daddybear54

@evilqueerpig thanks!

Chapter 1 Sunrise on Alcantara Rich came slowly awake, lying on his side and stretching like a contented cat. His eyes opened, taking in the dim daylight filtering into the bedroom around the shutter panels at the patio glass doors. He had good reason to feel contented. He’d fallen asleep last night after pumping two rounds of seed into Tommy’s ass, and then feeling Tommy’s long Asian dick shooting its usual big load deep inside his butt. Nothing like a good load of sperm up inside your ass to help you sleep well, he thought. As that thought crossed his mind, he felt Tommy’s arms tighten around him, the hard muscles flexing as he drew Rich closer. That wasn’t the only hard part he felt, becoming aware of Tommy’s dick snuggling right into his crack, obviously hoping to take another go at him. And why not? Rich purred like the contented cat he resembled, reaching back with his arm to grasp Tommy’s taut, muscular ass and pull him closer. As he did, Tommy nuzzled his ear and then kissed his way down onto Rich’s face, while Rich slowly turned his neck to meet those kisses, as he relaxed his hole to take Tommy’s erection. Tommy kept exchanging kisses with tongue with his lover as his cock slipped inside Rich’s firm, round ass and sank in right to the bottom. “Mmm, nice and warm and wet – just the way I like it. I love fucking you when you’ve kept my load inside you all night,” Tommy murmured as he slowly began sliding in and out. “Best lube I could ever ask for,” Rich replied. “Damn right,” Tommy replied, slowly picking up the pace of his fucking motions. Sliding in and out of Rich’s ass, he began twisting his tool around like a corkscrew, making sure to stroke every part of the warm hole and especially taking care to bounce the tip off Rich’s man gland frequently, evoking frequent moans of ecstasy as he did so. Rich may not have been hard when he woke up (although Tommy certainly was) but he was rapidly catching up, his rigid cock flexing up and down and leaking precum at a rapid clip. As Rich’s breathing got faster and shallower, Tommy read the signs and knew that he was going to cum soon – and that was fine with him, too. Accelerating the pace of his fuck motions, Tommy spooned Rich harder and harder, both of them expressing their pleasure more vocally with each stroke. Tommy pushed hard with one leg, rolling Rich onto his face and bringing himself up on top. He lay right down across Rich’s broad, muscled back, slamming forcefully down into Rich’s hole and pummelling his prostate. By now, both knew that they were going to cum together and it was going to happen very soon. Rich was now gasping for air as his orgasm mounted up like a wave ready to crash down on the beach at the foot of the hill. “Oh, fuck… Tommy… fuck… I’m gonna… give it to me… I’m cumming!!!” Just as Rich panted out the last words, Tommy rapidly slam-fucked him, driving down hard and fast into Rich’s hole, then shouted out, “Fuck, yeah!” as his load erupted inside his husband, seed streaming in rapid pulses out of his rigid cock to fill Rich’s ass to overflowing. Tommy kept pumping in and out, still in overdrive, as Rich’s muscles grabbed at his tool, milking all the seed out of him as his own juices shot out on the bed underneath his taut abs. At last, Tommy slowed down and then came to a final stop, buried deep inside Rich. Rich turned his head and they kissed again, laughing at the sheer joy of being together again after a week of Rich being away from home on business. “Damn, that was good, Tommy. There’s just no stopping you.” “Sorry, Rich, I just couldn’t help it, seeing you again. I must have been dreaming about you all night because, when I woke, I found that I was up before I was up.” Slowly, Tommy eased his still-hard cock out of Rich’s ass, and then got up and went into the bathroom, returning a moment later with two wet washcloths which they used to mop the sperm off their bodies. Rich got up, too, and walked into the closet, opening a drawer, and returning a moment later wearing a red speedo. Tommy, having ditched the washcloths, followed his example, but his black suit was covered with a flashy pattern of blue, green, and yellow lightning bolts. “You know something, Rich? For a senior citizen, you really wear that damn speedo well.” “Not as well as you, Tommy – Mister Middle-Aged Japan for 2022!” Tommy made a face, and they both laughed. Rich opened the shutter panels and slid back the glass patio doors. The two of them went outside and plunged into the pool, coming up against the glass infinity wall which overlooked the view. Below and around them, the green-mantled hills rose up steeply around three sides of the compact little harbour, and across those hillsides spread the white and pastel-coloured buildings, the flower gardens, the palm trees of the compact city of Portavedra, capital of Alcantara. The rising sun shone down brightly on the city, glinting off the discreet golden cupola on the Assembly building and the freshly coppered spire of the cathedral. Off to the left, they could see the towering, angular cranes, looking like so many giant praying mantises, in the larger outer harbour where the cargo piers, the cruise ship port, and the inter-island ferry terminal were located. Out in the distance, to their right, they could just make out, through the early morning haze on the ocean, the more rugged and mountainous island of Isabella. Ever the historian and linguist, Tommy had always been acutely aware of the significance of the Spanish name, “Alcantara.” It came from the Arabic al qantara for “the bridge” and this island of Alcantara had always been the bridge by which to access the entire cluster of islands, because it possessed the only true and sheltered harbour. No wonder it had been so popular with the pirates of the Caribbean (the real ones) back in the day – and no wonder that the island of Alcantara had lent its name to the entire country when Alcantara diverged from its former Spanish overlords and set out on the path of national independence. The unique history of Alcantara had also led to it having a uniquely mixed and multicultural population, bringing together peoples from the Americas, Europe, Africa, and Asia in a single melting pot of cultural possibilities, with the unusual feature for the region of having English as the single most common language among the wildly diverse population. The government also recognized Spanish and Mayan as official languages. In the old days, people trying to land on the cliff-girt shores of Isabella had to leap ashore onto the rocks during the rare calm moments between waves as there was neither beach nor harbour. Once the mining was ready to begin, the government had to borrow huge sums of money (well, huge by Alcantaran standards), to construct an expensive artificial harbour. The loans were secured against the future output of the diamond mine – but, since the mine had been so spectacularly profitable, the loans had soon been fully paid off. As for the coral atoll of Serafina, with its tiny little sandbar islands scattered on a jewel cushion of brilliant green water inside the reef, the developers of the airport had been forced to do an extreme amount of dredging to build up enough solid land for the runway. Here, too, the diamond mine had covered the costs – and that included the sizable airport terminal. The Alcantara International Airport had a very unusual feature, in that the ferries from the islands of Alcantara and Isabella actually docked inside the security zone. Their passengers had already checked in and cleared outbound security and passport controls at the ferry terminals on the other islands, before boarding the high-speed catamarans that took them to the airport. Only the passengers departing from the over-water bungalow resorts on Serafina itself had to clear security and passport controls at the airport. Serafina wasn’t part of the view from the pool; it was out of sight behind the rugged spine of the island, over their left shoulders. Rich sighed with sheer contentment, looking out across that panorama with Tommy’s arm holding him close against his side as he inhaled the heady perfumes of the tropical flowers around the terrace and pool. They’d been together for over 20 years, married for 12, and Rich still thought himself the luckiest man in the world, with a rewarding career, this beautiful home, an incredible view, the gorgeous pool, and – better than any of those – his wonderful husband, Tommy. Tommy, for his part, was realizing that the view hadn’t really changed in the last 24 