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Quest, Reversal In Time	By : highlandgirl Category: G through L > Highlander Views: 1888 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Highlander: The Series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Quest, Reversal In Time

by

Frances Rolfe

Rating: NC-17, Slash, m/m, multiple partners, N/C, Tort, Lang, Beast, M/C, Oral, Slave

Key: ****** Scene change, *** Flashback,
Italics Thoughts

Warning: Graphic beastiality scene and rape. If you object to this, please do not read further.

Summary: Duncan sees the Toltec city of Tula.

Disclaimer: I make no money from this story. HL and its characters are the property of Panzer/Davis.

Chapter 10

Tula

MacLeod and the Toltecs were on the road early the next morning with each warrior growing increasingly excited. They chattered amongst themselves, told jokes and jabbed each other playfully about their hardened warriors' bodies. Even the dour expression that seemed to always cover Methos' face, since Mac had seen him here in this time period, was erased. Instead, the ancient's lips formed a curious grin, with his hazel eyes dancing in anticipation. It was as if he knew a secret no one else did.

When the tall Scot attempted to find out what was going on, the Toltecs' Nahua language spewed from their mouths. The one word MacLeod understood was 'Tula.' Whatever or whoever this Tula was, it was of prime importance to the ancestral natives of the Aztecans who would inhabit Mexico over the centuries to come. Duncan noticed the terrain steadily elevate. This must mean they were nearing the interior of Mexico near the modern day capital.

MacLeod's methodical pace slowed as they neared the Toltec city of black magic. Fields of maize, squash and beans dotted the hillsides. Workers were visible digging out weeds and channeling water irrigation ditches. Whenever any of the farmers spotted Quetzalomeyocan, they eagerly waved and bowed down on their knees to the Toltec shaman and warrior. Duncan noticed the tall, MesoAmerican Immortal's shoulders broaden and his chin lift high in acknowledgment of the homage he was receiving.

MacLeod could not help gaping at the prehistoric sights he was now privy to. Studying and reading about ancient civilizations was one thing, but to actually see it and experience the time period itself was immensely fascinating to the Scot. At the same time, it was also spooky. The Highlander was uneasy about what lay in store for him.

As a result of his wool gatherings, he soon felt Methos against his back. Mac's olive skin pinked and he mumbled, "Sorry."

"Close your mouth, Pahana, and pay attention to where you're going," the ancient gruffly corrected. Mica grabbed him by the upper arms and shoved him forward, pinching his right bare buttock as he did so.

MacLeod reflexively grabbed his offended anatomy and glared at the older Immortal. "Keep yer hanae yae yerself," he growled in a heavy Scot accented English.

Mica was not about to let him get away with such insolence. His left hand flashed and Duncan flinched from the stinging lash of the ten leather strips licking his posterior. He jerking his head toward him and frowned.

Methos' glittering eyes danced with mischief. "Just wait until I get you to myself, young whelp," he teased, a sardonic grin on his patrician face. "I'll teach you to behave."

MacLeod returned Methos' jibes with a mildly perplexed look. He never knew if the ancient Immortal was serious or just teasing him. He decided to wait and see what the trickster's intentions were and kept walking. He didn't react when his 'owner' pinched him yet again, this time closer to his crack. Aware of the ancient's close proximity to him, Duncan shivered when Methos' breath blew lightly on the back of his neck. Goosebumps peppered his almost nude body and he quaked in anticipation. Methos then trailed the lash's ends from the nape of the neck, down the spine and into the seam separating the twin mounds of dimpled flesh.

"You like that, don't you," baited Methos, rubbing his chest along Mac's back. "You want me, don't you, Pahana," he badgered.

