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Beer III

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[..] all the time there is tension, drawing closer, meandering current of basic desire for closeness, mind-numbing and captivating, never felt before so strong, so intense, defying logic and reason.

Duncan wants him, wants to taste his lips, wants to feel his body, his desire.. In the back of the mind, voice that goes on analyzing .. a tiny voice says: it brings you external validation that somebody of such power will find even flying fancy in you.

 

Methos.. he is complicated and painful. For he is not looking meekly, oh, no. He is evaluating Duncan: without admiration, yet with a desire.

Methos, the self-serving bastard, he is looking, weighing his options, as if measuring and weighting - if Duncan is good enough: for him, for them, for.. oh, hell, who knows what for.  Searching and researching him, Duncan - approaching like an object of his scientific and very academic interest. Research in passion? Compatibility? Best way to conduct affair, keeping the best from both worlds: almost marriage and affair? 

Duncan does no know nor he wish to find it out, at least not now - for the answer might be in his favor: so he do not ask and do not tell.

 

He, Methos, does not complain about Alexa. Still, if everything is great at home – why Methos agreed to take a walk with him? Why? It confuses and gives hope.

Yet he asks Duncan, point blank: what’s up? Who is waiting you at home, in your bed, with a supper ready.. that young and nubile student of yours, that has taken fancy in you?

-No.. he demurs, heart beating wildly in the throat and jeans very tight suddenly - no girl at home

- A boy? Cocky, and teasing, and drawing him wild. Brown eyes becoming impossibly wide, calling, calling, enthralling..

- No! He splutters, offended and weirdly feeling proud at the same time, being thought so diverse.

 

With an infinite tenderness, Methos insincerely apologises, - sorry, just teasing, did not mean to offend you.. but his eyes laugh, he has been probing into him, asking about him, prying.. being interested in him, thus.

 

The rest of walk around the city was .. intense, insane, impossible to remember.

Glintwine and snow this evening, despite the warm and bright morning (Omen.. this is omen, Duncan can swear), decorated Old City. Speaking. Asking. More questions.

The most unusual person he had known so far. No more teasings, albeit he must confess, he wants them. Looks forward. Would like to tease Methos, but don’t know how, feels so impossibly young yet .. worldly, valued highly, by recognition of Methos.

 

Then the crowd turns even more and more full, and they are struck together.. Methos is so close to him, eyes are dark, so dark… his face upturned, attentive, inviting.

And Duncan.. he becomes restless, daring, crazy even by his measures, moving himself closer inch by inch, old city walls with red bricks behind his back, Glintwein in blood, oh my God, as if protective hand around him.. colleague like, not colleague like, blood pumping into his veins.. 

 

Methos eyes are huge, making all his the world, becoming all his world…go big or stay at home. Well, Duncan has always been bad, so very very bad in staying put home, staying home.

He wants Methos so much, so much, so much and now.. and he moves closer over the last inches, carefully touching him with pounding heart and burning lips, feeling daring as never has felt in his life, as never ever before.. tensing beforehand, waiting for hit to come, for a hand - gently moving him away, for pity, for cold disdain “what do you image yourself to be, what are you doing”.. and then, then Methos kisses back, and there it is, the truth is here, he was right, he was so right, Methos wants him, really wants him, wants him as well.

 

Methos is prize and mystery, he is impossible and he had never in his life wanted something so much..  mostly because he is impossible to reach, understand, be his completely.

 

He (Duncan) might be devoted to his work, but he is not complete dunderhead, he understands Methos wants him for some unknown reason and, of course, selfish bastard that he is, Methos won’t give up his way of life with Alexa, the life he already has.

 

God, this is so wrong on so many levels, so many places, this is not the time or place for love, not even lust…but when it is? When is it convenient to love and be loved? Methos is as good as married, Duncan.. he.. has fan base, a vast fan base, that he feels very comfortable with: no strings attached, yet it provides him with companionship. To change it all? Throw away? For what?

 

Duncan and Methos.. they have age gap, he doesn't know what else, but he better takes what he can today, even if there is no future, than live to regret a moment not spent together.

He dares to deepen the kiss, and gets swept off his feet. Yes, he is boy, in Methos’ eyes, but there is feeling Methos is not going to harm him or abuse or take his head.

 

He is seducer under the false pretense of being seduced, yet he is tender and the utmost aphrodisiac - he is protective.

It is mind-boggling combination that makes Duncan steel hard with desire, extreme desire to touch, to belong, to have him, to belong to him.

He is going bunkers, going mad, going stir-crazy – kissing him, losing himself in Methos’ eyes, and imagining for a moment their children (now Duncan knows he has lost whatever mind he has possessed); never ever before has he imagined having children together with somebody being child himself, for so long, despite everything that has been said or done, killed and revived.

 

Methos drags him closer, and he cannot, for life of him, get rid of the feeling he is taking the moment as well, carpe diem, taking all that they have right now and future be damned.

He is here, kissing, kissing and caressing, and plotting, and wanting and more, and more, and now.

He will be afraid. Very soon. But not yet, not yet. Kiss is a benediction, kisses wards off evil yet to come, passion burns like a sacred candle, protecting and saving from falling grace.. while the snow is falling, falling all around them, in the early days of November, with a winter yet to come.