More Than Enoughby Kevin H. Robnett
Duncan MacLeod stared at the empty, dusty dojo. Sunlight poured through the frosted windows, illuminating the dust motes that lazily floated in the air. He stood at the entrance and looked around. Watched as the accumulated dust of over half a year gave the room a hazy look as the particles danced around. A haze that his mind cast shadows on.
Sorry, wrong number.
He could almost make out Richie's outline where the young Immortal had turned toward the door so long ago. Hot and sweaty, tired and concerned, his pale skin had shone in the dojo lights. And the small sign of relief in his eyes when he had seen the Highlander. Duncan had noticed it, but at the time had other things on his mind. Like taking an easy head.
Teacher kills the student? That's what this is about?
The faint taste of recalled pleasure, only a small part of what he had felt those many months ago, drove right to his heart. Richie had been begging, on his knees, for answers. The sadistic glee when the Highlander refused to give him any. The young man had been a plaything to toy with. It almost made Duncan's gorge rise when he remembered that night.
You're a smart boy, you figure it out.
Occasionally, Duncan experienced the reoccurring nightmare that had haunted him since he had fled this place. But standing here was too much. He had thought he could handle it. That he was strong enough to face what he had done and own up to it. To not blame some Dark Quickening or hakoya magic on his actions. To admit, to his friend's face, that somewhere deep inside, he alone was responsible for his actions, and that he wanted more than anything to make amends.
But now it was too late. Joe admitted just last week that the Watchers still had no trace of Richie. He had disappeared into the darkness those many months ago and had yet to reappear. For the longest while Duncan had counted that a blessing, until the worries of Richie losing his head took over his dreams. And even if the lad was alive, would he ever, ever be able to look at Duncan again with trust in his deep blue eyes?
What ever happened, Mac, we can work it out....
Maybe Richie didn't feel that way any more. Duncan couldn't begin to guess which was worse. A headless body in a grave or a careful Immortal that always kept a sword at hand when he was around. Eyes that held no faith in them anymore. The nervous twitch of fingers toward a jacket when he was spotted. The smell of fear. It all welled up inside him, threatening to overtake his fragile hold on his emotions.
I loved it....
And Duncan MacLeod couldn't honestly say it had been a lie....
Summer turned to autumn as time marched on. Duncan spent a lot of his time working on the dojo. It still wasn't making a profit, but at least it wasn't losing as much money as it had. The fall semester at the local university brought another class of eager graduate students to teach. They kept his mind off of a particular pupil in MacLeod's dreams.
By the time October arrived, there was a definite nip in the air. Duncan had taken to wearing a heavier jacket and stopping at Joe's before the weekend. The Highlander never stayed until the live entertainment started. Just a quick rest for a glass of scotch and brief conversation.
"He's back in town," Joe suddenly said one Friday night. There was no need to say who.
Duncan's heart started pounding. "Where?" he asked, too quickly. The Highlander had given up hope that Richie was even still alive. He'd been gone for almost a year. An inquiry into his student's checking account showed no money had been withdrawn since that horrible night they fought.
Joe eyed him. "I don't think he wants to see you," the Watcher stated evenly.
That broke Duncan's heart. "Did he say that?" All sorts of ghastly pictures flashed through his head. "Did you tell him I'm not...I'm better?" The Highlander resisted the urge to grab Joe's jacket and pull him closer.
"We never got around to that." The Watcher's attention was drawn by a waitress who needed a check authorized. Once it was approved, Joe turned back to the Highlander. "All he told me was he was back in town, trying to find work, and he'd come by after he settled down for a real talk."
Duncan's eyes finally made contact with Joe's, who flinched at the pain in them. "I need to see him. To explain. I have to make things right."
The Watcher's face softened as he mentally resigned himself to act as a go-between. "Look, Mac. I'll see what he says when he comes by." Joe's hand reached out, giving the Highlander's shoulder a squeeze. "You've survived over 400 years. Waiting a week or so won't kill you."
The Highlander's lips curved in a smile. He finished his glass with a single gulp ad set the empty on the bar. "I don't know," he wistfully said. "I don't think anything has been as important as...this...in 400 years." Goodnights said, Duncan MacLeod walked away into the cold, dark night. Only this time, there was hope.
Oh, Donny, we shou' no' be doin' this here. Wha' if they caugh' us? Wha' if the sheep...?
Forge' the bloody sheep, Duncan. I've been waitin' all summer for ye.
Aye, lad. So 'ave I. Yew've gotten bigger if I do say so myself. Tossin' more than cabers, now?
You're the only caber I plan to toss, Duncan. And you're a bonnie lad yourself. Now hushup and show me how much ye missed me.
The phone jarred Duncan from his dream, the details slipping away as he hunted for the cordless. Not finding it, he sprinted toward the wall phone in the kitchen. "Hello?" he asked breathlessly into it. Every phone ring, every door slam had kept him on edge for the last five nights. Always hoping it might be a certain young man.
"Mac," the caller replied. "It's Joe." The Watcher sounded nervous, as if he was about to relay bad news. "He got real tense when I mentioned your name. I'm sorry, he doesn't want to see you."
Duncan felt his heart racing. "But you found out where he's staying, right? Joe, you know where he's staying...."
The man on the other end sighed, audibly weighing the choices. "The Sunset Lodge," he finally said. "On Main Street," he added, in case Duncan was unfamiliar with the seedy part of town. The place wasn't exactly in the dangerous neighborhood, but it was close enough to warrant a warning. "Be careful, Mac. He's terrified of you." The Watcher didn't wait for Duncan to reply before hanging up. A click and then an irritating buzz issued from the phone receiver.
The Highlander didn't think he'd be surprised at Richie's state of mind. He had no idea how he would have reacted if Connor had suddenly appeared one day and came within an inch of taking his head. Betrayed, scared. And Duncan certainly hadn't tried very hard to find the young man.
"But I can't wait for him to come around on his own," Duncan said to the empty loft. His mind quickly made up, he grabbed his leather jacket and car keys. "I can try and find him now," he added to no one in particular.
There had been no answer to his knocks on the hotel door. It had been a mere formality; Duncan didn't feel his student's presence inside. It was almost midnight, not many places he could go. Falling back on the tried and true method, the Highlander began cruising the city. First the bars, then movie houses. A few all-night restaurants. Another check at the motel failed to produce an Immortal.
Duncan shook his head, turning left instead of right as he exited the motel parking lot. He headed into the red light district, full of strip joints, tattoo parlors, adult bookstores. And the largest awake population at this time of night.
His looks and car got a lot of attention from the street walkers. Duncan never really focused on them, instead he concentrated on driving and strained to feel another Immortal. Up and down Main, then a street over produced no results. About ready to give up, he tried one more street. This one was darker, more dangerous then the vanilla areas he had left. Here were drugs and pain and high priced depravity.
Once down and back, the Highlander decided to call it a night. Tomorrow morning he would try the motel again, and then a stop at Joe's to see if the wayward student had stopped by. He turned back toward Main when he felt it. That indescribable insight that another Immortal was nearby.
Operating by instinct, Duncan slammed on the brakes. The T-bird screeched to a halt in the middle of the deserted block. A dark shape detached itself from the shadows and walked out to meet the classic car. Automatically, Duncan rolled down the passenger window as his guest arrived. "Hey, man," Richie said in between smacking a piece of gum. The Highlander just stared. His student's shirt was open all the way and hanging loose off his shoulders, his jeans almost ripped off his legs. It was cold enough for MacLeod with just a window down, Richie was probably freezing.
"Get in" the Highlander ordered, unlocking the passenger door. Richie laughed and gave him a once-over, still smacking his gum.
"One hundred for an hour, your place or mine. Five hundred for the rest of the night."
Duncan froze, unable to comprehend what Richie had just said. Something about money. "You want what?" he asked incredulously.
"Money, pops," Richie repeated, rubbing his two fingers together in the universal sign of currency. "I'm steep, but I'm sure worth it."
The Highlander growled. "I'm not in the mood for games, Richie. Get in the car." A small part of him shouted a warning that getting angry would only drive Richie away. And who knows how long it would take to find him again?
"I know lots of games. For the right price." Richie smiled even wider, inviting. "And I don't get into the car until I see some cash." The young man stretched like a cat against a chair leg, his shirt opening farther to reveal more of his torso. He played with his chest hair as he winked at the Highlander's scowl. "I don't have all night, mister. Pass or play."
It wasn't until Richie turned around and started to walk off that Duncan shouted "wait!" The young man stopped while the Highlander dug in his wallet, finally pulling two fifties out. Richie sauntered up to the car and picked the money out of Duncan's hand through the window. He shoved the bills into his jeans, then opened the door and plopped into the passenger seat.
"Your place, or mine?" he asked, unconsciously licking his lips as he eyed the Highlander. "Travel time is included in the hour, man."
Duncan cruised around until he found an ATM machine without saying a word. Once another four hundred was safely tucked into Richie's pocket, the young man visibly relaxed. At first, Duncan headed toward the dojo. When Richie's hand snaked its way to the Highlander's thigh, he quickly changed his plans, remembering hoe the place had affected him when he first came back. RichieÕs reaction could only be worse. They reached Joe's just as the bar was closing.
It didn't take much wheedling to get Joe to let them stay. And to provide a bottle of his best scotch. The Watcher left them, closing up the bar and heading home. With Duncan's promise of the whole story the next day.
It took almost a half the bottle before Duncan worked up the courage to speak. He sat at a table, downing glass after glass, aware that Richie's hesitant touching in the car had gotten him halfway aroused. The young Immortal spent the time walking around the establishment, stroking the wood of the bar and examining the small stage, in between glancing at the Highlander and watching him drink.
"I'm sorry," the Scottish warrior finally said, his sudden outburst loud in the silence of the empty place. Richie just shrugged, ambling over to the table. Not receiving any of the expected responses, Duncan haltingly continued.
He stumbled through the rest of the nightmare he had lived, editing out Methos' involvement at the holy spring as Richie sat across from him. It took another glass of liquor to get through Danny Cimoli and Warren Cochran, two extremes that eerily related to their own lives. The bottle was almost empty as Duncan explained the horror of Joe on trial by the Watchers, and the terrible aftermath they barely survived.
Duncan's voice was husky, and partially slurred, as he finished his tale, no longer focusing on Richie, but lost in his own private hell. It hadn't taken long for the Highlander to notice the young Immortal's dispassionate interest in the tale, accepting that whatever the two of them had had before, it was now gone. Only five hundred dollars, a night's price, kept Richie attentive and within reach. For an instant, he tried to figure out how many nights his various bank accounts would last, but he was too far gone for math.
With nothing else to do, Duncan continued on, telling about his summer spent wandering the City of Lights, nervous and restless. Even back then, he had held some small hope that everything would be fine. Now he had nothing. The emptiness settled in his stomach like a rock, the alcohol barely dulling the pain. He was tired, so tired, saving all his energy for this moment, this reunion, and now it was spent. And it hadn't been enough.
During the recitation, Richie had scooted carefully around the table, occasionally helping himself to the bottle, his attention never wandering far from the Highlander. At the flash of pain that crossed the chiseled, olive-skinned face, he rested his hand on the nearest jeans-covered thigh, gently stroking in a way that sent unmistakable signals to MacLeod's brain. Try as he might, there was no way to stop his body's reaction to the stimulation.
The last thing he consciously thought, far too inebriated to remember in the morning, was that he would at least get something for his five hundred dollars.
"Yew think I'll ever have hair on my chest, like Robert?" Duncan asked as he snuggled against the other lad. "Will you have me then, Donny?"
Donny ran his hand over the smooth muscles being discussed, his fingers teasing the flesh. "I'll have ye every chance I ca' get." Duncan shifted under the ministrations, but the tickling fingers found his nipple. "I can see it now. Commin' from the grazin' fields, sweaty body glistnin' in the sunlight. No shirt, just your kilt over your broad shoulder, an' ...."
The rest of his vision was lost as several men burst into the grain hut, stopping almost on top of the two lads in a tender embrace. Duncan's father was there, his face red with fury. The other two were distant cousins, dragged into this by the look of things. The Clan chief took Duncan, leaving Donny for the other two.
Father and son had a long talk, deep into the night. Duncan had an occasional outburst of anger, of hate. But by morning, Iain had convinced his son that the Clan would be hurt by his continued association with Donald MacGregor. Duncan's bedmate was sent away the next day.
"You never saw him again?" Tessa asked, her face resting on his bare chest. Her hands stroked his stomach lovingly as he had told her the story. The Highlander couldn't tell if she was hurt, or sad, or upset.
"No," he replied curtly, holding her tighter in his arms. "I never did."
Duncan shifted his body, feeling his naked skin slide across the sheets. Tessa's head rested on his chest, soft sounds of breathing reached the Highlander's ears. His eyes were still closed, trying to adjust to the light spilling in from the numerous windows in the loft. He ran his hand through his lover's short hair. Almost too short.
With a start, the Highlander awoke, aware that Tessa was dead and buried and it wasn't possible she was in his bed. His breath caught in his throat as he tried to remember whom he was sleeping with. Last night he had been at Joe's with.... His hand tightened in the hair as he remembered his student's name. Richie.
"I was wondering when you were going to wake up," the young man said. His head rested on Duncan's chest, his arm on Duncan's stomach, and the air of his words was a breeze across the Highlander's abdomen. Duncan tried to sit up, but Richie's weight stopped him. "You're not leaving that easily," Richie chuckled.
The Highlander froze, visions of the previous evening, hazy from the alcohol, crossed his mind. He had brought Richie back here, after he realized the young Immortal wasn't hearing a word he was saying. Just as soon as they had entered the loft, Richie had whistled at the furnishings, then turned and began helping the Highlander out of his clothes.