Taking advantage of a brief water break, the Horseman motioned the Scot over to a large rock and pushed him face down upon it. MacLeod couldn't see the leer on the other man's face, but he really didn't need to; he knew what was coming. He felt his hand snake around his body and begin pumping his arousing shaft. He then felt him kick his legs further apart until the Scot's manhood and twin pouches dangled alluringly in plain sight. Mac helplessly wriggled and moaned as he was stimulated to even higher levels from the incessant fondling. He didn't notice the laughter or the ogling from the other Toltecs as the white shaman pulled his rigid cock into full view. Duncan's focus had narrowed until it was only he and Methos under a warm noonday sun.

Duncan helplessly knew his traitorous body was responding in full force to Methos' machinations. He could feel his seed fluid build until bright lights flashed and he yelled his release. As his thick creamy liquid poured over Methos' hand, he lay his exhausted body onto the warm rock. He barely felt Methos' hand milk his cock until every drop had been drained from his body.

Duncan felt his buttocks besepaseparated and Methos' wet hands caressing up and down the channel that led to his entrance. He knew he was being violated, but somehow, it didn't matter. This was Methos, not Lemuel Priest. This was his friend and would be lover. This Mica had no idea of the deep feelings he'd have for the enigmatic Highlander, but Mac knew and astonishingly found himself looking forward to it. He couldn't believe that for the first time, he anticipated his return to his own world. Nor did he pay much heed when he felt the rounded leather handle of the ancient's whip penetrate into his private chamber.

Mac found himself helplessly writhing and wriggling his pinned body as the long, rawhide hilt was worked further inside him. He groaned, not caring that he was fucking himself on the end of the whip. It was the owner of the whip that mattered. This wasn't Priest or even the Toltec shaman. This was Methos, and with sudden crystal clarity, Duncan MacLeod realized he'd do anything the elder Immortal asked of him.

So, it was, that when the whip handle was replaced by Methos' weeping shaft, Mac shoved his hips back further until the ancient's prick was completely buried within his molten furnace heat. Duncan felt, rather than heard, the slap of Methos' hips against his own buttocks. He was dimly aware of his lover's hand as it reached around and once again, took control of his hard cock. Oblivious to all else, MacLeod was also unaware that he was speaking. "Oh, yes, Methos, please, deeper, harder. That's it, more, give me more, give me, God, yes, oh, yes,"

MacLeod's voice then faded as the two Immortals poured out their fluids; the Scot's again on the rock and Mica's deep within him.

It seemed to Duncan that his cum would last forever, but anon it stopped, and he felt Methos collapse onto him until he lay fully over the Highlander's quivering, sweat soaked body. So sated and so lost to his own responses, Duncan didn't hear the applause afforded the two men from Quetzalomeyocan and his men.

However, it mattered and awakened cold fear in his exhausted body when Mica stepped away, to be replaced by the Toltec shaman. Unlike his friend, Quetzalomeyocan's broad, questing hands searched every crack, every orifice, every inch of the Scot's body. The Shaman was already hard from just watching the other two Immortals, so he smeared his weeping cock with some of Duncan's fluids and rammed his rod to its furthest point inside MacLeod.

Mac suppressed a cry of pain when the shaman's fingers pinched and teased his breasts. He shivered when Quetzalomeyocan fondled his balls and groin. Unbelievably, he felt his traitorous body betraying him yet again when he aroused yet a third time, this one from the Toltec's ministrations. This was different, however. Duncan now felt like the whore he was about to become. He collapsed, exhausted, when the shaman finally came, pistoning and thrusting his huge cock into his very depths.

When the shaman jerked himself out of the Highlander, the younger Immortal slid bonelessly down the face of the rock and onto the warm sandy ground. Methos couldn't help but think to himself,
This youngster has one hell of a hot body that was made to be fucked. Smiling, he motioned for one of his men to pick up the insensate Scot's body and carry him over the warrior's shoulder>
>

* * * * * *

Duncan MacLeod was embarrassed upon awakening later that day. He'd been carried into the Toltec city of Tula slung over one of the men's shoulder. He purpled yet again when Methos related how all the townspeople, men, women and children, fondled his inert, naked buttocks, dangling balls and limp sex.

