Quest, Reversal In Time
Let's Go Home
Quest, Reversal In Time
by
Frances Rolfe
Key: ****** Scene change,
Italics Thoughts
Disclaimer: I deeply appreciate Panzer/Davis' loan of their HL theme and its characters. They may have them back now, at least until my next story.
A/N: This being the final chapter, I wished to thank Rory Pascual. Rory was the first person that read my first slash story almost ten years ago and loved it. She leant me the support to know that what I wrote wasn't filthy and deserved to be thrown away. She has been and always will be my mentor.
I also wish to thank Cami for being my beta, but more importantly a very close friend who volunteered to "rehash" the scribbles I wrote. She continues to add her masterful skill even now, four years later.
I also want to thank all of you readers, who brighten my life and make my efforts all worthwhile. Please review my story and let me know what you think.
Thank you all again,
Frances Rolfe
Chapter 21
Let's Go Home
Can I...will I ever escape this in-between world? Just as he thought that he wouldn't survive this time, the faintest glimmer of a beam of light penetrated his infinite tunnel, and a familiar baritone voice called to his soul, "Duncan, wake up. Love, open your eyes."
Duncan MacLeod gasped and surged up against his bindings as he once again experienced the thrilling song of life and breath. He still couldn't hear anything, nor see as yet, but the familiar pair of callused hands caressing his face spoke volumes to his fears. He relaxed. He was home.
The voice he'd heard inside the dark chamber again softly whispered, "You are safe, Duncan. You are home, Highlander."
Duncan felt a warm cloth bathe his face and clear the yellowed filmy crust from his eyes. Batting his misty, brown orbs, he saw a face he was afraid he'd never see again. Methos' beard was heavy, his hazel eyes tired and his face was gaunt, but the smile that wreathed his face, to Duncan, was that of an angel's.
Tom White Feather removed the poultices from MacLeod's ears and returned the Scot's smile of thanks.
Meanwhile, Methos busily unwrapped the buffalo robe from around his friend's mummified body. When Duncan's fetters were freed, Methos helped him to a sitting position and cradled him in his arms, brushing his perspiration-soaked hair back off his exhausted face.
The older Immortal heard him huskily sigh against his chest and murmur, "Good to be back, Methos."
The ancient Immortal chuckled and answered, "Just wait until I get you to myself, youngster," and leaned in for a quick kiss.
Duncan blearily looked around and saw the old shaman, Jonathan Nequatewa, Tom White Feather, Wesley Yava, Eugene Lomatewama, Phillip Sekakuku and Joseph Rain Cloud circled around him. Looking intently at each man in grateful appreciation, Duncan raggedly queried the shaman, "How long?"
Jonathan crossed over and squatted down beside the Scot, who still leaned against Methos' solid chest. His gnarled hand reached over and touched Duncan's face. "Two months, Pahana. You have visited the skeleton house for two months."
MacLeod's mouth gaped open, "My God, it worked. It was real. It wasn't a dream." Again, his eyes swept the circle of grinning men. "You didn't leave me! You are all still here! I need to tell you all what happened."
The shaman spoke up, noticing huge grins on all the men's faces. "Mica has told us some of it, but we would hear it all from you."
His friend Tom, meanwhile, poured a cup of hot tea for the Highlander to sip and handed it to him. Duncan's hands were weak and trembling, so Methos held the cup while his beloved drank the rejuvenating liquid.
Over the next hour a tired, but contented, Highlander shared his experiences with the Hopis' ancient ancestors some seven hundred years before. He told them of the Toltec city of Tula, what he'd seen and heard and felt. Some of it was tough and bitter, especially the sacrifices of all those men, women and children. Still, he didn't hold anything back.
Lastly, Duncan told of Rising Star and her people, the Catoris, and how she'd come to him at the last in the tunnel.
The shaman and the other Native Americans were stunned in open awe. It was a tale that would be told around campfires and in kivas for centuries to come. At the same time, Jonathan and the others vowed not to divulge Duncan's true name, to prevent his immortality from becoming open knowledge. To them, he would always be Pahana, the White Savior of their ancient peoples. However, his meeting of the true Pahana Duncan kept to himself. He didn't understand exactly why, but it seemed too personal to share with anyone else. He knew he'd eventually tell Methos, his soul-mate.
Methos listened to Mac's narrative, which to him was but a vague memory. One thing Duncan did not tell the Hopis was of the abuse Quetzalomeyocan had dealt him and of his being able to set all the sexual abuse he'd suffered behind him. Methos knew the Highlander would have occasional flashbacks, but he would overcome them. Methos would see to it.
ite ite MacLeod's silence on that personal matter, Methos could tell Jonathan Nequatewa was aware of the subtle change in the Immortal from before his journey. The old wise shaman knew without being told that Duncan MacLeod had conquered his personal demons.
All that was left was the question of where Methos stood in the Scot's future. Perhaps he'd know tonight if Duncan had been serious, all those centuries before, when he'd said, "I love you."
When they were finished, Duncan staggered to his feet. Methos wrapped his almost naked torso in a warm coat and with an arm around his waist, supported his weakened form. Mac needed both Methos' and Tom's assistance to ascend the kiva's ladder.
When they were safely on the ground and in the parking lot, Methos bundled the Highlander into the SUV. Duncan waved his thanks to his Hopi friends who'd gathered around them. He then leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes.
* * * * * *
The ancient, unsure of their present relationship, very aware of MacLeod's only covering as being a scrap of leather loincloth. He quickly averted his stare and crossed over to stand in the open doorway. He attempted to sound casual and said, "Well, I'll be seeing you, Mac."
MacLeod bolted upright. "No! Don't leave me, Methos! Never again… please?"