hours, even though his first thought was that it had. He’d still been out here every morning for a swim before breakfast for the last week, the usual routine. The whole vista just looked so much more colourful and attractive on this sunny Saturday morning, now that he had his man back beside him again. They spent the next 20 minutes or so swimming and splashing around, with a little groping and grab-ass just for laughs. Rich called time. As he swam over to the ladder, Tommy was right behind him. Rich started up the ladder, then stopped as he felt his trunks sliding down off his ass – immediately followed by the unmistakable sensation of Tommy’s lips caressing his skin. But then Tommy tugged as little too hard on Rich’s speedo, and Rich let go of the ladder, falling back into the pool right on top of him. As they spluttered for air, Rich wagged his finger at Tommy, laughing. “Naughty boy! Have you forgotten why we have to wear swimsuits all the time out here?” “Uh-huh. Old Mrs. What’s-Her-Name over there called the cops on us when we tried skinny dipping the first week we were here.” “That’s right. And she’s still living there, and I bet she still has her binoculars right by her living-room window.” Cooled off, they climbed out of the pool, still laughing, then went inside, and threw on some casual clothes – before heading downstairs to make coffee and breakfast. Twenty minutes later, they were sitting outside again at the table by the pool, enjoying the warm sun and the pleasure of their company. Somehow, Tommy thought, even the brioche, fruit, yogurt, and coffee had tasted better today. With a second round of coffee poured, Tommy was studying the online news from various different websites, while Rich just basked in the sun. Suddenly, Tommy let out a low whistle, saying, “There’s the kind of story you don’t see as much now as you did back in the day.” Rich sat up. “What is it?” Tommy handed Rich his tablet. The headline above a photo on a popular gay news site read: 90s GAY PORN STAR SUCCUMBS TO AIDS To Tommy’s astonishment, the tablet started shaking in Rich’s hand. Tommy took it away quickly, before Rich could drop it, and gently took Rich’s hand. “What is it, Rich?” Rich had to struggle to form the words. At last, he managed to say, “That’s Carlo.” “Who?” “That porn star. ‘Alfonso Torres.’ His real name is… was… Carlo Montini.” “Yes. That detail’s in the story, which you haven’t read yet. How did you know that, Rich?” Tommy wasn’t angry or suspicious, just curious. “Tommy, it’s Carlo. I told you about him. My first partner, the one I was with when I was going to law school in Canada.” “Ohhhh.” Tommy’s voice slid slowly down the scale as Rich’s answer sank in. It was easy for him to see that Rich was reliving old memories, some comfortable and some much less so, and he just set the tablet aside and held back from saying any more. It was ten minutes or so later that Rich surfaced from his deep, dark cave of memories, and found Tommy watching him – not anxiously, certainly not trying to be nosy, just his usual caring, protective self. “Sorry about that, Tommy. It just shook me a bit, seeing that picture. Brought a lot of things back up that I’ve tried hard to put behind me for good.” “You can’t bury your past, Rich. It’ll always be a part of you.” “I can’t bury my past because some historian like you is sure to dig it up again.” He winked; Tommy laughed, loudly. Then Rich went on. “Hey, maybe I should get you to write my official biography.” Tommy chuckled again. “Sorry, I only write about historically important people with hidden, dirty secrets that need to be uncovered.” “Minister of Justice and Deputy Premier for Alcantara – I think that’s pretty important.” “True – at least until the next election, then all bets are off until the voting’s done. But what’s to uncover? You already told me all the dirty bits. There’s nothing left for me to dig up! Waste of my time, you’ll have to do it yourself!” “Riiiight. And what’s that old saying about writing on asbestos paper?” They both laughed, and Tommy poured some more coffee. But then Rich descended into his thoughts once again. He wasn’t thinking specifically about Carlo, now -- more about the entire strange path of his life – the early years in a suburb of Toronto, figuring out that he was gay, the multiple partners, coming out, law school, Carlo, Frank, the move from law into politics, learning the hard way about how much of power politics happened between the sheets, then meeting Tommy and winding up in Alcantara as a political leading figure. So much more to recall along the way. And, with it, there was the uncomfortable truth that he hadn’t in fact told Tommy about all the dirty bits. Some of them danced right around the edges of his confidentiality oath as a member of Cabinet and the government. A few involved the international profile and trustworthiness of Alcantara itself. And, he thought, as a small country with a one-resource economy, being trustworthy was one of the few cards Alcantara had to play in dealing with larger and far more wealthy countries. It irritated the hell out of him that he couldn’t share these things with Tommy, but that was the nature of the beast and it left him no choice. Political life was a beast in a lot of ways, and it was sucking out his integrity and honesty even as he struggled to hang onto that lifelong stock-in-trade. Rich realized that their joking conversation about an official biography had uncovered an important truth. He needed to get in better touch with his true inner self. At the ripe old age of 55, it was high time that he started to figure out who Richard Dunnatore actually was. After a few minutes, Rich suddenly shook himself free from his reverie, stood up, and stretched. “Damn, I’m tired. I think I’ll go back to bed for a while.” “What’s on the schedule today, Rich?” “Less than nothing. I told Lucy I’d hang her out with the laundry if she tried to stick me with any appointments or meetings today. All I wanted was to get home and be with you.” “So that means I have to go back to bed too?” “Only if you want to, Tommy.” Rich was grinning, though, because Tommy was already rubbing the bulge in his shorts and that bulge was already growing. But Rich shook his head. “Uh-uh. If there’s any action going on now, it’s going to be my turn to take charge.” “Well, come on, Mr. Big Shot – what are you waiting for?” In a few more seconds, the glass doors were closed, the shutters pulled across, and the two of them were back in bed together. Or, more precisely, Tommy was lying on the bed with Rich standing over him, seductively pulling his shorts down to reveal his cock standing proud and erect. “If you want to get Mr. Big Shot’s big shot, you’re going to have to give that some attention.” Tommy leaned up and took Rich’s cock into his mouth, bringing an immediate groan of satisfaction from Rich’s throat. As he slowly sucked and licked on the tool, Rich soon found himself aching to return the favour. In another minute they were lying side by side on the bed, each busily engaged in giving pleasure to the rigid cock of the other. Both of them loved doing sixty-nine. They were so completely in tune with each other, after years of practice, that they fell instantly into each other’s rhythm without even consciously thinking of it. One minute, they would speed up the sucking motions, adding intensity to speed until it seemed that they would both explode at any moment, then the next they would slack right off, pulling free and licking the shafts to allow themselves to cool down a bit, before the next round of building up the sensations. Finally, Rich began sucking at a really furious pace, at the same time squeezing Tommy’s ass cheeks and teasing his hole. Tommy got the signal and speeded up his sucking motions on Rich’s cock. Rich’s legs began twitching in muscle spasms as his cock exploded into Tommy’s mouth, and Tommy shot his sperm into Rich’s mouth a moment later. Multiple squirts later, they slowly released each other’s satiated dicks. Rich swung around to lay his head beside Tommy on the pillow, and they kissed passionately, swapping cum loads with each other in a joyous snowball. For some minutes after they’d swallowed their combined loads, they continued kissing deeply, lovingly, gently stroking each other’s bodies and murmuring their love to each other. Rich began dozing off first, and Tommy pulled him in, letting Rich pillow his head on Tommy’s chest. He murmured, “Happy Saturday,” to Rich and let his own eyes shut, his arm cuddling his husband close to him as he drifted off to sleep again.

