Author's website: http://writingonthewall.slashcity.net/~angelise7/toc.htm
This work is not intended as an infringement upon the rights of those that own these characters and is meant solely for non-profit entertainment purposes only.
Forgive me if I erred in regards to Methos' timeline. I'm working with a memory that is hopelessly dysfunctional. ;-)

This story is a sequel to:

Slow rolling waves encroached upon the beach, their leisurely invasion saturating the sun-warmed sands of the uncharted island.

Standing in the shallows was the lone figure of a young man gripping the tattered remains of an elegantly tailored shirt. Aimlessly he wandered up and down the beach, leaving fragile footprints that were erased by the waves as quickly as they were created.

Rafe Santorini brushed the hair out of his eyes and looked in the direction of the makeshift shelter hidden amongst the trees. He stared at the man that was sprawled on the ground, sleeping.

"Why him?" Rafe questioned his shadow.

Helpless against the onslaught of memories, he gnawed on his bottom lip until it bled. Events of the past few days -- the fear, the horror, the panic -- the abuse, the death, the abandonment -- haunted him, and not a moment went by that he wasn't reminded of those that were lost to him forever.

Again his gaze roamed over the isolated beach before returning to the stranger's sleeping figure. "Why? Why am I so drawn to this man?" Rafe asked a second time. Hugging his body tight, he closed his eyes and gave himself over to the memories that kept unfolding inside his mind.

+++++++

Exactly five days ago Lord Pierson, an English nobleman, had come aboard as a guest of his father. The wealthy owner of numerous seafaring vessels was tall with long sleek hair that fell past his shoulders. The unruly strands of midnight black were always tamed by a pale green ribbon of the finest silk, and, to Rafe's delight, their capture allowed him a glimpse of the brilliant sapphire stud that decorated the man's left earlobe.

Pierson spent each day pacing about the ship wearing a billowing white shirt that, when left open as it often was on those hot, humid days, brazenly revealed his smooth chest, firm abdomen and narrow waist. The man's lean muscular thighs were encased in tight breeches, and Rafe blushed when he recalled how many times his gaze had been helplessly drawn to the contours of the foreigner's robust manhood.

His father's newest business partner was a total enigma to everyone. He roamed the decks above and below, quietly assessing and cataloging every inch of the frigate, his discerning gaze noting more than stout beams and wooden hulls.

Rafe had encountered the heat of those dark eyes upon his person many times. His confusion with the stranger's attention was plainly evident on his face and often brought a secretive smile to the aristocratic features he so furtively watched. Why would one of such high station waste even the merest of glances upon someone such as he? Yes, his father, the man who had claimed him as a foundling, was a builder of ships and commanded attention amongst his own people, but that did not explain the nobleman's interest.

Ignoring his assigned chores, Rafe found countless opportunities to study the wealthy aristocrat. He shadowed the man as he made his way around the ship, spending untold hours observing Pierson's solitary conduct. Wishing to explore the emotions trapped in those fathomless hazel eyes, Rafe had repeatedly approached the stranger. His shy attempts at conversation were thwarted by a subtle smile that, when coupled with the lift of an elegant brow, had easily silenced all the words that stumbled from his lips.

Undaunted, Rafe continued to furtively observe the noble, totally unaware that his father's furious glare had taken notice of his infatuation. It was this innocent transgression that brought about a cruel and unjust punishment. Assuming Rafe's behavior was offensive to his partner, the Greek shipbuilder had ordered his perverted son beaten. He then had him thrown into the hold of the vessel, leaving him there with his arms and legs bound, his mouth muzzled.

It was two days after his beating that the man of few words rescued Rafe. Silently he hauled him out of the ship's dark wet tomb and brought his battered body to his own cabin. The man's gold-green eyes reflected a cold rage, and this alone kept Rafe's mouth tightly shut, fear strangling any word of protest. It was beyond his comprehension how the stranger had found him; therefore, he could only assume the gods had directed his path.

Securing the lock on his cabin door, Pierson gently placed Rafe on his feet. The lack of food and water had taken their toll on the young Greek, and he immediately collapsed to the floor. Without a sound, the stranger lifted Rafe and, ignoring the hands that weakly beat upon his chest, laid him down upon the fine linens covering his bed.

Tight-lipped, Pierson attended to his wounds by applying a soothing salve. Soft whimpers of pain escaped Rafe's tightly clenched teeth when his bloodstained pants were removed. A hiss of pure anger seared the silence the instant the bleeding whelps covering his lower body came into view, and Rafe couldn't help but cringe upon hearing it. Again he offered a verbal protest but, as before, was summarily ignored. Pierson continued to treat the tortured area of his buttocks and thighs, never once communicating through his touch the hostility that was barely contained.

Rafe grew confused when the man's gentle caresses persisted long after the injured flesh had absorbed the salve. They drifted over the curve of his hip, the length of his thigh and the rounded edge of his rump. They even went as far as to explore the virginal territory between his legs and straight away their touch was answered by a helpless trembling.

"Dear Sir, please. I am not worthy of your attentions."

The shifting of the mattress beneath him warned Rafe that his plea had fallen on deaf ears. Scrunching his eyes shut, he kept perfectly still, hoping the inevitable sacrifice of his innocence would not finish what his father had begun. Minutes passed as he fearfully waited. His lungs were nearly bursting with the need for oxygen when an almost indiscernible breath of warm air drifted over the sensitive sac trapped between his legs.

