unvoiced. That we've actually made love tonight has been a surprise. Even with the quickening, Methos hadn't been feeling too amorous. In fact, I suspect the quickening was painful for him. That's curious because most Immortals I know are hornier than goats after a quickening. The only pain they suffer is a hard dick or an aching clit. Amanda was a wildcat after a quickening, all pouncing, demanding, and very quick with the claws. And Richie headed toward the nearest street corner looking for the cheapest, hardest whore because he didn't want to hurt anybody soft.

I, myself, on one or two occasions, have murmured a prayer of thanks to my hand for the relief it's given me immediately after a quickening. My body zinging with electricity, my endorphins running rampant, and my dick hard enough to drill a hole in a diamond--that's a post-quickening experience for me. Methos, on the other hand, was pale, unsteady on his feet, twitched uncomfortably, and from the drape of his pants--was as flaccid as a pre-adolescent. Maybe it's a age thing. Or a Methos thing.

We'd come back to the loft after the mess with Kristin. Methos had grabbed a beer and literally crawled into the sofa, melding into a far corner, enervated and listless. Richie had dropped by to say that the doctors predicted Maria would recover fully. He'd glared at Methos like the whole thing was the Old Man's fault, and even that hadn't provoked a response. After Richie had left, I had approached him in concern.


"It had to be done, MacLeod," he'd said wearily.

"Forget Kristin. I'm worried about you."

"Don't be. It's just that I've lost a taste for quickenings, that's all."

"Because of your two-hundred year fast?"

"I lost the taste long before," he'd whispered. "When you've been all the people I have been, the battle to absorb someone else becomes tiring."

I'd sat beside him, close but not touching. "You're afraid that you will eventually lose yourself?"

He'd shaken his head. "I'm afraid that myself will eventually win."

Puzzled, I'd touched his arm to make him focus on me. "I don't understand."

He'd smiled the smile that I hated--the one that was reserved for small children and animals. "No, I doubt you do. And I hope you never...I hope you never learn that your greatest enemy resides in you, Duncan. I hope you never have to lose who you are to become who you should be."

"You're talking in riddles."

He'd sighed and sunk even deeper into the sofa. "I suppose I am."

We'd sat there in silence for a while. I lost track of time as I listened to his soft breathing. Then I couldn't take his pain anymore and I'd reached out my hand. I'm not sure if he understood the invitation, but he'd taken my hand and allowed me to lead him to my bed. He'd stood quietly as I stripped him, and folded unresistingly into my embrace when I drew him against my naked body.

His head had lowered to my shoulder and I'd nibbled at the expanse of long neck that was revealed. We'd swayed together to the music of the night, just touching and tasting. Before long, I'd felt his arousal and my hands lowered to cup his buttocks, bringing our cocks in alignment.

"Do you want this?" I'd breathed into his ear. It would have been difficult to walk away from him, but the one thing I couldn't do was give this man any more pain.

He'd pulled back and before I could groan my disappointment, he was cupping my cheeks and bringing my mouth against his. The second kiss was as devastating as the first. Our stance grew shaky as knees capable of walking miles a day, of supporting the weight of our own bodies and sometimes that of whom we carried, now became fragile, watery joints. Suddenly we were on the bed, and Methos was under me. In that instant, I decided that I must taste every part of his body. I so settled into my culinary studies that I'd actually growled moment later when he tugged on my ears to get my attention. I opened my mouth to ask why the hell he was interrupting my education, and that was when I saw the tube of lube he'd secured from my nightstand.

That he knew it was there is something I'll discuss with him later.

I'd taken the tube, then drawn a deep breath to get myself under control. With the state I was in, I would either embarrass myself or hurt him. I didn't want either. Turning back toward him, I was stunned to find that he'd drawn his knees up firmly against his chest, exposing himself fully to my gaze, and my touch. Even there he was beautiful. Paler than even the rest of his body, but flushed red from my earlier ministrations. I coated a finger and inched it inside of him.

"You're tight," I'd whispered.

"I guess tonight is for breaking fasts." I'd lifted my head to look at him. "All voluntarily induced, all voluntarily broken."

