The Demon Fucker

[daddybear54]

46 minutes ago, DCWildBtm said:

You’re a world-class story teller! Great job!

@DCWildBtm thank you so much!

[daddybear54]

Part 6:  The Fishermen

 

For the next two centuries and more, Hamish and Alan lived and travelled together. From the north in Orkney and Shetland to the south in the Borders, from the east at Peterhead to the west at St. Kilda, they roamed the country. They spent time in towns and villages, lived on mountaintops and lochsides, roamed through woodlands and pastures. They met with shepherds and fishers, with merchants and priests, with nobles and crofters, and they worked at many of those jobs themselves. Everywhere they went, they had numerous encounters with the men of the land.

 

Some of those encounters could be considered good and some not so good. A smaller number were great, and a rather larger number than the great were the bad. There were the tiny few that were absolutely, brutally gawdawful. But then, there were the handful of times that were incredibly rewarding. Graham and Murdo plainly fitted into that category.

 

The two husky men were busy straightening and repairing the nets on their fishing boat, shirts pulled off on an uncommonly warm summer day in 1538, when Hamish and Alan sat down near the stone slipway in Oban to enjoy the rare sunshine -- and the show the two fishermen were putting on. After they’d been sitting and watching for perhaps ten minutes, Hamish got a strange look on his face – half puzzlement, half concentration. Alan spotted his odd look right away. “What is it? Did you notice something?” Alan asked.

 

“Strange – the red-haired one – there’s something odd about him. Not anything visible to the eye, but there’s an odd kind of aura, some sort of unusual energy about that guy.”

 

Alan chuckled. “Very good! You’re starting to get it now. Picking up on it, as I said you would.”

 

Hamish mused. “You mean… he’s got the marks too?”

 

Alan replied, “That’s exactly what I mean. Another immortal. Let’s hang on until they’re done and see if he notices that we’ve got the aura too.”

 

Hamish thought some more. “But the other one isn’t – and if they’re anything like the way I was with mortals, he won’t know anything about it, either.”

 

“Again, almost a certainty, since most of us do that as a matter of routine.”

 

Hamish took another good look at how the two were brushing up against each other, “accidentally” bumping hands against asses, and more of that kind of contact. “Not much doubt that they’re doing each other, is there?”

 

Alan laughed right out loud, and the black-haired fisherman looked up, studied them, and then nudged his red-headed partner. The redhead also looked, then smiled and waved before returning to the net he was untangling.

 

“And now we wait,” Alan said with an undertone of immense satisfaction.

 

Inside of another twenty minutes, the four of them were sitting around in the thatch-roofed stone house which the fishermen called home. The whisky was going around and so were the names. It was plain at once that Murdo, the dark-haired mortal, had taken a shine to Alan, while redheaded, immortal Graham was definitely interested in Hamish. When the dinner of fresh fish and potatoes baked among the glowing coals was ready, they filled their plates and cups, and then sat down again – but this time the fishermen sat next to the travellers who enticed them.

 

After a while, Murdo had to get up and go outside to relieve himself. Hamish took the opportunity to ask Graham, in a low voice, “I assume he doesn’t know about you?”

 

“No, he doesn’t. We’ve been together about 5 years now, but he doesn’t ask many questions. It’s his boat, his nets, and I work as his assistant and let him call the shots. Keeps life quiet and peaceful and keeps him from asking awkward questions. Especially about things like this.”

 

With that, he turned and seized Hamish by the shoulders, then clamped his mouth onto his guest’s mouth and sharply dug his tongue right in between Hamish’s lips. Hamish had no trouble responding in kind, and by the time Murdo came back, the two were making out with great energy. Without saying anything, Alan stretched his hand out to Murdo and drew him down beside him, then proceeded to kiss him just as deeply.

 

Murdo might have been the late starter, but he quickly got into the lead by removing his shirt, and then his breeches, before lying on the bed with an inviting leer on his face. Alan got naked almost as quickly, and lay down on top of him, their hard cocks dueling between their bodies as they ground against each other. Alan resumed plunging his tongue into Murdo’s mouth as his hand moved down between the muscular thighs, seeking the man’s hole.

 

Not to be outdone, Graham had now gotten his hand into Hamish’s crack and was fingering his hole. Graham soon had Hamish moaning up a storm as he penetrated the hole, then started sliding his hand in and out, twisting the fingers back and forth, all the while busily tonguing Hamish’s willing mouth. Graham pulled him down onto a pile of clothes which he’d pulled hastily onto the floor, and Hamish obligingly shed his clothes, then rolled onto his face and spread his legs far apart.

 

Graham pushed his face into the dark crack between Hamish’s firm round ass cheeks, and began tongue-lashing the hole, feasting on it, tonguing, kissing, and then digging in and tongue-fucking, all generating a storm of moans from Hamish, who was enjoying the treatment immensely.

 

Then Hamish rolled over and got his first sight of what Graham was packing. It definitely was the biggest tool he’d ever seen, no small matter for a man who was now more than four centuries old. But Hamish didn’t get scared. On the contrary, he scrambled up onto his knees and proceeded to deep-throat Graham’s monster weapon, giving every inch of it a taste of his trademark deep suction.

 

Graham moaned loudly, and Murdo looked over from his position under Alan to see his partner’s entire cock vanishing down Hamish’s throat. “Holy mother… how do you get it all in there? I can’t take more than half!”

 

Hamish pulled back, turned and winked. “Practice. Just practice.” And then, to Graham, “All right, give it to me now.” He lay back, pulled his legs up over his shoulders – and a moment later, Murdo got the even more eye-popping view of Graham’s immense length sliding smoothly, all the way in one go, completely inside Hamish. The sight left him completely speechless, and that gave Alan the chance to slap him lightly on the face.

 

“Hey, eyes over here. I’ve got one for you to work on.”

 

Alan had come up and knelt over Murdo’s chest, straddling his broad pecs, and was slapping him with his hard cock. Murdo took the hint at once, opened up, and began to swallow and suck. Alan smiled and sighed with satisfaction, as it was obvious Murdo had taken lessons from someone much, much more experienced – like, as it might be, an immortal.

 

Murdo was, indeed, an awesome cocksucker, and gave Alan’s dick a wonderful treatment, with Alan moaning every inch of the way. But, of course, he wanted more than just a blow job and Murdo could take the hint when Alan pulled back, and then rolled Murdo over onto his face. He felt the hard cock lodging itself in his crack, and let his body go limp, freeing the way for Alan to enter him. With many, many years of practice under his belt and below the belt, Alan certainly knew not to push too hard or too fast and took his time, opening Murdo up and sliding into him. Once he was all the way inside, he lay down on top of Murdo, enjoying the contact of their two bodies and feeling the tight hole pulsing around his cock.

 

Alan then proceeded to pump his dick slowly in and out of Murdo’s firm ass while, next to them, Graham was now giving Hamish a considerable and very skillful pounding. Murdo was both astonished and tremendously turned on to see his partner slamming so deep and hard into another man’s ass, and his own cock began squirming under him, longing for release, as Alan plowed into him, slowly gaining speed.

 

It was Hamish who came first, letting out a cry of ecstasy as his cock lifted up and fired jets of cum all over his face and body. The contractions of his body quickly brought Graham right to the moment and he moaned loudly as his dick exploded, pumping shot after shot of his sperm deep inside Hamish. It was the sound and the internal sensation of Hamish cumming that sent Alan over the edge, and his cock blew a substantial load into Murdo, who came seconds later under his belly, oozing cum out onto the bed beneath his abs.

 

Over the course of that night, and a fair part of the next (heavily rainy) day, the four men got into just about every pairing and combination that one might imagine. Murdo proved to be supremely energetic as a bottom, eagerly taking every cock in sight into his mouth and up his ass. Graham, on the other hand, was totally versatile, more than happy to be spitroasted by Hamish and Alan one minute, only to plow Alan’s hot ass the next. The grand finale began when Murdo took Hamish and Alan in his ass at the same time, with Alan lying below him and Hamish pushing in from above him, while Graham fucked his mouth. Plainly he was in heaven with the ecstatic joy of being stuffed full of so many immortal cocks all at once, although he had no idea that his three fuckers were anything beyond being three big-dicked alpha studs.