Rafe tightly gripped the sides of the bed. Burying his head in the rumpled linens, he dug his nails into the wood railings and moaned low in his throat when the tender slide of masculine fingers continued to travel over his abused flesh. Unfamiliar feelings, confused thoughts bombarded his mind, teasing him with a hunger he had never experienced before.

"Please," he whispered, his plea wanting but unknowing. Rafe searched for and grasped the hand that rested on his thigh. He pulled it around and kissed it, bringing the solid weight of the man against him.

"Please. I . . . ."

For a mere second Pierson returned the embrace, and Rafe could swear he felt the ghost of a kiss linger upon the nape of his neck.

Just as soon as it started, it was over. The heat was gone, replaced by cool, damp air. A single tear fell unbidden down his cheek when he realized the nobleman had rejected his innocent offer. Turning his head to the side, Rafe searched the shadows and discovered that not only had Pierson rejected him but, without a word, had left him alone in the darkness.

Unable to face the Englishman upon his return, Rafe again hid his face in the softness of the pillows he found beside him. Helplessly, he hugged them close and inhaled the man's lingering scent. "Dear sir, why have you left me with only the company of my shadow?" No answer came forth, and, with a sigh of regret and loneliness, Rafe forced his body to relax while fervently praying for his rest to be free of the nightmares that had haunted him since his beating.

It was late the following evening when Rafe awoke. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and groaned once he realized where he was.

"Tell me it is not so. Tell me it was all a dream."

Rafe struggled to free himself of the tangled linens holding his legs hostage. The mere movement of his arms sent a searing pain across his shoulders and down his back. Unable to stop himself, he screamed in agony. The stark reminder of his recent flogging immediately turned his stomach, and it was several minutes before the sour taste of bile no longer filled his mouth.

Carefully, Rafe reached back a hand and touched his behind. When his fingers returned damp with salve, the young Greek frowned in confusion. It soon dawned on him that Lord Pierson had attended his wounds again while he slept and, once finished, had again left him alone in the spacious cabin.

"You are a kind and generous man," Rafe whispered to the lone candle Pierson had left burning on the shelf beside the bed.

Afraid his father would discover him missing, Rafe argued with his weak arms and legs, demanding they remove him from the stranger's bed. His limbs defiantly refused, and he cried out in fear, knowing for certain the resulting punishment would surely place him in the arms of the angels.

So lost in his prayer for heavenly assistance, Rafe startled badly when strong hands gripped his thin shoulders and gentled his trembling limbs.

"Come, boy, let's get you dressed."

Clean clothes were pressed into his hands, and he stared at the well-tailored garments as if he'd never seen clothing before. His confusion led to hesitation that was soon noted by his companion. An impatient sigh drew his attention away from the new garments, but before he could do as he was bidden, Pierson had taken command of the situation.

"Unless you wish to remain naked for the remainder of this voyage," Pierson commented with a wry smile, "I suggest you put on these clothes."

Once dressed, Rafe reached out to the taciturn stranger. "Sir, I would like to---"

A hand clamped down over his mouth. "Silence!" Pierson urgently whispered.

Rafe watched wide-eyed as the tall foreigner moved to the nearest porthole. His stance acknowledged his readiness for action, and seconds dissolved into minutes while the man listened.

Pierson glanced over his shoulder and beckoned him closer. Drawn by the man's dark gaze, Rafe stumbled forward. His attention was directed to the loud, angry voices clearly heard through the porthole.

"Your father's crew has mutinied." Pierson announced. "They mean to kill him and the ship's captain."

Rafe struggled helplessly against the man's hold. "No! My father . . . I must help him."

An agonized scream rent the air, the sound contorting through the descending darkness. A single moment of silence passed. It was then shattered by a second scream, its sound one of absolute pain. Rafe fell to the deck, covering his ears with his hands in an attempt to block out the sounds of torment and death.

His companion did not allow him the brief reprieve. Before he knew it, Pierson was hauling him off the floor and guiding him toward the door. "I fear we are too late to help your father," he noted. "We must now look to saving ourselves." A cautious check of the passageway showed it was deserted. Moving quickly, they made their way to the small skiff located on the portside of the vessel.

Their escape to safety was abruptly hindered when the large bulk of the ship's first mate stepped into their path.

"Aye! What do we have here?" The steel blade of a scabbard pressed against Rafe's neck. "Going somewhere, gents?" the drunken seaman asked. He locked an arm around Rafe's chest and laughed when his sword drew blood.

"We think ye be leavin' a mite too hastily. Not to mention," The ship's first mate pointed his sword at Pierson, "I do believe this gentleman has some coffers that need be emptying."

Disregarding the blade that was once again pressed to his throat, Rafe twisted helplessly. "Let me go!" he insisted. Whiskey-sour laughter blasted across his face, and his queasy stomach rolled in protest.

"Oh, we'll not be lettin' you go any time soon, my pretty. That fine arse of yours has been callin' to me for months, and I think I'll be plunderin' its treasures tonight, if you don't mind."

A brutal grip on his privates tore a howl of misery from Rafe. Bucking wildly, he fought the bruising hold, all the while seeking courage in the depths of the hazel eyes that had never left his face.