Duncan didn't realize what was truly happening until Richie dropped to his knees, "helping" a burgeoning erection out of MacLeod's white briefs and into a warm, wet mouth. The sudden hot bliss of arousal overtook him, mixing with the emotions of the evening, until the Highlander's legs shook.
He barely made it to the sofa, sprawling over the leather, Richie's suckling mouth never stopping its work, a nimble tongue sliding over sensitive skin. A hand gently cupped his balls, urging him closer to climax. But he wasn't going to.... He couldn't.... This couldn't be happening, not with Richie. Not once had Richie ever....
No matter what the centuries old Immortal thought, or rationalized, his body was responding to the onslaught. He felt himself drawing closer to the edge. His mouth felt full of cotton as he tried to warn Richie, his hands pulling futilely at the short, short hair, conscientious of cumming in his protégé's mouth.
Duncan MacLeod, of the Clan MacLeod, had never fainted during an orgasm, not with Amanda, Sarah or even Tessa. But as blackness took the Immortal, he had two thoughts. One was that the mental picture of Richie Ryan, his student, his friend, on his knees, eagerly slurping Duncan's hot semen down his young throat, made his toes curl. The other was that Richie had been worth every cent of the five hundred dollars.
When Duncan had come to, they were in his bed, naked, the young Immortal cuddled close to his teacher. The Highlander groaned, more from the earlier events than from his building headache of a hangover. Richie looked up, grinning like a Cheshire cat, dried semen still around his lips.
Duncan had quickly looked away, hoping that for once in his long life the problem would miraculously go away if he ignored it hard enough. Richie's hand, lazily brushing over his chiseled abdomen made that impossible.
They had fallen asleep that way. Duncan staring off into space, wishing desperately that tonight had not happened, Richie exploring and fondling every inch of the olive-toned skin within reach.
Now it was morning, and Richie was still in bed with him, naked, frisky, and despite the best efforts learned in four hundred years, turning MacLeod on. Although, if truth be known, Duncan had abstained for so long, any warm body rubbing itself over his erection in a like manner would have made him hard, be it by a person he thought of as a semi-son and best friend, or a complete stranger. He had no idea which one he was currently in bed with.
The hairy, well-muscled chest ended its teasing of his lengthening cock, and slid its way up, brushing along the taut stomach and rounded planes of MacLeod's torso, hardened nickel-sized nipples tickling his skin. "Hello, handsome," Richie finally said as his face came into view, his elbows resting on either side of Duncan's head, trapping it. Another erection, not as long but equally as engorged sparred with the Highlander's own, making the elder Immortal groan. Richie just laughed and bent down to nibble on the exposed neck below him.
"Oh, gods," Duncan finally exhaled when he could no longer remain silent. Not the smartest thing he ever uttered, but Tessa had always accused him of not making any sense in the throes of passion. Especially as confused as he currently was.
"Haven't you ever...." Richie kissed MacLeod full on the lips. "...wanted to...." A quick peck on the tip of his chin. "...stop in the middle...." A sloppy kiss under his jaw near the ear. "...of a hot workout...." A nip where the throat and shoulder blades met. "...and just ram your tongue...." Two brief laps in the valley between his pectorals. "...down my throat...." A wet lick along the underside of the pec to the nipple. "...until I died...." Four nibbles down the abdomen, following the trail of hair. "...from lack of air?"
Duncan groaned again as the young Immortal found his erection, a teasing tongue bathing it liberally with saliva. He barely heard the words Richie breathed over the head of his penis. "I have." Then a hot, wet mouth surrounded his throbbing rod, engulfing it all the way down. Without thinking, the Highlander's hands groped for Richie's hair. Steady pressure forced his student's head down as Duncan tensed his buttocks and rammed his stiff erection into the warm shelter of the sucking mouth.
Not able to do anything but give in to the desires he had bottled up inside of him, Duncan started a slow in and out motion. The Scot shuddered each time Richie's tongue ran along the sensitive underside of his penis. He lost himself in the passion of the moment and began to speed up. The only thing that mattered was getting his rocks off. Again. Faster and faster. His hands tightened on the short, dark blond hair. He ignored the choking sounds as he increased the tempo more. Faster and harder.
The Highlander's mind exploded into brilliant stars, his testicles shooting his useless seed into the waiting mouth. His muscles went limp, shiny with sweat from the exertion. He felt Richie swallowing, devouring him like a hungry man. And this time, it didn't feel so strange.
It was almost noon when Duncan awoke again, judging from the shadows in the room. The bed next to him was empty, though still warm and sticky. His hand brushed absently over the tangled sheets, his mind comprehending he was alone, leaving him feeling...odd.
Richie was still around, he sensed. Close by. That made the Highlander feel somewhat better. He was worried that Richie would leave, disappear. After all, he had only bought one night....
Just as he rose to his elbows to survey the loft, the smell of sweat and sex still in his nostrils, Richie appeared next to the bed, a large bowl and a bottle of wine in his hands. The young Immortal was naked, and sporting a roaring hard-on. "Not again," Duncan said without thinking, unable to take his eyes off his student.
"Scoot over, pops," the young man said, settling down against the Highlander. "Lunch?" he asked, pulling out a red, juicy apple. He straddled Duncan's stomach and trapped both arms of the elder Immortal, a smirk flashing across his face. His cock thumped against MacLeod's bare skin, making the Highlander's penis jump as well.
Duncan grinned himself, aware he was ravenous for something besides sex at the moment. The apple was dangled inches above his face, weaving slowly. With a mock snarl, the Highlander arched upwards, snapping at the fruit with his white teeth. But the prize was snatched away, barely in time, to be replaced by Richie's grinning visage. "Hungry?" the kid asked.
It wouldn't be difficult to upend Richie, or to free his arms, Duncan decided. But it had been quite a while since he had been teased so enjoyably. Too long a while. And despite his mental reservations, he would play along. "Feed me," he half ordered, half begged. It was the right thing to say; Richie grinned slyly.
"Whatever you say, boss," he replied, taking a good sized bite out of the apple. He bent low, aiming his mouth for Duncan's. The Highlander opened his lips, receiving the proffered fruit, and getting a good taste of Richie's own saliva. He chewed the chunk, his student helping by licking and sucking up the stray juice. Duncan swallowed, and they repeated the motions, taking a brief moment between bites to fully explore each other's tongues and mouths.
They moved to grapes, Richie delighting in squeezing the plump bulbs with his teeth so the juice would dribble between the Highlander's open lips. Then the pulp would be shared, both men sucking until it was drained of all liquid. Then Richie would run his tongue over Duncan's teeth, making sure every bit of food was devoured.
The high point of lunch was the banana, though. Richie slowly peeled it, winking shyly at Duncan as the young Immortal ground his raging erection into MacLeod's stomach. Once the fruit was bare, the kid opened his mouth and proceeded to deep throat the produce. It was highly erotic, watching the banana slide in and out, past those red lips stretched wide to accommodate the bulk. The Highlander could tell he was sucking, the pale skinned cheeks were drawn in. Watching his student go down on the fruit brought Duncan to hardness again, his half-hearted struggles squashed by a squeeze of Richie's legs.
Richie was working hard on the banana, his throat distending as the bulky fruit was shoved deeper and deeper. For a second, Duncan though it would get shoved all the way down, like a sword swallower, but Richie suddenly stopped, the banana buried in his mouth, a muffled groan vibrating around the mushy produce. The kid trembled, squeezing Duncan, trapped between the muscled thighs, as milky white streams of semen shot out from the young Immortal's throbbing cock.
They landed on MacLeod's stomach and chest, missing his face and settling on the pillow as Richie came down from the plateau, trying to catch his breath around the large fruit crammed between his lips. Duncan was squirming, overwhelmed by the sight he had just witnessed. He wanted Richie. He wanted release, now. His cock was hard and aching, straining for satisfaction.
There was a smile on Richie's lips as he sagged forward, bracing himself with his hands on either side of MacLeod. He contentedly munched the soggy food crammed in his mouth, chewing as he shuffled over the Highlander. He was driving Duncan into a frenzy.
Several times the young Immortal's butt brushed the straining erection of the man underneath him. Duncan tried to push up, to buck Richie off, but the feasting kid rode it out, resting firmly over MacLeod. Bits of banana fell into the Scot's face, but were ignored. The Highlander wanted to get off, and he was growing desperate.
"You're turn," Richie called out, stopping all his teasing movements. Duncan's eyes shot open, his body trembling for relief, and his gaze focused on a large, peeled banana in front of his face. Above it, his protégé had the same smarmy grin Duncan had detested the first few months Richie had lived with him. It, like the young thief, grew on the Highlander, until he had come to cherish the devilish impulses Richie sometimes got. Like now. MacLeod opened his mouth to protest, but Richie easily shoved the mushy fruit in between Duncan's lips.
For the briefest second, as the banana entered his mouth, the Highlander imagined it was the hard cock of the young boy he had taken in four years ago. Filling him, possessing him, joining with him. It was one thought too much.
Four years. For four years, Duncan had steeled himself to ignore all the impulses he had felt toward the young man he had grudgingly accepted as his responsibility. Circumstances had forced him to admit that Richie was, or rather, would be, his student. That was reason enough for him to decided never, absolutely *never*, to display the slightest hint of sexual interest.
Even though the boy was hardly innocent in those matters long before Duncan had found him. Even though Tessa teased him about living with the two most handsome men in the city, possibly the world. Even though he found himself, more often than not, in the kitchen when Richie was taking a shower, with only hazy glass tiles separating the two. Even though no one had ever looked at him with such clear, blue eyes, full of hope and expectations.
It had been easy, the first year. Tessa was more than enough to keep his hands full, and his libido in check. And it didn't hurt that Richie was just on the wrong side of obnoxious at times. Later, a heart full of anger helped drown any desire he felt as he trained the new Immortal, although the prolonged negativity did nothing to help their fragile relationship.
After that, Richie was away as much as he was around, spending only a few hours at a time with the Highlander. He had bulked up, and his face had lost some of the cherubic innocence, becoming a man right before Duncan's eyes. It had been hard to keep the image of untouchable student in place. He had tried, and until last night succeeded.
The obvious arousal he felt, the sexual attraction that was solely focused on the grinning young man above him set off all the defenses he had built over the years. This is wrong, one part told him. You promised. He's so young, another argued. How could you? He had taken advantage of a person he had sworn to protect, to nurture, to be father-friend-brother. But never lover. He had allowed himself the pleasure he had long denied, and it was wrong.
Never again would he....
With a powerful jerk, he managed to toss Richie to the side, enough so that he could sit up and throw his legs over the side. The banana was spit out, followed closely by some of the earlier lunch. Luckily, there was a small trash can beside the bed. His erection wilted, his excitement fading as a lump of dread settled around his gut. "What have I done?" he whispered, the words more a wail than speech.
"Duncan?"
One word. Uttered in a voice that had always, always called him by a nickname. A tongue in a mouth framed by lips he had explored, had tasted just moments ago. A question in that worried tenor, not quite baritone, that called to him. At least he now knew Richie did recognize him, understand who he was, know that what they had done was wrong.
Something shifted, the bed creaked. Duncan felt the body heat come closer, a warmth he must, but could not, deny. He struggled to get out of bed, to leave, but he was stopped.
Hands. His hands. Hands that had offered to massage his weary, aching shoulders but had been refused. Fingers that unconsciously tapped the table when they ate out. Bare arms that glistened with sweat, those few, rare times he looked out the office windows and watched, truly watched, the man they belonged to. Arms that had held him during the lonely nights after Tessa's death, sending guilty moments of pleasure through the Highlander's body.
Hands encircled his shaking torso, pulling backwards and gently drawing him down to the sheets, slick with their sweat and their fluids. Hands that splayed across his pectorals, fingers that curled in his chest hair and brushed his nipples. A body settled against him, similar and alike, the shapes of muscles and organs and hair.
"Duncan?" Richie asked, his breath a warm breeze across MacLeod's ear. A hand gently caressed his chest, a leg draping over his own, entwining the two bodies together. A rigid penis rubbing the side of his hip, full of want and need that Duncan ached to provide. But he had no right.
The young Immortal spoke again, his voice husky and low and enticing. Full of desperate desire and erotic suggestion. "Fuck me." Two words. Two little words with only one meaning. A craving. As much as Duncan was enamored with exploring Richie's manhood, he craved the sensation of plundering the man beside him. To be surrounded by and experience the tightness and heat of his student's body.
But that was the rub. Despite the arousal and desire and craving, Duncan MacLeod was a man of principles. He had made a promise, to himself, and more importantly to his student, one that he would not break. No matter how much he, or even Richie wanted this, it could not happen. It would not happen.
"Richie. I...I can't"
The young Immortal smiled with a glint in his eye. "Sorry, tough guy. You just proved you can." To emphasis his point, he once again took Duncan's cock into his mouth. All the way down slowly, then all the way back. A smack of his lips coincided with a tremor through Duncan's body. "And how. Shall we disprove it again?" he innocently asked, his eyes watching the target of his ministrations harden once more.
The Highlander realized he was losing the argument. He couldn't let that occur. His hand curled through Richie's hair, pulling the imp's head out of his crotch. A flash of pain crossed his student's face, and Duncan almost let go. But Richie chuckled and slowly let his head be pulled up Duncan's body. The young Immortal's frame slithered across the Highlander's skin, milking it for all it was worth.
Richie smiled as he found himself face-to-face with his mentor. "You want it," the young Immortal pointed out before Duncan could speak. "I *need* it," he added, a brief hint of hurt crossing his features. "I need *you*. I love you, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod." The helpless and puppy dog look in his eyes shook the Highlander to the core.
