AllLight2

As All Light Fades

Part Two

Duncan wanted it to be a perfect night, Methos� last night. He filled the tub with warm water for Methos� bath, then went out to the bed, lifted him, and began to carry him to the bathroom.

Methos protested, �I can walk, you know.�

Duncan smiled and said, �Yes, I know, I just want to pamper you a little.�

He was lying. Methos had been able to walk on his own, but the fever had taken the last of his strength. Now he couldn�t even stand without support. Duncan tried to maintain the fiction that Methos was getting better, but they both knew it was a charade.

He helped Methos undress, lowered him into the water, and asked, �Can I leave you alone for a little while? I want to change the bed.�

�I think I can manage for a little while.�

Methos smiled, and Duncan noticed how deep the hollows of his face had become. This illness was eating him alive and all Duncan could do was witness the devouring. But no longer.

Duncan stripped the bed and put on his favorite sheets. He gathered all the candles in the loft and placed them on the square coffee table after moving it nearer the bed, lighting the area in a soft, dancing glow. He placed the decanter of brandy and two glasses on the night table, trying not to think of the instrument of death in the drawer. Then he went to the closet for the surprise he�d been keeping hidden. He�d seen it by accident yesterday, rushing past a shop on his way to pick up the prescription

He�d known it was extravagant in this modern age, but while waiting in the pharmacy he couldn�t stop thinking of Methos stretched out naked on it, moving against it like a cat, his sensual nature loving the way it felt on his skin. He had so little time left to feel anything pleasurable. Duncan wanted him to have that pleasure, so he bought it, hiding it in the car until Methos was asleep. Duncan spread the fur throw on the bed. It was very large and more than covered the bed, one side heavy deep blue silk, the moir� resembling the laminated blade of a fine katana, the other side natural rabbit fur, mottled in white, cream, and shades of brown, and so soft.

There was the other surprise, in the small box on the night table. That one he�d been keeping for much longer, hoping someday to be able to give it to Methos. Methos had disappeared before Duncan had brought it home.

Duncan returned to the bathroom. Methos was leaning back in the tub, relaxed, eyes closed, enjoying the warmth.

�Are you finished?�

�Yes, I think so.�

Duncan helped Methos up, wrapping him in a terrycloth robe. He sat Methos on the edge of the tub, rubbing his dark hair with a towel to dry it and brushing it out gently. He�d left it long; it curled at his neck and fell over his forehead in soft waves.

Duncan took the robe off Methos� right arm and carefully bandaged the abscess, then the burns. He took the robe off completely and finished drying him, then he lifted Methos in his arms again, saying, �Close your eyes, I want to surprise you.�

He moved quickly, he didn�t want Methos to get chilled. He lay him down on the bed and Methos shifted against the fur just as Duncan had imagined, stretching his arms out and running his long fingers through it.
He was smiling when he asked, �Can I open my eyes now?�

�Yes, you can.�

Methos opened his eyes to the soft candlelight and the sight of his nude body lying on the even softer fur. That was not a sight he enjoyed, his body was too thin and his skin was blotched with lesions. He knew that Duncan had recognized it was time; he�d prepared the scene so beautifully. Duncan saw this in Methos� eyes as he covered him with the fur.

Methos snuggled into it and murmured, �I would like to be wrapped in this forever. Would you bury me in it?�

There it was, finally. Duncan had avoided asking Methos what he wanted done with his body, but now Methos had volunteered the answer.

�I�ll do that for you.� Duncan�s voice was rough and he had to clear his throat before he continued, �Do you have any idea as to where you would like to be buried?�

Methos thought, �I would like to rest forever on your island, a place that has been yours for so long, and will be yours as long as you live. But that is where you go to find peace, how can I haunt you there?� Instead he answered, �It doesn�t matter, Duncan. You choose.�

Duncan sat down, smoothed back Methos� hair, and said, �I want to bury you on the island, under the trees, looking out over the water. Is that all right?�

Methos thought, �Do you read my mind, or do you simply know my heart?� though when he spoke he said, �I will be happy to rest there, but please don�t put me in a box. No coffin, no headstone, just wrap me in this fur and put me in the earth.�

Duncan poured a little brandy into a glass and handed it to Methos, trying to cover the fact he couldn�t speak past the sorrow that clutched at his throat.

Methos gave him time to recover, sipping the brandy slowly, savoring its flavor and fire. He said gently, �I�m sorry, Duncan. I�ve died so many times. I know the pain of it, but not like this. This slow dying is more than I can bear. I�m sorry to ask you to do this. I would kill myself, but I�ve spent five thousand years surviving and I don�t think I can.�

�I know.�

Duncan took the empty glass from him and put it on the table. He undressed, lay down on the bed, and took Methos in his arms, arranging the fur throw so they could both lie on it and use it to cover them. Methos nestled into Duncan�s arms much as he�d done to the fur, his eyelids heavy.

�I�m so tired, Duncan. Is it all right if I take a nap?�

�As long as I can hold you while you sleep.� Duncan brushed his lips against Methos� forehead.

�I would love that.� Methos closed his eyes and fell asleep almost at once.

Duncan knew the effort of bathing would drain Methos. He had so little strength, and the brandy had assured he would fall asleep. Duncan wanted to hold him, to commit to memory every moment of this all too brief time left to them. He watched the slight rise and fall of Methos� chest, his breath barely causing any movement. He memorized his face, the dark sweep of lashes, the high cheekbones, the extraordinary nose, large, but so delicately molded, the sensuous mouth he�d expected to give him so many more kisses.

