The Game 2
Edited by Karen Leigh
Vision blurring into a shimmering aurora of opalescent colors, Philip made a grab for the back of the chair, but couldn't control his shaking hand. He felt himself swaying completely off-balance, only to feel sensation course along every nerve as an arm circled his waist, bracing him upright. Shirtless, barefoot, half-fastened pants riding low on his hips, its intensity was overwhelming as flesh met flesh. Anxiety, lust, confusion, and the colors...something was in the colors. It was important, but he couldn't remember why. Images came and went, transforming... Moaning softly, he leaned back into the nakedness that held him, muscle and heartbeat and smooth, warm skin. He let his head rest against the man's shoulder, hearing the quiet gasp and feeling rapid breathing on his skin.
Whoever Philip was, Methos found himself craving contact. He drew in his breath sharply as the tingling took him, radiating out from the places where their bodies touched. He didn't know what Philip was. A drug maybe, designed to hook him, hook his senses and drag his ancient mind moaning to a place of bright sensation - a place he will crave again and again. He felt himself respond to the too-hot body trembling against him and bit sharply against his tongue in an effort to control his response to something that he hadn't courted and didn't understand. He cleared his throat and moved Philip over to the bed. A small part of him was aware of Anson watching the two of them, and he knew that Anson would see his need, knew that it was painted in shimmering lust on his face. He just didn't know how to stop it.
5,000 years old and you still let yourself be led around by your fucking gonads. What the hell were you thinking old man?
Philip let himself be guided, his legs still wobbling and his entire body humming with the energy that seemed to envelop them both. Instinct still prompted him to pull away, to get as far away from this place and these people as he could, yet his hand lingered, gripping the man's arm for just a few more seconds as he lay back down.
As he laid Philip down, his need to follow and to know the extent of this connection shook him. He shivered and straightened up, telling himself that the clutching hand was merely a request for reassurance, and gasping again with the loss when finally Philip released him. Like this man or hate him, he didn't know how he would ever be able to live without craving his touch. Aware that his thoughts were rippling over his face for all to see, he fell back, turning to Anson to soothe as well as he was able, fearing that nothing he could do would help.
He placed Philip back against a pillow and turned to take Anson in his arms, aware of the confusion and distress that his lover was radiating.
"I don't know what happened, love," he said. "I'm sorry."
Anson moved forward to kneel beside the bed.
"You're safe. Nothing will hurt you. We don't want you to be afraid." Anson spoke seriously, stroking the curve of Philip's cheek as he did so. Methos hung back, still worried.
Philip flinched, turning his face away from the caress, the words. Another image, one that changed and escaped him like water as he tried to grasp it, leaving him deeply uneasy...
"Philip, I think that you'll be better for some food inside you. We should go and find breakfast. I promise I won't touch you again without your permission. Let's go and eat, and maybe then we can talk." He found his own clothing, discarded in a crumpled heap the previous night, and began to dress himself.
Anson remained by the bed, his face suspiciously blank as he waited for Philip. After another moment or two, he rose and began to pull on his jeans.
Gradually the room stilled again, the images dispersing as the waves of sensation eased. Taking a breath as if centering himself for meditation, Philip realized Methos was addressing him. He opened his eyes, guarded again, and rasped only, "I think you may be right...thank you." He made no overt reply to the man's promise, wondering why it left him less than relieved, and could see a flash of hurt and...embarrassment?...in the dark eyes, quickly covered as Methos turned to look for his clothes. Philip watched the efficient movements of his toned body as he dressed, unable to keep from thinking of how it had felt pressed against him, encircling him. How, when that close, the sharp-edged sensuality as their life forces intersected had urged him to things he had never wanted before... Even without it, without its undercurrent of warning, the man was hot, and Philip had no trouble understanding why Anson...
He sat up, looking around for his earlier partner. Anson was regarding him from across the room, strangely expressionless. He averted his eyes as they met Philip's.
Getting fairly steadily to his feet, Philip went to stand behind him, resting his hands on Anson's shoulders. "I'm sorry," he whispered, leaning in to kiss him lightly just under the ear. There was a faint shiver, little more than reflex, and he felt Anson tense under his hands. A tremor through the muscles clearly conveyed an effort being made not to shrug him off; Philip backed away, and Anson merely sat to put on his shoes.
Glancing at Methos, who was watching them both, Philip nodded thanks for his shirt, which the man had laid on the bed. He could really use a shower, but right now he'd probably only pass out and crack his skull. Or drown. Besides, all he had left were the same clothes he'd been wearing for days. Methos was right. Food and explanations first. With a small, wry smile, Philip finished dressing as quickly as he could, and followed his companions out into the hall. He knew he had gotten himself into something here -- in this compound, in this room -- and nothing was going to be right again until he understood what it was about. If then.
He was shaken. Following Anson and Philip out into the hall, Methos reflected that life was still throwing him curve balls after all of this time. McLeod might be the one when the Gathering finally came, but Methos was not tired of living yet.
Making his way to the dining room, Philip felt his uneasiness amplified by the urgency in many of those he passed along the corridor. An uneasiness that was already screamingly raw from the constant hot-spark buzz he felt from Methos, the sullen tension in Anson. The oppressive, unsettling awareness of their physical presence. He hated this, and it terrified him.
There was a puzzle here, Methos knew it, could feel it in the jarring feedback loop that seemed to be rising as Philip became more agitated. He could feel the escalating tension as though it were his own body stretching tighter and tighter. The man had to relax or explode, but Methos was well aware that Philip distrusted him, possibly even feared him.
As they arrived in the dining room and selected breakfast, Methos was frowning. He'd never been in this situation before, and it went against all his desires to remain out of the limelight. He felt as though he was approaching the Niagara Falls in a barrel, and he didn't like it one bit.
Who was he kidding? He liked it altogether too much and it terrified him.
With effort, Philip finally forced himself to walk over to the table where the others now sat, Methos appraising him narrowly as he approached.
Methos gave a sigh of relief as he saw that Philip wasn't just going to run for it. It was, after all what he would have done given the chance in Philip's position. Now, he had to pick his words so that they counted. He didn't want to drive the man away. He had no idea why, but he was convinced that Philip was important.
"Philip, we need to find out what's happening." When he spoke, his voice was thick and he didn't recognize it. He spoke the only words that he could manage, cutting through the niceties to lay his own need bare.
Anson sat, picking listlessly at cereal, and Methos touched his hand, wishing that they were somewhere else. If they hadn't come here, this wouldn't now be happening. He wanted to hold Anson close and pull the blankets over his head. He wanted to...