"Shhh," he whispered as he pulled Richie down onto him. His arms enveloped the young man and one hand began to slowly smooth the blond hair. "I love you, too," he found himself admitting quietly into Richie's ear. Praying to whatever deities might still be listening, he gently lowered the young Immortal onto the bed, on his stomach, and began coating the fingers of one hand with saliva.
"Oooohhhhhh"
Richie moaned when Duncan carefully inserted his slick forefinger into the tight rosebud the Highlander was aching to explore. The young Immortal also spread his muscled thighs wide, opening himself to his mentor. Hands gripped the sheets as Richie thrust his head deeper into the pillow, muffling his groans as the finger searched around.
The Highlander added a second, rewarded by a drawn out moan from under him. Richie raised his hips, thrusting backwards to impale himself on the two digits. Duncan had never felt anything to tight and warm. So...exciting.
He was already hard again, just imagining entering Richie. And he realized that he was much bigger than two, three, or four fingers. Much too large to do this with just saliva for lubricant. He'd split the young Immortal in two.
His fingers withdrew, causing Richie to thrash and groan, the young man wiggling in a vain attempt to fill himself. "I'll be right back," Duncan whispered, raising off the bed and walking toward the kitchen.
"M...Mac?"
Richie's voice was full of confusion and pain, causing MacLeod to swiftly return. "I need to get some oil," the Scot said as he gently rubbed the smooth, pale back. "I don't want to hurt you."
"We don't need oil," the young Immortal informed him, arching around to grab Duncan's arm and pull him close. "Take me now," he breathed. "I can handle it."
The Highlander melted, seeing the young man so desperate and begging. "I'll hurt you, Richie. We need some...."
"Then hurt me," Richie growled, yanking on the arm he held, pulling MacLeod on top of him. "I'm Immortal. I'll heal. A lot of guys like it when I scream."
Duncan sat back, aghast at what he was hearing. "You can't mean...."
The young Immortal flipped onto his back, reaching up to grasp at the Highlander. "Come on, Mac. Hard and rough. Stick it to me!"
"You make it sound like...like...ruttin' sheep! That's no' how yew make love!"
All the cockiness in Richie melted away as Duncan watched. The clear blue eyes clouded, and looked away, ashamed. "That's the only way I know how," the young Immortal whispered.
MacLeod lay down alongside the blond youth, his body making contact with the trembling form. "Ah, laddie...," Duncan murmured, running his hand through the short cropped blond hair. His voice caught, his throat tightened as tears formed in his eyes. "Yew canno' think I'd enjoy hurtin' yew ever agin."
Richie was crying now, ashamed and scared. "That's how they wanted it. Quick and hard. Sometimes...."
"Shhhh, lad," Duncan urged. "It's over. I'll no' let anyone harm yew." The Highlander leaned close, letting his lips brush against the wet cheek. "Love is abou' slow, an' gentle, an' happy. No' quick an' painful." The Highlander drew back, enough so he could see the man below him, and stroke the pale, damp skin. "I'm sorry yew haven't learned tha' lesson."
The blue eyes confronted him, pleading and lost. "Teach me...," Richie begged.
Fine! You teach me!
A whisper from Duncan's past recalled the forgotten fact the Richie was his student. His responsibility. To protect and nurture, never to take advantage of. The Highlander shifted back, away from the young man beside him. "I can't...." He choked, unable to vocalize the turmoil inside him.
Richie reached out, resting his hand on MacLeod's bare forearm. "You've taught me about life, swords, Immortality, goodness and honor." His smile finally broke free, lighting up his face. "Now teach me about love."
It's wrong!" Duncan shouted, drawing away, slipping his arm out of Richie's grasp.
"It's wrong not to finish what you started, MacLeod. Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod." The young Immortal rose to his knees, scooting after the shifting Highlander. The way he said those words, deep and throaty, wormed their way into Duncan's brain.
"It's not right! I'm responsible...."
Duncan ran out of bed. His body fell heavily onto the cold wood floor, giving Richie a chance to slip on top of him. The young Immortal lifted the Highlander's head with his hands, kissing him hard on the lips. "I'm only your student, Mac. Not your son. Not really. Not an innocent who doesn't know or understand what he wants. You can love me, Mac. You can let me show you how much I love you. Surely *one* Immortal has fallen for their teacher."
It is time then...for the pupil to leave.
Yes. But perhaps, the man will remain?
Are you regarding me as more than a student?
I am...inviting you to be.
Aware that he no longer had a valid reason to deny Richie, Duncan relented. So afraid that letting go meant losing the young Immortal, he had steeled himself for the role of teacher forever. But that was not the only way it could be. "You are no longer my student, Richie," Duncan said, turning them both so he could look down on the young man. "You are my life."
Later, after retrieving the salad oil and a lot of touching and kissing, Duncan MacLeod proceeded to examine his new lover in intimate detail. Memorizing every curve and square inch. Richie opened himself, the smile never totally leaving his face, or his eyes. The Highlander proceeded to explore the young man's most secret places, and to teach by example what love should be like.
Each moan, each thrust, each climax was shared between the two, so that one could not say the other was ever left behind. A man who had lived long past his time, and a man who had barely lived at all, equal partners in the most intimate of ways. And together, over and over, they became as one.
The Highlander walked out of the bathroom, wrapped in his large black bathrobe. He had awoken half an hour ago as a wet, towel-clad Richie searched the drawers for clothing. The young Immortal practically ignored him. Not knowing quite how to start a conversation, unsure if he even wanted to talk, Duncan had gotten up and stepped into the tub. The Scot used the long, solitary shower to try and collect his thoughts. The last twenty-four hours had answered many questions, but caused a myriad of more.
Richie stood in the sitting area when Duncan exited the bathroom, wearing only a pair of MacLeod's sweatpants. Too large for him, they hung low on his hips with the excess material spilling around his feet. The young man was staring silently at one of the wall masks that adorned a support beam. It was a comforting sight, and while the Highlander loathed to break the spell, there were things that must be discussed.
"We need to talk."
Duncan's strong baritone filled the large room. All the hesitation that had made his voice a whisper before was now gone. Duncan MacLeod, the Highlander, was back.
There was no response from the half-naked blond. Duncan moved slowly around the furniture to Richie's back, hesitant to do anything to startle him. He was ready to speak again when he noticed the slight tremors that wracked the young man's body. Softening more than he had since Tessa's death, the Highlander placed a hand on the pale shoulder. "Richie...."
"I know," the blond whispered, as if he had no breath inside of him to speak.
Using gentle pressure, Duncan herded his friend to one of the single chairs, lowering himself to the edge of the low table as Richie sat. The young Immortal shrank into the seat, pulling into himself. All the age and maturity that had been gained since they had met faded away, until Richie looked as young and small as the moment the Highlander had first seen him.
Duncan was use to dealing with strong people. His friends and companions, his students, his lovers, all had to be determined enough to withstand the storm of Clan MacLeod. The Highlander had been raised to lead the clan, a prince of his people. And his father had no use for a weak-willed son.
Even after being banished, only people with backbone earned his trust, his loyalty. He acted the leader, only knew the role of command. Though unimaginatively gentle as a lover, he could not stand spiritless people in his close circle.
Richie had been strong. Independent, foolhardy in an ironic sort of way. Everything that Duncan remembered of himself all those centuries ago. Nothing like the frail, withered child MacLeod saw before him. Instead of pity, or contempt, the Highlander felt shame. He had destroyed this bright young man. And now, he had no idea what to do.
Duncan clasped the pale, thin hands in his own, trying hard to catch a glimpse of the blue eyes. But they looked down, hidden from the world. Richie was not going to help him in any way.
Not knowing where to start, the Scot thought back to that night a year ago, and dying to the sound of his gasping student, struggling to stand. The young Immortal who had been gone, for good, when Duncan had revived.
"Where did you go?" MacLeod softly asked, struggling to keep Richie from pulling his hands out of Duncan's grasp.
Richie's mouth opened and closed a few times, but there was no sound. "Away" was all he managed to stutter.
"Where?"
The blond jerkily shook his head, his hands turning clammy. "I can't...." he whispered.
Duncan reached out to stroke the side of the young Immortal's face. "Shhhh. That's all right." He kept murmuring reassuring words until Richie had calmed. "Why were you...?" The Highlander froze, unable to find a kind way to finish his sentence. "What were you doing on the streets?"
Richie started trembling again, his voice breaking as he spoke. "I had no *money*, Mac."
It was impossible for the Highlander to keep a small smile off his face. And resist the overwhelming urge to ruffle the short, blond hair. "Why didn't you use what was in your checking account?" Richie's reply was so quiet, Duncan couldn't understand what was said. "Rich?"
"You would have found me," the young man softly admitted, sending cold chills through the Scot. Moment by moment the Highlander was getting a clearer picture of how badly he had betrayed his protégé.
Duncan cleared his throat, unsure of his voice. "How did you...survive?"
It seemed now that the door was open, Richie wasn't holding back. "I...I found odd jobs, here and there. Fry cook, farm hand. Even played car mechanic for a while." The young Immortal paused for breath, but didn't continue.
"What happened?"
Richie's hands gripped the Highlander's harder. "I though I saw your T-bird."
"You fled."
The blond head nodded. "Something always happened. I'd get settled, but I'd still be looking over my shoulder...and...and...." It took a moment for Richie to continue, his hands shaking so badly Duncan gripped them harder with his own. "I never kept a job for long -- who would hire a runaway teen with no skills?"
An ugly picture formed in MacLeod's mind, a young, terrified Immortal running from place to place, trying to stay one step ahead of his fears and falling further behind. "I'm so sorry...."
"I...There was a couple of truck drivers that brought me back because I...I..." The young Immortal had to finally stop, his body shaking uncontrollably, the tears falling freely from his eyes. "That's all I was good for...lay there and let them...and I'd...I'd...." The emotion drained from the tenor voice as the tears dried up.
Duncan lost all his composure as he watched a caring, feeling person wall himself away from the pain and hurt. The Highlander felt his own cheeks moisten. Richie pulled his hands away, to dry his own tears, leaving MacLeod to stare at his empty palms, his mind unable to comprehend what he was being told.
The young man's voice was cold and flat. "I guess I found a good reason why I should be happy at dying at nineteen. I'll always have my looks, so I'll always have a job. Prostitutes never go out of style." Without warning, Richie stood up, ignoring the Highlander and moving over to his pile of clothes near the bed. "And you don't have to wear a suit and tie. At least if you're hustling the streets. I guess no matter where you work, you end up getting screwed, one way or another."
It took a moment for Duncan to find his voice, Richie's brief respite enough to let the Scot gain control of himself. But hearing the young Immortal tear himself down was too much. The Highlander angrily stood, his hands unconsciously clenched into fists. "Richie!"
The blond looked almost sad. "Don't worry about it, Mac. Growing up on the streets, well, you gotta figure you'll have to take it up the ass sooner or later. With me it was just later." Richie reached down for his clothes, fingering the rips in the jeans he had worn the night before. The crisp hundred dollar bills were still in the pocket. "I guess I have enough to buy another pair of pants."
No longer so excited to delve into the turmoil he had caused, Duncan tried to find a comment to lighten the tension. Trying for his goofiest expression, he walked around the sofa. "What, spending all your money on chili dogs? Five hundred dollars every night...."
Talking about money seemed to deflate Richie. "I wasn't that good."
Slowly, Duncan lifted Richie's chin, until he could see into the crystal-clear blue eyes. "You *were* that good," the Highlander whispered, planting a gentle kiss on the unresisting lips. "You mean more to me than money can even measure, Richard Ryan."
The young Immortal broke away, turning his back. "Money's all a guy like me deals in, man. That's all I can expect."
The Highlander moved behind Richie, wrapping his arms around the bare torso of the smaller man. "You're not a...prostitute. You're a survivor. Everything you believed in, and counted on, was stripped away from you. All because you trusted me." It was easy for Duncan to turn his student around. Richie buried his head in the soft, terry-cloth robe, his young arms wrapping around MacLeod. "Whatever you've been forced to do, I have to make up for. If you've had to use your body...." The Scot's voice lowered to a whisper. "It's my fault. I should have taken care of you, and instead, I destroyed you."
The young Immortal never said a word. He just hugged the Highlander closer.
Duncan's hand stroked the short, silky strands of Richie's hair. "Why don't you hate me, Richie? How can you even stand being in the same room with me after what I tried to do? Why aren't you angry with...."
"Angry?" Richie's face appeared, his eyes red, his cheeks flushed. "Hate you?" Pain and anguish simmered under the words. The young Immortal broke away, storming to the far side of the room, almost to the kitchen island before he turned back. "How did I *feel* when you came after me?" His voice rose in pitch, what little composure he possessed slipping away.
"Richie...."
"I despised you!" the young man screamed, grabbing the container of cooking utensils and throwing it at the brick wall near the elevator. "I hated myself for thinking I could *help* you!" A jar sitting on the wire shelves was his next victim, shattering against the red bricks, sending glass shards and peas flying. "I felt like a stupid fool for believing you!" The pain was etched clearly on his face, red and full of lines. He tried to rip the metal shelving from the wall, to no avail. His energy waned, leaving Richie reduced to sobbing as his knees gave way. "How could I love such a monster....?"
Duncan was there, trying to enfold the tormented Immortal, to offer anything he had to rectify his actions. It took a long time to calm the distraught youth, until the wailing had faded. "I don't expect you to ever forget what I've done," the Highlander told him, gently rocking with his student on the wood floor. "I can only hope that I might live long enough to somehow make it up to you. And that you'll let me try to earn your forgiveness. And your love...."
