When Walls come Down

Crossover
by Ariana

The phone's trill, tuned down to its lowest level, slowly pulled Rafe out of sleep. He blinked sleepily at the clock as he reached for it. He'd gone to bed early tonight, and was awakened just a few hours later.

"H'lo?"

{"My, aren't we awake tonight?"}

Shock swept away the fog of slumber. He sat straight up in bed. "Methos?"

{"Well, I hope you weren't expecting Publisher's Clearing House."}

Rafe pushed away a reaction that was equal parts amusement and annoyance. He looked at his clock again. "It's after eleven, Methos-"

{"Nice to hear you still have that digital clock I gave you."}

"-and," Rafe ignored the barb, "I hope you're not going to drag another Immortal fight onto my doorstep."

{"Now, now, would *I* repeat myself?"}

Amusement was starting to win as Rafe just grinned and said nothing. When Methos hurriedly went on after his smiling silence, it grabbed first place.

{"Look, Rafey. I was just in the neighborhood and I thought I'd visit a friend. What's wrong with that?"}

Rafe flipped back the covers and got up, since he knew better than to think Methos would let him go back to sleep. "Because you never just 'visit a friend', old man."

The voice on the other end pouted. {"I am forever wounded..."}

"First time I ever heard 'forever' equaling the time it takes to toast bread," Rafe pointed out dryly. He opened a drawer and dug out a clean pair of socks. His mind was already putting together what to wear.

{"Well, now, *that* was catty. Did you get those claws manicured too?"}

He glanced over at his closet in the darkness, imagining more than seeing the clothes in there. He wondered what he could pull out that might hold up to Methos' exacting eye. The Immortal may not indulge in clothes for himself, but he loved to see them on others. Especially on Rafe.

{"While you're digging through that drawer, be a nice boy and wear the dark green silk."}

His hand unerringly found the forest green boxers; Methos knew he had no silk *shirts* that color. Rafe stopped suddenly and blinked. **How the hell did he know...?** He *knew* he wasn't making enough noise for Methos to hear what he was doing.

He turned and looked out his window, for once damning his habit of leaving the drapes partly open so he could go to sleep watching the moonlight. A navy blue sports car was parked across the street, dimly backlit by the amber streetlight on the next block. A familiar lanky frame lounged against it, the very picture of insolent ease.

{"Hurry up and get dressed, Rafey. It's not nice to keep your date waiting."}

Even from here, the detective could see the predatory smirk and proprietary gleam in his eyes. Rafe hit the hang-up button on his phone and laughed softly to himself. "You ancient bastard," he whispered. Damn, he'd missed Methos!

Ten minutes later, he was all freshened up for whatever Methos had in mind. His hair had been brushed back carefully, the soft strands that tickled his ears reminded him to get his hair cut soon. He wore charcoal slacks to accommodate the silk boxers Methos wanted and topped that with a black t-shirt.

As he locked his door, he said a silent good-bye to sleep for the next few hours. Methos had something interesting in mind, rousing him out of sleep and specifically requesting fancy underwear. He grinned a little as he walked across the street, consciously changing his gait to a more fluid prowl, one that never failed to strain the Immortal's self-possession.

When he got a closer look at Methos, dressed in form-fitting black jeans and turtleneck, a sly smile dancing on his mouth, Rafe said good-bye to sleep for the rest of the night. The dark heat in Methos' eyes sent a shiver down Rafe's spine.

"You kept me waiting," Methos purred.

"Punish me later," Rafe smiled, deliberately leaning close enough to the Immortal to feel the heat radiating from his body. He used the angle to check the back seat and saw Methos' sword with his overcoat tossed carelessly over it.

"Expecting trouble?" he asked.

Methos ran an experienced hand up the inside of Rafe's thigh. "Out of you? No." The younger man shuddered and leaned closer, and Methos rested his cheek alongside Rafe's, slowly stroking his face against Rafe's clean-shaven skin. "I've trained you better," he murmured, his breath washing softly over Rafe's ear.

Hmm... Better make that good-bye to sleep for the rest of that week.

Long, elegant fingers came up to cup his jaw, the tips tickling just behind the angle. Rafe's face was tilted to look up into Methos' and the Immortal flicked his tongue over Rafe's lips quickly, the wet touch a torment and a promise. Rafe's mouth opened automatically and Methos dove in for a swift, deep taste before pulling back.

"Get in the car."

While groaning at the first stages of arousal which the silk was sure to heighten throughout the course of the evening, Rafe nodded and obeyed. The older man waited until he had settled into the car before sliding into the driver's seat. Rafe noticed instantly that Methos' rental had automatic transmission and bit his lower lip, knowing that meant that the old man would have one hand completely free to wander.

The Immortal turned the ignition, starting leisurely down the street. The almost sedate speed let Methos devote more of his attention to driving Rafe crazy with little things. Little things like the hand on his thigh, like the fingers caressing oh so subtly over his groin, like the silk sliding against fiery flesh within... Oh yes, Methos knew how to torture.

By the time they arrived at the club, Rafe was ready to grab the other man and throw him into the back seat for some torturing of his own. He didn't, however. He kept his face and body still and serene, exactly as he knew Methos wanted. The throbbing heat in his boxers quieted with a sullen mutter as he clamped down firmly on his reactions. His date would have him begging soon enough, he knew, but they both enjoyed drawing the game out.

The gold-veined black marble paneling of the club caught his eye as they parked, his gaze tracking up to the classy gold sign in script proclaiming, "Screaming Jaguar." It was a fairly new club in town, one that he'd heard about from Jim and Blair, but hadn't actually been to himself. Methos took advantage of his wandering attention to swiftly cup and squeeze his almost behaving erection before taking his hand away to switch off the ignition.

Rafe gave Methos a baleful look. So the old man had covert torment in mind? A full night of clubbing, with subtle touches and gestures, whispers and looks, until Rafe was nearly mindless with need? He'd done it before, often enough that Rafe knew it was one of Methos' favorite activities.

So long as the night ended as those others had, Rafe could -barely- do as he was expected. He wondered if Methos would make him wait until they got somewhere private, or if the old man's exhibitionist streak would pull them into a not-so-private nook in this club.

There was a line of patrons that stretched along the sidewalk and nearly to the corner. Methos spared them a disdainful glance and led Rafe up the steps, past the annoyed customers, to the huge, bookend doormen. They just nodded as Methos approached and the two men slipped between the guards and into the club with hardly a pause. Rafe tried not to smile; the Immortal's ability to get what he wanted never ceased to amaze him.

Methos' grip on his hand pulled Rafe along into the middle of the dance floor. Rafe frowned in surprise, Methos normally didn't dance, and he sure as hell didn't go in for this hyperactive slam dancing that was going on. He glanced around, wondering if maybe the Screaming Jaguar was a gay club; Jim and Blair sure as hell hadn't mentioned anything about it.

How the older man had found the one spot in the center that was less chaotic than the rest, Rafe could only attribute to his many years' experience. Methos turned and drew Rafe to him, keeping hold of the younger man's hand and sliding his other hand around Rafe's waist to pull them close.

Methos fit his right thigh between Rafe's own, straddling the cop's leg as he did so. He let go of Rafe's hand, letting just the one he had pressed against the small of Rafe's back do the directing, and began to move slowly, hypnotically, counter to the primal beat.

"Next lesson," Methos said, his face close enough that his words brushed over Rafe's lips. The younger man's eyes slid half-closed and he moaned as Methos' body rubbed teasingly against him. His own body took over, responding instinctively to his teacher's unspoken desires as it had been trained to.

The fast beat slowed as the song ended, but their bodies continued to move together as if to music only they could hear. The tiny space that Methos had found widened a little as the wild dancers respectfully gave way to the better show on the floor. There were several seconds of silence, then the DJ put on the next song, one that was slower, darker and more sensual than the one before. It was the perfect backdrop to Methos and Rafe's oblivious grace.