And then something had broken in me. A dam that I'd erected while rocking Tessa's cooling body in my arms.

Hold me close, hold me tight,
Make me thrill with delight.
Let me know where I stand from the start.
I want you, I need you, I love you,
With all my heart.

"Are you okay, Duncan?"

My eyes fly to his face and even in the darkness, the golden green eyes shine. "Aye. Better than okay. You?"

"I'll do, for an old man," he says with a warm grin.

"The quickening?"

"Has settled. She wasn't that strong. Mortals were more her prey than our kind."

My fingers curl out to stroke the well-defined bones of his face. "Are you sorry you broke your fast?"

"No, not either one."

Well, that deserves a kiss. I lightly brush his lips, then wrap my arms around him.

"Are you a cuddler, MacLeod?"

"Do you have a problem with that?"

"You'll find me rather flexible when it comes to post-coital ritual. From cuddling to fleeing out the nearest window, I've had some expertise."

I laugh at the image of him scrambling out a window, clothes in hand and a satisfied smile on his face. "Have you been sleeping in the wrong bed, Methos?"

"Have I?"

His tone makes me trace soothing circles on his chest. "Not this time."

I thought I could live without romance,
Before you came to me,
But now I know that
I will go on loving you eternally.

"Get some sleep. We have a house to work on tomorrow."

"Even a barbarian such as yourself should see that there is something unseemly about having a current lover prepare a house for a former one."

"So that's why you slept with me? To get out of working on the house?"

"Why else would I sleep with you?"

"Because I'm handsome?"

"And modest. Don't forget modest."

His chuckle reverberates against my chest. For the first time in a long time, I'm content...I'm happy. "What if I take my shirt off while I work?"

"Hmm. More of that modesty."

"What if I supply all the beer you can drink?"

"What kind of beer?"

"Any kind you want."

"Then I shall have to take a trip to the market to see what is the most expensive."

I love his laugh. "Do that."


"And? I'm not contracting you to build a house from the ground up!"

He shimmies--yes, shimmies--up against me. My body ignores the fact that I'm in the middle of tough negotiations. "And?" he murmurs again.

"And I'll feed you and house you."

"And see to my every craving?" His teeth graze a nipple and I gasp.

"Yes, Imp."

"Ever had an imp do this?"

He swallows me whole. I mean, there's no teasing, no preparation. In a second my cock is enclosed in a warm, moist haven of skilled muscle, and I'm tumbling over the abyss. I was wrong before. There is no embarrassment in lack of control with him. There's only resigned concession to a force of nature. Sort of like seeking shelter in the middle of a storm. You might have an agenda you wish to keep, but Nature has her own. Methos has his own.

My body is still trying to absorb the force of my ejaculation when he captures my mouth with his and allows me to taste myself. Amanda has often done the same thing, but then I am mixed with her. Now, I'm mixed with the taste of Methos. The combination almost stops my heart.

"Devil, yes. Imp, no," he says with a wicked glint in his eye.

I shake my head. It's just as I thought in the beginning. "Angel."

We curve around each other, and he falls asleep immediately. I slowly drift off, thinking about what I'd almost said before Methos' last kiss. He might be flexible in what had he called it?--post-coital ritual-- but I wasn't, especially when it came to men. I was used to either going back to my own bed roll, heading out to take watch, or falling into drunken unconsciousness. I'd never cuddled with a man. I'd never almost told a man that I loved him, that I was in love with him. Maybe it was a good thing that he'd stopped me. Maybe it was something that a man never said to another man. Maybe I would have made a fool of myself.

I sigh, confused by my feelings, confused by what I should do with them. Just love him, I tell myself, as I secure my hold on him. Just love him, and hope that that's enough.

Using the weight and feel of his body to remind me that it's been enough so far, I finally fall asleep.

Won't you please be my own?
Never leave me alone,
'Cause I die ev'ry time we're apart.
I want you, I need you, I love you
With all my heart.

I Want You, I Need You, I Love You ~ Words & music by Ira Kosloff - Maurice Mysels

Continues in Elvis Minutes #09