Philip closed his eyes, took a deep breath. He pulled out a chair and sat, toying idly with a fork in a bid for a few more calming seconds, until he saw Methos staring at the tremor in his hand. Whatever he did, he couldn't allow them to discern just how lost he was becoming... "I..." He cleared his throat, sipped at his coffee. "When I first got here, one of the...Macs?...said we'd all been drawn or called here, because of actions that have been taken to destroy them, and theoretically us -- " he glanced at Anson, who didn't look up, " the clones, as well. Some kind of massing threat, I don't know what." Jagged spikes of energy, the persistent image of swirling colors... He shook his head, but they didn't retreat very far.
Frowning, Methos watched as Philip attempted vainly to function. He looked from Philip to Anson, and saw a similar, lost expression on his own lover's face. Damn. This is all going wrong. Maybe I should just get the next plane to Vanuatu and pretend that the end of the world isn't coming at all. No, that would do no good. God damn his stupid conscience. He felt protective for these two babes with whom he had shared a bed. You've been in love before, old man. It will pass. Two or three years cold turkey and you'll be as good as new.
He couldn't get up and leave. Anson was so vulnerable, and here too was this Philip, as wounded and needy as anyone he'd ever met, and scared out of his wits to boot if he was any judge of the signs. No. He'd just have to bite the bullet, and do whatever he could to help get Philip over this... he had no word for it, but it could be beaten, he knew it. Everything could be beaten in the end if you lived long enough.
Philip made some small inroads on his food, but soon looked up again and was caught in Methos' gaze. At the edge of his vision he saw the man's gesture to Anson, instinctively affectionate and reassuring, and momentarily envied the easy comfort of it. But no. That was the lie. That was the trap. Something...he couldn't remember...there was too much noise, and the colors kept getting in the way... "That's all I know," he said. "Look -- somebody around here has to have more of a clue what we're up against, just on the basis of all the security and fortification we had to pass. Unless...that's meant to keep us in?" Philip looked levelly at Methos, making sure he knew it wasn't a rhetorical question.
"Nobody, to my knowledge, is trying to keep us here. We are free to go whenever we want. I'm here because of Anson. I came in with another like you two - one that I've known for quite some time. It's interesting to note that while I've known Cory forever, it was Anson that I fell in love with. That's proof that there are differences between you all, despite your similar looks." Methos took a bite of his toast. "The guards and security are here because this place belongs to some drug baron, from what I understand. He allowed you guys in because he's got the hots for one of your android look-a-likes." He smiled softly. "Not that it's difficult to have that. I can't say that I've escaped unscathed."
"Anyway," he continued, lowering his eyes and absently pulling a slice of toast into small pieces, "you want my opinion, once we find that out, it's a lot more likely we'll be able to figure out...everything else."
"I'm not entirely sure what we're up against. As far as I know, there are a couple of distinct menaces, or maybe that's merely how they are perceived by different people. To begin with, there is a company called Innobotics, and they seem to be the brains behind the development of the Mac 27 androids. As far as the human clones are concerned, I have some suspicions, but haven't had time yet to do more than suspect. Are you aware that you have a scar on the back of your neck, just above your hairline? Anson does too. I checked once I discovered yours. Whether I do or not remains to be seen. I doubt it though. I'm a mere hanger-on, not a clone." Methos spooned sugar into his tea. "I'd like to examine you and Anson, and Cory too for that matter. There has to be a clue in that scar of yours.
Philip grew increasingly uncomfortable under the prolonged scrutiny, the tension intensifying in the air around them. It was becoming harder to focus, and every explanation he tried to formulate only fell in on its own contradictions. He met the dark eyes once more, saw the desire, the confusion, and understood. //He's scared. He thinks it's me, thinks *I* know...//
Christ! I'm sure that there is some law against throwing a sick man down and holding him tight until he feels better? I'm not sure exactly which one it is, but I'd better not attempt it. I'll frighten the horses.
Gods. He was as mixed up as a teen. Anson sat gazing at Philip, hoping against hope that he would somehow turn this around and make it all right again. He'd known from the beginning - dammit, how could he have let himself think for even a minute that Methos would stay with him? Hadn't he learned by now - every fucking one leaves. They always saw him for what he was - a big fat nothing loser - and left.
Idiot that he was, Anson had actually started to believe that Methos just might be the one. Had allowed himself to imagine that they might stay together.
He was a fool. What would a man like Methos want him for?
Watching the interplay between Methos and Philip, Anson knew - he just *knew* - that it was over for him. Oh, Methos was a kind man - would want to let him down easily. Soften the blow, so to speak.
Well, damned if he was gonna sit here and watch Methos gaze hungrily at Philip. He'd make it easy on all of them and head out.
He'd been alone before.
He could do it again.
Decision made, he looked at Methos, memorizing the beloved face. It was for the best really ... best for everyone if he just left. He'd get up, walk out of the dining room, out of the building and leave the compound. They wouldn't mind - wouldn't really care. The way they were staring at each other, they'd probably not even notice his absence.
Quietly, Anson pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. Waving his coffee cup at them, he said, "Coffee's cold. I'll just warm it."
Methos nodded absently, and raised a hand as Anson stood.
And he walked away. Past the coffee urn. Out the door. Once he was out of Methos' line of sight, Anson broke into a run.
Methos' brow creased with the effort of determining what precisely was happening, and he waited for Philip to say that he would submit to an examination. Mentally, Methos was wondering where Cory and Dustin were. He wanted to check them both out too. He opened his mouth to tell Philip exactly what he and Cory were.
Shaken, Philip passed an unsteady hand across his eyes and down his unshaven jaw. "I don't know what to tell you," he murmured. "It wasn't like this before..."
"The tingle that you feel. It's because..." Methos closed his mouth, unsure how to put it. All his 5,000 years rebelled against the easy discussion of something that ought to be secret and yet Philip seemed, unknowing, to be one of them. "Some of us are different. Cory and I - and you too, I think... We're not the same as others. We're... we're immortal." He was quiet then.
The silence stretched. Mouth ashen dry, Philip reached for his cup and found it empty. Not sure he could make it back across the room, he was still grateful for the chance to put off telling Methos his story for a few more minutes, to concentrate on not revealing too much. Half-risen from his chair, he glanced over his shoulder at the service area, and suddenly realized something wasn't right. "Where's Anson?"
Oh, no! All of a sudden, Methos knew with a deadly certainty that Anson had run from him again. He flashed a strained smile at Philip.
"He's.. I mean... Oh, shit, I'm so sorry. I have to go find him. He's got no self-esteem. He thinks that you are... that I am... Oh, hell. It's silly, but I do love him." He stood up, searching anxiously for a Mac 27 - any Mac 27. "Please excuse me. I'll hope to see you in a few minutes." Turning, he raced to the door, and a Mac that had just entered.
"Please, can you send a message to the guys at the gate that Anson shouldn't be allowed to leave?" The Mac - Methos wasn't sure which, but one of them - nodded, and seemed to become abstracted as he relayed the request.