Soon, they had a wider space, and Rafe became aware of the patrons watching them in the middle of the floor. His face heated a little as he glanced around surrepetitiously at everyone, suddenly conscious of how visible they were. A couple of same-sex pairs came out to join in the dancing, but kept their matching rhythms around the edges of the newly cleared space. His mouth quirked in a slow smile. If the Screaming Jaguar wasn't a 'gay club' already, it was probably going to have that reputation after tonight.

His glance skipped over to the discreet bar off to the side, skimming over the wide- and appreciative- eyed faces clustered around. His attention came back to Methos, then a curious spark pulled it back to the bar.

Seated on the end, a young man in a battered brown leather jacket was nursing a tall glass of some clear liquid. Rafe doubted it was water. The man's green eyes were watching them with as much appreciation and budding admiration as the rest of the crowd, but Rafe read something more. Hunger. Intense, burning hunger, although whether it was for him or Methos or both, he didn't know.

He didn't care, either.

Methos' hand slid down his back to cup his ass and pull them together for a swift, brief moment. His other arm wrapped around Rafe's waist as Rafe's attention was effectively yanked back to where it should be. Methos' eyes locked onto his, allowing no wandering from the matter at hand.

Rafe's hands trailed up to Methos' shoulders, then rubbed slowly down his back. The flexing muscles under the knit of the turtleneck gave his fingertips something to do, and Rafe started seeking out all the most sensitive spots on the other man's back.

One area he knew well. He only needed one hand to tease at Methos' lower spine. The other hand crept between them to brush against the hard warmth in the Immortal's groin. He thought briefly of the various 'little laws' - both Cascade's and Methos' - that he'd be breaking by doing this in public, but in this crowded club, with Methos in his arms, Rafe decided it was an acceptable risk.

The low groan and the flash of dark fire in Methos' eyes before they slid shut sent a flare of answering heat through Rafe. He glanced up involuntarily to the young man at the bar, who had given up any pretense of drinking and was now staring at them, his green eyes shadowed with need. Rafe felt a bit of sympathy for the other man and his eyes idly traced the lines of that body that couldn't be hidden under the casual clothes the man was wearing.

Sympathy turned to regret. Another day, another time, another life, and he would have likely approached the stranger at the bar. His visual appraisal became more intense, and Rafe was perfectly aware of the gleam in his own eyes as he eyed the man with a predatory gaze.

The look Rafe gave him made the young man's own eyes widen. He gasped, his lips parting slightly for the air and his pale face dusted with a flush of desire. He licked his lips slowly, and Rafe felt a stab of heat into his cock as he suddenly imagined the feel of that tongue swiping over him. Oh yes, another day, another life, when he wasn't held captive himself.

"He is lovely, isn't he?" the beloved, beautiful voice murmured into his ear. The detective glanced back almost guiltily, but the feline smile reassured him that Rafe's wandering attention hadn't really displeased the older man. In fact, if the look on the Immortal's face was any indication, he liked Rafe's choice of eye candy. "You want him," he said softly, his sharp eyes reading the answer in Rafe's gaze before the other man nodded.

The older man deliberately turned them so that Rafe's back was now to the man at the bar. The movement brushed his thigh against Rafe's groin and the detective sucked in a breath with a hiss. Methos turned that slow smile on him before glancing back over Rafe's shoulder to the bar. They continued their fluid dance, attracting the envy and open lust of everyone else in the club. After the first song ended, Rafe stayed where Methos wanted him, complementing the Immortal's sinuous grace for several more numbers.

The effort of that deceptively loose control and the strain of willing his wild arousal back gave Rafe a light sheen of sweat that was only slightly cooled by the air circulating in the club. Methos' face, however, was still relaxed and dry, and Rafe wondered how the old man stayed as cool as he did. The colored lights of the club slid across his skin and the turtleneck clung to every curve and plane of his torso. Rafe's hands twitched with the sudden desire to drag Methos out of there now.

At last, when Rafe felt the beginnings of a drop start to tickle down his hairline, Methos began to move towards him, backing them up. The other dancers parted to let them through, and as the music drew to a close, they eased off the dance floor, still facing each other. The other patrons crowded back into the open area that had cleared while they were dancing and the DJ put on another techno mix. The floor began to tremble as the dancers let loose with wild abandon.

Methos finally let Rafe turn around, keeping his arm around the younger man's waist. He drew them away from the main floor and led them easily through the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd. They were heading towards the bar, and Rafe's eyes met the ones of the young man still watching them, but Methos stopped partway there.

"I want a little more privacy," he said, nodding towards one of the dimly lit booths tucked away in the corner. Rafe followed the other man's glance, then looked back with more than a touch of regret at the bar. Methos ran his hand up Rafe's spine, dragging the side of his thumb under a shoulderblade. "Go get me a beer."

With a knowing look at Rafe and a parting glance at the bar, Methos disengaged from him to make his way to the only vacant booth. Rafe watched him glide between customers easily, then turned away to head over to the bar.

Methos had taught his body how to respond to literally anything the Immortal did, and now Rafe recalled those lessons, turned them around, and used them. His walk became a slow saunter, each motion smooth and deliberate and more than a little catlike. The effect on the young man was instantaneous. His eyes widened and his gaze never left Rafe during the detective's entire trip to the bar.

Rafe stopped in front of the man. He rested against the black-enameled bar, making a casual gesture to get the bartender's attention. He deliberately leaned close to the stranger as he did so, putting himself into the other man's personal space. To his internal delight, the man didn't back away to maintain the rift, but rather leaned oh so *slightly* towards him.

The stranger looked away to the bartender approaching to answer Rafe's hail. Rafe gave the bartender his order, a cold beer for Methos, a Cape Cod for himself. His gaze never left the other man's face as he spoke absently. With a nod, the barkeep left them to get the drinks.

The man, he could now tell, this close, was not quite as young as he'd first thought. No, he quickly revised, he was younger. Not a teenager by any definition, but not as old as the lines around his eyes proclaimed him. The hardness in his features were the result of life, not age. His face was young, but his eyes were defensive and haunted with the ghosts of old pain.

He looked down into the glass, turning it half-heartedly in his fingers. The smell of alcohol drifted up from the vodka, making Rafe's nose twitch. Without meeting Rafe's eyes, he picked up the glass and took a long swallow. When he put the glass down, his wrist brushed Rafe's hand. He made no move to remove it, and Rafe wasn't about to pull away. The touch of the man's cool skin against his sent a blue-white shock up his body.

When the bartender returned, the detective reluctantly pulled his hand away, but not before he gave the wrist a subtle caress with his fingertips. Green eyes lifted to meet his and Rafe gave him a slow smile. "What's your name?" he murmured, enjoying the hitch of the other man's breath at the low throatiness of his voice.

"Alex."

Rafe looked down at the drinks, his left hand curled around his glass, the right holding the neck of the bottle in a loose grasp. He tilted the bottle to stroke a cold, wet trail down the inside of Alex's wrist. "My friend and I'll be here for a bit. Come on over if you get bored."

With that soft invitation, Rafe turned away. He casually brushed his hip against Alex's side as he twisted around and headed away through the crowd. His stomach was tight with anticipation as he approached the booth Methos had appropriated. He watched the older man looking his way, trying to read Alex's reaction in Methos' eyes.

"Well done," the Immortal said as Rafe slid into the booth next to him. He took the beer with an intentional stroke over the back of Rafe's hand. A practiced twist and flip and the cap clattered away onto the floor of the club. Methos gave Rafe an approving glance before his eyes shifted again to the bar.

Only after he took a slightly shaky sip of his drink did Rafe look at Alex out of the corner of his eye. Alex was watching them as he had been while they were dancing. If anything, the aching fire in his eyes had intensified.

His visible hand shook more than Rafe's, its tremors visible from where they sat. He picked up the glass once more and drained it, then motioned to the bartender for a refill. His attention returned to the two men as the drink was replenished in a fresh, frosted glass. The barkeep slid it over to him, taking the cash Alex blindly handed over. He followed Alex's stare across the club to the booth, then smiled and turned away.

