Once an Immortal II
Learning Curves

Angyl, Orithain and Rina

Disclaimers: Highlander and all its characters belong to Rysher Panzer-Davis, and Vic, Mac and all things Once a Thief belong to Alliance-Atlantis. Unfortunately, we aren’t either of those entities, but we still have fun with the guys. No profit is being made.

Connor seriously thought about beating his head against the wall. It probably wouldn’t help, but it might distract him from the even more painful reality. He often found himself wishing that he’d lost the fight the night he encountered the banes of his existence.

The bitchy older one was out doing heaven knew what, and Connor had been putting up with Mac Ramsey’s snide, sarcastic remarks for the last hour, and he had had enough!

"Okay, Mac m’boy, put up or shut up," he suddenly snapped, interrupting the latest soliloquy. "You’re such hot shit as a fighter, well, let’s see if you can take me." As he spoke, the Highlander was removing his sneakers and socks, and he stripped off his sweater as well, leaving himself in a pair of jeans. He was thankful that all of his jeans had the additional gusset at the crotch that allowed him to perform the kicks common in the martial arts without splitting his pants.

"Well?" he taunted, setting himself. "Come and get me, Ramsey."

Mac stared at Connor in vague amusement. And the kiltboy calls me immature? he thought, laughing silently. Jesus, what a schoolyard bully tactic. Well, Mr. Connor MacLeod of the clan MacLeod from the shores of Loch Shiel was in for one hell of a surprise.

Following at a more languid pace, Mac pulled off his cable knit sweater and folded it up neatly. Next came the thin t-shirt he wore underneath. That too was folded and placed on top of the sweater. His expensive Italian shoes were next, and the silk socks were balled and placed on the growing pile of clothes.

Clad only in his loose yet elegant khakis, Mac walked onto the mat and executed a graceful bow before assuming a defensive position. A little demon prompted him to blow a kiss at the older man and taunt him with a come hither flick of his wrist. "Best offense is a good defense, kiltboy. You want this fight, you start it."

Connor’s eyes narrowed. The boy clearly had some training if he wanted to make Connor make the first move. Fine. He struck out, testing Mac’s defenses, and battle was joined. He felt the same thrill he had as a lad, testing himself and an opponent, and he grinned.

He saw an answering grin on Mac’s face as they fought, each gaining and losing the advantage time and time again. The kid knew what he was doing. Formal training and dirty tricks both were used, and the frustrations that had been driving them in the beginning were worked through, and they began to enjoy themselves.

Sweat poured off both men, and they spent more time in close, grappling.

Mac was shocked at how much fun he was having and how much he’d missed this. The Agency had made sure his skills were kept sharp, both his training and his street fighting expounded upon, but there had never been any enjoyment in it. It was what he’d had to do to stay alive and keep his partners that way.

This, this was exhilarating. It was fun. There was honest enjoyment from his opponent and a release of all the frustrations and fears of the past week. Here he could work through his hatred of Pucci, his fear at finding Vic dead, his sorrow over losing his sister, his anger at the Director and at life in general. It was cathartic, and as Mac became one with the dance, the fight and the moment, he found himself healing.

Unfortunately for him, fighting had always been something sexual, and Mac found himself getting increasingly turned on by the hard, lethal body next to his, by the feel of Connor’s hands on him and by the sweaty, musky smell of ‘man’.

His concentration broken, Mac found himself flat on his back and staring up into the most amazing steel gray eyes he’d ever seen. "Fuck me," he sighed, not expecting it to come out as a plea instead of the resigned tone of defeat he’d intended.

Connor was startled. Not by Mac’s desire since he felt it as well and had seen it growing in the young man, but by him giving in to it. He’d thought Mac would hold out for Victor, for his lover. He knew he should point that out to the other man, but he wasn’t that altruistic. He’d wanted both men since the night he met them, and he finally had a chance to have at least one of them.

Besides, how could he resist such a charming request? He chuckled, lowering his head to kiss Mac, their tongue battling as their bodies had, and he rubbed against the other man.

Mac moaned and sank into the kiss. The smell, the touch, the taste of the Scot was heady and oh so different from Vic. He knew he should feel guilty but... they’d both talked about it—in teasing terms of course—about what it would be like with Connor. Mac just hoped Vic would go with the flow so to speak.

Forgetting his concerns for the moment and wrapping his arms around the older man, Mac thrust his hip upwards, grinding his aching cock against the other man’s answering bulge. Breaking off the kiss, Mac’s hands dove downwards to unbutton Connor’s button-flies. "Figures, the one time that you should be wearing a flippin’ kilt for easy access, you’re wearing a suit of armor!"

Connor had to laugh. "I’d look damn silly doing martial arts in a kilt. No thank you! Besides, unwrapping’s half the fun." His own hands delved beneath Mac’s pants, teasing the rigid shaft, then one rose to unfasten them. He shoved them down then squirmed down to take the freed length into his mouth, sucking hungrily.

"Shit!" Mac arched and bit down on his lip hard. Who’d have thought that after having a similar sort of work out with Vic this morning, he’d be so desperate for more? "Will you stop teasing, Connor, and get on with it?" he growled as he suddenly flipped them over then stood to pull his pants and boxer-briefs off. Christ, he was hard enough to drill holes in the dojo’s floor!

Deciding that the 500-year-old man had been so long without that he’d forgotten how it was done, Mac knelt between his legs and brushed Connor’s hands aside. Quickly undoing the remaining buttons, Mac only pushed the jeans down far enough to expose the Scotsman’s ruddy cock.

Not giving either of them time to think, the younger man lay down between Connor’s legs and proceeded to devour the older man’s cock with one gobbling motion.

Connor gasped at Mac’s rapidity, wondering if the baby Immortal had ever learned how to savor things rather than gobbling them. Then his mind shut off as Mac treated him to one of the best blowjobs he’d ever had. He was tempted to just lie back and let the other man do whatever he wanted, but he really wanted to fuck him.

He wound his fingers in Mac’s curls and tugged, drawing him away from his aching cock despite his protests. "Thought you wanted to be fucked?"

Mac licked his lips and grinned. "What can I say? I needed an oral fix before we got to that," he sassed as he crawled from between Connor’s legs.

Crawling a short distance away, Mac swung around so that his ass was facing the older man. Waggling it invitingly, the ex-thief looked over his shoulder. "So, watcha waiting for, MacLeod; you of all people should know how to handle this position!"

Eyebrows raised, the Scot didn’t bother to reply to the comment. "And what exactly would you suggest for lube? Or are you that fond of pain?" Even as he spoke, Connor remembered some massage oil he’d left in the dojo the last time he’d had someone over, and he stood up to get it.

Oil in hand, he returned to the impatient younger man and began to tease him with slicked fingers.

"Fuck, yesssss," Mac hissed as he canted his hips higher and rested his head on his crossed hands. Rocking back and forth on his knees, the younger man slowly felt Connor penetrate him and begin to move.

"Don’t want fingers, want your cock, kiltboy!" he complained quietly. "Hey, this immortality thing should come be tested out, right?"

