Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Duncan/Methos
Archive: Gladly!
Feedback: Yes. Ohh, yes. Is that what you want to hear? ;)
Summary: Methos meets an old friend. Ficlet.
Notes: I just wanted to see if I could pull this off...'this' being a ficlet set five thousand years in the future, which in all that time, Methos and Duncan have never yet had sex. :)

The drift of my skin against yours is like eternity finding a home. I whisper into the wonder of your eyes my deepest secrets, my highest longings, my greatest fears.

I am ten thousand years old and the only thing that has stayed the same since we first met is the way you look at me.

Silence, and the softness of your touch. I know nothing here outside of you and the desperate way your fingers clench before they gentle, and brush against my skin.

I focus deep, deep, on you, and see the pain-limmed light glowing in your eyes, the newly-waked wonder of those ancient days long gone. Strange to say it is now I who sees the worlds with new eyes, who finds new meaning in your every touch. My longing has crashed with yours and brought us here.

For we are here, and both willing, and both loving. The slow slide of time has brought us to this point. You understand me, and, I, I know you. You love me and I trust you.

Yes, and this is right. Far too soon the demands of our bodies will take over, claiming the rite of passion between us. For now, though, we merely gaze, entranced, hardly touching.

The years that have ripped us apart and thrown us together a thousand times have drawn us back at last to each other, never to part again. I see the promise of eternity in your eyes, the world-weariness fading from the tight stress about your lips.

Yes, we've broken. The worlds have changed. Time itself is no longer what we know, but who we are. You and I both kiss our hands to people long dead, forgotten, their descendants forgotten in turn.

And the time that has moved so slow to them, the ponderous weight of years, shows itself only in the darkness of your eyes and the way your lips tighten at every unexpected sound.

Are we that young and old, both of us, Duncan? Are you finally my equal?

You are the first to break the shocked silence as we meet, arms sliding around me with the right of a lover, though we've not yet spoken.

"Dearest Methos," is your whisper, and my lips along your jawline the only reply.

END