"He is there. They are holding him for you." With muffled thanks, Methos dashed out, Philip temporarily forgotten as he chased his lover.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Philip nodded numbly as he watched Methos stop and speak to one of the look-a-likes before dashing out the door. He sank back into his seat and stared unseeing at the two empty chairs, the remains of abandoned meals, trying to absorb what he'd just been told.
Immortal... And Methos, and this other one, this Cory, who looked like them. Anson, and others, with the same scar, the god's mark...but not immortal. So it wasn't connected? Something else, then, something... Land mines of information, strewn through Methos' matter-of-fact conversation, and why he believed it Philip wasn't sure. However, at this point it would only be a greater madness to try to discriminate between the greater and lesser degrees of insanity of what he was encountering. And was it really any less rational than what he'd been about to tell Methos?
No. No matter how much faster his mind was reeling trying to process the idea, there was a truth in it. He'd known it just from Methos' voice, from looking into his eyes... Philip shifted uncomfortably, thinking of what he'd seen there, directed at him. And the near panic in them at the realization that Anson had bolted for some reason... Philip didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to think at all. His head ached, and he needed air...
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
With the women in his life that enjoyed sex from the perspective of the seducer, loss of control on his part had been the goal. Orgasm was secondary. They'd wanted him where he was right now and would take him over the edge, getting off more on the power they had over him than the sex itself. Matthew couldn't say for sure, but he imagined that it wasn't all that different with a lot of men.
But ... but Beau seemed to want to go in another direction entirely. Matthew didn't know where that was or if he'd ever been there, but the feel of Beau's body against his was making his decision for him.
"Yeah," Matthew finally managed to pant aloud. "Please. Anywhere you want."
Something small, cold and wet pressed into his back briefly, but Matthew was too caught up in anticipation of what was about to happen to pay any attention.
Beau moved even closer to Matthew, so that their bodies pressed against each other from shoulder to knee. He raised one hand and lightly stroked the lovely line of Matthew's neck, then followed the motion with his lips. And, oh, Matthew tasted so ... so *Matthew*.
Matthew trembled. Frowning slightly in a vain effort at concentration, he tried to control his movements but found that he couldn't. What Beau was doing felt too damn good.
Beau knew that he'd never forget the wonderful spicy/salty taste of Matthew's skin.
He found a spot on Matthew's neck that caused a most gratifying reaction when he nibbled at it.
"Christ, yeah." Matthew panted and squirmed, both craving further contact and wanting to escape it. Beau was driving him crazy, somewhere past the need for physical release.
After a few minutes there, he decided to move on - find out what other areas of Matthew's body made him moan and sigh and arch when caressed.
"Oh, God!"
Shoulders - nice, but not the extreme reaction he was looking for.
"Yes," Matthew groaned, wondering why the hell he couldn't seem to shut up.
Clavicle - again, nice, but not as sensitive as that spot on his neck.
Matthew moaned Beau's name, bucking his hips uncontrollably.
Nipples - Ah ha! Definitely a winner.
Hands gripping Beau's shoulders hard enough to bruise a human, Matthew thrashed helplessly underneath the teasing android. "Don't ... please ... Christ!"
He was just settling in for a good long investigation of Matthew's nipples when he heard a whimper.
//Oh mah gawd, Tallulah ... you *wouldn't*//
Hoping against hope that the pup was just whimpering in her sleep, Beau tweaked one of Matthew's nipples between thumb and forefinger while he gently licked and nibbled at the other one.
Matthew was ready and willing to beg; he just wasn't sure that he was able. Words flowed. The tone was pleading, but he couldn't form coherent thoughts, much less express himself that way.
*Whimper*
A cold, wet nose insinuated itself between Beau's hand and Matthew's skin. And nudged. Urgently.
Damn, damn, damn.
Reluctantly, Beau looked up at Matthew. "Ah think yer girlfriend here is tryin' to tell us somethin', Matthew."
Tallulah shook herself and climbed up to sit on Matthew's chest. With soulful eyes she stared at him in mute appeal.
"What?" Matthew muttered, eyes darting frantically from the puppy to Beau. "What's the matter? Did I do something wrong?"
Wrong? Gawd almighty, if Matthew's response had any more right, Beau's circuits would've most likely melted.
Choosing to interpret the stunned look on Beau's face as a negative response, Matthew focused briefly on the dog seated on his heaving chest. "Is Tallulah okay?"
Hearing her name, the puppy barked, leapt off of the bed, and made a beeline for the door. When she arrived, she looked back over her shoulder and whimpered plaintively.
Beau's eyes tracked the pup's movements. He shoulda known. He really shoulda known. Female dawgs weren't called bitches fer nothin'. And, by gawd, this little bitch had jest proven herself to be about as much of a bitch as any bitch he'd ever run across.
Slowly, Matthew's brain came back on line. "She ... she has to go to the bathroom, doesn't she?"
This time, Beau's expression was half way between chagrin and disgust and a nod confirmed Matthew's supposition.
A grin instantly appeared and Matthew chuckled. Moments later, the chuckles matured into full-blown laughter.
Beau, on the other hand, did not look very amused.
Regaining a little control, Matthew regarded the puppy and whispered, "Saving me from myself, little one?" Grinning again, he addressed Beau, "Certainly saving me from you."
His wink dragged a small smile from Beau. And his murmured, "For now anyway," broadened it considerably.
Reluctantly amused by Matthew's amusement, Beau groaned dramatically and clambered out of the bed. He reached down and gathered his clothing from the floor, yanking them on as Tallulah's "potty dance" became ever more urgent.
Matthew watched Beau dress more avidly than he thought was strictly healthy. After all, Beau could be his twin, yet the nature of his movements weren't the same as Matthew's. Especially not right now when he was well and truly pissed at his prize pup.
"You comin' with us, Matthew?" he asked. "Right at the moment Ah can't guarantee that this here pup will be returnin' with me - Ah *could* easily lose her out there. 'Specially if Ah'm thinkin' of you waitin' here fer me ta come back and 'unsave' ya."
Laughing, Matthew swung his legs out of bed. "You'd regret it if anything happened to her and you know it," he asserted. "But to keep you from making that mistake, I'll tag along." With a sigh, he admitted, "I don't want to hang around here waiting to be unsaved. I'd be too tempted to take matters into my own hand -- so to speak."
"And that," he murmured, pulling on his pants gingerly over his now semi-erect member, "my friend, would be cheating." Matthew smirked at Beau as he reached for his shirt. "We don't want any of that cheating, do we?"
Tallulah barked.
Matthew grinned. "Smart girl." Invading Beau's personal space just a tad, Matthew noted. "I like morning walks. How about you, Beau?"
