Open For Interpretation

He�s watching me again. Staring actually. Watching every move, every nuance. I bet he could almost predict how I�m going to move next, he�s such a student of me. The wildest thing is that I enjoy knowing he�s watching. Sometimes I move or gesture just to see how he�ll react.

It�s been two years since I met him, and he�s still the same child he was then. There are dozens of centuries of age between us, but what he�s thinking about me is even older than I am. He wants to fuck me, possess me, own me, but he has no clue how to go about it. I am an enigma to him even though I�ve tried to portray myself as just a regular guy.

I wonder if it�s the age that attracts him more so than my physical presence. Is he attracted to my age and power more than my eyes and ass?

That�s one of the reasons why, even if he were to ask me, pursue me, I would say no. It wouldn�t work unless he was with me because of me and not who I am. Although with the possibilities our Immortality gives us, we could last for the length of a normal relationship and it still would only be a drop in the bucket of time.

The other reason that I wouldn�t be with him is because I�m in love with someone else. Hopelessly, but completely. Only he has no idea.

I watch him just as I am being watched. I study every gesture he makes and wonder what each means. I have to stifle a moan when I watch him sipping a beer because of the way his throat muscles move when he swallows. Sometimes I get so hard I have to sit here at the bar for an hour until my erection subsides. I feel like such a chicken shit because I�ve never said anything to him, for never letting him know that I want him. I want to spend hours memorizing his body and more hours learning what makes him crazy with need. He holds a special place in my heart, but he doesn�t even know it.

I fear the rejection that may not even come. I fear losing his friendship on a chance, for a brief affair. I want more than that with him. I want something from him that I�ve never sought from another Immortal. A commitment. Maybe someday I�ll get my courage up and tell him, maybe make a bold move. Maybe�

My admirer has moved closer, perhaps making his own bold more or maybe just moving closer to ask me a question. When I feel his hand on my shoulder, I have my answer. I turn to look into his eyes; I see so much passion and desire and a touch of nervousness. He�s afraid of what this could bring; afraid I�ll accept and also afraid I�ll decline. He�s in a precarious position.

The gentle hand slowly trails down my back and around my hip to rest on my upper thigh, inches away from the beginnings of an erection, our eyes never breaking contact. This could be fun. There are so many things I could teach him, do to him.

Before I can think of a response, or open my mouth, I feel the presence of another Immortal. The Immortal I desire above all else. My admirer sees my reaction to the presence, and knows what it means.

The hand on my thigh is removed. A brief flicker of hurt runs through his eyes and I�m sorry to have caused it, but I learned long ago that I can�t dictate logic to my heart; and my heart has its sights set elsewhere.

They greet one another.

�Mac.�

�Richie.�

They are like father and son which is part of my hesitancy to admit my feelings for one and, in turn, hurt the other.

My admirer drops a few dollars on the bar and leaves. He has made his intentions known and I have let him know, with my wordless actions, that I will not, cannot accept.

The object of my affection, addiction, obsession now sits beside me. He orders his own beer and I covertly watch him sip at it. His tongue darts out to lick away the foam from his upper lip. I squirm in my seat as my pants grow uncomfortably tighter. I�m aware of him, with every fiber of my being. His presence tingles within me, making me feel things I haven�t felt for centuries, if then.

Taking a long pull of my own beer, I wonder at the courage of my admirer to make that clear overture; to just come right out with it, regardless of the outcome. Perhaps that�s what I should do, just jump off the cliff. Either way I�ll know for sure.

Taking my cue from my admirer, I place my hand on my companion�s shoulder, catching his attention. His eyes meet mine. Curiosity. Interest, maybe. I slowly run my hand down his back, the muscles firm under my touch. I linger at his waistband, noticing something new building in his eyes; a hunger, a desire that makes me crave his touch even more. Finally I end my caress, for that was what it truly was, with my hand on his thigh. I chance a look to his crotch and see a noticeable bulge. He wants this, he wants me. Catching his eyes again, I see what my visual caress has done to him. His eyes are completely dilated, no color except for black, hot desire. Desire for me.

�Methos.� His voice is deeper and huskier that usual.

Not trusting my own voice, I only nod. I want him and everything, anything he�s willing to give me.

I watch him shove his hand into his pocket, withdrawing a handful of bills. He drops them on the bar unmindful of the amount. His eyes never leave mine, and I wonder if he is afraid I will disappear. To reassure him, I take his now empty hand in mine. New, fresh, searing desire courses through our tender touch. There is more here, more between us that just desire. This relationship has possibilities.

I lead him out the door, nothing but the here and now matter to us. There is no past and no future in this shining moment. There is only us. He and I.

The end.

Seriously!

Open For Interpretation is just that. You decide if it is Richie/Methos or Duncan/Methos, I already know the answer. :)