His heart cried out silently, �This shouldn�t be happening. You shouldn�t be dying. We were supposed to have forever. I want forever.� Duncan choked back a sob, telling himself, �No, I will not cry now. I will not mourn you while you still live, there will be all of time to cry after you�re gone.�

He noticed Methos seemed even more flushed, his body was hot, and his breathing had developed an odd rasp. Definitely pneumonia, and the new antibiotic wasn�t stopping it. There was no more time.

Methos stirred in Duncan�s arms, turning his head and licking his dry lips. When he opened his eyes they were overbright with fever, but when he spoke he was rational, his mind clear.

He smiled and said, �I�m still here.�

Duncan smiled back, saying, �Of course you�re still here.�

He reached behind him, picking up the small box and opening it.

�I have something I�ve been wanting to give to you.�

Duncan placed it in Methos� palm. The ring was heavy, beautiful, deeply cut with a design of two curving lines gracefully twining around each other, seamlessly, endlessly around the silvery circle, a symbol of eternity on a symbol of eternity.

Methos tried it on. It was loose on his finger and he said, �It�s too big.�

�I know. That one�s mine, this one is yours.� Duncan held it up, an identical band, only a bit smaller. �Give me your hand.�

Methos held out his left hand and Duncan placed the ring on the third finger, wiggling it over the knuckle. It fit a little loosely, his fingers had thinned, but it would not fall off.

Methos took Duncan�s hand, slipping the other ring on the corresponding finger. They kissed and both softly whispered, �I love you.�

�How long have you been keeping these?�

�I picked them up two days after you disappeared. I had them made; I wanted us to have a symbol of our love for each other. They�re made of platinum, I wanted them to last a long time.�

Methos closed his eyes to hide the tears.

Duncan started kissing him, first his face, eyebrows, cheekbones, lingering on his mouth. Soft, gentle kisses, down the sides of his throat, across his collarbones and chest, his hands stroking, caressing. Duncan kissed Methos� nipples, delicately brushing his lips over each one in turn. Methos arched into the touch with a soft moan, surprised that he could still feel pleasure, and it grew as Duncan feathered kisses across his stomach. The hands caressed his thighs, then one gently cupped Methos� sac and held it as Duncan�s lips brushed the dark pubic hair, then kissed down the length of Methos� penis. It was unresponsive, incapable of erection, but a sensation washed over Methos like a muted echo of orgasm. He felt a single tear fall on his thigh and thought, �I can feel how much you love me, and I can feel you saying goodbye.�

Methos� emotions had been kept under tight restraint. He didn�t want to cause Duncan any more grief by displaying his own, but that single tear resonated deep inside him and it was too much. He was overwhelmed by the thought of all the time that had been stolen from him, all the love they had been cheated out of, and he lost control. He broke down crying, helpless to stop the tears. He clutched Duncan with the last of his fragile strength, sobbing out, �I don�t want to leave you, Duncan. I don�t want to die. I�m sorry Duncan, so sorry.�

Duncan tried to hold back his own tears and failed, and he held Methos close. Methos' crying suddenly turned into coughing, violent, deep, agonal coughing that went on for far too long, leaving him panting in shallow breaths, his face twisted by pain.

�Please let me give you some morphine. I�ll only give you a little, just enough to dull the pain, not enough to make you sleep.�

�No, no, I�m so weak that it will put me to sleep and I know I�ll never wake up.� His voice was a rough whisper, his throat raw, the pain in his chest like breathing flames, but the sight of Duncan�s tear-streaked face and grief-stricken eyes was the worst hurt of all.

Methos was hit by his own selfishness, thinking, �What have I asked of you, Duncan? You brought me home, cared for me with more tenderness than anyone else could have, how could I have asked you to help me die? What will that do to you after I�m gone?� He spoke past the shards of glass in his throat, saying in a ragged murmur, �I can�t ask you to do this, Duncan. Please give me a gun and go away. Let me do this myself.�

Deep in Duncan�s mind he heard the voice of a long-dead priest saying, �Debra Campbell cannot be buried in hallowed ground. She killed herself, and by that act damned her soul for all eternity.� Another lost love. He could not allow Methos to do this. It tore at his heart to even think of it. He forced himself to stop crying.

�This is the last gift I can give you, to let you die as you want to die. Let me do this for you.� Duncan�s voice was almost as rough as Methos�.

�I don�t want this to hurt you, I�ve already caused you too much pain.�

�I can bear it, what I can�t bear is watching you die slowly. I won�t let that happen and I won�t let you kill yourself, so there is no other choice. Please let me help you, please take the only gift I can give you that matters now.�

There was a look on Duncan�s face of so much love and compassion; it shone from his eyes mingled with the tears.

Methos couldn�t help thinking, �What have I done to deserve such love?� All he could say was, �Oh Duncan, I love you so much.�

�I know, and I love you too.�

Duncan reached over, opened the drawer, brought out the stiletto, and laid it on top of the night table. Methos saw the dagger and he nodded slightly, as if approving the choice. Duncan turned and lifted Methos into his lap, holding him against his chest with his left arm. Methos� chest was exposed, his ribs too prominent. It was easy for Duncan to see exactly where the blade should enter.

Methos looked into his eyes and murmured, �I�m ready, and I�m not afraid.�

Duncan kissed Methos tenderly, then gripped the stiletto and slid the blade in smoothly. He wanted it to ease in, not like a blow but as if the blade were a steel caress. Duncan waited, his fingertips on the hilt, feeling for the vibration that would mean he�d hit Methos� heart directly. He felt it and looked up into Methos� eyes.

Methos felt only a slight sharp pain added to the burning agony in his chest. He met Duncan�s eyes, knowing that as soon as Duncan pulled out the dagger the bleeding would become hemorrhaging and he would die quickly. He whispered, �There are no words for how much I love you, Duncan.�

Duncan eased the blade out as gently as he�d inserted it. There was only a thin trickle of blood from the small surface wound. His eyes never left Methos�.