They sat on the kitchen floor, not speaking, just slowly rocking in each other's arms for the rest of the afternoon, shedding all the tears they had inside, hoping there was enough left to build again.
"Donny!"
The young Scot looked at Duncan, eyes brimming with tears. "Yew're nothin' but a coward, MacLeod!" The forest was dark, the night sounds louder with each breath.
"I canno' disobey my father...."
Duncan's excuses fell on deaf ears. "That's no' what yew promised me."
Just the mere sound of the lilting brogue made Duncan weak in the knees. Without another protest, he was in Donny's arms, no matter the consequences.
"I love you," the Highlander whispered. He was once again past the point of any concerns, grateful for a second chance. This one he would not squander.
Reconciliation was not an easy road. Richie oscillated between distraught, wary and frisky, slipping easily from one to another much to Duncan's chagrin. So often that the Highlander gave up any hope of understand what was going on in the young Immortal's head.
It would depress MacLeod to enter his loft and find Richie at the far end, sword gripped in a shaky hand, fear in his eyes. And the fear would linger, even after the young man had calmed down. There came a point when Duncan wondered aloud about living together, which caused Richie to explode.
"It's my problem, Mac. I'll deal with it!"
Duncan had taken his friend in his arms, apologizing softly as he held the young Immortal. And silently cursed the day a youth had to shoulder such heavy burdens. But as the temperature dropped, and winter covered the city in a blanket of snow, Richie had settled into a semblance of his normal self.
In the afternoons, the young Immortal had taken to working out and watching over the thriving dojo, giving Duncan a chance to run any errands he needed to. And on rare occasions, he felt like going out, letting the Highlander show him the wonders of the city he had missed before.
He usually preferred staying home, in the "love nest" as he called it. Nights were spent watching a video, reading or playing chess. Sometimes, they would sit on the sofa, doing nothing but touch each other. They had sex every night, mostly two or three times before they tired, and fell asleep.
It was the mornings that worried Duncan. He'd always wake first, sometimes spending hours watching Richie sleep. The young man had never been an early riser, even when Tessa had been alive. But he had usually been active by at least nine or ten. Nowadays, Richie slept till noon, often thrashing in the grip of nightmares.
Duncan would try to wake him gently, whispering soothing words and stroking Richie's sweat covered skin. Sometimes the young Immortal would wake with a start, grasping for Duncan, caught up in the fear of his dreams. More often, he awoke with no memory of what tormented him the night before, confused at Duncan's concern.
Each day, Richie became more comfortable around the Highlander, and Duncan became more at ease with having a student for a lover. MacLeod was as happy as he had been since Tessa, and Richie seemed to be the happiest he had ever been. And as Duncan admitted on occasion, as wonderful as he could possibly be.
As luck would have it, semester finals for Duncan's graduate class fell on his birthday. And grades had to be reported the next day. The Highlander had wanted to go out, celebrate by hitting all the hot spots in the city. But five in the afternoon rolled around, with no end to the grading in sight, and Duncan had to call and cancel his plans with Richie.
The young Immortal sounded disappointed, and suggested they put off the extravaganza until another night. He reminded Duncan they could celebrate privately, and told the Highlander he'd be waiting at home. MacLeod had smiled, picturing all the ways they could celebrate in his ample bed.
When Duncan finally managed to drag himself home, it was almost time to close the dojo. The Highlander's body ached from leaning over a desk for hours, grading papers and tallying the final average. But it was over; the grades delivered, and the students no longer his concern. As the warm air from inside greeted him at the outside door, he smiled. The thought of a hot shower, and cuddling with Richie for the rest of the night, maybe feeding each other grapes, sounded very enticing.
The young Immortal was in the dojo proper, working out at a punching bag with a few of the late night patrons. He looked over as they both felt the other's presence, then he turned again to the bag, going back to his workout.
Duncan's mouth unconsciously slid into a weary grin. Tired as he was, the sight of Richie in sweats, pummeling the black bag, was arousing. The young man was slick with perspiration, his short hair plastered against his head, droplets flying off his arms as he moved. Richie started dancing and weaving, treating the bag as an opponent, putting on a show. Every now and then, he'd glance over to the doorway where Duncan had leaned against the wall to watch, and grace the Scot with a sly smile.
Nine o'clock arrived, and dojo was closed. The patrons finished up, some heading off to the showers, others grabbing their bags and walking out. Most were familiar with Duncan and Richie, so both Immortals spent the next few minutes saying their goodnights to the customers.
Richie sauntered over once the room was clear, the muffled sound of running water in the locker room the only distraction. "About time you got home," he said, lifting his head up to plant a kiss on Duncan's lips. "Happy birthday."
The Highlander was not about to let things stop so soon. His arms reached around, trapping the sweaty body inside them, and kissed Richie hard. He felt the young Immortal's arms snake around him. They pressed together, hardness to hardness, the musky, acrid smell of Richie flooding Duncan's nostrils. "And do I get to make a wish?"
The young Immortal laughed, brushing MacLeod's lips with his thumb. "There's a present for you in the office. Lock up, open it, and come join me upstairs. I'm sure you'll get everything you could wish for."
"Everything?" Duncan asked with a chuckle, raising his eyebrows.
The only response Richie gave him was a grin, and then the young man walked to the elevator, and went up to the loft. Not one to stand still and wait, Duncan entered the office, looking around for his present. From upstairs, the muffled sound of music started, only the thump of a bass line clearly heard in the office.
A large white box sat in the middle of the desk. As the stragglers finished showering and left, Duncan examined it, trying to guess what was inside. The Highlander could barely contain himself as the final person walked out the front door. A quick turn of the locks, a flick of the light switches, and the box was opened.
Clothes. Beige clothes. *Ugly* beige clothes. MacLeod held up a short sleeved button-down shirt, the kind a person who worked for the city utilities would wear, and wondered if Richie was as recovered as he seemed. The beige shorts didn't help his opinion. Neither did the white socks and tennis shoes. Below that, covered by the clothing was a straw hat, the Panama variety. And a bulky leather bullwhip, still smelling new. At the very bottom was note that simply read "Put them on."
Duncan looked around, waiting for the hidden revelers to jump out and yell surprise. Or the cameras to start flashing. Only Richie could come up with a stunt like that. He waited, unsure of what to do, or what was going on. Finally, still unable to fathom the purpose, the Highlander stripped off his college professor garb and put on the presents.
The shirt and shorts were tight. Almost too tight. And definitely short. He felt like an exhibitionist when he fumbled the last button on the shirt. Again, Duncan looked around, wondering what the joke was. But nothing happened. It hurt to sit and put on the socks and shoes, the shorts having no room to contain his growing erection. Even though he had no clue what was happening, MacLeod was starting to get excited.
He placed the hat firmly on his head, and grabbed the bullwhip. For the second time in as many minutes, Duncan wished he had a mirror in the office. He hoped he wasn't as funny looking as he felt. "Like some dog catcher," he mumbled as he made his way to the elevator.
As the lift rose, the sound from upstairs became recognizable. Deep and rhythmic. Percussive. Barely any light shone through the slats, giving no clue as to what was going on in the loft. Not able to wait any longer, the Highlander steeled himself for the worst, and lifted the elevator gate.
The music was low. Drums, pounding an ever changing rhythm. Candles and tiki lamps on bamboo sticks skirted the edge of the loft, giving everything a flickering orange hue. It was dark, and primal.
The furniture had been scooted to the walls, making a large, open area in the middle of the room. A pile of pillows and blankets were at one corner, a nest of sorts, with a buffet of fruits, cheese, breads and water bottles laid out on the floor beside it. Four of the mats from downstairs had been placed in the center of the room, their purpose unclear. "Richie?" Duncan hesitantly called, the suspense killing him, his grip tightening on the bullwhip.
A movement from the far corner drew his attention. Richie stepped from the shadows into the Highlander's view. His pale skin was golden in the candlelight, shiny with sweat from his long workout. He was breathing hard, panting, his bare chest rising and falling as a grin slowly spread across his face. His throbbing cock was plainly evident in the leopard skin loincloth, the only item of clothing he was wearing.
"I'm all yours," the young Immortal huskily said.
Duncan came in his pants.
They repeated their fantasy night three days later, for Christmas eve, only Duncan played the jungle savage while Richie was the Great White Hunter. It turned out just as satisfying as before, leaving both Immortals drained and exhausted by the time they fell asleep.
The Highlander lay back, content to look at the young man clinging to him, feeling the smaller body relax and meld itself against his. There was something peaceful about stroking Richie's soft skin, hearing his shallow breathing as he innocently slept. It was comforting to hold the person who depended on him, who loved him so much. A warm, fuzzy feeling. Duncan fell asleep with that happy attitude.
He awoke with a smile on his lips. During the morning, Richie had nuzzled closer, pulling the blankets tighter around his young body, letting cold air reach Duncan's skin. The Highlander's flesh was frozen in places, contrasted with the hot contact of the blond's body. MacLeod gently untangled the blanket and covered both of them again. Richie squirmed when his pillow moved.
It was almost an hour later before the young Immortal woke up, running his hand over the olive-skin torso under his head. "Merry Christmas," he mumbled, lifting his head to glaze at the Highlander. "And what are we going to do today?"
"Open presents," Duncan urged. For once, MacLeod was acting like a kid, anxious over his gift to Richie. The young Immortal shrugged, crawling out of the blankets and standing. He stretched his muscles, letting Duncan get a good long look.
"Hhhuuuufff," Richie exclaimed, blinking sleepily as he looked around the loft. "After a shower and coffee."
Duncan reached out and grabbed the young Immortal's ankle as the blond stepped toward the bathroom. "Hey." Richie looked down, his eyes only half open. "I love you," the Highlander added with a smile.
"...after coffee," Richie reiterated drowsily, shaking off Duncan's hand and stumbling toward the shower.
The young Immortal was much more awake when he stepped out of the bathroom, a large cloud of steam surrounding him. "Morning," Duncan told him, the pair stopping for a quick kiss as they met between bathroom breaks.
"Same to ya," Richie responded, completing their usual morning ritual.
Duncan had found early on that Richie preferred to shower and shave privately, only allowing Duncan with him on "special" occasions. The Highlander had cornered him about it one night as they got into bed.
"But, Richie, I've seen you naked. I know every inch of your body. Why can't we share the water and shower together all the time?"
The young Immortal had risen to his elbow, looking at the Scot stretched out before him. "You like the sex, right?" Richie asked, a serious look on his face.
"Yeah," Duncan replied, the corners of his lips pulled into a smirk.
Richie started running his hand through the hair on the Highlander's torso. "I know it's good, but is it special?"
MacLeod leered. "Oh, yeah!"
"Really, Mac?" the blond asked with a frown. "Really special? Does the thought make your toes curl? Do you start panting every time you think about it?"
Duncan was getting agitated. "Richie...."
"It's okay, Mac," the young Immortal quickly said, letting his hand rest on the Highlander's pectoral. "The sex is great," he added, bending down for a brief kiss. "But, think about it. It's not special. You know you're going to get it when you come home, and it's just something we do, like eat, or...or work out. It's part of our daily routine."
The large hand of MacLeod's came to rest over Richie's, clasping it to the Scot's chest. "There's nothing wrong with that, Rich. It's natural."
"I know," Richie replied. "But how does showering with me feel? Watching the water run over my body, letting your hands roam as you soap me up, the lather making my skin slippery...." There was no need for a response from MacLeod. The young man slid his hand from Duncan's grasp, reaching down to cup the suddenly obvious bulge in the sheets at the Highlander's crotch. Richie gave the basket a gentle squeeze, rewarded by an upthrust of MacLeod's hips. His hand returned to Duncan's chest, his eyes focusing on the top of the patch of chest hair where his fingers twirled around the wiry strands. "Do you see, Mac? Do you understand?"
It was hard to tell what Richie was truly feeling with the young man hiding his eyes from Duncan. "Why are you worried about it?"
There was silence as Richie's hand stopped. The eyes looked up, startling blue. "I...I don't want you to get tired of me." There was fear and worry in the murky depths, enough to melt the Highlander's heart.
"There's no fear of that, lad."
Duncan's reassurance didn't seem to work. The eyes dropped back to his chest, the fingers resumed their nervous twirling. The young Immortal's voice seemed so far away. "You get tired of Amanda pretty easily."
Realization struck, making MacLeod wish there was some magical way for Richie to see into his heart. The Scot's hand slowly lifted the young man's chin, so that Duncan could look into those eyes. "Amanda drives me up a wall. You only drive me to distraction, lover mine." With practiced ease, MacLeod rolled Richie over, letting his own body drape over the pale form. His hand slipped into Richie's hair, stroking the silky strands. "In fifty or sixty years, we can talk about who's tired of what. Until then, I want you. Every day. Anywhere. All the time. And if you want to keep showering together as something special, I won't argue. I want you to be happy, Richie. I want to be the one who makes you happy for as long as you'll have me."
The young Immortal's blue eyes glistened. "I love you, Duncan MacLeod," he whispered.
"I love you too," the Highlander replied.
Richie was drinking coffee, wrapped in a towel, when Duncan slid in behind him, already in sweats. "Feeling better?" the Highlander asked, nuzzling the still damp neck in front of him.
"Much," Richie replied, setting the mug down on the kitchen island and turning around to give MacLeod a proper good morning kiss.
Duncan smiled when they came up for air. "And Merry Christmas to you. You must be feeling better. I haven't had my tonsils cleaned so well since...since...."
"Last night," the young Immortal deadpanned. He passed over a fresh cup for the Highlander. "Who first?"
After a large swallow, MacLeod wrapped an arm around the glistening young man. "We'll have to go outside for mine." With a brush of his hips, Duncan made the towel slide over Richie's nether regions. "And you're a little underdressed to go traipsing around in the snow. Not that I'd complain, mind you."
