Title: Burn Down The Mission
Author/pseudonym: R.A. Swain
Fandom: The Highlander
Paring: Cory Raines/Richie Ryan
Rating: Mature Audience
Status:3/18/00
Archive: Yes, please. You have my permission to archive.
E-mail address for feedback: raswain@internettrash.com
Sequel: On The Balcony
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: I just wondered what could possibly make someone love someone else so
much. This is part of my Cory/Richie series, and will be continued in Confession
Is Good For The Soul.
Summary: Richie starts to see relationships need to be worked at, ane he tries
to teach Cory the same thing..
Warnings: None I can think of at the moment.
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.
Burn Down The Mission
by R.A. Swain
The rustle of the sheets awoke Richie Ryan. He glanced at the clock on the night
stand. 3:40 AM. He shook the sleep from his eyes and carefully shifted beneath
the covers so he could see his lover. The rustling of the sheets was something
to which he was becoming accustom. He knew the meaning, but it still disturbed
him.
He leaned up on his elbow and looked down at his sleeping lover, the moonlight
coming through the balcony windows illuminating his face. Asleep he looked so
peaceful, Richie thought, yet the subtle distortions of his face signaled another
nightmare tormenting his mind.
Richie marveled at the dark hair, the strong nose, and soft eyebrows. A foot
kicked out at some imagined or long dead foe, and Richie shifted again so as
not to be struck. He wished he could wake the man lying beside him, but after
the first occurrence he learned not to disturb him.
"Oh Cory," he whispered aloud. "What is tormenting you so?"
The nightmares seemed to always be there, as far as Richie was concerned. From
the moment he and Cory Raines became more involved, the nightmares were just
part of the deal. Cory claimed not to remember them, but Richie knew that was
a lie. He didn't like Cory lying to him, even about something so small as a
nightmare, but he didn't want to press him on the subject. Obviously the demons
haunting his sleep were more then Cory wanted to share, and Richie was content
to wait until Cory was ready to discuss them.
He watched Cory thrash about, and moved back a bit. Some nights were more violent
than others, and all he did know was they were somehow connected to someone
from Cory's past named Alan. The first night it happened, Cory had sat upright
in bed screaming the name and crying.
Rich was startled, and Cory was embarrassed by his outburst. He refused to answer
when Richie asked him about it that night, or the next morning. Since that night,
the haunting dreams came about twice a week. Richie just waited them out. Sometimes
Cory wouldn't even wake up, only mutter something in his sleep about the sheriff
and occasionally call out to Alan.
It embarrassed Richie to admit it, even to himself, but he was jealous of this
Alan. The first time he assumed Alan was someone close to Cory, but on those
occasions when Cory would mutter the name his tone would tell how close they
were. One night Cory had muttered "Oh Alan, suck on my sac again,"
and Richie knew Alan was an ex-lover. How ex he didn't know, but Cory refused
to talk about him once he was awake, so it didn't matter.
He saw the sweat trickling down Cory's cheek and forehead. The thrashing became
more violent. "No...no....no...Alan....NO!" Cory was wide awake sitting
up, tears streaming down his cheeks. His eyes met Richie's.
Richie sat up and embraced his lover. "It's okay. You're here with me and
it's the 21st century," he whispered, holding him tightly.
Cory sobbed and wrapped his arms around Richie's bare chest and back. "I'm
sorry! I'm so sorry!" He breath heaved, and he sighed.
Richie rubbed his hand against Cory's back like he would a child. "Man,
you've got to talk to someone about these nightmares," he said. Cory tried
to pull away, but Richie held tight. "Promise me, if you won't talk to
me, talk to Mac, or Amanda, or someone, please?"
Cory ceased his struggling to free himself from Richie's arms and clung tightly.
"I promise." He looked passed his young lover's bare should and out
the window at the moon lit night.
British Isles 1264 AD
Cory lay naked on the moss beside the pond, looking down the length of his naked
body at the young man lying beside him, also naked. He caressed the red hairs
on the man's thighs and ran his hand toward his goal.
"You'll not distract me by pleasuring my member," Alan said.
"Oh, won't I?" Cory replied, a hint of challenge flickered in his
eyes. He loved just this sort of challenge. He grasped the soft balls and hard
shaft of his companion and gently kneaded them.
