Lost

Chapter 19

Methos woke up on the barge, the soft movements wrecking havoc with his stomach as his body processed the last of whatever drug they’d used. He didn’t know why they’d bothered drugging him...it wasn’t as though he didn’t know where he’d been. A wave of Presence seemed par for the course at this point. Quickly looking around he noted his coat thrown over the foot of the bed, his sword intact and his weapons piled nicely beside it. How gentlemanly of them...the bastards. A pounding at the door brought him up the few steps, sword ready.

“Adam...it’s Rich...you in there?” Methos pulled open the door and backed up, not truly sure what mood the young man would be in. “Where the hell have you been?”

“How did you know I was back?” Methos rubbed a hand across his face and through his hair. He needed a beer. He turned and walked to the refrigerator, not waiting for an answer but knowing Ryan would answer anyway.

“I’ve been looking all over for you.” Richie looked angry as he stalked into the barge. “Where. Were. You?”

Methos took a long drink from his beer before turning and handing one to Ryan. Holding a hand up to signal quiet he walked to the stereo and switched on some music. Moving closer to Ryan he quietly answered. “I was at Lacasse’s estate...not by choice, mind you.” He moved to the couch and slumped into it in his usual boneless sprawl. Gods, he was tired.

Richie wasn’t stupid. He realized that Methos wouldn’t have bothered with the music unless the barge had been bugged. He moved closer to the couch, speaking quietly. “Connor was watching the estate, but he didn’t say he saw you.” Richie took a drink of his beer, but hadn’t yet put up his sword...a fact not unnoticed by the ancient.

“Do you intend to challenge me or has your sword become attached to your hand?” Although the words were facetious, the hard glare in the hazel eyes held no amusement.

Rich looked down. Jesus, he’d love to swing and take the old bastard’s head. Instead he set the beer down and slid his sword into his coat. “There...happy?”

Methos again raised a hand to his head, only this time he pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. A headache was beginning to bloom behind his eyes and he vaguely wondered if the shot had anything to do with it but knowing it didn’t. He needed to talk to Joe...and Connor...but he only wanted to tell this story once. Standing again he stepped closer to Ryan and spoke quietly. “Lacasse does have Mac. Get everyone together...we’ll meet here tomorrow night.”

“What! You’ve seen him! We’ve got to go get him...!” Richie stopped at the look of fury that crossed the old man’s face and his stomach lurched in fear. Jesus...! Whispering now, “Whoa, okay...okay!” Rich stumbled back as Methos took a menacing step towards him.

Methos’ fist opened and closed in a nearly convulsive manner. He could imagine squeezing the neck of this impertinent little shit until his eyes bulged out of his head. He took a deep breath as he calmed himself. Killing Ryan now might feel really, really good, but he’d hate to have to explain it to Duncan later.

“Listen well, Ryan…you, Joe, Connor, everyone Mac cares about is being watched...” Methos’ lips twisted in sardonic humor. “Even me. Talk to Joe and Connor quietly...make sure your lips can’t be read and there’s a lot of background noise. Just have them show up here tonight at seven.”

“But if we’re being watched, won’t us getting together be suspicious?”

“I’ve got it covered, okay?”

Richie stared at the hazel eyes, a shudder going through him as he wondered what would keep his teacher away so long. “Yeah, okay. Tonight...and you should probably know that Amanda finally made it.” He had to tell Connor, Joe and Amanda and knew they’d have a shit load of questions and him with no answers. So, instead he just gave Methos a disgusted look. Jeez, he hated old immortals...know-it-all pains in the ass... He turned and stormed out of the barge. Old Fucker...

As soon as Ryan left, Methos got on his cell phone and called one of his service companies. He arranged for some special deliveries to the barge as well as a cleaning crew. That done, he got some clean clothes and went in to shower...he had plans to make but first he needed to clear his head. He fingered the hilt of his dagger.

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He awoke to the soft early morning light coming in through the windows. He always loved this moment of the day, when first awakening from sleep, no clear thoughts on who he was or where he lay...certain only of the warmth and comfort of his bed and the relaxation of his body. Then, a soft exhalation of breath against his neck makes him realize he is not alone. There is the weight of a hand on his ass and a body pressing against his back. The smallest twitch of a muscle under his cheek brings his eyes to the muscular forearm upon which his head lies, bringing more awareness to fore. Andre. He is in Andre’s arms, in his bed. I am his wife. That awareness stills the breath in his lungs as his body tenses. As though aware of the tension flowing through the Highlander’s body, the hand begins a subtle caress inside of him, stroking the interior walls of his body. Fully awake, the Scot is aware of the hopelessness that sluggishly flows through his body making it hard to breathe and he closes his eyes in desolation, that single finger highlighting how powerless he was in the world to which he has awakened.