This brought to mind a lawyer character in a play I saw who said, "Cold, clear logic -- and buckets of it -- should be a lawyer's only equipment." And that's exactly the way Potter took out the garbage. Impressive.

Right on target. So many hours I can't even imagine! We're all grateful for the amount of time and effort @losolent is putting into his craft.

Our heroes are busily rewriting the protocol manual so that new security officers will be required to have sex in order to promote closeness with the royals they protect! So far, the trip is turning into a rollicking good time, in spite of 8 or 9 hours of jetlag. And now we wait for the villain of the piece to enter, in a flourish of ominous music and a puff of black smoke 🤣 @losolent loving the overall playful atmosphere among the members of the royal party.

Super intense scene, super powerful writing.

This is one of those times that this site needs a hug emoji.

What a rollercoaster ride. One minute wanting to cum right along with Tom and Kev in that phone call and the next wanting to vomit myself as those two maniacs raped Weeble. Powerful as hell, but definitely not comfortable reading.

@losolent The title of this chapter promised much, and you delivered on that, but so much more too. So many fascinating angles in the relationships among all your many characters, and so many terrific settings for Max to grow into his new role as royal consort -- he's just killing it, and that's great to see! I'm in total awe of the amount of time and effort you've invested into this ongoing saga, not just the mere act of writing such a lengthy epic, but even more the complex network of personalities and connections among all these people. Bravo, sir!

A true leader indeed, the way Assmunch has lined up all the pieces needed to show Weeble how to believe in himself. I just had the biggest grin all over my face when the Bravos were on the bus heading back to base and cheering for Weeble.

@losolent Wow, what a pile of excitement for all your loyal audience. First, the vivid description of Max's feelings as he completes the transition from scared, shy guy in the background to royal celebrity in his own right. Then on to Josh and his startled reaction to receiving the Sovereign Warrant. And finally, a different kind of excitement altogether as Tom finds himself chained to the bed and completely at the mercy of Hannes. A memorable day all around! And you've depicted it so memorably for all of us. Thank you!

Looks like Felipe is going to prove the truth of the old saying that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned! So many smiling moments reading this chapter, as the entire London and Monrovian cast of characters begin melding into one big family all together.

@losolent There are so many fascinating stories playing out in this chapter, and so much anticipation building up at the end. I'm on pins and needles, waiting for the next one! While the sex between Nick and Asa was awesome, as always, even more gripping was the conversation where Nick gradually uncovered his soul, revealing the back story behind his own rigid avoidance of emotional intimacy. Wow.

That was an amazing scene! I can certainly get why you were urgent to reach this key point. I'm sure my eyes were staring, wide open, as I read it. Very powerful moment of truth for all three of them.

In another 20 years, Liam will finish turning from straight to gay because the entire staff of the palace will be gay by that time -- and it will be the first royal court since the 1700s to have an actual artist-in-residence!

@PG1961Canada thank you!

If by "like this" you mean character development and story line as well as hot sex, I've posted a couple.

Thank you so much. Really appreciate your positive response and glad you enjoyed the story!

Beautifully balanced between the private and public lives.

Thank you -- I really appreciate your feedback! At the moment, no idea what to write about next but something will turn up in my mind. I'm flattered to be mentioned in the same sentence as Ken Follett -- Pillars of the Earth is a favourite of mine, too.

Sounds suspiciously like something is about to happen involving Asa -- maybe with Nick, who's also big time into rough sex, and especially with Asa coming to Monrovia in just a few more days. It was really neat to see Nick calming Max down and then disguising him when the photos hit the paper -- after reaming him out the night before!