 

After they’d all come inside him, as close to all at the same time as possible, Murdo fell out of the pile of writhing bodies. Too tired and sore to continue, he contented himself with sitting the heap of clothes on the floor and enjoying the lingering taste of Graham’s cum in his mouth, stroking himself as the other three kept working on each other. Eventually, they fell into a fuck chain with Graham pounding Alan and taking Hamish in his ass at the same time. Murdo could hardly believe that anyone had any cum left in them, but before long the three were all shooting yet again in perfect unison. The squishy sounds and spurts of cum squeezing out of Alan and Graham around the cocks driving into them were proof positive that everyone did indeed have a good quantity of seed left to pump out. Alan’s cock confirmed it by spilling a massive puddle on the bed under him. Murdo surprised himself by jumping up and stroking himself rapidly, eventually groaning and cumming again, although he had very little left to drip out onto Hamish’s back.

 

Murdo fell on the ground, now completely wiped out. But as he lay there, his breathing slowly returning to normal, he finally said, “That was terrific – but kind of weird too. When you three all came together like that, your bodies all seemed to be, kind of, glowing. Enough to make the room a bit lighter.”

 

Hamish and Alan exchanged looks with a slight hint of concern, but Graham burst out laughing and the others quickly picked it up and joined in. At last Graham managed to control his mirth, enough to say, “Too much whisky, Murdo! But I told you they were going to be amazing, didn’t I?” At that, Murdo chuckled.

 

At last, Murdo dragged himself up and outside to the midden. This time, it was Graham who took advantage of his mortal companion’s temporary absence to ask quietly, “How did you two find each other? It’s damn difficult to find another immortal at all, and then you usually can’t stand the man.”

 

Alan chuckled. “Pure, dumb luck.”

 

“And the way you’ve bonded? I’ve heard of such a thing, but I’ve never seen it in action before. I can feel it coming out of you in strong waves when you’re doing each other.”

 

“That’s where the real luck came in,” Hamish replied. “Think of it as being something like two mortals finding a real, heartachingly beautiful love with each other – only far more complete and a million times less likely, because we are so few in number.”

 

At that point, Murdo came in and the conversation shifted again.

 

In true Scottish fashion, the rain and wind continued off and on for four days, making fishing both dangerous and unprofitable. Murdo and Graham were content to stay at home, working on their nets some of the time, and working on other projects – like their two guests – at other times. Finally, though, as all good things must come to an end, the weather improved, and Alan and Hamish made ready to carry on northwards towards Glencoe. A last glorious fuckfest – “one for the road,” as Graham said -- and they were on their way, with thanks for the hospitality and for the “hospitality.”

 

As they walked northwards, Hamish asked Alan about Murdo’s account of their three-way with Graham. Alan chuckled. “I think Murdo was halfway between exhausted and drunk. That made it easy to convince him that it was all in his imagination – which is a bit overactive anyway. But yes, it can happen. With three of us all going at it, and with such a high energy level, yes, it can make the aura start to become a bit visible.”

 

“Good reason to be a bit more careful.”

 

“Not at all. Good reason to enjoy the intensity of the experience is more like it!” They both laughed.

 

They continued to enjoy each other’s company, and the company of other men they met from time to time during their travels. There were other times, though, when Hamish and Alan didn’t even feel the urge to have sex, being content to lie together and go to sleep with their arms wrapped around each other. It was another way of expressing and nurturing the all-encompassing unity which bonded them together. A dramatic change came, though, when they arrived some years later at the fishing village of Fraserburgh -- and the stranger appeared to disturb the even tenor of Hamish’s life with Alan.

 

 

[NLbear]

Loving this. I wonder if we'll see Graham and his monster cock pop up again somewhere in the centurties to come.

[daddybear54]

28 minutes ago, NLbear said:

28 minutes ago, NLbear said:

Loving this. I wonder if we'll see Graham and his monster cock pop up again somewhere in the centurties to come.

 

@NLbearTime will tell -- in more ways than one.

Edited March 3, 2022 by daddybear54

[daddybear54]

Part 7:  The Stranger

 

In all his long centuries of life, Hamish had never had such a disconcerting experience. They’d walked into a small inn by the waterfront of Fraserburgh, and the first man Hamish saw was Craig. That’s not possible, he thought, it can’t be him, he’d have been dead now for 200 years or more – and yet, impossible or not, it was him. More than that, the young man’s eyes at once picked up the handsome pair of men walking into the inn – but of the two, he had eyes only for Hamish. Not Alan. Only Hamish.

 

Alan and Hamish settled at a small table and ordered food and drink. Once their cups of ale and plates of food came, they settled in for a quiet meal – and then, Hamish saw “Craig” walking towards them, his eyes glued on Hamish as he came. Hamish desperately clung to his slipping sanity by composing his face into its most unrevealing expression.

 

“Yes?” This, in a tone of utter disinterest.

 

The young man answered, “Welcome. You’re strangers here. I’m Craig.”

 

Things had now, Hamish decided, passed the unreal stage. He was plainly hallucinating. Except that he wasn’t. Alan was watching him with an expression compounded of equal parts sympathy and mockery.

 

“I’m Hamish. This is Alan.”

 

The younger guy pulled over a stool and perched at their table, sitting as close to Hamish as he dared without seeming to sit too close to him. Alan was distinctly amused now.

 

At first Hamish thought this new Craig, “Craig II,” as he thought of him, was going to try to touch him for a meal or drinks. But when Craig’s order arrived, he paid in cash at once. So much for that theory. After they’d finished their meal, Alan went over to the bar and bespoke a room for the next few nights.

 

Despite Hamish’s resolve to keep aloof, the conversation soon flowed freely, with Craig and Hamish doing 90% of the talking, and Alan contributing the odd valuable observation. There was no denying that Hamish felt an instant comfort zone with this man. Alan watched quietly, not intervening either pro or con. He’d lived for enough centuries to know that you can’t argue reasonably with love, whenever the little archer’s arrow strikes its target.

 

Eventually, it came time to drink up and leave. Craig went, but on the way to the door, he dropped the comment that he could be found hanging out here most nights. Hamish and Alan headed back to their room in the back of the inn.

 

Hamish was uncommonly quiet that night, and Alan didn’t try to force a conversation. He could sense Hamish’s disquieted state and had a pretty clear idea of what was causing it. He had, after all, seen Hamish with the first Craig in the border town of Kelso all those centuries ago.

 

The next day, they bought some pocket food items and headed out for a walk along the trail from the centre of the town up to the small, ruined castle on the promontory overlooking the harbour. It was one of those sunny, windy, cold days so common along the North Sea’s shores, but neither of them felt the cold much. They sat on the rocks below the castle, eating their lunch, and watching the gulls wheeling and crying over the fishing boats in the harbour below them. All the while, Alan kept his solemn, penetrating grey eyes fixed on Hamish. At last, Hamish spoke.

 

“If you have something to say, go ahead.”

 

Alan smiled a little. “Everything that has to be said, you are already saying to yourself – aren’t you?”

 

Hamish gave a rueful chuckle. “You know me too well.”

 

“No better than you know me.”

 

“True. Alan, I know this is an impossibility -- but the impossible seems to have happened. It’s Craig all over again – the walk, the voice, the laugh. This is a lot more than just a case of a double with a similar face. And it’s really thrown me off. It seems, then, that the impossible is possible after all – but how?”

 

Alan looked at him solemnly. “I can think of three ways. The first would be if he’s a fetch. That seems unlikely because you can usually smell the darkness in the air around that kind of a double – to say nothing of the fact that a fetch is usually the double of a living person and a warning that the person is about to die, which would defeat the purpose in this case. The second way would be if Craig became immortal after you left him. Obviously not impossible, but if he were now immortal, then you and I would both have sensed the aura.”

 

“All right, so he’s neither a fetch nor an immortal. Where does that leave us?”

 

“It’s true that souls do reincarnate. Not all souls, not all the time, but it does happen. What would be very unusual here would be the idea of reincarnating as an exact replica of your former living body. Not impossible, I guess, but I’ve never heard of it before.”