It wasn't fair. Not at all fair that Matthew should be taking this interruption so damned genially. Not fair that Matthew teased him - knowing or not - with a mental image of him 'taking matters into his own hand'. And, it was most definitely not fair that he should have to stand here and watch while Matthew covered up all that deliciously tempting flesh with clothing.
And, while he'd been thinking about the unfairness of it all, Matthew had moved closer, surrounding Beau with his scent. Reminding him of jest how little of that body he'd actually had a chance to explore.
And, Matthew was further confusin' him by talking. Coherently.
Whatinthehell had he said, anyway?
Walks? He liked morning walks?
Why would anyone want to go walking when they could be naked and horizontal with someone like Matthew? Was the man insane?
On the other hand... morning. Early morning. Most folks would still be asleep. As he recalled, it wuz a rather large compound. Must be some private little spots hidden around the place...
Smiling, Beau moved closer to Matthew and dipped his head to taste that lovely little spot on Matthew's neck that had affected him so drastically jest minutes ago.
"Jesus Christ!" Matthew hissed as parts of his body that had just more or less calmed down revved up again.
"Ah suppose," he mumbled, nipping lightly at the aforementioned spot, "that a walk would be tolerable - with the right incentive, that is. And the right companion."
"In ... incentive?" Matthew weakly managed, fighting the urge for his eyes to close and bask in the sensations that Beau's mouth effortlessly elicited. So maybe flirting a little hadn't been too bright. Beau seemed pretty accomplished at that activity.
Well, this certainly wouldn't be the first time that Matthew's impulsiveness had landed him in a situation. Stepping back, he noted, "Companion, I understand. Incentive, I'm not so sure. Well, other than avoiding Tallulah making an indoor puddle."
The intensity of Beau's gaze caught Matthew's breath in his throat and, suddenly, it seemed like a really good idea to get moving. Crossing the room, Matthew opened the door for Tallulah and the pup bounded through at good speed. Not looking back and refusing to consider that it might have been a tiny taste of fear that caused him to avoid doing so, Matthew followed, incredibly aware of Beau as he caught up in only a few long strides.
Damn dog! Just when he'd been on the verge of getting somewhere with Matthew, she'd had to up and interrupt. Hellfire, the man was skittish. No telling when he might manage to get Matthew in the mood again.
Matthew laughed at the puppy's rapid-fire transformation from relieved to playful. It was nice to see such enthusiasm for simple things. She was so small, yet so intensely alive.
As they walked, each smiling at Tallulah's unabashed joy and curiosity, Beau gradually moved closer to his companion. Smiled when Matthew showed no signs of discomfort as their shoulders brushed together.
Beau was quiet and seemed to have forgiven the pup. Matthew was silently glad; he didn't want to -- the idea was almost ludicrous, but right somehow -- come between Beau and Tallulah.
Up ahead, Tallulah caught the scent of something fascinating and took off, disappearing into a stand of pine trees. They followed her into the shaded area and Beau looked around with interest. Hopeful, very hopeful. The thick evergreens gave them complete privacy. Maybe...
"Matthew," Beau murmured huskily, gazing intently into the green eyes so like his own.
Matthew shivered. The sound of his name coming from Beau's mouth did some very pleasant things to him.
"'Lullah seems to have found us an outdoor room, here. Seems a shame to let her efforts go to waste. Rude, even." As he spoke, Beau slid his arms around Matthew's waist.
Beau's proximity forced Matthew to breathe faster, as though they were competing for the surrounding air. Another strange idea that Matthew couldn't seem to shake.
"What do you say we take advantage of the privacy she's provided us?"
A bit nervous, Matthew managed to smile and whisper, "And here I thought you wanted to take advantage of me."
Even Beau's laughter had a Southern drawl and Matthew could feel his control starting to slip once again. No one had ever gotten to him like this -- made him want to surrender to the sensations this quickly. A slight tug at his earlobe by Beau's teeth drew a soft groan out of Matthew. "God, Beau, what's your secret? You say a few words in that hot voice of yours and laugh at me and I'm ready to ... ah ... "
Any attention to that damn spot on his neck made Matthew's heart pound, but Beau had this lips/tongue/teeth technique that threatened to buckle his knees. Gripping Beau's shoulders to keep his balance, Matthew whimpered. Forcing his eyes open, he murmured, "Wouldn't want to be rude."
"Ah," Beau breathed into Matthew's ear. "You suh, are a truly considerate man."
Beau was using words of four syllables? How could he do that? Matthew smiled when he realized that Beau would likely say the same thing about him counting syllables at a time like this and, somehow, Matthew didn't think that being a writer would suffice as an explanation.
He moved closer, pressing their bodies together from shoulder to knee and lowered his hands, pulling Matthew's hips forward and bringing their matching erections together.
"Damned if you do and ..." Matthew's play at humor became a low moan as Beau moved more urgently.
"Gawd, you feel so damned good, boy. Ah think Ah'm gonna explode if we don't do something about this."
He ground his hips against Matthew's and couldn't suppress a needy whimper at the sensation. "You feel so good, Matthew... so right." His wandering mouth moved along Matthew's jaw line to nibble lightly at that delicious lower lip.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Dustin laughed and bent to kiss Cory again, chuckling. "You know, I'm glad you told me to keep an open mind... you kiss better than Darcy ever did," he husked. Running his hands up under Cory's shirt, he pressed his body against Cory's. "I'm sorry. I didn't... I..."
Grinning, he shushed himself by kissing Cory firmly on the mouth.
"Darcy had something when she told me to go fuck myself... but... I'm not out for just a fuck. And I don't think you are, either."
He pulled back and looked at Cory, playing with his hair, eyes locked on his. "I'm... I've always been... afraid of being hurt," he admitted softly.
Oh man. Cory swallowed heavily, his mind racing. What to do? Yes, he wanted Dustin. Had from the beginning. But... dammit, was he really prepared to face another rejection from the man? Could he trust Dustin with his emotions again? He didn't think so. Not so soon after being tossed to the side so cavalierly.
Backing up a step, he met Dustin's hopeful gaze with guarded eyes. "Dustin, don't take this the wrong way, but, you're not the only one afraid of being hurt here." One of his hands rose to cup Dustin's cheek. "You hurt me pretty badly earlier and I'm just not ready to go through that again. I think we should take it very slowly this time. Get to know each other as friends first - see what, if anything develops after that."
Dustin blinked. This man had been all over him, and now... now, when he was ready... he didn't want him. Must have been the thrill of the chase, or, as was typical, the perceived glamour of dating a producer. Goddamn typical.
Making his gaze as cold as he could, he snapped, "Yeah. I don't know what I was thinking. I'm sorry. I promise you, it'll never happen again."
And he turned quickly, and left the room, so Cory wouldn't see the hurt on his face.
Dustin walked outside, to the meditation garden. Sitting under a large tree, he looked out across the stones, idly picking one up and running his thumb over it.