"You are definitely what they had in mind when they coined the term ‘pushy bottom,’" Connor laughed. Eager to feel that tight grip on his cock rather than his fingers, he gave Mac what he wanted. He pushed inside him slowly, biting his lip as he slid in to the root, then pulled back equally slowly until only the head remained inside him. Then he slammed back in and immediately set a rapid, hard pace.

Mac glared over his shoulder at the older man for the pushy bottom crack but then dropped his head back down to its resting position as he felt Connor slide inside. "Fuuuck, that’s great! Christ, you’re thick," he moaned happily. The snap of Connor’s hips and the slamming into his own had him biting down on the back of his hand until he tasted blood. Jesus!

Thrusting his hips back to meet each incoming thrust, Mac began to moan and grunt as his prostate was nudged and his body driven higher. "Oh yeah, fuck me, MacLeod, fuck me hard. Drive that cock... Jesus, you’re a fucking powerhouse. Oh yeah, do me, Christ, harder, c’mon kiltboy, you can do better than that, FUCK ME!"

Harsh laughter was the only response as Connor gripped Mac’s hips hard enough to bruise anyone except an Immortal. He slammed in and out, taking the other man harder than he’d taken anyone in centuries. "God, you feel so fucking good!"

He bit down on Mac’s shoulder, teeth sinking into him slightly, and licked away the trickle of blood before the wound healed. Wanting more, he rose, their only points of contact his cock driving into Mac’s ass and his hands on his hips.

Writhing underneath the Scotsman like a proverbial cat in heat, Mac rocked back and forth on the older man’s cock, almost fucking himself against Connor. His breath came in panted gasps as his cock slapped against his stomach, leaving smears of clear fluid in its wake.

Slamming back into the other man hard, Mac forced Connor into a kneeling position, following the motion of MacLeod’s body so that his cock never slid out of Mac’s ass. Using thigh muscles made strong by decades of martial arts, Mac began to slowly undulate on the cock that he was impaled on, mewling and begging softly in Cantonese for more, faster, harder, please.

Going with the change in position, Connor pounded even harder into Mac, his legs pressing the younger Immortal’s farther apart so he could go deeper still. One hand wrapped around Mac’s cock, pumping it rapidly in time with his hard thrusts, the other still clutching Mac’s hip. "God, so hot and tight, so fucking good," he growled, suddenly sinking his teeth into the nape of the other man’s neck.

"Not bad for a man in his sixth century," Mac managed to gasp as he continued to work on the older man. Over and over he ground himself downwards into the Scotsman’s cock. Over and over he moaned and begged and writhed.

Impossibly curious about his newfound immortality, Mac decided to see just how far he could push the Scotsman; he wanted to know just how far Connor’s kinks would run. Bringing the other man’s hands up to his neck and wrapping the long, agile fingers around his exposed throat, the ex-thief leaned back. "They say that you can’t beat an orgasm that’s brought on by auto-erotic asphyxiation, and since the only way to really kill me is to cut off my head..."

Laughing throatily, Connor tightened his fingers, willing to play along. "Ah lad, do you really think you’re the first Immortal to think of this?" His grip tightened still more as he thrust up hard into Mac, increasing his rhythm until he was slamming in and out of the younger Immortal. With every thrust he choked Mac more, reducing the air the gasping man could get, until he cut it off completely as he rammed into him a final time and came.

Gasping for air that would not come, the primitive part of his brain panicking as it realized that he was being choked to death, Mac struggled, bucked and fought until, with his dying gasp, he came harder than he ever had, semen splattering as far up as his cheeks.

Mac sat up, gasping for air, his hands automatically reaching for his throat.

"Damn," he croaked, looking around to find Connor meditating on a mat not too far away from where he lay, still covered in his come. "That was... damn." Shaking his head, the ex-thief climbed unsteadily to his feet and pulled his sweats back on, throwing his shirt over his shoulder. It had been... strange all around, and he wasn’t quite sure what to think of this little interlude.

Using skills honed by years of use for the Agency and the Tangs, Mac slipped out of the training room to slowly make his way back to his bedroom. He had a helluva lot to think about, the most important thing being how to tell Vic without freakin’ his lover out or losing him entirely.

Instantly aware when Mac moved, Connor remained motionless, leaving it up to the younger Immortal how to handle this. He wasn’t surprised when Mac slipped away, and he found himself hoping that this wouldn’t ruin the partnership between the other two. And just maybe, they could work out a balance of all three of them.

Mac looked at his throat in the mirror, wondering if the bruising and swelling would go down before he got back to the bedroom he shared with Vic. He had a feeling the older man might not be real impressed to see livid handprints around his neck, but Mac had been the one who goaded Connor into putting them there. He’d always wanted to try autoerotic asphyxiation, and now that he was immortal and he’d come back again and again so long as he didn’t lose his head, Mac could and did actually try it. And it had been fucking wild.

But now he had to go back to their room, looking thoroughly debauched, reeking of sex and with a ring of finger marks around his neck. If he thought he’d been well screwed by Connor, Vic was gonna kill him. But hey, it wasn’t like they’d sworn undying monogamy. They hadn’t. But still... he loved the dweeb, and he didn’t want to hurt Vic, not for anything in the world. Vic was... everything good and important in his life, and he didn’t want to blow this like he’d blown everything else. He was so fucked.

Then again, maybe Vic wasn’t in the room. After all, he hadn’t come racing down when he and the kiltboy had been doing their impression of howler monkeys, so he might actually catch a break and be able to shower and change into a turtleneck before Vic got back. Hopefully.

"Happy Birthday, Mac," Vic called out from somewhere in the room. The lights were off, the only illumination from the candles on the cake he’d spent half the morning making. The rest of the day had been spent tracking down his lover’s favorite foods, and now that they were finally in the same place for the first time all day, he just wanted to spoil his partner.

"Make a wish, babe," he chuckled, carrying the confection forward, unable to see Mac well or smell anything except for the burning wax.

"I..." Mac’s chest felt tight, and his throat became constricted. Oh god. This was worse than stealing the Rembrandt from the godfather and Li Ann from Michael. It was worse than having the Director crawl into his bed; it was...

"Vic," he managed to get out, strangled though it was. "Oh god, I am such a fuck up. I am scum. No, I am beyond scum. I’m... I’m... Fuck, I really am Michael’s brother," the younger man groaned despondently. "You’re like so amazing, and I... I’m scum!"

Looking perplexed, Vic managed an uncertain chuckle and peered at Mac. "Man, that’s some wish if that’s what it was. Or are you saying you want to get..." He leaned in, the flickering candlelight enough to let him see the dark ring around Mac’s long neck.

"Shit! What happened?! Was it that fucking... He’s dead!" Furious at their so-called teacher, Vic still managed to set Mac’s cake down on the table and stormed to the door, intent on giving MacLeod a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget.

"Vic. VIC! I... wanted him to do it," Mac admitted miserably, knowing that he’d just screwed over the most important person in his life - and the most important relationship of his life. "I asked him to. I... we were sparring, and then one thing led to another, and we were on the mats, and... I asked him to do this to me ‘cause I’m a sick fuck with a really perverted kink and god!" Mac sank down onto the floor and cradled his head between his knees, hunching in on himself, trying to brace himself for what he knew was coming next: Vic walking out on him. For good this time.