The older man swiftly retraced his steps and sat down beside the distraught man. The Scot was still fragile, and he comforted him with, "It's okay, Duncan, you're here, you're okay." Embracing the trembling form, he whispered reassurances in his ear until MacLeod's breathing was once again even. He then commented, "I'd hoped you'd resolved the Priest situation."
Duncan straightened up with a grin. "I have; I did, Methos. It's just, I don't want you to go. I, uh, I love you, old man."
Methos smothered a relieved chuckle and allowed his streak of delight to flood his body. "You do, do you?" he retorted in his usual caustic style.
Duncan nodded, a lock of hair draping over his left eye. "Yes, I want you with me, Methos. After everything that's happened… Look, I know for you it's been eight hundred years since Mesa Verde, but for me, it was a few minutes ago."
Methos slid his right hand around Duncan's nape and pulled him nearer. He nibbled his lower lip and darted his tongue into the Scot's instinctively opening mouth. For long moments, the only audible sounds were the sucking and slurping of their lips and tongues' invasion, redefining each other's mouths.
When they paused to take a breath, Duncan traced small circles all over his lover's back, even dipping down to the hips and thighs. Amidst the kisses, Methos shed his own clothes and deftly removed his lover's breechcloth. His hands then caressed Duncan's hips and thighs, reveling in the muscular perfection that was Duncan MacLeod. It had been much too long, for both of them.
Mac drew back and sought out Methos' nipples with his teeth and fingers, biting and pinching them until both were hard, protruding nubs. He next lapped a thoroughfare down the center of the elder man's trunk until he ended up delving his busy oral digit into the Methos' navel. He didn't cease his downward spiral until he'd grabbed the shaft and lapped the juices that were even now trickling from it.
Methos mindlessly groaned and twisted under the Highlander's loving onslaught. For Duncan, their time spent together in willing love, was but a few hours. For Methos, though, it had been centuries, and he couldn't get enough of MacLeod's machinations. Mumbling, he pleaded, "I want you inside me, Duncan."
When he didn't hear a response and felt MacLeod draw back, he feared the worst. "I'm sorry, Duncan. I didn't mean to push you into anything you're not ready for."
Duncan sat back on his heels, his broad hands resting on his knees. "It's not that, Methos." He dropped his chin shyly, allowing his very long hair to cover his handsome face. "I want you to be inside me, Methos." Gaining a modicum of confidence, he added, "Now that we're back here in our own time and all, I want you to make love to me, as deeply inside me as you can. Not Lemuel Priest, not Quetzelomeyocan, not Tescatlipoca, not Mica, but you, Methos, Adam Pierson, or whatever the hell you want to call yourself today."
Methos burst out laughing and launched himself onto the unsuspecting Highlander. He upended the younger man, to which Duncan laughed and spread his legs in gleeful welcome. His teeth latched onto his lover's nipples, until the Scot whimpered and begged for more.
The ancient lifted his head and tenderly kissed his swollen, lush lips. "You, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, Pahana, may call me anything your heart desires, as long as you stay by my side."
He proceeded to tickle Mac's ribs until the younger Immortal was giggling like a kid. In the end, Methos lovingly placed Duncan on his back, positioned a pillow underneath his hips and slowly made deep, passionate love to the Immortal who'd come to mean so very much to him, not only in the twelfth century but in the last few years.
Duncan was in utter ecstasy. Any thought of unease or self-castigation fled beneath the fiery sexual storm of the world's oldest Immortal. Loudly inhaling, his world quickly exploded in a brilliant flame of ultimate release, his fluids splashing onto their joined bodies. The Scot fought against unconsciousness to feel Methos' own fluids flood his insides. One brief thought flickered through his brain before he succumbed into peaceful bliss, and he whispered, "I'll never let you go, old m
He vaguely heard Methos' retort, "Just try it, brat. You're mine, now. You'll always be mine."
Mac mumbled with a grin, "Um hum, always." They fell asleep, wrapped in each other's arms.
* * * * * *
Epilogue
Now, they were on their way back to Seacouver in MacLeod's Thunderbird. Methos had sold his own vehicle. He could always buy another one. Right now, he had the Highlander right where he wanted him. He wasn't about to let an automobile interfere with his goal.
Methos was driving with the convertible's top down. Duncan sat in the passenger's seat, letting his hair blow in the wind. He had his eyes closed, but a curious expression was carved on his face.
"What are you thinking, Duncan?" the other Immortal asked.
MacLeod grinned and sat up. "I'm wondering how you and Shakespeare are going to work out the sleeping arrangements."
"Shakespeare? That dog!? Do you think I'll share you with an animal?" Methos halfheartedly demanded.
Duncan scooted over and delved his right hand between Methos' slender legs. "I've really missed the mutt. I'm sure we can work out something."
Methos made an unpleasant noise. "I think right now, you'd best work on what you've stirred up down there!" pointing to the burgeoning rod between his legs.
Duncan brushed his hair out of the way and loudly unzipped Methos' jeans. "Whatever you wish, my love, but you better pull off the highway first. We don't want a wreck."
Methos slowed the car down but then sped back up.
"Why didn't you stop?" MacLeod asked, bobbing his head back up.
"Keep your head down and do your business!" the ancient demanded, "There's a highway patrolman behind us."
"Whatever you say, dear," Duncan quipped. "After all, it's you who'll have to keep a straight face!"
* * * * * *
Duncan grinned and brushed aside the drop of moisture that threatened his right eye. Nodding, he murmured, "I will, Pahana. Thank you."
He felt his lover's presence behind him and a hand circle his waist.
"Are you okay, Love?" Methos asked.
Duncan nodded and grinned. Turning himself around, he wrapped his arms around Methos and held him close. He then happily sighed, "I'm just fine, old man." Their lips met for a tender kiss. Afterward Mac murmured, "Let's go home."
THE END
fr/7/18/04