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The River

Part Twenty-Two: Dark Dreams

Methos woke to the sound of the cold wind and the warmth of Duncan in his arms. Duncan�s arm was over him, heavy on Methos� hip, and his forehead was pressed against Methos� shoulder, his breath playing on Methos� chest. It was bittersweet, waking up with Duncan in his arms. He didn�t want to move, didn�t want to wake him. Methos wanted to savor the feeling; he needed to look at Duncan�s sleeping face. It was relaxed, peaceful, but still there was that trace of grief. It brought back memories of how it had been, after they buried Connor and Methos had come back to Paris with MacLeod, moving into the barge with him.

It had started with Mac�s nightmares, his crying out in his sleep. Methos would wake at the sound, get up from the couch, and go to him. He�d sit on the edge of the bed and try to soothe Duncan, stroking his shoulder or back, whispering words of reassurance. Sometimes this would be enough, he would quiet, fall back into dreamless sleep. Other times Mac would turn to him, pull Methos into bed and wrap himself around him. Only then would he fall back into sleep, tangled around him, just like he was now. If Methos would try to move, to go back to his place on the couch, Duncan would hold on to him and not let him go.
One night as Methos was preparing the couch Mac had finally said, �Stop that. Come here and sleep with me, you end up here anyway, you might as well start here.�

MacLeod had said it in joking tone, but there had been a small, almost shy smile and Methos� heart had been pounding in his chest as he had picked up his pillow and joined Duncan in his bed. As it had turned out, sleep was all Mac had meant, though he had snuggled close and wanted to be held while he fell asleep.

It had seemed to help him, the dark dreams came less often, but Methos would wake in the night plagued by his own dreams. Though they slept so close together, so much of their nude bodies touching, MacLeod had shown no sexual interest, no hint of wanting anything more than contact. Methos didn�t want to push for what Mac showed no sign of desiring, but he would wake aching with arousal. He�d have to slip away, first convincing Duncan to let go, gently, without waking him, and go into the bathroom to try to ease himself, his mind filled with images of that beautiful body so close, so touched, yet untouchable.

Methos had begun to think it would never happen, could never happen, then one night he�d woke in the hour before dawn, on his back, Mac up against him, skin on skin. Methos had been unsure what had awakened him and listened for the sound of nightmare, but it was quiet. Then he felt Mac�s hand slowly caressing his chest, sliding down to his stomach, finding his hard cock and wrapping it in his warm fist. Methos had held his breath, afraid to move. He�d wondered if MacLeod was awake, if he knew what he was doing as Mac had rubbed his thumb across the slick tip, that slight friction almost enough to bring Methos to orgasm. Mac had taken his hand away, and Methos hadn�t been able to smother the pleading moan of desperate arousal, wanting the touch of that hand again more than his next breath.

�So you do want it.�

MacLeod�s voice had been a soft growl, the hand had returned to his stomach, and Methos could no longer hide his need, years of desire and wanting in his voice.

�Oh Mac, touch me, please, oh please��

But the hand had stopped, and the voice had growled again, �Say my name. Call me Duncan; I want to hear you say it in that breathless voice.�

�Oh God, Duncan, Duncan, please touch me, I need you to touch me.�

Methos had lost all restraint, all fear of rejection as Duncan had enclosed his cock in his warm grip and stroked him. The touch of that hand had been unbelievably intense; it had been wanted for so long, so hopelessly. Duncan had seemed to be searching for the right rhythm, the right motion.

�Show me what feels best to you.� The soft growl was back.

Methos had tried to take a deep breath before he�d reached down, his fingertips feeling the soft fuzz on Duncan�s knuckles as he covered his hand with his own, guiding him in the pace and stroke that brought him the most pleasure. He�d thrown back the covers, he had to look, to see their hands clasped together, moving together in the pre-dawn glow.

He�d looked up into Duncan�s face; he was watching too, his expression one of intense concentration, as if he were memorizing everything, the rhythm, the texture of Methos� skin, the feel of him in his hand. Then Duncan had looked up at Methos, his face so gravely serious, yet love was there in his eyes and Methos felt tears rising as he thought, �You do love me. It was possible after all.�

Methos couldn�t seem to breathe, couldn�t get enough air, but somehow he was moaning deep in his throat.

�That�s it, that�s good for you, isn�t it.� The soft growl had shifted to a rough whisper.

Methos had realized that Duncan sounded almost as aroused as he was, and that pushed him right over, the thought that Duncan was being turned on by giving him pleasure. He couldn�t stop it, he couldn�t stop coming, moaning despite the lack of air. He�d taken his hand off of Duncan�s, sliding down, trying to catch the flood that erupted out of him. It had seemed as if all the long held back desire was pouring out of him in that one blinding moment.

It did finally diminish, and Duncan had surprised him again, leaning in, kissing him, gently at first, then harder, deeper, his tongue probing Methos� mouth, and Methos had responded joyfully. Methos� come-wet hand found Duncan�s cock and smoothed the slick fluid on its hardness, preparing him.

�I need you inside me Duncan.� The longing had been so clear in his voice.

Duncan had answered, his voice sounding much the same as Methos�, but the words very different, �I don�t want to hurt you.�

�Not having you in me hurts far worse.�

Duncan had closed his eyes and whispered, �The only times I�ve ever done this I was very drunk.�

�It�s all right, I�ll show you.�

Methos turned on his side and Duncan moved close behind him. Methos helped him into position and Duncan gave a tentative thrust. Methos could tell he was unsure and said, �Just push, Duncan.�

Duncan entered slowly and steadily. Methos knew how to relax and help him and he slid in smoothly, stopping only when he was as deep as he could go. He pulled out, carefully, and thrust back in, even more cautiously, not wanting to cause pain. Methos moaned and Duncan stopped, but Methos pushed back, obviously wanting more, and Duncan had known it was a sound of pleasure.