"You asked him to..." Turning slowly, Vic looked at Mac, reaching blindly for the light switch, then squatting down beside the younger man. This close, the reek of sex hit him like a hammer blow, and he closed his eyes, swallowing harshly to keep the pain down.

"I see." Straightening, he walked over to the table and blew out the candles before they melted down to wax puddles in the whipped cream. "Guess you got your wish early then."

"No, you don’t see," Mac replied sadly. "It was nothing; it meant nothing. I was pissing him off, he was pissing me off, and we were both trying to come out on top, and then... it was body parts, Vic, nothing more than testosterone and body parts. I didn’t wish for it. I didn’t want it, and I should have said no, but I didn’t do that either.

"I didn’t remember today was my birthday. I usually make myself forget it on purpose because it was just another day. The Tangs didn’t celebrate it, and Li Ann thought it was childish to have a cake with candles, and my dad was always too busy running a scam to remember so... I haven’t had a birthday cake since my mom died," Mac admitted in a small voice. "And now I’ve gone and fucked this up too."

Vic raised his head to look at Mac again, his green eyes holding a world of sadness, both for himself and for Mac as well. "I don’t know what you want me to say. Would I rather it not have happened, yeah. Do I want to punch one or both of you, yeah. Can I change it? No. We’re adults, Mac, and if I hold onto you like my heart is screaming at me to do, it’s just going to end up driving you away down the road, and we both know it’s looking like it’s going to be a very long road for the both of us."

He raked a hand through his dark hair and moved to the window to look out at the darkened expanse of lawn below. "If you need to do that, I can live with it; just warn me ahead of time so I can find something to do out of here, okay?"

"I promise," Mac said in a small voice, finally daring to look up at his lover. "I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t want to hurt you. I just didn’t think. You know me, all action, no brains. I’m everything the Director accused me of being and worse. If I could take it back, I would. If you wanna beat the shit out of me, go ahead, but please, please don’t leave me, Vic. I don’t... no, I’m not gonna lay a trip on you. I want you in my life for as long as you put up with my shit. I’ve wanted you in my life before all of this happened, but now... I just got you, so I don’t wanna lose you quite so soon. Forgive me? Please?"

"I don’t want to beat the shit out of you." Vic leaned his forehead against the cool glass and sighed. "And I’m trying to forgive you, but... I don’t know what I want, Mac, and I sure as hell don’t know what you want."

Turning back to Mac, he fought back the impulse to take his lover in his arms and hold him until things were better. "I think I need to take a walk. Why don’t you get cleaned up; we can talk when I get back - or not, whatever you want." Moving to the French doors that opened out onto the low balcony, Vic unlocked them. "I’ll be back soon. I - I just need to do some thinking is all."

"Okay, Vic," Mac whispered, turning his head away, not wanting the older man to see how close the Teflon-skinned Mac Ramsay was to tears. "Have... enjoy your walk or whatever. I’m..." Standing up, Mac walked quickly into the bathroom and shut the door, wishing he could shut the world out with it.

"That went well, Ramsay. Yeah, sure. I just fucked up the best thing that’s happened to me and for what? A secret fetish I wanted to try and me being the stupid, selfish asshole that I am, I didn’t think about anyone but myself for one goddamned minute. I hurt Vic; chances are I did some damage to the old man too, and what did I get out of it? I got my freakin’ rocks off. Big fucking deal."

Turning on the water as hot as he could stand it, Mac stepped into the tub and proceeded to rub himself raw, feeling the quickening tingle and repair the damage even as he caused it. He laughed humorlessly. He couldn’t even beat himself up anymore - his body immediately repaired the damage. Fan-fucking-tastic!

Slamming the water off, Mac didn’t even bother to dry off before he stalked out of the bathroom, out of the now empty bedroom and down to MacLeod’s wet bar. He needed a drink or forty. Hey, at least if he died from alcohol poisoning, he’d be back in a tingle or two.

Sitting on the damp ground, leaning against the thick trunk of an old oak tree growing on the grounds of MacLeod’s estate, Vic stared up at the full moon, trying to draw some of it’s coolness into himself to numb his feelings. Sadly, it didn’t work, and he rested his elbows on his denim-clad legs and laid his cheek on his arms.

"Enough feeling sorry for yourself, Victor. You said you could deal with it, so deal. This is Mac you’re talking about here. You know him. You knew what he was like when this whole thing started, and still you ended up..."

He bit his lip to keep the words from escaping, as if by their silence he could make them less true. "So he and Connor fucked. Big deal. Fighting makes him horny; you’ve known that as long as you’ve known him." That was certainly the truth; he still could recall swinging on that line over the electrified floor of the warehouse, feeling Mac’s erection rubbing up against him and his own body grow hard in response.

Looking up a the moon once more, he pushed himself to his feet with a small groan that was more theatrical than anything and started back into the house. "Mac?"

Their bedroom was empty, and he frowned, wondering if he’d sent the younger man running back into Connor’s arms again. "Don’t think it," he admonished himself, glancing in the bathroom before wandering down the hallway, searching for his lover.

"Happy birfday to me, happy bir—" hiccup "—fday to me! Happy birfday. oh Macky boy! Happy birfday to me!" Mac’s far from steady hand tried to stack the fifth now empty bottle of whatever he’d been drinking this time around on top of the other four, trying to create a pyramid. Champagne. He’d been drinking champagne. Damn, wonder if MacLeod had a bottle of the good stuff. He really needed some Cristal or Mum’s or something for bottle number six.

Wobbling on very unsteady feet, Mac bent down to see what else he could find, flashing his bare ass at the door for any and all passersby. "And the wiener is..." he snickered as he pulled out another bottle. "Tequila! Da duh duh duh duh da duh duh!"

The sound of slurred and off-key singing drew Victor toward the den, and if he still hadn’t been upset by the whole evening’s events, he would have burst out laughing at the sight of a decidedly intoxicated Mac wobbling around the bar naked as the day he was born.

"That’s appropriate, I suppose," he murmured, relieved that the bruises around Mac’s neck (as well as others he hadn’t seen) had faded. "Mac." When he didn’t get a response, he stepped into the room, leaning over and trying to pry the bottle of tequila out of the younger man’s hand. "C’mon, Mac, you’ve had," he shot a glance at the tower of empty bottles, "more than enough for tonight. Time to put you to bed."

"Don’t wanna go to bed, Vic-tor. Wanna dance. We should be dancin’ YEAH!" Mac sang badly as he be-bopped his way around the room and then stopped suddenly. "Ow! Hey, it’s not supposed to slap me; I’m supposed to slap it!" Mac frowned in drunken petulance. "No fair, now look here, Mr. Spanky. Behave. It’s my birthday after all, and I wanna dance!"

Watching Mac, Vic edged closer, hoping to catch him and drag him to their bedroom where he could hopefully get his lover to drink some water and fall asleep. "You’re going to fall and hurt Mr. Spanky if you’re not careful," Vic commented, lunging forward to catch Mac before he tripped over the coffee table. "And I don’t care how well we heal; that’s going to hurt."

