Fandom: Highlander, Duncan/Methos
Rating: NC-17.
Archive: Yes.
Feedback: *Methosian voice* Yes. Ohhhh yes.
Summary: After the events of Archangel, Duncan needs some serious Comfort. Methos obliges.

Strange that after all this the only thing Methos could say to describe the relationship he and Duncan had once held was "bittersweet." Their love had fallen down rapidly into mere acquaintance after the Horsemen were destroyed. Duncan all too quickly had taken Amanda into his bed, if not into his heart.

And Methos -- Methos endured, like he had always, sorrow fighting sarcasm in his eyes. For moments at a time there would be a yearning ache in his eyes when he looked at Duncan, especially when they were alone. Duncan pretended not to notice, but saw these glances.

But there was no more of the playful joking between them that had characterized their relationship before, no smart-aleck exchanges of words, just Duncan and Methos, tension so thick between them it could be cut with a knife, saying nothing that was not safe.

The words "we're through" that Duncan had said, the last time he and Methos had touched each other as lovers, he had meant, Methos knew. And Methos held him to that, staying carefully away, except when dragged into the Keane problem by Amanda, or when Duncan decided that Bryon, old lover and friend of Methos, could no longer live.

They ached with wanting each other. Each could tell it in the other's eyes, and each was too proud to give in. They had cut off their love in its first bloom, and it was as though their hearts had been torn away, yet Duncan was too unforgiving and Methos too hurt, to merely say "I'm sorry."

Their love had been utterly ruined. Their friendship was tentative, no true friendship like before, two people trying to stay off of each other's toes instead.

Sometimes Methos cursed Kronos for daring to return just then, sometimes Methos thought it would be best to fly away to, oh, India or someplace for a while, somewhere far from MacLeod.

But there was no leaving Duncan.

Then came the tragedy of Richie Ryan's death. Methos stared in bemused wonder at the sword Duncan was offering to him for a moment, then shook his head and turned away.

"Absolutely not!" he exclaimed at the unspoken question. After Duncan walked away, Methos could think of nothing better to do than reach out to Joe over Richie's body, offering the small comfort of an embrace.

Later that night, Methos found Duncan lying stark awake on the floor of the barge, hands clutching his sword painfully. When Methos entered, Duncan started up wildly, not relaxing his grip on the sword as Methos approached.

Methos soothed him like he would have tried to calm a wild animal. "Duncan, it's okay, it's just me," he said. "I'm real, no demon, I won't vanish when you touch me."

Duncan looked into Methos' eyes, yearning for the words he'd said to be the truth.

"What do you need?" Methos asked, kneeling on the floor beside Duncan, sliding a quiet hand onto his shoulder in reassurance. "I am here to help you -- with anything, Mac. Anything."

Duncan let the sword fall to the ground and leaned forward into Methos' arms. "For now, this is good," he whispered roughly.

Moments passed as Methos held Duncan, quietly kneeling on the floor of the ever-gently moving barge. Duncan did not actually sob, but Methos could feel the tears soaking into his sweater, the younger man shaking softly in his arms.

At last the floor got too cold, and Methos began to grow stiff. "Duncan, we're not going to help you by just staying here on the floor, let's get you someplace warmer," he said.

Duncan looked up like he had forgotten Methos was even there. "I -- all right," he answered raggedly, and they stood up together.

Carefully Methos led Duncan across the room, sat him down on the bed and pulled off his shoes and outer clothing. Duncan did not do much to help, but he did not resist either.

"Get in," Methos said, gesturing to the blankets. Duncan did so, and Methos stripped off his sweater, jeans, and shoes, then slid in beside Duncan.

"Let me stay with you," he said. "Let me keep the demons at bay. You just go to sleep, or talk, or whatever you need to do."

Duncan nodded helplessly. "After Tessa's death, Richie did this for me," he said.

Methos swallowed. "Crawled into your bed, you mean?" he asked.

"Yes," Duncan answered, and went on. "I know how it sounds, but it was just comfort. Nothing happened. There was no..." he paused, then choked out, "Quickening energy that time."

"Whatever you need me for, Mac, I mean it," Methos said. "I'm not a virgin who needs gentle, and I didn't come to you tonight for romance, just because..."

Methos looked into Duncan's eyes before he went on. "Because I never stopped loving you and I can't stand to see you hurt so much."

"You can't take the pain away," Duncan answered.

"Maybe not from your heart, but I can take it from your body, if you'll let me," Methos said, reaching down underneath the blankets, fingers coming in contact with Duncan's boxers.

"I," Duncan wavered on the cliff of indecision for a second, then nodded.

Methos removed the rest of their clothes, and took Duncan's already semi-erect cock in hand. "Don't think, just feel," he whispered into Duncan's ear.