Part 11: Deadline, 2066 All at once, as it seemed to Hamish, the years had flashed by, and he found his personal deadline date of 2066 looming on the calendar on New Year’s Day. He’d gone with a couple of casual friends for a major-league celebration on what he, but not they, knew would almost certainly be the last New Year’s Eve of his life. He had a wild round of New Year’s Eve sex with one of them, a stalwart 40-something guy who thought he was picking up a younger man. Which, of course, was only partly true. The older man, name of Greg, did a fine job of plowing Hamish with his cock which curved upwards to the tip and proved to be an ideal prostate buster. But when Hamish took over the top position, he gave Greg a terrific ride which involved forty-five solid minutes of fucking and two good big loads. If Greg hadn’t gotten “sort-of” dressed and staggered home in an epic walk of shame at 3:30 in the morning, he would undoubtedly have taken another load or two from Hamish later on. Hamish had finally gravitated back to Edinburgh, no doubt out of nostalgia for the time when he met Alan here and learned from him how to discover the mark of the immortal. He’d settled in an apartment off the Royal Mile and spent much time wandering around the beautiful new (to him, at least) buildings of the Castle Hill and the positively modern Georgian New Town area – barely a quarter as old as he was. His favourite hangout, though, was a sleek modern coffee bar in an old house on Cockburn Street, quite close to the site of the long-gone thatched inn where he and Alan had first bonded. Hamish would chuckle at the thought that he might still look 32 and a few months, but he was definitely acting like any senior citizen – sitting in the sunlight by a window, nursing a single cup of coffee for an hour at a time, and grumbling to himself about how young people today had no idea what really hard work was like. At busy times, the café would take your order and give you a number, and then a staff member would bring your coffee and food to your table. One morning, in February of 2066, a new staffer delivered Hamish’s order. A young man of twenty or so, with a flop of light brown hair across his forehead – and the kind of cute boyishness that in a few more years would mature into a devastatingly handsome man. Hamish looked up, smiled, and thanked him – and then sat upright, staring at the young fellow’s face, his mouth hanging open. The young man asked, “Is something wrong?” “No.” Hamish pulled himself together with an effort. “No, nothing’s wrong.” For the rest of the hour, he kept sneaking glances at the young guy whenever his back was turned. Nothing much to be seen – at least, not what he was looking for, what he was hoping – or dreading – to see. After he’d delivered Hamish’s coffee order half a dozen times over the next 2 weeks or so, the young guy (whose name was Roger) and Hamish were on first-name terms, with some casual flirtation thrown in. At last, Hamish invited Roger for dinner – and he accepted. They met at a small restaurant not too far away, and conversation flowed smoothly and easily. Hamish was chuckling inwardly at the thought that any chance onlooker might easily think he was a cradle robber – but they’d have no idea just how right they were! Hamish walked Roger home after dinner, and Roger turned to him, kissing him right there in the street. It gave Hamish the opportunity he’d been waiting for from the first moment he’d seen Roger. Sliding his hands up the back of Roger’s neck, and into his hair, he massaged the skin – and found the row of small bumps. Roger pulled away, and then took Hamish’s hand and led him upstairs. As they sat together over a glass of wine, Hamish put his arm around Roger, and decided to go for it, just like he had over a century earlier with Bobby. “How old are you, Roger?” “Twenty-one. You want to see my photo I.D.?” he replied in a smart-ass tone. Hamish just stared at him with that look on his face that said, Seriously? Roger sighed. “Okay. Actually, I’m seventy-three. How did you know?” And just like that, with a déjà vu that was so total it could have been a script in an online game, he was having “the talk” yet again with another young immortal who was still new to this life, explaining about the marks, and the thousand-year limit. In the course of that talk, he asked Roger, “So, how and when did you get turned?” Roger laughed. “It was 2014, and I was 21 years old – which is how I still appear, of course. I was playing an early vintage virtual reality game and, somehow, I got sucked right into the reality of the game and had to fight for my life against a horde of demons. I was killed. And a moment later, I was back in my room, seeing a flashing message on the screen saying, ‘Game over – you lose, Sucker! Play again? YES / NO.’ And that was not the standard end-of-game message for that game. Weird as hell. I pushed yes -- but that time I just got the normal game. It took me a few years to realize that I had stopped ageing at that point.” Hamish was thinking to himself. Just like Alan with his book of spells back in the 800s, mortals always keep getting themselves into trouble by messing with dark things which they don’t understand and don’t take nearly as seriously as they should. So far, then, this meeting was going very much like his meeting with Bobby at that first big orgy in the Hamptons back in the 1920s. But there was a difference this time, and Hamish suddenly realized as he listened to Roger going on speaking, that Roger was laying his heart bare – and for Hamish alone to hear. “Hamish, I don’t know what’s going on here, but right from the first day I met you, I just felt deep down inside that in some way we belonged together, we needed to be with each other. It’s crazy, you’re not even my type anyway, at least not to look at – but there’s this, like, magnetic pull tugging me towards you, and I’ve never felt like that with anyone before. Do you know what it is?” Hamish had a sudden wild hope in his heart of hearts that he couldn’t deny. He gazed deep into Roger’s dark grey eyes, so much like Alan’s eyes had been that the resemblance was beyond uncanny. “I know one thing for sure, Roger. It was your eyes that stopped me dead in my tracks as soon as I saw you that first day.” He took a deep breath, nerving himself to continue. “What’s your full name, Roger?” “Roger Craig Alan Thorne. Roger was for a cousin of my mother’s who died young, Craig for an uncle of my father’s.” “And Alan?” “My mum told me years later, after she and Dad divorced. She said the name Alan just came to her out of nowhere as she held me for the first time, so she persuaded my dad to add it on.” Hamish was almost beyond being able to think coherently. The revelation that this young man was immortal, the way he described the power pulling them together (which Hamish had also felt), the uncanny coincidence of the names, and especially the back story of his third name – for Hamish, it all added up to just one thing. The question was how best to explain it to Roger. “You asked what was happening. I don’t actually know, but I have a theory. To explain it, though, I have to take you back in time – a long way back. The first man I ever met who recognized me as an immortal gave me that whole speech which I just gave you – except for the part about the thousand years. He and I had a very unusual relationship. Right from the start, we began to bond with each other. We connected in so many ways, on so many levels that, in the end, our two souls pretty much became one. “Some day, I may tell you all about what happened between us, and how it affected my entire life. The point that matters right now is this: he confirmed for me that some souls do resurrect or reincarnate as a different person. Well, I haven’t died yet – but I did the math, and it might or might not be a coincidence that you were born just 150 years after he died, which was in 1843. It also might or might not be a coincidence that the café where we met is just a few metres up the street from the spot where I first met him back in the year 1311. And finally, what puts it almost beyond any chance of coincidence – for me, at least – is that you have his eyes.” Hamish paused and took a deep breath. “And his name.” “Which name do you mean?” Roger asked, although he had already guessed. “Alan. The name that ‘just came to’ your mother. His name.” “So, you’re thinking…?” “I’m thinking that you are the reincarnation of his soul, and that the bond I shared with him is now forming again with you.” “Wow. This is so much to take in at once.” “I know. The thing is, Roger, once I had to tell you about the thousand-year limit, there was no way I could leave the rest aside. It all had to come out. You have a right to know as much as I do. And if my guess is correct, as I’m sure now that it is, you’ll have exactly 150 years to wait after my time runs out and I die, before I reincarnate and come back for you.” Roger continued shaking his head, mystified and baffled in a way, but absolutely able to follow the path of logic that Hamish had sketched out. It certainly appeared to be too many coincidences to be just coincidental. He also couldn’t deny the strong force that was pulling them into each other’s orbit. As for Hamish, he was foreseeing – and dreading – the moment when he was going to have to tell Roger the most difficult part of all. At which Roger, just as Alan always used to do, leaped right to the point that was in Hamish’s mind. “Hamish, you’ve carefully avoided mentioning it, but when is your thousand years up?” Hamish took Roger’s hands in his and held them firmly. “This year.” Roger’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Roger, I got turned at the Battle of Hastings, on October 7, 1066. My time is up this fall. As soon as my thousand-year term ends, I’ll begin ageing at far more than normal speed, and will likely be gone by the end of the month, certainly by the New Year.” Hamish watched anxiously as Roger took a couple of minutes to process the implications of that one. Then, he hitched his shoulders in what Hamish already recognized as a characteristic mannerism indicating that he’d made up his mind. “Well, if we only have till October, we’d better quit wasting time, yes?” And without waiting for an answer, he stood, then took Hamish’s hand and led him to the bedroom. With his previous partners, Roger had usually just dropped his clothes quickly and gotten right down to business, but he soon found that Hamish’s more mature style of undressing each other slowly, with plenty of kissing and caressing, was absolutely right for this time, this place, this man. Once they were in bed together, Hamish proceeded to take Roger’s cock in his mouth – and