It was fortunate that he had maintained eye contact with the foreigner because with only a slight nod of acknowledgement, Pierson launched his attack. Disregarding his own safety, the man threw himself at the inebriated sailor, knocking him and Rafe to the deck. He then smashed his fists against the sides of the man's head, and the crushing blow loosened the seaman's grip.

Rafe scrambled to safety. Terrified more for his companion than himself, he watched the two men wrestle with each other. Pierson was first to gain leverage. He threw the burly seaman backwards. The man's large bulk crashed into several stacked crates causing the wooden boxes to tumble in all directions. One crate dislodged a burning torch, and instantly a flame ignited, feeding on the dried wood.

Rafe watched in horror as the fire took hold. It quickly snaked across the deck, blazing a path of destruction as it headed in the direction of the newly purchased ammunition waiting to be stored below. The sickening sound of bone snapping snagged his attention, and Rafe looked back in time to see Pierson drop the first mate's lifeless body over the side of the ship.

Before a single word could be uttered, the foreigner was reaching for him. He thrust him into the nearby skiff and expertly lowered the small boat into the rough waters below. Just as he was about to descend a nearby rope ladder, an explosion ripped the black night, hurling splinters of burning wood through the air. One hit Rafe square in the back, and he doubled over in pain. Yanking off the burning garment, he doused it in the water. The shirt was ruined beyond measure but because it had been a gift, Rafe was extremely unwilling to part with it. He squeezed it dry as best he could and drew it back on.

His irrational occupation with his shirt was abruptly derailed when another explosion rent the night. Rafe looked up in time to see his savior's body thrown into the sea. Ignoring his own safety, he struggled to right the oars and maneuver the skiff in the direction the nobleman had disappeared beneath the surface. Rafe screamed out the man's name until his throat was raw with fear but to no avail. The light reflecting off the burning ship gave no clue as to Pierson's fate.

Frantic, he circled the area again and again, his gaze desperately probing the debris that surrounded his boat. A third explosion lit up the night's sky, and Rafe spared a brief moment to pray for the few good men he had served with on his father's ship.

In the midst of his whispered supplication, a hand gripped one of the oars, tearing it from Rafe's grasp. Throwing himself to the side of the boat, he spied the nobleman's form floating beside him. "Father Neptune! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Rafe mustered all of his strength, tugging and yanking on the larger man's body until it was safely inside the skiff. He then wrestled free the tightly gripped oar and tossed it aside.

"Row, young one," came the hoarsely whispered command. "Get as far away from this hell as possible."

Rafe hesitated. He was torn between obeying the man's instruction and providing aid to the numerous wounds he could detect in the darkness. Unforgiving fingers gripped his throat, forcing his head down.

"Row, dammit! Or we will meet the same fate as your comrades."

Rafe searched the waters and, for the first time, saw the sheen of oil on its surface. His eyes widened as he beheld the flames dancing toward them. Scrambling for the oars, he threw himself into removing his small craft and its precious cargo from danger.

Finally the burning ship became a speck of light on the dark horizon, and Rafe collapsed with exhaustion. Pulling in the oars, he fell forward and landed squarely on top of the wounded nobleman. A shallow, shuddering sigh warned him that something was not quite right.

Gritting his teeth against the pain in his back, Rafe rolled away from his companion's body. "My Lord?" Silence reigned. "My Lord, answer me. Please." Rafe struggled to remove blood-stained clothing, and, when the light of the moon revealed the fatal chest wound, his mouth fell open in shock.

"No! This cannot be."

Pierson's bloody hand cupped the side of Rafe's face. "Do not worry, my Greek beauty. It is not as bad as it looks." Laboring for air, the nobleman coughed repeatedly, and flecks of red splattered across Rafe's cheek. "Rest a moment with me," Pierson commanded as he gathered the youth in his arms. "I need your warmth."

Rafe resisted the older man's hold. "You're injured. You cannot wish my weight upon you."

A tired chuckle greeted his refusal. "What I want I will have to wait for. Until then, I need for you to keep those tempting lips shut and allow me to rest."

Rafe reached out a shaky hand and tentatively touched the widening stain on Pierson's ruined vest. "Dear Sir, I'm afraid you will soon sleep with the angels. Please do not close your eyes. Stay awake. Stay with me."

The nobleman touched his fingers to Rafe's mouth. "If you have not noticed, we are in a boat in the middle of nowhere. I have no intention of leaving you."

Without further hesitation, Rafe allowed himself to be pulled close. As soon as his head was tucked against a damp shoulder, Pierson wearily mumbled, "Sleep, my worried guardian. It will be morning in a few hours and, until then, we are at the mercy of the gods."

Rafe was unable to speak. He simply nodded his head. When no further words were forthcoming, he hugged the enigmatic stranger with extreme caution and settled down to sleep as he was bidden.

Hours later Rafe woke with a start. An over zealous wave had crashed into the boat's side, snatching him from a dreamless slumber. Looking toward the heavens, he noticed clouds heavy with rain obscured the night sky. "Lord Pierson?" Rafe reached out a hand to shake his companion awake and warn him of the impeding bad weather. His touch encountered cold flesh, and the Greek drew back in fear.

