by Westwind
May 2003
Spring 2060 ~ Arrival
April 30, 2060
simplicity is
having one change of clothing
and only one cat
Duncan is sleeping, looking like an angel just too exhausted to fly. He'd beat me if he knew I had ever thought of him as an angel, but St. Duncan with the flaming sword has kept all at bay--if I don't get there first. Turned slightly on his right side, the sun is falling on his torso, while his face is in shadow. He is so deeply asleep even the steady noise of the railroad car, the clanks and the jolts, has not disturbed him. You can tell that he plans to get up and fix sandwiches; he's gone to sleep in his jeans and a sweatshirt.
Both the cats have decided to sleep in the bed with Duncan. Lily has claimed the place of honor in the sun on his right side, her gray and white coat glistening in the waning summer light. Magnolia has ignored the outraged looks and the subdued hisses from her sister to bed down on his left side; this was HER master, after all. Lily is curled decorously into a ball, while Maggie is lying on her back--all three of them are deeply asleep. I'm staying away so they will continue to nap.
Turning to look out the window on his side of the car, Methos watched the landscape flow by, with the vacant houses and barns fallen into complete ruin, where the empty fields filled with trees of less than fifty years growth showed glimpses of a thousand shades of green. It was very pretty, but Methos preferred the new growth of crops in orderly fields.
Something from his childhood, he guessed. It saved a lot of questions to say he didn't remember anything until his first quickening; he remembered too well. In a hamlet of perhaps fifty souls and surrounded by their patchwork fields, young Methos grew to adolescence. He and his mother had tilled their tiny field and kept their line of scrawny chickens alive.
When he was about ten, his mother married the new smith. She was soon pregnant; his memories of the final days were episodic--memories of his mother struggling in pain in the fetid interior of their hut, the screams on the last day, the sudden silence, and he knew that she had died.
The midwife had come out of the hut, bloody, with a bundle in her arms. He knew now that he was a foundling with an unknown mother and father, but he had loved his sister. That night his stepfather took him into his bed and taught him about pain; he continued as his stepfather's whore until he was sold to slavers as a pain-loving catamite. He didn't love it; he knew he had to endure it in order to survive. But he had forgotten their names.
Methos consciously moved his mind away from this subject. With Duncan's share of the salvage money from the good ship Corky, and their profits from the sale of property in Ohio, and with what he had found in New Orleans, they would start out with more than they had had since the plague.
Methos guessed the private train car was frivolous, but it got them some quiet time. Utilitarian rather than luxurious, it had a pair of seats built into one side and a bunk on the other. All the upholstery was dusty red, and the dust from it rose in clouds, making the air smell dry and sharp. The bed supposedly was meant for two but not for two six footers. It had a non-functional galley and a small bathroom with the commode open on the bottom; looking down into it, you could watch the rail bed flowing by.
Maggie woke up, stretched, and hopped down. She was a black and white shadow moving among the dappled shade of the car. Using the litter box with the scratching, and the digging, and the splatter of sand falling everywhere but in the box, she hopped up into Methos's lap to resume her nap. Absently petting her, Methos looked back outside at the deepening shadows. The sharp-shinned hawks flew lazy circles in sky, looping around before flying home for the night. He let the future in Dallas roll over and over in his mind.
"Here, take Lily and put them both in their basket. And come and lie down with me." Duncan was sitting up holding Lily; Methos obeyed with alacrity, moving Lily and Maggie to their basket, lighting the lantern and adjusting the wick, and slipping into bed with Duncan. There was a certain amount of jostling around to settle the length of the men.
"I was hoping you'd wake up." Methos slipped his hands under Duncan's shirt, stroking Duncan's back as he spoke. "But I was staying away from you in case you didn't."
Duncan reached up to comb through Methos's hair with both hands, what there was of it. "Let it grow."
"No."
"Just no--no other reason? I don't ask you to let it grow long, just longer than this." Duncan tried a pout.
"Duncan, when it grows long, it starts to curl. And you know that. I end up looking like an overgrown cherub--you know, bee-stung lips and all." Methos touched the pouty lips with his fingers
"What about the nose." Duncan kissed the fingers, then touched the beak gently.