Alan sighed. "Cory, I still want to know why you don't want me to come
with you?" He knew there was no reasoning with Cory when he was concentrating
on bodily pleasure. He reached out to Cory's own stiff member poking out and
upward, and wrapped his fingers around the shaft. "Two can play at this
game."
"Sometimes even more," Cory replied before leaning forward and flicking
his tongue against the hooded tip which was poking out.
Alan laughed from both the remark and the feeling of Cory's tongue on his cock.
"You are wicked. You're evil thoughts will surely get you in trouble."
Cory leaned up and released the stiff member from his lips. "The only evil
is not to partake of the pleasure life offers us." He lowered his head
once again, opening him mouth to engulf the eight inch organ before him, his
eyes glancing downward toward Alan who was mirroring Cory's moves.
The two men silently pleasured each other, for the third time that afternoon,
tongues caressing each other's shafts and balls, fingers exploring nether regions
the Bishop had preached was most sinful, yet this all gave both men such feelings
of pleasure neither could understand how these acts could be sinful.
Cory shuddered and felt himself shoot his seed into the young man's mouth, while
the young man did the same to him. Both men fell back on the moss, panting and
breathing heavily, both with smiles of complete contentment on their faces.
Alan sat up. "I want to be there with you when you raid the Mission."
"We've been over this a dozen times, and you still don't see why it is
more important for you to be here, in the forest, where you'll be safe?"
Cory asked plaintively.
"I see you may need me," Alan replied.
"I need you here. You're not a fighter, your a storyteller."
"I'm more than you give me due for being," Alan said. "And I'm
a better shot then most of your men."
"An arrow could just as easily end your life, and the King's guards will
be more expert than you."
"But not more than you," Alan said.
"All the more reason for you to remain here," Cory said. "I can't
be thinking of you when I'm fighting for my life."
"When better to think of me?" Alan asked.
"My love," Cory replied, "I think of you even when I shouldn't.
When I lay with the lassies it's you I am with."
"As I am with you, when I lay with the fair maids."
"The church would have us burned for these feeling," Cory said.
"Or worse," Alan replied. He shook his head. "I will not think
what we do is wrong. We are going to help the villagers, and then you and I
and the Friar, and John Hargrove shall leave for Scotland. We can hide there,
in the highlands, and then travel North."
"We can not plan for the Friar and Little John. They must choose for themselves.
Little John has a family to consider." Cory stretched out his legs, and
allowed his hand to run down the length of Alan's leg, tickling the hairs.
"John's good wife will follow him to the ends of the Earth."
"Yes, but would she if she knew he has laid with us?" Cory questioned.
"Magrath Hargrove would gladly join the three of us in pleasure, if she
knew," Alan said.
Cory laughed. "And I'm the one with wicked thoughts?"
Alan caressed the smooth bare chest of his lover. "The Mission is the most
important stronghold of the king. You know anyone who goes on this raid with
you must leave England or die. The sheriff and the royal guards will be after
us for the rest of our lives."
"Aye, that is true," Cory sighed. His arms pulled Alan to him. "But
what more can we do? If we sit by and let the sheriff and his less-than-royal-majesty
have their way, the people of the kingdom will die of starvation and plagues."
Alan rolled away and stood up. "It is time for us to return to the others.
John and the Friar will be returning soon."
Cory reluctantly rose from his prone position on the moss. He enjoyed watching
Alan dressing, almost as much as he enjoyed the sight of him undressing. "Very
well, but we shall be together again soon."
He embraced the young man once more, pressing his lips to Alan's and kissing
him deeply with his tongue. When Alan pulled back Cory caught his breath.
Alan smiled. "Every time you kiss me it's like it will be the last time."
Cory blinked and held on to Alan for one more moment. "It may be. We know
not what the world has in mind for us."
Present...
Cory sat on the couch, looking out at the rain falling against the window panes.
He sipped the at the glass of red wine in his hand and looked across the room
at Amanda, as she shuttled a rather handsome man out of the front door. "So,
is he your new boy toy?" Cory asked, as she joined him on the couch.
"I hardly have boy toys," she mused, picking up her own glass of wine
and gently bringing it to her lips. "Nick is, well, Nick is hard to explain."
"He's a wolf in studs clothing, and I think you're smitten," Cory
teased.
"Well, he is a wolf, but not in the sense you mean," she smiled at
her private joke. "Now what brings you to my humble abode?"