Now it was Duncan�s turn to moan, overwhelmed by the tight heat. Methos could tell Duncan was fighting for control, surprised by the rush of sensation, trying to adjust, his breathing ragged. The hand had returned to Methos� stomach, slipping down, finding his cock hard again. Then Duncan began to move faster, rocking his hips rhythmically, thrusting deeper, harder, as if testing the sensation, finding it so intense he couldn�t hold on for long, coming with a cry he�d muffled against Methos� back. Methos had come with him, caught in Duncan�s warm grip while feeling him pulse deep inside. It had been so sweet, made perfect when Duncan had kissed his back and murmured softly, �Oh Methos.�

It had stunned them both, this depth of feeling between them, but all had not been perfect. He could see the love in Duncan�s eyes, however Duncan couldn�t seem to say the words. Methos had told himself he didn�t need the words, that he knew Mac loved him, but he�d wanted the words. He�d needed to hear Duncan say I love you, and because Duncan couldn�t say it, Methos hadn�t been able to say it either. The silence grew between them and the sweetness had curdled into bitter regrets as they drifted apart, separated by alcohol and the strangeness that had come over Duncan.

The dark dreams had come back and Methos couldn�t chase them away, could no longer hide Duncan from them in the haven of his arms. Mac had already been drinking more than usual and his use of alcohol increased until he was drowning the nightmares in a river of Scotch. It had been so heartbreaking, watching Duncan drink. He would get so silent, so distant, and he could drink so much before any effect showed. It had made it hard for Methos to know how drunk Mac was. He�d learned to gauge that when MacLeod would get up to go to bed. The first tell was how he would stand up, if he had to catch his balance. The second was how he would walk, if he were weaving, or stumbling, or staggering. There were times he wouldn�t get up because he couldn�t stand or walk without help. Methos remembered how often he would have to put him to bed, undressing him as if he were a sleepy child, Duncan close to passing out, far too drunk to make love. So many nights he had been too drunk to make love, but even on those nights when Duncan had been almost unconscious he had wanted Methos close and in his arms.

Somehow, somewhere in that time the cruelty began, twisted up in the alcohol and the distance that had grown between them. He had come to wonder if the only reason Duncan had started having sex with him was to keep him near because he didn�t want to be alone, and if the sexual abuse was a sign of that. Methos asked himself, �How much of it was my fault? What could I have done differently? Why couldn�t I help you? Stop it. I mustn�t think about that, I must think about how to help you now, if I can help you.� He took a shuddering breath; his anguish seemed to be reaching Duncan who tossed in his arms, turning his head, frowning and emitting a soft moan. Methos closed his eyes and tried to shut out the memories, the regrets, and his fear.

Duncan could feel distressed breathing and opened his eyes to the sight of the sorrow on Methos� face. His first feeling had been joy to be in his arms again, but somehow he knew that he was the cause of Methos� expression of grief. The joy was quickly crushed by his conscience pointing out, �Even now you�re hurting him, you just keep hurting him, how can you allow him close to you? How can you trust yourself not to kill him? You tried once before, you barely redirected the blow in time, what about the next time?� There was an immediate horror, an image in Duncan�s mind of Methos� head falling to his blade and he recoiled physically, pulling away from Methos abruptly, retreating to the far edge of the bed.

Methos� eyes flew open at the sudden movement and he was dismayed at the look of shocked revulsion on Duncan�s face. He felt an instantaneous stab of agony and the thought came to him almost as fast as the pain, �You�re repelled by me. It was my fault for preying on your grief, your weakness; you only gave yourself to me so I would stay with you. You started hurting me out of resentment. You don�t love me, you can�t love me, and it�s all my fault.� But then Methos remembered Ash�s words, �Why did he drink more after you left? Maybe he was afraid you would have to fight for him and that�s why he made you leave.�

Duncan had turned, facing away from Methos. He was trembling and Methos noticed how chilly the barge was. Methos pulled the blankets from the bed and went to Duncan, wrapping him in the remains of their shared warmth. He was thinking, �If you pull away from me now, you�re pulling away forever.� Methos rested his hands on MacLeod�s shoulders. He didn�t move away, but Mac didn�t move nearer either, passively accepting the touch.

Methos crossed the floor to the fireplace and began to gather wood from the stack against the wall. The barge�s heater never really could drive out the cold when the wind blew in over the river, and the chill was seeping into his soul. He thought as he built the fire, �I have to know, Duncan. Do you care for me at all? Do you want me here?�

Duncan had turned his head and was watching Methos move between the stack of kindling and the fireplace, admiring his slender strength in the muted light. It had been strange, this attraction to his narrow-hipped male body. There had been a few men he had been with in the past, most very briefly, driven by need, but none who filled his heart like this one. �You can�t show him your love, you have to make him go before you hurt him again.� His conscience was right, but his heart was crying, �Why can�t I tell you I love you? I do love you. I need you, I can�t go on without you, I�m sorry, I�m sorry,� but he couldn�t get the words past the unseen hand that clutched at his throat every time he tried to tell Methos how he felt.

Methos stood, staring into the growing flames and said, �If you want me to leave Duncan, I will. All you have to do is say the word.�

Duncan�s conscience was trying to make him say �Leave�, to push Methos away for his own good, but his heart was screaming selfishly, �Stay with me, stay with me, I need you.� He walked silently on bare feet, drawn to Methos helplessly, almost against his will. He came close behind Methos and encircled him in his arms, in the warmth of the blankets and his body.

Methos closed his eyes. Duncan was warm against his back, warmer than the fire, warmer than sunlight, and he spoke a single word, a word that meant the world.

�Stay.�

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