"Who ever said what kind of nose cherubs had to have?" Methos tilted his head as the kisses continued down the side of his face. He turned his head and captured Duncan's mouth. Methos moved over him, never breaking the kiss. He tried to devour Duncan with his mouth; he tried to taste what he touched with his tongue. And Methos was slain with the sweetness of it all. As Duncan moved to undress him, Methos took his hands and held them. "You're too goal-oriented. Let's just see where kissing takes us."
"Well, I was hoping it would take us to the ultimate."
"Yes. I know--too goal-oriented. This is not a contest, not this time. Just let it be." Duncan pouted very prettily. "That won't work. It's my way or the highway." That was one thing about being together for decades--you got to know all the little tricks.
Duncan laughed and relaxed against Methos. "Oh, all right. Just kissing? I can do that." And he proceeded to prove it. Duncan stretched out to his full length, pulled Methos down beside him, put his hands on the side of Methos face, and kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him--on the mouth, on the nose, on the eyes, around the face, along his chin, down his throat, and back up to kiss his mouth.
Rolling Duncan under, Methos really looked at him--one of the moments that he would remember always. Duncan was completely relaxed, with his eyes mostly closed, his mouth open, his tongue showing through lips, bruised and bitten. He was so beautiful. When he wiggled a little, Methos was electrified. Methos began kissing, and licking, and biting whatever came to mouth. "What are you going to do?" Duncan looked hopeful.
"Ha! Wouldn't you like to know? Since I can't seem to keep your hands off the essentials, I'll tie them." And proceeded to do it thoroughly. Duncan's hands were tied to his ankles, then his ankles were tied together leaving his knees up. Still astride Duncan's waist, Methos leaned forward and just brushed Duncan's lips and withdrew leaving Duncan kissing air. Methos snickered. "You look like a fish." Methos smelled Duncan underlying scent of moss that grows by a pond, the bittersweet smell of orange rind, and a tang of Duncan's sweat.
Methos was idly stroking his chest, but now he began to concentrate on Duncan's nipples. Duncan looked up to find Methos watching him. Methos smiled the sweetest, most wicked smile. "Now we begin." Duncan shivered. Thus began a timeless period, a curious mixture of pleasure and pain. Duncan used his voice to try to direct Methos to where he needed attention, but that didn't work very often.
Then Methos finally lifted up and took Duncan's cock into his body. He sat upright as the pain of the abrupt entry subsided. As Methos relaxed and became more open, he leaned forward to kiss Duncan, to nuzzle him with his beaky nose, to bite and chew gently along his lips and chin, his neck; Methos spent a lengthy time on his Adam's apple.
"Methos, let me go. Please." Duncan asked without much hope.
"No." Methos claimed his mouth for a deep, probing kiss. All the time he continued moving, stroking, patting, pinching. He was going too fast, though, and buried his head in Duncan's shoulder, shaking while he waited for his arousal to subside. Duncan was helpless to touch to console and comfort.
Seemingly without volition, Methos began to move. He changed the angle of entry, so that Duncan's cock brushed against his prostate again and again. The rhythm set by Methos grew faster. He wouldn't look at Duncan; he wouldn't touch him, his hands braced on the bed. Methos's banging into Duncan's torso was enough to spike his arousal. Suddenly Methos bit, and bit hard; he kept alternately biting and licking, until Duncan was pitched over into orgasm. Methos kept driving until he came and collapsed. Methos roused himself long enough to loosen Duncan's arms; the rest of the bindings fell away. Duncan held Methos close as he shuddered through the aftershocks.
May 1, 2060
blackberries hang down the sweet promise of summer green then red then dark
My old friend the darkness keeps me company as the train thrusts into the west (Clearly a phallic symbol). We'll arrive in Fort Worth sometime tomorrow morning. When the ticket seller in Baton Rouge heard we'd be going to the old Fort Worth station, I could tell he didn't think much of it. Moorish Fantasy at its most gaudy, it was new in 1900 when I came to town with Butch and Sundance. It was used as a museum/tourist attraction in the late twentieth century, then resurrected as a train station after the plague (according to everyone--AP). According to the ticket seller, a local vigilante group uses the newer station as a headquarters.
I want to go through Dallas in a train car so I can see what's happened to the city. The old saying was 'Dallas is about oil, Fort Worth is about Cattle'. There are still lots of cattle, but what does Dallas do without oil?
May 2, 2060
sweet Duncan, my love, my home is where your heart is. I cannot lose you.
(Romantic crap! At least he'll never read it.)