The finger wiggles a bit more before slipping from inside of him, the opening slightly dry after the long night. After a slow fondle and squeeze the hand makes its way to his waist and begins making long strokes, gently rubbing from breast to flank. Pulling Duncan’s body back to lean against the body behind him, the hand changes its course and moves forward to rub slow circles across Duncan’s abdomen. This touch, more than any blatant grab at his genitals, emphasizes Duncan’s vulnerability as his stomach muscles begin to quiver. The arm under Duncan’s head bends at the elbow, hand seeking the rounded mounds at Duncan’s chest, fingernail gently scraping across a satiny nipple. Duncan gives no response, response neither needed nor desired by the body behind him. Submission is the only requirement. I am Sarah, she reminds herself as a whiskered chin scrapes across her neck, a prelude to the rough lovemaking her husband prefers. Sarah keeps her eyes closed, acquiescing to the hands that fondle her body. Allowed to roll onto her back, Sarah is aware of the body hovering over hers, knowing the steel blue eyes are raking over her form and congratulating himself again on his possession. A weight descends across her lower body and that whiskered mouth is again scraping across her jaw before her lips are taken. A tongue forces its way into her mouth, taking ownership of every recess. The mouth finally lifts, allowing a breath of air before descending again to reacquaint itself with the warm, swollen lips below.

A hand slides down the pliant body to grab the rose colored satin and pull it up to bunch around a waist. The lips have moved to breakfast on a tender neck with small bites and licks. “You taste so good, princess,” the lips murmur into their delicious treat and then move to lick a trail across the collarbone and down between the two fleshy mounds. One hand slides across the shoulder to push the satin strap down, exposing a flattened brown disc. Scraping a fingernail across the disc makes it tighten, the small nub rising slightly. Fingers roughly pinch and roll the nub to make it rise up to meet the descending mouth. Areola and nipple disappear into the wet orifice, seemingly eager for the strong sucking and biting to come. The hand continues to massage the fleshy mound, forcing more of the sweet liquid within to erupt through the now swollen nub and into the greedy mouth. Stealing all of the riches within, the mouth moves to the other mound to repeat the process, each lick and bite causing Sarah to moan and writhe in pleasure/pain despite the sick feeling deep in her belly. The hands reach out to capture Sarah’s wrists and move them over her head, an unnecessary act since Sarah will not resist. One hand moves back down. The heavy hand loosens bindings and begins fondling encased semi-lax genitals and stroking smooth hairless skin, forcing the body’s natural response to the stimulation and further adding to her revulsion. “Spread your legs for me, sweetheart,” comes a murmured command and the legs obediently part. The hand continues pulling and stroking, massaging the jewels within the wrinkled sac held tight by more than physical bonds. Reaching further back to find the tiny rosebud, a thick finger pushes back into the small, dry opening causing a small whimper of pain. The finger pauses, and in an uncharacteristic move, the hand goes to the end table for a small bottle. Pouring some of the contents into the small depression in the still quivering belly, the fingers coat themselves before returning to the rosebud, this time gently coaxing their entry back into the small haven.

Sarah is caught, eyes widening at the unexpected kindness, but close again as the finger finds her hidden point of pleasure. The finger within strokes this point over and over causing her back to arch so the liquid in her navel begins to drip down her side. The finger is soon joined by a second and then a third, all sliding in and out, stroking that special point. The other hand releases her wrists and captures the dripping liquid, using it to coat silken steel. Her legs are lifted high as a large cock trades places with the fingers within.

The thick heavy cock finds its home in one smooth stroke, but pauses to let its host accept. Soon the thrusts begin, slow and steady and oh, so very deep. The hands move to adjust the hips so they ride higher on muscled thighs, move smooth legs to wrap around a thick, muscled waist.

A hand moves to stroke Sarah to further hardness. “Yes, feel it, feel the cock in your ass. You know you can’t come unless my cock is inside you,” the gruff voice reminds unnecessarily.

Sarah is well aware of the limitations imposed on her body and yet can’t help but writhe to the wonderful feeling of fullness inside her.

“Now, touch yourself,” comes a grunted command around harsh breathing. Sarah moves to comply, stroking herself, thinking only of the hard rod sliding in and out of her ass.

“Come for me.” The spasms start and her hands move to capture her spilled liquid, not allowing any to escape. Her seed may not leave her body so even as the final spasms wrack her she is gathering up the liquid, moving her hands to her own mouth and cleaning them with her tongue. This final act along with the internal contractions bring the body over her to a shuddering climax as he empties himself into the trapped and helpless body under him.

Pulling out and moving to lie down beside Sarah, Andre pulls her to him, settling her head on his furry chest and stroking the long, dark tresses until he begins to doze. Sarah remains awake, bleakly considering the emptiness of the day ahead of her but beginning her daily mantra, almost a prayer...live, grow stronger, fight another day...

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“Its all clear,” Amanda and Connor walked down the steps, her normal strut as muted as the personalities gathered, and Connor was...Connor...just as morose as always. They had scanned the barge for all listening devices to ensure their meeting was kept completely private.

“How do you know they didn’t watch you scan the boat?” Richie was the first to speak.

“Darling, they definitely watched us, but they didn’t watch us scan the boat. Trust me, it won’t be anything that makes its way back to Lacasse.”

“I don’t get it,” Richie complained plaintively as Joe chuckled as much at Connor’s smirk as at Richie’s confusion. “Besides, won’t they still be suspicious of us being together anyway?” He had a good point, thought Joe as he glanced over at Methos sitting silently by the porthole. Methos watched their interplay with no expression but answered nevertheless.