Richie laughed, pushing Duncan away and shifting the towel back into its proper place. "I'm sure you wouldn't. I'm waiting for the day you want me to manage the place in only a pair of shorts!"
"Not a bad idea," the Highlander replied, finishing off his coffee. "I guess I'll see what you got me for Christmas before I decide."
"Oooh, blackmail," Richie teased as he walked over to one of the metal shelves around the room. He came back, a small square box in his hand, about the size for jewelry. "Here," the young man said quickly, handing over the box.
Duncan raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as he opened it. Inside, laying on a cloud of tissue, was a brightly colored band of cloth. For a moment, no one spoke. "What is it?" the Highlander had to ask.
A flush rose on Richie's face. "Here," he abruptly said, reaching for the band. He motioned for Duncan to hold his hand out, and proceeded to wrap the bracelet around MacLeod's wrist and tie the end strings into an intricate knot. "It's like a friendship bracelet," the young man informed him as he worked. "I've had the strings for a while, and worked on it over the years. Tessa showed me how to braid them."
The Highlander looked down, seeing the time and effort that must have gone into the creation tied expertly around his wrist. He was at a loss for words. That Richie had done this himself, working for *years*, took his breath away. This was a piece of art, made solely by the young man's hands. For Duncan. It had always been for Duncan. "Thank you," he simply said, admiring the gift. He clasped his hand over Richie's, bringing it up to his lips and adding a gentle kiss. "Thank you."
The young Immortal could never stand praise. He shuffled on his feet, staring at the Highlander's mouth. "I'm glad you like it," he mumbled.
"Get dressed," MacLeod ordered, slipping the towel off Richie's waist and wrapping it over his own shoulders. The young man looked stunned as Duncan twirled him around and pushed him toward the sleeping area, adding a slap on the butt to get him moving. "I want to see how you like my little present."
Richie looked back, shocked and startled, and rubbed the cheek that was slowly turning bright red. The sight made Duncan's mouth water, as did the spectacle of watching the young man dress in a T-shirt and jeans.
"Damn it's cold," Richie complained as he stood shivering, a few feet into the alley/street in front of the dojo building. His hands were wrapped around his torso, trying to rub warmth into his bare forearms, as his teeth chattered while he stood in the snow.
Duncan tried to hurry. The tarp with its big lump was right where he left it, and Richie was in the perfect position to see it. "Ready?" MacLeod asked.
"I'm past ready. I'm freezing my butt off!"
"I'll make sure to warm it up when we get inside." The Highlander chuckled at the glare he got for that comment. "Ta-da!" he sang, pulling off the tarp.
Richie stared at the motorcycle underneath it, his mouth slowly falling open. It wasn't the prettiest of bikes, or the coolest, or the most expensive. But it was more than decent, and just right for a guy who might have to sacrifice it to save his head.
"Like it?" Duncan asked when Richie didn't move.
The young man was no longer fidgeting, he was frozen. His eyes were misting and his face started to screw up.
"Richie?"
The young man bolted, heading at top speed for the outside stairs. Duncan haphazardly covered the bike with the tarp again, and chased after him. Bypassing the elevator, he went up the side stairs, running through the loft door moments after Richie.
Duncan found him on his knees, barely inside the room. "Richie?' the Highlander softly asked again, wrapping his arms around the cold, shaking youth. He wondered when this would end, doing something and getting a totally crazy reaction from someone he had thought he knew so well. "Tell me what I did."
The words were strained, and spat out in anger. "I'm still a fucking whore!"
"Richie!"
The young Immortal fought his way out of Duncan's grasp, struggling to his feet. "Isn't that the kind of thing boytoys get? Fancy motorcycles, expensive things? Did you buy that in payment for twenty-seven nights of service?"
MacLeod's fists clenched at his side, but he held his tongue, not wanting to say something rash at this critical moment.
But Richie wouldn't stop. He lunged into Duncan's face. "So is that all I am, man? You're little house slut?"
The question was like a punch in the gut. The Highlander's temper boiled over, his anger no longer contained. He reached out, grabbing Richie's T-shirt, turning and ramming the young man back first into the brick wall. "How dare you demean what we have like that!" Duncan slammed him in the wall again. "Did you just forget the fact I *love* you?" The youth's eyes glazed, but two sharp slaps on the cheek kept him conscious, and angry.
"Fuck you, man!"
Duncan leaned in close, using a forearm across Richie's throat to keep him pinned against the wall. "I found you on the streets, you little prick, *both* times. I thought I showed you something better. I guess I was wrong." The young man tried to get away, but the Highlander slammed him against the wall a third time.
"Real butch, man. I'll bet you're just dying to bend me over and go after it, hard and rough. I'll bet you want to make me squeal like a pig."
It took all of Duncan's control to let go, and turn his back on the young Immortal. He buried his shaking hands under the opposite arms and stared off into space, unable to look at Richie any more. "Get out," he spat, his voice under tight rein. "Get out, and don't come back."
He heard a noise behind him, but stifled the urge to turn and look. "See ya, Teach," Richie said, and then he was gone. Gone for good, Duncan realized.
For the rest of the morning, the Highlander wandered aimlessly around the loft. He fidgeted with the stereo, all his favorite radio stations replaced by others during the previous month. Settling for a CD of arias, he started straightening up the mess from the previous night. The sheets were still piled on floor, smelling of sex and both Immortals.
It was hard to keep focused, to concentrate on anything other than what had just happened. He'd been alone in the past, long before meeting Richie, and wasn't too worried about being alone now. Any responsibility to the young man had been satisfied long ago. And Duncan knew perfectly well that life would simply go on.
What upset him the most was how badly it had ended. He had thought that Richie was learning there were many different life options available to him, besides being a street punk. Or drug dealer or hustler. But the Immortal decided that while you could take the boy away from the street, it would always be a part of him. Such a sad waste.
MacLeod looked around the apartment again, suddenly aware he wanted to be someplace other than here, where Richie's presence was the strongest. He needed a distraction, a workout to center his mind and body.
He found the young man collapsed in the middle of the dojo floor, only a low moan punctuated by sniffles. It was a dry, raspy sound, Richie's throat past the point of raw. He was shivering in the cold air, curled up into a small package.
Duncan knelt down, and placed a hand on crying Immortal's shoulder, trying hard not to get any hopes up. "Richie?"
"I'm sorry...." came out in the barest of whispers. "I don't know what I'm doing -- or saying. I don't understand what's going on...." A whimper started deep in his throat, choking his breath away. "I can't leave you. I won't be able to survive.... I *don't* want to live without you, Duncan."
The Highlander's other arm encircled the young man, drawing him closer. Richie's blue eyes pleaded silently with him, glistening with tears.
"Please don't send me away, Mac. Not again. Please, not again."
"We need to talk," Duncan firmly told him, rising and pulling the other Immortal with him. Richie clung to his body like a drowning man as they walked to the elevator.
There was a steaming hot cup of cocoa placed in Richie's hands, the last of Duncan's attempts to warm him up. A large comforter was around the young man, and he was wearing a sweater over his T-shirt. Duncan sat on the other side of the kitchen island, taking one of Richie's hands in his own. "Why don't you start with this nonsense about being a whore. Specifically, *my* whore?"
The young man visibly flinched when he looked into Duncan's brown eyes and saw the hurt and pain. "I'm sorry," he automatically answered.
The Highlander squeezed the hand in his grasp, adding a small smile. "Don't apologize for how you feel. Just try and make me understand how you could belittle yourself so much?"
Richie took a moment to swallow some of the warm liquid. "What exactly are you getting from this relationship...besides sex? I live with you, you pay for my clothes, my food, entertainment, that blasted bike. I've got nothing, just a body and the knowledge of how to wiggle it."
It was hard for Duncan to keep from sighing. "You have a heart. A heart that loves me. You've pledged your life and loyalty to me, even after all I've done, and that's *worth* something to me. That kind of stuff money can't buy. True happiness is given, and you've given it to me."
"I'm glad one of us believes that crap," Richie grunted, pulling his hand away from MacLeod.
Duncan continued. "You ran this dojo for me...."
"Which you grossly overpaid me to do...."
"...and I hope you will again, as soon as you feel ready," the Highlander continued. "Look, Richie. Most kids have parents that take care of them while they're young, and help them get a start in life. College, weddings...."
The young Immortal scowled. "So you feel sorry for me, is that it?"
The situation was turning exasperating, in Duncan's opinion. "I love you, blockhead. I'm trying to help you get back to where you were before...before I destroyed it."
"You do feel sorry for me!"
"Damn it, kid," Duncan yelled, grabbing Richie's face with both hands and forcing him to look at the Highlander. "Yes! I feel sorry for you. You've had one of the shittiest lives I've known. But that's not all there is to it, and it's certainly not a big part of how you make me feel. You are my friend, you are my lover, and you are the one that had some bad breaks growing up. I want to make things better so that you'll be happy and then you'll make *me* happy so we can stop FIGHTING ALL THE TIME!"
There was no chance for Richie to respond. Duncan mashed his lips hard over the young Immortal's, pulling him off of the stool. They struggled toward the big bed, neither wanting to break the contact, until they both fell on it, tangled up in the comforter. They made wild, passionate love over and over, until they had no more energy to even move.
"Mac?" Richie quietly asked, his thumb gently stroking across one of the Highlander's nipples.
"Yes?"
"You'll let me start working full time in the dojo, and taking care of the books, and *paying* me a comparable salary?"
Duncan wiggled. "Yes."
"You'll let me buy half the food, and take you out for dinner at times, and you won't give me any more expensive gifts?"
The Highlander's hand reached up to stroke Richie's silky hair. "What ever you want."
"And you'll never send me away again. Ever."
It took a long while for MacLeod to answer. "Never ever."
They spent the week after Christmas working out ground rules, and discussing Richie's responsibilities. New Year's rolled around, and they finally decided to have their night on the town. The only depressing moment was when they arrived at Joe's, fully expecting the Watcher to be hip deep in revelers and musicians.
The bar was eerily quiet. The sign outside was gone and the doors locked tight. Duncan pointed out the amount of trash and weeds in the parking lot, realizing his mortal friend was long gone. It was morbid, comprehending how he had virtually ignored Joe since Richie had shown up. "Let's go," he finally told the young man, unable to stand looking at the ghostly building anymore.
The next week, Richie resumed his duties with the dojo and MacLeod began prepping for another group of graduate students, carefully setting up his young friend for a confrontation about his education.
"Really, Mac, we didn't have to come here," the young Immortal protested, scanning the menu in French and looking cross. "We could celebrate with a pizza a bed for a third of the cost."
The Highlander looked up, a grin breaking out on his face. Ever since the young man had stepped out of the bathroom, dressed to the hilt, Duncan had been smiling, mostly because he was overwhelmed at how handsome Richie was.
MacLeod had announced they would be dining out at a fancy restaurant when he handed over the young Immortal's first paycheck. "Dress up," the Highlander had told him before giving him the afternoon off to shop for clothes. When the blond had appeared, dressed so similar to the Scot that it was uncanny, it took all Duncan possessed not to drool. And Richie's stunned reaction at the Highlander's outfit, sliding slowly into a wide grin, was answer enough.
Both were in dark slacks, with shirts and vests, MacLeod's a black with silver patterns over a white shirt, Richie a maroon paisley over gray. The young Immortal had sauntered over, leaning up for a kiss. "I think you look hot when you dress like a model," he had said. "I wish you'd wear an earring, though."
So a small diamond stud graced Duncan's lobe, Richie smiling every time he looked at it. And the sight of the happy young man made the Highlander beam. "You look absolutely stunning," the Scot whispered after they ordered.
"I had a marvelous teacher," the blond Immortal replied. "All this pretty packaging just makes me want to go home and unwrap you."
The Highlander laughed, his erection stirring as he mentally pictured that act. "We can do it *after* we eat."
"And soak up all the lascivious stares we're getting," Richie added.
"You really like to tease, don't you?" Duncan chided.
For a second, a brief flash of some unidentifiable emotion crossed Richie's face, then his lips twitched and he slowly reached up and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, exposing an arousing hint of his hairy chest. "If you can't stand the heat...."
Dinner went well, the pair resuming a normal conversation over their meal. Nether wanted to cause the other to choke on such well-prepared entrees. It was over dessert and coffee that MacLeod forced himself to stop fantasizing about his friend and start a serious conversation.
"Have you though about what you want to do?" Duncan asked as he set aside his dessert fork. "With the rest of your life, I mean. Or just the near future."
Richie's eyes lost their twinkle and his face grew sad. "Like managing a run-down dojo for a century or two? I though racing would be it, but...."
Duncan waited, letting the young man collect his thoughts.
"I know this is going to sound like I have no ambition, but I like running the dojo." He shrugged, giving the Highlander an apologetic smile. "Heck, I liked working in the antique store."
"You said you were having fun managing that bass player...what was his name?" MacLeod added.
The blond grinned. "Yeah. I'd forgotten him. Uh, Cory...Litman? That was fun, until he dumped me."
"There's nothing wrong with being a manager, Richie," Duncan pointed out. "Even if it *is* a rock and roll band. Or just managing a business. Even the Bill Gates of the world have to start somewhere."
"Yeah," the young Immortal replied. "But I won't get anywhere running your businesses, Mac. No hope for advancement."
The waiter interrupted to clear the plates, and Duncan wanted to wait until they were undisturbed. "I have a lot more assets than just a run-down dojo...."
Richie rolled his eyes. 'Oh, yeah. I can just see me walking into a multi-million dollar corporation wearing a leather jacket and plopping down in the president's suite. That's taking a charity case too far." At MacLeod's perturbed glare, he added, "sorry."