First Cory was all over him, and now...
Cory said Dustin had hurt him. Fuck! How? All he'd done was be honest, for once in his life. He never promised Cory anything. So what right did he have to put him on a guilt trip?
What fucking right?
[Well, you're the one who's got yourself on the guilt trip, Dusty. Stop the car and get out.]
Yeah... it sounded easy. He sighed, slipping the stone into his pocket, and ambled over toward the Koi pond. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his cell phone and clicked it on.
He needed to call Mackey, let him know where he was. He was bound to be worried. And he should at least fill him in on yesterday's meeting...
He brought the phone to his ear, and immediately jerked it away. There was the most hideous sound of interference... damn. He looked around, and threw up his arms.
"This is great. Just fucking great."
He began walking towards the building again, in hopes of finding a usable phone.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Emerging through the large front doors of the main compound building, Philip stopped and closed his eyes, letting the sunlight wrap him as he breathed in the sultry, scented breeze. After a minute or two, he looked across the expanse of the lawn, noting the increased security presence as well as the seeming obliviousness of the couples and groups who were strolling or playing on the grass.
He started walking slowly, off the broad front terrace and around the side of the building, heading almost aimlessly toward a less cultivated looking area of the grounds. The shade was cool, the resin smell of evergreen pleasantly relaxing, and the thick carpet of pine needles muffled his footsteps even more as he wandered off the narrow path.
Abruptly, he was startled by a sharp, high-pitched yapping as a small dog erupted from the bushes in pursuit of a squirrel, which fled a few feet up the trunk of the nearest tree and regarded its nemesis with supreme boredom. After uttering a few futile yips of protest, the pup abandoned her game and trotted over to look up at Philip expectantly.
"You lost, huh?" He squatted in front of the excitedly dancing puppy, which readily licked his carefully extended hand. "Me too." Sniffing him, the dog looked briefly confused, then rocketed away to dart back into the bushes as quickly as she'd come.
Standing, Philip shook his head, absently wiping his hand on his pant leg as he continued along. The sheer normalcy of the playful little animal, the quiet of this small wood, was almost unnerving in itself after the last day or two. But the cacophony of sensation he'd been experiencing was muted here, and the trapped feeling had begun to ebb a bit...
A few feet away, the undergrowth began to shake wildly, the rustling accompanied by whimpering and deep, rough-edged moans of pleasure. Philip stopped in his tracks, at first merely grateful he hadn't trod on the concealed pair, then disturbed by how quickly the sounds of their lovemaking aroused him. Reminded him. As a passion-thick voice growled "Matthew!" in at least five syllables, he backed away. Setting out in a different direction, Philip fled deeper into the stand of trees.
Having finally found a secluded spot a few minutes' walk beyond the passionately entwined couple's retreat, Philip had seated himself on an outcropping of rock. Leaning back against it, he looked up at the sky, watching the drift of clouds and the swaying of the tips of the pines far overhead.
He'd received an abundance of gifts over the last few years. Gifts sensual, spiritual, physical, material... Not only his life but a radiant and exuberant health he hadn't felt since he was about 19, and incredible luck. He'd done the best he could; he'd *tried*...but no matter what Methos might think, he was only human. He hadn't been ready, hadn't tried hard enough, and had gotten lost... Had failed the god who'd favored him so lavishly, and maybe now he was finally going to have to pay back all his borrowed time. From what he'd been seeing here, what he'd been feeling -- and if Methos was somehow right -- Philip knew it might well not be as uncomplicated a price as death...
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Damn, damn, damn!
Cory watched Dustin's exit with regret. Why was nothing EVER simple? He'd wanted Dustin, liked Dustin, could have loved Dustin... And the man had said 'no'. Quite definitely. Why, he wondered, the sudden change in attitude?
Shaking his head in confusion, Cory started walking. Distracted, he barely paid attention to where he was going. When the puppy came pelting from a stand of trees, he almost yelped with surprise.
"What the hell?" He murmured, bending over to pick up Tallulah. Blinking, he looked around, amazed to find that he'd wandered outside and was standing at the edge of a wooded area.
"Where's Beau?"
Tallulah answered him with a damp kiss on his nose.
"Well, okay, if you're gonna flirt you can stay with me. At least I know you won't stomp off in a huff." Lowering the Tallulah to the ground, Cory continued his walk, smiling at her antics as she chased leaves, pointed at squirrels and generally acted like the puppy she was.
As he turned to head back, he felt a faint buzz. Almost like the buzz of another Immortal... but not quite. Freezing in place, he scanned the area, trying to locate the source of the odd sensation.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
A tingling passed across Philip's skin and he sat up abruptly. Like Methos, but not; as easily distinguished as a different musical note. Was this Cory, Methos had mentioned him? Had to be. Something engagingly familiar...
The rambunctious puppy bounded out of the undergrowth and clambered happily up the rock and onto Philip, standing on his lap with her little forepaws planted on his chest. Even as she nosed and licked at him, as if they were old friends reunited after a long separation, he felt the tingling sharpen and intensify. He turned his face toward it even before he heard the sounds of someone approaching, and saw a rakish-looking version of himself emerge from the trees.
The duplicate stopped a few yards away, fists on his hips and with a confused, wary expression that melted into a grin as he surveyed the tableau. Without really being conscious of it, Philip returned the smile.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
" Matthew, ah want you, Matthew. Can we...?"
Oddly comforted by Beau's habit of asking permission, Matthew panted his reply. "Yeah. Yeah. Please."
He was rewarded by Beau taking slow, languid possession of his mouth. For a moment or two, Matthew feared that he would drown in that kiss, lose himself in the other man, give too much too quickly and come to regret it as he had so often in the past. After that, there was only the taste of Beau and the exquisite pressure of his lips and hands and hips.
The smile that Beau bestowed on him when he lifted his head demanded one in return. Feeling reckless and as alive as Tallulah had seemed earlier, Matthew asked, "What do you want me to do?"
"Ah, Matthew," Beau said huskily. "Ah don't want you to do anything but feel good - let me make you feel good."
Passive wasn't really Matthew's thing, but he was out of his element here and he knew it. So he tried to go along for the ride.
Slowly, he sank to his knees, pulling Matthew's willing body down with him. With nimble fingers he unfastened the buttons holding that damned irritating material between his hands and Matthew's lovely, warm skin. Oh yes. Lord, the man tasted good. Eagerly, Beau tasted every centimeter of flesh within reach, his hands moving restlessly over Matthew's back.
When he thought he could control his reactions to Beau's impeccable form of sensual assault well enough, Matthew clumsily reached for the buttons of Beau's shirt only to have his hands pushed away. Grinning at him to soften even that gentle rebuke, Beau did the honors to his own shirt far more quickly and efficiently than Matthew could've managed.