Glancing around, Cory marveled at how easy it was for Amanda to think of the
treasures surrounding her as humble. A master thief, almost as good as himself,
with an appreciation for the finer things, and she could make it seem as if
it all were nothing more than a complete facade. "Richie asked me to talk
to someone."
Amanda nodded. "Richie? Is he all right?"
"He's fine, and he's mine, so don't think of him as anything more than
one that got away," Cory said with a smile.
"Spoil sport," she snapped. "Very well. At least you shared Mac
with me."
"Well, maybe someday I'll share Richie as well, if you'll share your Nick?"
Cory suggested.
Amanda set her glass down. "Nick's a free agent. However, if you're doing
something because your, what did you call Nick? Oh yes, boy toy, is asking you
to do it, then," she paused and gave Cory a more serious look. "Then
he's more than just a boy toy to you, isn't he?"
Cory shrugged. "You've known me too long. Yes, he means a great deal to
me. In fact, I think that's what is haunting me."
"Haunting?" Amanda repeated the work, and her eyes twinkled. "You're
having nightmares again, aren't you?"
Cory nodded.
"Alan?" she asked.
He nodded again. "Richie doesn't know, and I don't want to tell him. Not
now. I'm afraid, if I do, if--" he stopped.
Amanda slid over to his side of the couch. and embraced him. "My darling,
darling Cory, you have to let go. It's been almost 900 years. It's not like
times haven't changed, or people."
"Have they? " Cory asked. "Have times and people really changed
that much? You and I, and Mac, and all or our kind have seen more than most,
and we have seen the times change. I saw monarchy after monarchy rise and fall,
I saw Hitler, I witnessed countless atrocities in 900 years, and yet the only
one that mattered, the only one that still hurts more then the rest, is having
watched Alan die."
A short time later....
The second Richie opened the door he heard the music, and the voice. It can't
be?, he thought, walking to the bar. He saw Joe Dawson nod to him, and then
he glanced across the room to an upright piano in the corner near the stage.
There sat his lover, Cory, pounding out a blues version of You Call Everybody
Darlin'. Richie glanced back at Joe and approached the bar.
"What's up with this?" He asked.
Joe continued cleaning glasses and setting up the bar. "I was hoping you
could tell me."
Richie sat and listened as Cory's voice filled the room. "I don't get it.
He's been acting strange ever since I met him, but this is a new one."
"You should've been here an hour ago, during lunch. You missed his rendition
of Heartbreak Hotel. Did you two have a fight?"
"No. I swear, I asked him to talk to someone about his nightmares. I thought
he was coming here to talk to you," Richie replied.
"Oh he did. He asked if I'd mind if he fiddled around on the ol' eighty-eights.
The next thing I know I'm getting a Cole Porter medley, followed up with Elvis,
the early years, and now this. Lots of songs about broken hearts." Joe
set a beer in front of Richie. "Talk to him. Maybe that's what he really
wants."
"I've tried. Hey, you know, as a watcher you could slip me his file, and--"
"No!"
"Why not? He doesn't have to know."
"It isn't ethical."
"And they call Mac the boy scout."
"Would you want me handing over your file to him, if he asked?"
"I've got nothing to hide," Richie said.
"Wait until you live a few hundred years."
"At least tell me, have you read his file?"
Joe wiped the bar down one last time. He nodded. "I like to know whose
hanging out at my bar."
Great, Richie thought. "Do you know about a guy named Alan?"
"Your friend there has a lot of history to cover. I don't remember all
of it, I will tell you, he's not as harmless as he sometimes appears."
Joe picked up a tray of glasses and went to the kitchen.
Cory finished playing, turned, saw Richie, and walked across the room. "Hi
kid." He reached over the bar and retrieved a bottle of whisky. Pouring
himself a shot he returned the bottle to it's place.
"So, what's with the piano man routine?" Richie asked.
Cory smiled. "I just enjoy a Gershwin tune," he answered.
"And what's up with the nightmares?" Richie countered.
"Leave it alone," Cory replied.
"Look, you're the one who pursued me, remember? You're the one who wanted
more than one hot night of passion, and you're the one I chose to be with, now
you can't just turn around and start acting weird without me asking questions,"
Richie pushed his beer aside.
Cory's dark blue eyes met his, and for a moment he thought Cory was about to
cry. He wanted to know what could cause his lover to have such a strong emotional
reaction. Since the first night they lay together, Richie only saw Cory the
opportunist, Cory the thief, Cory the joker, Cory the party animal. Now he was
seeing Cory the victim, but victim of what?
