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Instead of sleeping, Methos had spent the hours thinking about MacLeod and their last meeting. The bond between the two men had disappeared. And with it, Methos' private dreams for a different kind of relationship had been shattered.

He was not the same person he had been then. That should be enough for MacLeod.

On the other hand, if this were still the world of the Horsemen, Methos would not be here alone tonight. As sleep finally rolled over him, his last thought was to wonder what MacLeod's reactions might have been......

****

His return to the camp attracted the attention of the other Horsemen, as he had known it would. The nature of the burden his horse carried couldn't be disguised from another Immortal. Carelessly Methos unrolled the fabric, dumping the wriggling contents unceremoniously on the ground.

Staring up at him in mingled surprise and disbelief was a handsome dark-haired man. A young man, no more than 19 or 20. Methos contemplated his new possession with pleasure.

"You're alive." Methos watched the boy's hands explore his own undamaged body in wonder, his fingers lingering over the recently healed chest.

Kronos approached, looking at the new slave in appreciation. "Nice catch, Brother. But he's going to be more trouble than he's worth. If you have any sense, you'll take his head now."

"I don't think so," Methos answered calmly. He had known that Kronos wouldn't approve of his decision. "We need new slaves and I think this one is young enough to be trained. Who knows? Perhaps someday we will be the Five Horsemen."

Kronos shook his head. "You're a fool, Methos. He'll never be anything but trouble. You can keep him, while you can control him. If he causes trouble in the camp, he has to go."

As Kronos walked off, shouting at the rest of the camp to get back to work, Methos had to agree that it was a fair offer. If he could tame this savage, he could keep him, but the safety and the comfort of the Four Horsemen came first.

Stretching out his hand, Methos offered the new Immortal assistance in climbing to his feet. Grasping the offered hand, the young man rose gracefully and looked around the damaged camp with fear.

"I am Duncan MacLeod, of the Clan MacLeod. Who are you and what is this place?"

"Greetings Duncan MacLeod. I am Methos, and this place is the camp of the Four Horsemen and your new home."

"New home?" The look of shock deepened in the young man's eyes. He seemed to remember, suddenly, that the man in front of him had chased him down and...killed him? Again his hands searched his undamaged chest, looking for the mortal wound he remembered receiving.

"Your kind is hard to kill," Methos told him cryptically. "Yes, I said *new home* and the sooner you get used to the idea, the better off you will be. Your old life is ended. You have died and are reborn and you cannot return to what you were. Now you serve me."

Shouting, Methos summoned three of the slaves working nearby, Ones who could be trusted to do as they were told. Spinning MacLeod around he shoved the young man into the arms of the nearest one. "Clean him up and leave him in my tent. I'll deal with him later."

Leaving them to their task, he joined the other Horsemen to finish the day's tasks. Later he would clean himself up and join his new companion. He looked forward to the night.

****

Hours later the two men faced each other in the tent. The other slaves, had cleaned up the new prisoner and given him a clean pair of worn breeches to wear but had refused to supply a tunic or to return his shoes. They had also guarded against escape attempts by leaving the young man bound hand and foot with corded leather.

Right now Methos was trying to ignore the enticing picture he made with his long, dark hair loose against the bare skin of his chest and shoulders.

MacLeod was refusing to eat the food provided and Methos decided that it was time for his first lesson in obedience. Methos had ordered him to eat and MacLeod had been refusing to obey even such a simple command. Losing patience, Methos finally grabbed a handful of the soft, tangled hair and forced his prisoner to look at him.

"You will learn to obey me, MacLeod or suffer the consequences." Looking down at the stubborn face, he let his eyes linger on the promise in that full mouth. There was passion in this one and Methos wanted to find it. Soon he would learn to give willingly what now had to be forced from him.

Finally the young man, already intimidated by the Horsemen and confused by his new situation, was persuaded to eat. As the he ate, Methos made certain that his wine bowl remained filled. He was certain that heavy drinking hadn't been a facet of MacLeod's village life. With some of the sweet, potent liquor inside of him, the rest of the night should be quite interesting.

By the time MacLeod finished the bowl of food provided for him, most of his anger had left him. His eyes were slightly glazed and he seemed to have forgotten his automatic resistance to Methos' every suggestion. When the older Immortal untied his feet and told him to clear away the remains of their dinner, MacLeod obeyed without objection.

Methos decided it was time to move on to the more interesting events of the evening. Grabbing MacLeod's arm, he pushed the unresisting man down onto the pile of soft furs that served for a bed and settled in beside him.