Alex's fingers wrapped around the glass, holding it like a lifeline. His jaw clenched as he glanced down at it, then took a drink to steel himself and stood up from the bar.

"Do you think he'll come over?" Rafe whispered to Methos.

The older man smiled wickedly and nudged Rafe's side. He nodded towards the bar and said, "Does that answer your question?"

The cop turned his head to see Alex had pushed himself away from the bar and was facing them now, his drink clutched in one hand against his chest. His body was tense and he looked torn between racing away and running towards them. He seemed to make up his mind after a moment and started with a single, stiff-legged step towards them.

Alex stalked slowly, not even seeing the flow and ebb people around him. He wound his way around the patrons until he stood finally at their table, watching them both with an expression that was part predator and part prey.

Methos leaned back against the dark red seat and watched Alex from under lowered lashes. Easy power was writ into the relaxed lines of his body and he waved a hand at the empty bench opposite the table. "Take a load off," he said, giving Alex a small smile.

Rafe was resting his elbows on the table, his back straight and tense. He hadn't been sure if Alex would take the invitation, and he also wasn't sure if he liked the Immortal's evident interest in Alex. The older man was an unrivaled master at seduction, and Rafe knew that as soon as Methos had opened his mouth, Alex had been lost to the voice. Rafe had been similarly lost long ago.

Methos' hand slid down Rafe's back, the normally inflaming touch soothing the tension. Rafe glanced sideways to see Methos giving him an understanding look before turning back to Alex. "So, what's a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?"

Alex's mouth quirked in a smile. "Drinking," he said.

Rafe watched Alex take another gulp of the vodka. He did a mental tally of how much alcohol he'd seen Alex drink tonight and frowned. **Drowning's more like it,** he thought, wisely not saying anything out loud.

"What a coincidence," Methos said. He took a sip of the lager. The hand on Rafe's back traveled up to his shoulder and rubbed gently, easing a stiff muscle. "So are we."

"Yeah," Alex said. His eyes were glued to the hand caressing Rafe's shoulder.

Between one blink and the next, Rafe realized that even though Methos had a good share of Alex's attention, the green-eyed man kept glancing at Rafe. A warm tingle went through him and a smile started to curve his mouth upwards. Alex caught the budding grin and a mirroring one ghosted over his own lips.

Their eyes met and caught, and neither man really noticed Methos trailing off until he stopped talking altogether. The fingertips rubbing Rafe's shoulder stilled and Rafe glanced sideways at Methos, seeing the grin, but a little troubled at the unreadable look in his eyes.

Then Methos' gaze shifted to Alex. His smile warmed a little more and his hand lifted slightly from Rafe's shoulder to trace the edge of his ear. Alex shot a look at Methos, then to the fingers stroking over Rafe's skin. He blinked twice, licking his lips with the tip of his tongue. The Immortal nodded to himself and leaned forward, still caressing Rafe. "Warm in here, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Alex whispered. His gaze lifted to meet Rafe's again, and for the first time, Rafe seriously considered ditching Methos. The low hum of attraction that bound them together was as irresistable as it was undeniable. He knew nothing about Alex, save for his first name, but with a slow ache starting in his chest, Rafe *wanted* him. Between Methos' teasing and Alex's smoldering glances, Rafe was itching to get the hell out of this club. With both of them.

Some of his anxiety transmitted to Methos through the contact of their skin. The older man gave him a final, soothing pet and drew away to fold his fingers together and rest both hands on the table. He turned his most intense, melting gaze on Alex. "It could be warmer elsewhere."

**Oh, God...** Rafe was on the edge of that stare, that rich voice laced with old gold, but the beginning ache of longing bled away on the heat in that promise. Poor Alex, receiving the full force of over five thousand years worth of confident sensuality, didn't stand a chance.

Alex's throat worked with the weak swallow and he nodded. "It could," he said, drawing away to rest against the padded back. Rafe was a little surprised at the defenses coming up.

One long, dark eyebrow lifted elegantly and Methos asked, "Was my Rafey wrong?"

"About?" No question now. The defenses were up and starting to bristle. Rafe wondered at the edge in Alex's voice.

Sensing this, Methos backed off psychologically. He was still leaning forward, but had dropped the cloak of sensuality. Now he was just Methos, the mask of Eros had been tucked into his back pocket once more.

"Then why did you come over?" he asked quietly. His eyes never left Alex's and the other man started to shift a little under that gaze. Rafe dropped his glance down to the glass in his hands, watching both out of his peripheral vision.

The low words seemed to catch Alex by surprise. He shrugged a little, still meeting Methos' stare without blinking. "Why did he invite me?"

"Oh, come on, now," the Immortal cajoled, his smile turning playful. "Don't tell me we're going to play the question game all night."

"You had something else in mind?" The tone was challenging, and the lift of his chin stubborn. Rafe kept his sigh internal. Alex was almost entirely closed off, and if they didn't do something, they would lose him. The only problem was that Rafe had absolutely no idea what wouldn't drive Alex away. He hoped Methos did.

"Actually, I did," Methos purred. He slid his hand behind Rafe's neck, tickling the nape. Rafe's eyes slid closed and he shivered. "I most definitely did. But I am rather flexible."

"Oh?"

Rafe nodded automatically, confirming the arch note in Alex's voice. Methos laughed softly next to his ear and Rafe shivered again. "Very much so. Would you like to see for yourself?"

Again, Alex drew back. His arm slid off the table and he let it fall into his lap. "Why?"

Methos sighed. "Look, this is getting old for me. Rafey saw you, wanted you, and I told him he could invite you. I wouldn't have let him if I didn't agree with his choice." The hint of impatience in the Immortal's voice resonated with **What more do you want?**

And Rafe finally opened his eyes again to look at Alex as he answered the unspoken question. "He wants me to beg."

It was a terrible chance, and one Rafe usually didn't have the guts to take. His insides quivered with a mix of apprehension and arousal as he searched Alex's face for signs of denial. Methos chuckled again when Alex's eyes widened and fixed on Rafe.

"Do you want that? He will, if you want him to."

Caught off-guard once more, Alex shook his head once before catching himself. Methos sighed a little in disappointment and took a drink of his beer. Rafe watched Alex, a sinking feeling in his gut. The complete lack of expression made him frown a little, then Alex's eyes dropped down, tracing the lines of his face and throat.

Rafe blinked as understanding struck. Alex didn't want him to beg, he wanted them to make *him* beg. If they could. Alex had accepted Rafe's invitation and turned it into a challenge.

The detective let out the breath he'd been holding and smiled. Challenges were something he knew how to respond to; Methos had made sure of that. Methos had made sure of a lot.

Under the table, Rafe stroked the back of his fingertips against the side of Methos' knee. The old man looked at him quizzically, then his eyes slid over to follow Rafe's gaze. He took in the light flush of Alex's face and the distracted look sweeping over Rafe. The Immortal nudged Rafe and smiled at Alex. "Well, since we've obviously misread you, we won't take any more of your time."

Rafe slid obediently out of the booth, stepping back to allow Methos to get out. The skin around Alex's eyes tightened as he tilted his head up to look at them. He followed suit more slowly, standing as Methos turned away. Rafe met his look with a hesitant smile and tilted his head towards the front door. Alex read the glance and licked his lips as he nodded.

For the first time, Rafe noticed the left arm that was hanging stiffly at his side. Alex saw his eyes flick down and he turned away, casually hiding that arm with his body. He picked up his drink one last time to gulp it all down and set the empty glass on the table with a tap. Methos' hand slid around Rafe's upper arm just above his elbow. "Let's go," he whispered into the other man's ear. "If he really wants this, he'll follow."

They left the Screaming Jaguar, Methos blithely ignoring the glares of those patrons still waiting outside that recognized them. He gave Rafe a gentle push towards the passenger's side of the car and went around to the driver's side. The detective glanced back as Methos dropped into the seat in time to see Alex slipping out of the club. Their eyes met briefly, then Alex turned away and disappeared around the corner of the building.