His embarrassment was soon forgotten when his mahogany irises widened upon beholding the structures that now dominated his vision. Methos gave him a tour of the Mecca city of the Toltecs. Three large pyramids similar to those in Egypt were situated at varying spots around the large plaza. Each was at least a hundred square feet around the base and two hundred feet in height. One of them had five layers, its flattened top sporting four columns carved in the shape of warriors. The figures were known as the Atlantes Warriors, but MacLeod wasn't sure exactly why.

Each of the pyramid's sides were covered with painted, sculptured friezes of marching felines and canines, birds of prey devouring human hearts and of human faces extending from the jaws of serpents. A hard chill coursed up his spine. What kind of people were these Toltecs? Better still, the next question was how in the hell did Methos ever become involved with these blood thirsty savages.

His mouth open in wonder, the Scot saw two ball courts within the complex. He vaguely recalled two of the Toltecs tossing a rubber ball down in the kiva back at Chaco Canyon. Somehow, though, MacLeod thought there was a blacker, more macabre reason for the games than what was demonstrated in the Catori territory. Another monolith to the side was the palace complex where their reigning monarch, Tezcatlipoca, lived. The ruler had taken the name from the God of the Night Sky, since he purportedly performed feats of black magic.

Methos told him that the Toltecs were made up of scientists and artists who'd formed a society to explore and conserve the spiritual knowledge and practices of the ancient ones. Religion permeated every aspect of the Toltecs' lives. Warriors such as Quetzalomeyocan were also considered priests or shamen or 'living gods.'

Duncan paused in the tour as a petite woman caught Methos' attention. She was no taller than four feet eleven inches, but she carried her voluptuous body regally. Her waist length, loose black hair covered her shoulders and the infant she carried in her arms. The child suckled her breast, kneading the full globe with its tiny brown fingers. MacLeod guessed he must be a prude because he still felt uneasy around their nudity and unabashed pride in their bodies. Even though it had been over two months since his arrival into this early century, his modesty and Highland upbringing demanded he cover himself. Of course, he did not, and crazily, that bothered him as well. He couldn't understand himself or his reactions, much less anything else.

Feeling a tap to his head, he looked up into his companion's greenish-gold eyes. He shook his head to blow away his inner cobwebs and cocked his head to the side. "Did you say something, Mica?"

The other Immortal's expressive mouth twisted into a half grin. "Yes, I was asking if anyone were home. Home, as in your brain? I've been calling your name three times in the past few minutes."

"I'm sorry, Meth. . .I mean, Mica. I was thinking," he replied.

"That much was obvious, Pahana." Methos tried to keep from laughing. "What were you thinking?" he softly asked.

Duncan looked at the mother who'd bent down to stir a pot of vegetables, all the while nursing her infant. MacLeod nodded in the direction of the young woman and asked Methos, "How these women do it? How do they make a home out here in the middle of nowhere?" It wasn't exactly what the Scot had been pondering, but he couldn't very well be that honest with the elder Immortal either. They continued their slow pace along the main thoroughfare.

Methos murmured, "Scientifically, these people are far advanced beyond any other race in the world today. On the other hand, they are behind when it comes to respecting human life. It doesn't phase them an iota to take the lives of men, women and children, all in the name of religion and warfare."

MacLeod faced him. "Then, it's true, what I've heard, about the sacrifices."

A saddened look crept over the former Horseman who was supposed to be so cruel and blood thirsty. "Yes, it's true. I've watched entire families be driven up those stone steps" he pointed to the nearest pyramid, "to their deaths. I've helped cut out their hearts. Sometimes they don't say a word, other times, they scream and kick and fight against their fate."

A fleeting thought flew through MacLeod's mind. Methos had tried to tell him during the Horseman fiasco that the times were different, he was a different man. Mac hadn't realized just how different until he saw this Mica, this Adam Pierson, this version of Methos. He was different. Even now, Duncan could see the wheels churning in the enigmatic Immortal's brain, telling him the deaths weren't right, that this race of people weren't right to take the lives of individuals so frivolously.