Needing more, he carefully lowered Matthew back onto the grass and settled next to him, one arm under his neck, the other roaming over the exposed torso. He nibbled and sucked on one smooth shoulder, while his hand found its way to that intriguing bulge at Matthew's crotch.
Plucking at the snap at the waistband of the obstructing jeans, Beau raised his head to look pleadingly at Matthew. "May I?"
Did he say something? He'd heard sounds that might've been words, but Matthew had been too distracted by Beau's actions. God, the man knew what he was doing. Exactly what he was doing.
Struggling to focus, Matthew murmured, "What?"
Like the gentleman he was -- although Matthew wasn't sure that Beau's behavior would completely qualify at the moment -- Beau repeated his question.
Matthew considered for a moment. Not Beau's question, but one of his own. Why the hell does all this asking turn me on? Deciding that was inexplicably strange, Matthew moved on to Beau's inquiry. That one was easy to answer. And Beau had slowed down his tactile and oral explorations to allow Matthew to collect a few of his scattered wits.
"If you don't, I'm going to embarrass myself," he grunted. "And these are the only clothes I've got for right now."
When Beau grinned happily at him and bent down to bite a hardened nipple, Matthew lifted his hips slightly and whispered, "Please."
Efficiently, Beau unfastened Matthew's jeans and pushed them down. With a truly inspiring wriggle, Matthew managed to slither out of the confining garment. Grinning, Beau brought the other man's hands to his own waistband. "Help me out here, Matthew?"
Motivated and given a specific task, Matthew concentrated and got it done.
Gratified by the quick response to his request, Beau gave a sigh of relief as his own jeans were shoved out of the way. Smoothly, Beau moved to cover Matthew's body with his own, reveling in the sheer joy of sensation he felt when they were pressed together, no obstacles between them.
Matthew was briefly aware of the feel of the pine needles beneath him before the all over stimulation that was Beau dominated his senses. He'd never imagined that lying with a man could be like this. Anything like this.
"You feel so DAMNED good, lover," Beau moaned.
Shivering in response to the word "lover" and the tone in which it had been uttered; Matthew tried to think of something to say in response. That was when he realized that his brain had shut down at the request of the rest of his body.
"Ah've wanted this so much - can't hardly believe we're finally gonna ... gonna..."
His cock brushed against Matthew's and suddenly he lost his ability to speak. With a whimper, Beau gave himself over to the incredible sensations racing through his body.
Relieved that Beau seemed to be almost as out of control as he was, Matthew bucked his hips, trying to gain some leverage to rub against the man above him. Without much success. Beau was in control and there was nothing Matthew could do about it. Nor did he want to. Beau had promised to make him feel good and he was delivering. In a big way.
"Beau," he moaned, writhing beneath the man he'd named. "God, that's ... that's so fucking good. Too good ... too much ... Christ, Beau!"
His name again. Beau had to stop saying his name like that. He had to. Matthew wasn't ready to come. The feel of the other man's body pressing against his, stroking his erect nipples, his hardened cock, was driving him closer to the edge and nearly insane with pleasure. When Beau claimed his lips, Matthew moaned breathlessly as he surrendered.
He'd made love outside before, but this was different. It was both frantic and measured. Frenetic yet sensual. And he wanted it to continue with all of his being.
It seemed that he'd come to that conclusion at one level before he had another as Matthew realized that he heard his own voice pleading, "Don't stop. Please, Beau, don't leave me like this."
"Lord, Matthew," Beau panted, "ain't nothin' short of a nuclear attack that could stop me now." He groaned again as their matching erections ground together with each movement of their hips. As his excitement rose to a fever pitch, Beau found himself perilously close to completion.
And, it was too soon. He wanted more - wanted...
"Matthew," he gasped, "Ah want you to..." Reluctantly peeling himself off of Matthew's body, Beau crawled up to straddle his hips.
All Matthew could do was repeat the word "No." Beau couldn't stop. He couldn't, dammit. And he'd said he wouldn't. What the fuck is going on?
"Ah want you to be inside of me. Ah *need* it."
Inside? What? We're under some pine trees and the sun is shining. The setting is fucking beautiful. "Don't wanna go back inside," Matthew panted, confused. "Want to stay here, Beau. What's wrong with right here."
Staring down with green eyes clouded over with desire, Beau smiled tremulously. "Please, Matthew, will you fuck me? Right here. Right now?"
Oh. Inside ... that way. Well, shit, at least that made some sense. Matthew just wished he had experience with this sort of thing. Not disappointing Beau was high on his "To do" list at the moment.
While one hand gently pinched Matthew's hardened nipples, the other lightly caressed the cock he so desperately wanted to take into his body. "Please, Matthew," he whispered.
"Yeah," Matthew murmured. "Whatever you want. However you want it, Beau."
Taking a deep breath, Matthew swallowed his pride and his fear, reaching for Beau and continuing, "You'll have to help me out a little. I've ...I mean I know what you want me to do, but ... Well, hell, you know I've never done this before. I don't know why the hell I'm beating around the bush."
Staring up into Beau's eyes, Matthew somehow found the strength to whisper, "Put me where you want me and tell me how you like it."
A thrill of pride ran through him at the trust Matthew offered. Beau smiled brilliantly and leaned down to capture Matthew's lips in a hungry kiss. Lord, the boy tasted too good. However had he managed to get this lucky?
Despite the clear presence of the ground at his back, Matthew felt like he was flying. Free, he decided. He felt free. Like nothing bad could touch him. How could a kiss do that? Never had before.
Breaking away, Beau lifted his head. "Don't you worry 'bout a thing. I'll take care of you."
Take care of me? He wants to take care of me? Smiling, Matthew pondered the concept to the extent he could with Beau so near. Matthew was the nurturer. He took care of other person in his relationships. That was just the way he was and he'd never questioned it, or given it a whole lot of thought before.
With a moment's concentration, Beau released lubricant into his anal passage. There were times when his robotic nature was downright handy. He reached back with one hand and grasped Matthew's erect penis, holding it upright as he slowly lowered himself.
Oh. My. God. Hot. Tight. Slick. Christ, this is ... it's ... fuck .. it's incredible.
And, god almighty, it felt so damned good Beau whimpered with the pleasure of being filled so completely. Watching Matthew's expression closely, Beau grinned at the grimace of pleasure he could see on the face so like his own.
Tentatively, he rose up on his knees and then slid back down. Oh yeah. Oh YEAH.
Moaning, Matthew's head tossed from side to side, helpless in the throes of a lust that was building, by the second, toward a peak. He suspected that he was about to scale heights the likes of which he'd never seen.
Gently, he reached out and brushed sweat-slicked hair off of Matthew's forehead.
Matthew's eyes focused in response to the gentle touch.
"How you doin', lover? Ever'thing okay?" he asked.
