Lost

Chapter 5

“Damnit, Joe, someone has to have seen something! Have all the Watchers reported in?” Methos paced back and forth in front of Joe’s desk in the small bar office, his arms wrapped tightly around himself. Duncan had been missing for nearly two days, two days of living hell for the ancient immortal. What was I thinking getting involved with the immortal do-gooder, Methos berated himself yet again. He’s probably found a damsel in distress somewhere and they’re off fucking each other’s brains out. Methos actually preferred that scenario to the thought that MacLeod may have finally met someone he couldn’t beat. Gods, if he’d lost someone would have reported a huge Quickening...something should have been reported if he’d come across another immortal. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. No, he wasn’t dead. He could feel him, couldn’t he? He’d examined the ghostly tendrils of Presence so often he could no longer tell if he was imagining it or not. No! It’s real...it had to be. Duncan, where are you?

“There hasn’t been word one, Methos. I’d tell you if there had been.” Joe rubbed tired hands across his face for what seemed like the hundredth time. Both he and Methos had been searching non-stop for their friend ever since his failure to return to the barge from a morning run. “I’ve got Watchers on the morgue, police station, hospitals...anywhere there might be a John Doe. Methos, I don’t even have any reports of strange immortals anywhere in our area! I just don’t know where else to look.” Pain and frustration were evident on the Watcher’s face but that wasn’t all. He’d hesitated before, but damn it, he had to know! “Methos, are you sure there was no reason for him to just take off...maybe just to get away for a bit?” He’d noticed something finally going on between these two men, his two closest friends, but hadn’t broached the subject yet. Hell, he’d been trying to give them some privacy and hoped that they would eventually let him know, as a friend, if something was going on. Goddamit, they ought to know I wouldn’t record something like that!

Methos turned at that last statement in time to see a flash of hurt across his friend’s face. Oh, bloody hell, he knows it finally happened...”No, Joe, we didn’t have any kind of a lover’s quarrel, if that’s what you’re intimating at!” This came out quite a bit harsher than Methos intended and he instantly regretted it. Joe deserved the truth, if nothing else. He leaned forward onto the desk, the apology obvious on a face that normally hid so much. “Joe, you’re right in that our relationship has... changed... very recently,” ...try within the last week! “We were going to tell you, as a friend, once things had settled down a bit...it was all so very new. But I swear, Joe, everything seemed to be fine. I think Duncan would have been honest enough to let me know if he had any...regrets.” Methos wanted desperately to believe that was true despite his own self-doubt.

Joe looked down at the flash of doubt he saw in those eyes. Jesus, if Methos wasn’t sure, who else would know? “You said he went running...then why take his car?” Methos shook his head having no answer to that. Going for a run and breakfast...Methos had looked over everything in the barge while he’d waited for Duncan to return that day. There’d been enough for breakfast, so why take the car? He usually ran at the park, but he got there by jogging along the Seine. Where could he have been going? The question continued to torture him.

“Well, we’ll keep looking...I’ll let you know, Adam.” Joe turned back to his computer, pulling up the latest series of reports from the night before. Methos just nodded and left to continue his own search.

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Choking and sobbing, Duncan MacLeod no longer knew where he was nor why this man stood in front of him...but his whole existence focused on him. Submit? Yes! Yes, I submit! But the words were lost in the water around him as he sank backwards yet again. He screamed as the water closed around his face. Please, God, please...anything, I’ll do anything...just no more, please no more, no more, nomorenomorenomorenomore...

“Do you submit?” the question rang through the room. The string of sounds assaulted Duncan’s ears but no longer made sense. No longer able to raise his head Duncan looked forward but only saw the fine woolen slacks. “Do you submit?” the voice repeated. This was it, he realized. He’d reached the end of his endurance. Permanent death would have been a blessing. God, if I only knew what he wanted, he railed silently yet again. Eyes down, Duncan MacLeod finally reached his breaking point and gave in. Without understanding, he meekly answered, “Yes, I...I s -submit,” before once again losing consciousness.

