Lost

Chapter 12

After leaving Lacasse to drive to his estate, Methos returned to his flat. He needed to make some phone calls. There was some specialized equipment he needed to find in order to make an unscheduled visit. Despite how he enraged he felt he knew he couldn’t take on that army by himself. He briefly considered calling Amanda...she would already have the equipment and would definitely come in handy with the break-in. She wasn’t bad in a fight, either. In the end, though, he decided against it...he didn’t want to wait for her to travel from wherever she happened to be at the moment.

Although he hadn’t had to foil a high-tech security system in awhile, he wasn’t without resources and soon had arrangements made for the equipment he needed. He’d have most of it by the next evening. A surge of anger flooded through him. Oh, to be able to just walk in, cutting down everyone in his path until he found what who he wanted. But no…that’s not who he was anymore...that’s not who Duncan needed him to be. The anger bled out of him as quickly as it had appeared leaving him empty and exhausted. He walked to the refrigerator and was extremely relieved to find two beers inside. He ignored the various containers of unrecognizable take-out food...in fact, he couldn’t even remember when he’d last eaten in the flat so the age of it all was highly questionable. He twisted off the cap and tossed it in the general direction of the trash can. He drank the entire contents of the bottle without pause for breath. The empty traveled in roughly the same direction as the cap. He had the second bottle out and open within moments, but this one he carried with him into the bedroom. Setting it on the nightstand, he pulled off his boots and then his sweater. Jeans quickly followed.

Settling back on the un-made bed he briefly glanced around the room. It was a mess, just as the rest of the flat was. Although normally a neat person, he had cultivated the messy habits when around the Highlander just for the reaction. He knew the ultra-tidy Scot would follow him around picking up after him like a harried mother following a toddler. The exasperated look on that beautiful face was infinitely amusing to the ancient man. But at his own flat he preferred to keep his things considerably neater. It was a testament to how distracted he’d been since Duncan’s disappearance. Ashamedly, he had to admit he’d left the barge rather messy again as well. He promised himself he’d straighten up the barge in the morning. He would not bring the Scot back to anything less than a pristine barge. With that resolve he downed the second beer just as quickly as he had the first and then lay down to get some sleep. He was out in minutes but it was less than two hours later when the nightmares began.

He bowed lower, forehead to the ground as he tried to make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible. Stop trembling...he’ll see! He admonished himself not knowing that every slave the overseer passed was caught up in the uncontrollable shivering his presence caused. It was no use. Digging rock out of the mines left a thick coat of dirt and sweat that caked all over their bodies making all the slaves a uniform grayish color and yet the overseer seemed to have an innate ability to pick his filthy body out from among the throng of filthy bodies all around him.

Stopping directly in front of him, the overseer let the tip of his whip slide along Methos’ back, a gentle caress completely at odds with every other experience Methos had had with it. The trembling increased as the overseer chuckled deeply. It came as no surprise when he heard the guards called over. He was to be bathed and taken to the overseer’s quarters...again.

Methos quailed as the guards grabbed him by the arms. Why was this happening to him? He should have died when the raiders came to the village. He closed his eyes briefly, pain flaring at the thought of the loss of the people who’d taken him in to their hearts for so brief a time. The guards pushed him to his knees, but he kept his eyes closed as a bucket of water was dumped on his head. Rubbing away the mud that dripped into his eyes he pulled the tunic over his head, knowing already what was expected of him. His thoughts strayed back to the raid. He’d fought back, the long dagger fitting easily in his hands as the raiders charged through the village. But he’d been caught in the back with a spear. He felt the point bite deeply into his chest and knew that it had pierced his lung. He had only enough time to say a mumbled prayer before the blackness closed his eyes. He prayed that this time it would be forever. Instead he’d awakened to shouts and hands roughly grabbing his arms and tying his wrists to a long wooden pole. He was a slave...again.

...Deep pain stabbed through him, hopelessness so acute he could barely breathe as the sobs tore through him as painfully as the cock that ripped him up inside. He couldn’t die...he knew it...the overseer knew it...he’d never escape...

Methos rolled over in his sleep, a deep, low moan sounding loud in the quiet room. The sobs started shortly after, sobs so deep and painful they were enough to awaken him. He sat up, trying to catch his breath as the sobbing slowly eased. He rubbed his hands over his face, scrubbing at the tears still leaking from his burning eyes. How often had he awakened either screaming or crying from the nightmares of his past? He really should be used to it by now. He recalled bits of the dream...memories, really. Although lately it seemed to be a recurring theme...moments in his early immortal life where the torture had been so extreme or he’d fallen into a despondency so deep that he prayed for a death he still believed possible. Losing any hope for continued sleep, he got up to shower adamantly pushing away the thought that his nightmares might in some way be related to his link with Duncan.

