Title: Memories of Byron
Author/pseudonym: R.A. Swain
Fandom: Highlander
Paring: Methos/Byron
Rating:NC-17
Status: New
Archive: Yes, please. You have my permission to archive.
E-mail address for feedback: raswain@internettrash.com
Series/Sequel: No
Other websites:
Disclaimers: The characters are not my property. They are used without permission,
and are used for the sole intent of entertainment and not for profit. Note other
disclaimers at beginning of story.
Notes: Just an idea I had.
Summary: Methos, as Adam Pierson, discusses events with Lord Byron
Warnings: Some heterosexuality, but not entirely.
Disclaimer: The following story contains adult subject matter. If you are under
the age of 21 you should not be reading this and it is illegal for you to possess
it. If you read beyond this point, you are claiming to be 21 years of age, and
that it is legal for you to possess adult oriented material.
This is a sexually oriented work of fiction. If sex between consenting adults,
homosexuality or therein is offensive to you, DO NOT READ IT! By reading beyond
this point you are accepting homosexuality and adult oriented material willing.
Memories of Byron
by R.A. Swain
Methos lay back on the leather couch and closed his eyes. "MacLeod, how
long does it take you to get ready for a simple dinner out?" He heard the
shower running, and know Mac hadn't heard a word. "You know, I've conquered
whole villages in the time it takes you to get ready to go out!" He yelled
toward the bedroom. He sat up again and stretched. A book tucked in the corner
of the couch caught his eye. He pulled it from its hiding spot and smiled.
Frankenstein, he mused. Mary would be so astonished at it's longevity.
England 1835
Adam Pierson stood in the library, a leather bound book open in his hands. He
hadn't read a word for several minutes. The events of the previous evening filled
his mind. The drugs and alcohol Byron slipped them, the advantages Byron attempted
to take with Mary, and the desire within himself to give in to Byron. How, he
wondered, could he still have such feelings for Byron.
It had nothing to do with the laws of nature or man, since he had little respect
for either, but more to do with his own image of himself. Yes, it had changed
many times in the last 4800 years, and yes, he had done many more depraved things
in ancient Roma, but something about the civility of the modern England had
suddenly been broken by a simple touch, and a mutual desire.
If I give into my desires, he mused, where will it end? A touch, a kiss, a passionate
embrace? Will it go beyond mere experimental play? His mind played over the
events of the previous night, after he and Byron left Mary to sleep off the
effects of the drugs and the shock of seeing the quickening.
It had been very late, after 2 AM, and he could not sleep. He lay on his bed,
his shirt opened to the waist, contemplating self-pleasure, and Byron. It wasn't
an aversion to sex with another male that frightened him. On the contrary, the
raw nature of the act with another man was welcome. What seemed to be bothering
him was the depth of his desires, all raised by Byron's placing a hand on his
cheek. It was more than the feeling another immortal could stir within him,
but a passion he long denied.
And now, after all the time had passed since the Horsemen, and even a few centuries
since the brothels of Roma, and the debauchery of Caligula, when he had mastered
his sexual urges, and suddenly this lovely young man with a deviant soul and
nature could turn his head, his mind, to a jumble of self-doubts and outrageous
desires.
Now, in the library, he could not find solace even in a tome of poetry which
once offered insights into the mortal soul he could no longer see in himself.
Oh dark night, why do you torture me so?
With images of past indiscretions?
Why dark night, when the wind doth blow,
do you persist in torturing me so?
"Lost in your thoughts?" Byron asked upon entering.
"Lost? A good word. Perhaps. And you?"
"Oh you are vexed this morn." Byron lifted a decanter of brandy and
poured himself a morning drink.
"For God's sake, it isn't even noon."
"Oh please, Adam, don't pretend you care about such mundane things as time.
We are beyond that law."
"Are we beyond the laws of decency as well?" Adam asked.
"Decency? Oh, you are referring to my proposal last night."
"You make it sound so decent. You make it sound as if you were proposing
a ride in the country, instead of a rape."
"I was proposing no such thing. Mary wanted us both as much as I wanted
both you and she."
"Don't be ridiculous. Mary couldn't have wanted such a thing. She's--"
he stopped himself.
"She what? Not that sort of girl? That is what you were going to say, isn't
it?" Byron smirked.
"It was your drugs--"
"No, they belonged to you. It wasn't the drugs, nor the wine, nor the night
wind. It was carnal passion in a mortal female to bed two of the most stunning
examples of manhood she ever laid eyes upon," Byron almost chirped with
glee at the words.
"It would've been wrong. I couldn't have done such a thing, not with...."
"Not with what? Not with me there? Or not with her there?"
"Don't be ridiculous." Adam closed his book and placed it back on
the shelf. "What you were suggesting is--"
"Something I sensed your desire for long before last night."
"Poppycock!"
"At the lake, in the woods, when we stopped to wash the dirty of the road
from our faces. Remember kneeling by the water, and dipping your hands into
the coolness of the mountain fed stream? Remember the closeness of our bodies
as we lay by the stream after cooling our bared feet in it? Remember your hand
touching mine?"
"Enough! I know what I did, and I don't know why I did it. It just seemed
right at the time. Last evening was not right, nor called for in any way."
Adam felt cornered by Byron's words and his own feelings.
"Harsh words for such a glorious morning."
Both men turned to see Mary Shelly, still in a dressing gown, standing in the
doorway. Her hair hung loose over her bared shoulders, as she pulled the gown
closed across her breasts.
"You shouldn't be up," Adam said, regaining his composure.
"Sir, are you presuming to tell me I am not ready for this wondrous day?"
"I wonder for what else the maiden is ready?" Byron mused.
Adam glared at him, but Mary laughed.
"My Lord. I am ready for a multitude of things, given the choices I am
awakening to," She answered.
Adam's eyes widened. This isn't right, he thought. His mind was telling him
no, but as Mary approached him, his lips met hers. He closed his eyes and felt
the fire of her mouth on his.
When he opened his eyes he saw her extended hand toward Byron. He stepped back
and observed Mary greet Byron as she had greeted him. Her hand once again extended
to him. He approached cautiously, and she drew him, not to her but to Byron.
She guided his mouth gently to Byron's and then he was lost in a kiss which
stirred passions long ago buried.
When their lips parted he turned to Mary and saw the look of wonderment, amusement,
and joy on her face.
"I know my own mind, Mr. Pierson. And I know what I wished for last night.
I expect to receive my wishes, this evening, if you and Lord Byron will be so
accommodating."
Adam's eyes danced with trepidation. Did he dare accommodate such a request,
even one made by such beauty? He turned to Byron, and knew instantly what his
answer must be.
He bowed graciously. "M'lady, I am at your service. Your wish is my command."
Present
"Hey! You're ignoring me."
Methos sat up and smiled. "Well, if it isn't the long lost Duncan MacLeod,
emerged from the shower, all dressed and ready for a bite to eat."
"I've been ready for the last five minutes. You seem to have been elsewhere."
"Let's go meet Richie, if he's still waiting for us?" Methos leapt
to his feet.