|The Cookie Story
Edward slid the shelf from the beehive, now clean of honey, back into place, and turned to face his visitors.
"Hello. I wasn't expecting to see you again."
"We were just wondering," Kevin paused awkwardly, "about your wife."
"She was one of us, wasn't she?" Jane asked.
"She was. Let me finish up here, and then we can talk."
Once again the three of them settled around Edward's small table. "You must have been talking to someone in town," he said, pouring them each a small cup of mead.
"The lady who runs the pub."
Edward nodded. "She was always fond of Margaret."
"Margaret, that was your wife's name?"
"It was. Most people called her Maggie, but I liked Margaret. More elegant and poised, like her."
"And she was your Watcher," Jane persisted.
"She was. She was the newcomer to town, sent to teach English. The English hated Gaelic in those days. They probably still do."
"Wasn't Ireland free by then?"
"I suppose that depends on your definition of 'free.'"
"How'd you meet?"
"But weren't you born before Christ?"
"So was Judas."
Jane shot a quick look at Kevin, who shrugged. "Did you know she was your Watcher?"
"She told me the day I tried to break it off with her. I knew I couldn't marry her."
"But you did."
"She already knew what I was. I didn't have to tell her. Didn't have to try to explain the unexplainable." He looked out the window, inhaled deeply. "And I loved her."
"Happened? Nothing. We lived quietly, happily. It was a good life." Realizing his voice had gotten softer with each word, until it was barely a whisper, he cleared his throat. "After she died, the Watchers found out we had married; they expunged everything she'd written."
Edward shrugged. "Because they believed it wasn't objective, or so they said. I think they wanted to hide the fact that a Watcher and an Immortal had married."
"Her reports wouldn't have been objective," Jane said.
"Are yours?" Edward asked.
Edward smiled, and reached out to pat her hand. "You remind me of her. So sure of your own intelligence, your own ability to reason, and to reach truthful conclusions."
Jane pulled her hand away. "And did you patronize her, too?"
"No." He smiled to himself. "Well, just once. I learn from my mistakes."
"The villagers. They must suspect something," Kevin said, changing the subject before Jane could start an all-out argument.
"This is Donegal. We didn't get electricity until twenty-five years ago. People here still speak the old tongue and believe in the old stories. When every knoll hides a fairy, what's a man who's been around since the Spanish Armada? Besides, I disliked the English, and they found that useful in a neighbor, still do."
"You came here with the Spanish Armada?" Kevin asked.
"My ship floundered off the coast. I ended up here. I liked it. I stayed."
"You've been here since 1588?"
"Yes, I have. I don't know who you think I am, but whoever it is, I'm not him."
"We, uhh, we thought..." Kevin started.
"We weren't sure who you were," Jane cut in. "We just wanted to be sure you were telling us the truth."
"Why would I lie?"
"I'm not hiding. My friends know where I am, and no one else chooses to look for me."
"No one else?"
"Not in one-hundred seventy-five years. He's buried next to the ruined church, outside the village."
Kevin stood. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Hastings. I apologize if we've disturbed you."
"Not at all." He stood as well. "I enjoyed the company." He followed them to the door. "Did Connor's student really kill Kronos?"
"It appears that way."
"For once, he wasn't just boasting."
Duncan lifted his mouth from Methos' nipple, and looked up at his lover. Methos' mouth immediately covered his. Duncan wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, thrusting against him. Desire filled him; warming him and making him want to surrender, to give himself wholly to Methos.
He took Methos' hand, and without breaking their kiss guided it between his legs, past his cock, to his opening.
Methos drew back from the kiss and looked at him questioningly. "What do you want, Duncan?"
"You. Inside me." Duncan re-initiated the kiss.
Methos groaned into his mouth as Duncan brushed their tongues together, but he pulled away again. "Are you sure?"
"Yes." Duncan gave up on kissing, and settled his mouth against Methos' neck.
"It hurts the first time."
"Hmm." Duncan acknowledged, his mouth too busy to form words.
"Duncan." Methos pulled his neck out of reach.
Actual thoughts broke through the haze of Duncan's arousal. "Do you not want to?" he asked, hating the vulnerability in his own voice.
"I want to. I just don't want to hurt you."
"You must've had virgins before, Methos."
"Too many." The words were said so quietly that Duncan knew he wasn't supposed to hear them.
He cupped Methos' cheek in his hand, tracing his lower lip with his thumb. "I want you. I want to feel you inside me, feel your body thrusting against mine. But I can wait."
