THIS STORY WAS WRITEN FOR THE LIBRA challenge – unusual pairings.

The pairing is Michael Moore from TURNABOUT and Duncan MacLeod.  But the more I worked on the story I was unsure if the pairing is real or imaginary – rated hard R.

SUCH IS THE NATURE OF INSANITY

He looked at me as if I was insane, and maybe he was right. 

Only an insane man would have chosen this time to announce that he was getting married.  I am a physician, a psychiatrist, so I should know insanity. Do I know it more than I do friendship?  More than I do love?  More than I do Duncan MacLeod?

I wipe my chin, brush my blonde hair out of my face and reach for my eyeglasses.  I needed to really see the look on his face.  He looks down at me with a slight smile.

"There is something I have to tell you, Duncan." 

He doesn't usually talk at times like this.  He is a man of action.  A clenched jaw and slight nod and I go on.

"Today is the last time we can do this."

His eyes ask why and implore me to continue, but there is no sound from his lips.  I have taken him completely by surprise.

"I've decided to ask Jeannette to marry me."  I say it as matter-of-factly as a man on his knees can utter those words.  "I want a normal life.  A family.  Children."

"You know you can't have children, Michael.  It's part of being immortal."  His large hand is on my head, comforting me, and pulling me back toward him.

"Sorry, I can dream.  We could adopt."

"Don't you think Jeannette would want her own children?  Do you want to submit children to our kind of life?"

I know Duncan is doing my rationalization for me.  Trying to convince me that what we had is, if not more normal, at least less problematic, than the life I would have with Jeannette. 

I've always wanted a normal life, but knew I could never have one. Once, I tried to kill myself; I died, but I didn’t stay dead.  Can you imagine what it is like to want to die, and find out that you are immortal? 

I cannot tell Jeannette about my immortality.  She has studied science and nursing; she would never understand.  She would think that I was as delusional as my patients; unless I showed her.  That would show her my immortality . . .  but also my insanity.

"Well, Michael, if this is our last time together, let's make it memorable."   He grabs me under the arms and pulls me up into a deep kiss.  He is kissing me with all the passion of his long life and many loves.  I know that our relationship has never been exclusive, but it had always felt that way to me.  We could secretly continue, but it wouldn't be fair to Jeannette.  I want to give her all of my heart, my soul, my body . . . I want to be there for her.  Only her.

“YOU ARE GOING TO REMEMBER THIS NIGHT FOR A LONG TIME, MICHAEL.”

"Duncan, is that you talking?"   There seem to be too many voices in my head.  I don’t know if I am thinking or speaking or talking.  I am getting confused.

Duncan ends the confusion as he takes my hand and wordlessly leads me into his bedroom.  Like a limp doll he tosses me on his bed, then spreads my arms wide and ties them to the corner posts. 

"I WANT YOU TO THINK, MICHAEL.  THAT IS WHY I AM GOING TO BLINDFOLD YOU."

He knows that I don't like the dark.  There are frightening things that live there.  Not just the voices -- real things.  The fears were much more intense before I met Duncan.  He has helped me, the psychiatrist, live with my demons. Most certainly they will come back again – without him. I know tonight will be the last time I feel safe in the dark.

I convince myself that it may not be dark in the room; Duncan may have turned on the light or lit candles.  He is setting an erotic atmosphere to make this night memorable.  I know that soon I will be . . . FUCKED -- OR WHAT EVER WORD YOU USE.  WHY YOU CAN'T EVEN SAY IT -- by Duncan MacLeod for the very last time.

Duncan is never rough with his sex.  We were the perfect couple.  He was big, strong, dark and masculine.  I was small, slight, blonde and pretty. My aunts used to tell me that I was pretty enough to be a girl.  I never went that far, never tried on my sister's dresses, never wore make up, never . . . but when big, strong men wanted me to -- STILL CAN'T SAY IT, CAN YOU?  -- I was more than ready.  Some of these men also wanted to slap me around afterwards.  I never liked that, but Duncan is never that way.  EVEN TONIGHT?

His hands are large, his touch firm and gentle.  As he rubs my back I can feel his penis growing so that the tip was grazing my spine as he leans forward.   The oil he uses warms his hands and smelled wonderful.  Jeannette is a nurse; she could give back rubs like that.  I picture her naked over me, her breasts touching me as she leans forward, her moistness rubbing against me . . . but the fantasy dissolves.  All I can think of is MacLeod's fingers which are now spreading my . . . those anatomical names of muscles keep intruding into my mind, but they don't mix well with sex.  So I choose not to think.  I just let him proceed.

Even after our many times together, it still hurts a little.  I know that is a good sign.  Muscular health.  What would you expect from an immortal?  If being shot or stabbed doesn't hurt you, why would a little . . . anal intercourse. . . BUTT FUCKING YOU IDIOT!   Mac knows the angles.  He knows about that spot deep inside that when hit just so makes you turn into so much porridge or is it boiled custard.

It seems as if he has been inside me for hours.  I know that can't be true.  My mind is playing tricks on me.  My penis gets hard and I rub it against his sheets.  I can't lower my hands to touch myself because they are still tied.  It doesn't matter; eventually the friction alone is enough.  The third or fourth time this happens, I realize that MacLeod is gone.  I am alone in the bed imagining that he is still here.  Rubbing myself on the bed to produce orgasm after orgasm.  Only an immortal can do that.  I don't stop.

The tenth or twelfth time I think about Jeannette. I love her.  I love her sweet smell and tender touch.  I want to hold her in my arms, kiss her soft lips and her soft breasts.  With Jeannette I can be a real man; a man who will comfort and protect her.

Jeannette will help me forget all of this.  It is the last time I will ever have sex with a man.  I will never think of Duncan MacLeod as other than a good friend.  He will remain  my friend, too.  I remember him telling me that just before he left, that we will always be friends.  He will be there for me to help me.  To comfort and protect me . . . no that what I was thinking about Jeannette.  I am confused.  I want to cry for help. 

"CRY ALL YOU WANT, MICHAEL, WHO DO YOU THINK IS LISTENING?"

I need to protect her. That is what a real man would do.  Protect his wife, his woman.  There are evil men out there.  Men like Quentin Barnes.  If I don’t protect her, I am sure that Barnes will try to hurt her.   Try to rape her.  Try to kill her.

I see Barnes with all his rage violating  . . .  but it is not Jeannette under him, it is Duncan MacLeod.  I try to wipe that picture from my mind.  Quentin Barnes is a very evil man; I do not need to think about him . . .

“BUT YOU DO.”

I black out and, when I awake, I am in my own bed.  I am not blindfolded or tied.  I do not know if it has been hours or days since I was with Duncan MacLeod or what might have happened in the meantime.  Michael Moore is back, and I wonder what Quentin Barnes might have done during my absence.

McJude

September 10, 2004