Quest, Reversal In Time

Rating: NC-17, Slash, m/m, m/m+, N/C, lang

Key: ****** Scene change, ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Visions,
Italics Thoughts

Summary: Pahana attends the Toltec's celebration and meets the white Immortal who lives with the Toltecs.

Warning: This chapter contains rape and orgy-type setting. If you'd rather not read this, please do not do so.

Disclaimer: All rights to Highlander and its characters beloo Pao Panzer/Davis.<
Co
Comments more than welcome.

Chapter 7

Friend or Enemy

As Duncan MacLeod swiftly descended a ladder into the large kiva, his cognizance was overran with sights and sounds unlike any he'd ever seen or heard. A large blaze had been built in the fire pit. Its flames danced upon the walls and gave the circular room an eerie, other worldly atmosphere. Three Catori men chanted and pounded incessant rhythms on hide covered drums. A huge monolith denoting the Toltec calendar with an image of the sun god, Ah Kinchil, was mounted on one section of the wall, while stick figure paintings of warriors depicted in varying stages of hunting and fighting their enemies covered the remaining wall space. MacLeod saw other men cooking what looked similar to the stews Rising Star and the other women made. Another large pottery jar sat near the sipapu or spirit hole to the ancestors that had passed on to the other world.

Quetzalomeyocan was ensconced near the center of the kiva, dressed in an exotic, feather-covered robe. He held his gold crested Quetzal bird in his left hand while his right one grasped the hair of a slave huddled at his feet. "Pahana!" the tribal leader called. "Come, sit by me," he beckoned, relinquishing his hold of the captive. "I was not sure you would attend our ceremony."

MacLeod picked his way among the thirty or so men eating and drinking in the large room which would have equaled a grand auditorium in size. When he neared the Toltec warrior, he sat down cross legged and replied, "I find myself fascinated by you and your men. I have heard of your people, but have not met any of them, not until nquotquot;

The Scot was handed a bowl of the vegetable stew and started to eat with his fingers as did the others. He made the appropriate grunts and sounds denoting his enjoyment of the fare as he listened to the other Immortal.

"Pahana, we Toltecs believe all life is granted to us by our sun god, the mighty Ah Kinchel. If we do not please him, he shrivels our crops and drives away the animals that feed us. He is a jealous god and demands our strict obedience and subservience to him." Quetzalomeyocan paused and accepted a root which was lit with a taper from the fire. He inhaled its bitter sweet fragrance and passed it on to MacLeod. Duncan wasn't sure exactly what it was, but expected it was a primitive form orijurijuana. Mac sniffed but not enough to play havoc with his senses. Losing himself to dreams and insensibility was the last thing he needed.

When the shaman saw that his guest had also inhaled the fragrance, he continued. "Sometimes, Ah Kinchel demands our tribute to him be the blood of our enemies."

When he saw the Highlander's right eyebrow raise in disapproval, he proceeded to sugar coat his words. "Of course, that is not the case tonight, my friend. Ah Kinchel has seen fit to reward us with his favor in a productive trading journey and the meeting of new friends. So, we gather here tonight to honor him."

MacLeod nodded as if in agreement with the Toltec shaman, but inside, his stomach was aquiver with apprehension. The thought
what the hell have I gotten myself into? streaked through his mind.

As the evening wore on, the Toltecs and Catoris alike celebrated, danced and drank the fermented drink pulque. Several of them were beside a wall playing a sacred ball game tlatchi. Duncan wasn't sure of the significance of it or just what it meant, but those participating were very serious.

The shaman chieftain, Quetzalomeyocan, held court in a semicircle near the sipapu. Six other men besides MacLeod listened as he related tales of a group that had recently located near Tetitltitlan which would one day be the capital, Mexico City. The sect was known as the Aztecs. There was also a clan far to the south, the Maya. The Toltec leader had visited there many years past.

Duncan couldn't help but wonder how many life times ago that had been for the Immortal savage. The Highlander was selective of what he ate and drank, but when Quetzalomeyocan handed him a cup of pulque, he knew he dare not refuse. If he had his katana or any kind of sword, he might tthe the chance and not drink any of it, but he didn't have a weapon, so he silently took the cup. Not having drank any of the heady liquor, he wasn't aware that this drink had a particularly strong bitter taste, as if something had been added.

MacLeod couldn't sense any change in himself at first. After awhile, however, he felt hot and his heart rate started racing. He looked around and noticed the red color of the robe the Toltec chieftain wore was brighter. He could almost hear it brag its vibrant color. His mouth felt like cotton, so he drank a bit more. Duncan lost track of time, actually it was as if time had stopped. He found himself laughing uproariously at a Catori who lost his balance and fell down. In split seconds, Mac found himself crying with tearreakreaking his face. "What's happening to me?" he wondered and attempted to stand. He promptly fell and cracked, "Bad idea."