The bathroom light sent shards of pain into his burning eyes. Looking into the mirror, he somehow wasn’t surprised to see the gaunt figure staring back. The harsh lighting made the dark shadows under his eyes stand out against his pale skin. Lovely. What was MacLeod thinking getting involved with someone like him? What did he have to offer the handsome and noble Highlander? Depression threatened to suck him into the depths of his nightmares. But he couldn’t afford to let that happen. He needed to plan. Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod needed him. Him. And he wouldn’t let him down. But the ache in his soul threatened to overwhelm him. He needed to get his emotions under control, something he thought he’d perfected over the millennia. It was a testament to his current state that he was still struggling for that control.

His eyes caught the flash as light reflected off the polished blade of his dagger. He didn’t recall reaching for it but knew he would put it to use. Again. And then…then he would be able to work on his plans.

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Duncan remained quiet through dinner, his efforts to maintain what remained of his core leaving him fragile and unsure. He answered when spoken to, ate what he could and tried to behave as Andre required though he found he was unable to volunteer any conversation, grateful that at the moment Andre didn’t require it. Usually they would discuss music, books or the latest news. They even discussed Andre’s business interests. But tonight Duncan couldn’t bring himself to form concrete thoughts on anything so mundane. He was too busy struggling to keep his sanity, struggling not to scream the questions that burned in his mind for he had learned not to ask. It was during those trips to the basement where, like the fighting, Duncan had eventually learned that hard lesson. Submit. He didn’t know how many more trips to the basement he could survive with his mind intact. But maintaining his sanity, he knew, was his only salvation for he would outlive the monster. Live. Grow stronger... Andre had sworn he wouldn’t kill him, despite how much Duncan begged for death. And Duncan had begged...he’d demanded, pleaded and, eventually, begged to know...why him? Why this? But never received any answers.

They’d just finished dinner and were being served dessert, a rich chocolate mousse...Andre’s favorite. Duncan sat quietly, staring off into space.

“You aren’t eating enough, you’ve barely touched your dinner, Sarah.”

“Forgive me, Andre, I’m afraid I’m just not very hungry.” And I don’t get enough exercise, just the isometrics and meditation since you have forbidden my running or doing katas, he thought resentfully.

“Come here, my sweet, bring your dessert with you,” Andre commanded surprisingly. It took Duncan off guard, but he complied with more than a little trepidation. Arriving at Andre’s side, he felt himself beginning to blush as Andre gestured for him to sit in his lap.

“Andre...”

“Hush, sit...I wish to ensure you eat your dessert.” With that he pulled Sarah onto his lap, placing one hand possessively around her waist and spreading the deep burgundy skirt demurely over Sarah’s thighs with the other. “I’m not sure which is a deeper shade of red...your dress or your lovely face, my dear,” Andre chuckled as Sarah lowered her head and turned away. “Now, now, Sarah, I want you to eat not only your dessert, but mine as well,” which brought Sarah’s surprised face back to Andre. “You’re nearly perfect, but still too muscular. I’d like to see softer curves on your frame. I’ve given orders to that effect to Madame Broussard and to your guards.”

Duncan looked into the eyes of the man holding him. He felt a wave of revulsion and hatred that made him gasp slightly and clench fists lying quietly in his lap but Andre merely looked back, complete calm in the icy blue eyes. He felt the hand at his waist tighten and he noticed the spoonful of chocolate held out before him. Fear and helplessness warred with fury. Fear won. Lower lip trembling slightly, Duncan forced his mouth to open. The rich confection tasted like ashes and he doubted he’d be able to swallow over the lump in his throat. It took a moment, but eventually he forced the mouthful down, wondering how in the hell he would finish both portions, but also knowing they could possibly be there all night with some form of punishment later if he didn’t. Andre held out another spoonful. Live, grow stronger...Methos’ words floated through his head. Thinking of the ultimate survivor eased the tightness in his throat enough to let him swallow the second spoonful...and then a third.

Finally finished, they moved to the library and now Andre was annoyed. Although Andre had specifically told Duncan not to hold back during their chess games Duncan had, yet again, beaten him and now Duncan was sure he’d pay because Andre didn’t like to lose. He was right.

Andre looked at his pet sitting across from the chess board. He had decided to begin letting Sarah know the answer to the one question that still lurked in her eyes, although she knew better than to voice it. “You’ve done well, my dear. Although you’ve finally learned not to ask, I know you still wonder why.” He looked at the full lips, knowing how delectable they were. He wanted them again. “You know how beautiful you are. But do you realize how everything about you begs for a master? Begs for someone strong to take control of you, bend that strong, willful neck? I’m merely surprised that no one before has tried to possess you as I do now.” Andre reached out to caress the beautiful mouth, his smile widening slightly at the slight tremble he noted in the full lips.