�I love you, I love you,� Duncan repeated softly as Methos� body shut down. The pain was disappearing, replaced by a numbing cold. He went limp in Duncan�s arms, the muscles no longer needed, his body knowing that it could no longer run from death. He could see, though the light was fading, Duncan�s eyes blending into deeper darkness. He could still hear Duncan saying I love you, then that faded too. Then there was only this feeling of falling slowly backward in the dark, and his last thought was, �Duncan is holding me and would never let me fall.� Duncan bent down to kiss him once more and caught Methos� last breath, a soft sustained sigh.

The olive-green eyes were staring into a different eternity. Duncan took Methos� face in his hands, tenderly closing those eyes and kissing each lid. He laid Methos� body down on the fur, composing it, wiping away the trickle of blood, straightening his long legs, folding his hands on his silent chest. He placed a kiss in the center of Methos� left palm and closed his fingers on it, to hold it there for all time without end. The platinum band glowed faintly in the candlelight.

Duncan thought, �There should have been so much more time. This ring should have been worn thin, worn with love for many years, but it was not to be.�

Now he could cry, only the tears wouldn�t come. It was like a deep cut from a keen blade, he could see the wound but the pain was delayed. He could only wait for it to catch up. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at Methos� white, still face. He was waiting, waiting for Methos to breathe again, waiting to feel the presence of immortality. But time passed, candles guttered and burned out, shadows grew, and minute by minute the pain caught up. Duncan hadn�t realized how much he�d been hoping Methos would revive, or how much that hope had shielded him from the full weight of grief. With every moment that passed the pain grew, filling his chest until he couldn�t take a deep breath. There was no way to let it out, and along with the pain was a growing fear. Too long, it had been too long and Methos wasn�t coming back. Methos was truly dead.

He was alone.

He wanted to put his arms around Methos, to lay his head on his chest, but it would be unbearable to touch him and find him cold, to hear only silence from his chest. Cold forever. Silent forever. Gone forever. The pain reached a critical mass and all the cracked and damaged parts of him protested the strain only briefly before shattering and falling, though Duncan was outwardly in one piece as he slipped off the bed to the floor. He lay on his side, pulling his knees to his chest and hugging himself. His eyes were open, dark, and vacant. Empty. As empty as the body on the bed.

Methos could see Duncan from an odd vantage point, floating near the ceiling. He watched as Duncan kissed his eyes and arranged his body. His body looked so still, so empty, and strangely not at peace, even now. He wasn�t at peace. He�d seen Duncan�s slide to the floor, his retreat into himself. Even now he could see him, lying naked in a pool of shadow. It was what Methos had feared most, that Duncan would not be able to bear the loss.

�Please let him be all right, please give him the strength to endure,� Methos was praying without realizing it, and without knowing if there was anything or anyone to hear him.

He could no longer see Duncan, there was a light almost too bright, and Methos thought, �What�s next? Dead friends? Long gone enemies? Kronos waiting to drag me to hell with him?�

The light faded, and Methos was in his old apartment in Paris, standing exactly where Duncan had stood the first time he met him. Methos was looking at himself, sprawled on the floor, writing in the huge book he�d been using as his journal. He was wearing earphones, and there was a six-pack of beer next to him on the floor.

The other Methos looked up, took off the earphones, shut off the music and said, �Well you�ve kept me waiting quite a while.�

He reached behind him and tossed Methos a beer. He caught it, surprised to feel the coldness, even more surprised when he opened it and drank. It tasted just as it should and the bewilderment must have shown on his face.

The Methos on the floor spoke, saying dryly, �This can be thirsty work, you know.�

�What work?�

�Weighing your heart.�

�Weighing my heart?� He was momentarily even more confused. A memory surfaced, ancient Egypt, the funerary paintings in the tombs, Osirus, Thoth and Anubis weighing the heart of the deceased against the feather of Ma�at, the symbol of truth. Lies, deceit or evil deeds would weigh the heart down and Methos thought, �I gave Machiavelli lessons in treachery; I haven�t a snowball�s chance in Cairo.� He tried a last desperate evasion. �I�m not Egyptian, you know.�

�That doesn�t matter, the test is still good.� He got up from the floor and walked over to an ancient balance that had taken the place of a sculpture.

Methos joined him, drawn against his will.

�What happens if my heart is heavier than truth?�

The other Methos reached out and slipped his hands inside his chest. There was no resistance, no pain, no blood, only the hands that came out holding his stilled heart. The feather waited on one side of the balance, and he placed the heart on the other. That side hesitated, pausing for a missing heartbeat, then dipped down. His heart was heavier than the feather, but perhaps not by as much as he was expecting.

�Ah, well, the legend is that a monster eats the heart and you�re forced to wander alone through the afterlife without it. I think you�ve already lived for long periods heartless, although I can�t really blame you. There have been so many times when having a heart was unbearably painful. Living five thousand years does have its drawbacks, and adjustments must be made, I suppose. What would you want to happen now?�

Methos could only think of one thing that he wanted.

�Send me back. Let me go to Duncan. I�ll suffer anything you can think of, only let me live and be with him.�

�Do you think you deserve to live?� He looked at Methos with his own face, and Methos knew well that expression of cool curiosity.

He answered with what he believed was the truth. �No, I don�t, but Duncan can�t bear any more grief. He needs me, and I�ll do anything to be there for him.�

�When the time comes, will you give your life to him?� His own eyes held him transfixed and there was no possibility of deceit.