It took three attempts for Matthew to manage to speak, but once he had his voice, words tumbled forth. "Okay? No, Beau, things are most fucking seriously definitely not okay." The chagrin on Beau's face couldn't be tolerated. "We are so goddamn far up from okay on the 'How does this feel?' meter that I don't know the right word for it."
Another pistoning motion of Beau's body had Matthew shuddering and groaning. When he could control his tongue again, he whispered, "And I know a whole lot of words, Beau."
Pushing upward the next time Beau descended, Matthew closed his eyes to better appreciate the feel of the other man surrounding his cock and panted, "How 'bout you? This enough for you?"
With a great amount of concentration, Beau managed to give Matthew a shaky smile. The sensations racing through his body were just so... intense. Damn, he'd never felt so out of control. It was a little frightening, actually - but in a most wonderful way.
Biting his lip, Beau drew in a shaky breath. "Matthew, Ah... Ah never felt anythin' like this. It's ... You're... "
Gasping, Beau abandoned the attempt at speech and concentrated on moving his hips.
Matthew's smile at Beau's efforts at a response widened as the movements of his lover's body drove him to greater pleasure. He knew the end was nearing and that there was no way he could keep it at bay.
With each downward thrust of his hips, as he was so completely filled with Matthew's warmth and strength, he felt a little less... himself. A little less separate. Part of something MORE. Something he'd never dreamed existed - not just Beau anymore - somehow, with every breath, every sensation, he became a part of Matthew.
As they moved together, Matthew stared into Beau's eyes, willing him to see, to know, to understand. It was a big request, because Matthew himself didn't know how to describe what he was feeling beyond the blatantly obvious. There was something in Beau's eyes though -- some element of ... recognition -- that gave Matthew hope. Which was good -- no, better than good -- excellent, because there were other matters demanding Matthew's attention and that he speak up.
"Slow," he panted. "Slower, Beau."
He was immediately obliged, but the feel of that body retreating and returning and retreating and returning at a much decreased speed only enhanced the stimulation all along Matthew's cock.
"Oh, Christ," Matthew groaned, hips bucking of their own accord. This wasn't helping matters. Not at all. Not even the tiniest bit. Making things much much worse, in fact.
"I ... I'm gonna ... Fuck, Beau, I can't ... I'm trying but I can't hold off. Are ... are you ... even close?"
It took all of his concentration to decipher Matthew's words. When they finally sank into his dazed mind, Beau groaned. "Mmm... Lord, Matthew! Ah'm 'bout to lose it here."
Thank God, Matthew silently breathed.
He inhaled deeply and forced his eyes to focus on Matthew with pleading intensity. "Touch me. Please, Matthew, I need you to ..."
Feeling powerful, Matthew reached out and grasped Beau's cock, stroking it firmly and insistently as he did his own when he needed it.
A warm hand closed around him, and Beau nearly sobbed with pleasure. "Oh, god, Matthew. I'm gonna... I can't wait..." His torso arched back, as he felt the convulsions begin.
"Matthewww," he gasped. "Yeah. Oh, YEAH."
Matthew could no longer consciously control his hand or his hips. What Beau ... what Beau's body was doing to him put him on some primal, basic plane where only instinct remained. The instincts to keep his hand moving and to pump his hips. Those instincts and one word -- Beau's name.
God above, he'd never in his life seen anything quite so beautiful as Matthew was at this moment. Stunned into near-immobility, by the sight, Beau struggled to collect himself and keep moving his hips.
And the way Matthew kept sayin' his name... He'd always been fairly neutral on the subject of his name, neither liking nor particularly disliking it. It just WAS. Now, though, he knew he'd never be indifferent to the sound of that one syllable - particularly when uttered by Matthew.
Suddenly, Matthew arched up beneath him, his muscles taut as orgasm hit. And that pretty much did Beau in. That, and the way Matthew just ... *wailed* his name. With a muffled shout, Beau was lost in a maelstrom of pleasure that deluged his senses with an intensity that took his breath away..
His orgasm was on him like a bolt of lightening and his whole body hummed with the electricity of it. It was intense and completely overwhelming. After what seemed to be a very long time, Matthew lay back, spent and sated, staring in awe at the one who had driven him to this.
"Wow."
Completely stunned, Beau stared at Matthew in silence for a moment. Finally, he collected enough brainpower to smile down at the man. "Oh. Mah. Gawd," He said breathlessly. "I... you... Hell, Matthew, that was the most amazin' thing Ah've EVER felt."
Amazin', he said. Matthew had to agree with that assessment, but all he could manage was a smile and a nod.
The effort expended in uttering those few words drained Beau of any remaining control he might have had over his body. With a sigh, he collapsed forward, resting against Matthew's chest. Contentedly, he buried his face against the warmth of Matthew's neck and closed his eyes.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Well, well, well.
Not only another clone - this one seemed to be another Immortal. Cory cocked his head to one side, grinning at the sight of Tallulah climbing all over the man as if he were her best friend in the whole world.
Stepping forward, Cory nodded in greeting. "Hi there," he offered, still smiling. "I see you've met Tallulah. I'm Cory. I have to admit, you're a bit of a surprise. Not so much that you look like me - but that you're... ah, LIKE me."
A frown marred the pretty face of the stranger and Cory paused, blinking in surprise. "You DO know that you're an Immortal... Don't you?"
Right to the point... "So I've just been told," Philip replied as neutrally as he could manage. "I'd like to say it was the most unusual part of my day so far, but..." He turned his attention to getting hold of the wriggling puppy and setting her back down on the ground. His gaze followed her as she ran to Cory and pranced hopeful circles around his feet, and then slowly trailed of its own volition up the man's body and back to his all-too-familiar face.
Cory appeared to be just a few years younger than he, though Philip had no idea what, if anything, that might mean in the context of immortality. The mix of calculation and amusement as he looked at Philip was more telling. It wasn't just a matter of cloning; Philip already knew that exact face very well. He'd shaved it in the mirror every morning.
As if resonating like a tuning fork in proximity to the Immortal's energy, he felt his headache start to return. Here in the quiet it wasn't nearly as bad, however, and the incapacitating pressure of emotion, the life forces of his newfound 'relatives', remained at bay. He realized that what he sensed from this man had the same sort of electric snap as Methos, but was for some reason not as overwhelmingly powerful. And beneath that, where Methos evoked the dark, rich burn of cognac, this Cory's energy danced along his nerves like the effervescence of champagne...
"I'm Philip," he continued, "and I've got quite a few questions. First of all -- " He smiled, gesturing. "-- *'Tallulah'*...?"
Cory looked down at the grandly-named puppy and snickered. Canting his head to one side, he glanced at Philip from the corners of his eyes. "Well, Beau insists that she'll grow into the name. I have my doubts, though."