there was that familiar feeling of the perfect fit, even though it was a very different size and shape from Alan’s cock. There was some special quality that made it instantly feel at home in his mouth, and Hamish took that as another proof that his guess about this whole weird situation was probably right on target. When he swung around to let Roger take him in a 69, Roger too sighed with satisfaction as soon as he had taken Hamish’s cock into his mouth. Plainly, the formation of the bond was moving on at a great pace. At first, Roger just wanted to be the top as he’d never been fucked, and Hamish was fine with that. He was content to let Roger take his time to broaden his experience. As soon as Roger entered his hole, Hamish felt it again – that perfect adjustment to the exact fit, as precise as a well-machined lock and key. For his part, Roger was feeling a level of profound satisfaction that was utterly different from the superficial excitement of his many previous encounters. He’d already accepted as gospel the idea that Hamish and he were destined for each other, and now his every movement was perfectly matched by the ideal and wonderful response from his partner. He took his time; this was too precious a moment to be wasted with fumbling around or rushing. At last, though, he felt the need to cum rising up in his balls and starting to make its way up his shaft. He speeded up the pace of his thrusts into Hamish’s beautifully muscled ass, and Hamish began squeezing his ass around Roger’s cock at a tempo that exactly matched Roger’s pumping motions. When the time came, their two orgasms were so precisely timed that Roger’s seed could easily have shot right through Hamish’s body to emerge from his cock and spray into the air. Even the pulsations of their dicks were perfectly synchronized. Within a week, they were living together. Both of them accepted as a given that they were bonding. Whether the theory about Alan reincarnating was correct or not, there was no denying the speed at which they were growing into each other’s minds and thoughts. There was also no denying the intense satisfaction and sense of wholeness that they felt every time they had sex with each other. Within a second week, Roger had given Hamish his cherry. Roger was astounded that, despite everything he’d heard from friends, there was no pain at all after the first moment of entry. Hamish’s big, thick tool nestled inside Roger’s tight ass as neatly as if it had been sculpted for him. Roger had never felt so incredibly stimulated, so deeply stirred, as he felt when Hamish plowed slowly but firmly, driving all the way inside him over and over again. He pulled Hamish down on top of him, wrapping his legs and arms around his lover’s muscled body, and urging him on with deep, powerful kisses and cries of passion. Roger was so turned on by the sensations washing through him that he actually came hands-free, not once but twice, before Hamish finally speeded up his fucking motions and flooded Roger’s no-longer-virgin ass with the first load of his life. Afterwards, they lay in each other’s arms, satiated and satisfied in a way that no previous sexual encounter of Roger’s had ever given him. When Roger got some vacation time from work, Hamish took him on a trip to see two places. A farmer’s hedgerow above the shores of the Firth of Forth was one. The burial mound was still visible, just barely, as it sank slowly under the weight of the hedgerow. This was where Hamish told Roger the entire story of Craig. Roger needed no help to recognize that the very human relationship between Craig and Hamish, while truthful and intensely, painfully real, had been entirely different from the bond which Hamish and he were nurturing. They then travelled to Finlaggan, now an established tourist attraction. The sandspit where Hamish and Alan had waded out to the islet now had a modern footbridge standing on it, wide enough to accommodate the golf cart shuttles which brought older, less agile visitors to the castle’s ruins. To Hamish’s dismay, the grave site had been opened up by archaeologists. A signboard explained that the grave was mysterious as it contained a body plainly interred in the 1800s -- yet was surrounded by artifacts dating back to the 800s. That set both of them laughing, Hamish with a silly giggle, and Roger with a dry, sardonic chuckle that Hamish recognized at once. Alan’s laugh. “At least, I know that he isn’t there anymore. The part of him that mattered the most is alive and kicking, right here beside me.” “You’re completely sure now.” “I am. The way you just laughed -- his signature laugh – that was the final proof I needed.” It was a strange year that seemed somehow to allow all the time in the world yet gave no time at all. Hamish strove to share as much of himself as possible with Roger, both consciously and through the subconscious and unconscious channels that their bond created. Back in Edinburgh, they spent as much time as possible together. Roger resigned from his job, reasoning that another one wouldn’t be hard to find when the time came. His friends all wondered where he had vanished to, but he didn’t mind. He’d already been around long enough to be used to the immortal’s routine of slipping quietly away when the questions about his unchanging youthful appearance became too pressing. Hamish grew more and more certain with the passing weeks that Alan’s soul had indeed come back and sought him out. With that certainty he equally became absolutely sure that he in turn would come back at the right time to be with Roger. His total conviction was both reassuring and infectious to Roger, who otherwise would have felt sorry for himself that this unique bond, so quickly found, should be so soon lost. But Hamish, with his long wisdom, convinced Roger that the bond would weaken but never break, and would draw his soul back to life as soon as possible. When October came, and the signs of ageing began to set in, Roger spent his every waking and sleeping hour with Hamish, trying to absorb as much of the man’s long history and wisdom as he could by every means possible. As well, he wanted – no, needed – to be with Hamish on this journey as Hamish had been with Alan before. It was a strange time, but a peaceful one. There was none of the traditional human railing against the inevitable coming of death, for Roger was now just as certain as Hamish that there was more, much more to their story than just this one year. On Christmas Day, 2066, Roger held Hamish securely in his embrace as Hamish breathed his last. But Roger knew that the story wouldn’t end there. Epilogue: 2216 Roger was always subconsciously aware of the significance of the date 2216, although he didn’t do anything foolish like counting down the days. He was more absorbed by his awareness of how much the world had changed in the century and a half since Hamish had passed away. For one thing, apart from a few stubborn holdouts, the vast majority of the world’s countries and citizens had now grown to full acceptance of varying sexual orientations and gender identities. Aside from the rapidly dwindling number of old-school cranks and faddists, any persecution of non-hetero people on sexual and gender grounds was a thing of the past. More surprisingly, the world had grown a long way into full awareness of the existence of immortals amid the planet’s population. Roger had played a significant political role in raising this awareness, earning international attention and plaudits for not only making immortals more visible, but also for making mortals more aware of the dangers of playing light-heartedly with the powers of darkness. The world’s more scientifically “enlightened” population had struggled mightily with this obvious reality, but even the oldest and most conservative scientists had been forced to accept the conclusions of long periods of rigorous scientific observation of Roger and others like him. These observations were declared concluded once the second generation of mortal scientists involved in the process had died of old age without Roger and the other immortals observed appearing to age by even a day. Throughout all this intense social awareness campaigning, Roger had never forgotten the significance of the date 2216. Even so, he didn’t at all expect what was going to happen. He felt sure that he would wait a couple of decades longer, perhaps even more, before finally confirming the truth of the theory that Hamish had developed and that he, Roger, had accepted. In the end, the entire year passed without anything untoward happening. Roger felt a brief pang of disappointment as the New Year came and went, ushering in 2217. Towards the end of February, Roger had a chance to visit a couple of friends that he’d first met 10 years earlier. Since they were completely familiar with his immortal status, and his preference for men, there were no sidewise glances and no snide comments about anti-ageing cosmetic treatments or organ enhancements. The times had indeed changed. His friends, Becky and Leo, had just brought home their premature twin sons from the hospital after nearly two months in the neonatal intensive care unit. They’d invited Roger over to have a good visit and dinner, and to meet the babies who had been born on New Year’s Eve at just about dinnertime. To his inexperienced eye, the twins looked about as repulsive as the average newborns. But he leaned over the paired cradles just the same, quietly giving out the sort of soothing sounds which adults always feel are very much the thing for young infants. One of them just lay there, eyes half closed, breathing but otherwise doing nothing much at all. The other one, though…. Roger’s heart suddenly skipped a beat. The little baby boy on the right had done something no baby of that age was supposed to be able to do. He had opened his eyes, looked right at Roger as if he were focusing on the man watching him, and raised his hand in the air, slapping at Roger’s extended hand in a first attempt at a high five. Becky and Leo both expressed surprise, as he’d never done anything so differently from his brother before. Then Roger asked, more as an idle inquiry than anything else, “What are their names?” Becky answered, “That one is John and the one who likes you is James.” “James,” Roger answered thoughtfully. “You could use the Scots versions of those names, you know. Ian and Hamish are perfectly respectable names.” Becky laughed. “Leo thinks that those names are too much hassle to be always spelling out and telling people how to pronounce them in the international world we live in now.” But Roger had already leaned over the cradle again. “Hamish… Hamish…” he said in a quiet, singsong voice. The baby opened his eyes again and smiled.