"Get in," Methos' soft voice pulled Rafe's attention back. "Even if he doesn't have the guts to take what he wants, we've still got plans."

"Your plans," the younger man pointed out with a grin as he got into the car.

"Are you objecting?"

Rafe gave him a slow, dark smile. "When do I ever?"

"Good boy," the Immortal purred. He took hold of Rafe's jaw and drew him forward. "Although I seem to remember you doing a lot of objecting when we started."

His tongue swept over the younger man's lips and Rafe groaned, instinctively trying to follow. Rafe's eyes glittered dangerously in the night. "Because you enjoyed overcoming me."

Methos gave a low laugh and tilted Rafe's jaw open for a deep, possessive kiss. His tongue plunged into the wet heat of Rafe's mouth, taking what had been his for years. Rafe tilted his head to give Methos a better angle, submitting to the brief, rough display of mastery. The older man sucked hard on his tongue before letting him go with a gentle, dragging bite to his lower lip. "I did train you well," he said with soft approval, his thumb caressing Rafe's jaw as he drew his hand away.

Rafe nodded and settled back against the seat, silver stars dancing across his vision. All of his control had taken a swan dive out the window when Methos had kissed him and most of the blood in his upper body had rushed due south. The silk moved over the growing erection and he bit back a helpless moan.

He saw Methos give him a sideways glance as he started the car, smiling at the twitch of Rafe's half-closed eyes and his too-controlled breathing. The detective's body jerked in the seat when the old man dragged his fingers up the inside of Rafe's leg and this time, the moan crawled out of his throat. Methos nodded in satisfaction, evidently loving the way the younger man's body responded to his slightest touch, and put the car into gear to pull away from the nightclub.

Several eternal minutes later, they got to the hotel where Methos often stayed when he came to Cascade for his too-brief visits. Rafe heard Methos switch off the engine, but he didn't open the door immediately, nor did he torment Rafe with more caresses.

"Well, now."

The faint surprise in the Immortal's voice threaded through the fog of sexual tension and Rafe's eyelids flickered open. Methos was looking slightly away from him and Rafe glanced over to see what had the Immortal's attention.

Alex was there already, sitting cross-legged on the hood of a black camaro. The stiffness of his body betrayed the picture of relaxation he tried to project and he was quite carefully *not* looking toward them. How the hell had he gotten there before them? Or had he just been following so closely -without either of them noticing- as to arrive at the same time?

Methos glanced back at Rafe slyly. "He's good."

Rafe couldn't tear his eyes away from the graceful flex of muscles under the denim of Alex's jeans. His fingers tingled with the vague itch to take them off him.

Methos smiled at the evident longing on Rafe's face. "Bring him inside."

With a slight nod, Rafe acquiesced. The Immortal got out, retrieved his coat and sword from the back seat and went to his hotel room door without looking in Alex's direction.

Rafe got out of the car and walked over to Alex. His motions were slow and deliberate, almost dreamlike as he moved. Green eyes latched onto hazel and neither man blinked, neither man breathed as the space between them narrowed. When their personal spaces touched and overlapped, when he could feel the faint heat of the other's body, Rafe stopped. Alex looked up at him for a long moment, then took a deep, shaking breath.

"Why am I here?" he asked with the lost look of a man who didn't know when control had been taken from him, or even if he'd had any to begin with.

"You want to forget," Rafe murmured. His hand came up to touch Alex's chin.

"Why are you here?" he whispered.

Rafe leaned forward. "I want to forget, too."

Alex's eyes closed as their lips touched. His mouth parted with a tiny sigh and Rafe's tongue teased inside. Even if it was well after midnight, they were still in a parking lot and Rafe only meant to make it a short, soft kiss. That was before Alex's right hand grabbed the back of his head and fisted in his hair. That was before the other man tried to crawl down his throat.

The suddenness of Alex's action pulled Rafe off balance. He caught himself with both hands flat on the hood of the car on either side of Alex's hips. Alex devoured his mouth hungrily, angrily, and finally pulled Rafe's face away from his with the grip in his hair. His eyes shone fiercely. "This isn't who I am."

Rafe understood. The hesitation, the longing, the feckless toss of caution. None of it was what Alex was normally like, and that difference was precisely what he needed right now.

The pressure on his scalp sent hot prickles down his neck and spine. Rafe wanted this, wanted him, right now. Both of his thumbs rubbed against Alex's hips, encouraging him closer. Rafe tilted his head, his hair slipping out of Alex's loosening fingers. "It's what you want," he said in a low, warm voice.

Alex shuddered. "It's not who I am," he repeated, his voice less steady.

"Then be someone else tonight," Rafe coaxed. "You want this, you need this. We'll give it to you."

The detective slowly drew back, his hands cupped around Alex's hips, pulling the other man with him. Alex slid off the camaro's hood, straightening and standing. There was less than an inch separating the line of their bodies, but the only contact were the hands that rested easily on Alex's waist.

A slight pressure nudged Alex forward a step... then another. They walked to the door of the room with Rafe still facing Alex, his steadying hands on his waist, his eyes holding Alex's with a warm hint of approval. They got to the door that Methos had left cracked open and Rafe gently nudged it inward with his foot. A fan of dim golden light spilled out, highlighting Alex's eyes with gilt shards. Rafe pulled the other man through the doorway, not turning around until they were both inside.

Methos was standing next to the huge bed, looking slender and dangerous in his black garments against the soft tones of the room. His coat was draped apparently carelessly on the low dresser. Rafe knew the Immortal's sword was under it, and it reminded him again how Methos never left anything to chance. Rafe kept his hand on the small of Alex's back, his fingers rubbing gently over Alex's spine.

Methos' smile was lazy and utterly confident. "I'm glad you got our little hawk's feathers smoothed, Rafey."

Rafe's lips twitched. 'Little hawk' was just about right, for Alex. The sharp gaze that swept over everything, the haughty silence that made you want to quail, the temper that needed to be soothed, lest their playmate take flight... The old man had a penchant for making up nicknames. Rafe personally found it charming, and was privately grateful that 'Rafey' was the only one Methos used in front of others. The rest were best kept between them, in pitch blackness.

The faint annoyance said that Alex wasn't as taken with the moniker, but it was quieted away by more light massaging. Alex glanced at Rafe, his face relaxing at the beginning grin. He looked back at Methos, something unreadable passing behind his eyes, then his body settled minutely. Rafe's eyebrows lifted a little. It felt like Alex had finally made an internal decision.

He started to take a step forward, stopping when Methos raised a finger. "One warning." The Immortal's deep eyes were as serious as he'd been playful earlier. "Once you close that door, you're not leaving until we're done with you."

Alex froze, and for a stomach-clenching moment, Rafe was sure they'd lost him, sure the hawk had flown. He felt Alex's body press against his hand as the other man backed away. With a surge of regret, he took his hand away; if Alex wanted to leave, Rafe wouldn't force him to stay.

Instead, Alex reached back behind them, clear green eyes glinting, and slowly pushed. The latch gave a soft click as the door shut.

Methos relaxed a little and sat down on the bed. He pried off his shoes and settled back against the headboard. "You're tense, little hawk," he observed, looking over Alex with an invasive gaze. "Come here."

He started forward, hesitating when Rafe began to take his jacket off him. Every muscle tensed, and Rafe stopped, a question in his eyes. Alex looked at him for several seconds, then turned to shrug it away. An extra movement made the cop's eyes narrow. He *saw* nothing, but he knew Alex had just discreetly stripped off a shoulder holster. The glance he gave Methos was met by an equally puzzled, though not as tense expression. So, the Immortal had noticed too.

Underneath, Alex was wearing a cream colored sweater that hung down to just above his hips. The unnatural stiffness of the left arm caught Rafe's attention again and he got a good look at the prosthetic as Alex slid the jacket off.

