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Sometime in the not-too-distant future...
The world's oldest living Immortal entered the chamber, moving slowly as he'd been instructed. His eyes were immediately drawn to the large window that dominated the far wall. He moved towards it, his eyes opening even wider as he gazed outside.
Methos gasped as he watched the Earth float beneath him, rotating majestically outside the window of the orbiting space station. The colors were astonishing; the blue of the oceans, the green of the forests, the white, puffy clouds. Even the browns were amazing in their richness and diversity. But what struck him the most was the peacefulness and serenity of it all. From orbit, all he could see was nature--the planet itself. War, hate, jealousy--there was no evidence of all the nastiness that divided humankind from up here.
He finally spoke, pushing away the urge to brush tears from his eyes. "Duncan, it's incredible." His voice was hushed with awe.
"Aye, that it is." Methos heard the brogue that signified heightened emotion in the Highlander's voice. MacLeod too was staring out the window, awed by the beauty of his home. But he was no less awed by Methos' reaction--when was the last time the world's oldest man had a truly new experience? He smiled, remembering that Methos had resisted the idea of coming up here in the first place.
~~~~~~~
A lazy Sunday in Seacouver. Methos was half-dozing when MacLeod slipped onto the sofa next to him. Duncan slid his arms under Methos' neck and placed his lover's head gently on his lap. Methos purred contentedly. "Hi, Mac." He was already having vaguely salacious thoughts about Mac's lap...
"Hey, Methos. Take a look at this." Methos sat up, looking at the brochures MacLeod was holding, as the Scotsman shared his idea.
"Duncan, you're crazy. There's no way. N-O." He spelled it out for emphasis.
"Why not, Methos? It'll be an adventure..."
"If that damn thing blows up, Mac, we will really be dead. Not my kind of adventure."
"They've been flying these things for years now, it's perfectly safe..." Mac tried to convince him, but Methos just snorted. "Methos, you fly all the time."
"That's not the same."
"Why not?"
"Because planes have been around long enough that we know it's safer than other forms of transportation, and besides, one of us might survive a plane crash. Anyway, there's no such evidence with these rocket things. They haven't been around long enough yet. Ask me again next century." He settled back onto the couch again.
Mac had a thought. "Methos, when did you fly for the first time?"
A pause, then Methos mumbled something. MacLeod cupped his hand to his ear. "Sorry, I didn't quite get that."
Methos sighed. He could see where this was going. "1951."
MacLeod collapsed on the sofa, his laughter unrestrained. "1951? You didn't get on an airplane until 1951?"
"Shut up, MacLeod. I'm Immortal. What's my hurry to get somewhere? Ships were perfectly fine back then."
Mac couldn't help but laugh at his lover's chagrin; the old man was such a delightful bundle of contradictions. "Methos, you don't like boats."
~~~~~~~
That had pretty much been the end of the argument, Duncan remembered with a smile. After obtaining his lover's reluctant agreement, they had spent two days at the Center for Space Tourism's orientation program, learning about everything from what they could expect during launch to eating and living in space. Methos paid rapt attention during the emergency procedures training.
Launch had been quite an experience. Despite his enthusiasm for the trip, Duncan had been a bit anxious. Methos was surprisingly calm, following the procedures they had learned for strapping themselves into the shuttle's passenger seats, and leaning over to check Duncan's bindings as well. The shuttle that would ferry them to the space station was a child of the original American space shuttles, with passenger space replacing the area previously used for scientific work and payload storage. Duncan and Methos were accompanied by about twenty other rookies, many of whom they had met at the CST's training facility.
After strapping in and settling back to wait, it was suddenly time to go. They could hear the shuttle-to-ground voice communications through their helmet intercoms. After half-listening to the tech talk for over two hours, when the clock above their heads reached T-0:01:57, Duncan started paying attention to the voices. He smiled at Methos when he heard: "Kitty Hawk, this is Launch Control. H-two tank pressurization OK. You are go for launch, over."
"Roger, we are go for launch."
"Kitty Hawk, this is Control. APU start is go. You are on your on-board computer, over."
"Roger that Control." The clock was down to T-0:00:25. They could feel the engines humming.
A pause, and then: "10... 9... 8...7... 6... main engine start... 3... 2... 1... 0... SRB ignition... liftoff!" Despite the announcer's assurances, the passengers did not feel the liftoff for a good three seconds, and when they did, they heard it first, an enormous, low frequency noise that could only be described as the sound of sheer power. Suddenly, they were moving, and Duncan couldn't make out the voices on his headset anymore. For a few seconds, it felt almost like an elevator. Then the power, and the g-forces, hit like a ton of bricks, and they were pressed back into their seats.