"I got used to the noise of the train; this seems too quiet." Duncan grabbed Magnolia as she hurtled toward the bathroom and safety just before the knock on the door. Methos went to open it while Duncan wrestled with his cat and lost.
"Howdy, folks. I'm Jed Roberts with the Atchison/Topeka. Just wanted to tell you that the eastbound train will be a day or two late--high water coming across the Rio Grande. If ya'll will stay aboard, we'd sure appreciate it; an unoccupied car is a beacon for mischief." He paused to breathe.
Methos took advantage of the pause. "I'm Adam Matthews, and this is Duncan MacLeod, and this is Lily." Lily blinked at Jed Roberts, sitting very erect with her fur fluffed out.
"Well, Miz Lily, what a beauty you are." He walked over and scratched her head, then turned around, still very much on message. "Can we count on you to stay with the car until the east-bound gets here?"
"Yes, of course. We'll be away for awhile looking for some place to stay permanently." Duncan smiled. "But we'll definitely spend the night here."
"Thanks. I appreciate it. I'll let you know when the east-bound is finally due. Bye now. Goodbye, Miz Lily; I'll see you later."
Closing the door, Methos turned to his cat. "So now you're 'Miz Lily'; it suits you." She blinked up at him.
"Let's go out and walk. We can find some place to eat and be back here by dark."
"Taking your new duties seriously, aren't you?" Methos quizzed Duncan with a hint of smugness.
"Yes." He said with a laugh. "The quicker we can eat, the quicker we can get back here." He wiggled his eyebrows. Methos could feel his ears start to burn. Duncan took him into his arms and just held on. "I love you. But we'd better go and stretch our legs."
Duncan bustled and, soon enough, they found themselves outside looking at the station. "What kind of architecture is that?" Duncan asked in an awed voice.
"A bricklayer gone mad. It's certainly a varied use of brick patterns--and brick colors." That was all Methos had to offer. "Let's find someplace to eat."
Walking the streets aimlessly under blazing blue skies, they wound up at Mama Rosalena's. It looked clean enough. From the curtains on the windows to the matching tablecloths spoke of loving care. As they sat down, Methos said to the waitress, "Country fried steak, cottage fries, and a beer."
"Certainly, sir. Do you want a beer while you wait?" This was a family restaurant, so this was a young Rosario; the sign did say "Mama Rosalena Rosario and Family".
Duncan smiled at her--admiring her youth, her perfect creamy skin, her long black hair, her willow slim body. Methos couldn't help his jealousy. Duncan aimed one minatory look at Methos, which he ignored, then ordered chicken and dumplings. Offering a small non-verbal apology he added, "And a beer."
After dinner Mama came over to see how they were doing and to accept their praise. Methos greeted her with twinkling eyes looking up at her through ridiculously thick eyelashes--with a small smile firmly tucked away. Methos knew exactly the effect he had on all the world's women and most of the men he met. "Do you know of any boarding houses around here that are clean and reasonably priced?"
Mama was still basking in the glow of that smile. "The building just behind this one is my family's boarding house. If you can come with me now, I'll show you the two rooms I have vacant."
"First of all, we have two cats, and we're not willing to be parted from them. Duncan was apologetic but firm.
"They're housebroken? If you'll be responsible for the damage and pay a deposit, then that's OK. I guess you want the larger room since there are four of you? It's in the corner--lots of windows.
sky goes on forever deep azure in the daytime lit by stars at night
Duncan is trying to persuade Maggie that she can walk while wearing a harness and leash; she seems to think she's tied to the ground. I think Maggie is too intelligent; she over-thinks everything: There is pressure on my shoulders; I must be tied. I hear a strange noise outside; it must be burglars. I don't know why Duncan wants to pick me up now; it must be something dreadful. And she's off.
A fire outside seemed a good idea even though it is early May--hot in the middle of the day, cooler at night. There'll be hundred degree days and eighty degree nights lasting through September. Duncan and I were born before air conditioning, and the cats were born after, so theoretically we should be all right. Texans maunder on about the dry heat. Heat is heat, and it's damned hot in July.
We took the room at Rosalena's place for a month, enough time to find a house. It would seem that Rosalena's would be perfect--a place to eat, a comfortable bed. But it lacks the degree of privacy we need. We have a big corner room, with tenants on either side; we need a safe place to practice, and privacy to fuck. So our stay will be necessarily short.
Finis.