The coat was dropped onto a chair and Rafe's hands continued to roam, skimming lightly up Alex's back to his shoulders, then started to stroke down his arms. Alex flinched and the detective stopped again.

Methos lifted an eyebrow. "One arm?" His shoulders lifted in a fluid shrug; such a thing didn't bother him. "Is that why you're afraid?"

"I'm not," he retorted.

"Good," the older man said. "Because *that*," he nodded at the missing limb, "means that Rafey and I might need to get creative."

Rafe watched Alex's throat work as he gulped. He started forward to the bed and Rafe had to give him several bonus points for standing his ground and taking up the gauntlet Methos had so casually tossed down. Alex sat stiffly on the edge by the Immortal's leg, watching the other man with lowered eyes.

Methos returned the scrutiny with a careless smirk. His gaze skipped up to meet Rafe's and on the old man's slight nod, Rafe came forward. He knelt on the floor by Alex's knee, the arm resting on the bedspread pressed lightly against the length of Alex's thigh. Rafe ran his other hand down Alex's shin to the knotted laces of his boot. His fingertips traced the knot before starting to pick it loose.

**Hold on. How does a man with one arm tie these?**

His question was answered by the discreet zipper he noticed on the outside of Alex's ankle. He smiled evilly, the GQ in him appreciating the fashionable boots and a more practical side appreciating the easier access to get on and especially to take off.

Alex was quiet while both shoes and socks were tugged off, but when Rafe only drew patterns on the skin for a time, he asked, "What are you doing?"

"He's going to give you a massage."

The low heat of Methos' voice made both of them twitch. Alex closed his eyes and shivered again when Rafe's fingers began to rub the soles of his feet.

Rafe massaged each toe gently with small circular motions of his thumb and forefinger. He flet the settling quivers travel up Alex's legs, the blur of relaxation spreading from the soles being firmly massaged. The release reached Alex's torso, and the man sighed involuntarily as it crept upwards through his chest. His fingers tensed and clutched at the edge of the bed as Rafe's caresses on his skin turned from soothing to teasing.

As Alex's long-entrenched tension trickled away, it became clear that desire was gaining more of a foothold. Rafe felt the muscles contract when he began to stroke the soft skin between and under Alex's toes. His eyes flicked up, pausing at eye level at the filling crotch of the other man's jeans. He smiled to himself and turned his gaze back down.

The feet in his vision moved. Rafe glanced back up to see Methos leaning forward. "Come on, little hawk," he said soothingly. Elegant, pale hands lighted on Alex's shoulders to draw the younger man to him. Alex resisted at first, then let Methos tug him close, reclining back against the Immortal's chest. Rafe followed the feet up onto the bed and continued the footrub.

While Rafe worked on Alex's feet, Methos began rubbing the young man's neck and shoulders into quietude. Rafe watched Alex slowly relax until his head was resting against Methos' collarbone. He kept his motions strictly platonic, his eyes on Methos' face. At last, when Alex's eyes drifted shut, the older man looked at Rafe and gave him a slight nod. Rafe returned it with a smile and dove down to suck at a small toe.

The shock of that wet fire in such an unexpected place sent a lightning strike through Alex's body that snapped his back up into an arch. His eyes flew open as he cried out. Methos quickly grabbed his shoulders to steady him.

Alex looked down at Rafe in stunned lust, his mouth was open, but no words fell out. Rafe smiled sweetly at him and bent back down to nip at his toes again, pushing the tip of his tongue in between to tease the sensitive skin there. Alex shuddered and the surprise-born strength rushed out of him as he melted against Methos once more.

Rafe barely kept from laughing. It was good to know that Methos wasn't the only one that lost it when his feet were being mouthed.

He began to work his way up Alex's legs, rubbing at muscles that were alternating between water and stone. After his fingers passed, the muscles behaved quietly, soothed into relaxation. His hands skimmed up over the very noticeable bulge and tugged the button loose. Alex's eyes watched Rafe as he slowly drew the zipper down.

When Rafe started to pull the jeans away, Alex stiffened again. Methos traced his fingers over Alex's neck and under his ears. "You're right, little hawk. It's not fair to you." He nodded to Rafe, who gave Alex a slow, heated smile and sat back on his heels to strip off his still sweat-damp t-shirt.

Alex watched him with barely hidden desire while Rafe's fingers unbuckled the thin black belt he wore and slowly, teasingly, pulled it free of the loops. Rafe drew the leather across his other palm and lifted a questioning look at Methos.

"No," the Immortal breathed, sending the word dancing over the edge of Alex's ear. Their playmate groaned tightly as Methos went on, "I'm all the restraints either of you will need, Rafey."

The belt was dropped to the floor.

It was soon joined by Rafe's gray slacks. A smile of anticipation skated over Alex's lips when he saw the green silk boxers. The smile burned into reality at the tented evidence of Rafe's interest.

Rafe hooked his thumbs behind the waistband and stopped right there. He watched the tensing muscle of Alex's jaw as the other man fought to not beg him to take those off too. Methos' lips curved slightly as Rafe pulled the boxers down a hairsbreadth at a time, his eyes never leaving the flushed look on Alex's face.

By the time the green silk met with the discarded gray twill, the fingers of Alex's hand were twitching and he didn't even acknowledge the gentle nuzzling of his ear. Rafe crawled back up his legs to his waist again, working his fingers carefully under the waistband of the denim. This time, when he started to peel the jeans off, Alex let him.

When they came down, Rafe's eyes widened. Methos laughed softly at Alex's "commando" state. "Always ready, eh?" he asked, nibbling the edge of his ear. Alex nodded, his eyes never leaving Rafe. The sweater hit the wall by the bathroom door and slid to the floor.

Now that Alex was naked, Rafe's hands were free to travel over the rest of his body. His fingertips probed gently over the scars decorating his skin, but the scrutiny was only passing curiosity. Rafe worked his way up to Alex's shoulders, deliberately skipping every erogenous hotspot that those green eyes begged him to touch.

Methos hand stroked down Alex's left shoulder to the fastenings of his arm. He twitched them loose and eased it off. Alex craned his head around to look at Methos. "You're good at that."

"I've practiced with a friend," the Immortal replied, settling the arm carefully on the nightstand.

The rough stump bespoke of less than surgical precision to the detective and he wondered what the ancient doctor thought of it. Still, it only got a cursory glance before Methos turned his eyes back to the two bodies stretched out before him. "Such a pretty body, little hawk," he murmured his appreciation. "So smooth... so lovely..." Alex's resistance wore away even more under the tide of that voice.

Rafe knew the old man well, or as well as Methos let him, so he was ready when Methos purred, "Hmm... too perfect, though. Rafey, mark him."

Alex reacted far too slowly to that voice. Rafe didn't. Alex's body jerked again as Rafe bit down on a spot right over his heart and sucked hard enough to draw redness to the surface. Alex reflexively shoved Rafe away, but Methos restrained that arm before he'd shoved the other man farther than a foot or so back.

The cop grinned as he went down to mark more of that lovely body. Alex twisted and fought the Immortal's grip, his grunts of reluctant pleasure pulling out into full-grown moans. Methos nodded at Rafe once more, and the younger man worked his way down to the erect cock begging for more attention. He settled into a comfortable position between Alex's legs, he was going to be here for a while.

Rafe swiped his tongue across the fiery hot skin. The strangled sound that came out of Alex's throat fell somewhere between a wail and a groan. He lapped lazily at the head, tiny wet flicks that cooled in the air he breathed across it. Alex's thrashing began to settle and change direction, trying to thrust up instead of twist away. Rafe held his hips down and kept tormenting him with lips and tongue and, encouraged by the whimpers that followed, teeth.

"Go ahead and fight," Methos purred. "You're supposed to," he added as Alex's heels dragged over the bedspread. The Immortal's grip on his shoulders was firm and kept his upper body still. Rafe absently shoved the feet away that were pressing involuntarily against his thighs and took a breath to fully swallow the cock he teased. The choked scream that spiraled out drove the detective to use every bit of skill the five thousand year old man had taught him.