"Vic? Hi, Vic!" Mac said with a sunny smile as he finally realized who was holding him. "I thought you’d left me; no, wait, that’s wrong; you were gonna go... kill someone? No, you were gonna... think about leaving me; yeah, that’s it! So did you finally make up your mind? Guess what I found out? We can’t die from alcohol poisoning. We just keep coming back drunk is all!" The younger man giggled as he pointed to a faintly reddened area of his stomach.

"I kinda sorta stabbed myself by accident and made a horrible mess on the kiltboy’s kitchen floor, but I was hungry!" Mac pouted.

"What?!" Vic’s arms clenched reflexively around Mac, and he held the younger man to him, cursing under his breath. "Stupid, idiotic, drunken fool!" In truth he was shaken by what Mac had unintentionally admitted, and he felt his stomach roll at the thought of what might have happened if they hadn’t been immortal. But then if they hadn’t been immortal, none of this might have - no, they’d be dead.

All the thinking was giving him a headache, and Vic gave up on the what ifs. "I’ll clean up the mess once I get you in bed so you can sleep this off," he said gently, trying to nudge Mac toward the door. "And just so you know, I wasn’t thinking about leaving you, just..." Mac wasn’t listening, so Vic gave up on trying to explain.

"On the plus side I didn’t cut Mr. Spanky off by accident. That would have been bad ‘cause we can’t regenerate limbs and stuff, and Mr. Spanky is a very important limb, don’t you think?" Mac continued on blithely, letting Vic guide him towards their room and the bed. "Oooh, are we gonna do it?" he laughed, his voice naughty and dramatic. "Let’s do it somewhere bad... like...oh I dunno; what’s a bad place to do it in?"

"Malcolm..." Vic was torn between laughing and tearing his hair out by the roots. "No, we aren’t going to ‘do it’. Considering how much you’ve had to drink, I think Mr. Spanky is on vacation for a while. What we’re going to do is to get you to lie down and go to sleep so that I can go clean up the kitchen before MacLeod has a fit about it. Then I’m going to come back and clean up the melted ice cream that’s probably all over our floor, and then maybe I’ll go to bed too, okay?"

"I’m gonna get laid, I’m gonna get laid," Mac sing-songed as he let Vic guide him into their room and towards the bed. "But don’t call me Malcolm. I hate Malcolm. It’s a horrible name to give a child. I was scarred for life, don’t you know. Got called all sorts of bad names, but I like Mac. Mac is cool. There’s a song about Mac, you know. ‘Oh the shark dear, it has such teeth babe... look out old Mackie is back!"

"Mac is wacked off his ass," Vic sighed, getting Mac to the bed and up onto it before sitting down for a minute to recover. Somehow he just knew that Mac would wake up in the morning without even a hangover while he’d have a massive stress headache.

"Fine, no more Malcolm. Go to sleep, Mackie, and dream of those sharks and their teeth. I’ll be back in a minute."

Dipping the cleaning rag in his hand into a bucket of ammonia and hot water and then wringing it out before attacking the stains that liberally decorated the floor, cabinets, and countertops of the kitchen, Victor sighed. "Jesus, Mac, what a mess."

The sad part was, he wasn’t speaking just about the state of the kitchen but the state of their relationship as well. So Mac had been fucked by Connor. He’d always known that the Scot lusted after his partner and that, on some level, the interest was returned; now it was just out in the open.

What was going to happen now was anybody’s guess, so Vic concentrated on something he could fix - namely, the bloody mess Mac had made when he ‘accidentally’ stabbed himself in the stomach with a knife earlier. "Thank God if didn’t do any permanent damage," he sighed, wringing the rag out again. "Almost wish I’d’ve been the one to do it though - rip my heart out, rip his guts out, fair trade, eh?"

"Christ! What the bloody hell happened here?!"

Connor stood in the kitchen doorway, looking around with utter shock on his face. "It looks like a slaughterhouse." He eyed Vic. "Should I be looking for the body?" He was suddenly worried about Vic’s reaction to his little encounter with Mac earlier. He hadn’t thought much at the time, but if he had, he would have thought Vic would blame him, not turn on Mac, the man he loved.

"Uh, where is Mac?" he asked nervously.

"Sleeping," Vic answered without looking up from the red-tinted puddle in front of him. "He did this to himself, then raided your bar. Not sure exactly what he drank, but there was a lot of it; guess you’ll have to restock." Virulent anger bubbled up inside of him, and he attacked the dried blood even more viciously, trying to use that as an outlet rather than attacking Connor as he would like to do.

About to try to explain to Vic, Connor was sidetracked by Vic’s comment. Eyes widening in horror, he charged into the other room to check the bar, then let out a roar of fury that shook the dust from the rafters. "That bloody bastard soused himself in my hundred-year-old scotch! I’m going to kill him!"

Vic appeared unimpressed by Connor’s show of anger. "Heard you tried that already and that he got off on it."

"Shit!" It was MacLeod’s turn to reach for a bottle to avoid reality. Taking a healthy swallow of the glass of brandy for courage, he then turned to face Vic. "I could say that I’m sorry, but I think we both know I would be lying. I’ve wanted both of you for quite a while." He shrugged. "And I very much doubt that anything I or anyone else could do could come between you.

"Yes, he was curious, and yes, I suppose I took advantage of that. But he loves you, Victor, you must know that."

"Yes." Vic shrugged, continuing with his cleaning. "Doesn’t particularly make me feel any better right now, but I know that."

"I’m the interloper here, and I know it, but I hope you might be open to... exploring this. The three of us, that is." Connor shrugged, staring down into his brandy.

"The three of us." Vic looked at the older Immortal incredulously. "From what I see there’s me and Mac and you and Mac, no ‘three of us’."

"And the way I see it is there’s you and Mac, and me lusting after both of you, and us having taking the first steps toward you and Mac and me." Connor looked up at him, sharp grey-blue eyes searching the green gaze.

Victor’s expression turned blank, and his eyes narrowed. "Sorry, what you and Mac want to do is your business, but don’t go looking to include me in it. Apparently I’m too much of a prude for Mac to think I’d like things a little rough or whatever he got from you, so damn right I’m too much of one to start bed jumping."

He threw the cleaning supplies back under the sink. "Mac’s passed out in the bedroom; if you try to wake him up, he’ll probably puke on you, so I’d advise against it."

"Vic..." Connor sighed and gave up. Apparently rather than taking a step toward what he wanted, he’d made it even more difficult for himself. "I wasn’t planning to go anywhere near Mac," he said instead. "What I am going to do is get some sleep and try to pretend this night never happened. Good night!"

"Pleasant fucking dreams," Vic muttered to himself, waiting until Conner had left to turn from the sink, then sighing and scrubbing at his face with his hands. What a mess. What a fine fucking mess.

The next afternoon brought Mac to painful wakefulness. "Ow, my aching head," he moaned piteously. "Why do I do these things to myself?" Wincing at the sunlight that streamed into the room, he hid under the covers while trying to remember where he put his sunglasses.

Hearing a door open, he whimpered. "Okay, I shouldn’t have drunk enough to die from alcohol poisoning a couple of times or try to shish kabob myself, but did you have to open the curtains? I’m not that much of an invertebrate scum sucker, am I?"

