Response to Taselby's "buffet-style" challenge. I couldn't do anything with the title, unfortunatley, but the quote was definitely helpful.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, or the ideas, of Highlander. They are used here without permission, but no harm is meant. I don't make any money off this.
If you are underage, or m/m situations are not to your taste, exercise your right to use the back button.
Security
by DN
"There is no security on this earth; there is only opportunity."
--attributed to Douglas MacArthur. Unverified.
The dust choked road lay winding before him, a beacon to the travel lust in the weary man who rode it. The beast beneath him was a sturdy mare, well suited to the long miles he road. She was shaggy, whitish gray, and managed to seem unkempt despite the care her handler took with her. After a day on the road, the traveler looked much the same himself. He glanced once to where the sun had slipped lower yet, and judged it was nearly time to stop.
"Do you know a good place to stop?" he asked of his companion. The man turned slightly, a tired grin lighting his handsome features. He brushed blue-black hair, now dim with dust, back from his deep blue eyes.
"There's a stream a half mile ahead," he commented, straightening his shoulders in an attempt to relieve the tension of riding all day. "I've camped there before. It's far enough off the road to be private. Not many use it."
"Sounds good," the other replied, a Scottish accent to the words. The two had ridden together for a week now, companions who could, given time, become friends. Strange, for an Englishman and a Scotsmen to be friends in these times. The animosity inherent in their heritage generally made such a thing impossible. Neither man, however, was ordinary.
"Here, Duncan," the man instructed, leading them off the road to the left. After one abortive attempt to familiarize his companions with the nickname Mac, he had been corrected. Duncan had insisted, indignant, that he was not a boy, and would not be called such. He had sounded so petulant that Roland couldn't help but think he sounded exactly like a child. He had laughed, and Duncan, thinking he was being laughed at -- which he was -- hesitated between riding away with his battered pride or joining in. Won over by the unmalicious joy in Roland's laughter, he chose the latter. Thereafter, Roland was careful always to refer to Duncan by his Christian name, not as MacLeod or Mac.
They set camp quickly, neither man a novice, and the past week had led to an easy routine between them. With a fire lit as twilight set, the camp took on a cheerful air of companionship. Roland removed a slice of rabbit from the spit with a deft skewer of his knife. He bit into it carelessly, searing his mouth, but ignored the burn.
"I'm curious," Roland commented, easing back against the tree he was using as a back rest. "How did you come to be on the road to meet me? I've told you about my flight from London, and my troubles there," he reminded Duncan, hoping his honorable friend would take the hint that fair was fair.
"I was having trouble with a lady," Duncan confessed. "I thought I loved her, but I didn't. When I tried to leave, I believe she had killed, " he hedged, unwilling to tell the entire truth of Kristin's actions, "the woman I had come to love instead. Since I had no proof, all I could do was leave." Duncan stared broodily into the fire, the turn in the conversation ruining his previous good mood.
"That's a shame, Duncan, but there was nothing you can do. Best put it behind you," Roland said compassionately. Duncan nodded unhappily, finished off his meal, and announced he was going to sleep. He stood jerkily and moved to his bedroll where he pulled off his shirt and boots. He wrapped himself in his bedroll and lay there, rigid with tension. Roland watched him thoughtfully, charinged to have reminded the good man of his emotional pain. Of course, there were distractions from such pain -- if Duncan was willing. Nothing so far had suggested he was, but Roland was a gambler; risks made life worth living. He set down his knife and rose silently, following Duncan's path. He knelt down softly beside Duncan, knowing the other had been alerted to Roland's presence by a thousand minute signs. He reached a hand out and began to gently rub Duncan's neck. It was slow, comforting, and though Duncan tensed initially, he slowly relaxed. Gradually, Roland moved his hand over the shoulder and onto the chest, then trailed his fingers up past the neck to Duncan's cheek. The slight pressure of his fingertips brought Duncan around to face him. He smiled kindly.