 

“Alan, I’ve always assumed that a reincarnated soul would have no memory of the former lifetime, but did you see the way he focused right in on me the moment he saw me?”

 

“Indeed I did – just like a pointer smelling a hare. No, a reincarnation wouldn’t leave him with any conscious memory of you, but the forces in his soul that drew him to your soul would still be at work. Imagine how much messier this would be if he’d reincarnated as a barmaid, and you had no idea why she attracted you!” Both of them laughed. Then Alan went on. “You’re going back tonight, aren’t you?”

 

“Does this bother you?”

 

“There’s no reason why it should. Your life is yours to lead. Your choices are yours to make.”

 

Hamish was reminded, yet again, that his bond with Alan was completely separated from idle mortal pleasantries like love and jealousy. Craig joined them again at supper, and again he and Hamish had a lively conversation with slight commentary from Alan. Once the meal was over, Alan excused himself, saying he was going to look for a man in the town who might have some useful information for him. As Hamish could tell perfectly well, that was a graceful way of saying, “I’ll get the hell out of your way – enjoy!”

 

Hamish led Craig back to the room behind the inn’s public spaces. There, they undressed each other, already kissing each other gently, even tenderly. Hamish pulled Craig down onto the bed with him, and they embraced, caressing each other’s bodies and sharing passionate kisses. Hamish observed his own behaviour with a detached, ironical eye.

 

All these years keeping yourself safe from falling in love, and now you’ve had to go and do it? Now? And with the perfect double of a guy you already had years and years ago, no less. Hamish, you are definitely losing it!

 

But soon, the ironical voice in his head was silenced. Hamish’s feelings for Craig, the passion, the yearning – the love – did not admit of any sarcasm or sharpness of wit. Not when it was perfectly obvious from the outset that Craig was feeling exactly the same way about him.

 

It was those tides of powerful, irresistible emotion which had swept them together, and those same emotional currents now held them in each other’s embrace, unable to let go or release, or even to accept any ending other than a complete fulfillment of these wild storms that raged in their hearts.

 

It was this emotional storm that led Craig to lie back, to lift his legs, to beckon Hamish towards him. It was the immense yearning in his heart that led Hamish to place his cock against Craig’s lovely hole, to push slowly and gently, to enter his tight young ass, to methodically work his cock farther inside, inch by inch, until Hamish’s full length held him, linked in dizzying intimacy, completely inside Craig -- cock to hole, body to body, heart to heart. And there he remained, pumping slowly at first, then more forcefully, until he came inside Craig’s body at the exact moment that Craig sprayed a fountain of cum all over his face and body. As they lay together in the afterglow, Hamish knew that he and Craig were going forward as a couple. And he knew that Alan understood what was happening.

 

Hamish and Craig stayed together for fifteen years in all, fifteen wonderful years of loving union. Through all of that time, they travelled everywhere together, all over the British Isles, even venturing abroad to Europe – and Hamish, for the first time he could ever remember, crossed the sea both ways without getting seasick.

 

Wherever they went, though, they did no hooking up with the local men. They were so completely absorbed in each other that there was no room for anyone else in their lives. Craig was all that Hamish wanted, all that he needed, and Hamish contained in himself everything that Craig had ever desired.

 

By the end of fifteen years, though, the inevitable was beginning to happen. Craig was visibly ageing – and Hamish wasn’t. One hot summer night, as they were lying together in the grasslands above the Firth of Forth, after Hamish had released another massive load inside Craig’s sweet ass, Craig mentioned it.

 

“Hamish, why is it that you never seem to look a day older? We’ve been together for fifteen years now, and I swear you look exactly the same as when we met – exactly the same.”

 

Hamish tried to pass it off with a laugh. “That’s a long story, Craig – a very long story, in fact. Let’s just say that I guess I got lucky.”

 

But Craig wasn’t content with that. “No, Hamish, that won’t do. I’ve noticed this before, that I ask you a question, usually a question about your past, and you put it aside. Sooner or later, you’ll have to tell me whatever secret it is that you’re hiding.” Hamish again tried to distract him with some passionate kissing. That usually did the trick. But not tonight. “Hamish, that’s not good enough anymore. I need to know what’s going on with you. Come on, tell me, damn it – now!”

 

Hamish was taken aback by the change in Craig’s voice – not just the tone of anger from a man who was always sunny and genial and never lost his temper. Craig’s voice was noticeably dropping in pitch, getting deeper and darker with every sentence. More than that, he had seized Hamish by the upper arms and was holding on with a death grip, even shaking Hamish slightly to underline his words.

 

Hamish twisted free, and slapped Craig hard across the face. At once, Craig melted back into his normal, easygoing self, voice and all. Hamish was now even more shocked and scared by what had happened.

 

“Craig, what the hell was that all about? You grabbed me, yelled at me, you were demanding answers from me, and your voice was getting deeper and lower…” and here he imitated the drop in Craig’s voice, “…with every word you said.”

 

Craig suddenly looked very frightened. He held onto Hamish, not now for a threat but as if for protection.

 

“Hamish, it’s happening. He’s taking over control of my body.”

 

“He? Taking control? What…?”

 

“No matter what happens, just remember that this is the real me telling you that I love you, and you’re the only person I’ve ever loved in my life.” And with those final words, “…in my life,” the voice was dropping again. Then the outlines of Craig’s face and body began to quiver, to shift, to shimmer, and finally, definitely, to change into a completely different person.

 

Hamish gazed at the man who had been Craig, wild-eyed, not understanding anything that was happening as his entire world turned itself upside down. The transformation was complete. Instead of a blond, blue-eyed northern Scotsman, Hamish was now facing a muscular, olive-skinned man with dark eyes and curly dark hair, some inches taller than him, who stared at him with a look that combined curiosity and malice in equal proportions.

 

Hamish leaped out of the grass, but the stranger moved just as fast, and got between him and the gate to the footpath.

 

“Craig!” Hamish gasped the name in desperation, but already knowing as he said it that it was useless.

 

The stranger gave a gleeful laugh. “He’s gone. You’ll never see him again. I’ve kept him alive all these years, just to keep seeking for you – Immortal. And now I’ve found you. It took a while to be certain, but you are the man I am seeking. You owe me a debt of honour for when that knight ran you through. My brother’s power was trapped in that sword, and he was permanently crippled when the power fled into you. Now, you will give me your life and I will restore my brother.”

 

“I will not.”

 

The stranger laughed. “You can try to resist, but it will only make your death more miserable and painful in the end. Give in now, and I will spare you that pain.”

 

Hamish now fully understood the adversary he was confronting. “And why should I trust you, Demon?”

 

“Because you have no choice, Immortal.”

 

And indeed, Hamish began to think that this time he had lost the game for good. But then, it occurred to him that as a demon, in human form, his opponent was probably still limited to the powers of the human.  And more than that. As if from another point of the universe altogether, an idea came into his mind, not as a voice, but still undeniable in its elemental power. I am bonded to another. I am twice Immortal. I have the power of two demons in my body.

 

“Bring it on, then, Demon.”

 

The stranger leaped at him, but Hamish ducked out of the way, tripping the man as he went by, so that he went flying into the tall grass face down. Hamish leaped on top of him, ripping and tearing at his clothes like a mad thing. How it happened, he couldn’t guess, but Hamish found that his cock had sprung to full erection and had grown longer and thicker than ever before, dripping with precum – and without knowing how or why, he realized what he had to do. He could feel the magic of the dark powers coursing through his body, could sense that the demon was trapped under him and couldn’t get free as he planted his hard cock firmly against the hole, ready to push it in.

 

The stranger roared with demonic laughter. “The fires of hell will burn you up!”

 

With gritted teeth, Hamish replied, “I’ll chance it,” and then, with one mighty shove, he buried his entire dick inside the stranger’s ass. Two screams echoed across the hillside at once, and neither of them came from Hamish, even though the inside of the stranger’s hole was indeed burning his cock. He ignored it. Instead, he focused on the job at hand, pumping into the demonic ass as fast and hard as he could go, letting the feeling build up in his loins… ignore the heat, feel the hole, ignore the fucking heat, pump your seed deep inside him, feel the hole, feel the grip of the hole, fill him up with your cum…. The thoughts echoed in his brain like a chant, and suddenly he realized that he was actually chanting the words aloud.