Duncan felt exhilarated, yet incredibly frightened at the same time. He reached for Methos' hand, reassured by the squeeze he received. He could feel the shuttle rolling over, beginning the next maneuver that would put them on a course for the space station. As they reached the point of maximum dynamic pressure, Duncan felt like a lead weight was being pressed against his chest. He knew that it was only about five g's, yet it felt much worse. Then just as suddenly, they were through the worst of it and just climbing, climbing, like a bird soaring through the sky. He knew that Earth's gravity well was deep, but he never realized just how deep until he was on a machine trying to break free of it. Then it was over, and he felt a heady, delightful rush. He released Methos' hand, and instead of sinking back down onto the armrest, it floated up to his chest level. He looked over at his lover, and Methos smiled at him, enjoying the sensations of a new experience. Grinning, Duncan turned his head toward the window, seeing for the first time the inky blackness of space without the Earth's atmosphere acting as a filter.
~~~~~~~
Three hours later, they completed the docking maneuver on the International Space Station Beta. A liaison met the shuttle and escorted the group through the connecting tunnels to the Space Hotel Gaia, describing facilities and activities as she guided them through the corridors. She also cautioned them not to overdo; to take time to get used to the zero-g environment.
Because of the relative positions of the Earth and the ISSB, the two Immortals hadn't caught a glimpse of the Earth until they entered their room, and they were still staring at it out the window.
Methos pointed. "Look, there's Seacouver." They could see their part-time home turning under them, the surrounding mountains pointing up majestically. MacLeod nodded, a bittersweet memory intruding...
"Maybe in 400 years we'll be racing starships instead of Harleys..."
"When we race those starships, I'm going to kick your ass."
Richie would have loved this. Duncan smiled sadly, trying to let the happy memories predominate over the loss he still felt whenever he thought of his student and friend. He moved directly behind Methos, glancing at the world over his shoulder, enjoying the older Immortal's awe and allowing himself to experience the same feeling. He quoted softly, "Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth; And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings..."
Methos spoke again, still in his own world. "Duncan, it's extraordinary. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
"Yes...the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Duncan answered, although he was no longer looking out the window. Methos felt a brush of lips against his ear, and turned, smiling wryly.
"Ohhhhh...now I understand why you wanted to come here...no pun intended." He wrapped his arms around Duncan's waist, the slight momentum causing them to float a few feet away from the window. Methos looked around the room for the first time. It was quite small, no more than twelve feet long and six feet wide, but thanks to microgravity, they could use every foot of it, and it didn't seem small at all. Everything was neatly stowed, including seats, sleeping bags, and accessories like towels. A door on one wall led to what was sure to be an even smaller space-bathroom.
Duncan's head was already buried deep in Methos' neck, nipping and kissing slowly from his ear to the older man's most sensitive spot, just to the right of his chin. They were still floating lazily around the room. Duncan took the zipper on Methos' standard-issue jumpsuit in his hand, slowly pulling it down. Methos reached for him, and their mouths met, tender and sweet kisses slowly giving way to more heated, passionate ones. Tongues and teeth met, exploring, demanding, attempting to devour each other.
Duncan pushed the blue jumpsuit off his lover's shoulders, and Methos helped pull it off his arms. The motion created momentum, and they found themselves crashing against a wall in fairly short order. "Oof." Methos said. "I think we're going to discover that sex in space can be a bruising experience."
"Do you care?" came the reply as Duncan bit at his nipples through his T-shirt, while his hands slipped underneath.
"Well...no." Methos lifted his arms again to help Duncan slip the T-shirt off, then reversed positions, pushing the Highlander against the wall as he began to undress him. He ran his hand down the front of Duncan's jumpsuit, smiling as he felt evidence of the younger man's arousal. Methos unzipped the jumpsuit completely, sliding down Duncan's body to remove the lightweight, soft-soled boots he wore, and pausing to shed his own. Moving slowly, with just the slightest nudge he was up (was it up? he wondered) again at Mac's shoulders, and soon both of their jumpsuits, T-shirts and other clothing were floating around the room. Duncan chuckled at the sight, and Methos turned around to see what was so funny, laughing as he saw what looked like cosmic laundry day. "Hmm...now I guess we know why they told us to make sure we remember where we put things."