"I think women are overrated," Roland whispered huskily. The confusion in Duncan's eyes was touching. Slowly, giving Duncan every chance to pull away, Roland leaned down to kiss him.
***
Methos set the Chronicle down abruptly, overcome by the emotion written into the ancient book. On the computer screen before him was Duncan's picture, captured as he sat in the mountains, staring over a steep cliff. The beauty of the scene was eclipsed by the beauty of the man; they fit together, the mountain and the man. He had no picture of Roland, but he didn't need one. He could easily imagine, from the description, that Roland's blue-black hair was his own charcoal, and that blue eyes could instead be green and gold. He picked up the book again, his emotions settled.
***
Their lips met; as strange as it was to realize he kissed a man, it was not so different from kissing a woman. Duncan parted his lips invitingly, and felt Roland move closer. Roland broke away, care and joy in his smile. Duncan responded to that warmth, forgetting in the pleasure and the freely given benevolence of the emotions that when he was thinking rationally, he would most likely condemn this as amoral, and sinful. A hint of that came through, the pleasure and he shook his head.
"This isn't right, Roland," he protested, but didn't push the other man away.
"This isn't wrong, either," Roland argued lightly. He grinned. "This isn't what you're used too, I'm sure, but there is no security on earth, Duncan. There is only opportunity. Will you forsake this opportunity so easily? It doesn't have to be more than a night, if you want, but for tonight, let me give you this."
Duncan nodded, enraptured by the hypnotic, sensual words. Duncan reached out and pulled him closer, kissing him uninhibitedly. For tonight, he resolved that there would be no inhibitions. Roland moved carefully, unwilling to frighten the inexperienced man and wanting to make this night memorable. He wanted Duncan to remember this night favorably for the rest of his life.
He allowed Duncan to remove his shirt, and to run his hands where he would, accustoming himself to the differences in this lover. He returned the favor, exploring where he would, allowing Duncan to become used to the unfamiliar feel of Roland's hands on him. Duncan's apprehension was fast being replaced by curiosity and arousal. He moved his hands lower, removing Roland's pants as he went. He noted absently that Roland had kicked off his boots and was slipping into the bedroll with him. It was not the first time he'd seen another man naked, but it was the first time he'd considered what a naked man might mean. Roland hooked his fingers into Duncan's pants and dragged them off. Skin to skin, they met and touched. They explored, no more. Duncan was unready yet, and Roland wouldn't push him faster than he would go.
Duncan kissed Roland yet again, then moved the kissed lower, as he might with a woman. Roland moaned, and caressed Duncan's cheek, moved lower to his neck and chest, then pulled Duncan back into another deep kiss.
***
Methos dropped the book again. He forced himself to breath deeply, and control his arousal. Arousal for a man he'd never met, a picture. It was a safe attachment, he had told himself. He'd never meet the man, so what would it matter if he read the Chronicle? The tenderness with which the scene was written undid him. He couldn't help but wonder what if it was him? Even if an Immortal lover was too much of a commitment to take on idenfinitely, even if this lover would be far too dangerous to cultivate, even if, even if, even if! There were too many reasons not to become attached, to fall in love with an image, and yet he picked up the Chronicle again and read.
***
Their slow pace sped up; Duncan's arousal was obvious, and Roland was more than ready. Their bodies moved in synchronization, their hips pressed together in beautiful rhythm, their minds lost in each other. Duncan cried out and came, followed by Roland. They lay there, spent, in each other's arms. Duncan kissed Roland again lazily. Sodomy the church might frown on, but it frowned on relationships between unmarried people as well, and on adultery. It called people who came back from the dead demons, though their own savior had done the same. Something that felt this wonderful, this joyous, could not be evil, Duncan decided, whatever the church might declare. With men or women, love was love.
***
Methos stood to get a cold shower or a quick fuck, something -- anything! -- to get his mind off Duncan MacLeod. Because Roland had had Duncan for ten years before the mortal man was killed, and Methos . . . Methos would never have him at all.