“No, I’m not beautiful and I don’t need a master!” The words struck a deep chord within Duncan. Not you! He stood up and stepped back, rejection of Andre’s words in every line of his body. “You forced this on me...!”

“Yes, I did...but that doesn’t change the truth about what you really want.” Andre saw the sudden agitation in his little pet and it intrigued him. “Tell me, princess, where does truth come from? Does the truth come from your head or your body?” He eyed Sarah from head to toe and then moved back up to stare at her sweet lips. “Are your words the truth or is it truth when your body begs me to touch you? What part are you trying so hard to deny...the fact that I truly do find you beautiful or the way your body reacts to mine?”

Duncan shook his head and turned away. “Both...everything!”

But Andre continued. He walked up behind Sarah and gently stroked the long, soft curls with a large hand. He curled his other arm around her waist and gently stroked her abdomen with the other. His voice deepened as he whispered just behind Sarah’s ear. “What about when you’re lying in my bed, writhing in need and begging for me to fill you? Tell me, princess, what part isn’t true? Maybe it’s the part where I can’t resist your pretty pink mouth when it’s swollen from my kisses or from being stretched around my cock. Or perhaps it’s the delicious way you whimper and moan when I have my tongue inside of your tight little opening. Which is the truth?”

Duncan hung his head and moaned as Andre continued his litany of obscenities. He tried to still the effect the words and stroking hands had begun to have on him, tried to deny the reaction in his body. He put his hands over his ears, trying to stop the damning flow of words in that husky voice. “No, no...! It’s not like that! You and those...those others...conditioned my body to respond. It’s not me!”

“So are you trying to tell me that you don’t enjoy the weight of my body as I cover you,” Andre leaned in to breathe the words on sensitive skin. “Or the fact that I’m strong enough to hold you as you tremble in the throes of your passion?” Andre grabbed Sarah’s arms and spun her around, blue eyes like chips of ice freezing into Sarah’s. “Admit it, Sarah! The fundamental truth is that you want to be controlled...you need it!”

“But not by you...!” A quick vision of Methos flashed in his head, followed by a surge of anger just as huge hands spun him. The slap was not unexpected. Still, some small part of Duncan surged forth, enough to overcome the fear curling in his belly and the pain flashing at his temples.

At the slap Sarah pulled back, struggling to get away from the arms that bound her and it angered Andre deeply. He grabbed Sarah by the hair and pulled her close, hissing into one ear. “No one else will ever have you! You belong to me!” Intent on possessing the luscious lips that kept driving him to distraction, Andre forced his mouth onto Sarah’s.

Even knowing he’d be punished Duncan couldn’t stop himself as he forced his face away from Andre’s mouth, felt the hot mouth slide to his throat. “All I am is your whore and whores don’t kiss!”

Furious, Andre twisted the fist caught in the silken hair as he wrapped his hand around Sarah’s jaw. “Whores do whatever they’re told, cunt. You’d do well to remember that.” He brought Sarah’s mouth again to his own, crushing the soft lips and tasting blood. The brutal possession couldn’t be described as a kiss. It was another rape as Andre’s mouth took control and refused Sarah even a breath of air.

Duncan’s fists tangled in Andre’s lapels as he tried to push away enough to catch a breath, but Andre refused to ease his hold. He couldn’t get any air. He thought fleetingly of just letting it happen, just one more death. But panic took hold as his body took refuge in its conditioning. Submit. All semblances of rebellion fled as Duncan struggled to breathe and not anger Andre more. God, no...Shouldn’t have...sorry, Daddy! Duncan finally turned his head enough to allow a breath in and he sobbed his relief but Andre wasn’t done.

Keeping one fist in the dark locks, Andre moved them both back to one of the large leather chairs and loosened his pants. He wanted those red swollen lips wrapped around him. Forcing Sarah down, he shoved his already hard cock into the wet hot cavern he so desperately craved.

Trembling from fear and desperate to finish quickly, Duncan attempted to please Andre, licking and sucking the thick shaft but Andre would have none of that. He held onto Duncan’s head and tightened his grasp in Duncan’s hair and began bruising the back of his throat in punishing thrusts as he brutally fucked his mouth. Duncan fought down the urge to struggle, his vision again growing dim at the lack of oxygen. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears. He’d stopped trying to pleasure Andre, concentrating instead on keeping his lips closed around the thick cock gagging him. He was on his knees, face buried in Andre’s lap. Duncan kept his hands on Andre’s thighs for support as Andre used his hair as a handhold to slam his face into the hard groin.

Andre could feel his orgasm build and he suddenly pulled back. Keeping one hand tight in the dark curls he grabbed his cock with the other as the first spasm hit. He shot a thick stream of his seed straight into Sarah’s face.