He returned to the Scotsman's now-naked body, and pressed him lightly again the wall as he returned to his mouth, kissing him thoroughly. Duncan moved his hand to surround Methos' cock, but Methos pulled away and shook his head. "No. I want to thank you properly. I'm glad you talked me into this, Duncan." He looked at his lover seductively, the sparkling hazel eyes holding the promise of pleasure. Duncan almost moaned at that expression, catching his breath instead. Methos smiled, beginning a long trail of kisses down his lover's body. His fingers traced along Duncan's beautiful chest, firm, smooth golden skin under a light cover of brown hair. He paused to tease Duncan's nipples, fingers and tongue creating points of arousal that MacLeod felt were connected directly to his groin.
Methos ignored his own growing desire, concentrating on his lover's body. He pulled them away from the wall slightly, floating free and catching another glimpse of their home planet through the window. He was careful to move slowly in order to keep them from flying against the walls as he continued to kiss and nip his way down MacLeod's stomach. Holding onto his waist, he moved his mouth onto Duncan's thighs, covering every inch but ignoring the swollen shaft for the moment. Duncan groaned, and Methos smiled to himself. He moved his mouth to cover Duncan's balls, licking and taking them in his mouth one at a time.
Mac couldn't take much more. "Methos...please."
Methos lifted his head, smiling up at his lover and blinking innocently. "Well, since you asked so nicely, Duncan..." His mouth engulfed MacLeod's cock in a single, smooth movement. Methos relaxed his jaw completely, reveling in the feel and taste of his lover, taking him all the way down into his throat. He pulled away and repeated the movement as Mac's hands reached down, threading his fingers through silky black hair. MacLeod felt Methos' talented tongue sliding over him as he sucked, and looked down at his lover; his eyes were closed, his focus on pleasuring Duncan. Once again Methos drew his mouth back, and he looked up and met Mac's eyes. Their gaze locked, and one more powerful movement was enough to send Duncan over the edge. The feeling of being weightless, of no pressure against his body except his lover's, heightened every sensation. His head tossed back as he came, his eyes unable to focus as he shot deep into Methos' throat. Methos held onto his waist and waited until Duncan's shudders stilled, swallowing every drop.
Duncan grasped Methos' arm and pulled him to his mouth, tasting himself on the older man's lips and tongue. His hand reached down to feel his lover's hardness. "Methos, I want you. Now."
Methos smiled at him. "Never let it be said that I don't aim to please, Highlander." Then a thought occurred to him, and he frowned slightly.
Duncan said, "In the pocket of my suit."
Methos grinned wryly. "Always prepared, such a good Boy Scout." He floated over to Duncan's suit and found what he was looking for, then returned to his lover's side. He considered a moment; they had better be a little careful if they wanted to avoid decidedly non-erotic bruises.
He guided MacLeod over towards the window and pointed at a hand-hold. "Better hang onto that so we don't go flying." MacLeod held it with one hand, holding on lightly. With his other he reached back, tracing his lover's face. Methos kissed MacLeod's neck and shoulder, trying to control his aching desire. He ran his hand down Duncan's side, enjoying the feel of firm muscle and smooth skin, and finally over his buttocks. He paused to squeeze some gel onto his fingers, then dropped the tube and let it float next to them. One hand slowly snaking across Duncan's chest, he slipped one, then two fingers into the tight opening, waiting until Duncan relaxed and pushed back against him. He removed his fingers, replacing it with his cock in one smooth, slow movement that nonetheless betrayed his increasing need. Both men gasped as Methos entered fully, sliding his arms around MacLeod's waist. Mac pushed back, wanting his lover inside him even further, and Methos started to move against him, reaching around to stroke Duncan's cock.
The weightlessness heightened the feelings for both of them as they moved towards the peak, enjoying the sensation of nothing against or below their bodies except each other. Duncan steadied them lightly against the hand-hold, pushing back in the same rhythm that Methos' hand was keeping on his swollen cock. Duncan called out Methos' name as he came, and his spasms sent Methos over the edge, exploding deep inside Duncan with agonizing delight. He shuddered, holding MacLeod tightly against him as he calmed, kissing his neck and biting into his shoulder.
Finally regaining his breath, Methos gently disengaged himself, kissed MacLeod softly and floated back over to the window. "Duncan, look. There's Scotland."
Duncan floated over to join his lover, wrapping his arms around the firmly muscled waist and resting his head on the older man's shoulder. He remembered the poem he had quoted from earlier. He had first read it during the early days of World War II, and was touched by both the beauty of the words and the sad story of its author.
Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sunsplit clouds -- and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of -- wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence; hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew --
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
put out my hand and touched the face of God.
Duncan MacLeod gazed out the window, looking at the lush greenness of his ancestral home. From up here, it would have looked the same way when I was born, or when Methos was, he thought. The Highlands were beautiful; Scotland would always be his homeland. But home was wherever Methos happened to be.
~ the end ~
Posted December 21, 1997.