He lightly dragged his teeth back up to the head, releasing the hot length to lick his way down to the velvety sac beneath. Rafe braced his hands against the inside of Alex's thighs, sucking first the left, then the right ball into his mouth and tonguing them gently. The begging whimpers became more imperative and Rafe trailed his tongue down to his cleft.

The instant he drew the tip across the opening, Alex jerked violently, his legs kicking out. His foot caught Rafe low, nearly knocking him off the bed. His body curled instinctively around himself before the first block of agony crashed down on him.

Methos moved too quickly for either man to react. Alex's head was jerked back and a small, deadly blade pressed to his throat. Survival instinct froze the involuntary convulsions.

"I said you could fight," Methos said, his voice low and very serious. "But hurt him again, and your screams will be for an entirely different reason."

His eyes wide with shock, Alex nodded. The edge touching his skin was sharp enough to make wind bleed. "...didn't... mean to..."

"Perhaps," the Immortal replied. He looked over at the detective. "Rafe?" he called softly, dropping the playfulness along with the nickname. "Are you all right?" When the detective could only manage a shaky breath, he asked again, sounding more worried. "Rafe?"

"Fine," the other man gasped. He straightened slowly, his right hand gingerly rubbing the join between his thigh and torso. "Wasn't on target."

"It was an accident," Alex said. The look in his eyes was a mix of anger and fear and lust and... and... honest contrition. Rafe believed it had been an accident. He also believed that the utter stillness of Alex's body and the regret in his eyes was the closest that man would come to apologizing. That was fine. Rafe still had yet to hear 'I'm sorry' come out of Methos' mouth.

The Immortal nodded, his relief almost hidden from his longtime lover and playmate. His attention dropped back down to Alex and the knife pressed to the pulse point of his throat. "This is just a game, little hawk," he smiled dangerously. "It's up to you to keep it that way."

Carefully, Alex nodded, not speaking until the metal left his skin. "Get rid of that."

Methos smiled indulgently at the tension in Alex's voice and body. He stroked the flat down Alex's throat to his chest, lightly tracing the tip of the knife around his left nipple. Alex stiffened again, but the tiny sound that crept out betrayed the sudden arousal. The tip was skimmed delicately down to his navel and drew faint patterns back up to the other nipple. The erection that had never gone away bobbed and Alex moaned again.

Rafe shivered as he watched Methos drag the edge teasingly along Alex's skin. About the only thing Rafe adamantly refused was Methos bringing blades into their games. Methos had smiled and gone along with his wishes, understanding, perhaps, that Rafe could trust him with a lot, but would never relax with anybody who brought a knife into bed. It was a paranoia Rafe knew the Immortal also shared, so the 'no steel clause' was a mutual agreement. Alex, however, seemed to get a special thrill out of the cold metal's touch.

He started towards Alex's cock again, moving a little more slowly for the sharp soreness two inches to the left of his own painfully hard erection. He settled down again, carefully, to lap at the red flesh under his lips. Alex's body arched up instantly, but stayed perfectly still despite the tension that thrummed through it. The knife that skated over his skin was an erotic reminder of how lethal their game could become.

The scrape of the edge seemed to draw in all the sexual lances dancing through Alex's body and focus them in a hard, bright line that was reflected by the shudders following the knife's touch. Alex whimpered again, his muscles quivering with the effort to keep still as Rafe lipped and sucked at his cock. Another easy sweep of steel and he cried out, the closeness of danger, pain, possibly death heightening the arousal to a painful level.

Rafe felt the swelling of the cock down his throat. Attuned to what Methos would want, he quickly squeezed the base to stop the orgasm, drawing his head away so that he was barely mouthing the crown. Alex lost all coherency, gasping out strange sounds that *might* have been pleas, orders, instructions, or even government secrets.

Methos gave him an approving nod, one hand busy with the knife, the other busy restraining Alex's arm. Rafe nibbled his way up the shaft, licking too-lightly across the slit before dragging his tongue back down. He took Alex deep into his throat again, working the muscles to massage his cock, trusting Methos' sadistic artistry with that knife to keep Alex under control.

The whimpers were gaining speed and volume and strength as they worked him over. Rafe was almost afraid people might call the police, but he still took a firm hold on Alex's hips and darted down to tongue his hole again. The instantly controlled convulsion was so intense, Rafe heard a series of pops in the other man's spine.

Methos leaned down to whisper into Alex's ear, tickling a hard nipple with the very tip of his knife. "Tell me something... you want more, don't you?"

The violent nod might have been part of another jerk of pleasure. Rafe wasn't sure; he was busy doing a little tongue-fucking.

The Immortal let another string of moans drag out, biding his time by licking the edge and whorls of Alex's ear. "Do you want to take, or be taken?"

Another moan. Rafe dragged his tongue up Alex's cock and turned it into a near-scream.

"Tell us, little hawk. What do you want?" Another lick, another moan. "What do you desire?" Methos' teeth gnawed lightly at the earlobe, then skipped down to the side of his neck.

Alex sucked in a breath. Rafe took pity on him and just deep-throated him again. The other man's voice was a shaking, shattered ghost of itself. "... t... take..."

Rafe moved away, his tongue spiraling up the length of Alex's cock. He had some lube in the pocket of his slacks. He didn't always trust Methos to have some and the old man could get pretty damn scary in his inventiveness. Rafe's lips were still cupping the head, giving it little massaging pulses when Alex forced out more.

"...take... me..."

Methos' eyes fluttered shut and Rafe almost groaned as the need in his tone sent a white-hot bar of iron into his groin. He reached down, groping blindly for the familiar texture of his slacks, unwilling to give up the quivering cock that slid against his tongue. He caught a pinch of fabric between his fingertips and managed to find the pocket with the lube.

Rafe remembered something as he extracted the small plastic tube. He'd brought no condoms, and he knew Methos didn't bother - with an Immortal, it was kind of redundant. Alex probably recognized the problem. His right hand flopped in an uncontrolled gesture in the vague direction his pants were. "Back pocket," he groaned. "Hurry."

Not needing to be told twice, Rafe left them to get to the jeans he'd thrown against the door. He glanced back when he heard another fluid babble from Alex and saw Methos was using that knife to draw careless patterns over Alex's cock. The man was twisting mindlessly and Rafe's mouth went completely dry with lust. He fumbled through the pile of denim, checking first one pocket, then the other and fishing out his prize.

Walking back to the bed was one of the hardest, so to speak, physical activities he'd had to do in a long time. Unrolling that condom over his own throbbing cock was ten times more so. He squeezed out some of the cool gel to prepare Alex, watching the other man carefully for signs of another involuntary kick. Methos grinned at the sour look Rafe gave the knife and casually threw it to *thunk* deeply into the wall by the bathroom, where it quivered from the force of the impact.

His fingers were shaking badly as he brought them to Alex's opening, and preparing him took far more self-control and patience than Rafe thought he had left. Alex cried out again, rocking back onto the rough intruders. His head was whipping from side to side and Rafe finally damned the preparations, squeezed out another helping of lube to coat his cock and thrust into him. The ragged shriek was born entirely of ecstatic agony.

Rafe could feel Methos' fingers against his stomach, rubbing Alex's shaft. Alex arched to meet the next thrust, his mouth opening to scream. The fingers around his cock tightened, and the birthing cry turned into a wail of frustrated despair. Rafe read the message in Methos' eyes: Alex was not the one in control here.

Rafe plunged into him, yanking out a formless sound with each drive into the furnace of Alex's body. The spasming channel around him propelled Rafe up higher and higher, sending him on a collision course right for the sun. He had no mental functions left to wonder what kind of impact that would be, instincts had taken over and all that mattered now was the pounding flight to release.

He felt Methos prevent Alex's orgasm again. Rafe had forgotten Methos, forgotten the room, forgotten his life as a cop and the normal day life he had. The only concept that flaring need left any room for was the fire he thrust into, the thrashing body under him, the breathless cries for something that Rafe himself was looking for.