Pushing aside wet garments, Rafe rested his check on the foreigner's chest. No heartbeat could he discern, and his wail of grief tore its way through the blackness. The moment of death's discovery was greeted by a comforting shower, and Rafe lifted his face to the sky, allowing his tears to hide amongst the falling raindrops.

"You can sleep now, good Sir," Rafe whispered to the man cradled against his shivering body. He curled around Pierson's slender frame, offering it a shelter it no longer needed. "And may the gods reward your valiant heart when you arrive in their midst."

Exhausted beyond human limits, Rafe pressed a gentle kiss to the handsome man's forehead and drifted into the realm of unconsciousness.

+++++++

Rafe was distracted from his memories by the light touch of a hand to his shoulder. He pulled away slightly and focused his attention on a small sand crab scurrying across the beach. His reaction garnered a deep sigh of . . . Rafe frowned, trying to identify the emotion carried in that breath of air. Was it anger? Frustration? He chewed on his bottom lip. Regret?

The answer would have to wait for his companion had moved away to stand in the shallows, his gaze momentarily searching the empty horizon.

"You need to return to the shade, young one. The sun is harsh, and your back and shoulders need the protection of the shade." Pierson glanced over his shoulder at Rafe. "Remaining here on the beach, unprotected, will only worsen your wounds."

Rafe kicked at the sand. "I wish you would stop calling me that."

Smiling, the nobleman returned his gaze to the ocean. "I mean no harm," he answered.

"I have survived 18 summers. I am a man." Rafe stood tall, daring the foreigner to deny his claim.

Bending down to examine a discarded shell, Pierson hid his face and, no doubt, his amusement. When he straightened his features were schooled in the familiar haughty look he had worn upon boarding. "I stand corrected," he acknowledged. "Please forgive me." The nobleman moved a step closer and aimlessly trailed a finger down Rafe's arm. "Come back to the shelter so that I may treat your back."

"I'm fine." Rafe slid his shirt back on but couldn't help grimacing when the torn fabric settled upon his injured flesh. His defiance was met with an indulgent chuckle and a gentle slap to the back of his head.

"Quit with the manly bravado, and let me assist you."

Rafe reluctantly followed after his companion. Upon reaching his new home, he took a seat on the ground and crossed his arms over his chest.

Pierson merely smiled at the childish gesture. "I'll be right back," he calmly stated. "Amuse yourself while I'm gone."

Rafe watched the older man disappear into the trees. Once Pierson was gone from sight, he collected a nearby palm leaf and began to shred it to pieces. "The gods have taken my wits," he mumbled to himself. "Not only am I lost on this deserted island, but I also find myself in the company of a dead man."

Torn leaf fragments were tossed to the wind. "Clearly the sun has weakened my mind with a fever. That can be the only answer." Rafe hugged his knees to his chest and hid his face from view. "Lord Pierson cannot be alive. I held his body in my arms, and it was without breath, his heart as silent as the night."

The Greek dug his nails into reddened flesh of his arms, welcoming the pain as a reminder of his existence. "Maybe he is an angel, a spirit sent from the gods to look after me. To be with me until I am rescued."

Rafe nodded his head repeatedly. "Yes, that is it. The gods have deemed me worthy, and therefore, have provided me with a heavenly protector." Stretching out on the shaded sand, he pillowed his head on his arms and sighed wistfully. "I must admit I do not understand why you had to make him so very handsome, but then aren't all angels such creatures of beauty?"

Rafe debated with himself until sleep overtook him and when he awoke Pierson was emerging from the tangle of heavy vegetation behind their shelter. "I wonder," he mused aloud once the nobleman stood next to him.

"And what is it you wonder?" Kneeling beside Rafe, Pierson stripped off his shirt and bent to the task of creating a salve from the plant he had discovered when foraging for food and water earlier. He applied it to Rafe's back and shoulders as soon as it was ready. "You have not answered my question. What is it you wonder?"

"Do spirits make love?" Rafe rolled to his side and glanced up at his companion.

Pierson frowned at the question. "Where did that thought come from?"

The hand that was resting on his right shoulder slid down his side. Rafe moaned softly. "I have decided you are an angel, Sir. Sent from the gods to watch over me."

One aristocratic eyebrow rose. "An angel? Me?" Pierson considered the suggestion for the span of a heartbeat. "I think you are mistaken," he replied with a chuckle Rafe delighted in hearing but did not understand. Pierson nudged Rafe back over on his stomach and applied more salve before stating, "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but my soul will not reside in heaven. Of that I am quite certain."

Rafe shook his head in disagreement. "You are wrong. You rescued me from death, not once but twice. And when it was time to release your last breath, the gods gave you to me, as my protector, my guardian angel."

The nobleman's hands stilled. "My last breath? You witnessed my dying?"

Rafe shifted to his side and then to his knees. He bravely met Pierson's piercing gaze. "I had fallen asleep, and when I awoke, you were no longer breathing." Reaching up, he traced the man's aquiline nose. "It broke my heart to find you cold and without life, but the gods heard my cries and witnessed my tears."

Rafe shyly caressed his angel's lips. "They must have known I would need a companion to help me survive my imprisonment on this lonely island." Slipping his hand under the heavy weight of the Englishman's hair, Rafe coaxed Pierson forward and clumsily pressed his lips against his mouth. A husky groan welcomed his kiss and when Rafe pulled away both he and his angel panted for air.