"Don’t ask me," Vic answered, setting a steaming mug of sugar-laced coffee on the nightstand and moving to pull the curtains closed. "It wasn’t me. Maybe MacLeod came in to wake you up while I was getting the coffee." His voice was carefully neutral as he spoke, as was his expression when he turned back to look at Mac. "There’s some aspirin on the tray too. Take some and go back to sleep if you feel that bad."

"Vic," Mac’s hand snaked out from under the sheet to capture the older man’s. "Stay, please? Just maybe could you pull the curtains and then come back? I... we really need to talk, please?" The younger man’s voice trembled slightly; he really didn’t want to do this, but the thought of losing Vic - it turned his blood to ice. He needed to know where they stood, to find out if he had to learn how to spend forever without the only man he loved.

"Sure, maybe it’ll help." Waiting until Mac let go of his wrist, Vic turned and tugged the heavy drapes closed, then turned back toward the now shadowed form on the bed. Taking a seat in the chair nearby, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and looked at Mac. "So? What do you want to talk about?"

"I," Mac swallowed and moistened his lips, more afraid at this moment than he’d ever been in his life. "I need to know what you think of... of me, of what I did. I know it’s selfish, but I need to know where we stand, Vic. It hurts, the way you’re acting. It’s the way you used to act back at the Agency when you hated my guts. I don’t want to lose you, and it feels like I already have," Mac confessed, looking down at his hands, not able to meet the older man’s gaze.

For a second Vic stared incredulously at Mac, then he shook his head. "Well, excuse me for feeling a little hurt by this whole thing. I know I’m not the most exciting person in the world, but I kind of hoped I’d be able to keep you interested for more than two months."

He shrugged, then sighed. "Look, Mac. I love you, and I can’t see that changing unless some big shit comes down. We’re both going to be alive for a long time, and I guess that means that this is going to happen. Do I like it? Not really. Can I stop it and keep you? Probably not, so I’ll live with it. Like I said last night, just warn me so I can make myself scarce."

"Not keep me interested?" Mac gaped, not sure he’d heard correctly. "Vic, you just have to smile at me and I’m hard; you bend over in those jeans you wear and I’ve been known to come just from the view. God, how can I not want you; I’ve wanted you... shit, forever! Why the hell do you think I was so desperate to break up you and Li Ann? It wasn’t ‘cause I wanted her. I wanted you, and the Director, damn her black heart, knew it and set it up so that we were always at each other’s throats."

Mac ran a hand through his shaggy hair, sighing heavily. "I never meant to hurt you. I never meant for any of this to happen, Vic. I didn’t go down there yesterday thinking ‘today I’m gonna get MacLeod to fuck me and strangle me while he’s doing it.’ I went down there to kick his arrogant Highland ass around the room. I... he... he’s not my type, Vic. You are. You always have been. I fucked up royally, I know this, I just... I don’t know how to make it right. How do I do that, Vic? How do I stop hurting us both?"

Vic hung his head, then raised his eyes, looking at Mac through his thick lashes. "I wish I knew, Mac. No, know what I really wish? I wish that you could have told me about this little fetish fantasy you had. You think I’m that square that I can’t get into a little kink now and then? I mean, Jesus, it’s not like it’ll do anything permanent. And speaking of that, just what the hell were you doing in the kitchen last night? There was enough fucking blood in there for a horror movie set."

"It’s better you don’t ask that," Mac replied, his voice gone rough and his eyes pain dark. "Really, Vic, leave it alone, okay?" How could he explain to the older man that he’d purposely, methodically sliced his arm to ribbons and then, not really feeling anything thanks to the alcohol, decided that hara-kiri really wasn’t all that bad a way to go? Sometime he was too damn Eastern for his own good.

"And I was ashamed of it, Vic. I’m ashamed of a lot of the things I fantasize about. I don’t think you’re square at all; it’s just that I... I want to be good enough for you, you know?" he shrugged, looking around the room. "I’m pretty fucked up; I don’t deny that. Could be why she kept coming on to me, considering how twisted she is - sensed a kindred soul or something," Mac finished bitterly. "I didn’t want to bring that to our bed; I wanted us to be... well, sacred I guess."

"Mac..." Shaking his head again, Vic stood and shifted over to sit on the bed. "You aren’t any more fucked up than I am, got it?" He wished Mac would talk about what had happened in the kitchen but wasn’t going to push it right now. "I love you. That means take the good with the bad and everything else, and deal with it. It’s not a case of being good enough; I’m not here to judge you, and I’m not going to, just... just talk to me, okay? If there’s something you want, something you need. Just talk to me. I can’t say I’ll agree to it, but bring it up at least."

"I’ll promise to try, Vic, but," Mac looked up at the older man solemnly, "but I’m not very good at it. You know how I grew up. Talking like that gave your enemy something to use against you, and you learned real fast to bottle it up inside just in case your friend wasn’t really your friend.

"It was a lonely way for a kid to grow up, but it kept me alive. I’m not saying that I can’t trust you; you’re probably the only person on the planet I do trust. I’m just saying I’ll try, really I will. I just can’t promise to be able to do it overnight. But I will try. For us."

"Then I guess that’s all that can be said right now." Vic looked down at Mac and brought his hand up to his face to rub the bridge of his nose. "We’ll both try to deal with what we can."

Mac swallowed painfully then looked up at Vic, meeting his gaze. "Lie down with me, Vic? Just lie down with me? I... miss you," he swallowed painfully, wearing all his emotions in his eyes for the older man to see.

Moving a bit stiffly, Vic shifted to lie down beside Mac. It felt awkward, like he didn’t know if he should hold the younger man or not, and that alone hurt almost as much as anything else in this whole mess had. "Mac, I’m sorry. I’m trying really hard here, but no matter how much I want it to, it isn’t going to vanish overnight. Just, you need to give me time too, okay? The way you grew up shaped you; well, the way I grew up shaped me. Mr. Moralistic and all." He turned onto his side to look at Mac, his green eyes dark and serious.

"Would it be easier if I moved into my own room?" Mac asked, turning so that his back was towards Vic, not wanting the other man to see his abject misery. "Whatever it takes to make this right, I’ll do it, and if it means me giving you the space you need... well, I’m not afraid of the dark or anything, and I’ve slept alone for longer than I’ve shared a bed with someone so..." Mac’s shoulders moved in a stiff shrug.

"I can ask kiltboy right now. I don’t feel all that tired anymore," he continued, sitting up, his back still towards Vic, fighting for every ounce of calm he put into his voice, his shoulders and back ramrod straight lest he break down entirely.

Vic looked up at the ceiling, fighting the urge to hit himself in the forehead. "I didn’t ask you to do that, Mac. I didn’t ask you to, and I don’t want you to. I just want... Come here and lie down; I’m not going to smother you or anything."

"I don’t mind it when you smother me, you know?" Mac replied quietly. "It kinda makes me feel safe - like I really do have a place and a family to call my own. Don’t get me wrong, out in the field I’d kick your ass for doing it, but in private, in the bedroom, it feels nice," the younger man confessed, slowly relaxing enough to lie back down and even roll over to face Vic.