"And what's wrong with that?"
The young Immortal stared at him with a hint of anger. "I don't feel like being regarded as a trained monkey...."
Anxious for a change of venue, or at least one with a little more privacy, Duncan paid the bill and suggested a walk along the pier. "Really, Rich, what's the difference between the dojo and another business?" he asked once they were out in the night air, their breaths foggy in the cold.
"Are you just dense, Mac? You remember how much trouble you had showing me that simple accounting program? All the time you spent going over my work? I doubt another business would be even *that* simple."
Duncan paused, stopping Richie with a hand on his jacket. "You could learn. You could go to school...."
At the mention of the "S" word, the young Immortal snorted. "Yeah, right. Richie goes back to school. Isn't that a movie of the week already?"
"I'm serious," Duncan said.
"So am I!"
The Highlander tried a different approach. "You seemed to do all right with your GED."
Richie moved away, leaning over the pier railing and staring out across the bay. "That was different. You were adamant and Tessa helped me a *lot*. College won't be quite that simple. Even if I thought I could hack it as a student."
It was hard for Duncan to understand the constant belittlement. He walked over to the young man, and settled an arm over his shoulder. "You don't have to play 'student.' Just take a couple of classes, while the dojo's closed, and I'll help you. A *lot* if need be."
Moonlight reflect off the water lit Richie's face when he turned to look at the older Immortal. "You would, wouldn't you?"
Duncan placed his other arm around the young man, drawing him into an embrace. "I want you to succeed, Rich. At whatever you want to do. Business is a lot safe than racing motorcycles."
Richie's lips were trembling when the Highlander bent to kiss them. "I can't promise anything," the young Immortal whispered.
Strong Scottish arms wrapped themselves tighter around the blond they held. "Just do your best," Duncan whispered back. "Make yourself proud, and I'll be satisfied."
A sharp tug on the Highlander' ponytail brought his ear next to Richie's lips. "Take me home, and I'll make *sure* you're satisfied."
Duncan chuckled. "Same old Richie," he added as they walked back to the T-bird, his arm still over the young man's shoulders.
The next day was the Saturday before classes began. Duncan walked into the dojo office with a stack of books, setting them down on the desk with a huff. "I swear they keep getting heavier every semester."
Richie moved them so he could reach the invoices underneath them. "That's because each year, they have more stuff to add at the end."
Well aware he was walking into a trap, MacLeod corrected his friend. "Most of them stop after the sixteenth century."
"Unlike a certain Scotsman I know," the blond retorted, amused that he managed to make a joke. "Well, at least you don't have accounting textbooks," he said as he pointed over to a bulging backpack in the corner. "Those are from the sixteenth century."
"Like a certain Scotsman you know," Duncan helpfully added as he bent over the desk to kiss Richie. "How many classes are you taking? Everything they offered?"
"Naw, just three and a lab. But it will feel like it. After Monday, I'll be studying every free moment I have."
The Highlander got a mischievous glint in his eye. "Then I guess tonight we'll have to do something special -- since we won't have time for wild sex anymore. Shall I try and find that leopard skin loincloth? We could see just how great a hunter you can be, with me as the prize."
"Ravage the savage? Bo-ring." Richie's eyes glazed for a moment, then he stood up. "Watch the dojo for me," he said, grabbing for his coat. "I've got a better idea."
"Hey, aren't I paying you to...." Duncan began as the young Immortal rushed out of the office.
Richie turned back to shout his parting comment. "I'm delegating."
Closing time was fast approaching when Duncan felt the Immortal arrive. A cop walked through the front glass doors, blue uniform, mirrored glasses, nightstick. An Immortal cop. A cop that looked suspiciously like Richard Ryan
The officer slowly walked toward the office, most of the customers giving Duncan confused or apprehensive glances. A few looked startled when they figured out who it was, with grins slowly spreading across their faces.
"Duncan MacLeod?" the officer asked, his voice straining at being low and gruff.
The Highlander tried not to smile as he stood and came around the desk. "Yes, Officer...." The Immortal forced his eyes away from the hardened nipple showing through the shirt to glance across the badge. "...Putnam? What can I do for you?"
The mirrored glasses bobbed down, the Highlander's body getting an obvious once-over. One hand opened the blue shirt and pulled out a piece of paper, which was handed over for Duncan's inspection. "I have a warrant to search these premises for illegal contraband." The order in the Scot's hand seemed to be accurate. "If you'll step to the wall and lean against it," Richie added, pointing to a blank section.
Duncan spread his arms and legs wide as he leaned forward, getting felt up by a professional. Fingers teased both his nipples, and a hand firmly groped his crotch, lingering much longer than any law enforcer would normally let it. "That's not a gun, officer," the Highlander finally said.
"It's still a concealed weapon," Richie shot back, grabbing Duncan's wrists and forcing them behind his back. Before the Scot comprehended, handcuffs were locked around them. He was spun around and backed against the wall, his hands trapped behind him. Richie looked him over again and proceeded to examine his front once more, closer this time.
With everyone in the dojo watching, Duncan squirmed as Richie slowly opened the Highlander's shirt, baring his torso and exposing both nipples. These got rolled around in the young Immortal's fingers, sending jabs of pain and pleasure through the Scot. MacLeod started squirming against the wall, hating how Richie was pushing his buttons openly, but also loving every minute of it.
"Please...," the older Immortal begged, trying to tell Richie to stop doing this in public. That got his tits pinched hard enough to elicit a yelp. The Highlander's shirt got ripped the rest of the way open, pulled off his shoulders to circle his waist, further trapping his wrists.
"I'm giving the orders, now, Mr. MacLeod," Richie said loudly. A hand grabbed at Duncan's belt, drawing his body forward, while the other began fondling his growing erection. The hand stroked the cloth-covered shaft, squeezing hard at each of the Highlander's soft whimpers. Five o'clock rolled around, none to soon, and "Officer Putnam" turned to the assembled spectators. "Don't all of you have somewhere else you need to be?"
Duncan was mortified as the crowd dispersed, some outright leaving, a few others heading toward the showers. He was on the verge of ejaculating, terrified of performing such an intimate act in front of strangers, but Richie's groping hand was hard to resist.
Richie spun him around again, face first into the wall. A hard, blunt instrument started poking his ass through the slacks. Duncan prayed it was the nightstick. It ran over his cheeks, running up and down in the crack, driving him wild. He crushed his erection against the office wall, clenching his ass in anticipation.
"I'm glad I have your full cooperation, Mr. MacLeod," Richie told him. A hand tightened on his ponytail, yanking his head back, while the blunt instrument jerked up between his legs. The perpendicular handgrip was pulled until it pressed against his hard dick, crushing it.
Through jerks of the ponytail and subtle movements of the nightstick tormenting his privates, Duncan was led out of the office, just as the rest of the customers were leaving. "Lock up, will you?" Richie called, getting the attention of the last one. The guy, Jason something, looked back, catching sight of Richie leading the trapped MacLeod.
Something about being seen in that position did it for Duncan. His body shuddered in the bonds, a wet stain slowly spreading across the front of his slacks. Jason grinned, giving the pair a salute before walking out the door.
A sharp yank of the nightstick between his legs got Duncan moving, slowly coming down off the frenzied pitch of ejaculation. But he was still trapped, still caught in Richie's clutches. "Let's see if you have a permit to use that concealed weapon, Mr. MacLeod," the young Immortal taunted, adding a wrench up with the nightstick.
School started, and the pair settled into a routine. Richie left for campus early in the morning, sometimes before Duncan awoke. The Highlander would oversee the dojo's early clientele, manage his various holdings, plus handle any errands that needed running. Richie would return after lunch to take over the dojo, after a quick bite to eat that Duncan prepared. MacLeod would then leave for class and his limited amount of office hours, showing up at the dojo around five. The young man would come up late in the afternoon and fix supper, and then head off to the library several nights a week. When that happened, Duncan would close up the dojo and wait in bed for him. Richie would come dragging in, tired and frustrated, sometimes after midnight.
They had some wonderful talks late a night, while Duncan would massage Richie's shoulders or visa versa. They would talk about their day, or just sometimes fall asleep in each other's arms on the couch. But sex, which they both enjoyed, had to wait for the weekends.
That was the time Duncan looked forward to. Despite complaints from their customers, the dojo was closed at five on Saturday, not to reopen until Monday morning. Saturday was their "special" night, with Sunday reserved for recovery.
Some nights, they did dinner and a movie, coming home to copulate until the wee hours of the morning, letting their frustrations at not doing this during the week feed the frenzy. Other times, they acted out their sexual fantasies, like the jungle king or cops and robbers.
Duncan's revenge on Richie and subsequently favorite fantasy came about by accident. The loft's sink went haywire, the drain clogging and the taps sticking. All day Duncan had been wrestling with the plumbing, cursing the setbacks, until Richie had appeared.
"Hey, mister. Is the plumbing fixed yet?"
The sudden noise startled the Highlander, who promptly banged his head on one of the pipes. He let loose a string of curse words, some in languages long dead, and lay back on the floor, limp from the pain.
"Didja hurt yourself?" Richie asked, smacking a piece of gum. His foot settled over the ample crotch of Duncan's coveralls, rubbing gently.
Not terribly in the mood for repairs, Duncan replied, "go away and play with someone else, *boy*."
Richie's foot never stopped. "Is it gonna be fixed soon? I've been working out real hard, and I have to get ready for got a hot date tonight."
More than willing to play, Duncan scooted out from under the sink. The young Immortal was standing over him, wearing only a pair of shorts. He was sweaty, and grimy, the results of a hard workout right before coming up. "A hot number like you probably has a date *all* the time." It wasn't hard to add a leer to his face, the possibilities available more than enough to get the Scottish heart pumping.
"I...I..." Richie backed away as Duncan stood, looking nervous and wetting his suddenly chapped lips. "My dad will be home soon."
Duncan laughed at that, pulling down the zipper on his coveralls. "A daddy that would leave such a good looking son at home deserves what he gets. And the son does too...."
It wasn't hard to wrestle Richie to the bed, and Duncan found a surprising use for electrical tape. It seemed to work as well as the handcuffs.
One Friday, the Highlander was at the college early, called in for a planning meeting by the department head. Hungry for a bite to eat before his graduate class, Duncan headed over to the student center. It was a shock to sense another Immortal until he saw Richie, alone at a table, his back to MacLeod.
"What are you doing here?" the Scot asked, walking up behind Richie.
The young man spoke without looking up from his textbook. "I have a short break between class and lab."
Duncan sat down across the table, startled by the way the young Immortal was dressed. Since the beginning of the semester, Richie had dressed better, but today he not only had on a blazer, but glasses as well. "How long have you worn spectacles?"
Richie glanced up, his blue eyes nicely framed with silver. "Since I got tired of being mistaken for a teenager."
"It works," Duncan admitted, shelving his comment about how adorable the young man looked for a more private moment. "You should wear those around the dojo."
"And look like a bookworm amid all that testosterone? No thanks."
The Highlander dug into his salad. "Well, they look good on you. What are you reading?"
One of Richie's earlier lectures had involved the Magna Carta, and the professor had skipped over most of the chapter. Duncan pointed out a few facts that were missing from the history books, and they started discussing the pros and cons of that one event. Before long, the hour was up, the Highlander wondering where the time had gone.
And so started another of their rituals. Every Friday, Duncan came to the campus early, and the pair had lunch and discussed history. MacLeod found it very enjoyable, and he sensed Richie did as well, but like the glasses, the fascination for history never manifested off campus.
The Highlander's idyllic world came crashing to a halt the Monday before Spring break. He got up as usual, Richie already gone but with a hot pot of coffee left behind. Repair work on dojo equipment filled the morning, so he was late fixing lunch. Richie never came home.
Not ready to panic, Duncan remained at the dojo for the rest of the day, waiting patiently for his friend to show up or call. The phone didn't ring. The young Immortal never walked through the door. The Highlander tried working out, and when that didn't calm his nerves, he resorted to grading papers in the office. Late that night, he finally went to bed, alone.
He stopped by the Business department the next day before his class, using his charm and campus connections on the secretary. Richie had not attended class the day before, or today. So whatever happened, it occurred early in the previous morning.
That afternoon, at the dojo, he sensed an Immortal approach. Trying hard to stifle the urge to yell, he looked up in time to see a large bear of a man enter, wearing a long coat and looking around. Their eyes met, and a chill went through Duncan's body.
"Can I help you?" he asked with a modicum of calm.
The man ignored him for a moment, taking in the surroundings. "Where have you hidden him, MacLeod? Where's the pup?"
Duncan stepped closer to a pair of katana displayed on the wall. "Pup?"
"The young boy. Richie Ryan. I know he's become Immortal, and I know he's with you."
The warrior MacLeod reached out and unsheathed a blade, while the lover was dying inside. This man had probably run into Richie yesterday, and now the young Immortal was hiding. "That's right, he's with me. And unless you plan to go through me, you should leave right now. And don't come back."
The man eyed Duncan critically before smiling. "So protective. Just remember, I saw him first." Casually, the man turned and walked to the front doors. "I've waited this long, I can wait some more. Go ahead and play mama bear for the cub. I'll take care of you, on my terms, and then reassert my claim."
It was a bit after the stranger left before MacLeod relaxed. The blade slipped from its rigid position, the point falling to the wood floor. Duncan barely knew what to think. Richie was missing. There was a strange Immortal after him, wanting to "claim him."
A quick and apologetic phone call to Shandra, his department head at the college, got him out of his remaining lectures for the week. The rest of the day Tuesday was spent checking Richie's haunts and old neighborhood. None of his friends had seen him for over a year.