 

The stranger laughed sneeringly again. “Finding it a bit too much for you, Immortal?”

 

But Hamish ignored the mocking words. Just a few more thrusts… a few more….

 

With one final superhuman effort, he slammed every last fraction of his erect cock inside the demon’s ass and let the seed fly, shot after shot. His cock pulsed and convulsed more often than he could ever before remember happening. It felt like his balls were shriveling away to nothing and his dick was turning inside out, and still the pulses of sperm kept flying, shot after shot, into the stranger’s hole.

 

Once again, the two voices resounded in the air, as Hamish at last yanked his cock brutally out of the burning fires of hell – the higher-pitched voice a wail of remorse, the lower a shriek of utter devastation. The stranger’s body quivered a moment longer and then burst into flames.

 

Hamish cowered back as the flames exploded upwards and outwards, scorching the grass, turning the air into a furnace, creating a rising column of twisting, swirling, super-heated air. Hamish closed his eyes and buried his face behind his arm until, at last, the roar of the fire slowly diminished. Finally, Hamish opened his eyes and looked down. The stranger had rolled over onto his back. His body and remaining clothing were all charred. Flames were still jetting out of his nose and mouth, and the now unstable outlines of his figure were shaking and quivering in the night air.

 

And the Demon spoke. “You have won, Immortal. You have destroyed me. How could a mere Immortal like you defeat me?”

 

Hamish drew himself up with implacable resolution. “I am bonded to another Immortal, Demon. I have the power of two demons in my body.”

 

“Bonded to another… two demons….” The words trailed off into a searing scream of agony. The stranger’s body exploded in a final burst of flames and smoke, then crumbled to ashes -- and the thing was gone.

 

In its place lay the twisted body of Craig, eyes filled with pain and love as he looked up at his triumphant lover. Hamish fell to his knees and embraced his man, but Craig whimpered in pain, and he had to let go. He took Craig’s hand and knelt there, looking into those beautiful eyes. At last, Craig managed to speak.

 

“I’m dying, Hamish. I’m going to die. He ripped me apart when he took control of me.”

 

“You never died before? This is still the original you.”

 

“Yes… Immortal. Both of us. That was the answer to all the puzzles. But it was only temporary for me, as long as that demon lived in me. And now we fully understand each other.”

 

Hamish’s eyes filled with tears. “I have killed you, Craig.”

 

Craig smiled slightly. “No, Hamish. That… thing… killed me. You didn’t.”

 

“I love you, Craig – my only love.”

 

“I love… Hamish….”

 

Craig’s eyes rolled up, his hand and neck went slack, and Hamish knew that he was gone. He reached out a shaky hand and closed Craig’s eyes.

 

The superhuman strength of will that had helped him defeat and kill the demon was still coursing through him, fueling his anger, as he set to his task. Working at top speed, Hamish shifted boulders from a nearby stream as if they were pebbles and built them into a mound over Craig’s body. He used his bare hands to pull up slabs of sod from the grassy hillside, and laid them over the mound of rocks, allowing Craig to rest in peace where he had died and become a part of the homeland which he had loved.

 

Dawn broke at last – and the first beams of sunlight picked out the hunched figure of Hamish, still sitting next to the grassy burial mound he had built during the night, his head buried in his folded arms, his back shaking as the uncontrollable sobs racked his body. Eight times in all the sunrise would come up on the solitary, mourning figure sitting there by the grave before he would pick up the broken remnants of his life and move on.

 

 

 

[daddybear54]

Part 8:  The Still

 

After Craig died, Hamish plunged into a sinkhole of outrage, despair, and bleak sadness. He had finally let his guard down and allowed himself to love a mortal and now, for the first time in nearly half a millennium of life, he was truly experiencing grief and loss. It was even more wrenching because he had never before let himself feel so deeply for another human being. Most of all, he was being torn to emotional shreds and tatters by the horrific way in which Craig’s life had ended, an end which neither he nor anyone else could have predicted.

 

Healing took years, although it didn’t seem very long to Hamish – a mortal would have been much more conscious of the lengthy, endless, dreary days of loneliness and desolation.

 

In time, his broken heart healed somewhat, and became – well, not whole by any means, but as whole as it would ever be again. Hamish resumed his travels, roaming the country by himself. He found himself in Edinburgh when King James VI’s court chamberlain was hiring palace staff, and with his cultured manners at their polished best, he quickly found himself in place as a chamber servant to the King.

 

That, in turn, predictably led to another assignation in another royal bedroom, as soon as James became aware of his stunning appearance – still looking exactly 32 years old and a bit, of course. James was completely versatile, and Hamish now found, thanks to his experiences with Graham and Murdo, that he thoroughly enjoyed flipping from time to time, or even within a single evening’s session, between top and bottom.

 

Since James was also versatile in his gender preferences, Hamish found himself experiencing his first-ever sex with a woman. She was the wife of a knight in the king’s guard, and she and her husband had both taken turns in the king’s bed – separately and together. Meg was a jolly, engaging soul, with a great sense of fun that definitely lit up the royal bedroom during her 3-way with the king and Hamish. Since both he and the king seeded her before Hamish planted his second load deep in the royal ass, he couldn’t help wondering if she would conceive and, if so, which man in her life would be the daddy!

 

Much more rewarding to Hamish was the night he spent with Meg’s hubby, Glen, while Meg was occupied with the king on another occasion. As tight and muscular as you’d expect a guardsman to be, and as well-endowed as virtually all of James’ favourites (the king had a real fetish for big cocks), Glen proved to be just as versatile as the king and had just about the fastest recovery time Hamish had ever seen (other than his own, of course, which was almost legendary). Glen also had a real gift for making a man feel good in many different ways while his sizable tool was buried deep in his bottom’s ass. Hamish was quite willing to let Glen fuck him and cum inside him twice – at least, until his cock demanded its chance and he in turn fucked and bred Glen three times in a row. When Hamish at last pulled his dick out, the hunky guardsman pleaded for mercy, and then lay there on his back, gasping for breath, as the flood of immortal sperm slowly flowed out of his wide-stretched hole.

 

When Queen Elizabeth of England died at Richmond Palace, near London, in 1603, James was named as King James I of England, thereby becoming James VI and I. His court correspondingly grew greater, and so did the number and stature of his favourites. Hamish stayed with the King (and Glen, too) for the first few months until his coronation, but then begged leave and was granted permission. James was a fickle man, one who ricocheted from favourite to favourite throughout his life. He treated Hamish fairly, giving him a generous parting gift, but could hardly have been said to care all that much.

 

It was all old news to Hamish, too. By now, he had been through so many affairs with so many famous and infamous people that he was becoming more than a little bored. Status and fame, in and of themselves, didn’t do anything for him, as they once had, and while he still enjoyed sexual pleasures, there was nothing to them beyond the physical act.

 

That was the basic problem. He still missed and lamented Craig. How could he not, when they had shared their lives with each other so thoroughly, so completely, for 15 years? After so much emotional intimacy and intensity, it was hardly surprising that going back to “nothing but hookups” began to seem relatively sterile and unrewarding, at least as far as his emotional life was concerned. But what surprised him more was that he again found his thoughts turning to Alan.

 

Hamish could sense that his connection to Alan had remained unfractured by his impulsive venture into romance with Craig. He knew full well that theirs was a bond that transcended idle human emotions like jealousy. What was surprising to him was how thoroughly Alan had disappeared from his conscious mind throughout the previous twenty-some years.

 

Hamish was still learning about the nature of living in a bond with another immortal. What he now began to understand was that the lines of communication, conscious and subconscious, began to lapse into silence and stillness unless tended regularly. Those lines didn’t vanish altogether – the nature of the bond made that impossible – but neglect would certainly make them go quiet.

 

As this began to dawn on Hamish, he started to wonder which of them it was, he himself or Alan, who was triggering those thoughts in his mind. Which of them was reaching out to the other? Or, as seemed at least as likely, were they both doing it?