Mac’s hands itched to touch; his body yearned to move closer, to lie against his lover, but he was as unsure of his reception as Vic had been. "I’m so sorry"

"I know." Bridging the gap between them, Vic reached out and took Mac’s hand. "So am I, but we can’t change it or the fact that it might happen again." At Mac’s startled expression, Vic shook his head. "Don’t lie to yourself, Mac; that’s worse than lying to me. I’m not saying it will happen, but it might, and - and we both will have to deal with it, live with it, and with each other. I told you I don’t want to lose you. You’re all I have left, and even more than that, I love you."

"I know it might," Mac admitted, looking down at their twined hands. "I’m not proud of the fact either, but I know that it might. Just like I know that one day I might not be enough for you either. Human nature, I accept that. Well, I say that now, because I haven’t had to deal with it like you have but I’d like to think that I’d be able to deal with it as well as you have. You always were better at this stuff than me though; I’d probably try to behead the bastard or bitch if they were Immortal and just shoot ‘em if they weren’t, you know?"

Vic gave a small smile at that. "Haven’t seen MacLeod lately, have you?"

"Ummm, you didn’t behead our teacher, did you, Vic?" Mac asked with a little trepidation. "I really don’t want to be the reason why you kill someone, really I don’t."

"Wishful thinking, babe," Vic sighed. "No, I didn’t lay a hand on him, nor him on me. He did think I gutted you though when he walked in on me cleaning the kitchen. Wasn’t too happy with me in the least, but then he wasn’t too happy with you when he found out you drank his century old scotch."

"Would have been no less that what I deserved," Mac replied calmly with another shrug. "You want I can go tell him that I was the one who tried to gut myself. Actually, maybe I’ll just write him a note or something," Mac finished nervously, not wanting Vic to get the idea that he was seeking the Scot out intentionally.

"You can’t hide from him, not that he’d let you." Vic ran a finger over the side of Mac’s hand, trying to soothe both of them. "And no, no matter what, I’d never do what you did to yourself. Never."

"I know you wouldn’t, Vic," Mac replied somberly, finally looking up to meet his lover’s eyes. "You, Victor Mansfield, are an honorable, loyal, good man, and just for the record, I was wrong; you are anything but a dork. I was the dork for not seeing just how wonderful you really are."

Vic’s fingers tightened around Mac’s before he let go and stroked the younger man’s face. "Don’t put me on a pedestal, Mac. The view sucks, and it’s too easy to fall. I’ve got faults, a lot of them. Right now the best thing about me is having you."

"Well, then there’s no worry about you falling off a pedestal because if I’m the best thing about you, then we’re both pretty screwed, you know?" Mac laughed, but moved closer to his lover. "So, maybe not completely forgiven but friends again at least?" the younger Immortal asked hopefully, watching Vic’s face with careful hope.

"Yeah." Vic nodded, closing his eyes for a moment. "No matter - no matter what happens, I want us always to have that."

"Vic..." Mac sighed. He knew he’d hurt the older man terribly, and no amount of coaxing or cajoling would make things right again in the immediate future. This was one would that would need time to heal. And maybe a little time alone and away from MacLeod.

"Hey, I know we have to keep training and stuff, but maybe... this whole being under the same roof as him is a little too much right now? MacLeod has a gamekeeper’s house at the back of the property. I found it last week when I was out for a run. Maybe we could move out there for a while until we’re... okay again?" Mac offered tentatively.

"Is hiding from temptation really going to make it easier to deal with?" Vic asked. "Mac, I’m - I’m not trying to be difficult here; I’m just trying to deal with it. If you want to do that, we can. I’m willing to give it a shot."

"Vic, I just wanna be with you. It’s... we’ve had no time alone since this all started. I mean we died, and then MacLeod found us, right in the middle of something I might add, and then we had to jump into training and dealing with being Immortals. The thing is that we’ve had no time to deal with us and how we feel," Mac replied.

"Don’t get me wrong, I’m not gonna go in for that whole touchy feely get in touch with your feminine side crap, but," the younger man sighed, "it’s just that we went from partners who spent most of their free time competing for Li Anne’s affections and pulling sucker punches to being partners in the true sense of the word and lovers. And in love. I guess I just want some time to be in love with you and to learn how to be us instead of you and me. Does that make any sense at all to you?"

Vic gave a small smile and nodded. "Yeah, it does. A lot of sense in fact. We’ve had a lot of shit thrown at us over the past few months, and maybe - maybe some time alone is what we need." He closed his hand over Mac’s again. "You want me to talk to MacLeod about it, or you want to?"

"Promise not to kill him or gut him or decapitate him?" Mac smiled playfully. "If you can promise all that, then I’ll let you talk to him, and I’ll pack our stuff... and no, I’m not avoiding him. Not really. Okay, maybe I am a little, but..." Mac sighed.

"It’s awkward as hell. I didn’t go there yesterday planning on, well, that happening. I went there to piss him off and show him up. Next thing, well, you don’t need a replay, and now... I’m really uncomfortable at the thought of seeing him again. It’s kinda like, and don’t you dare repeat this to him, but it’s kinda waking up after going to bed with a drop dead gorgeous woman only to wake up and find out you were drunk and went to bed with a dog, you know? I think I’d rather gnaw my arm off at this point than to deal with the Scottish wolfhound out there."

Vic chuckled at that despite himself. "And it’s so much easier for me to deal with him. Don’t worry, I didn’t kill him last night—or try to anyway since I somehow think he’d wipe the floor with me—I won’t try this morning."

He paused, and looked at Mac sternly. "But you are going to have to deal with this eventually; we all three are, alone and all together. Hell, I think MacLeod’s handling it better than either of us other than he’s pissed at you for drinking his hundred-year-old scotch."

"Hey, if I’m gonna die of alcohol poisoning, I’m gonna die for quality stuff!" Mac sniffed haughtily. "Besides, all he has to do is keep a couple vats on ice for another century and he’s recouped his losses, whadda baby!"

"You going to say that to his face?" Vic asked, his eyebrows arched in mild amusement. "Go take a shower and get dressed; I’ll go talk to MacLeod and see what he says."

"Vic?" Mac’s hand shot out to snag the older man’s. "I love you. Just wanted to say it, you know?"

Several months later

"Goddamnit!" The barked out curse followed a metallic clang as, once again, Vic’s sword hit the floor after Connor flipped it out of his hands.

Scowling, the ex-cop/ex-secret agent stomped over to where the simple, unornamented blade lay and picked it up, staring at it in disgust. "Why don’t I save us all the trouble and let you or Mac take my head right now? I’m never going to fucking get this, and that way at least it’s someone I c—know that’ll get my juice."

This wasn’t working. Mac had taken to the sword training like a natural, which, given his martial arts training, made sense. Vic on the other hand, to put it bluntly, sucked. The sword was supposed to feel like an extension of his arm, and instead it felt like just what it was, a stiff, dead hunk of metal.

That ain’t the only thing that’s stiff, he sighed to himself, wondering if Mac was going to share his bed tonight or bunk down with their teacher. It bothered him, yes, but not as much as he thought it would have, though it didn’t mean he cared for his partner any less. Mac was - well - Mac.

Vic’s eyes narrowed as he watched MacLeod move closer, his gaze drawn toward the sleek, predatory way the older Immortal had of moving, one that Vic had to admit he’d been noticing more and more lately. The Scot was frowning, and Vic cursed again, waiting for the explosion he knew was coming.