"What is the matter, my friend? Can you not tolerate our drink?" Quetzalomeyocan asked, wiping away a tear from the Highlander's face.

"I...I don't know. Everything's fuzzy. It's like I'm on a cloud," Duncan stammered.

MacLeod's vision swam around and around. He blinked his dilated chestnut eyes several times as the Toltec began changing into Lemuel Priest. The sheriff laughed at MacLeod's plight and rubbed his large hand around both of Mac's nipples. Duncan wanted to get up and leave, but it was as if his arms and legs were solid blocks of cement. Lemuel and the Toltec kept changing shapes and fondling him. MacLeod felt large drops of water cascade out of his eyes and splash onto his face and chest. He tried to paw at the hands that pushed him flat on his back and spread out his legs. Duncan murmured, "No, stop," but it came out a whisper and was ignored.

Mac tossed his head back and forth as Priest removed the younger Immortal's g-string, exposing his hard erection and blossoming scrotum. Duncan felt a dozen hands all over his arms, legs and chest. Huge lips sucked on his tits while other lips and teeth bit his navel and lower stomach. The hands of a giant spread open his legs and lifted his bottom, while another mouth the size of a m hea head delved into MacLeod's private opening to his inside body. He felt as though he didn't have any skin left. It had all been licked away. He was a solid mass of exposed pink tissue.

MacLeod's voice returned as Priest,
or is it Quetzalo . .whatever his fucking name is, penetrated his rectum with his rigid sex. Mac wondered who was screaming. It didn't occur to him that it wam rem reacting to the dry entrance of his body. The earth seemed to open up and swallow the Highlander. "No, no, stop, make the dreams stop, please, God, stop," Duncan begged. "I want it over! Lemuel Priest, go away; you're dead!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Duncan? Duncan, listen to me."

MacLeod just wanted to go to sleep and forget everything that was happening to him, but an insistent voice kept calling his name.

"Duncan, my son, look at me."

Mac opened his eyes. All of a sudden, he was laying in the tiny bedroom of Darius' church in Paris, France. The kindly, gentle Immortal priest was smoothing back his wet hair and wiping away the moisture that was continuously trickling from his doe eyes.

"Duncan, this is Darius. Be brave, do not fear what is ahead. You are strong and will overcome your nightmares. Lemuel Priest is dead; he can't hurt you, ever again."

Darius kept softly repeating words of encouragement and love. Duncan reached out to his friend, but the brown robed figure began fading and melting away.

"Remember, Highlander, have courage. You will overcome your fears and your nightmares. Be strong, my son."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Duncan reached out, but his groping hands clasped empty air. He thought the drums were still beating and the Indians were all dancing and drinking nd hnd him. Yet, the Scot felt as if he no longer occupied his body. His physical self was lying on the earthen floor of the kiva but his spirit self was floating high in the air above.

Duncan then felt a soothing, callused hand caress him down the center of his chest. Sitting on his haunches beside him was a tall, slender white man. He was clad in a multicolored kilt and red shirt. His dark hair was long and cloaked his shoulders like a shawl. But, it was the man's eyes that penetrated the fog Duncan found himself in. They were greenish-brown and flecked with gold. "Methos?"

Duncan struggled to focus his groggy multiple visions upon the familiar countenance. First there was one, then two, then three of the young-old faces peering down at his boneless, outspread body. He blinked as his friend then melded into that of Kronos, the ancient's Horseman brother, before merging yet again into his old self. Still, this Methos was not the one Duncan knew so very well. The spellbinding, parti-colored eyes never strayed from the Scot's bewildered ones. Much to Mac's increasing dismay, they were void of any recognition. This Methos' cold, calculating stare brooked no weakness and was accustomed to getting whatever he wanted. MacLeod's disbelieving eyes dilated as he felt his friend,
no, not his friend, not this one, his inner voice warned
. This person, known in MacLeod's world as Adam Pierson, methodically stroke Mac's awakening shaft. "No, not you, please, God, not you, not. . .you. .." Duncan's horrified whisperings faded into frayed utterances.

The Clan Chieftain's son led led his perspiration-soaked head and feebly tried to lift it. Nothing worked, however, not his arms, not his legs, not even his voice. Whatever the Toltec shaman had slipped into Mac's drink had reduced the Highland warrior to a flaccid carcass of sexual pleasure. Anyone could do anything they wanted to him and Mac couldn't stop them. He felt as if he had been hypnotized into inertia.