“In case you’ve all forgotten, it is Richard’s birthday,” Methos began as he glanced at the young redhead, now beginning to blush. Methos chuckled dryly at the chorus of dismay that rang about the room.

“Aw, Rich, I’m sorry,” began Joe, disgusted at himself for forgetting the young man. It seems all he’d been thinking about lately was Mac. It wasn’t like him to forget his other friends.

“Not to worry, everyone,” said Methos in a mild tone. “I’ve taken care of it. Richard, as long as you are not offended that I’ve chosen you as a cover for our discussion,” he paused raising his eyebrows questioningly at Richie. Rich shook his head no with a laugh. “Then we have all the necessities for a nice birthday party. Connor, would you please serve the champagne at the bar? Amanda, in the closet you’ll find a bag with the gifts you’ve all so very thoughtfully chosen. I’ll get the cake.”

As the others moved to their respective tasks Joe leaned over and patted Rich on the knee. “Richie...” he began again.

“Don’t worry, Joe. I can’t get Mac out of my head, either. I tell you what. When we get him back, I’ll let you make it up to me, okay?” Rich laughed again, his good nature overriding Joe’s shame.

“You got it, buddy,” Joe responded as he turned to accept the glass of champagne from Connor. Methos set a beautiful cake on the table as Amanda set out several gaily wrapped gifts, each with the name of the supposed giver.

Amanda leaned over and placed her hands on each side of Richie’s face, giving him a deep kiss. “I’ll make it up to you, too, honey,” she promised in a low, sexy voice.

“Wow,” breathed Rich, “I can’t wait!” as the room broke out in laughter which moved into a round of “Happy Birthday” and followed with Rich opening his gifts. “I’m not supposed to really open these. They’re, like empty, right?” wondered Rich as he started to pick up the boxes.

“No, they are actually gifts for you, although they were picked at my whim. Open them, Richard, so that we may continue our party and then discuss that which resides at the back of all our thoughts.”

Richie was amazed. Not only were the gifts really cool, some were exactly what he’d been wanting. His favorite, though, had to be the new leather racing jacket...the exact one he’d mentioned to Mac nearly a year ago and the tag said it was from Mac. Oh, man. Next to that were the matching leather gloves from Methos. They fit perfectly. Richie looked over at the old man... how had Methos known? Joe had given him a pretty rare copy of a garage band CD. He wondered if it had come out of the old man’s own library. Unbelievable. Amanda’s gift had been a really cool watch...with just enough features to be really cool without looking geeky. And Connor had given him a really nice pocket knife. He looked around sheepishly and thanked everyone. They were all impressed with the thought that went into the purchase of each gift...Methos seemed to capture the exact thing each individual would have given in their own right.

Once that portion of the gathering was complete, Methos moved to the stereo and placed the music just a bit louder.

“We know there aren’t any bugs, Adam...” Joe watched everything the old man was doing but was careful not to use his real name. He didn’t think Connor had been told and he wasn’t going to be the one to drop that bomb.

“I prefer to play it safe.” Methos gave a slight smile as he rubbed his hands together. “Okay... let’s get started.” He moved to begin serving the cake. Keeping his head bowed he told them that yes, Mac was alive. He’d seen him, spoken to him. Methos shushed everyone when the expected gasps and comments started simultaneously around the room. “Shhh, everyone. Let me finish. We are all in danger. They know which of us are immortal.” Methos calmly continued to pass around cake as he spoke. “We are all hostages to his behavior and our own. All of us, including Anne and Mary and the de Valincourts.” This pronouncement was met with stunned silence. “If any of us make a move or if Duncan tries anything the standing order is that one or more of us will be killed. It will be random.” Handing Joe a piece of cake, Methos looked him in the eye. “Joe, you were beaten because Duncan tried to escape.”

“Jesus, those fucking bastards...” Joe set the cake on his lap and rubbed a hand over his face. Methos placed a hand over the one balancing the cake and squeezed gently. Looking around to see that everyone had been served, he sliced a bit for himself and continued.

“I have some plans, but it will be difficult. There can be absolutely no collateral damage.” Methos spoke in a monotone as he stared towards one of the portholes on the river side. “However, there’s more you should know. As a means of maintaining control over Duncan, Lacasse has forced some changes...”

“What do you mean ‘changes’?” This was growled from the corner. “What’s happened to him?” Connor’s cake remained in his left hand, but his right had slipped under the coat he kept at his side.

Methos looked at him steadily. “Torture, some mind control techniques...possibly hypnosis, definitely chemical experimentation.” His glance slid to Amanda who had gasped and raised a hand to her mouth. Being experimented on was always every immortal’s worst nightmare. “Duncan won’t be able to assist in his escape...he cannot fight.” Methos looked down. He’d debated telling them the truth, not wanting Duncan to feel any more humiliation but once they had him back they would know... “Lacasse has forced a new identity on him...”

“Spit it out, Englishman!” Connor was standing now, menace oozing from every pore.

“Duncan is Lacasse’s wife.”