 

Then, his thought process went farther. What, he wondered, had Alan experienced at the moment of his climactic battle with the demon, followed by the death of Craig, who he had loved so dearly? If ever there had been a time when every last bit of Hamish’s mind and body was totally engaged in the moment, that fight for his life and for his love was it. Was Alan “tuned in” to him that night? From there, it was a quick jump to wondering something further: had Alan been the one who had mentally prompted him to realize that he had the strength of two demons in him because of their bond? At this point, Hamish could have sworn that he heard in his head, just for a moment, Alan’s characteristic dry chuckle, his most common kind of laughter – have amused, half sardonic.

 

“Well, I guess that answers that question,” he said aloud.

 

The tavern waitress caught it, and said, “Pardon, sir?” in a puzzled tone.

“Nothing. Just thinking my thoughts.” And someone else’s thoughts too, he mentally added.

 

Hamish was gradually waking up to the reality that, as an immortal, he was simply too old for the world in which he lived. Everyone around him was a mere child by comparison. He became more and more aware that they were children indeed, not only in relative age, but even more in relative maturity and wisdom. Their most intense preoccupations and dreadful problems were all old familiar sights which he had seen come and go dozens of times in his lengthy life span. This was one of the dominant characteristics in Alan as well, a kind of detached amusement and mockery mingled with sadness at the silliness of so much of the world. Hamish knew that he wasn’t getting it transmitted to him by Alan because it was simply the natural outcome of living so many life spans of the mortals around him.

 

At last, he realized that what his heart and mind -- his soul, really -- needed was to be with Alan again. He needed Alan because of their bond, but also because he had far more in common now with Alan than with any other person he was ever likely to encounter in the world. And so, he set out to try to find Alan once more.

 

Easier said than done. He began by paying much more attention to the thoughts of Alan that drifted through his mind, searching for clues or some indication of whether he was drawing closer to his bonded partner’s location.

 

As he listened to his own thoughts more closely, he began to discern a pattern. Regularly, images of towering mountains came up when he thought of Alan. The Highlands. Some looked familiar, some less so. Then, one morning he awoke from sleep with an unmistakable mental image from a dream, an image of Alan standing and looking at a solitary mountain of distinctive and unforgettable profile, once seen, never forgotten: Ben Loyal, in the far north of Scotland. Hamish headed his steps that way.

 

Of course, it took a while, going as he always had on foot. He also got diverted by some minor adventures along the way: a rugged farmer near Ben Nevis, a tavern keeper in Inverness, and others.

 

The most memorable of all was when he landed in a small country village tavern, in the year 1635. With few travellers on the roads this far north, his company was mostly local people and a noisy, roistering crew they were. Hamish had always been partial to a few rounds of good ale, but before long he was recommended to try the particularly fine locally made whisky. He did, and it was every bit as good as popular report made it. Later in the evening, a tall, well-built redhead, perhaps 30 years old, entered the tavern, and everyone shouted welcomes to “Andrew.” The newcomer spotted Hamish, all too plainly eyeing him up (no one else in the place looked particularly enticing) and steered his steps over to Hamish’s table.

 

“Welcome to our hometown local bar. I’m Andrew.”

 

“Thank you. Hamish,” as they shook hands.

 

“A fine old Scots name. Where’s your home?”

 

“I’m really a homeless wanderer now, but my birthplace was close by Dunadd, in Kintyre.”

 

“A MacAlpine?”

 

“Yes, indeed. And yourself?”

 

“Not a clansman. Name of Chalmers. My family roots go back to Edinburgh, but I was born in Perth.”

 

“And now you’re living here in this village. What’s your business, if I may ask?”

 

Andrew gave an amused chuckle. “You’re drinking it, my good man. I’m the master distiller.”

 

Hamish eyed him with a new respect. “Your product is certainly admirable. How do you come to be here?”

 

“I learned my trade from the master distiller here, and when he died, I took on in his place. If you’d like to know more, I’d be happy to take you through my distillery.”

 

Hamish regretfully declined – for the moment. “That sounds fascinating, but I’m suffering from severe road fatigue at the moment. Perhaps we could do it tomorrow? I’ll be here for several days before carrying on north.”

 

“By all means. Rest you tonight, and tomorrow night I’ll come again and find you.”

 

They shook on it, and Andrew stood up and crossed over to the bar, where his friends all crowded around, offering congratulations and slapping him on the back. Hamish wondered why they were congratulating him, until he heard one of them saying, “Another notch for the bedpost, eh, Andrew?” Andrew merely smiled in reply.

 

Hamish smiled a small smile of his own as he heard those words. If this small-town distiller thought he had latched onto an easy and willing victim, he had another think coming. Hamish hadn’t had any action for a while, and he was definitely pumped for being top man and calling the shots. Tomorrow night promised to be interesting at the very least, and maybe a good deal more.

 

The next evening, Hamish was treated to something new in his experience. He’d enjoyed a glass of whisky here and there, but never been inside a distillery. The highlight of the building was the still, a large copper vessel which he knew must have cost a small fortune.

 

Andrew could guess what he was thinking. “I’m sure my father rolled in his grave when I used my inheritance to buy that. He was a fierce old Calvinist who could have given John Knox a run for his money, and never touched a drop of liquor in his life. But I had that still made, to my design, and that still made me.” After taking Hamish all through the distillery, Andrew led him into the master distiller’s small, neat little house. “Any questions?”

 

Hamish smiled. “Anything else you do that would set your father rolling in his grave?”

 

Andrew laughed. He stepped towards Hamish, but Hamish moved even faster, seizing Andrew’s tall, lanky body and kissing him, driving his tongue into Andrew’s mouth. Slowly, he backed Andrew up across the kitchen until they came up against a closed door on the far side. Andrew fumbled behind him, turned the handle, and got the door open without breaking the kiss. At this point, Hamish moved faster until they backed into the bed, and crashed down together across the covers.

 

The kisses got more and more passionate as they fumbled around, trying to undress each other. It was Hamish who first uncovered a proud, slender cock of a good length, surrounded by a nest of flaming red hair. He quickly swallowed it, bringing a loud groan from Andrew. Hamish considerately swung his hips around until his cock came to rest above Andrew’s face, giving Andrew a chance to finish undressing him and set him free.

 

Before long, they were locked in a frantic sixty-nine, except that Hamish was having no trouble deep-throating Andrew’s cock but Andrew was finding Hamish’s sturdy manhood rather more of a challenge. He bravely carried on, however, continuing to work on the shaft as he felt Hamish’s mouth leave his cock and travel south between his thighs, prying them apart and beginning to work his way into the crack. After licking it for a few minutes, he returned to Andrew’s cock, but then took a finger and began prying into Andrew’s hole with it. By now, Andrew was proving himself a fast learner, following Hamish’s lead and actions at his end. With two cocks in two throats and two fingers in two asses, it was just a matter of time – and it was Hamish who exploded first, pumping a large dose of semen into Andrew’s throat just seconds before Andrew let his load fly into Hamish’s mouth.

 

After a few minutes of breathing space, they sat up against the wall at the head of the bed. Andrew got up and left the room, throwing a “be right back” over his shoulder. He soon returned with a pair of dram glasses of whisky.

 

Hamish swirled his whisky in the glass, inhaled the fumes, and commented, “Curious aroma.”

 

Andrew laughed. “This is my special edition product, which I serve only at home and only to, umm, certain guests. Go ahead and taste, but to really get the point of this one you need to drink the whole dram at once.”

 

Hamish took a tentative taste, liked it, and tipped his head back, shooting the entire dram in one swallow, as Andrew did the same with his. Andrew then took the glasses away and came back, sitting next to Hamish.

 

“Well, that certainly tasted good but I’m not sure what was so special about it.”

 

Andrew laid one arm across Hamish’s shoulders and placed the other hand on Hamish’s thigh. “Give it a minute,” he replied, “and relax while you’re waiting. Close your eyes.”