For a moment he just stopped to enjoy the view. MacLeod, not noticing the attention, was laying back against the furs and staring mistily at the ceiling of the tent.

He looked at the tangled waves of hair and remembered the silky feel of it in his hand. The silence stretched out for several minutes and, under the influence of several bowls of wine, the young man gradually relaxed almost into sleep.

Methos, watching him carefully, decided it was time to show MacLeod some of what his new owner expected. Hopefully they would both be able to enjoy the experience.

"Duncan MacLeod," Methos' called to him quietly. MacLeod blinked sleepily, his only response.

Reaching over, Methos pulled MacLeod's head around and stared into the soft, sleepy gaze. It was like drowning in honey and for a moment he lost himself in the warm eyes. All of MacLeod's earlier resistance had vanished under the influence of the wine and his expression was open and trusting.

Methos hesitated, then reached over and planted a kiss on the full lips. MacLeod looked surprised for a moment, his inexperience fighting with the wine inside of him and losing. Under the demanding pressure, his lips parted automatically, allowing Methos' tongue to slip inside and taste the sweetness of the wine he had consumed.

Wrapping both hands in the soft tangle of MacLeod's hair, Methos plundered the warm and willing mouth, reveling in the unexpected response. Breaking free for a moment, he planted gentle kisses on each dark eye and tasted the salty roughness of the stubbled cheeks. MacLeod responded enthusiastically to these caresses, rubbing his cheek against the searching lips and smiling at Methos' audible purr of approval.

Pleased by his success so far, Methos trailed a path of gentle kisses along the line of the strong jaw and under one sensitive ear. Sliding closer, he pressed his body against MacLeod's, rubbing his erection against the firm thigh next to him.

After a few seconds he wanted more. Releasing his grip on the long, soft hair he reached eagerly for the loose clothing MacLeod was wearing, noting with approval the bulge that signaled the other man's growing arousal. Unfastening the garment he pulled it off quickly, impatient to feast his eyes on the rest of his new treasure.

The thick cock springing from a nest of dark, crisp curls was the most erotic sight he could imagine. He trailed his fingers lightly along the length of the organ lightly, watching MacLeod's face closely. The other man's response was unmistakable. His eyes widened in disbelief and his hips pushed eagerly against the pressure. Satisfied, Methos leaned closer to steal another sweet kiss, continuing to stroke the throbbing erection under his hand.

"Take off your clothes."

The soft request was unexpected but very welcome. Methos pulled away and scrambled out of his own garments quickly, feeling MacLeod's impatient gaze watching his every move.

Pulling MacLeod's hands over his head until he was stretched out helplessly, Methos slid eagerly on top of the firm body, settling his hips against MacLeod's rock-hard erection.

"Ohhhh!" MacLeod was obviously struggling to control his reaction to the feel of Methos' naked body against his own. Gasping for breath he stared up at Methos, his dark eyes velvety again, this time with passion.

Methos began thrusting gently against MacLeod's body, letting his erection rub against the other man's in a slow, seductive rhythm. He stole another kiss, taking advantage of the parted lips to slip his tongue into the mouth and drink the remaining sweetness of the wine from the warm interior.

Suddenly MacLeod pulled his arms from Methos' restraining grasp. Wrapping them around the back of Methos' head, he pulled the other man close and returned the kiss passionately.

"Untie my hands. I want to touch you." The quiet voice was coaxing. Convinced that his new possession had no immediate plans for escape, Methos untied the leather strap willingly.

Immediately MacLeod's hands returned to slide slowly down the length of Methos' back, seeming to enjoy the feel of the smooth skin. Reaching his hips, MacLeod closed his fingers around each firm cheek. Squeezing firmly, he pulled the slender hips even closer and began rubbing himself against the hardness of Methos' erection, whispering his enjoyment of the sensations into the other man's ear.

The invitation in MacLeod's hands and body took Methos by surprise. He hadn't believed he would receive a willing, even passionate response to his advances.

"Methos," the heavily accented voice was thick with passion. "I want you. Please, don't stop. Make love to me."

The soft words trickled along his spine like liquid lightning, curling around his hips and flooding in a hot, bright wave of desire through his throbbing erection.

Methos surrendered to the temptation in the voice and the promise of satisfaction in the urgent hands stroking his hips. He rubbed himself eagerly against the strong body and the pleasure grew with every movement, bringing him closer and closer to the edge.

The urgent scream of the telephone shattered the fantasy and he lay alone, panting and sweating in the unfamiliar bed. The lover in his dream had become a hard and lumpy pillow from the hotel and the echo of "Sorry, wrong number" was in his ears.

****

The End