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The ringing telephone finally broke through the deep sleep Methos had finally fallen into. Four days of searching, barely bothering to eat or rest, had finally caught up with the oldest immortal. While Joe continued scanning Watcher reports, Methos had moved on to whatever business contacts Mac had made within the past two weeks. He was just starting on the social contacts when fatigue and stress had finally forced him to take a momentary respite.

“Pierson.” Looking at the clock as he answered he realized he’d been asleep a mere two hours as he rubbed a hand over tired reddened eyes.

“Methos...” the rough voice saying his name sent a shiver down his back...Oh, gods... “Methos...he’s gone,” the voice broke on a ragged gasp.

No! “Tell me, Joe. Everything.” Not true...it can’t be...I’d know if he was dead...I’d know...

“There was an accident on a road near the Montparnasse cemetery.” The voice dropped down to a whisper. “He rear-ended a truck loaded with pipe...there were witnesses...a fire...”

Horrible visions of the grotesque damage possible in vehicle accidents flashed through Methos’ mind. Pipe...he could have lost his head...his Quickening lost without an immortal nearby...NO! The thought of Duncan’s essence, his Quickening, gone sent a horrible pain through his chest. Everything that was Duncan lost...irretrievable... NO! Denial raged through him. Not possible...I’d know...GODS!! I’D KNOW!!

“I want to talk to the witnesses...I need to see the body...”

“Jesus, Methos... please don’t do this...!” Pain laced each word.

“I’m sorry, Joe...I have to do this...please!” Silence. “With or without you, Joe...”

“Yeah, okay...pick me up at the bar in an hour.” Joe hung up with an audible sigh.

Methos threw himself back on the bed with an arm thrown across his eyes. Damn you, Highlander! What have you gotten yourself into? How could he explain to Joe? To anyone? He wasn’t even sure he could explain it to himself...but he just knew that Duncan was still alive...still out there, somewhere. He pushed himself off the bed. He was going to find that misbegotten Scot and when he did he would tie him to a bed and fuck him into oblivion. Keeping only that goal in mind he quickly showered and dressed.

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His head was pounding. Blearily he opened his eyes and tried to make out his surroundings. It was cold lying on the cement floor. But there was a chair that was blessedly not attached to a tank of water. With nothing else in the room MacLeod decided to move to it and realized it was a mistake. Moving made his head spin and everything in his stomach come up which turned out to be only water. Closing his eyes seemed like a really good idea as blackness came in from the edge of his vision.

He heard footsteps. He opened his eyes. Nice shoes, he thought inanely as the toe of one pushed his shoulder back. The figure above him seemed to flicker, a dark silhouette with shimmering edges. “Welcome back, my pretty princess,” the laughing voice whispered in low, seductive tones.

“I’m noh a princess and I’m noh yours.” His voice was rough from choking and screaming. He remembered the voice... ‘submit’...he struggled to sit up, pushing that thought away as he raised his body from the floor, revived enough to fight a bit more. No, by God, he wasn’t beaten, yet!

“No, no, my pet,” the toe pushed him back down. Angry now, he reached out to grab the calf only to have a silhouetted hand slap him across the face. “Now it’s time to show you that you are mine. You will submit.”

An undetermined amount of time later Duncan’s head snapped back from the force of yet another slap. Glittering points of light hovered at the edge of his vision as his head slammed into the wall for the second time. Locking his knees to keep from sliding down, he put his shoulder to the wall for leverage as he saw Andre coming towards him. Gathering himself, he feinted with his left as his right hand immediately followed, palm outward and fingers curled into a killing blow. Too slow, too slow... But Andre anticipated his movement, blocking the feint and dodging the right, following up with yet another stinging open-handed slap to the side of Duncan’s head. Duncan wasn’t sure at which point he realized that Andre nearly had him beaten, all he knew was that he needed to keep fighting back, keep resisting. It was all he had left.

“Give up, princess. You’re mine, you can feel it.” Andre was breathing heavily, but kept pushing forward, a massive mound of muscle and determination. He thought of all the years of studying this beautiful Highland warrior, his moves, his style and then training, practicing daily with innumerable instructors throughout his life so that he was primed for this very fight. There was no way he would lose but Duncan had yet to realize that so he pressed again.