Mac's respect for the changes the old man had wrought within himself now grew monumentally. Methos, Adam, wasn't the same person and MacLeod had to admit, he liked his best friend, Methos, the man he knew in his own time best of all. He'd take Adam Pierson in the year 2000 any day.

MacLeod looked over into his future friend's amused face. "I guess you lost me again, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess I did. I must not be as entertaining as I thought," he added with a smile.

The Scot reached over and gripped the ancient's shoulder companionably. "More than you know, Mica."

* * * * * *

MacLeod climbed the seemingly endless stone staircase that led to the top of the 'Pyramid of the Darkness.' He couldn't help but be glad he was in top physical condition.
No wonder Methos is so slender if he climbs this staircase every day.

Once the two Immortals were on top, the Scot had a bird's eye view of the surrounding countryside as well as the city of Tula and its 40,000 residents. Just the fact that these people and their slaves could build monoliths like this was astounding. They didn't have engines and motors, they didn't have bulldozers. Hell, the wheel hadn't even been invented. How they could have accomplished the monumental building they had done was a testament to their ingenuity.

"This way," Methos ordered and pulled on MacLeod's arm. He led the way to an entrance located in the center of the pyramid's pinnacle. Another narrow flight of steps leading downward were visible. Methos lit a torch that lay just inside the doorway and began the descent into the bowels of pyrapyramid.

"What is this? Where does it go?" MacLeod asked the other man.

"It used to be a volcanic shaft." He smiled when he noticed the look of alarm on the Pahana's face. "Don't worry. It's extinct."

"Yeah, that's what they saboutbout Mt. St. Helen's, too," MacLeod grumbled.

Methos paused and peered at his new slave. "Mt. St. Helen's? Where is that?"

Duncan muttered, "It's on another continent," realizing he'd need to be cautious of what he said around him and everyone else. To detract him, he asked, "What do you do down here, Methos?"

"We have ceremonies among other things." He once again looked back at the Immortal following him. "We also keep some of our...priests...down here."

MacLeod picked up on Methos' hesitation but held his tongue. He continued to meekly follow the him.

Once he arrived on the lowest level of the shaft, Mica led his new protégé to his quarters. His room turned out to be a cubby hole about the size of Rising Star and his quarters in Mesa Verde. The difference being that MacLeod could stand upright in this one where he couldn't in the other one. The space contained an earthenware vessel in the corner for wastage, a single woven mat, a water jug and a curious immovable block of wood with a large obsidian ring attached to it.

Duncan looked at Methos with questions mirroring his handsome face. The Horseman's countenance, however, was masked with that of his Death persona. A smirk on his face, Methos picked up a neck collar made of tightly wrapped leather and fastened it around MacLeod's neck. He then attached a length of leather to it before looping its other end to the ring on the post. MacLeod shook his head in disbelief. He was now imprisoned below ground. What was worse was that he had allowed his so-called 'friend' to do it.

"Just what are my duties, Methos?" he snidely asked.

"This," the ancient replied and kissed the Highlander full on the lips. Duncan's breath was taken away and at first he hesitated. He could feel the Horseman's sleek hips gliding against his own. Mac shivered as his friend's hands caressed his shoulders, broad back and finally cupping both of his buns. Duncan's senses reeled when his lover drew his rear so close to his own groin that MacLeod could feel the ancient's rock hard shaft prodding his own. Duncan's awareness finally absorbed the other man's demand. Methos' tongue demanded entrance into the Scot's humidified heat. It tapped repeatedly on his lips.

When the Scot didn't immediately open his mouth, Methos' left hand abandoned Duncan's buttock and assaulted a tit instead. Tweaking and twisting and pinching it, Methos muttered out the side of his mouth, "Open your mouth, Conetl! Now!"