It was as short and quick as Methos' hundreds of years of practice could make it, his hand sliding slick over Duncan's erection in the classic up-over-twist-down motion invented in the dawn of time. The other hand pinched Duncan's nipples or wandered up to ruffle through his hair, drawing the Highlander ever closer to the brink of release.

It was as unlike any of their other encounters as it could be, no cries, no moans except a few escaping half-reluctantly from Duncan's lips when Methos hit a particularly sweet spot, no kisses even, just Methos' hands and skin touching Duncan, just loud breathing in the darkness.

At last Duncan could bear it no longer and came with a grunt, his seed pouring over Methos' hand. Methos let go of Duncan's softening cock and slid a hand up his stomach to his chest.

"Better?" he asked.

"A little," Duncan answered, still breathing hard.

"Do you want...?" Methos left the rest of the question unspoken.

"Just..." Duncan pulled Methos into his arms, laying their heads so close together that their breath mingled.

"I think I could...sleep now," Duncan whispered.

"Good," Methos answered.

Duncan was asleep soon enough, but Methos could not drift off. He had been slightly aroused by the nearness of his once-lover, and despite the fact that his erection had subsided, the almost-pleasure was still running through his blood. And he did not want to fall asleep, wanted to stay and watch over his Duncan, wanted to be there if Duncan should have a nightmare, or worse yet, a vision of the demon.

Hours passed. The night shadows slid across the room, a perfectly peaceful night except for the taste of fear on Duncan's skin. Methos lay awake, a hand sometimes in Duncan's dark curls, sometimes just thrown across the pillows. Duncan did not move, but moaned once in a while. Methos calmed him with a caress to the side of his face.

Toward the dawn, when the night was darkest, Duncan became restless, moving into Methos' body restlessly, whether for warmth or for comfort, Methos could not tell.

At last whatever dreams Duncan was having became a full-fledged nightmare. He began to thrash in Methos' arms, shaking uncontrollably. Methos whispered crooning nothings, but Duncan did not hear.

Duncan awoke with a start. "It was Kronos!" he gasped out, turning to Methos.

"It was a dream," Methos said.

"No!" Duncan exclaimed, looking ever more panicked. "It was Kronos! He told me that you're next, that you're going to die, Methos."

"I should think you'd be happy to be rid of me then," Methos said, a little more sarcastically than he'd intended.

"Happy!" Duncan said wildly. "Fuck you! I love you, why the hell would I be happy if you were killed by me or some demon...?"

Duncan broke into sobs this time, his hair falling over Methos' shoulder, his face pressed uncomfortably against Methos' arm.

Methos couldn't stand more than a few seconds of this; he sat up, abruptly pulling Duncan with him to a seated position.

"You love me?" he said. "Then don't give in to this, this despair. I'm not dying anytime soon -- I haven't lived for five thousand years to be beheaded by a Highland child who doesn't know who's who and what's what."

Duncan slowly regained control of himself, holding Methos' hands in his own, eyes locked on his lover's face. When Methos reached out for him in an ancient come-here gesture and lay back carefully, Duncan went willingly, falling against Methos, their bodies pressed together.

This time it was lovemaking, not just sex, not just a quick hand job. No pressure about who would be in who, or where the lube was, they just rubbed against each other, sometimes kissing, sometimes whispering foolish life-affirming nonsense, sometimes staring into each other's eyes in wonder. Their bodies slid together as though they had been fashioned precisely to fit, measured out as lovers before the dawn of time. When their erections brushed, shivers of pleasure sang through both of them; when Duncan's hand slipped between them to tease both his and Methos' nipple, they groaned from the soul-depths of their hearts.

Orgasm, when it finally came, was a simple wave of overwhelming, cresting pleasure, one they both rode together, sweetly. Sleep overtook them both almost immediately afterward on the same gentle wave.

It was well into mid-morning when they awoke, Methos, for a surprise, actually waking first, looking down at Duncan in his arms, the memory of the night before slowly coming back, gripping his heart with pain and sweetness at the same time. Duncan stirred against him, obviously not wanting to open his eyes.

"Stay there," Methos whispered, and got up, moving to the windows and closing the blinds. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed again, laying a hand on Duncan's hair, a simple reassurance.

When Duncan finally woke up fully, Methos moved away, leaving him room to work out just what had happened. He was dressed before Duncan got out of bed, and when Duncan returned from the shower, was merely sitting quiet in a chair reading some book or other.

Duncan glanced across the room just as Methos lowered the book, and their eyes met. For several seconds their gazes held, then Duncan turned away.

"Call Joe, would you?" he asked in a calm if hoarse voice.

Methos moved to do as he asked, reassured by the fact that the Highlander wasn't still sobbing brokenly, but seemed ready to face the future. Whatever Duncan needed to do to find comfort, Methos thought, and picked up the phone.

END