@NLbear Thank you -- no, not quite yet. It's only1933, he's still got a few more years in him!

Part 10: The Speakeasy June 1921. Hamish stepped ashore on the White Star Line’s pier in New York. In another half a century, the piers in Chelsea would become very famous (or infamous) indeed among men who liked sex with men, but in 1921 they were still lined with magnificent ships – for this was the height of the golden age of the great Atlantic ocean liners. Hamish had made the crossing on the famous RMS Olympic, the surviving sister of the ill-fated Titanic and Britannic. He was surrounded by eager tourists, oohing and aahing at the sight of the various locations in the ship where key moments of that tragic night in 1912 on her sister ship had played out. It carried no real interest for Hamish. He’d finally made the momentous decision to abandon his homeland and all of Europe, feeling rather at a loss from knowing that Alan wasn’t there any longer. He was also strongly sensing, after the recently ended Great War, that these were countries with a past, but not a future. More to the point, though, he needed a place where it was easy to start over. The damn bureaucrats everywhere were insisting on knowing all about you, poking their noses into every nook and cranny of your life. Whether it was a government tax man or an insurance salesman, they wanted all sorts of fussy, inconvenient details like your place and date of birth. And how the hell could you explain that you were born sometime in the spring of 1034, but didn’t know exactly what date or where in Scotland your mother gave birth to you? That’s what gave him the idea of starting over in the New World. As for New York, it was an obvious port of arrival but, more than that, New York was already well on its way to developing a reputation as the party capital of the world. It sounded to Hamish like just what the doctor ordered. All he had to do was arrive in third class with a sob story about having no real idea when or where he was born, other than the obvious fact that it was Scotland, and he was about 32 years old (nudge, wink). He had, of course, already used the same sob story in London to get a passport, and then to get an immigration visa. He had to sit through quarantine to make sure he wasn’t carrying any infectious illnesses, but then he was released and free to turn himself loose on New York. Hamish made damn certain that no prying customs inspector would find his secret stash of gold, a legacy from Alan who had kindly shown Hamish the secret treasury at Finlaggan before he passed away. To all appearances a penniless immigrant, he soon got fed and met a nice man at a soup kitchen near the piers. That nice man not only helped him acquire some more decent clothes, but also entertained him in bed for a number of days. Armed with a decent-enough suit, Hamish was on his way. He managed to get a job right away as a server at a café, donning a striped shirt, dark trousers, and a long white apron, and dishing up coffee and donuts, or tea with dainty cakes, to the city’s more well-to-do residents. After a few weeks, his boss approached him with a proposition, later followed by a proposal. The proposition got him into the bed of the boss, who soon proved to have an insatiable appetite for Hamish’s big dick and immense skill at fucking. The proposal, which followed soon after, was that Hamish meet him at a certain address on Friday night at 6pm sharp for a job interview. That night, Hamish quickly discovered that his boss was actually a small fish in a very big pond. His meeting proved to be with the Big Boss, and the job interview proved to be an invitation to an exclusive weekend party in the Hamptons. Hamish went along with the idea, as soon as he was told that it was “exclusive” in the sense that women were carefully excluded from the invitation list. That party ended up being Hamish’s first certifiable orgy. The total number of men present was well over forty, and included many prominent financial and political figures, most of whom had wives who were told that their men were going on a fishing trip on Long Island Sound. Well, it was fishing – of a sort. Once the clothes started coming off, there was a nonstop line of men fishing for a turn at Hamish’s memorable cock. It had been made clear to Hamish, by inference, that his future prospects in the company depended on how much he could do to satisfy the Big Boss’s friends that weekend. It was definitely the sort of company where performance was both recognized and rewarded. Well, he thought, I’ve never really had a crack at the world’s oldest profession, why not now? During the course of the weekend, Hamish more than once wished he’d gotten the exclusive recipe for the special edition whisky off of Andrew. He did his best, which was still pretty damned spectacular for a man who was well past his 850th birthday, but there was no possible way he could summon up a load for every man at the party who wanted to suck one out of him, fuck one out of him, or get bred with one. He did, however, make damn sure that he had a load ready when the Big Boss came by. It wasn’t actually that hard. The mobster was Italian by descent, and in much better shape than many of the men at the party, so one look at his naked body was enough to rev Hamish’s engine. The man was also a natural-born bottom, and he had a really intense big dick fetish. Hamish was definitely the man for him, in more ways than one. The Big Boss knelt down on a chair in front of Hamish, turned his head over his shoulder, and said, “Plow me with that big tool, stud!” Hamish found that the man’s ass was already both loose and wet, so he forebore to indulge in any foreplay, and simply shoved his big, thick tool right into that muscled olive-skinned butt. The Big Boss groaned but didn’t protest, so Hamish began pounding him right away. As he was driving deep into that ass, a cute, young blond guy named Bobby came along and got down on his knees, sucking the Big Boss’s cock deep into his mouth. Before he even knew what was happening, the Big Boss had blasted not one but two loads down Bobby’s throat. The contractions of his ass from those two orgasms had brought Hamish off twice as well, and he then kept fucking the hole between those muscular Italian mounds until he added a third round, for good measure. At that point, Hamish called a break for himself, and went into the front room where there was a free bar and a table full of top-notch luxury food items. He needed some food and a good, stiff drink in the worst way. Bobby trailed right along with him, like a stray puppy hoping to be picked up and taken home. Normally, Hamish preferred them a bit older and more mature acting, but there was something about Bobby that he found – perhaps not attractive, but definitely intriguing. They sat together at a small table, eating caviar and foie gras on melba toast and drinking some really fine champagne. After they’d both eaten enough food to pep themselves up, Bobby slid his chair closer to Hamish, then leaned over and began kissing him. In no time, the two of them were making out, hot and heavy. As Bobby worked his tongue inside Hamish’s mouth, Hamish wrapped his hand around the back of Bobby’s head to pull him closer in – and got the surprise of his life. His fingers had felt the unmistakable row of tiny bumps just off the base of the skull. Hamish pulled back, then, and looked very closely at Bobby. For the first time, he saw that the bright blue eyes in that boyish face were a lot more thoughtful than the average eighteen-year-old – which is how old this cute young blond lad looked. “What? What’s wrong?” Bobby asked. Hamish asked in return, very quietly, “How old are you, Bobby?” Bobby avoided his eyes as he said, “Eighteen years and six months.” Hamish looked at him much more intently. “Seriously, Bobby.” Bobby looked nervously around, but no one else was nearby at the moment. “Seventy-four years old.” Hamish sat back, smiling in rather smug satisfaction. “But… how did you know?” “Kiss me again, Bobby.” Bobby did so. “Now, run your hand up the back of my head. Just at the base of the skull, touch me gently. What do you feel?” Bobby worked at him for a bit, and then focused in on the target area. “Feels like little bumps on the skin.” “Now feel the back of your own head, the same area.” Bobby did so, and his eyes widened. “Is that what you felt?” “Yes. If you were to part the hair on my head, and look at the spot, you’d see some odd black marks which aren’t any kind of letters we can recognize. That’s the mark of the immortal.” “Wow. I’ve never met another one.” “It’s rare, no doubt. Even rarer to meet another one who shares the enthusiasm for male company.” “You