"Pay attention! You can do this. Anyone who can handle a gun the way you can can learn to handle a sword. You just won’t learn because you don’t want to. Stop fighting me, or you will lose your head." His eyes narrowed, and he aimed right for the heart. "And if you die, so will Mac. You know he won’t bother to try to stay alive if he loses anyone else, especially not you." He stalked closer. "Listen to me, damn you." He approached, invading Vic’s personal space. "You will learn."

"You wanna explain to me just how using a gun and using a sword equate?" Vic growled, folding his arms across his chest in a defensive posture, not wanting to give an inch to Connor though the comment about Mac hurt - especially since he knew it was true.

"And I am trying! You think I want to die?" he shot back, taking a step forward himself and putting his face right into the Scot’s. "I did it once; I don’t want to do it again, and you know damn well why not!"

"They equate in that you obviously have good hand-eye coordination, and you are perfectly capable of using deadly force as they like to call it now. Stop thinking of swords as something silly out of movies. They are real and have accounted for a lot more death over the centuries than guns. Use it!" Connor barked suddenly, trying to startle Vic into reacting instinctively. When Vic only glared, the Highlander’s eyes narrowed, and he decided to try something different. Connor suddenly leaned a fraction closer and closed his mouth over Vic’s, his tongue probing gently at the entrance, asking to be let inside.

"What are you..." Vic gasped, the parting of his lips allowing MacLeod entrance into his mouth. He stood stock-still, his eyes widening as the older man brought centuries’ worth of experience to bear on him. The attraction Vic had buried under anger and stubbornness boiled to the surface, and it was only with an effort that he pulled back from the Scot.

"What the fuck was that?" Torn between desire and guilt that he could look at Connor like this when he was with Mac, Vic hauled back and crashed his fist into the older man’s jaw. "It’s bad enough you have to fuck with my head and with Mac, now you want to do it to my body too?"

Connor glared. "That, Vic, was a kiss. If you don’t know that, you and Mac need some lessons. And don’t worry, I’m not into rape. You may be pretty, but you’re nuts." He turned away to calm down. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"I know what it was," Vic barked, trying to will his body down by thinking cold thoughts. "And can you blame me for being nuts?! I just..."

He raked his hands through his hair. "I don’t know, I don’t know." Repeating this mantra, Vic slowly dropped to his knees, his face cradled in his hands as he rocked back and forth.

Connor sighed, turning back to the young Immortal and watching him with unwilling sympathy. He remembered how confused and lost he had been after his first death, and he knew that he hadn’t really helped Vic deal with it. Expecting Mac, equally confused, to keep the other man on an even keel was unfair. He couldn’t continue keeping his distance because he wanted this man who didn’t want him.

"It’ll be okay," he said softly, letting a hand fall comfortingly onto Vic’s shoulder. "I’m sorry for nae being more supportive. I’ll stay away from Mac, Victor. I should never have let myself come between you even that little bit." Unconsciously, he petted the thick sable hair.

Without realizing it, Vic leaned into the warm touch as he tried to get his breathing and emotions under control. "It isn’t that," he rasped, carding his fingers through his hair again, then freezing when they brushed against MacLeod’s. "Not - not all of it. I want to be able to understand all this. I want - I’m tired of arguing with you all the time, of making Mac feel guilty if he chooses to go to you rather than me. I want..."

He took a deep breath, then raised his head, turning to stare at Connor with anguished eyes. "I want to know..." Words failed him and, before his nerve did too, he caught Connor by the back of the neck and pulled him into a kiss every bit as devastating as the one the older Immortal had given him.

Momentarily taken aback by Vic’s sudden reversal, Connor recovered quickly and participated in the kiss with equal enthusiasm. He sank to his knees beside the younger man, his arms going around him to pull him close. He was relieved to find that Vic was as aroused as he was, not having been absolutely certain that Vic wasn’t trying to set him up for something.

When their lips finally parted, he cupped Vic’s face in his hands and stared into his eyes soberly. "Are you sure you want this, Vic?"

Victor gave a pained laugh, and his hand fisted in the soft material of MacLeod’s shirt. "Right now it’s about the only thing I am sure of."

He was tired - tired of watching Mac’s easy relationship with their teacher and feeling the outsider. Tired of ignoring his growing desire for the other man, tired of trying not to think of how Mac and Connor must look when they were together. They’d figure it all out later; right now, he just wanted to feel.

Moving closer, Vic rocked his body against Connor’s. "What about you?"

The Highlander regarded him incredulously. "You have to ask?" He rocked forward on his knees so that his erection was pressed even more tightly against the Canadian’s belly. "I’ve wanted you since that first night. What a night! There I was, still zinging with a quickening, two gorgeous, semi-aroused guys in front of me, and I couldn’t touch! I wanted nothing more than to jump the pair of you."

He saw the dubious expression in Vic’s eyes and shook his head. "You’re gorgeous, Vic, and you’re a nice guy on top of that. What’s not to like?" He pulled Vic’s head closer again, claiming another deep kiss, his tongue exploring every millimeter of the younger man’s mouth.

Vic moaned, his eyes closing and his fingers kneading the strong lines of Connor’s back. His tongue slid against the Scot’s, then he closed his lips around the other man’s tongue, sucking strongly at it while teasing the tip with his.

Their lips broke apart, and Vic raised his now-heavy eyelids to stare at the other man. "I’m a dork," he chuckled, Mac’s teasing on the matter having shown him the humorous side to that word, "and I know it. But even I know that we’ve got way too many clothes on for what I want to be doing."

Connor smiled wickedly. "Good point." He tugged Vic’s shirt over his head, then removed his own. "Of course, we could move this to one of our perfectly good beds rather than rolling around on the floor, you know?" Despite his suggestion, he made no move to stand up, instead concentrating on exploring Vic’s torso with hands and mouth, half afraid that if he stopped, the other man would change his mind.

"You’re not a dork," he finally responded to Vic’s comment. "You’re just honest, something neither Mac nor I has a lot of experience with."

"Fine," Vic groaned, his fingers digging into Connor’s arms as the other man explored his body, "I’m not a dork, but I am horny, so can we forget the bed and do something about that?"

Drawing on his hand to hand training, he threw himself backward, pulling the older man down on top of him rather than flipping him over his head.

Connor laughed raggedly. "Well, far be it for me to deny a horny man." He settled his weight fully on top of Vic and ravished the other man’s mouth again. "Got any preferences whether I’m in you or you’re in me?" he asked, nipping at Vic’s throat, then laving the faint hurt with his tongue.

"God..." Vic moaned, his whole body arching upward when Connor bit him, his cock sliding against the bulge in the older man’s pants with the motion. "Both eventually, but..." He stopped, taking a moment to ravage the Scot’s mouth, his hands sliding down to squeeze his ass. "Right now want you in me - so far in me I can’t think of anything else."

The Highlander groaned harshly, pressing down against his soon-to-be lover. "I think I can manage that. Just one problem," he mumbled, his mouth busily exploring Vic’s jaw and throat and ear. "No lube." He pressed his hands to the mat at either side of the other man’s head, supporting some of his weight, and his hips began to move, rubbing their erections together.