"Are you saying you don't want me anymore?" Cory asked.
"No!" Richie replied too fast. God, how he hated himself for it. He
knew he needed Cory as much as Cory seemed to want him. "I'm afraid it's
you who doesn't want me anymore, and you just can't figure out the right way
of telling me to get lost." Richie almost choked on the words, as he put
voice to his greatest fears.
Cory laughed. "If only it were that simple. If only I could just walk away
from relationships. Do you know why I'm always looking for a good time?"
Richie shrugged. "I just figured you liked to party."
"Well, I do, but there's more to it than just having fun. I have fun to
forget." Cory turned to the empty glass and pushed it aside.
"Forget what?"
Their eyes met once again. "Richie, you're so young. Just like--"
He stopped.
"Like who? Like Alan?" Richie probed.
"Let's go. Joe has stuff to do before the happy hour crowd." Cory
stood to leave.
Richie grabbed him by the shoulder. "Oh no you don't. I want to know, what
is it that haunts you in your dreams? What is the master of flimflam, the king
of cons, running from?"
Cory looked down at the ground. "I've let you get too close. I can't promise
to protect you."
Richie looked at his lover, now more questioning than ever. "No one asked
you to protect me. I'm a big boy, I can take care of myself."
"Yes, well, there have been other big boys. And they ended up--" Again,
Cory stopped.
"Ended up how?"
"Dead."
"Immortal dead?" Richie asked.
"Dead is dead," Cory replied. he pulled away from Richie.
British Isles 1264 AD. Outside the King's Keep.
"I'll not fault any man who turns back," Cory said to the group of
men surrounding him. "This is your last chance. Once I light the fire,
our lives will forever be changed."
"We're all with ye," John Hargrove said, placing his bear-like hand
on Cory's shoulder.
"Aye, every last man here has a score to settle with the sheriff,"
another man whispered, loud enough for them to hear. "You are our savior."
Cory pulled an arrow from his quiver, and placed it against his bow. He held
the tip in the single light of the torch which was passed up amongst the group,
and watched it flare up. "For our families," he whispered, before
releasing the arrow into the air.
The men watched the arrow fly up higher and higher, and then arch, over the
wall of the Mission and plant itself in a thatched roof of the first store house.
He launched another flaming arrow before the king's guards began to appear from
out of their barracks.
Screams where heard around the mission, as men and women in their night clothes
came running from sheltered doorways, carrying buckets. The priests and wives
of soldiers, the maids or the royal court, and the courtesans and other concubines
of those who claimed more piety then the common folk, all shouting and carrying
buckets to the water troughs, forming a line, but as the second building's thatched
roof took to flames, it was already hopeless.
The guards were already on the hunt, but it was too late for Cory and his merry
band to turn back. The flames were beginning to spread more and engulfed a third
building all on their own. The men paused to watch the fire spread, and it seemed
to them as if a sign from Heaven itself, telling them they were right in burning
out the land barons before they themselves starved to death in the approaching
winter.
But now, they would be on foot, in the forests in the winter, hiding from the
King's guard. The guard. Cory quickly turned and signaled to his men, still
in hiding, as two guardsmen approached. It was swift and silent, as their throats
were cut. Time was running out, and Cory knew they must flee at once or all
be caught and hanged. For himself, it just meant an unpleasant headache, but
for others it was eternal.
Present...
Cory sat in the living room of his cabin, shuffling a deck of cards, glancing
up at Richie every few seconds. Why was he so handsome, Cory wondered? Why did
he have to be so sexy, and so caring, and so, so everything Cory always wanted
in a partner since--
He stopped the train of thought. It always led back to Alan and the woods, and
a dead end. Cory glanced up at Richie again, looking at the fair haired man
sitting on the couch opposite him, leafing through a motorcycle magazine. "Hey,
sexy. You wanna play cards?' he asked.
Richie shook his head. "No."
"We could play strip poker," Cory said, leering lasciviously at Richie,
and picturing him naked.
"No, you always win," Richie said. "and no strip trivia either,"
he added. "You kick my butt in the history category."
"Yeah, well, when you lived most of it," Cory said, "it's more
personal."
"I only get the history questions when you tell me how things actually
happened rather then how I learned they happened," Rich replied.
"So, no strip games at all?" Cory asked.
Richie smiled. "I have one in mind."
Continued in Confession Is Good For The Soul