mean, for fucking ass.” “Duh!” They both laughed. By this time, the party was winding down for Saturday night. Hamish and Bobby looked around and managed to snag a sofa that was wider and deeper, and big enough for the two of them to sleep together. No sex took place, they were too tired out from the events of the day. But it was a comfort for each of them to cuddle up together with someone else who was actually one of their kind. It took some time for the various men to get revved up on Sunday, but the action was well and truly under way again by noon. By Sunday afternoon, some of the earlier arrivals were starting to leave for town, but others were still arriving. One was a big, muscular redhead who looked, Hamish thought, vaguely familiar. Of course, it was forgivable that the occasional face or name escaped his memory, especially at his advanced age. But when the newcomer saw Hamish lying there, a wicked grin spread across his face and he dropped his trousers, revealing an enormous ten-inch-plus dick – and Hamish’s memory suddenly kicked in all the way. As Hamish was opening his mouth to call a greeting, Graham slapped his hand across his face and hissed at him to “shut up and take it like a man.” Finding Hamish’s hole nicely opened up and wet with cum already, Graham had no trouble rolling him over onto his face and sliding his massive tool inside Hamish. He had just enough time to whisper in Hamish’s ear, “Don’t call me Graham. It’s Grant now,” before another partygoer yelled, “Guys, you gotta see this, the new guy’s got Grant’s entire tool up his keister and he looks like he’s loving it!” A crowd quickly gathered to watch. Realizing that they were now the centre of attention, both of them cranked up their performance, throwing in moans and “fucks” and various dirty expressions to spice things a little more. All around them, the other partygoers were standing, stroking their dicks or each others’ dicks, as they watched “Grant” ramming his massive tool into Hamish’s receptive, quivering ass. The two of them gave the crowd full value for their money. Before long, “Grant” blasted a full load deep inside Hamish and kept right on going, pounding him mercilessly without even slowing down. There were sounds of jealousy from the onlookers, many of whom wished they could have taken such a full-on pounding from that gigantic tool – if only their butts could have withstood the torture. In just a few more minutes, though, Hamish was gasping that he was about to cum, and “Grant” was snapping, “Yeah, let it fly, I’ll cum right along with you.” With that, he hauled Hamish into an upright position, still ramming into him full force from behind. The men all around began stroking harder and faster, and it was clear that this act was going to be the grand finale of the entire weekend. Suddenly, Hamish gasped as his cock jerked up, without him even touching it, and began spraying jets of cum out across the floor. The young blond guy, Bobby, dived onto the floor to try to intercept as many of the squirts as possible, and managed to catch four of them. “Grant” gave only three or four more extra-vicious thrusts and then let his second and even bigger load leap from his dick at full depth inside Hamish’s now somewhat sore ass. Both of them were grunting like wild boars in heat as he kept thrusting brutally inside Hamish, delivering pulse after pulse of a historic, epic load. The other men at the party crowded up close to the sofa and started dropping their loads, one by one, all over the two coupling, writhing, snarling bodies. The last one was the Big Boss, who shot his load all over Hamish’s face and then shoved his cock into his subordinate’s mouth to be cleaned off. Hamish was sure that he could taste ass as well as cum, which told him that the Big Boss wasn’t quite the total bottom he had thought. However, the Big Boss was as good as his word, and Hamish’s $20 paycheque the next Friday had an extra cheque in the envelope for a thousand dollars more. That was good. It meant that Hamish wouldn’t have to touch the emergency reserves hidden in the double bottom of his cheap suitcase for a good while longer. At the next party, two weeks later, someone spread the word that Hamish should really be tipped since he was doing such a spectacular job, and he came away with even more in tips than the extra cheque in his inflated pay packet. Meanwhile, the Big Boss had appointed him as manager of the Hole in the Wall, a speakeasy which was part of his less than legitimate operations. It was, of course, a private, members-only club, where Bobby proved his versatility by fronting the small house band with his saxophone, and Grant joined Hamish as his chief bartender (yes, Hamish had finally gotten a handle on simply calling him “Grant”). By this time, Hamish had also cut Grant in on the secret that Bobby was actually another immortal. Among themselves, the three of them jokingly called the bar “The Eternal Hangover.” All Hamish really had to do was to ensure that the drinks were watered enough, but not too much, chat up the customers, and handle the whole business side of the operation. Grant did a wonderful job of quieting down any frustrated customers. Generally, he took them into his “private office” for a talk, and when they emerged the customer was usually much quieter and always looking a good deal the worse for wear – with rumpled trousers and protruding shirt tails giving an idea of what kind of “talk” had taken place. It only took Hamish a few nights to realize that the entire membership list was made up of all the men he’d met and fucked with in the Hamptons, and that the speakeasy he was running was potentially something much more than just another bar dispensing illegal hooch during Prohibition. After a year or so of struggling nightly to keep the toilets clean, Hamish dipped into his suitcase stash. He then spoke to the Big Boss and made him an offer to buy an equity stake in the Hole in the Wall, outlining the plan he had in mind. The Big Boss agreed, Hamish and some fellow volunteers on the staff set to work, and in a few months the vacant floor above the bar was converted into a series of small rooms with wide and nicely padded bench seats for private “conversations.” Just like that, Hamish found that he had invented and was now part-owner of New York’s first-ever full-time gay sex club. The facility not only filled a need in itself, but the thirst that was generated in the upstairs rooms translated into a sharp upswing in sales at the bar. By this time, Hamish and Grant had agreed that it was silly to keep paying rent on two different apartments when one always seemed to be empty, so they just confirmed the obvious and moved in together. Hamish laid down only one rule, and that was that they had to leave each other strictly alone from Wednesday noon on, in any week when a weekend outing in the Hamptons was on the schedule. By this time, the Roaring Twenties were roaring along at top volume and full throttle, and Hamish and Grant were both riding the wave. The Big Boss was now giving both of them supplementary pay cheques after each weekend outing, and the two canny Scots were spending as little as possible on their lifestyle, squirreling the rest away for a rainy day – apart from making sure they were outfitted with top-notch, classy, up-to-date suits, hats, and shoes to set a tone. It was definitely wild for Hamish to realize that, as he neared the nine-century mark, he was having more and crazier sex than ever before in his life. Nor was Grant falling behind in that department, and even Bobby would join them every now and again for a three-way when the waiting time until the next weekend getaway became too onerous. But then, with no warning, the roof fell in. They woke up one morning to screaming headlines on the fronts of all the papers (with the New York Times featuring a classier muted form of excitement). The Big Boss had been fished out of the East River around two o’clock in the morning, sporting the signature mark of the gangland execution – a neat little bullet hole in the back of his head. Hamish and Grant wasted no time packing a couple of bags and getting on the next train out of town to points west, being sure not to pass through Chicago which was as bad a gang town as New York. In fact, they stayed on the train all the way to San Francisco, and there bought tickets on a ship to New Zealand. As Grant (now calling himself Graham again) put it, the people were nice, the tone was British, and there were sheep everywhere so they should feel right at home. Apart from one or two rough days, it was a surprisingly placid crossing, and even Hamish had to admit that not all sea travel was a complete write-off. There