The electricity lacing inside his body needed to get out, it had already fried his brain, his spine, his entire nervous system. All of his muscles were on automatic pilot right now, each flex and thrust a result of mindless need, not conscious thought.

He changed his angle just a bit and drove back in, feeling a tiny bump scrape across the head of his cock. Alex shrieked again, and Methos kept him from that edge once more. Rafe drove in deeply, felt a sudden clench around his cock and the random flashes of lightning converged and erupted out of him. His back arched painfully as he came with a cry that started from the soles of his feet.

Methos quickly pulled his hand back and the scream that came out of Alex dwarfed his own. It was a primal shriek, without thought or past or future, a single word that was the only coherent thing he'd said since Rafe sank into him. His head slammed back and in the throes of his own release, Rafe almost missed the sharp crack as the Immortal's collarbone snapped.

The old man's face went deathly pale in the space of a second, his head falling back and his jaw clamping down hard to keep his cry of pain inside. Alex went completely limp in the Immortal's arms, and Rafe collapsed on top of him, a tiny, still brain-powered corner of himself marveling that Alex had passed out. He glanced up at the sound of Methos' breathing and forced himself to pull the unconscious man off of him.

"Adam?" he asked softly, using Methos' public name in case Alex wasn't entirely out.

"I'll be all right," the older man gritted out. "Just give me a few minutes."

Rafe nodded and got off the bed, moving carefully to keep from disturbing the mattress too much. He went to the bathroom the clean himself up quickly and brought back a warm washcloth for Alex, who started to rouse under the moist swipes of the cloth. He blinked up at Rafe, then reached out and pulled Rafe down next to him. His body was shaking, but it wasn't from aftershocks.

The detective shot a puzzled look at Methos even as he automatically drew Alex into a close embrace. Methos looked similarly confused, then shrugged his good shoulder. Whatever had the man shuddering with dry, silent sobs, it was something that had been hiding behind walls for a long time. It happened sometimes, and that release afterwards was often more important for the soul than the one that ripped through the body.

Methos shifted the bad shoulder a little and Rafe winced watching him set the bone. The Immortal eased himself to spoon up behind Alex, reaching around to hold him too. They cradled Alex between them, saying nothing even when the tears began to leak from under tightly closed lids. They stayed that way for a long time.

Rafe cradled Alex's head on his shoulder, his other hand stroking the line of his torso. Methos nuzzled the back of Alex's neck, the gentleness a startling contrast to the earlier deadly seriousness. Startling, that is, to anyone that didn't know Methos. By degrees, Alex relaxed and fell silent, soaking up the heat of their bodies and the soothing touch of their hands. He finally blinked his eyes open and pulled away from them to sit up.

He turned to look back at them. Worn, shaking, and looking thoroughly fucked, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His face relaxed and he gave them a soft, sweet smile. It was the first real smile he'd had all evening and Rafe suspected all year, too. He slowly crawled off the bed to collect his scattered clothes and get dressed.

He was so drained and shattered that his hands shook picking up his clothes and he fumbled the garments. Methos motioned Rafe to get up and help him, rolling carefully onto his back with a tiny grimace of pain. Rafe obeyed Methos immediately, or as immediately as his watery bones would allow. With both of them working together, they got Alex's arm and clothes back on his body. Rafe wasn't quite sure who was supporting whom as they went to the door.

Alex leaned his weight against the doorpost. Rafe reached for the doorknob to let him out and paused as Alex laid his hand on Rafe's arm, stopping him. Hazel eyes lifted to meet smiling green and the feathery touch on his wrist left to light on his face. Alex stroked the line of Rafe's jaw, using the caress to draw Rafe to him and touch their lips together for a last, gentle kiss.

He gave Rafe a final smile when they separated and opened the door to slip out into the night.

Rafe kept the door open an inch or so, enough to conceal his nudity, but still be able to watch Alex leave. The man never looked back, walking away to once again be somebody else for somebody else. Rafe sighed a little, closing the door.

How long had Alex hidden those fractures from everyone, including himself? It had to have been more than long enough to be shattered so easily. More than long enough to need the catalyst of tonight to have a hope of putting himself back together properly.

He heard literally nothing as the door latched, nothing that gave him any warning before something solid hit his back and shoved him against the door. Methos pressed hard against him, the heat of his body made almost scalding by the rough texture of his clothes against Rafe's bare skin. Both of his wrists were grabbed and pulled up over his head to be pinned to the door with one hand.

"That," the older man's breath was burning against his ear, "was the one of most incredible things I've ever seen." His other hand snaked around to Rafe's awakening cock. "But I told you I had plans for tonight, and you *will* be a part of them."

The possessive tone only made him harder. Always responsive to the older man, Rafe moaned and ground back against the denim-clad hardness pressing into his ass. Methos thrust against him, giving his cock a hard pump in counterpoint. The detective's moans bled into whimpers of desire and his master bit the back of his neck, giving the area a broad lick as he drew away.

"You're wanting more, my own? Our little hawk wasn't enough for you, didn't come close to touching your hunger, did he?" He stroked the hot arousal again, giving it a squeeze as his palm slid over it and Rafe made a helpless mewling sound.

"Or maybe this isn't what you're after." Methos released the throbbing cock and kicked Rafe's feet farther apart. He dipped a fingertip into the quivering pucker, hissing when Rafe thrust back, "That's what it is, isn't it? That's the ache that's eating at you."

Rafe nodded, his eyes shut with raw need. Methos pulled him away from the door, propelling him to the bed with a hard shove. The younger man caught himself against the foot of the bed, looked back to see Methos stripping off his black turtleneck with a feral gleam in his eyes. Rafe dropped instantly to his knees, trying not to groan when the sounds of Methos undressing crawled under his skin and sizzled just under the surface. He rested his upper body on the bed, stretching his arms out before him and grabbing a double fistful of the bedspread. His knees he spread as wide apart as he could stand. Rafe pressed his face against the mattress and waited to be taken.

He didn't have to wait long at all, but his hands had already begun twisting the comforter frantically. The burn of Methos' skin draped over his back and the contrasting coolness of gel-slicked fingers made him cry out, shamelessly begging for more, anything to fill the aching hole he'd become. When the fingers left he nearly screamed in despair.

The entry was surprisingly tender, surprising because of the ragged breathing that told Rafe his lover was hanging onto control with tooth and nail. His body relaxed into the thrust, stretching and settling around the hard intruder and his next sob came out as a blend of hunger and bliss. Methos' hands were everywhere, the strokes swinging from soothing to inflaming, his lips and teeth at work on Rafe's back, neck and shoulders.

The next thrust stole his identity and all awareness of time. He shoved back to meet it, the force driving out an amorphous groan. A breeze-light brush danced over his cock and a short scream burst out of him. He surged forward into that phantom touch and the hand was pulled away. "Methos," he gasped.

"No," came the growl.

He whimpered again, his dignity ripped to shreds and whipped away by the easy strokes that pulsed into him. The Immortal's name became a chant that anchored him to the here and now, the only thing that kept him from completely losing all sense of self. The tip of his straining cock brushed the coverlet on the bed and his voice cracked as that single touch lanced into him. He lunged forward, desperate for more stimulation, anything to fling him off this precipice Methos held him on.

The old man let him thrust against the bed a few times, let him almost reach that edge of forever, then reached around and squeezed him hard, sending the storm back once more. That pressure and its timing reminded Rafe once again that Methos was alert to his body and was the one in control of its every response and reaction. That didn't stop him from pleading for release.

Methos' response was to pound into him harder, finally hitting the deep ache within him. Rafe was sobbing now, crying for the oblivion his lover kept just out of reach. A hand under his jaw tilted his head back. Cool lips touched and worked at his ear and neck, sending shivers straight down and pulling out more sounds of desperation.