�Yes.� There was no hesitation. Then he shrugged and said, �I�ve offered him my life at least once already, why would it be different now?�

The other Methos had an amused look in his eyes as he said, �But did you mean it?� He didn�t give Methos time to answer. He picked up his heart and replaced it in his chest, saying, �You�ll need this. I realize I�ll have to wait a bit longer.� He put his hands on Methos shoulders and said, �Don�t judge yourself too harshly.� He smiled.

The smile was lost in the light. Methos was back, floating just below the ceiling of the loft. Something was happening to his body. The sarcoma lesions were fading, his pallid skin was gaining color, and all the unhealed injuries were disappearing. He felt himself being pulled down into it, the intense surge of that first heartbeat, that first breath. He sat up, looking down at himself. All the pain was gone. He was still too thin, but that could be fixed. He tore the bandage off the abscess and found only the sutures lying on the surface of his unmarked skin.

Methos got up, almost surprised that he could stand. He crouched down on the floor and brushed a dark curl off of Duncan�s forehead. There was no response. His eyes were open and vacant; he was locked away inside his anguish, oblivious. Methos lay down and held him, whispering in his ear, �I�m here, Duncan, I�m here. I love you, Duncan, I�ll never leave you, I�m here.�

He could feel Duncan. Not just in his arms, he could feel his Immortal presence, and Methos was overcome for a moment. It had all been taken away, love, immortality, life itself, and now he had it all back, but only if he could break through Duncan�s grief.

Methos sat up and lifted Duncan, holding him close against his chest, saying, �Come back, Duncan, wake up and come back. It�s all right now, everything is all right. I came back to you, now you have to come back to me. Come back to me Duncan, I�m here, I�m here.�

There was no sign that Duncan was aware of anything. He was deep inside himself, shut down and locked away, and Methos feared he would stay like this. He thought, �This could be God�s idea of cosmic irony. Will I give my life to him? Did you mean will I give my life caring for him, bathing him, feeding him, changing him like a helpless infant for as long as we both live? It will mean defending him too, or retreating to holy ground. It won�t matter. I�ll never leave him.� Methos kissed Duncan�s forehead, and as he raised his head Duncan�s soft hair brushed against his lips. He looked into Duncan�s empty eyes and promised in a voice choked with tears, �I love you and I�ll never leave you.�

Duncan was far down in the shadows where there was no pain. Down here he could just drift; there was only darkness and dreams. He was having one now, an insistent, beloved voice whispering, �I love you, I�m here.� I love you too. All that�s left of me is the love. He was almost too far down to reach but the voice was clutching at him, it sounded like crying, pleading, �I love you and I�ll never leave you.� It was pulling him up into the awareness of an Immortal presence, Immortal arms holding him, a chest warm against the side of his face, and a heart beating in that chest like the rhythm of time itself.

Duncan allowed himself to see, to connect, his need to know if this was real overwhelming everything. He saw the face he loved more than any other, the olivine eyes filled with love and tears. He thought, �If this isn�t real I hope I never go back to sanity.�

Methos saw the moment it happened. The empty eyes changed, focused, and Methos knew he was being seen, being recognized. Duncan�s expression was dazed and strange. Methos knew he�d had too many shocks and would have to be handled gently.

�Come on, let�s get up off the floor.� Methos spoke soothingly, dealing with simple actions. He helped Duncan stand, then sat him down on the bed. Duncan wrapped his arms around Methos� waist and held on tightly, as if to assure himself of his solidity. He hid his face against Methos� stomach, trembling from the flood of emotions surging through him, love, joy, relief, and an undercurrent of obscured grief. It all rose up in a wave of tears. Duncan cried, clinging to Methos, trying to explain why he was crying, unable to speak past the sobs.

Methos stroked his hair, saying, �It�s all right, Duncan, I understand. Let it out, you�ve been holding it inside far too long.�

He held him and let him cry. Methos cried with him, all the pent-up tears that had been repressed pouring out of both of them. He sat down next to Duncan and they wrapped their arms around each other. As Duncan�s sobs diminished his need for contact grew. He couldn�t seem to get enough, holding Methos close, running his hands over him as if he needed to be sure Methos was warm and alive. The touch of Duncan�s hands was having an effect on him. It was as if all Methos� nerves had switched over from pain to pleasure, his body was alive with it, flashing through him like light, and he was responding with an obvious sign of how much he�d recovered and how good it felt to be touched.

Duncan kissed him deeply, searchingly, and Methos shifted back slowly on the bed, laying down and taking Duncan with him, his fingers tangled in Duncan�s hair. Duncan moved closer and felt a hardness against his thigh. He looked and saw Methos� cock, flushed dark rose with a shining clear drop at the tip like a tear. A soft �Oh,� escaped him and he touched it tentatively, catching the drop on his finger, slowly smoothing it down the underside from the head to the base. It jumped at the tiny caress. Methos caught his breath and arched up, wanting more.

Duncan ached with need. It had been so long since he�d been able to find sexual release; there had been no one he wanted to make love to, only Methos. Even when he�d tried to ease himself the image of Methos would come into his mind, killing any hope of relief with a wave of sorrow. He wanted to make love, he needed the nearness and the joining urgently, desperately, not just for his own pleasure but also to give pleasure, to bathe in the sensation of love that he�d believed was lost forever. He needed it like air to breathe; he hurt from feeling so empty.

�Do you want to make love to me?� Duncan asked softly.

�Is that what you want?�

�Yes, I want you, I need to feel you in me.�

Duncan pushed the fur throw aside and shifted to his knees. Methos followed him, moving behind him as the heavy fur throw slipped to the floor. �That�s all right,� Methos thought, �We wouldn�t want it to get dirty.� Immediately and ironically followed the thought, �I was going to be wrapped in that and buried in the earth. Instead I�m going to be buried inside you, Duncan.� It hit him yet again, how he�d almost lost everything, and his senses seemed to focus as they never had before. He wanted to give Duncan all the ecstasy he was capable of, all the joy there ever was or ever would be.