“I’m no man’s possession!” Duncan screamed his defiance at this demon who anticipated all his moves, who shamed him by beating him down with slaps instead of fists, denying him a fight between men, between equals. How long had it been? Every inch of his body ached with bruises from the pounding slaps, his skin on fire and reddened but no skin had broken, no blood shed, and yet Duncan felt the pain and weariness deep in his bones and knew he had little left with which to resist, the innumerable deaths having taken their toll. Grim determination and will were all that he had, his body slowing giving in to the beating. But then even that gave way as something inside Duncan broke when his swing went wide. A broken sob escaped his clenched jaw. Andre easily ducked and reached around grabbing the Scot around the waist from behind and trapping his arms.

“This can stop, little girl, admit you’re mine,” Andre whispered into Duncan’s ear.

“Go to hell, ye bastard!” Duncan continued his struggles, lifting a leg to bring his foot down on Andre’s instep. Instead Andre leaned back, lifting Duncan in the air and then pulled his head back as Duncan’s head whipped backwards in an effort to bash his chin. Stepping quickly to the only other item in the room, the chair, Andre quickly seated himself, laying Duncan belly down over his knee and trapping Duncan’s legs in between his. Capturing Duncan’s arms and moving them up his back, Andre pinned them with one of his own.

Horrified at the undignified position, Duncan attempted to struggle even more but felt himself weakening, the lack of leverage and fatigue making his movements ineffectual.

The first slap across his bare bottom caused Duncan to freeze, dumbfounded. “Nooo!” His cry went unheeded as a strong palm rained slaps across first one cheek and then the other, turning both globes a bright glaring red. He fought, bucking and straining, fury burning through him at his inability to retaliate.

The blows kept raining down, each one a brand as Andre started first on the crease where thigh turned to cheek and then moved his way up the outside of the first cheek and then moved inwards. Andre was imminently pleased at the shape of his handprint on the Highlander’s ass. Giving the other cheek equal time left Duncan panting and sobbing from humiliation and rage.

“Do you think we’re done, sweetness? We’ve just barely begun!” Andre laughed as he ran his hand lovingly across the heated mounds. “I know I can’t mark you permanently with a brand or a scar, but a tattoo to show my ownership. Yes, that will be next. For now Daddy is going to show you that there can be pleasure with your punishment.” Leaning impossibly forward, Andre placed a kiss at the top of Duncan’s crack as he continued to pet his new possession, breathing in the scent of sweat, musk and fear. “Trust me, little girl, you’re going to like this!”

Still bucking and writhing, Duncan belatedly became aware of the hardening bulge in Andre’s lap. Oh, God, not this, too, but it came as no surprise when a single finger began to run up and down his crevice, pausing to run slow circles around the small puckered opening.

Putting more weight on the arm pushing Duncan’s shoulders down let Andre take his time pushing his finger into that tight little hole and passed the first ring of muscle. Andre paused for a moment, shocked pleasure showing on his face at the incredible heat that surrounded his finger. Sweet Jesus, but this man was made to be fucked. Slowly easing it in despite Duncan’s struggles, Andre twisted his finger seeking that little pressure point. Ah, there it is! Slight pressure made his sweet little darling moan and shudder in the most delightful manner. Andre leaned over slightly and dropped more spittle at just the right place. Pulling back slightly, Andre eased in a second finger and began twisting and scissoring, feeling the answering hardness grow against his inner thigh as the body in his lap reluctantly responded to his caresses. Continuing his probing, Andre rubbed and stroked that sensitive little spot over and over driving the squirming body mad.

No, no no no, this can’t be happening, Duncan sobbed to himself at his body’s betrayal. He pushed and kicked with everything he had, already knowing it wasn’t enough.

Alternating the probes with more stinging spanks to his ass, Andre was delighted as the quivering mounds shook with the force of the slaps and Duncan’s bucking. From the loud moans, Andre knew his pet was very close. Pushing harder, Andre pressed and stroked until suddenly Duncan stilled as his body was forced to orgasm. Andre continued to stroke, uncaring if it was waves of pleasure or revulsion that brought a scream from the magnificent body as hot seed spilled across the inside of his thigh. Spasms wracked the sobbing Highlander, but the weak cries let Andre know that Duncan was nearly unconscious.