"Good slaves make the best masters," his lover's voice crept into him, coiling and writhing in his veins. "Did you know that, Rafey? You're a lovely top, my own. So strained and sweaty and in command-"

Methos bit down hard on Rafe's shoulder and the younger man cried out again, his voice now ragged and harsh from the shouts that were roughly reined in. "Did you like it?" Methos growled into his flesh. "Did you like having our little hawk's every sense, every cell focused on you and what you were doing?"

The next thrust stole his sanity. A change of angle, and Methos' cock crashed into his prostate. Rafe's mouth snapped open, but he'd lost any ability to speak.

"Did it thrill you, knowing his release came when *you* allowed it? Did you love having that power, having someone trust you so totally-"

Methos let go of Rafe's cock, driving into him one last time, hard enough to send the oversensitized skin rubbing harshly against the bedspread. The tornado touched down and in its path Rafe screamed, "YES!!!"

He barely felt the vibrations in his shoulder as Methos stifled his own cry, or the shudders that went through the body plastered to his. Everything whirled together inside, the tempest tearing bits of him free and spiraling them together into a darkbright lance that flew away, taking those parts of himself with it. His mind, his soul, his strength, his life all tore away and he collapsed, without even enough breath to say his lover's name.

He lay there, panting, trying to recall who and where he was. The body on his shifted a little, making it easier to draw air. "Rafe?"

Wait, that wasn't the first time Methos had said his name. Rafe gulped another lungful of oxygen. "'m still here. Barely."

The Immortal chuckled weakly. "As am I, my own." He eased off and out of Rafe, returning to the worn out man a minute later to clean them up. Rafe closed his eyes and let Methos take care of him. The Immortal helped him up and into the bed, more than half-supporting the detective's body of water.

"...got to get... back..."

Methos laughed, his voice low and wrapping warmly around him. "You're in no condition to even walk, let alone find your front door. And I'm not about to try driving right now." The old man slid into the bed with him, suiting body to voice and drawing Rafe into a weary embrace.

The younger man yawned, a laugh interrupting it when Methos tickled his lips. He relaxed against his lover, holding the old man close. He was sore, both inside and out, but it wasn't an unpleasant soreness and it would go away. In the meantime, it would remind him of this intensely erotic night.

"You make a good top, my own," Methos purred into his ear. "But you're *my* bottom. My sub."

Rafe yawned again and nodded, his hands stroking lazily over Methos' body in half-aware patterns. "I am. Until you say otherwise."

His lover tilted his face up for a kiss. "Damn. I *did* train you well." He smiled and opened Rafe's mouth with his, their tongues gliding and tangling together. Rafe drew away with a sigh in the darkness and Methos bent down to lip at his neck and collarbone. The soft rain wasn't inflaming at all, only a cool, soothing series of touches. Rafe sighed again, feeling Methos' lips curve into a smile at the happiness in his tone.

"Methos," Rafe began, still thinking about Alex. "What do you think he meant?" He was referring to that last thing Alex had said, just when his orgasm had torn through him.

"Mmmm," his lover replied. He kept lipping at Rafe's throat and chest. "I don't know, but 'Fox' seems to be a pretty good nickname for you."

Rafe grinned, yet another pet name for him. He was amazed Methos kept track of all of them, and even more so that the old man remembered his real name.

After a long time of just holding each other, after he noted the gray light dusting over the tops of the curtains, Rafe ventured to say, "Methos... come back home with me. Stay in Cascade for a little while. Please?"

There was a pause before the Immortal gently shook his head. He settled into Rafe's arms, still nuzzling the younger man's neck. "No. I have a lot to do and I can't get any of it done here."

"Okay," Rafe replied. He rested his chin in the silky dark hair. He was exhausted, but every night they had together for the last few years, he always stayed awake to watch over Methos. The mortal knew that Methos likely stayed awake as well, but he liked the feeling he got the few times the old man did doze, trusting him enough to sleep, even if only for a moment. "How long?"

Methos' shoulders lifted in a graceful shrug. Rafe accepted the ambiguity as he accepted everything else about the Immortal, without questions. Well, without too many questions. That "Immortal" thing he'd needed the old man to clarify on a few points.

"Go to sleep, my own," the Immortal murmured.

"Not," Rafe interrupted himself with a yawn. "Sleepy."

"Yes you are." Methos' teeth nibbled gently on his collarbone. "Go to sleep. I can watch the door for once."

"'kay," he mumbled, pulling Methos even closer and closing his eyes. "Well, if you're gone when I wake..." he trailed off, sleep muting the 'again' in his voice.

He wanted to add more, that tonight had been incredible, that he couldn't wait for Methos to visit once more, even something sweet and tender that more than likely would made the skittish, commitment-shy Immortal leave for good. Instead, he kept the words in, as always, and settled for falling asleep in his lover's arms.

The ringing of the phone pulled him out of sleep again. Rafe rolled over wearily and blinked at the red numbers on the unfamiliar clock. He blinked again, the meaning creeping into his mind and lunged over to answer the cheap plastic phone. "Yeah?"

{"Good morning, this is your wake-up call. The cab you requested is on its way."}

The cab *he* requested? Oh, Methos must have done it. "Uh, yeah, thanks."

He dropped the handset into the cradle and flung back the covers. A quick glance around told him he was alone in the room, and Methos' clothes, coat and sword were gone. He shook his head and rushed into the bathroom, the adrenaline rush to get to work on time burned away the exhaustion that the few hours of sleep hadn't been able to replenish.

If that clock was right, and Rafe had no reason to believe it wasn't, then he had only a half an hour to get to work. He took a quick shower, scrubbing himself clean in a fraction of the time he usually took, and hurried out to collect his scattered clothes and get dressed.

Try as he might, he couldn't find his boxers. With a stifled curse, he put the rest of his clothes on, hoped the t-shirt wasn't too smelly, and left the room.

The taxi had arrived as he had been getting dressed, and he got into the cab. "Cascade PD," he said shortly. The driver ignored his curt tone and pulled out of the parking lot. Rafe glanced at the empty spot Methos had parked in last night and sighed to himself, wondering when the Immortal would come back to Cascade.

He made it to his desk barely on time. Rafe spent the first few minutes rummaging through his desk for a spare set of sunglasses, since the morning light was way too bright to eyes that were supposed to have been shut for far longer. While he was hunting for them, Jim and Blair came into the bullpen. They nodded a greeting at Rafe and went to Ellison's desk.

"Hey, where were you last night?" His partner's voice broke into his search for dark glasses and he glanced up, accepting the cup of coffee Brown brought over for him.

"Oh," Rafe tried not to smile. He was still a little sore and that memory tugged at the corners of his mouth even more. "I went home right after work. A friend of mine called and we went out for a bit."

"Too bad, man," Henri grinned. "You missed out on a great poker game."

A startled laugh came out and Rafe tried to turn it into a dignified cough. "Uh, yeah."

"Oh, by the way," Brown added. He dropped down into the seat next to Rafe's desk, blowing on his own cup of coffee to cool it. Brown sipped at the coffee while rummaging through the papers on Rafe's desk. "Got a phone message for you."

"Oh?" Who the hell was awake enough in the morning to call for him?

"Yeah." His partner fished out a tiny, pink phone message slip. "Here you go, some guy named Adam." He handed the paper to Rafe with a shrug.

Rafe squashed down the sudden exultation. He took the message and quickly skimmed over it, noting the time "Adam" had said he'd be by to pick him up for lunch.

"No call back number?"

"Nah, he said you were expecting him and he was going to pick you up." Brown took in the faintly surprised look on his face. "Do you know anything about this?"

"Oh, yes, Adam's my friend from last night. I just thought he'd gone back home."

Brown shrugged. "Don't have any idea, man." His face grew thoughtful. "Oh, he did mention he had something of yours."

"Something of mine?"

"Yeah, maybe that's why he hasn't left yet. Do you know what it is?"

Rafe smiled and shifted a little in his seat, feeling the rough twill stroke over his bare skin. So *that's* what happened to his lovely, dark green silk boxers.

"Oh... I have an idea."

**finis**