Baby Dreams
Rory V. Pascual
PART ONE:
STRICT WARNING! This story is RATED NC-17, not just because of its m/m content. It focuses on serious controversial themes of adultery and bestiality. This story IS NOT meant to be read by minors, narrow-minded people and hypocrites. Please give me a break here! If you know you'll be offended by themes such as these, then do me a favor...GET OUT NOW! I do not want people flaming me for these stories and/or making crass insinuations about my mental health. #THIS IS YOUR WARNING! HEED IT!!!#
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story was written as part of the Round Robin project on the HIGHLANDER MAVERICKS list. Under the general title "Highlander In Paradise", the RR focuses on Duncan and Methos' adventures on a deserted island after their plane crashed. Each of the RR participants were asked to choose a topic they would develop their fic around. Unlike other standard RRs, the fics need not be linked together. This way, everyone is free to explore and expand her own topic without being limited by the fics that came before nor influence the fics that would come after, EXCEPT the first and last stories. The results, so far, have been very, very impressive.
"Baby Dreams" is the sequel to "The Cave."
"Duncan, you're looking a little green," Methos remarked as he eyed his young lover seated before him across the table.
In a flash, the Highlander's hand went to his mouth. With a choked sound, Duncan flew out of his chair and dashed into the bushes. The ancient grimaced, hearing the younger man puking his guts out in the cover of the ferns. Suddenly losing his appetite, Methos set his meager meal of rice and fish down on the table and sighed.
This was the fourth morning that Duncan had been suffering from bouts of vomiting, and given the hardy constitution and healing abilities that Immortal's possess, this was a serious concern on Methos' part. But then again, things have been different since he returned from his month-long journey across the island.
Since he returned to their humble home two weeks ago, Duncan had been so gentle and loving and sweet. Not that the Scot hadn't always been. But it was a timid sort of sweetness, almost aloof. At first, Methos believed it was because of the fierce argument they had before they parted ways. The things he had said to the Highlander...they had been very cruel. However, imposed solitude could weigh its toll on any man. It was inevitable that they would end up quarreling. Man was never a solitary being. He reveled in the company of his fellow human beings. Here, on this island, there was just the two of them.
Of course, there was also the matter about their relationship. Good friends suddenly transformed, in a whirlwind moment of passion, into lovers... Duncan, for all intents and purposes, was still a virgin. Although he has had a bevy of women lovers, never had the Scot experienced what it was like to be lovers with another man. That is, until the plane crash, this island and Methos. The ancient had to admit guiltily that perhaps he had pushed the Highlander into this relationship too fast and too soon. With the two of them alone on this island, Duncan had no one else to talk to about this. Certainly, he wouldn't talk to Methos about his inner dilemmas, for fear of hurting the feelings of the older man. However, more than anything else, Methos wanted to know what the Scot was thinking -- Was he feeling guilty about the sex? Did the ancient hurt him during the act? Does he want more out of their relationship? Duncan's hesitation to communicate with Methos ultimately became the root of their problems, which led to the arguments and finally the Old Man's leaving the Highlander for a month. God only knew Methos had tried to be patient with the younger man. But he had his limits. Besides that, he didn't like the thoughts that were running through his head, particularly the suspicion that perhaps he was not satisfying Duncan enough, that he was an inadequate lover to the passionate Scot.
To Methos' chagrin, it took a mere three days during his journey that he realized that he *was* being stupid. Duncan was loyal to a fault. It was beyond his lover to become involved in chicanery. His sense of honor would not allow it. However, wounded pride prevented him from returning to the Highlander. In the end, it was loneliness and love for the Scot that won him over and he decided to go back.