"After discovering your lifeless body," he continued, "I fell into a deep sleep, and it was morning when I woke. The moment I opened my eyes I found that our small craft had miraculously made its way to this island. My heart was so overcome with joy that I found myself hugging you."

It was Rafe's turn to vocalize his hunger when Pierson captured his mouth in a kiss that left his body trembling for something he could not put into words. Once his mouth was released, he slid his arms around his angel and carded his fingers through the ebony strands tangled by the breeze.

"When you responded to my hug," Rafe softly said, "I nearly surrendered my own life to the gods. But you allowed me no time to question what I knew could not be true. You hauled us both to land and immediately went to work on building us a shelter to live in."

Maintaining eye contact, Pierson lowered his head and grazed one of Rafe's nipples. "And so, upon serious consideration, you have come to the conclusion that I am an angel sent from heaven?"

Rafe threw back his head when sharp teeth set to the task of torturing his sensitive nubs. "An angel from heaven or hell. As long as you release me from this fever you have stirred in my loins, it does not matter to me."

The man smiled at Rafe while pressing his hand against his straining manhood. "I must say that I do believe I'm going to enjoy this new mission your gods have assigned to me."

His bindings were released and immediately his sex sprung free, slapping against his belly with a vengeance. Rafe gasped when callused fingers took ownership of his organ. During his short life he had bedded only two women, whores his father had paid to make him a man. None had excited him like the kisses and touches of his beloved guardian. His entire body, even his heart, was on fire, screaming for more.

Pierson briefly brushed a kiss against Rafe's mouth. "I'm your angel, Rafe Santorini. Command me."

"Would you . . . would you . . ." Rafe stumbled over his words.

Pierson smiled in understanding. "I can and I will."

Rafe stared in disbelief, his eyes growing huge as his handsome angel took him in his mouth. The man's tongue lapped up the white pearls of fluid escaping his throbbing organ.

"You . . . You . . . You tasted me." A blush stole across his face.

Green-gold eyes smiled up at him. "Yes, I did. And you, my captivating lover, taste just like heaven."

Rafe dug deep furrows in the sand when his entire manhood was engulfed by blazing heat. "Oh . . . dear gods! Please! I . . ." He tore at the silk shirt that encased his angel's slender form. "Touch me. I want, need . . . need to feel you. Touch you."

Pierson's hungry mouth swallowed the pleas that increased in volume when Rafe detected the hand that crept between his legs and gently stroked the sensitive sac still hidden by his breeches. He bucked wildly, his supplications deteriorating into incoherent sounds of neediness.

Rafe struggled to strip away all barriers that separated them, and Pierson's face took on a feral grin. "Yes, show me how much you want me."

Rafe gripped a handful of the man's hair and jerked him closer. "Love me. Please!"

His demand did not go unheeded. Once all garments were discarded, Pierson expertly found his unexplored entrance with both his fingers and his mouth. The gentle forays inside that followed were painful and exquisite and had Rafe screaming for more. By the time his angel laid complete claim to his body, he was delirious with need and, upon declaring his love, surrendered his essence.

+++++++

"Brian Rafe! You are so full of shit. `Surrendered his essence.' What utter crap. Hell, it sounds just like that saccharine-sweet nonsense in those trashy romance novels you hide under our bed."

Rafe shook the hair out of his eyes and grinned at the immortal who had captured his heart centuries ago. "This is my journal, and I can write whatever I want in it. Trashy or otherwise."

Methos tossed his beer bottle cap across the room and chuckled at his lover's expert catch. "I think you need a little help in the trashy department. Why don't you bring that fine ass of yours over here, and let me show you how it really happened."

Rafe carefully replaced his leather-bound journal in its storage box. Ignoring his smirking lover, he pushed away from the large oak desk he sat at and leaned back in his chair. He then unbuttoned his silk shirt and blatantly tempted Methos with an unobstructed view of his chest. Rafe smiled wickedly when Methos' lazy sprawl took on the appearance of a panther prepared to pounce.

Unbuckling the belt of his linen slacks, he continued to taunt his lover. "You'll show me how it happened? I doubt you can even remember back that far, Old Man." Slowly he lowered his zipper, stopping and starting several times before sliding it closed. "Now me? I'm still young and beautiful. My memory is, without a doubt, . . . oomph!"

His unspoken challenge was accepted with lightening speed, and the blur that he thought was his lover shot across the room before his brain could even register the movement. "Methos!" Laughing, Rafe kicked at the hands that grabbed his ankles and pulled him from his chair.

"Old man? Old man?!"

Methos cushioned Rafe's fall to the floor, apologizing for the thump of his skull on the hardwood surface with a kiss to his forehead. "Old man?" Kneeling over Rafe, the older immortal leaned forward and captured a fistful of silk material. "That sounded suspiciously like doddering old fool whose gray matter has flown south for the winter," he complained.

Rafe bent one leg and nudged the sizeable bulge of his lover's groin. "Oh, I'd say something has definitely gone south!"

"Shit!" Surprised by Rafe's bold move, Methos nearly collapsed down upon him. "What happened to that innocent cabin boy I threw overboard?"

Rafe grinned and increased the torture, adding a little friction by rubbing his knee back and forth across Methos' erection. "That cabin boy was seduced by a most wicked angel."