"Do you like what you see, Mica?" asked Quetzalomeyocan as he leaned toward his second in command. "He is beautiful, is he not?"

Mica nodded. "Yes, he is perfection in every way. I'll take him."

The Toltec leader smiled as the other Immortal knelt down, brushed aside his own kilt and dragged MacLeod's lax hips towards him. The tall Indian laughed when Pahana shook his head, woozily trying to say no. Quetzalomeyocan broadly grinned when Mica shoved his hard, throbbing sex into Duncan's tight channel.

Duncan's roar of pain and despair disintegrated into a mulish groan. Methos' ordinarily loving face then mutated into that of Duncan's abuser, Lemuel Priest. Priest then changed into Kronos and yet once more reverted back to that of Methos. MacLeod closed his swirling eyes. What had they given to him? His mind vacillated as the stranger penetrated him as if he were a mechanical doll. Mercifully, as his body was hammered by the one person Mac thought would have been his friend, he succumbed to an inky darkness that finally consumed and obliterated his vision.

* * * * * *

When MacLeod reeled into wakefulness, he was again in the sleeping place he'd occupied since his arrival at Chaco Canyon. Owl, Running Antelope and Little Coyote hovered about him with worried expressions that altered their ordinarily impassive faces. Their looks communicated to the rousing Immortal that they all knew what had happened to their Pahana, their white leader, in the Toltecs' kiva.

"Pahana, drink this. It will clear the peyote from your body," Running Antelope instructed, as he lifted the Scot's head and held an earthenware cup to Mac's dry cracked lips.

Duncan raised up and greedily drank the water containing whatever else the Catori had added. The Scot wasn't sure he even wanted to know what was in the drink as long as it helped clear his head. When he'd quenched his parched, cottony mouth, Duncan sat up and took stock of himself. His friends were gathered around him. The Immortal rubbed his face. "Thank you, Running Antelope." He sheepishly looked over at Owl. "You tried to warn me," he admitted.

Owl smiled. "Yes, but now you are safe."

"Yeah," Duncan agreed and stood to go outside. "When do we gme?&me?"

Owl laughed. "Pahana is eager for the bed of Rising Star?"

MacLeod nodded, "Yeah, I guess I am." There was no one to whom he could confide of the true identity of the Toltec Immortal he once called his friend. The realization that Methos had raped him, as if he was merely a toy to play with, cut deeper into his tormented soul than did any of the other physical abuses he'd sred red last night. The reality of this new Methos devastated him.

* * * * * *

MacLeod and the others made preparations to return to their pueblo the next morning. Mac had hoped he might see Methos again. It was so strange to see someone that in eight hundred years would play so prominent a supportive role in his life. It could have been the drug he'd been given, but Duncan's heart seemed to leap for joy last night when the five thousanar oar old's hazel eyes swam in front of him.

Still, Duncan couldn't forget his friend's cold and callous demeanor. This Methos was easily capable of committing the atrocities of which Cassandra had accused him. An unwanted shiver pulsed through him as his body recalled the wondrous delight it had felt when Methos' shaft had penetrated it. Duncan felt and saw his arousal at the memory and blushed. He was a man; he wasn't supposed to be stimulated as though he were an adolescent boy.

His sensual feelings then ted ted to mixed fears as Methos' image shifted into the leering eyes of Lemuel Priest. Fine tremors coursed up his spine as Duncan fought the debilitating effects of the sheriff's abuse. Duncan's thoughts veered yet again to that of Darius. It was puzzling that the old priest would appear to him in the midst of his mind altering dreams last night in the kiva. He could still see Darius' tall, thin frame cloaked in his brown priest's habit smiling and encouraging him to not give up. He had reassured MacLeod that he would overcome all of his travails.

"I hope to God you're right, Darius," he said. "I pray to God that you're right." Duncan buried his chaotic head in his hands. He had to get himself together somehow or he might not be able to return to his own world and his own time.

* * * * * *

Late that afternoon, Duncan finished trading Rising Star's pottery for the cotton, salt and shells she'd wanted. He and the others were to set out at sunrise for the long trip back to Mesa Verde and their home. Mac felt his enthusiasm build. Once he was out of this place and away from the Toltecs, especially Methos, all would be well. When he was back home with his Indian bride, he felt he could once again claim the peace and calm he'd had within himself prior to his arrival here at Chaco.

Restless, Duncan's meandering steps steered him to a ledge where he could see the setting sun. As his thoughts swarmed his overloaded brain, he sensed an approaching Immortal. His hand automatically reached for the club he now carried with him. When he saw that it was Methos, he relaxed but remained vigilant.