"What?" Vic groaned, letting his head thump back to the mat, his eyes closing. "Fuck!" Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all, maybe it had been better before he acknowledged how much he wanted MacLeod, maybe... The weight of the older man grinding against his crotch blew the doubts from his mind again, and Vic caught Connor’s head between his hands, pulling them nose to nose.

"You had better tell me you have some upstairs, or I am going to be really pissed," he growled, knowing that he did in his room but thinking he might lose his nerve if he went in there.

Connor chuckled, that familiar chuckle that so annoyed his enemies... and his students. "I do, laddie. Come on." He rolled to his feet and held out a hand to the other man to help him up as well. "We’ll be more comfortable in my bed anyhow. After making me wait so long, it’s going to take a bit to satisfy me." He grinned, then pulled Vic after him toward his room, eager to get them both to a bed.

Vic’s gaze centered on Connor’s ass as the other man walked in front of him down the hall toward his room, his thoughts filling with lascivious thoughts at the roll and flex of the sleekly muscled thighs beneath the light cotton of his pants. "If you think that’s going to worry me, you’re wrong," Vic chuckled, sliding his hands over the Scot’s backside, blinking until he became accustomed to the dimness of the light in the bedroom.

"May not have centuries of experience, but I’ll try to keep up with you." Tugging on Connor’s shoulder, Vic turned the older man around, then kissed him again, rocking his body against MacLeod’s, feeling his cock throb against his jeans. "So, gonna show me this bed or what?"

Connor shoved Vic suddenly, toppling him onto the bed, and settled on top of him. "The large, soft thing under you would be the bed." He nuzzled against Vic’s throat, first rubbing his stubbled cheek against the other man, then licking and nibbling the sensitive area. "Think we’re both pretty overdressed here, Vic."

He shifted around, tugging at their clothes until both were naked. "You’re as gorgeous as I remembered," Connor breathed softly, shifting down to slowly explore every inch of his lover’s body with his mouth.

"I’m more interested in the large, hard thing over me than the large, soft one under me," Vic rasped, closing his eyes and kneading Connor’s back with his fingers as the older man’s lips moved across his chest, then down over his ribs.

"Damnit, MacLeod!" Vic whined, half-insane from the lengthy buildup. "We can go slow another time! Fuck me now!"

Connor chuckled, the sound far different here in bed than it seemed when he was training them. "You’re not really in a position to be demanding, Vic."

Despite his words, he was nearly as anxious as the younger man, and moments later his slicked cock pressed inside. "Christ," he groaned, "you’re so hot."

He lowered his head and ravished Vic’s mouth, doing what he’d fantasized about since the night they’d met.

"Oh God," Vic breathed, once he was able to speak again. His whole body was attuned to Connor’s every movement and each invasive thrust sent him spiraling farther and farther toward oblivion. With Mac everything was heat and fire; with Connor, it was more tempered, speaking of more years of practice at this than he could begin to think of.

Vic’s fingers clenched at Connor’s back, and his hips arched upward as he tightened himself around the older Immortal’s erection, needing more, demanding it the only way he was able.

Connor gasped at the increasing tightness, his body quivering in response. So the child wanted to play, did he? He began to vary his strokes, long and short, slow and fast, never settling into a rhythm, driving Vic to the edge and keeping him there. He caught a rigid nipple between his teeth, biting down and tugging, pleased by the dark-haired man’s response.

He also pumped Vic’s cock in his fist, pausing whenever he felt Vic near his climax. He intended to have the younger Immortal howling in frenzied ecstasy before he was done with him.

Victor’s brain short-circuited, and he howled, his fingers digging into Connor’s back as he thrashed under the older Immortal, reaching desperately for the climax Connor kept teasing him with.

"Goddamnit, MacLeod, let me come!" he screamed, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood but not even noticing the slight pain amidst the wildfire of his need.

Connor chuckled, settling into a hard, fast rhythm as his own approaching climax pressed him. He braced his hands on either side of Vic, slamming into him again and again, and he was vaguely aware that even though he wasn’t touching Vic’s cock any more, the other man had made no move to touch himself.

So he wanted to come from being fucked? That was fine by Connor. He lowered his head, ravishing Vic’s mouth in the same rhythm as he took his ass.

The brush of the Scot’s abdomen over his erection combined with the almost brutal stab against his prostate and the devouring kiss was all it took to send Vic over the edge. Howling into Connor’s mouth, he came, his body gripping the older Immortal’s cock in a vise-like grip even as he smeared both their bellies with his seed.

The wild spasms of his climax didn’t end there, however, and Vic continued moving, wanting, needing to feel MacLeod come inside him, somehow marking him and cementing the relationship, just as he had with Mac.

Connor groaned at the sensation of Vic clamping down on him as he came, and he went wild. He slammed into the other man, hard enough that he’d have seriously bruised anyone but a fellow Immortal, and all Vic did was demand more. He took the other man like a prize of war, their coming together as much a battle as sexual for a time. Then he slowed, looking into the green eyes, and he tugged Vic’s head up to kiss him hungrily at the moment he exploded, driving deep one final time.

Vic sprawled out on the bed, his hands tracing lazy patterns on Connor’s back, his breathing gradually slowing back to something closer to normal. "Damn," he murmured, smiling slightly as the older Immortal lifted his head, looking at him curiously. "There is something to be said for age after all."

Connor snorted. "Practice makes perfect, Vic." He flipped them over so he was lying flat on his back with Victor draped over him, and he linked his arms loosely around the younger Immortal’s waist. "And just think, if we were that good the first time we tried it, it can only get better."

Seeing Vic’s faint frown, he stroked his back soothingly and explained, "With Mac too, of course. I’ve been imagining the two of you together since that first night. Being able to join in only makes it better."

The troubled expression remained in Vic’s eyes though it faded slightly at Connor’s reassurance. While the idea of the three of them together was intriguing, he wasn’t sure how Mac would react to it, or, in all honesty, how he was going to react to seeing the other two together.

"Of course, we have to figure out how to tell him first," he sighed, wondering if things would have just been better off the way they were before.

Connor looked up at Vic searchingly. "Do you regret this, Vic? I know you two have something special between you." A flash of Heather’s smiling face passed before his eyes. "Do you just want to chalk this up to experience and let it go?"

Victor bit at his lower lip before shaking his head, his eyes never leaving Connor’s. "No, I keep feeling like I should, but I can’t, not any more than I could get angry at you and Mac for getting together before. Maybe there’s a way that we could... the three of us..." He stopped, ingrained morals halting the thought half-voiced.

Connor raised his head slightly so he could kiss the younger Immortal, his tongue gliding soothingly over the bitten lower lip. Once he was again lying relaxed, he smiled wryly at Vic. "I’d like for the three of us to..." he trailed off, imitating Vic’s faint prudery with a wicked grin. "I’m pretty sure that’s the only way neither of you would try to take my head for going near the other.

"And I really am attracted to both of you."

"Well," Vic grinned and ducked his head, acknowledging the teasing, "if you aren’t, you sure put on one hell of an act. I’ve also managed to keep myself from going after your ‘head’; I think Mac can do the same."

Connor smirked. "Now we just have to convince him of that!"

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