Methos leaned into his lover's knee, humping the bent extremity for several seconds before sliding away. "Seduced? Of course I seduced you." Making himself comfortable beside Rafe, he fondled the younger immortal's erect nipples. "If I remember right, you begged for it."

Methos took advantage of Rafe's relaxed position and groped between his legs. Rafe nearly choked when his chuckle disintegrated into a lusty growl. Hunger shattered his control, and he quickly joined his lover, interlocking their hands and encouraging a more in-depth exploration of his cock and balls.

"Well," Rafe shuddered as their joined hands wrapped around his thickening shaft, "I will be the first to admit that you did a most magnificent job of . . . FUCK! . . . seducing!" The Greek immortal craned his neck, trying to watch as his lover slid down his body and attempted to eat his way through the slacks that covered his erection.

Methos grinned up at Rafe, the tab of his zipper clenched between his teeth. Humming loudly, he pulled the zipper all the way down and laughed when the liberated organ sprang free and slapped him in the face. "Horny little devil, isn't he?"

Tugging on the waistband of the younger man's pants, Methos followed the slide of the fabric with his teeth, nipping a hip bone, the soft flesh of an inner thigh. "I can only guess how shocked your friends at the police department would be if they knew their resident GQ enthusiast enjoys going commando."

Rafe lifted his hips and allowed his slacks to be removed. "After ten years of running around naked on that island, I found undergarments were an unnecessary encumbrance once we rejoined society." Sitting up, he removed his shirt and rubbed his naked body against Methos'. "Besides, you love having your favorite plaything readily available whenever the mood hits you."

"In fact," Rafe rocked against his lover's denim-strangled cock, "I believe parts of your delectable body are getting in the mood as we speak."

Methos rolled off Rafe. Rising his feet, he began stripping off his clothes. "I knew you were going to be trouble the moment I stepped aboarf your father's ship. You were standing by my baggage, your hair all tousled by the wind, your shirt half off. I remember . . . ."

. . . . Methos strode commandingly up the gangway, his dark gaze cataloging the furious flurry of activity as the ship was made ready to sail. He stepped aboard his newest acquisition and took a deep, bracing breath, filling his lungs with the scent of the tangy sea air. For the past decade he had traveled Europe masquerading as a wealthy foreigner. At present he was Lord Pierson, an English nobleman in search of something or someone that would distract his heart from the pain a certain poet had inflicted upon it.

Sensing the faint signature of a pre-immortal within one of the two men approaching him, Methos decided his distraction was now at hand.

"Lord Pierson," Senor Santorini called out. "Welcome aboard. Your baggage has just arrived. Please rest assured that my son will see it safely to your cabin."

Methos shook hands with the Greek shipbuilder but focused his gaze on the slender youth standing behind him. Oh yes, he thought, a most worthy distraction.

Listening with one ear to the older man's ramblings, he blatantly examined the exquisitely handsome pre-immortal. The youth had shoulder-length hair that begged to be tousled. Mother Nature evidently shared his desire and sent a brisk wind to do that very thing. Methos bit back a groan at the sight.

Shifting his attention elsewhere, he noted the clear hazel eyes, the classic features and the body that would surely tempt every god and goddess known to mankind. Tempt me, please, he silently begged his newest diversion.

The wind had picked up while he was examining the young Greek. He watched as it caught hold of the youth's shirt, sliding it off one shoulder. The flesh revealed was smooth and darkly tanned and would be, Methos smiled, a perfect contrast to his own paleness.

Dismissing the rules of proper conduct, he bypassed the elder Santorini and stood directly in front of his son. He deliberately dropped his gaze and, much to his delight, discovered Mother Nature was still on his side. The strong breeze she had sent earlier was still at work, molding the thin material of the boy's breeches to his crotch, leaving absolutely nothing to one's imagination. It was a vision that had Methos cursing the tight confines of his elegantly tailored clothes.

Ignoring the lust setting his body aflame, he gripped the youth's chin, forcing him to lift his eyes from the deck of the ship. "Your name, young one. Tell me your name."

The lad stared straight back at him. "Rafe, My name is Rafe Santorini."

Surprised by the frank gaze, Methos felt his body harden to the point of pain, especially when the Greek's full lips curved upwards in a small smile. He wrapped his cloak around his traitorous form and stepped away from the dark-haired beauty.

"It looks to be a fine day, Santorini," he forced through clenched teeth. Returning his full attention to the heavy-set man standing silently beside him. "I say we put this fine lady to the test. The wind is perfect for a short . . . ."

". . . . . It was all I could do to keep my hands off you, you vixen." Methos played with the hooded head of his shaft. "Thank the gods I had the presence of mind to wear my long morning coat that day. No telling what your father would have thought had he glimpsed my rather obvious reaction to your presence."

Rafe turned over on his back and stretched. Watching his lover through half-closed eyes, he lifted his hips slightly. The sensual movement was greeted by a breathless moan. "Vixen, huh?" Gracefully rolling to his knees, Rafe lightly touched Methos' right knee. "I was a sexy young imp, wasn't I?"

The teasing slide of callused fingers traversed the length of his right leg, causing Methos to gasp aloud. "Imp is a very apt description." He gnawed on the soft flesh of his bottom lip when the light touch encountered his scrotal sac. "Your innocent act teased the hell out of me. You have no idea how many nights I was forced to take matters into my own hands, so to speak."