That day of his return, it had tugged his heart to see Duncan, sleeping, his head laid on the table. *How could I have left him like this?* he had mused guiltily as he lovingly caressed the Scot's hair. At that moment, Duncan looked up and the guilt pierced Methos' heart like the bolt of a crossbow, seeing those brown doe eyes red from weeping, the dark shadows under them. When he had asked the Highlander's forgiveness, Duncan answered him with a fierce embrace and a torrent of tears that washed away the anger from his heart. Immediately after, they had made love, the desperate longing turning their coupling into a frenzied rutting. Strangely enough, it was Duncan who wanted it hard and rough. He felt it in the way the younger man urged him to move at a pounding pace that forced the blood to shoot up to his brain. The loving had been brutal, almost to the point of rape. Methos had no doubt that he *had* hurt the Scot. But Duncan did not complain, not then and certainly not in the couplings they performed days after.
Methos found it strange. It was like there were two Duncan MacLeods living with him. The first Duncan existed during the day -- the shy and sweet young man who puttered around their modest treehouse like a mother hen. The second Duncan lived during the night -- all pretense to coyness vanished, he craved sex with a voraciousness that never existed before. Methos thought it curious that the coupling that Duncan desired bordered on pain, as if to the Scot, the pain and pleasure had become synonymous. The ancient was only too happy to oblige. That part of him that was Death reveled in the near rape coupling that they performed each night. It was when the morning came that Methos' guilt would resurface with such force, especially when he finds the telltale bloodstains on their mat and the aching slowness by which the Highlander moved.
Duncan emerged from the bushes, face flushed, bringing Methos out of his thoughts. The younger man sat down once more in silence, taking a sip of the coconut wine to wash out the sour taste in his mouth.
"Are you all right, Duncan?" Methos asked in concern, laying a hand over the Highlander's brow. "This has been going on for four days now."
"I'm okay," Duncan smiled reassuringly. For a brief second, there was a haunted look in his chocolate eyes. "I just feel a little queasy. It must be something I ate."
"Maybe you should cut back on those guavas."
"But I like them. The sourness of the fruit...it helps get rid of the nausea."
Methos eyed the thick strip of T-shirt cloth that was wrapped around Duncan's chest, peeking out through the open V of his shirt. Despite the obvious padding, there was a yellow wetness staining the cloth.
"Your nausea is not the only thing I'm worried about," the ancient remarked as he looked at the stain curiously.
"I'm sure this will pass." Duncan sighed as he carefully removed the cloth from his chest. "I thought I'd experiment with some of the herbs to make new drinks. I wanted to surprise you when you came back. How was I to know that it could do this?"
The Old Man stood up and knelt before the Highlander, taking the cloth from his hands. Gently, he unwound the strip until the Scot's dark red nipples winked at him. The pressure gone, milk spurted out from the tips. Methos made the younger man stand up while he took the seat. Duncan freed the ancient's erection from his shorts and, as he settled upon Methos' lap, impaled himself upon the length. Another thing that was different about the Scot...Duncan seemed to prefer to go around sans any shorts or underwear these days, which would have suited Methos just fine if only his brain didn't nag him constantly about it.
However, at this point, his brain was certainly not in the mood to nag. Supporting the younger man with his right arm on his back and his left hand on the trim waist, Methos thrust his cock into the Highlander. At the same time, he pressed his face to the rounded mounds of Duncan's chest and engulfed a swollen tit in his mouth, letting the milk flow freely down his throat. Thankfully though, the end came soon enough for both of them, spurting their fluids copiously -- Duncan on Methos' belly and Methos within the depths of his lover's body. Still, the milk flowed generously that the ancient cradled the young Immortal in his arms and continued to suckle in bliss.
When he finally had his fill, Methos squeezed the Scot's thigh. "As much as I don't want to leave, I have to go and hunt for our food. Is there anything you like me to get you?"
There was a ravenous look in Duncan's bright eyes as he answered, "Could you find some mangoes for me? Not the yellow ones. I prefer the green ones, those that aren't ripe yet."
"Duncan," Methos laughed, "they'll be as sour as vinegar."
"I like it that way. Besides, I've been fermenting shrimp paste in sea water."
"That awful smelling gunk you have in the preserves jar? I thought it was that that was making you puke."