He looked in the night table drawer for the lube they�d kept there, but only found the lotion that Duncan had been using on his skin. He poured some on his fingers and slid them between Duncan�s cheeks, massaging the sensitive tight opening, lubricating it for his entrance. Duncan moved in a counterpoint rhythm to Methos� stroking fingers, fingers he�d thought would never touch him again. He reveled in the sensation, but soon it was not enough. Duncan was desperate for more contact, more touch, more.

�Now, I need you inside me now, please, oh God please, Methos...� Duncan�s voice was thick with passion. The sound of it hit Methos straight in the heart he�d almost forgotten he owned before he knew this man.

Methos anointed his hard length with the lotion, positioned himself and slid inside slowly, thinking, �So tight, Duncan, so fiercely tight. You always resist. You try not to but you can�t help it.�

�Relax, Duncan.�

�I�m trying, I�m trying, don�t stop. I�m not�ahh�� Duncan�s voice went from a harsh whisper to a deep moan.

Methos had reached that incredibly sensitive spot deep inside him. Along with the cry of pleasure Methos felt a sudden tightening, then Duncan relaxed. Methos slid inside him, all the way inside him and there was no more pain, only the joy of feeling him again. It was too intense after so long, the sensation was overwhelming and Duncan straightened up, leaning back into Methos who put his arms around him. Methos� hands slipped down to Duncan�s cock, but Duncan grasped Methos� wrists and begged him to stop in a voice as much breath as sound, �If you touch me I�ll come. Hold still, please hold still.�

Methos redirected his hands upward, caressing Duncan�s stomach, moving up to his chest, brushing his fingertips across the already-hard nipples, trying to distract him from the building orgasm. Duncan threw his head back with a soft, drawn-out moan. Methos further distracted him by pushing the long hair aside and nuzzling the damp curls at the nape of his neck. Duncan�s hands caressed Methos� arms, following their movements as Methos continued to run his fingers through Duncan�s chest hair and over his nipples.

Methos began to move very slowly, not in and out but from side to side, rubbing across that sweet spot. His awareness was focused outward, he could feel the tension in Duncan�s body growing and could tell he was very close to losing control. He wanted to feel Duncan come and began to move faster, increasing the intensity of sensation. Duncan suddenly pulled Methos� hands down to his cock, wrapping them around it and guiding him in the few quick hard strokes that were all he needed to come, moaning with every shallow breath he could manage to draw. He leaned back heavily, trembling. Methos was holding him up, one hand spread on his chest supporting him, the other stroking very slowly, still kissing and nuzzling the soft sweat-damp curls on Duncan�s neck.

Duncan came back, gradually becoming aware of the gentle kisses Methos was trailing over his neck and shoulders. He straightened up enough to take his weight from Methos, but not so far that his mouth couldn�t reach him. He could feel Methos still within him and could feel the pulse of his heartbeat transferred through his cock, deep inside.

�You didn�t come.� Duncan�s voice was velvety-rough with continued arousal. �Why didn�t you come? Is something wrong?�

Methos spoke between kisses. �Nothing�s wrong, I just wanted to feel you come. You really needed to.�

Methos� hands were caressing Duncan again, one wandering over his chest, the other still on his cock, stroking slowly, maintaining his erection.

�And what do you need?�

Methos answered without thinking, naming an image that had been haunting him. �I need your legs wrapped around me.�

Duncan smiled unseen. �Is that all?�

�It�s everything.� It was. To be alive, making love with Duncan�s legs tight around him, it was everything, everything that mattered.

Duncan could hear all the shades of meaning in those two words and understood. He�d lost his love only to have it returned and everything was felt so much more intensely. He leaned back into Methos� kisses, reluctant to move away from those lips, those hands, finally mumbling, �You�ll have to let go of me so we can change position.�

Methos released Duncan�s cock and eased out of him. Duncan reached for a pillow, asking, �Under me or on the floor?�

�The floor, I want you comfortable.�

Duncan smiled at that and moved to the edge of the bed, dropping the pillow on the floor between his open legs. Methos knelt on it, took Duncan�s hips, and pulled him closer.

�Touch yourself, Duncan, I love to watch you touch yourself. Can you come for me again?�

�Oh yes,� Duncan whispered. He stroked himself slowly and wept a thin thread of fluid that formed a tiny clear pool in the fine dark hair of his thigh. Methos leaned forward and interrupted the thread in its travel, catching it with his tongue, first following it down, licking up the little pool, then back up to the source, delicately licking the tip of Duncan�s cock. Methos took the head in his mouth and sucked gently, causing Duncan to tug on his hair with both hands trying to pull him away, moaning, �If you don�t stop I�ll come right now!�

�Wouldn�t want that, would we?� Methos� voice was gently teasing, and he leaned back again. He positioned himself to enter Duncan and asked him, �Are you ready?�

�Yes, yes, please, I want to feel you inside me again.�

Methos pushed in. This time there was much less resistance, only a slight tightening easily overcome and he was in the warmth.

�How tight do you want me to hold you?� Duncan�s voice was ragged.

�Just don�t break my ribs.�

Duncan�s legs wrapped around him. He lay back on the bed, crossed his ankles just below the small of Methos� back and gripped his body tightly, the powerful thigh muscles tensing hard. Methos closed his eyes and groaned, instinctively exhaling at the pressure. Held so tight inside and outside, feeling Duncan as he�d never felt him before, every nerve alight with pleasure, he could never get enough of this, not if it lasted until the end of eternity.