It took nearly all day Wednesday to travel out to the island. The cabin was deserted with no sigh that anyone had been there in quite a while. He took a moment to clean it up and repair the minor damage that had occurred, vowing to bring Richie up here for a vacation when the semester was over.
Thursday, Duncan scoured the city, checking again along Main Street and some of the darker places. But despite the cash spread around, no one claimed to have seen the blond in months. He thanked them, and left. It was hard to decide if they were protecting their own, or had not truly seen the young man.
The next day, MacLeod got up, mechanically went through his morning ritual, lost in thought over a half-eaten apple for breakfast. He had run out of ideas. There was absolutely nothing else to be done. All he could do was wait. All he had left were hopes and prayers.
He went for a walk, stopping for a short visit with Father Mathews and to light a candle. Then back to the dojo and a restless day of sitting behind the desk, waiting. It was killing him.
Supper time arrived, and he closed the dojo. Up in the loft, he stared at the refrigerator, unable to decide what to eat. Music didn't soothe his nerves, and a hot shower only made his skin tingle. He was tense as a leopard, pacing around the small, masculine room. One that despite the many weeks of double occupancy, sported no memory of Richie ever having lived there.
Except for clothes. Duncan opened a drawer filled with Richie's T-shirts, running his hand over the cotton and wondering if he'd ever see his friend fill it out again. Outside, a storm started, the turmoil in the sky mirroring MacLeod's own.
As the night progress, he became increasing frustrated and angry, matching the thundering fury outside. The wind and rain beat at his windows, fueling his anxiety. A sharp flash of light, followed closely by an earth-shaking rumble, and the power momentarily failed in the loft, plunging it into blackness.
Trapped, filled with stress, Duncan was close to losing control. He felt like a wild animal in a cage, lost without his lover and afraid for his sanity. No longer able to bear it, he stormed over to a window, throwing it open, letting the wind and rain billow around him, a primal scream on his lips from a heart ready to burst.
A figure stood frozen way down in the alleyway, the lightning playing over the features. Instead of a scream, Duncan's lips fell slack. "Richie?" he asked, no chance of being heard over the storm. It was hard to tell who it was, but in MacLeod's soul, he knew whom it had to be.
The Scot was soaked by the time he reached the alley. Afraid of spooking the figure, he approached slowly, his uncertainly melting when he sensed the Immortal. A bright flash from the sky, and Duncan saw it was Richie. The young man was as still as a statue, even with the turmoil surrounding him. He was staring unblinking at the dojo at the end of the alley, soaked to the skin.
Duncan came up, placing a hand on Richie's shoulder. The young Immortal was as cold as ice, and still unmoving, his features screwed up in pain and fear. His lips trembling and his body was covered in goosebumps. MacLeod bent closer, and tried to make out Richie's words.
"Why can't I remember? What am I doing here? What's happening to me?"
Afraid for the young man's sanity, Duncan slung him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, Richie offering no resistance. The Scot struggled to get him up to the loft, setting him down on the sofa and quickly removing both their clothes. Richie kept mumbling, his blue eyes glazed.
"Here," Duncan softly said, wrapping the shivering blond in blanket and cursing the day he picked a home without a fireplace. Richie fell asleep as soon as the Highlander set him on the bed. "What happened to you?" the Scot softly asked as he smoothed the wet hair out of the young man's slack face. "What's going to happen to us?"
Richie woke late the next morning, subdued and quiet. It took an inordinate amount of questions for Duncan to conclude the young man had no idea where had recently happened.
"The last thing I remember, Mac, was leaving here for school. Monday morning. I stopped by...."
He would shake his head and give up. Where he had gone and why was a mystery. What he had been doing for five days was unclear. Duncan tried hard to keep his frustration buried, but he still occasionally snapped at Richie, causing the young man to withdraw even further.
The blond rested a lot while Duncan watched over him. Richie went crazy every time the Highlander moved too far from him. He was disorganized and confused, unable to find his clothes or remember where he was.
With neither of them having classes during the next week, they remained together at the loft. Richie fell apart further, prone to fits of crying and anger. Sometimes he would allow Duncan to comfort him, others he'd jerk away at the Scot's touch. His attitude and emotional state fluctuated rapidly, so much that the Highlander finally gave up trying to help him.
Several days passed before Duncan grew resolute enough to drag the young Immortal down to the empty dojo and thrust his rapier in his hand. Drawing his own katana, the Highlander took up an attack position. "We train. Until you're as good as me."
Richie turned and started to walk away, but Duncan drew his sharp blade over Richie's arm, drawing blood. The young man yelped, and used his free hand to stop the blood, and that's when Duncan attacked.
The young man didn't want to fight, but every time he let his guard down, Duncan hurt him. Sometimes savagely, until Richie was fighting with everything he had. They sparred for hours, Duncan pulling no punches, until they both were tired and bloody.
"We'll do this tomorrow, and the next, and the next. Get use to it."
It wasn't a pleasant evening. Richie brooded and hardly touched his supper. Duncan fidgeted. Finally, after the evening news, the young Immortal made a big show of sleeping on the couch, Duncan too upset to talk him out of it. The Highlander crawled into bed, his hand resting on the cold, empty spot where Richie usually slept.
Sometime in the early morning hours, Duncan felt a mouth close over his erection and afterwards, the young man spent the rest of the night in bed.
"Donny, are yew sure abou' runnin' away?"
The young MacGregor rubbed his hand over Duncan's back, the hay rustling every time they moved. "We canno' stay here, laddie. Ye father made it clear."
Duncan turned over, gazing at Donny in the fading light. "He said this is wrong. Tis a sin. Bu' I canno' be away from yew. Tis worse than a sin, tis a pain in my heart."
"Then we shall leave, Duncan," MacGregor said before kissing the hungry lips. "And we shall be together for ever."
The young Highlander snuggled closer, enjoying the warmth on his bare skin. He didn't think anything bad could harm him, here in Donny's embrace. Until his father found them. And he was torn away from those arms. Forever.
They fought constantly, either with words, or swords, or cocks. Richie learned everything the Highlander could teach him, turning it on its ear and throwing it back into MacLeod's face. With a concentration Duncan found alien, the young Immortal soon became the Scot's equal, so that any given fight was a toss-up.
One particularly bloody battle turned ruthless. Richie had Duncan's blade trapped, but was too close, and his stance was too open. The Highlander rammed his knee into Richie's groin, rewarded as the young man dropped to his knees in pain. The Scot had long ago stopped explaining the whys and how comes, instead letting his student figure it out.
Without pause, the Highlander attacked, Richie fighting from his knees. There was an anger and sullenness in the young man's eyes that MacLeod had never seen before. The dour look on the young face was new as well.
Richie let loose with a flurry of moves Duncan didn't know he possessed. The young Immortal caught the Scot with a blade to his side, a painful slice against the ribs. Neither gave any quarter as they butchered each other, until MacLeod's blade slipped from his hand.
The rapier was at his throat, digging in and forcing him back toward a piece of equipment. The stand dug into his spine while the blade lifted up his chin, and he looked into the depths of Richie's eyes. They were cold, ice blue. They sparkled with triumph and satisfaction. And to Duncan's dismay, hunger. The blade jerked away, and the Highlander was convinced he was dead. But Richie stumbled away to the elevator, and rode up to the loft, leaving Duncan breathless and drained.
They never spoke of the incident afterwards. And they never sparred again.
Life continued. They returned to their usual habits once school resumed, but there was an uneasiness that permeated everything. Duncan found Richie's method of dealing with problems was to ignore them completely. The comfortable companionship they had shared earlier wavered between open hostility at times to a frenzied lust that drained both of them.
Richie would alternate between withdrawn silences to a never-ending jumble of words. Sometimes he would shy away from the Highlander, almost in fright, others he would be unable to keep his hands off. Duncan grew more worried by the week, promising himself that once the semester was over, they would have a long talk, and possibly try and get Richie some help.
As finals got closer, the young Immortal grew more erratic. Duncan's fear for both his lover and the mysterious stranger kept him on edge. He used finals as a mantra, trying hard just to keep things together until then. When finals arrived, Richie was either locked in the dojo office studying, or at the library, putting finishing touches on a term paper. He would barely speak to Duncan, except to urge him on during sex.
Duncan discreetly called around, finding a reputable psychologist who could see Richie the next week, on Monday. Friday night, both were frazzled to the wire, unable to do anything but crawl into bed and sleep. School was done, finals were over. All they had left to survive was the weekend.
Saturday morning they slept late. Duncan caught Richie in a good mood over breakfast, kissing him and telling him they should do something special that night, to celebrate their freedom.
There was a flash of confusion in Richie's eyes, but then he told Duncan he was helping a professor that afternoon, but something that night would be fine. Welcome, in fact.
There was a chuckle lost in the Highlander's voice. "Why don't you wear a grimy T-shirt and dirty jeans, and 'break' into the dojo. I've been meaning to try those handcuffs on a certain street thief...."
To MacLeod's surprise and delight, Richie agreed with a smile.
It was late when the young Immortal arrived at the dojo. Duncan felt him first, looking down on the alley as he watched Richie hesitantly moved closer. The blond jerked to a stop, eyeing the building, but the Highlander was away from the window, hidden in the depths.
The locked front door wasn't a problem, even if Richie didn't have a key. MacLeod heard the squeak of the glass doors below and sprang into action.
Richie was in the middle of the large room, looking around. Duncan imagined he was checking the place out, trying to decide between the office and the elevator. The easiness of the small room at the end of the dojo won out apparently, as that's the direction Richie headed.
The young thief searched the desk as Duncan watched from the hall, mostly hidden from sight. Once Richie found the petty cash box, he emptied the cash into his pockets and headed out, looking over his shoulders at the elevator.
He wasn't paying much attention when he got to the glass doors. Richie stepped forward, suddenly finding himself confronted by the Scot's broad chest, a wall of blue that the young Immortal stumbled into.
The look of surprise and fear on Richie's face was priceless. The Highlander watched from behind mirrored shades as the young man stumbled back, landing on his butt with a hand out to keep "the law" away.
"Officer...," Richie stuttered, his terror making his voice crack. Duncan found the fear arousing, lording over the helpless was giving him a hard-on. "Please, I...I work here. I know the guy who owns it...."
Duncan stepped forward, sending the young Immortal scooting back. "He's the one who called the police. You're breaking and entering, and I'm sure I could find a whole lot of other things to charge you with. Resisting arrest?"
Richie was on the verge of crying. He looked pitiful. He was wearing a food stained shirt from a local restaurant, and faded blue jeans. "Oh, god, please.... Don't send me to jail, sir. I can't go to jail...."
"How badly do you want to stay out of jail?" Duncan asked, straddling the young man's legs. Richie had no where to go and he knew it. They both were breathing hard, the only sound in the large dojo.
"Mac...?" the young Immortal whispered, understanding dawning in his eyes. He lunged for the door, but not before the Highlander managed to grab him. It was easy for the Scot to wrestle Richie to the ground, such stuff was taught to the Clan boys at an early age. Duncan pinned the young man's wrists behind his back, reducing him to begging. "Oh, please, no.... Don't...."
All the whimpering and whining made Duncan even hotter, more than ready to plunder Richie's ass. Not even willing to wait long enough to get the worn jeans off the kicking legs, he unzipped his trousers and tore a hole in the seat of the young Immortal's pants. He plunged in roughly, without even bothering with lubricant.
Richie howled as he was being penetrated. The first time Duncan had taken his friend this way, Richie's scream almost broke the loft windows. The Highlander stopped, afraid of going too far, until the young Immortal explained, through tear-swollen eyes, that whatever pain he felt was minimal. That he enjoyed it rough, and that he was overjoyed at being able to make Duncan happy, even though it sounded like he was being impaled alive.
Since then, Duncan only felt a momentary concern as he virtually raped the willing blond, but each time, Richie had thanked him, and kissed him, and loved him. Of course, it didn't hurt that the young Immortal always got his revenge, one way or another.
So Richie's screams did nothing but spur him on, faster and harder. So lost in lust was Duncan that he didn't notice the young man shaking, or crying, or pleading for him to stop. All the Highlander was concerned with was getting off, and bringing his lover with him.
Duncan climaxed, enjoying one last thrust in the tight ass. As he came down, he rolled off Richie, reaching a hand out to stroke the sweaty T-shirted back. He wondered if he should take the young thief upstairs for "questioning" and the all-important strip search.
He was watching as Richie raised his head from the floor, but instead of smiling, the young Immortal was terrified. Cheeks wet with tears and face red, his lips trembled as he looked around dazed.
"Richie?" Duncan asked.
The young Immortal rose shakily to his knees, whimpering still, crawling away from Duncan toward the front glass doors.
"Richie?" the Highlander called again, concerned. He managed to make it unsteadily to his feet as the young Immortal scrambled out the door. MacLeod was ready to give chase before he realized going outside in a police uniform, a borrowed one at that, with a large stain on the pants was highly suspect. "Richie?" he called one last time, turning to run for the stairs and a quick change of clothes.
Once Duncan made it outside, he found the surrounding area deserted. No Immortal. The bike was still under the tarp in the shed, his car untouched. No sign of Richie.
Overcome by a severe case of déjà vu, the Highlander climbed into his T-bird, remembering the other two times he had done the same thing in less than a year. "I hope we can last until Monday," he softly whispered as he turned over the ignition and sped away from the dojo.
Main street was a bust. So were the mall, the softball fields and the old neighborhood. He tried the slum part of town, frustrated at his own stupidity and carelessness. Next, he headed toward the influential neighborhoods, and then the middle-class. The sun set, but still he drove. It wasn't until he turned onto the street Joe Dawson used to live that he remembered where he was.