Duncan obeyed and the elder Immortal's digit promptly plunged into his mouth. It made darting forays with Mac's own tongue. It explored both the upper and lower portions of MacLeod's steamy harbor. Duncan's senses boggled from the taste of warm sand and oases filled with cool, refreshing water that was Methos' essence. In effect, Duncan MacLeod forgot all his oearsears and the horrid ordeals he'd survived. He now entrusted his body and his sexual desire into the vastly more experienced, older Immortal's experienced hands.

Methos knew the instant Pahana relinquished his control to him. His foraging mouth cracked a half grin as he gently lowered the slave to the cave's sandy floor. Mica grasped both his lover's wrists in one hand and before the child knew it, lashed them to the post with the other end of the tether binding his neck. MacLeod's dark eyes dilated with fear, but the ancient diverted the lad's attention by relocating his hypnotic mouth to the right breast, arousing first it, then the other one. He delighted in the moans and thrashings of the captive's head. Not allowing Pahana a moment's respite, his hands glided up and down the sweaty, Adonis-shaped body.

The older man then hovered his face and warm breath and face over Duncan's thickened shaft. Wrapping his left hand around its base, he taunted the Scot by blowing soft, warm breaths across the tip. He smiled when he noticed the sudden chill of burning need that flooded his body and also the way his rod openly leaking its precious fluid. Mica noted a look of fear that flit across the prisoner's face. Not intending to frighten him, he lowered his mouth onto its tip. He slowly lapped the whitish fluid in the top most slit and broadly grinned when he heard an audible groan and plea, "Please, Methos." Methos commenced a trail of slow laps up the portion of Duncan's penis where a large vein pulsed a rapid beat. He then worked his way across the dribbling tip and down the opposite side.

By now, Duncan neither know his location nor what day it was. His solitary focus was upon the continual begging that spewed from his mouth for his lover to envelope his rigid sex in his hypnotic mouth. Duncan almost groaned from sheer relief when his lover finally capitulated and swallowed his cock in one fluid motion. MacLeod's essence was immediately emptied into Mica's waiting orifice.

Endless moments later, MacLeod was a boneless mass of jelly. Methos coated his own leaking rod with a portion of Pahana's gelatinous leakage. Lifting the drowsy Highlander's legs onto his shoulders, Methos did not hesitate in inserting himself fully into the man's depths. Mac was insensate to any pain and was soon lost in a massive ejaculation as his cock gushed forth once again.
M
Methos needed no other stimulation. In a brief interval, he, too, emptied himself into the heated, willing body of the strange, enchanting Immortal. A distant thought zipped through the ancient's subconscious. He wanted to find out more about this one from across the ocean. Quetzalomeyocan had hinted at sacrificing the young Immortal, but Methos had no intentions of allowing the Toltec to carry out his morbid plan. This lovely creature was too fascinating and

his body was meant to be loved and caressed, not sliced open for some weird religious rite.

By the time Mica released Pahana's bound wrists, the younger man was sound asleep. Methos crawled up the muscular body and snuggled into the curve of Pahana's shoulder. Even in his sleep, the Scot wrapped his arm around his lover's body and drew him closer to his warmth.

* * * * * * *

Duncan grunted in obtuse pain as yet another warrior pounded his buttocks with his iron hard hips. The Scot tried to ignore the feel of the other's man's hindquarters and spiky groin hair that prickled his tender buttocks. He desperately wanted to deny the sound and the sensation of the bruising slaps of the nameless warrior's cods against his lower back.

He restlessly jerked on the leather bonds that were snugly tied him to the stake in the ground of his cubicle. Mac tried to ignore the fresh blood that trickled down his wrists and attempt to flex his bare, rope bound ankles and feet. His hips had been hoisted into the air and his legs spread-eagled. His immobilization made it more convenient for the Toltecs to fuck him.