�Has it always felt like this?� he thought, �Or is it just that I�m so attuned, hyperaware of every touch?�

He began to thrust, slowly at first, then more quickly, Duncan�s legs holding him, flexing with his movements as if he were riding a horse. Methos looked into Duncan eyes and he could see the hunger in them. Duncan stretched his hands up, open, reaching, and Methos� hands met them. Fingers intertwined and they locked together. Duncan�s grip slowly brought Methos forward and down, off-balance and he realized that Duncan was taking control, pulling with his legs, causing him to thrust faster and more deeply than he would have without Duncan�s heels digging into him, driving him on.

He had taken control of Methos� body but was out of control of his own, his movements frantic, driven by his desperate need to feel. His legs tightened until Methos could hardly breathe, then Duncan�s eyes closed as he came, shuddering, his mouth open wide in a helpless cry of pleasure. Methos rode with him, feeling every tremor, hearing every moan, no longer knowing if the sound was from his own throat or Duncan�s as he followed him into orgasm and there was only this feeling pulsing through him, intense and perfect. It felt as if it were the first time combined with the body-deep knowledge of a thousand years.

Duncan�s legs relaxed, though he kept his grip. He was letting Methos ride him now, letting him move as his pleasure demanded. He watched Methos� face, the look of total concentration, eyes tightly closed in blind ecstasy. Duncan could feel him coming, and it caused yet another wave of orgasmic tremors to run through him. Only when they ended could he let go of Methos� hands, his own dropping to the bed. His legs unclasped and slid down, falling open against Methos� thighs.
Methos slowly sank down, laying his head on Duncan�s chest, catching his breath. When he could speak he said, �Have I said I love you often enough today?�

�You could say it again, just to be sure.�

Methos whispered, �I love you,� and moved up for a kiss, causing him to slip out of Duncan. �Damn! I should have brought a towel. You�ve been waiting on me hand and foot for weeks, it should be my turn to take care of you.�

�Just hand me some tissues.� There was a laugh in Duncan�s voice.

Methos did as requested, then went into the bathroom. Duncan could hear the water running. It stopped, and Methos came out and tossed him a damp hand towel. He settled back in bed while Duncan cleaned up. He threw the towel toward the bathroom and turned to Methos with a question.

�What are we going to do about Cassandra? Are we going after her? We can�t just let her get away with what she did to you!�

Methos considered his answer carefully. �She may have tormented me, but I�m not sure Cassandra took my immortality. She seemed shocked by my deterioration that last time. I think that it�s possible I did it to myself. I was in such total despair, thinking you were dead, thinking it was all my fault. I didn�t want to live without you. I wanted to die�� he smiled ruefully, ��and I did. But I learned so much! How precious life is, how to value every second, every touch. After a lifetime as long as mine you forget these things. Maybe I had to die in order to remember how to live. And maybe I needed to become worthy of you.�

�What are you talking about, worthy of me?�

�I have not always been the sweet guy you see now, Duncan, you know that. After all the suffering I�ve caused perhaps I needed to suffer. Maybe I�ve atoned for my sins, balanced my karma, whatever you want to call it. Maybe I finally deserve you.�

�And what did *I* do to deserve *you*?� Duncan teased gently, trying to work Methos out of this contemplative mood.

�Well it must have been something pretty awful�� he looked into Duncan�s eyes. They were filled with a soft glow of joy, so different from the sad eyes that were the last thing he�d ever thought he�d see, ��and I�m so glad you did it, whatever it was.� Methos smiled.

Duncan kissed him. �I�m glad I did too.� He laid back and crossed his arms behind his head. He was tired; the good kind of tired that follows great sex. He didn�t intend to, but he drifted off.

Duncan had fallen into sleep uncovered and was lightly sweating in the warmth of the loft. Methos was too hot to sleep and realized that no one had turned down the heat. He got up to adjust the thermostat, blowing out the guttering candles on the way. Two candles were still burning clearly, tall pillars in wrought iron holders, one dark green, the other deep burgundy red. He smiled, hoped it was a good omen, and left them burning. He turned the heat down, but it would take a while to cool off. Too long, he decided, he was almost uncomfortably hot and needed to let some of it out. He crossed the floor and went up the cast iron spiral staircase. Up here it was stifling, and he opened the door to the roof. He went out into the colder air and took a deep breath. He was in the moment, relaxed, and not thinking of anything other than how the air felt wonderful. Another thought followed, �The cold air of late autumn, soon to be winter, when everything dies.�

�How will I give my life to you?�

The question came unbidden.

He pushed it away and looked up into the night sky. It was blazing with stars and he thought, �Even the stars look different now.�

There was a sudden jolt, a disarticulation in time, a skip, a realignment.

He was no longer on the roof of the dojo.

�I do not want to know this,� Methos thought.

He was standing on a high desert plain ringed by mountains, the only light coming from the blaze of stars overhead. The Milky Way was visible, a faint luminous arch across the top of the sky. There was enough light to see what was close around him, feathery knee-high grass rippling in a cool wind like water, silvery in the starlight.

�Even the stars look different now.�

The voice was familiar and much loved, and Methos turned to see Duncan standing a few steps to his right. There was a glow on the horizon behind him, to the east. Methos said, �The moon is about to rise,� and even as he spoke the edge of the full moon appeared over the ridge. Soon the plain would be bathed in light. He didn�t want the light, he didn�t want to see what he knew was lying hidden in the tall grass.

In the end the legends had been right. They had all been drawn here for the final act of the play. The fighting had gone on for days, fueled by seemingly uncontrollable blood lust. They had arrived together, but separated at the start of battle, hoping to not meet, to not fight each other. But here they were, the last two standing.

