ext_8937 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
hafital.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crack_van2009-07-21 11:35 am
hafital.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2009-07-21 11:35 am
Entry tags:
Anima, by Sleeps With Coyotes (NC-17)
Fandom: HIGHLANDER
Pairing: Duncan/Methos
Length: about 5,000 words
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ciceqi
Author Website: Blood, Love & Rhetoric
Why this must be read: It has many of my favorite things: namely Duncan, Methos, a difficult quickening, and a shower. :D I recently rediscovered this story while searching for a different story by Coyo -- one that I discovered was already recced on this comm. Well, I figured there was plenty of Coyo's other stories to choose from, so I clicked around, enjoying a jaunt through excellent fiction, and then stopped when I got to "Anima." What I love about this story is the connection between Duncan and Methos, and although it's Duncan who's having a hard time settling the quickening, it's Methos who is the vulnerable one.
Resting his head against the cool glass of the window, Duncan shut his eyes slowly, concentrating only on breathing. It wasn't so much that he feared Sennefer would overwhelm his spirit as that he expected his heart to stop at any moment. Four thousand years of Quickening, and every pulse of Duncan's blood was a torture, sparking a flash that rippled through him with an almost audible hiss. It was like building up a static charge, and snap, touching metal or flesh with a wincing flinch--
"MacLeod," Methos murmured as a hand came out, settling briefly on Duncan's wrist. Grounding him. Duncan's body leapt at the touch, pure reflex, though his hands were painted with blood, his own and Sennefer's. This one had been... ugly. Both of them too evenly matched, the drive to live just as strong. And Methos had stuck around this time, stood on the sidelines, his shuttered eyes ominous...
Methos. He could feel the fine, blood-matted hairs crackle under Methos' light touch, the rasp of Methos' warm fingers against his skin, could practically feel Methos' pulse in that feathery contact.
"I'm okay," he muttered rustily, and the hand was withdrawn, though Duncan's body screamed at the loss. //Dangerous game,// a disconnected voice murmured in the back of his mind, but he pushed it
aside, clenching his jaw. If Methos would just get him home... He'd be fine there, he'd lock the door and sleep it off, and thank his old friend in the morning.
"We're almost there," Methos said dubiously after a moment, his voice quiet. Duncan couldn't help feeling a rush at the warmth of that soft tone, a buzzing satisfaction that had nothing to do with the
importunate desires the Egyptian's Quickening woke. The depth of Methos' friendship went largely cloaked in cynical displays of wit, but even the silent gestures had gone underground after the debacle of Bordeaux and the Horsemen, Byron. Now it was the eyes, mostly, that gave Methos away, always the eyes, when it was the voice Duncan craved more and more of. Something spoken, something real...
Anima
Pairing: Duncan/Methos
Length: about 5,000 words
Author on LJ:
ciceqiAuthor Website: Blood, Love & Rhetoric
Why this must be read: It has many of my favorite things: namely Duncan, Methos, a difficult quickening, and a shower. :D I recently rediscovered this story while searching for a different story by Coyo -- one that I discovered was already recced on this comm. Well, I figured there was plenty of Coyo's other stories to choose from, so I clicked around, enjoying a jaunt through excellent fiction, and then stopped when I got to "Anima." What I love about this story is the connection between Duncan and Methos, and although it's Duncan who's having a hard time settling the quickening, it's Methos who is the vulnerable one.
Resting his head against the cool glass of the window, Duncan shut his eyes slowly, concentrating only on breathing. It wasn't so much that he feared Sennefer would overwhelm his spirit as that he expected his heart to stop at any moment. Four thousand years of Quickening, and every pulse of Duncan's blood was a torture, sparking a flash that rippled through him with an almost audible hiss. It was like building up a static charge, and snap, touching metal or flesh with a wincing flinch--
"MacLeod," Methos murmured as a hand came out, settling briefly on Duncan's wrist. Grounding him. Duncan's body leapt at the touch, pure reflex, though his hands were painted with blood, his own and Sennefer's. This one had been... ugly. Both of them too evenly matched, the drive to live just as strong. And Methos had stuck around this time, stood on the sidelines, his shuttered eyes ominous...
Methos. He could feel the fine, blood-matted hairs crackle under Methos' light touch, the rasp of Methos' warm fingers against his skin, could practically feel Methos' pulse in that feathery contact.
"I'm okay," he muttered rustily, and the hand was withdrawn, though Duncan's body screamed at the loss. //Dangerous game,// a disconnected voice murmured in the back of his mind, but he pushed it
aside, clenching his jaw. If Methos would just get him home... He'd be fine there, he'd lock the door and sleep it off, and thank his old friend in the morning.
"We're almost there," Methos said dubiously after a moment, his voice quiet. Duncan couldn't help feeling a rush at the warmth of that soft tone, a buzzing satisfaction that had nothing to do with the
importunate desires the Egyptian's Quickening woke. The depth of Methos' friendship went largely cloaked in cynical displays of wit, but even the silent gestures had gone underground after the debacle of Bordeaux and the Horsemen, Byron. Now it was the eyes, mostly, that gave Methos away, always the eyes, when it was the voice Duncan craved more and more of. Something spoken, something real...
Anima