Word had quickly spread of his return to life on the last day of the trek. The superstitious Toltecs believed they would achieve some of his immortality if they had sex with him. Duncan couldn't begin to fathom how long ago that had been. He'd never been taken back up to the surface since Methos had brought him down here the first day. For that matter, he hadn't seen the ancient in almost that long a time either. Mac supposed the old man had accompanied Quetzalomeyocan on the warrior priest's recent raiding party.

MacLeod's meandering thoughts were once more wrenched back to the present when the Toltec's huge rod stabbed him a final time to its greatest depth. Its force was so colossal that MacLeod was afraid the Indian had torn a hole in his colon. Extreme, breathtaking agony spiraled through his abused body. Sensing the darkness overcome him yet again, the Scot raggedly whispered in Gaelic, "No, please, not again."

Duncan's now lifeless body jerked involuntarily as the warrior yanked himself out of his channel. He ignored the blood that hemorrhaged from his anus, gushing onto the cavern floor. Nor did he pay the dead man a glance as he nodded to himself in self gratification and stumbled out of the underground chamber to the surface high above.

The flickering light of the torch reflected the sanguine pool of the Highlander's bloodied swaying form. To the casual observer, it appeared as though the body was slowly being consumed by flames. MacLeod, however, was unaware of any of it. Once the blessed relief of death receded, he was tortured yet again with his recurring nightmares of Lemuel Priest.

* * *

Priest walked over to MacLeod and lifted him upthe the hair. "My, my, Duncan, I see you're ready for us again."

MacLeod glared at his captor and spit out, "Do what you want, Priest. I'll still get you."

Lemuel laughed and motioned to his men to come closer. One of them held a small cage with a gerbil inside. "You might do that, MacLeod, but until then, your sweet ass is mine." He took the container from the other man and held it up in front of the Scot's face. "There is a new fad going around that I wanted to try out. I've heard it's a unique experience."

One of his men walked up to the Highlander. He poked pieces of raw vegetables into the Scot's rectum. The others gathered around to watch Priest remove the rodent from its cage. Before Duncan realized what was happening, Lemuel crammed the living gerbil into Mac's ass. One of the other men pinched MacLeod's butt cheeks together so the animal couldn't be expelled.

Duncan vaguely heard someone yell no, but his attention was focused upon his rectum because he could feel the small animal's four feet crawling inside him. He heard it making noises and gnawing the raw food. Mac fought a rising panic and attempted to mentally distance himself from what was happening to him.

Still, it climbed higher inside him, even nipping him at one point. Duncan loudly moaned when the creature bit him. The six men surrounding him all laughed.

One of Lemuel's men jerked Mac's limp, dangling sacs and said, "Suppose we ought to cut these off, boss, and feed them to the rat, too?"

The men guffawed at the sadistic joke.

Priest leaned over and slapped Duncan's butt. "No, not yet. I do think my child needs a good spanking." Reaching for a leather belt, he folded it and began whipping the Highlander.

Mac's senses were overwhelmed by the double attacks. The spanking, however, faded to the outermost regions of his awareness. In its place, the animal's presence inside him countermanded any other thought. He felt and heard the gerbil work its way further up his gut. The rodent paused, nibbled and progressed yet deeper. Now, Duncan's attempts to stay focused and mentally remove himself from the macabre torture he was enduring crumbled.

He screamed in anguishing pain. This time, the gerbil had bitten a large chunk of his intestinal wall. Duncan's over-stimulated brain flipped back two hundred years. He was again living the torture of other animals being used upon him. Between the flashbacks and the living torture he was trying to cope with, all collided to erode his final shred of control. Duncan pulled and jerked at his bonds and screamed, "Get it out o' me; dear Jesus, get i' out o' me! Please, please, I beg you, take i' out! I cannae take any more!"

* * *

"Please, Methos! Please! Tell them to take it out!" Duncan screamed in his sleep, tossing his perspiration soaked head from side to side. "Please, I beg you, take i' out o' me! Please, help me, Methos, please!"

* * * * * *

--TBC--
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Quest, Reversal In Time