The moon had fully risen. There were things visible in the grass, arms and legs at odd angles, and off to Methos� left the moonlight picked out the shocked expression of death on an unrecognized face without a body.

They were both exhausted, bloody, their swords heavy, their bodies burning from Quickening after Quickening. They had fought like Viking berserkers, oblivious to pain and wounds, though the blood lust apparently had left them for this moment. Methos was glad of this quiet pause, it gave them time to say goodbye. The tip of his Ivanhoe was stuck in the sand, his hands resting on the hilt, his left hand on top. Methos noticed the platinum band shining in the moonlight, its design worn to a whisper.

�I didn�t want it to be like this.� Duncan�s voice was filled with regret.

Methos stepped close and put his hand on Duncan�s shoulder, saying, �I know, Duncan. It�s all right. I knew it would end like this, I�ve known since the night I came back after your dagger stopped my heart. This is how it has to end.�

�You�ve known that long and you never said anything! How could you know�� Duncan�s anger prevented further speech.

�I knew, but I forgot until a short while ago. I must have buried it.�

Methos let his sword fall and touched Duncan�s face with both hands, like a blind man trying to feel his expression, to know and remember every contour of his face, to hold it complete in his hands for all eternity.

Duncan�s anger flashed and faded quickly. He mirrored Methos� gesture, touching his face, the planes and angles of his forehead, cheekbones, and nose, the tender curves of his mouth, finally kissing him, long and lingering.

Methos broke off the kiss, looked deep into Duncan�s eyes, and made his last request. �Let�s end it now. I don�t want to wait until the blood lust forces us to fight. Take me, Duncan. Take my head while I can still know you and love you.�

Duncan�s eyes filled with tears and an expression of combined love and pain so intense that Methos couldn�t bear to see it. �I can�t look into your eyes this time,� he thought. He closed his eyes. He didn�t see Duncan step back and raise the katana.

He opened his eyes standing naked on the roof in a cold wind. He felt a chill that went deeper than bone and he was shivering. He went in quickly and closed the door. It was still warm inside; he couldn�t have been on the roof long. The image was rapidly fading, stars, grass, a desert plain in the light of the full moon. It would return only twice, then tumble into his subconscious.

He went down to Duncan. He�d rolled on his side and was sleeping slanted across the bed. His head was near the edge and Methos crouched down to look at him. Duncan was snoring softly, his full lips slightly parted. Methos thought of all the times he�d wanted to kiss him awake and smiled. He wasn�t afraid of waking him now.

He kissed the right corner of Duncan�s mouth, gently. Duncan didn�t move. He kissed the other corner, remaining a bit longer, then pulled away. Duncan sighed and turned his head slightly toward Methos. This time the kiss was full on Duncan�s soft sleeping mouth and Methos held it. He felt Duncan�s lips move, first in a smile, then joining in the kiss with joy.

Duncan�s hands found Methos� shoulders and he ended the kiss to say, �You�re freezing! Where have you been?�

�On the roof. It was too hot and I��

Duncan interrupted him by pulling him into bed. He rummaged on the floor for the fur throw, tugging it up to cover them, then wrapped his arms around Methos, surrounding him in the warmth of the fur and his body.

�I won�t catch cold!� Methos was laughing, glad of the diversion from a strange, clinging sadness.

Duncan was kissing his back, nuzzling down his spine, sending delicious shivers through him. Or was it the cold wind? Methos felt a weird sense of dislocation, of not knowing where he was or what was real. Was he here in this bed with Duncan sweetly sliding into him or standing on a desert plain under the stars waiting to die? *Was* it Duncan inside him? Was he making love in candlelight and shadows, feeling the fur soft on his skin, or was he lying drugged on a dirty sheet with a stranger fucking him?

He gasped and flinched in Duncan�s arms, causing him to ask in whispered concern, �Am I hurting you? Do you want me to stop?�

That voice seemed to anchor him to the reality of soft fur and candlelight. Duncan�s voice. Duncan�s reality. Methos replied, his voice rough and uneven, �No, no, I�I need you to talk to me. Say anything, just talk to me. Keep me here with you.�

This struck Duncan as odd and he asked, �Where would I let you go?�

Duncan noticed that Methos was reacting strangely and remembered his description of how he would lose himself in delusions. He wondered if that was the problem now, if Methos was in need of the reassurance of his voice. He would give it to him, that and anything else he needed.

�Are you all right with this?�

�Yes, yes� I need to feel you. Make me feel you.�

Duncan was kissing the back of his neck. Methos caressed his head and his fingers caught in Duncan�s tangled long hair. Duncan reached up and freed them, kissing each one, giving Methos time to adjust, speaking softly.

�I�ll never let you go, you belong right here, in my arms.�

He felt Methos relax and entered him completely, cuddling close against his back, sliding his hand down Methos� body to enclose his cock, stroking its hardness slowly as he began to move in him, saying in a half-moan, �You feel so good, so tight and warm inside, so hard in my hand.�

Methos arched his back, pushing against Duncan, moving his head closer. He was caught between the joy of Duncan�s hand on him and the ecstasy of Duncan�s cock in him, held securely by his arms and the sound of his voice. Duncan kissed his ear and whispered, �I love you so much there are no words to describe it.�

Methos softly shuddered from Duncan�s warm breath and whispered back, �Not in all the languages I�ve ever known.�

Duncan could no longer think clearly enough to form words; all he could do was moan in pleasure. That was enough. Methos knew that sound and it was keeping him here, taking him to the same place, the place where Duncan was coming in him, with him, and there was no other reality possible.