"And I thought you have a taste for exotic dishes. Those green mangoes would be delicious with my shrimp paste. You'll see."
The ancient gave the Highlander a disgusted glance. "Guavas, green mangoes, shrimp paste, morning sickness, lactating tits... if I didn't know better, I'd say you're pregnant, Duncan."
At that comment, Methos saw Duncan turn visibly pale. But the Scot's startlement was only momentary. Laughing, he declared, "Don't be ridiculous, Methos! Not only am I Immortal, I'm also a man! How can I be pregnant?" As he hastened to clean up the table, waving his hand dismissingly, he said, "God, you have such a weird imagination!"
As Duncan walked away, he did not know that Methos had noticed the tremor in his voice.
*"Duncan, you're waddling."
"I am not waddling. I'm not a duck."
"No, you're waddling like a pregnant woman."
"That's because I AM pregnant, fool!"
Methos watched as the Highlander slowly walked back and forth before him, gripping his rounded belly with his right hand and the left on the small of his back. The ancient couldn't help the smile that formed on his face. He never knew that pregnancy could be so becoming and sexy in a man. The Scot's navel jutted out of his tummy like a tiny nipple.
Noting his intense perusal, Duncan glowered at the ancient. "What are you looking at?"
"You, of course," said Methos truthfully. "I thought you look absolutely sexy."
The Highlander snorted in disgust, "I feel like a whale!"
The Old Man waved his lover to come closer. With a grimace, Duncan waddled over to Methos' side, settling down on the settee that the elder Immortal had made from sticks and coconut fronds. Taking the Scot's feet into his lap, Methos gently massaged the soles. The Highlander sighed in bliss, relaxing into his lover's expert hands.
"God, that feels so good!" he moaned in pleasure.
"You should get off your feet more often," Methos suggested, pressing on Duncan's ankle, that a shallow pit was formed. "You seem to be gathering edema."
"Don't worry! It'll vanish once I take a piss," the Scot pouted, "which seems to happen every five minutes or so. OWWW!" Duncan glared down at his tummy and waved a scolding finger at it. "Now, be nice! You know how much it hurts Mama when you kick."
Methos grinned. "It doesn't hurt that much and you know it. You're just practicing to be a nagging hen."
"I only do that with you." The Highlander ran his hands lovingly over the smooth roundness of his belly. "I tell him stories. He likes them a lot, especially tales of heroes and battles. He gets active inside me. He keeps on moving around and kicking a lot, especially when the hero kicks villain butt."
"Heaven forbid!" groaned the ancient. "Don't tell me that you have the future laird of the Clan MacLeod in there!"
Smiling, Duncan said, "Or maybe she's a pretty lass who'll become a famous ballerina one day." The Scot winced in pain. "Whether the baby is a he or a she, it's certainly pretty hyper."
Methos gazed longingly at the Highlander's belly. "Duncan, may I..."
The Scot simply gave his lover a sweet grin and nodded. The ancient moved closer towards Duncan and, leaning down, laid his cheek on the round belly. He sighed happily as he felt the baby moving inside. A laugh bubbled up his throat as he felt a tiny foot kick his face.
"What are you laughing at?"
Methos momentarily roused from that wonderful dream he was having, though not removing his cheek from its comfortable place on Duncan's firm, flat tummy.
"You're pregnant, MacLeod," he said drowsily.
There was a moment's silence. Methos felt Duncan tense beneath him.
"You're dreaming, Methos," the Scot replied rather tersely. "Go to sleep."
"No, I'm not," the Old Man insisted. "I could feel him moving in your tummy."
Duncan breathed in deeply. "I'm not pregnant, Methos."
"Yes, you are."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are."
"NO, I'M NOT!"
Methos wrapped his arms around the Highlander's waist. "Have it your way! I know a pregnant man when I see one."
Again, silence. "Methos, go to sleep. You'll feel saner in the morning."
With a yawn, the Old Man answered, "If you say so."
CONTINUED IN PART TWO