 

Hamish closed his eyes and sat there. After a minute, Andrew moved his hand gently up Hamish’s thigh, towards his crotch, and at the same moment, Hamish said, “Whoa!” as he felt suddenly dizzy, then realized that his cock was swelling up to its full dimensions, all in a few seconds. In fact, he was sure that his tool was bigger and harder than he’d ever felt it before.

 

Andrew chuckled. “Works like a charm, every time. Nothing insidious, just a little blend of herbs from an old recipe handed down in the former master distiller’s family. When he died, I inherited the recipe along with the distillery.”

 

Hamish opened his eyes and saw at once that Andrew’s cock was standing as fiercely erect as his own. Both of them were already leaking copious amounts of precum at the tip, and both were twitching, eager for some action. All in a moment, Hamish realized that he needed to fuck ass, now. He quickly grabbed Andrew and flipped him over, face down on the bed, kicking his legs apart and prying his ass open. Andrew was a bit startled by the speed of Hamish’s movement, but he had no objection to being fucked by this sturdy young (as he thought) Scottish stud.

 

Andrew grabbed his cock, stroked it once or twice, placed the tip against Andrew’s hole, and muttered, “Get ready.”

 

A second later, he gave a single mighty thrust and buried the whole thing deep inside Andrew’s ass. Andrew yelled aloud, then clamped his mouth down on a handful of clothing. It was actually Hamish’s pants, and the rich blend of man smells made Andrew even hornier than before, if that were possible. Hamish wasted no time, beginning to pound Andrew’s tight ass mercilessly, driving in fast, hard, deep, deeper than he’d ever gotten in another man. Somehow it was a surprise, yet no surprise at all, that he began to feel his orgasm coming in barely a minute. Stopping now wasn’t on the agenda; Hamish probably couldn’t have stopped, even if he wanted to. He kept hammering away and in just a few more moments sprayed an enormous blast of seed inside Andrew’s quivering hole. The mere feel of his orgasm set Andrew off too, his ass convulsing around Hamish’s cock as his own dick pumped his cum out beneath his belly.

 

Before Andrew had even finished cumming, Hamish had already begun pounding his ass again. Not only had his cock remained at full mast without even a moment’s delay, but he could feel the next load already gathering itself in his balls and starting its journey up to the launching port. Andrew, too, remained rock hard, and was steadily moaning and calling out in ecstasy, demanding of Hamish to fuck him harder, fill him up, keep pumping his hole, keep cumming in him, all that good stuff.

 

Hamish had no trouble complying. Orgasm Number Two actually began with Andrew rearing up and shooting a jet of sperm at the walls of the room, and with that, the convulsions of his hole yanked a second load out of Hamish, seven more big squirts which filled his hole and began squelching out around Hamish’s cock as Hamish kept ramming away at him. But then, Hamish pulled out, turned around and flopped on his back on the bed. Andrew started moving to get between his legs, but Hamish shook his head and barked, “Get on it!”

 

Andrew climbed up over Hamish and squatted, seed drizzling out of his ass as he sat down, taking Hamish’s solid meat deep inside him again. Andrew began to ride up and down on Hamish’s studly tool, slamming down on his hips and then pulling right up until only the tip was inside him, and then back down hard and fast. He was facing Hamish’s feet, but his moans and cries were loud enough that Hamish heard every word. Anyway, it took only about three more minutes before Hamish, locked and loaded, fired Load Number Three up into Andrew’s now wide-open cunt. Andrew simply kept pounding himself on Hamish’s big cock.

 

Nothing speaks to the power of the special recipe so much as the fact that, even after cumming so forcefully, twice, in not much more than twenty minutes, Andrew’s dick remained so hard and so powerfully erect that it kept pointing steadfastly at the roof beams, not even bouncing in the slightest degree as its owner bounced up and down on the huge cock inside him.

 

It took a little longer this time, somewhere in the neighbourhood of seven or eight minutes, but it still seemed like no time at all before Hamish gasped out, “Fuck, I’m going to cum again!”

 

Andrew immediately yelled, “Yes! Yes! I’m cumming too! Cum right with me!!!”

 

In a few more seconds, it happened. Two loud chains of grunting and moaning filled the room as Andrew’s cock shot straight up, so hard that the first squirt hit the wooden beam overhead. By the time his second shot flew out, Hamish was again shooting like a mad thing inside Andrew’s ass. He took a moment to wonder: how could the man’s hole possibly hold in so much sperm?

 

After another minute or two, they finally slowed to a halt – both of them completely worn out. Andrew lifted off of Hamish’s cock, which was finally starting to soften a little – and Hamish quickly saw the answer to his question. It couldn’t. As soon as Andrew came clear of Hamish’s tool, a stream of cum flowed out of his gaping ass, and it kept flowing even after Andrew laid down beside Hamish, the two of them cuddling each other. At last, Andrew raised his head enough to look at the clock on the wall.

 

“Seven orgasms total in just under thirty minutes.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“I told you that special recipe was good.”

 

“Good? It’s stupendous!” This, from an immortal who’d never had trouble reaching multiple orgasms, was high praise indeed. It’s a pity that Andrew didn’t realize just who Hamish really was, so didn’t catch the full degree of awe in the words.

 

Hamish stayed with the distiller three nights in all. The second and third nights were near repeats of the first, except that on Night Number Two it was Andrew who gave Hamish’s ass the greatest workout it had ever had in close to six centuries.

 

After those three nights, though, Hamish knew that I was time to carry on with his quest. He thanked Andrew for the hospitality, and especially for the chance to sample the special recipe whisky.

 

It would be nearly three centuries before Hamish passed through the town again. By that time, the village had grown into a sizable town and had gained status as a royal burgh. The site where the distillery had sat was now occupied by a Victorian hotel of unimpeachable respectability and ugliness, in equal proportions. Just outside of the town, a sizable complex of buildings proved to be the home of one of the leading modern distilleries. Hamish wondered if it was the latest lineal descendant of the old establishment where he'd had the wildest sex of his long life – and if so, if the special recipe was still tucked away in a dusty old file somewhere in the back of the business office. Probably not, he mused. A recipe like that would certainly be handed down by word of mouth only.

 

Nonetheless, that thought was still enough to keep him laughing for an entire day.

 

 

[daddybear54]

Part 9:  The Castle

 

Hamish still had a long way to walk when he left the distiller’s home, and for the first couple of days he was in rather rougher shape than usual. It was a tedious journey, north along the shore of the North Sea, then up the Strath of Kildonan and over the desolate moorlands to the northernmost coast of Scotland – a wild, wind-swept stretch of coastline if ever there was one.

 

Finally, though, as he walked west along the northern coast, he found the trail bending south along a firth towards the mountains – and there was that distinctive mountain profile looming ahead of him, with Castle Varrich on the shore cliffs of the sea below him to his right. Just where the path branched to take him down to the castle and on to the west, there was a small inn, and there Hamish stayed, bespeaking a room and enjoying a quiet dinner in the common room amid the smoke of the peats and the small conversations and smaller concerns of the locals.

 

He stayed there for three nights in all, walking the hills in the daytime and relaxing in the inn at night. On the third night, as he sipped his beer, a long-familiar deep voice spoke in his ear once more.

 

“So: you have found your way back yet again.”

 

With that, as he stood and turned, Alan stood before him again. Still unchanged, as Hamish himself was, Alan nonetheless looked different. It took Hamish a second to realize that Alan was actually smiling at him, unusually expressing a purely human satisfaction which echoed his own feelings at the moment.

 

It’s said that long-parted close friends can always resume a conversation exactly where they left off. With Alan and Hamish, it was more a case of the entire texture of their lives together which they simply picked up where they had left it off a quarter of a century earlier.

 

That night, as they lay together, it was plain that lost time had to be made up in more ways. Having sex was one of the most effective methods of renewing and revitalizing the bond between them, as well as being among the more exciting and enjoyable methods. All of which meant that there was no need to hurry. They had a lot longer than just all night before them, after all. Alan took the lead first, embracing and kissing Hamish with force and authority tempered with genuine affection and a real human warmth and gladness to be together with him again. As they continued kissing, Hamish was twisting himself slowly over to lie on his back. He was in no doubt that he wanted to feel Alan inside himself again, that he needed Alan to take him and bring him back to where he belonged.