The elder Immortal wore a white cloth tied around his slender hips and a cloak of multicolored feathers about his shoulders. He approached the Highlander and squatted down beside him. "You called me Methos. Why?" the older Immortal demanded in English.

The left corner of Duncan's lips lifted into a half smile. Methos always did come straight to the point. Mac wanted to be truthful, but he wasn't sure. He didn't think the Immortal would believe him if he told him the two of them would be close friends in another eight hundrearsears. "I, ah, thought I heard someone call you that," he hedged, but kept his eyes on those of his friend.

Methos shook his head. "No, you didn't," and continued to visually examine the Scot from head to toe. "Beautiful, you are beautiful," Methos quietly observed.

"Methos," Duncan breathed as his face blushed a bright red.

The tall, sun-bronzed white man's hazel eyes once again widened, and he leaned toward MacLeod. "How do you know my real name?" he demanded. "The others know me as Mica. Who are you?"

"I, uh," Duncan's voice faltered when Methos' hand reached over and lightly brushed his soft chest hair.

Methos came even closer until Duncan could feel his cool breath upon his rapidly heating skin. The ancient Immortal's questing fingers feathered the center of Mac's chest to his navel. Duncan helplessly shivered and laid back on the ground.

MacLeod wore a breech cloth to cover his groin as did the other Catoris. Now, it was as if he was lying there naked, waiting for Methos to take him. Duncan swallowed the huge lump that had formed in his throat. As though in a trance, he watched Methos lift the scrap of hide that concealed his burgeoning shaft and bulging sacs.

"Oh, God," Duncan whispered as the other Immortal's one finger traced an unseen line up one side and down the other of his now weeping rod.

Mica palpated the knots hidden within MacLeod's balls. Duncan shut his eyes as erotic desire replaced any coherent thought he might have had. He couldn't think of a response to this man who dominated him without apparent effort. Mac moaned as Mica's relentless finger traced the circle of entry into MacLeod's inner sanctum of sexual delight. He helplessly spread open his already widened legs and lifted his hips. It didn't matter that they were outside where all could see. Duncan mumbled indeterminate phrases when Methos removed his finger. Opening his heated eyes, he licked his parched lips when the other Immortal's mouth swallowed the first finger of his own right hand. "Please?"

Methos' eyes glittered with conquest as he watched his willing captive beg him to enter his hot depths.
This one is too easy. He will make an ideal addition to my stable of priests.

Duncan hadn't an inkling of what lay in store for him. All he knew was that his path into this unknown world had crossed that of the eldest Immortal's. Mac couldn't seem to remember, however, that this man knew nothing of Duncan MacLeod. Mica hadn't a clue as to the prominent place he would hold in the Highlander's life in a future century.

All coherent thoughts again fled when Mac felt Methos' finger penetrate him up to its fullest length. He was allowing Methos to do whatever he wanted. It never occurred to MacLeod to fight back. "Oh, God, yes!" he cried when Methos tweaked his prostate gland, sending wave upon wave of mind-blowing pleasure to flood his body.

Neither did he pay any heed to Methos clamping a strong hand around both of his wrists until the other man had bound them with a thong of leather. "What the...what the hell are you doing, Methos?"

The ancient merely smils ans another Toltec exited a nearby empty dwelling to help him tie the Highlander's now struggling legs. Duncan tried to call out, but Methos gagged him with a piece of cloth. When MacLeod was trussed up, Methos slung Mac's body easily over his left shoulder. He then disappeared into one of the myriad mazes of paths tracing the whole of the Chaco Canyon area, closely followed by the other warrior who'd helped him.

Duncan continued to struggle but to no avail. Methos, or Mica as he was known here, carried Mac as though he were a sack of grain. When he grew tired of the younger Immortal's efforts, he popped MacLeod's naked ass with the flat of his hand, leaving a brief but bright red imprint on Duncan's delightfully dimpled buttocks.

"Ow!" Duncan muffled through the gag and attempted to grasp the other Immortal's long hair with his bound hands.

Mica laughed and slapped Duncan's unprotected rump yet again. "Pahana, your efforts are as the wind. You are mine now, to do with as I see fit." Having said this, he paddled the hapless Highlander yet again. "I do not know where you heard my real name, but you will soon learn of Mica, the Toltec warrior, and Quetzalomeyocan, my leader."

MacLeod grimaced from the stinging pain he had in his buttocks.
What have I gotten myself into now? he silently wondered, yet again.

* * * * * *

--TBC--