Shock and disgust flooded through Duncan as he felt the first stream of semen hit him, burning as hot and deep as a brand and with every stream his shame and humiliation burned even deeper. He wanted to pull back, tried to turn his face away, but the fist in his hair kept him still. He sobbed as he felt more of the thick fluid coat his face. His tears ran freely but didn’t wash away the sticky streams of Andre’s release.

Andre groaned, each deep satisfying shudder bringing forth more of his seed to mark his pet. He looked down at the ravaged face and gloried in its devastation. “No, don’t lick or wipe it away. Rub it in. Rub it into your face. Know that your body will accept my seed in whatever manner I choose to give it to you.”

Andre watched, fascinated and deeply satisfied as Sarah obeyed with shaking hands. Head bowed and moaning softly, her eyes were lowered while she rubbed the thick cream into her face. “That’s right, my sweet. You’ve pleased me, now. Come and give Daddy a kiss.” Numb, Sarah obeyed.

Andre put out one imperious hand and pulled Sarah to him again, settling her on his lap. He took a deep breath. Savoring the scent of his own musk as it mixed with Sarah’s scent shot a thrill through him. With a delicate tongue he licked up one side of Sarah’s face then down the other, following the same path with tiny nibbles and kisses. Returning to Sarah’s mouth he pushed his tongue inside so that Sarah, too, could taste the mix of his seed and her tears.

There was nothing left of him. Live. Duncan accepted the kisses without demur. Dead inside, he remained passive in Andre’s arms even though the tears still coursed down his face. He struggled to form some semblance of coherent thought, tried to calm himself with his personal mantra but it failed him and he trembled in Andre’s hold.

Andre’s fury was abated by Sarah’s complete surrender. I’ll teach you about control, my sweet... It was time. Andre held his precious pet in his arms. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled a small black jewelry case from his pocket.

“This is the next step, Sarah. We will marry next month.” He opened the case and reached for Sarah’s left hand.

Stunned, Duncan’s immediate reaction was to pull his hand away but Andre anticipated that and held his hand tighter, squeezing the fingers painfully. Duncan could only watch as Andre took a huge diamond and ruby ring out of the case and slid it on his left ring finger. Andre then put his hand around Duncan’s nape and pulled him in for a deep kiss, never letting go of the hand now wearing his ring. Andre’s tongue sliding between his teeth played lightly with his own, moving on to slide possessively around his mouth. Passive and silent, Duncan remained still as Andre re-established his ownership. Eventually he relinquished Duncan’s mouth and began his list of arrangements and commands.

“I’ve arranged for the ceremony to take place here. My lawyer will be here tomorrow with the license and other paperwork you need to sign. This will be a legal marriage...”

What? Legal? Duncan was shocked. “How can this be legal? I’m a…a man...we can’t be legally married...”

“No, dear, Duncan MacLeod is dead. I have all the paperwork properly filed with your identity as Sarah MacLeod...Duncan’s cousin.” Andre pushed Duncan off his lap and stood. Duncan remained standing, staring in horror at the ring on his finger. Andre straightened his clothes as he walked over to the desk. Returning with some papers Andre told him that the planted body had been found months ago...headless and burned beyond recognition after a horrible vehicle accident. Duncan MacLeod was dead. Andre showed him the newspaper article about the accident. “I recorded the news report as it appeared on television, if you’d like to see it.”

Duncan tore horrified eyes away from the ring on his finger to stare at him, dumbfounded, although he wouldn’t have put it passed Andre to have manufactured those things as part of his mind fuck...but in this he doubted it. Andre went on to brag about the final report closing out his Chronicles...verified by his own people secretly working in the Watchers. Andre wanted him to know his old life was over...he wanted those that cared about Duncan to stop looking.

“Sarah MacLeod will indeed marry me next month, legally. Your blood test has already been taken care of, the license, the civil ceremony will be taken care of...I also have a priest who will marry us...” he placed his hand over Sarah’s mouth to still the outraged response. “The Church will record our marriage...it will all be quite proper and no one will know of your true nature...I do have a reputation to uphold,” he laughed.

“But why? You’ve already got me,” Duncan choked. “Why bother with all this...?”

“Because you will know that I have not just your body, but also your soul...I want to own you completely...legally...and you will know that the gypsy curse in your history is true,” he paused at Sarah’s gasp. “You will never have a wife because you will be a wife...my wife. And you will know this deep in your heart for the rest of your immortal life...”

Duncan had finally been allowed to pull away. His hand rose to his mouth in horror as he fled to their bedroom. Slamming the door shut he made it to the window before his knees gave out and he sank to the floor. Wrapping his arms around his knees he buried his face. He stayed there, rocking slightly and lost in misery until Andre came upstairs a few moments later. No words were spoken as Andre undressed him and put him in bed. Duncan’s mind remained a blank. His possession was quick and brutal, his body automatically responding in accordance to his conditioning. But, as a final punishment, Andre denied him his own release yet held him close until morning.