 

At last, Alan positioned himself between Hamish’s uplifted thighs, and began to slide himself slowly inside of Hamish’s well-remembered ass. There was no struggle about it at all; Alan remembered the fit and feel of Hamish’s hole as much as Hamish remembered and welcomed Alan’s cock into his body, perfectly attuned to each other in every way.

 

Hamish, still astonishingly flexible after six centuries, pulled his legs right down on either side of his chest, allowing Alan to lie right down on top of him. Their bonding could be felt, not just from the contact of cock to ass, but from the sensation of skin to skin, the deep, slow kisses Alan and Hamish shared, the feeling of Hamish’s hands roaming over Alan’s hard body, pulling him closer and deeper. At last, Alan began to move faster, harder, his hips smacking down against Hamish’s butt cheeks as he drove himself towards his climax. Hamish didn’t even need to touch his own cock to know that they were going to cum soon -- and would cum in perfect unison.

 

Even as he thought that, the moment was upon them. Alan unleashed a series of enormous thrusts, one after another, his cock spewing pulse after pulse of seed deep inside Hamish’s ass as the hole contracted, forcefully squeezing Alan’s cock while Hamish erupted in between their closely connected bodies.

 

They continued kissing and stroking each other for a long time, even after Alan’s dick slipped from the tight hole that held it captive. At last Alan rolled off Hamish onto his side. Hamish turned up onto his side, too, spooning Alan until they fell asleep together like that, breathing in slow unison, taking comfort in the rightness, the completeness of their total unity.

 

In the morning, it was Alan who turned to Hamish, kissed him awake, and then looked at him with a glow of happiness and said, “Hamish, it’s time for you to wake me up properly.” With that, he rolled onto his face next to Hamish and turned to look expectantly into his companion’s face. Hamish wasted no time, plunging his face deep into Alan’s ass crack and lavishing plenty of tongue on the firm cheeks and the tight hole.

 

He even commented on the latter. “Alan, your hole is really tight – and I mean really, really tight.”

 

Alan chuckled again. “Twenty-five years might not seem a lot to the average immortal but it’s plenty enough time for a neglected ass to close right up again.”

 

“You mean you haven’t been fucked since I left?”

 

“Well, apart from a few weeks where I went back to see Graham again. He did me half a dozen times with his monster tool. But since then, no. Only a few men, and none of them fucked me.”

 

“I’ll be pleased to do the honours.”

 

“I was hoping you would. You have such a special way with you when you’re fucking me – especially when you get rough and really lay it in there, full force.” Now that Hamish knew what Alan wanted from him, he wasted no time getting down to business. He quickly started massaging the hole, loosening it, until he could plunge his tongue inside, shortly followed by one finger, and then another. Alan was moaning steadily, following it with a rising chain of “fuck…fuck…fuck…fuck….”

 

Hamish reared up, then, using one hand to hold Alan’s crack open, and the other to aim his rock-solid cock right at the target. Was it just his imagination, or was he feeling a holdover effect from Andrew’s special recipe whisky? But Hamish thought, no, it’s just because you’re with Alan again, back with the only man who can make you feel like you are at home and where you belong.

 

And with that thought, Hamish completed his homecoming by pushing his tool into Alan’s welcoming ass, not ripping into him, but moving steadily downwards until his entire cock was clasped inside that wonderful, perfect man cunt. He lay on top of Alan, savouring the physical, emotional, total nearness of their union, and then began pumping. In no time at all, Hamish worked up to a full-speed, hard-driving fuck which kept hitting Alan’s prostate on every stroke. After only a minute, this treatment worked Alan up so much that he began shooting on the bed underneath them, his cock convulsing repeatedly, and his hole grabbing forcefully at Hamish’s dick.

 

But Hamish, for once, was nowhere near ready to let it rip – and that’s when he knew for sure that Andrew’s whisky had nothing to do with the amazing sensations he was feeling now. He kept humping, pounding, holding his chest and shoulders tightly against Alan’s upper back while his rigid cock plunged over and over into Alan’s receptive ass.

 

It was an incredibly powerful mating scene that they played out that morning, and both of them were enjoying it to the absolute full – because it was an equally powerful renewal of the bond that held them to each other. But, as all good things must have an end (or at least an intermission), Hamish eventually could feel his orgasm beginning to rise in his loins. He nibbled on Alan’s ear, and said, “Alan… it’s time… I’m going to cum….”

 

“Yes… do it… cum inside me… fill me up like you’ve never filled me before… I want it in me… need it….”

 

Hamish gave a few more mighty strokes and then slammed hard against Alan’s muscular butt as his cock exploded inside, pumping an extra-huge stream of his seed that filled Alan up all the way. He held tightly against Alan’s ass, then gave a series of quick rabbit-punch thrusts to force his cum even further up inside. Alan moaned aloud, and his hole again convulsed around Hamish’s tool as he shot his own second load beneath himself.

 

In the weeks that followed, Hamish talked a good deal about his experiences with Craig. Most of all, he followed through on his biggest question by asking about the night of his life-or-death battle for Craig and for himself.

 

Alan nodded. “This was… what? Five or six years ago? I remember that night very well. I didn’t know what was happening to you, or any details, but I felt an instant and very powerful sensation that you were in dire need of help. The intensity was overwhelming, and I kept repeating, over and over, like a chant, “The strength of two, the strength of two….”

 

“So, it was you, then. I felt that thought in my mind right when I needed it. But how did you know about the strength of two?”

 

“I learned that from an immortal I met just shortly after I’d been turned, one I never saw again. But he was a wise elder of our kind, and taught me about the bonding process, about the strength of two, and… other things.”

 

“What other things?”

 

“Why did I know you were going to ask that? Your curiosity will get you in trouble every time! When it’s time for you to know, then – and only then – I will tell you.”

 

They both laughed, then, and the conversation moved to other matters. And they continued moving through life as a pair, a bonded pair, as much one as two.

 

After they’d been together again for almost two centuries, Alan said to him one day, “I think I’m ready to go home now.”

 

Hamish puzzled over that for a minute. He and Alan had never talked at all about their backgrounds, their families, their origins, preferring to focus on the endless present and limitless future. Truth be told, the past in which their origins lay, long forgotten, was no longer a part of the immortals they had become. “Where is home, then?” he finally asked. “And, on the same topic, what clan are you?” It wasn’t a shot in the dark. Hamish had recognized Alan’s highland accent from the first day they met and knew that he was a son of the clans rather than a lowlander from the south or east.

 

Alan replied solemnly, “I am a man of the Clan Donald.”

 

Hamish filled in: “MacDonald… a son of Donald.”

 

“What about yourself?”

 

“MacAlpine of Dunadd.”

 

“Ah. Then we are near neighbours. I am descended from the first of the Lords of the Isles at Finlaggan.”

 

Hamish thought some more. “Is your home then in the Isle of Islay?”

 

Alan replied, proudly but somewhat surprisingly, “My home is the castle of Finlaggan, for I was the Lord of the Isles in the century before you were born. Finlaggan is where I need to go.”

 

“Won’t the present-day Lord think it rather forward of you, a stranger to him, to suddenly appear at his doorstep and demand residency rights?”

 

Alan chuckled. “No, for the simple reason that the Lords of the Isles abandoned Finlaggan Castle a century and a half ago, and it is already falling into ruin. It was never an ideal defensive position since the water around the island was so shallow. Nonetheless, it is to Finlaggan that I will go now. You will come with me?”

 

That last sentence was phrased as half a question but also half a statement. Hamish, of course, had no doubt at all. He knew that wherever Alan now went was where he needed to go also. And he proceeded to say so.

 

“I will go with you because I must – because it is no longer my choice to make.”

 

“Some day, Hamish, I shall go where even you, immortal like myself, will not be able to follow me.”

 

They journeyed for seven days and nights, and then took passage on a small ship sailing to Islay. The winds and waves around the coast were turbulent, and Hamish – no surprise – got seasick. He staggered off the ship behind Alan at Port Askaig, and sat down there, refusing to go any further until he’d had a chance to recover. Alan chuckled drily, but then took him over to the small inn just by the harbour and they stayed there for a few days.