Methos dug his fingernails into the flesh of his hips when his lover's talented fingers stroked over his manhood, pausing momentarily to pinch its weeping head. Gritting his teeth, he continued with his recollections. "There was this one moment when the gods tested my control, a moment in which I could have claimed that delicious mouth of yours without a second thought to propriety."

An inquisitive tongue lapped at his engorged organ, and the lazy caress caused his hips to jerk convulsively. "It was just be---"

Methos threw back his head and groaned loud and long. "Dammit, Rafe, I'm talking here." Granted a moment's respite, he continued his tale after collecting his thoughts.

"It was just before dinner, and I was writing in my journal when your signature tickled my mind. Well, to be honest, my mind wasn't the only thing taking notice of your . . . ."

. . . . Sensing the approach of young Santorini, Methos tucked his journal away. "Enter," he called out when the lad knocked on his door.

Rafe entered, balancing a tray laden with food. "Your dinner, Sir."

Methos feasted his eyes not on the meal but on the handsome youth carrying it. "You may set it there," he said, pointing to a table tucked into a small alcove.

The Greek stepped forward as instructed but stumbled when a rogue wave slammed into the ship. The tray of food he was carrying flew through the air with the majority of its contents landing in Methos' lap.

Rafe gasped in horror and fell to his knees. "I'm sorry, so very sorry. Please forgive my clumsiness, my Lord." Rescuing a linen napkin from the mess on the floor, he crawled forward and bent to the task of cleaning the Englishman's clothes.

Strangling the moan that burned his throat, Methos closed his eyes and prayed his body would ignore the soft brush of hands upon his groin. His plea went unanswered. Another innocent swipe awakened his desire.

"Young one, please, please desist." Fine beads of sweat broke out across his brow as he gazed down at the Greek and caught sight of the youth's tongue, its tip gripped between his teeth. Methos clenched his fists and fought the urge to fill Rafe's mouth with a feast he would never forget.

". . . . My control was on the verge of deserting me when I saw your tongue. It was torture, but I managed to bridle my lust."

Methos traced his erection with one finger and sighed when his lover sucked it into his mouth. Rafe encouraged him to widen his stance and, upon compliance, collected his scrotal sac in a gentle grip. Methos groaned again when a roving digit discovered his hidden gateway.

"Why didn't you?" Rafe smiled sweetly while pushing his finger inside Methos' body. "Why didn't you give into your needs?"

"FUCK! Are you trying to drive me insane?" Methos rubbed both hands over his face. "You were the son of my business partner, but I swear, that night, what principles I did have were sorely tested. It would have been so easy to open my fly and guide you in the ways of pleasing men."

Rafe leaned forward and, pursing his mouth slightly, allowed an exhale of warm breath to feather across Methos' erection. "I remember that night." He grinned at his lover. "And, it wasn't the gods testing you; it was me."

Methos tangled his fingers in Rafe's thick hair and pulled on the strands, gently forcing the man to lift his face. "Do you mean to tell me that you weren't the innocent I thought you to be?"

Rafe pressed a kiss to Methos' flat abdomen. "Oh, I was innocent in regards to male loving. But the day I saw you walk on board, I knew I wanted you to be the one to take my virginity."

"If I remember correctly," Methos interrupted, "that special gift was freely offered."

His hand was tugged on, and Methos acknowledged the gesture by dropping to his knees. Stretching out beside Rafe, he encouraged his Greek lover to settle his full weight upon him. "As you well know, I thoroughly enjoyed unwrapping that particular gift."

Rafe nibbled on Methos' jaw. "When did you know I was an immortal?"

Caressing the world's most delectable ass, Methos frowned slightly while searching his memory. "Before the actual sailing of my ship I was invited to spend several days at your father's estate. When my carriage pulled up to your house, a pre-immortal signature tickled my mind. I searched a whole day looking for you."

Methos turned his head and bumped noses with Rafe, his smile indulgent. "Unfortunately your father kept me so busy with business that I had to abandon my search. In fact, it was my last night as your father's guest when I finally came upon you quite by accident. I had decided to take a leisurely walk and . . . ."

. . . . Strolling the extensive grounds of the Santorini estate, Methos took another swallow of his after-dinner brandy, relishing the smooth taste upon his tongue. He looked back at the main house and smiled at the thought of the luscious beauty his host had arranged to warm his bed that night.

Laughter from the servants' compound caught his attention. He walked closer to the collection of buildings behind the residence and within seconds was hit with the presence of a pre-immortal. The signature became stronger the closer he moved to the stone building that housed the kitchen. Stepping inside, his breath was immediately stolen by the sight of a naked youth standing before him.

Oblivious to his voyeur, the young Greek lifted a bucket of water and poured it over his slender body, rinsing away the soapy lather of his hearth-warmed bath. Methos offered up a prayer of thanks to the gods for providing him with a glimpse of the sensual beauty. He continued to watch as the flames turned the youth's skin to burnished gold, highlighting the mahogany curls that brushed his thin shoulders.

The pre-immortal lifted another bucket of water and doused his nakedness. A single drop of water instantly mesmerized Methos' gaze as it trickled down the lad's body. It skimmed over a dark rose-colored nipple and then traced the muscular outline of a flat abdomen. He momentarily lost it in the black forest that sheltered the young man's manhood.