Methos kissed him, gentle and lingering, touching him lightly with the hand between his legs. "I want you, Duncan. I do. How could I not?"
Before he could answer, Methos was kissing him again, hungrier this time.
Methos turned them so that Duncan was on his back and Methos was leaning over him. "Slow. We're going to do this slow."
Duncan nodded in acknowledgment.
Methos smiled for just an instant, then he reached into the nightstand drawer and withdrew a tube. Holding it wrapped in his hand, he lowered his mouth to the place where neck and shoulder meet, teasing Duncan's skin with lips and tongue.
Duncan knew what was coming. This was something Methos had done to him before, caressed him everywhere with mouth and hands, driving him gradually but inexorably out of his mind. There was no fighting it; he'd tried once. Methos had simply redoubled his efforts. Left with no alternative, he surrendered.
By the time Methos reached his groin, Duncan had almost forgotten what it was he'd asked for. Methos' lips touched his glans, and Duncan's cock twitched. The lips continued downward, tracing the vein along the back of his shaft, and teasing his scrotum, before continuing still farther downward.
Warm breath between his legs, followed by the soft press of a tongue. He gasped. Methos took hold of his hips and tilted them. Duncan pulled his legs back, exposing more of himself.
Methos, he said silently to himself, Methos. He repeated his lover's name like a mantra, using it to ground himself, to remind himself who it was that was doing this to him.
Methos' tongue was warm and soft, and Methos was using it to circle his opening, sending pleasure shooting along nerves he hadn't even known he had until the day before.
The tongue stopped circling and pushed directly inward. "Methos." This time he spoke the name aloud, or someone did. Duncan didn't recognize the voice. Methos' tongue was probing inside him. The thought was almost as exciting as the actual deed; Duncan wrapped his arms around his knees, pulling his legs still farther back.
Suddenly, the warmth left him. The tongue was gone, and Duncan couldn't even protest. He just lay there, shivering.
A soft kiss to the back of his thigh. "I'm going to touch you now, Duncan."
Duncan nodded mutely. More kisses were pressed to the back of his thighs, his buttocks, and his testicles. He heard the tube snap open and, a few moments later, gel covered fingers were pressing into him. Duncan relaxed into that pressure. It gave focus to the pleasure that had been pulling him apart.
Methos was deep in him now and his fingers brushed Duncan's prostate, causing Duncan to tremble. The fingers disappeared, only to return, once again coated with cool gel. Another brush of his prostate, followed by withdrawal and more gel.
"Are you still sure?" Methos asked quietly as he stroked.
"It'll be easier if you turn over."
Duncan shook his head. "No, I want to watch your face when you fuck me."
Methos groaned, leaning his head against Duncan's chest. "Do you have any idea what it does to me when you say things like that?"
Methos raised his head, smiled, and once again withdrew his fingers.
Duncan released his knees and propped himself up on his elbows to watch as Methos coated his cock. A wave of desire went through him at the sight.
Methos took one of his legs and settled it onto his shoulder. Duncan obligingly raised the other. Methos' hands stroked down his legs to his hips, leaving traces of gel in their wake. Methos was kneeling, and he lifted Duncan's hips onto his thighs. He could feel Methos' cock against his opening, and he thrilled at the thought.
"Do you remember last night? How you opened to my fingers?"
"Do it again."
Duncan did as he was instructed, and Methos pushed into him, getting just the head inside. Duncan was completely unprepared for the sensation. There had been pressure with Methos' fingers, but the pleasure had been so much greater. This just hurt.
"I can pull out," Methos said softly.
"Touch your cock."
Duncan obeyed without question, wrapping his hand around his cock just below the head. Methos placed his hand atop Duncan's and began to move them, back and forth, pulling the flesh up as he brought their hands over the ridge of Duncan's glans. He kept the rhythm slow, intermittently brushing the head with his thumb.
"That's it. Let the pleasure help."
Duncan nodded, biting his lower lip at the competing sensations.
"More," he said when the discomfort began to recede. He was surprised when Methos didn't ask, yet again, if he was sure. Instead, he released his grip on Duncan's cock, leaving Duncan to caress it alone, and took both of Duncan's hips in his hands. He pulled slightly back and then pushed slightly forward. At last, they were fucking.
With every thrust Methos stretched him more, and Duncan burned from his anus all along his spine. He continued to stroke himself, using the pleasure to help ease the discomfort, just as his lover had instructed.
Methos connected with his prostate, and Duncan's hand halted. Another brush, and Duncan was clutching Methos' back with both hands, urging him deeper.