were also some pleasant fringe benefits involving some very handsome local men when the ship stopped to refuel and reprovision in Honolulu, then in Tahiti, and finally in Fiji. At last, they docked in Auckland, and it was time for life to begin over again. They took some time over a space of five or six years to get established in New Zealand, finally pooling their resources to buy some land and go into farming. Hamish had to admit that it was fun living with Graham, not only because of the hot sex but because he was a pleasant, easy-going guy with a decent sense of humour and a good fund of amusing personal experience stories. There was no such emotional feeling as he’d had for Craig, nor any sign of the bonding he’d felt with Alan, and he neither expected those to be present nor especially regretted their absence. With the wisdom of age (as he wryly said to himself), he was finding it easier to let go of things that were irretrievably past anyway. But then, one bright morning, as they tended the small flock of sheep on their farm near Matamata, Graham stirred up the past again by asking, “Whatever happened to Alan, anyway?” “What brought that thought up now?” “I guess it’s because I have time to think. For quite a while there, in New York and after, we were scrambling too fast and fucking too hard to have much time to think. Then getting out of there, coming down here, buying the land, getting the farm established. But now, it seems I have time to think again -- and that’s what came up.” Hamish wanted to defer it, to put it aside as Alan had done with him, but then he thought of the shock of finding out only when it was almost too late. He decided that Alan had made a mistake, and he didn’t need to repeat it. He chose his words carefully. “I will answer your question, Graham, but I want to do it when we’re both sitting down and have a glass of wine at hand. It’s a much more complicated question than you maybe realize.” Graham nodded agreement. At the end of a busy workday, they both stripped down and took a quick bath in the river, then came back up to the house and settled on the cool, shady porch with full glasses on the table. “Graham, this is a hard thing to understand. Alan didn’t try to explain it to me until it was almost too late. I’ve decided that I don’t want to do that to you.” “Almost too late? I don’t understand you at all.” “I know. But here it is. We aren’t actually immortal. And Alan is dead.” Graham stared at him in shock, as if he thought Hamish had gone right off the deep end. “Come on!” “It’s true. What were his exact words to me? ‘Our life span gets extended, or perhaps you might better say, “stalled” for a thousand years.’ I’ve never forgotten that moment. And he was right, it was a harsh smack in the face from reality to learn that. The hardest part was that I learned it after I’d already seen him growing old.” Graham still shook his head, as if dazed. At last, he said, “Tell me how it happened – if you can.” Hamish thought for a moment. “It’s odd, it’s harder to recall this than it was to live it the first time. We were outside working, cutting the peats actually, and I suddenly realized he was tiring out and leaning on his spade. Well, Alan never got tired. I went to look at him as he sat down, and that’s when I saw the wrinkles forming in his face and the grey streaking his hair. And a week later, he died in his sleep. He told me that when your thousand years runs out, the whole ageing process happens much more quickly, but there’s no way to know how quickly.” Graham still looked stunned. At last, he asked, “Are you alright? I’m trying to imagine how you must feel without him, after that long bond you shared.” “That’s what’s so weird. I miss him, but at the same time I don’t. I think that’s because all that he was is already a part of me, just as I was of him.” He paused for more thought. “At least, we know when it will happen. I think the one thing that every immortal knows off by heart is the date he or she got turned. October 7, 1066.” “That’s the date of the Battle of Hastings.” “Very good! And you?” “June 11, 1488.” “Haha! The Battle of Sauchieburn! Were you fighting for the king or for the rebels?” “The king. I was one of his favourites.” “What is it about us immortals? Becoming favourites of kings and rulers and noblemen – and mobsters, too, come to think of it.” They both laughed. “So: we know that neither of us is due to go for many years, and that I will go first. Come to think of it, that’s appropriate. Alan was two centuries older than me, and he learned about the thousand years when he was just newly turned, from a very old immortal who was dying.” Graham looked at him thoughtfully. “I don’t know how you feel, but to me it seems that knowing when it will come is a great comfort. Gives you ample time to prepare yourself. Thank you for telling me.” Hamish was very relieved to find that they had turned the dangerous corner with no fuss or drama, and that Graham was not upset by what he had learned. Life on the farm continued for many years. Bobby came out to join them, a year or so after that crucial conversation, and they had some grand old times in bed, mixing and swapping in every combination of tops and bottoms, suckers and fuckers. It was also great to have a third pair of hands on the farm, as the workload got bigger every year when lambing time came around. Far too soon, as it seemed, the idyllic farm life reached the limit. The neighbours had noticed and begun talking about how none of the three of them ever changed. They made plans to sell the entire farm as a going concern, splitting the proceeds. It was time, anyway, for Hamish. His itchy feet were calling to him to hit the road again. As he told Graham and Bobby, on one of their last nights together, that had been built into his nature ever since he could walk, and far predated his becoming an immortal. During those last days, Hamish also had “the talk” with Bobby, so he wouldn’t be caught off guard in the far distant future when his thousand-year deadline came. Finally, the deeds were all signed, the keys delivered, and the three of them left for Auckland. There, they parted company, with Bobby and Graham deciding to stick together and head to Australia, while Hamish took ship back across the ocean, this time to Vancouver in Canada. After a miserably rough voyage, he landed in Canada, finding a good job in the booming city of Vancouver. Eventually, though, his Scottish blood began calling him to come home again. He wasn’t sure quite where home was any more, just that it was in Scotland. With all its problems, it was still his place. Another long train ride across the continent, another long and sickening Atlantic crossing, and Hamish arrived back in Glasgow in the spring of 1933. The country was immersed in the most miserable depths of the Great Depression, but Hamish was untroubled by want. The fortune he had begun in Finlaggan and substantially increased in New York had been safely sheltered and even augmented by his investment in the farm, and he was now a man of some means, if not among the truly wealthy. But he still lived as frugally as ever. The habits of a nine-century lifetime mostly spent as somebody else’s poorly paid servant weren’t easily set aside. The one thing he definitely wanted and needed to do was to visit two graves, one on the islet of Finlaggan and the other on the hillside overlooking the Firth of Forth. At Finlaggan, the castle had now crumbled to mere fragments of what he had known. The secret room was now open to the sky, as was the treasury. He walked past the end of the ruins, and out to the mound he had built nearly a century before. He wasn’t sure why this mattered so much to him, but it did. There was no sense of imminence, no feeling of Alan’s presence, nor did he expect it. The thoughts of Alan that swirled through his head were, he was sure, all his own. Across the country, Craig’s grave was now incorporated into a hedgerow that had been planted and tended between two farm fields. That, he thought, was as it should be. No nosy archaeologist would come to disturb him there. You had to look pretty closely to see the spot where the hedgerow’s bank widened to accommodate the mound he had built. And Craig, dear, lovable Craig, had lain in peace, undisturbed, as the land took him in. That’s when Hamish realized that he, too, had come to these places to seek peace. It was like a final step that he needed to take, to consign these two men who had meant so much to him, in so many ways, to his past. And with that, he had found the peace and acceptance which he would need to face his own end when that time came.

@Cb205 Thank you so much! Not to worry, Hamish's time isn't up yet!