Methos gripped the column he was standing behind when the journeying drop came into view again. It followed the length of the youth's sleepy organ and hung precariously on its tip, the fire's reflection caught in its watery prism. "Dear gods, one taste, just one taste."

Methos pressed his groin against the cold stone, clawing the brick column with his nails, hoping the pain would stop him from rushing forward so that he could capture the liquid pearl with his tongue. The vision of that very act took shape behind his closed eyes, and Methos shuddered helplessly when a sticky dampness saturated the front of his breeches.

". . . . My fingers were raw by the time you finished with your bath. Raw and bleeding and worth the short-lived pain." Methos rolled Rafe to his side and skimmed a hand over his lover's hip. He grinned when his hand was imprisoned between muscular thighs. Wiggling his fingers, he gently scraped everything in reach and laughed when one leg lifted in a subtle encouragement for him to continue his fondling.

"To be honest, I was nearly mad with need, wanting nothing more than to take you where you stood." In response to the tale of their first encounter, Rafe's body surrendered a bead of white liquid. Methos captured the fragile proof of his lover's helpless reaction and smeared the fluid over the head of his cock.

Rafe arched, moaning when the damp flesh of his erection slid erratically within Methos' gentle grip. "I, I don't remember this at all. Did I see you? My father brought so many businessmen to our home, but I'm sure I would have remembered you, remembered you watching me."

"You never saw me. I hid in the shadows the whole time." Methos bent his head and swiped his tongue across the nearest of his lover's nipples. "Gods, you were beautiful, standing there in all your glory. I came just from looking at you." The immortal chuckled. "Your father was quite put out when he discovered I dismissed the woman he had paid to service me."

"And now? How do you feel now when you see my naked body?" Rafe undulated his hips, forcing his lover to tighten his grip.

Methos nipped the head of Rafe's swollen shaft. "All you have to do is glance down, and you'll see the evidence of my feelings."

Rafe twisted his head to the side and smiled at the sight of Methos' erection, its slender length resting heavily against his abdomen. Without hesitation, he rolled on top of Methos and gracefully lifted himself to his knees, straddling the man's lower torso. "Maybe I should examine the evidence up close and person?"

"Maybe you should," Methos agreed with a suggestive leer.

Offering two fingers to the owner of his heart, Rafe moaned when Methos hungrily sucked on them. "I love you, Old Man." Pulling his fingers free, he reached behind himself and slowly stretched his opening. "And I thank the gods above that it was in your arms I found my immortality."

Leaning down, Rafe seared his lover's brain with a heart-shuddering kiss. He then carefully lowered himself slowly onto the rod of iron that was his and his alone. "That hurricane may have taken my life, but you rescued my soul." The younger immortal sucked in a startled breath when his impatient body embraced his lover's erection in one hurried move.

Methos gasped with pleasure, his eyes darkening with passion as he gazed at their joined bodies. "The fury of that storm was nothing compared to the uproar in my heart, waiting for you to return to me."

Rafe lifted up, hovering in the air, his channel barely gripping Methos' cock. "It was so dark when I died, but when I opened my eyes again, your smile was as bright as the sun."

Methos lifted his hips off the floor. "Sunshine in the middle of a raging storm? There's that sappy romance stuff again." He smiled up at Rafe, the love in his eyes belying his sarcasm.

Rafe clenched his inner muscles and chuckled when Methos tossed his head back and forth wildly. "Just wait `til I write today's entry. I'm going to make it so trashy, you'll scream when you read it."

With sweat gluing the strands of his bangs to his forehead, Methos surrendered to the low moan clawing at his throat. "Oh gods, Rafe! No more . . . I can't . . . . Now!"

Rafe increased the rhythm of his loving, and it wasn't long before his movements grew frantic. Bracing himself against Methos' thighs, he pushed down and forced the man's organ deeper inside his body. A shuddering climax took hold of him in the same instant searing heat filled his ass to overflowing.

With one hand Methos fisted a pair of slacks lying on the floor. The other he wrapped around Rafe's spasming erection. "Surrender your essence, young one! Surrender it!" His voice echoed the mischievous smile on his face.

Rafe fell over shaking with laughter. "You old, romantic slut! How original."

Methos threw his arms around his Greek life partner and pulled him down to his chest. "Good thing you love me for my body and not my wit!" He pushed the hair out of Rafe's eyes and smiled at the panting immortal. "What plans do you have for tomorrow?"

Rafe took a deep breath and sighed at the feeling of total satiation taking hold of his body. "It's my turn to meet with Simon Banks, the department's new captain. What about you?"

Methos traced his fingers over Rafe's smiling lips. "I'll be making arrangements for my trip to Paris. You know that immortal I've been watching the last couple of years? Joe called to say he's also in Paris. Maybe I'll invite him over to our apartment and get a good look at him."

Rafe scrambled to his feet. "Well, since you're about to be traipsing around Paris without me, how `bout we slip into something more comfortable than this floor and see if there's any more essence left."

Methos took his lover's hand and followed him into the bedroom. "You're on, cabin boy! Let's go get trashy!"

End

A Lasting Encounter by Angelise: angelise7@hotmail.com
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