Methos released his hips and leaned over him, putting his hands on either side of Duncan's chest. "Slow and easy," he whispered.
Methos pulled back yet again, and this time when he pushed forward, Duncan felt his lover's testicles bump his buttocks.
"Duncan," Methos breathed. His eyes were closed, and his face was flushed with pleasure.
Duncan brushed his cheek with his fingertips, causing Methos to open his eyes. Their gazes locked, and Methos resumed moving, still slow, caressing Duncan more intimately than he'd ever been caressed before. The pain receded as the pleasure increased.
He wanted to move in rhythm with his lover, but the position wouldn't allow it.
"Touch yourself for me, Duncan. I want to see your hand on your cock." The pure lust in Methos' voice sent shivers through him, and Duncan did as Methos asked.
Methos' gaze dropped from his face to his cock. "You're beautiful."
The words added to the pleasure coursing through him. Methos was moving in him, steady and sure, bringing them both unstoppably closer.
Duncan came, his semen splattering them both. Methos was all of the way inside him, and Duncan could feel his cock pulsing. His own pleasure escalated still higher at the sensation.
Methos collapsed atop him, trembling, and Duncan held him tightly, unsure which of them he was trying to soothe.
"You okay?" Methos asked after a few minutes.
Methos raised his head.
Duncan smiled at him. "I'm better than okay. Much better." His voice softened. "How about you?"
"I'm good." Methos returned the smile.
"Yes, I know."
"What is this? The double entendre game?"
"The things I never knew about you. Your propensity for discussing sex over dinner, the double entendres, your insatiability..."
"That's what I said."
Duncan didn't reply immediately, and Methos returned his head to Duncan's chest. Duncan waited until Methos was beginning to drift off to sleep before speaking again. "Methos."
"It was better than my fantasies." He moved his hands over Methos' back. "Being fucked by you, feeling you inside of me. And the way you moved, so strong and gentle. I was filled with you, until I thought I would burst apart. But you held me together. I can't believe the things you do to me, with your hands, and your mouth, and your cock."
Duncan felt Methos responding to his words, and he thrust his hips against Methos' growing erection. "Now who's insatiable?"
Methos laughed into his chest. "I must be getting old. To get had by the likes of you."
Duncan grinned. "Had?"
Methos pulled away from him and climbed off of the bed.
"Where are you going?"
"Shower. If we're going to get sticky again, we might as well do it where we can get clean at the same time."
"I hate this fucking country," Jane muttered.
"What's wrong now?" Kevin asked, turning away from the window.
Jane was on the edge of the bed, bent over her laptop. "This download is taking forever. Ancient phone lines, can't they update anything?"
"What are you downloading?" Kevin moved to the bed, looking over her shoulder at the screen.
"Hugh Fitzcairn's Watcher reports."
"He was MacLeod's friend. So, it appears, is our mystery Immie. Stands to reason they'd've known each other."
"No it doesn't. You heard Dawson. MacLeod's got a lot of friends."
"And enemies. I'm downloading those, too. Edward was right; we need a better description."
"So you want to go through every report on every Immie MacLeod's ever come into contact with?"
"No." She looked up at him. "You're going to go through them, starting with Amanda."
"I'm going to read our buddy Pierson's reports."
"We're looking for Methos now, too?"
"No. But I can't escape the feeling that Pierson knows more than he let on."
"We all know more than we let on. Keeping secrets is our job."
Jane didn't answer. She was too busy glaring at the little hourglass turning slowly on her monitor.
"It's our last night in Ireland. Why don't we relax? Do a little sightseeing?"
"I have work to do. If you want to play tourist, go ahead."
It wouldn't be the same alone, Kevin thought, keeping back a sigh. Sighing was something he did far too frequently these days. "Didn't you ever hear the expression about all work and no play?"
"I'll play when I find out the truth."
Jane glared at him. "I can't afford to play. I've been on the same assignment for almost two years. My only assignment. I wanted field work. I got this."
"That's what you get for being the best."
"The best. Yeah, right. I got sent to research for being the best."
"You graduated top of our class."
"Big deal. Look what it got me."
"An unlimited budget."
The glare intensified.
Prolonging the argument would get him nowhere, Kevin knew. He held out his hand. "Fine. Give me the reports on Amanda."
Jane smiled, and handed him a zip disc.
Kevin found himself smiling back. How could one person manage to be both irritating and compelling? He slid the disc into his own computer. And annoying. She was definitely annoying.