Pulling out his fingers to undo his trousers, it took little effort for Andre to move the limp body of the gasping Highlander to the floor and quickly mount him, never letting go of the wrists. Duncan’s agonized scream as he was entered only served to heighten Andre’s arousal. This was it, the culmination of all his planning and work! “So long...I’ve wanted you for so long!” Pumping desperately into the nearly insensate body below him, Andre was lost to the sensation of that hot, tight channel closing around him...the reality of the golden heat more glorious than any of his fantasies. His furious thrusts had torn the delicate tissues and the blood made the glide of his cock so much more sensuous.

Oh, God...he’s too big! Duncan could feel himself rip open as Lacasse forced his way in, waves of burning agony rushing through his body causing him to cry out with every thrust as blackness hovered at the edge of his consciousness. He tried to pull away, tried to get his arms and legs to propel him forward but he couldn’t move except to scrape his face against the gritty cement floor. Lacasse was a solid wall of flesh pinning him down, grinding and pounding into him, raping him. In all his life, he’d never been taken by another man. Methos was to have been his first. Methos! Unconsciousness crept in as the pounding continued. He never heard the words growled into his ear.

“Yes, oh fuck yes...so good...you’re mine...you belong to me,” he groaned as he let go of the limp arms and pulled the hips back hard against him. The feel of his pelvis slapping against the still hot flesh of the reddened ass and his cock stroking in and out of the tight bloodied hole he was buried in finally brought Andre the release he sought. Spilling his seed in to the Highlander, Andre curled himself over Duncan’s back, biting and licking the shoulder beneath his mouth as he moved his hands to the limp wrists. Mine! He’s finally mine! Andre was lost in the feel of the body under him, reveling in the taste of flesh, blood and sweat.

A sharp new pain at his shoulder brought a small measure of awareness back and Duncan began to struggle weakly under the weight of the huge man covering him. The pain of the cock tearing into him had eased leaving him with a feeling of incredible fullness that terrified him. He preferred the pain. He struggled but only succeeded in shifting his hips, aware of the feel of fleshy testicles pressed against him and a wetness that could only be blood. He could feel the brush of whiskers against his shoulder blades as he tried to push back, tried to get his arms under him for leverage but couldn’t move his deadened arms from the hands holding his wrists. He moaned as Lacasse roughly pulled out of him.

Andre brought his mouth close to the Highlander’s ear, brushing the long strands of dark hair away from the flushed face. “You’re my woman. Don’t ever forget it,” he whispered. The hands kept stroking the sweat-soaked hair and then moved to Duncan’s arms, lifting him and holding him as legs threatened to buckle. “I think another trip to the tank will ensure you understand, hmm?” the voice spoke pleasantly. But he had to hurry...he could already tell the immortal healing was erasing everything he’d strived for. He pulled his arm back and, for the first time, used a closed fist to punch the back of the Highlander’s head.

“Noh, noh, noh more!” Duncan begged. “Damn you! What do yew want?” A huge flare of pain exploded behind his eyes and his knees buckled. He heard the voice, the hated low sensual voice, coming from very far away.

“I am your Master. You will submit and obey me in all things.” Seeing the flash of anger and defiance across that beautiful face, Andre knew Duncan didn’t yet understand. “Come, my sweet,” Andre crooned as he dragged the Highlander back to the next room. Duncan shook with rage and fear, struggling weakly against the iron grip. “I don’t like it when you lie to me,” the soft voice continued. “You told me you would submit, but you keep fighting. I see that we still need to break you down before we can build you up...”

Another hard blow across the back of Duncan’s head again stunned the Highlander and stilled his struggles, allowing Andre to strap him back into the chair. “Noh, please, noh more,” he tried again, a heavy slur thickening his words, knowing he was probably hemorrhaging somewhere in his head. The hated tears now streamed down his face. He screamed in panicked rage as the chair tipped backwards into the water.