 

And it was there that Hamish, very uncharacteristically, got drunk and began talking, rather too loudly, about the last time he’d been there, about two centuries earlier. At first, the other patrons of the inn found it amusing, but by the time he got to talking about his personal friendship with Red Patrick MacDonald, the then innkeeper and a man with a fearsome reputation as a fighter, the listeners grew uncomfortable. Red Patrick had been dead for many years, but his name still carried weight – as did the tale of his demise, at the hands of a sorcerer who then vanished himself.

 

Alan laughed it off, telling them that his friend had a creative mind to begin with and got downright fanciful, spinning epic tales out of nothing, when he was drunk. But Hamish had certainly made an impression on the locals, and many of them were uneasy, remembering the legends of the sorcerer. When Alan and Hamish left the next day, climbing the zigzag path from the pier up onto the main part of the island, the locals were glad to see them go. It didn’t make them feel any easier when word got back that the two strangers had taken up residence in a place reputedly haunted by ghosts.

 

It was a classic, misty, west coast morning when Alan led Hamish along a path, past an abandoned farmhouse and down to the shore of the small loch. The ruins of the castle of Finlaggan loomed through the mist on the islet, a short distance off.

 

“How will we get there?”

 

“We just walk along the shore this way for a bit and… ah, there it is!”

 

Alan led Hamish down to the shore, then stopped and pulled his boots and stockings off. Hamish did likewise. Then, holding his shoes in one hand, Alan waded out into the water and Hamish realized that he was walking out along a slightly submerged sandspit that tied the small islet to the shore of the loch. In a couple more minutes, they were ashore, only wet around the knees. Alan walked up to the ruins of the castle, went through a gap in the wall, and started moving around the broken ends of walls which had once formed a number of small individual rooms. At last, he stopped at one wall that looked more substantial than the others. Poking and prodding, he found a small stone that popped loose, revealing a hidden cavity with a protruding lever. Alan pulled the lever.

 

With a groan, the wall swung back, revealing a doorway into an inner chamber, still whole. “Come on in, Hamish.”

 

“You knew it was here.”

 

“I hoped it was still here. But yes, I knew. I designed it myself, over 800 years ago. And now….”

 

He walked to the far wall where another lever protruded from the floor. He pushed it over from right to left and the hidden door swung shut. Hamish gasped. He’d expected to be caught in darkness, but the room was lit by daylight coming strongly through an opening in the roof on the far side. He looked up through the shaft, seeing the misty sky.

 

Hamish was puzzled. “I’m surprised nobody got in here by dropping down the shaft.”

 

Alan laughed. “All that light is reflecting off a polished sheet of bronze, set at an angle. When you look into the shaft from the top, you see in the mirror a reflection of the walls of the shaft. It looks like a dead end, a hole to nowhere. That bronze mirror cost me most of the revenue of the crofters for a couple of years.”

 

“So, now that we’re here…?”

 

“We stay,” Alan finished, comfortably. “This room is half underground, and a lot easier to keep warm than a building standing on the surface. Build a fire under the shaft, and you’ll find that it’s a natural chimney. We’ll bring in some furnishings, rugs, and things, and it’ll be perfectly cozy.”

 

“Food?”

 

“Easy enough. We go about, meet the local farmers, buy supplies from them. No shortage of money, this isn’t the only hidden chamber in Finlaggan.”

 

And so, in time, it proved to be a tolerable home. The odd thing was that, after centuries of nonstop roaming around the countryside, and multiple neighbouring countries too, Hamish actually found it easy to settle and live in one place. But that, of course, was because Alan was there.

 

When they did go out, meeting neighbours, buying supplies and more, Alan let it be known that he and Hamish were living in Finlaggan Castle. He only had to say that once or twice, and people left them alone, giving the castle a wide berth. Hamish’s reputation from Port Askaig preceded him, the castle itself had a name for being haunted, and that did the trick. In time, they got themselves a small rowboat to get to and from the islet as they got tired of drying wet feet, especially in winter. The sight of that boat rowing out of the mist to the shore of the loch did nothing to soothe the fears of the superstitious locals. Tales of ghost hauntings proliferated apace. All of which amused Alan mightily.

 

Time ticked on as Alan and Hamish lived in a timeless unity at Finlaggan. That is, until one summer day when they were outside, cutting the peats to stack for the fires of winter, and Hamish noticed that Alan was leaning on his spade rather more than usual.

 

“Are you all right, Alan?”

 

“Maybe a bit battle fatigued. I didn’t sleep that well last night. Uneasy dreams.”

 

But Hamish wasn’t mollified. Alan never, ever got tired. “Here, Alan, sit down. Let me look at you properly.”

 

Alan demurred, but Hamish insisted. At last, Alan sighed, sat down, and said, “Well, this day had to come.”

 

‘What does that mean?” Hamish then looked at Alan more closely. “Alan, your face is wrinkling. And you’re getting grey streaks in your hair.”

 

“And what does this tell you?”

 

“Well, it looks like… but no, that isn’t possible. You’re immortal!”

 

“Go ahead, Hamish, say what you were going to say before you stopped yourself.”

 

Hamish had to try a couple of times before he could make the words come. “You’re… ageing.”

 

“Yes. This is why we’re here, Hamish. I’ve come home to die.”

 

“But… immortals….”

 

“You had to learn this, Hamish. We’re not really immortal. Nothing is. Everything gets swept up in the great revolving wheel of life, and death, and new life. We’re more like – ‘extended mortals’ is probably the best was to put it.”

 

“Why did no one ever tell me…?”

 

“It’s a harsh moment, Hamish, to learn suddenly that you’re not going to go on forever, that even we can’t. I first learned it from that elder immortal I told you about, the one who taught me about the bonding. He was dying when I met him, and he explained it all to me. Our life span gets extended, or perhaps you might better say, ‘stalled’ for a thousand years. I did my meddling with the book of spells in the year 843. It’s now 1843. My thousand years are up, and now I am ageing to my death – but it’s happening far faster because it’s been deferred for so long.”

 

“How much time?”

 

“Perhaps a few months. Maybe only a week or two. There’s no way to know.”

 

Hamish sat beside him, too stunned to say any more. Alan put his arm around Hamish and held him close. In that moment, Hamish could feel that the bond between them was weakening. At last, he stood up again, and then helped Alan to his feet. “Come with me, Alan. The peats will still be here another day. Let’s go home.”

 

Home. Such a simple word, yet Hamish realized now that here, with Alan, was the only home he had ever known since his childhood, nearly eight centuries earlier. And he also knew, beyond any doubt, that Alan would never die as long as he lived, because they were so thoroughly ingrained into each other’s souls that he had become Alan as Alan had become him.

 

That night, as they lay together in the hidden room, Alan slept deeply, with Hamish’s arms wrapped protectively around him. Eight nights later, as they slept together in that same posture, Alan peacefully slipped away.

 

[Cb205]

Incredible story and extremely well written!!! I'd buy this story off the shelves if I could, please don't let that be the end.

[daddybear54]

8 minutes ago, Cb205 said:

Incredible story and extremely well written!!! I'd buy this story off the shelves if I could, please don't let that be the end.

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

[daddybear54]

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.

[NLbear]

Great story. I do hope his time hasn't come yet.

[daddybear54]

22 minutes ago, NLbear said:

Great story. I do hope his time hasn't come yet.

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

[daddybear54]

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.

[PG1961Canada]

Thank you for writing such a well written story and sharing with us all.

A great mixture of hot sex, piggy sex all intertwined with real history and real dates....it reminds me of the author Ken Follett - The Pillars of the Earth in that regard.  The character development and concept were great. 

Extremely well done.  A real treat to read.  I hope to see more of your creativity.

Cheers

[daddybear54]

54 minutes ago, PG1961Canada said:

Thank you for writing such a well written story and sharing with us all.

A great mixture of hot sex, piggy sex all intertwined with real history and real dates....it reminds me of the author Ken Follett - The Pillars of the Earth in that regard.  The character development and concept were great. 

Extremely well done.  A real treat to read.  I hope to see more of your creativity.

Cheers

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.