"Beau." This was getting better by the minute. If Philip weren't beginning to recall the two duplicates he'd seen with the dog earlier, along with that interesting petite redhead, he'd have been willing to believe that Cory was inventing it all merely as an excuse to stay and talk. Perhaps he still was. Philip didn't really mind either way. "Beats Rhett, I guess."
With an eloquent shrug and a wide smile that invited Philip to share his amusement, Cory stepped closer to this interesting new version of his form of himself, and sank down to sit on the ground in a carefully graceful motion. Tallulah took the move as an invitation, and leapt clumsily into his lap, standing on her hind legs to gift him with rather damp kisses all over his face. Laughing aloud, Cory fended off her advances. In the process he managed to squirm about until he ended up reclining on his side, head propped up by one arm, dog clamped firmly under the other.
Oh, he was *good*. Well, what the hell, who knew how long he'd had to get it so right? Philip shifted, slightly uncomfortable and aware that he was beginning to envy that dog...
He looked up at Philip, perched on his rock, and blinked slowly. "Beau is a Mac 27. He was, um, owned, I guess, by an older couple in Virginia. Apparently the husband spent a fair amount of time teaching Beau to be a true Southern Gentleman. He trains bird dogs - this little hellion is supposedly going to be a Lady one day, in the finest tradition of the south." He stared at the very unlady-like dog, straining to escape his hold on her wriggling body and continue with her self-appointed task of making sure that every centimeter of Cory's face received her damp attentions.
A faint frown touched Cory's forehead as it occurred to him that it was rather unusual to find Tallulah and not Beau. He sat up and lifted Tallulah between his hands, staring at her inquisitively. "Where IS Beau, young lady?" Turning, he directed the same stare at Philip. "You didn't happed to see two more of us around here, did you? Beau is usually pretty close behind her. I thought I saw him heading outside with Matthew earlier..."
"I'd say the south had risen again." His laugh echoed Cory's.
The man was charming company, someone Philip felt he understood. And, their uncanny resemblance aside, even without the light tingling that was still humming over and through him, he found his mind wandering into entertaining speculations of just how good Cory really was... He wasn't sure what he'd expected this other Immortal to be like, but Cory definitely wasn't it. More than anything else, he seemed so...normal.
However, the situation they were in was anything but normal, and Philip could pretend otherwise only so long. He shook his head, smile fading, and looked earnestly at the slightly disheveled Immortal. "I need you to tell me about it," he said haltingly. "About being an Immortal. It...there are a lot of things that aren't making Philip considered. "See? No. From what I heard down over that way while I was walking up here, though, sense. If I'm going to believe it, if I'm going to...to be able to understand what's been happening to me..." He felt a jump and twist in the energy around them, and moistened suddenly dry lips. "I need to know, Cory."
Recognizing the serious turn that the conversation had taken, and noticing the fear thrumming around the edges of Philip's presence, Cory set Tallulah gently on the ground and gave his undivided attention to the other man.
Sitting tailor-fashion on the ground, Cory frowned in thought. Where to begin? "I assume that you've met Methos?" Philip's eyes skittered away, avoiding Cory's questioning stare, and he nodded once, jerkily.
Ah ha. Knowing how Methos' buzz could be akin to a hammer upside the head, Cory decided that here was his starting point. "He's the oldest of our kind, Philip. And, as such, his buzz - that electrical jolt you get when you're close to another Immortal - can be damned uncomfortable. You'll get used to it, if you spend much time around him. It takes a while, though. I'm nowhere near his age - I was born in 1254, myself."
He stared at Cory, parted lips moving soundlessly. All right. Okay. He's over seven hundred years old. We'll deal with that later... Frowning, he fixed on the more important information. The energy fields were part of it, then, and that meant they had to be feeling all the others, too, just the way he was. The god hadn't given him that, or the ability to accomplish the Work on his own. It all had to be something to do with...with being Immortal. So maybe he wasn't losing his mind, maybe it was just...growing pains. But how...? He blinked, nodding again, silently urging Cory to continue.
Cory stopped speaking for a moment, giving Philip a chance to digest the information. Once the small frown marring the smooth skin of his forehead cleared up, Cory nodded approvingly and continued. "I can't really give you too much in the way of specifics - not about what we are or where we come from - because we simply don't know. I know Methos is the oldest, at somewhere in the 5000 year range - but I don't know, nor as far as I can tell, does anyone else - is exactly how long Immortals have been around."
Tallulah, having apparently decided that this business of being ignored was definitely not acceptable, dashed up to Cory and gave his chin a quick swipe of her tongue. Satisfied that she had regained his attention, she bounced away from Cory and with a mighty leap, almost made it into Philip's lap.
Five. Thousand. Years. Philip lunged reflexively to catch the puppy and lift her up the rest of the way, barely feeling her delighted efforts to wash his face as he tried to absorb this latest shock.
"It...I..." he husked, and cleared his throat. "That's all important. But it's not what I need, Cory. What is it like, how do you learn to live like this? The noise, the images... Are you saying it's going to be like this from now on? Forever?"
Noises? Images? Cory lowered his eyes, wondering what the hell this man was going through. He'd heard of Immortals carrying other powers - precognition, empathy, even telekinesis. It sounded as if Philip might have at least two of the three.
Or, the stress of immortality was driving him mad. Sadly, Cory had seen this happen all too many times.
"I'm not quite sure what you mean by noises and images, Philip. Some of us have special talents - but it sounds like what you're experiencing may go beyond anything I've run across in the past. That buzz I told you about, some have said it's like a bee buzzing in their ears, but most feel it more as a vibrating sensation. As for the images... I just don't know. Immortals do seem to develop incredibly accurate memories and often "see" past experiences in excruciating detail - but you've not had time to develop a backlog of memories." He sighed and met Philip's questioning gaze. "Listen, I told you Methos is the oldest. Maybe he can tell you more than I can about this - if anyone can help, he's the one."
"Just like that." This wasn't good. That was more than obvious simply from the way Cory suddenly was looking at him -- or, rather, trying *not* to look at him. Couldn't be what passes as a mere garden-variety immortal, no, couldn't have that...
Philip tried to hold Cory's eye when the man finally looked up at him, tried to will him to understand. Was surprised at the pang of loss as he felt he'd missed a crucial chance. And now Cory was advising him to go to Methos? Somewhere, to someone, this had to be hilarious...
"Methos..." He shook his head at the impasse. "That's...complicated." Something in Cory's eyes, a sharp roiling in the energy coming off him... Philip's nerves were tightening again, and he couldn't keep the slightest hint of desperation out of his voice. "It...I need to think about this, you know?"
Cory hesitated, watching Philip's expression closely. Obviously there was far more here than met the eye. Although he really DID think Methos was Philip's best bet for figuring this out, apparently, the other man had some fairly major reservations about talking to the Old Man.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
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