After a while Methos was able to mumble, �Lucky your aim was off.�

�Excuse me?�

Methos laughed. �I meant the towel, you threw it short and it landed right here in my reach. How very convenient.�

Methos cleaned himself up and passed the towel to Duncan. He stretched, then settled down in the bed, lying on his back. Duncan used the towel and threw it back toward the bathroom. It fell short again and Methos smiled.

Duncan lay down facing him and ran his hand over Methos� chest. �Have I said I love you?�

�Yes, you have. It was the last thing I heard as I was dying.�

Duncan looked at Methos curiously and asked, �Was it different?�

�Was what different?�

�Dying as a mortal. Was it different than the usual death?�

�Actually it was. First I was floating�� Methos decided to omit his more painful observations, ��then I was standing in my old apartment in Paris, the one where I met you for the first time. I was looking at myself, or at least someone who looked just like me, then I threw myself a beer��

�Leave it to you to find beer, even dead!�

�Do you want to hear this or what?�

�All right, I�ll be quiet, I promise.� Duncan was trying not to giggle, and failing.

�Then I started talking about weighing my heart��

Duncan interrupted, �This is starting to sound like the other you was some kind of God.�

Methos seemed to consider this and answered, �Well I was created in his image!�

Duncan began laughing helplessly. Methos looked at him, somewhat provoked. �What is so funny, MacLeod?�

Duncan managed to get out, �Does this mean God has a big nose too?�

Methos replied archly, �I thought it was one of his better features!�

Now Duncan was howling, and Methos said, �Does the phrase �bite me� mean anything to you?�

Duncan couldn�t stop laughing, but there was a touch of hysteria in the laughter. Duncan was laughing as hard as he had been crying earlier, the pendulum of his emotions swinging a bit wildly. Methos let him laugh it out as he�d let him cry, Duncan needed more than one kind of release. Methos just smiled and looked at him, shaking his head.

The laughter unwound something inside Duncan that had been pulled too tight and it felt so good. It finally tapered off and Duncan lay back, getting comfortable. The fur had slipped to the floor; Duncan retrieved it, pulled it up to his waist, and rolled over. �Damn it!� he said, laughing as it slid off again.

Methos offered, �I thought it would do that, the thing is too heavy and will keep sliding off. Maybe you should have buried me in it after all.�

�Don�t tempt me,� Duncan teased, kissing Methos� nose. He recovered the fur, this time tucking it under Methos so it couldn�t slip, then pulling him into his arms.

Methos pretended to protest, �Hey, who said I was cold or sleepy?�

�Well I am, and you should be. You had a busy day, seeing God and everything.� Duncan chuckled again.

�Anybody ever tell you you�re a pain in the ass?� Methos sounded amused. He was just warm enough and decided he was sleepy after all. He snuggled in and said, �Someone should blow out those candles.�

Duncan murmured, �Leave them, they�re all right. Besides, we�re fireproof.�

He felt Duncan settle down and relax, and was on the edge of sleep himself. The image came to him, the vision of the desert and the Gathering, his hands on Duncan�s face, a lingering kiss, a terrible request under a full moon. Methos thought, �Yes, I�ll die for you. I�ll do anything to keep this peace I find in your arms. I know how it feels to lose you. Dying is nothing compared to losing you. I�ll pour my life into you like water and my love will never leave you. I promise I�ll never leave you, never, never, never�� He was reconciled to the vision and knew only joy. He drifted into sleep, and it held him gently.

But Duncan�s sleep was troubled. He turned away from Methos, drew his knees up as if he were in pain and softly moaned in anguish, though he didn�t wake. Somehow he knew that this was not a dream. He was standing in moonlight so bright it cast clear shadows. Feathery grass grew knee high, and in the distance were stunted, twisted trees that could be mesquite. He was raising his katana and Methos was seen through tears, wavering and distorted.

It was the Gathering, he was exhausted from fighting, on fire from repeated Quickenings, and his heart was breaking. He asked himself, �Why am I doing this?� and looked away, trying to blink the tears out of his eyes. There was a spider web spun between two stalks of grass rippling in the wind and he could see dark drops of blood caught in it shimmering in the moonlight. He could not do this. It didn�t matter, he didn�t want the prize, and there was no force in heaven or earth that could make him do this. He lowered the katana.

�I can�t kill you, Methos. I did it once, I can�t do it again.�

Methos eyes opened, looked deeply into Duncan�s, and he said again, �The bloodlust��

�No,� Duncan said, shaking his head, �There is nothing that can make me do this. I refuse to live without you.�

�But what if the drive to kill you comes over me? What if *I* can�t fight it?�

Duncan smiled. �If you lose control and kill me, I forgive you. At least I won�t have to live without you. Can you bear to live without me?�

�You know I can�t. But what about the Game?�

�I don�t care about the Game. Maybe there will be new Immortals born, maybe the Game will start over again, or maybe we�ll be the only ones. Maybe this is how it�s supposed to be. I don�t care. All I want is you.�

He dropped his sword in the grass and pulled Methos close to kiss him. The vision melted away. There had always been the shadow of the Gathering hanging over them, the terrible knowledge that one day they would come to a place that only one was expected to leave alive. What had seemed to be an impossible problem was solved so easily. He would simply refuse to do it. Duncan did not wake and would not consciously remember this, although the shadow in his soul lifted and he was at peace.

Methos sensed the space between their bodies, even deep in sleep, and missed Duncan. He rolled over and cuddled against his back, embracing him and laying his open hand against Duncan�s chest. Duncan smiled in his sleep. He turned back and snuggled even closer to Methos, tucking his head against his shoulder, wrapping his arm around his waist, Methos� hand now resting against his back. They slept contented in each other�s arms.

The two candles burned on, not knowing they would soon fight the daylight and lose. It wouldn�t matter. They had fought the dark and won.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~