Dawson's car was parked outside his house, and the lights were on.
Too panicked to think beyond the one question he needed to ask, the Highlander ran to the door, pounding on it. The porch light didn't come on, instead he heard the unmistakable sound of a shotgun being cocked. "Dawson?" he yelled, pounding on the door again.
"Get away from here, you bastard," the Watcher yelled.
That was not the reply Duncan expected. "Joe, what's going on?"
"So you finally lost it, huh, MacLeod? Come to take care of me?"
Things were turning bizarre fairly quickly for the Scot's taste. "What are you talking about? Take care of you? Dawson!"
The door opened, the Watcher with shotgun raised outlined by the frame. The mortal's eyes were aglow. "Richie called me this afternoon. He told me what you did, MacLeod."
Duncan looked straight at Dawson, unable to comprehend what he was saying. "What I did?"
Joe's eyes turned murderous. "You fucking bastard. He finally, after months, gets up enough courage to go talk to you, and you jump him on the dojo floor. How could you rape your own student?"
"Fine, Simon. Just fax me the last week of the Ryan Chronicle. No, I don't know where he is. Yeah, if he comes by, I'll call you. Thanks." Joe hung up the phone, looking over at Duncan. His eyes still held anger, but also mirrored the Scot's confusion as well. The Highlander looked over at him, but had to look away.
"So?"
MacLeod heard the mortal snort, then go stomping off to the kitchen, his cane a steady accusing thump on the floor. "We should get a look at what exactly is going on. Simon's not the best at keeping up, but you can bet if Richie got a pimple, it would get recorded. So we wait and see which of us is telling the truth."
It had taken all the Scot had to calm the Watcher down, and even then, Joe was stunned at the tale he was told. But not as stunned as Duncan was when Dawson told his. Yes, he had closed the bar, it was getting a little hot for him in the Watcher organization, and laying low was the answer. Yes, he had seen Richie, almost every other day. The young man started coming by about three months ago, looking lost and alone. Joe helped him get a job washing dishes at a local restaurant, and helping him find a cheap, inexpensive apartment. The mortal even fed him a late supper several nights a week.
Since Duncan hadn't tried to contact the Watcher, and someone else was doing all the watching, Joe was content to manage the Northwest organization as a bureaucrat, and listen to Richie complain about lousy jobs and lousy places to live. Until finally the young Immortal had come and told him he was going to see MacLeod, to try and mend their relationship.
"Come on, Dawson, you had to have known he was living with me!"
Joe glared over his cup of coffee. "Had to? Richie's rarely even mentioned you! For all I knew, you had dropped of the face of the earth."
The argument was interrupted as pages started spewing out of the fax machine. Joe read the first one, his eyes scanning the paper. His face held no emotion as he handed over the fax.
Duncan felt reality slipping away as he resumed driving around the city. The last few months seemed like a dream, one where his friend, his lover, was living two different lives, behind his back, without the Scot even noticing.
Richie had told Dawson he was raped, as if MacLeod was a monster who would take someone by force. He had been working three jobs, one Duncan didn't even know of. And keeping a separate apartment. And knowing Joe was still in town, but not saying a word.
The sudden presence of an Immortal hit him. Quickly he pulled over to the side of the street, looking around at all the dark, empty buildings. Downtown, full of old warehouses and dark alleyways. Not even the homeless come here.
His sword glistened in the streetlight as he crept toward the only hidden spot in sight, an alley. He heard the soft drip of water, felt the cold night air as it swept around him. And down the way someone called his name.
"Duncan MacLeod." The large man stepped into view, brandishing a wicked saber. "Seems I can have my cake and eat it, too."
Raising his katana in a defensive position, the Scot glared. "Where is he?"
The stranger chuckled, settling into an attack posture. "Where he belongs. He knows only I can take care of him, and give him what he deserves."
"Not if I can help it," Duncan hissed, attacking.
The clang of steel echoed in the deserted alley, flashes of light from their blades illuminating the dank bricks. Footing was treacherous, and it seemed the stranger had the upper hand. Duncan's boots slid constantly on the shifting rubble, keeping him off-balance and struggling.
A sudden awareness of another Immortal and his overwhelming concern for Richie distracted him, enough for the other combatant to land a debilitating blow. His feet shifted, sending him to his knees, blood gushing from his wound. "Say goodbye to little Richie, MacLeod."
The stranger looked shocked as Duncan jabbed up with his katana, piercing a lung and driving the man back. They were both mortally wounded, the fight going to whoever recovered first. Not good odds in Duncan's opinion.
It was getting harder to keep his eyes open, his body growing cold. He heard a strangled gasp from his left, from the stranger on the ground. His eyes fluttered, trying to focus.
Richie was standing over the large stranger, the saber in his hands. "Bad boy. You've been a bad, bad boy." And without another word, he beheaded the stranger. The young Immortal stumbled away, dropping the sword and falling to his knees. He didn't see the Highlander lying in front of him, didn't seem to notice the electrical energy that was building. "Bad. Bad. Bad."
That was the last thing Duncan saw.
"No," he cried, struggling against the arms that held him. Fought as he watched his father brandished the lighted torch and threw it on the barn's thatched roof. Cried when he heard the screams from inside as Donny was burned alive. He fell to the ground after they let him go, his legs unable to support him. It was much too late to save his love from the flames.
The pain was unbearable, and for a year he wanted to die. To be with Donny forever. But his father made sure he worked, and was involved, and as time passed, the young Highlander moved on. But he never forgot. And he vowed never again.
The judge quickly ruled it self defense and ordered psychiatric evaluations for Richie. Duncan had been unable to talk with the young Immortal, gently but efficiently deflected away by layers of bureaucracy. After they took Richie to a mental hospital, they even stopped bothering to return his numerous calls.
It came as a complete shock to him when a lawyer showed up at the dojo, asking if Duncan had any intentions on assuming legal guardianship. It was then he was given the name of a social services worker, one he made an appointment with as soon as possible.
"Mr. MacLeod, I'm Sam Chrane." The middle-aged doctor gestured toward a seat in the cramped office, sitting as Duncan did. "I guess you're wondering what's going on."
The Highlander nodded, trying to remain calm. "I'm a little confused. Richie was arrested, tried, let off, locked up in a loony bin without so much as a phone call, and...."
Sam held up a hand, interrupting MacLeod's tirade. "You're right on all counts. But we have good reason, which I would like to share with you."
Duncan looked grumpy. "Go ahead."
There was a thick folder on the desk, which Sam opened and extracted a picture. He handed it over, and Duncan recognized what must be a very young Richie Ryan. "Age 8. After two years in an orphanage and one unsuccessful foster home, Richie was placed with a Mr. Devane Cook." Another photo, from a driver's license. It was the mysterious stranger. "Mr. Cook was arrested for charges I will get to later, and sent to prison," Sam continued. "Richie was referred here for counseling."
"Counseling?" the Scot echoed.
"Yes," Sam replied, nodding. "He was in therapy for about a year, but we found no obvious or unusual trauma from living with Mr. Devane. He was then reintegrated into the system, and if my information is accurate, placed in another foster home almost immediately."
Duncan looked up. "He told me about his foster homes, but not a Devane Cook."
"We believe he had suppressed the entire experience, but that's not unusual." Sam handed over another photo, one from a school yearbook. "We didn't see Richie again until he was fifteen. Since there was an earlier note in his file, he was sent back to us."
"Why?"
There was sad look in Sam's eyes. "Richie was starting to exhibit schizophrenic behavior. In fact, we uncovered several distinct personalities."
"What?"
"We found Richie was suffering from FID." When the Highlander remained confused, Sam explained. "Fractured Identity Disorder. It's common among survivors of child abuse." Duncan's sharp intake of breath sounded loud in the room. "The victim will usually create alternate personalities to handle the stress and shock in an abusive situation. They have no other coping mechanisms. In Richie's case we found one personality that kept the facade of normalcy at school, one that was the protector/aggressor, one that handled the sex...." Sam stopped, waiting for Duncan to react.
The Highlander rolled his eyes as things began to make sense. "Sexual abuse."
"Inside all of that is the original personality, hidden away from harm and pain, only allowed to come out when it's safe. In Richie's case, even that was deeply buried. Instead, he used a tougher facade to cope with normal living."
"Tough guy," MacLeod whispered. "So what I've known is not really Richie? Just a fake personality?"
Sam shook his head. "No. In most cases, these alternate personalities are mirrors of the original. But they each grow and learn in separate situations and end up quite different from each other."
"So that a person could have two homes? Three jobs? And not know they all exist?"
"Exactly. We found this in Richie's case. And he was being successfully treated. But at the first of his senior year, he disappeared."
Duncan smiled. "He broke into my store. And then came to live with me."
Using a pencil, Sam made a note in the file. "In any case, some recent trauma must have brought the alternate personalities to the fore, and I'm sure the reappearance of Mr. Cook didn't help matters. He was paroled last month, and no one thought to try and warn Mr. Ryan."
"Tell me what happened," the Highlander asked. "To Richie."
Sam eyed the Scot, folding his hands over the folder. "I must warn you, it's pretty intense." At Duncan's nod, he continued. "An undercover sting operation made a bust of Mr. Cook's home, for possession and distribution of child pornography...." The Highlander's eyes squeezed shut. "Mr. Ryan was featured heavily on several tapes."
Duncan opened his eyes and examined the files. Under several papers was a black video tape cassette. "Is that one?" he asked as he pointed.
"Mr. MacLeod...."
The Scot shook his head. "I need to see."
"Say hello to everyone, Richie," Cook said, his voice issuing from the worn speaker on the TV. On the screen, Devane was sitting on a bed next to a young boy, unmistakably Richie, around eight years old. Sam had left, leaving the Highlander alone in the conference room.
The sandy blond kid waved at the camera, only dressed in pull-on shorts. "Hi!" It was the same happy smile Duncan had sometimes seen. Rarely.
Devane reached for his trousers. "Does Richie like lollipops?" The child nodded, looking up at the Immortal with eyes wide open. "Does Richie want a big thick lollipop? With cream inside?"
That made Richie's mouth water. "Yes, daddy!"
And Duncan watched as his friend, over a decade ago, was introduced to sex. Watched as Richie's small head was forced down by two adult-sized hands, despite the child's cries of fear and confusion. All recorded in living color. And sold. The Highlander watched every moment on the tape, heard every scream and plea, his hands tightening on the chair arm. He forced himself to experience it all, even though bile rose in his throat.
As the final moment faded to black, the Highlander left, barely making it to the bathroom before regurgitating up his lunch. He stood over the toilet, crying, wondering how a human being, even an Immortal, could not only permit that, but instigate it. Sam found him there, offering a glass of water to clear his throat, and wanting to answer any questions. Duncan had many.
They went back to the cramped office, the social worker ignoring the Highlander's lack of concentration for the rest of the afternoon. They discussed therapy options, had Duncan wait while his guardianship was legalized, and before he left that day, Richie was his.
"...and they lived happily ever after," Duncan finished, closing the book. Richie wiggled, causing sharp pains to shoot through the Highlander's legs. But no matter the discomfort, Richie enjoyed being read to, sitting in the Highlander's lap, and the Scot could begrudge him nothing.
"Read it again," the young Immortal urged.
Duncan shoved the young man to his feet, standing as well to restore the circulation to his numb legs. "It's past your bedtime," he pointed out, his heart skipping a beat at Richie's look of disappointment. "Go brush your teeth and get ready for bed."
"Yes, sir," the young Immortal pouted, walking slowly to the bathroom.
The Highlander replaced the book on the shelves, now filled with all sorts of storybooks. As the water ran in the bathroom sink, he marveled at how things had turned out. After extensive testing, the doctors concluded that the alternate personalities had somehow disappeared, and only the Richie personality at eight remained. Duncan didn't bother to explain about the Quickening, only offered a silent prayer that it had miraculously solved one of the problems.
So instead of therapy, Richie attended a special school in the mornings, advancing rapidly in both scholarship and mental age. He was now the equivalent of a ten year old.
The young man came out of the bathroom, dressed in pajamas, and headed for his twin bed in the corner. He crawled under the covers as Duncan walked over. The loft was cramped with two beds and extra drawers, so Duncan had bought a property on the outskirts of town, perfect for a growing boy, and began to build a home for them. In the afternoons, they both went out, the Highlander letting Richie help with the small stuff, or just watching him play in the yard. If they worked all summer, it would be ready by fall.
Duncan sat on the edge of the mattress, pulling the covers up to Richie's neck. "Sleep well," he said, smoothing the rough blanket on top.
Arms shot out, encircling his torso as Richie hugged him. "I love you, daddy."
The Highlander held the young Immortal tightly, his voice choked up every time the young man called him that. "I love you, too, Rich."
The blond smiled happily as he lay back down, Duncan again covering him with the blankets. Richie closed his eyes, pretending to sleep, knowing that Duncan would sit there awhile, watching. Sometimes he would smooth the hair back from Richie's face, or draw a line with his finger on the young man's cheek.
It wasn't hard for Duncan to banish any sexual feelings away. Just the though of hearing the young man scream in pain, either from the video, or from the dojo floor was enough. His desires were unimportant, what was crucial was Richie's well being. And if the young Immortal would never look on him and whisper "my love" in his ear again, that was all right.
He loved Richie in many ways and forms, and felt blessed by this opportunity to make a soiled childhood right, to make this disaster into a second chance for the young man. And one day, Duncan would gaze upon a bright, happy Immortal, beaming with goodness and light. And remember that Richie forever. Not the broken, haunted street thief he had met before.
Duncan would see to that. No matter what the cost. After all, they were Immortal. They had enough time.
And more than enough love.