THE LEOPARD
By Eliza
elizawpg@shaw.ca

RATING: NC17 (m/m)
CATEGORIES: Crossover - Queen of Swords/Highlander
PAIRING: Montoya/Michael Adamson (another unoriginal ROG pseudonym)
ARCHIVE: Please ask, I like to know where the stories end up.
DISCLAIMER: I keep trying to send them back 'cause they're not mine and I don't make any money from the stories they keep pestering me to write.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: A Big Hug to Rach for another incomparable beta read and for the unflagging support.
SUMMARY: A messenger comes to Santa Elena looking for Col. Montoya.
NOTES: The story takes place in my QOS AU introduced in "The Alliance". "Cerveza" in the "Liquor" series (found in the Apple Cart) is another view of the opening scene and was the initial inspiration. It's not necessary to have read either piece to follow this story, there isn't that much of a plot. <g>

~~~~~

He had arrived in town just after noon. The morning market was just cleaning up but there was enough left for him to find something to eat. He had thought about going to the cantina, however the strange looks he had been receiving made him think that he should find an out of the way corner instead.

"Doctor Helm?" The question was accompanied by touch on his shoulder. He turned, keeping his face carefully blank. He wasn't sure if being Dr. Helm would be a good thing or not.

The woman asking the question stared at him in amazement. "But you are not..."

"No, I'm not," interrupted the stranger.

"Then you must be Dr. Helm's brother. The resemblance is remarkable." The blond lady took a step back to take a better look. Now that the shock had worn off she was becoming flirtatious.

The stranger smirked, he had seen this posture many times before and knew that she was likely just warming up. He also knew that there would be someone ready and willing to correct his behavior should he take her advantage of any of her thinly veiled offers. It could be her father, brother, husband, or lover -- possibly all four. There were times when dealing with women was just too dangerous.

"I am sorry to disappoint you, Senorita. I have no brothers, or any close relatives, so any resemblance is only coincidence. It would be interesting to meet this doctor. Could you point me in the direction of his office?"

"I had heard that Dr. Helm was out of town, due to a delicate medical situation at a distant hacienda. That was why I was so surprised to see him...you." The lady concluded her comments with low and very attractive giggle. She had also stepped close again and another thought entered the stranger's mind. If she was the town whore then business must be very good; her silk dress was well made and he was sure that the sapphires in her necklace were real. The scent she was wearing was also expensive, and difficult to get in this part of the world.

She was giving the stranger an opportunity for a good look at her and he was taking full advantage. But he was also keeping his attention on the people around him, for one could never be sure from which direction the fist would come. He though he had spotted a potential threat in the form of an officer in the local garrison, a captain if he wasn't mistaken.

It was scant moments later that a fine carriage pulled up and the Don within it called out, "Vera, my petal, we must hurry or we will not be prepared when the guests start to arrive."

So this is the husband, the stranger surmised. Then the other must be her lover.

Vera looked annoyed for just an instant, but then sent the stranger a warm smile. As she entered the carriage, she commented, "Gaspar, I have just met the most intriguing man." She sat, then turned to the stranger. "Senor, I did not learn your name."

"And you have no need to know it now, Senora." With that comment he touched his hat to the Don and walked away. He was sure he had seen laughter in the Don's eyes as he had briefly met them in farewell. Even now, the tone in the gentleman's voice had a hint of amusement as he was heard trying to placate his lady-wife, who was most insulted at the stranger's rudeness.

The stranger had found enough food for a reasonable lunch and even managed to acquire some local beer. His horse was also taken care of with oats from the livery and a borrowed bucket for water. He headed for a tree in the corner of the square. Even in unforgiving climates such as this, people seemed to have a need to have a bit of green growing in the midst of the world they created. The tree was not very old, but it would be able to support his back and it had enough leaves to grant a bit of shade. The perfect spot for a picnic -- and to wait.

From time to time one of the local people would approach him with comments similar to those of the lovely Senora. Most accepted his denial of any connection to Helm and would leave him in peace. But, as the afternoon wore on, his patience was wearing thin. He would not have chosen to come to this tiny, dusty, in-the-middle-of-nowhere town to find a man who likely had more ambition than ability. He had wanted to do something different, yes, but why did it have to be here. He was familiar with the desert but he did not like it.

It was in the middle of these dark thoughts that he noticed her -- a dark beauty. Not like the perfumed and pampered flower he had encountered earlier, but a true beauty. A woman created of earth and fire. She came toward him with an expression similar to the one he had been encountering all day. He cut off the inevitable question as he met her eyes. "No, I am not Doctor Helm."

"I know," she said.

For some reason that simple statement annoyed him. He continued with his answer, "Nor am I related. I had never heard of the man until arriving in this ... place."

She said nothing else, just continued to study him. As his annoyance subsided he took a careful look at her in return. This was not a local woman, nor a noble lady -- a Spanish servant perhaps? Then he noticed the embroidery on her blouse. Gitano. Gypsy. That would explain the bearing, the pride in her stance. He smiled and renewed his appreciative regard. Earth and fire, I was right, and not a stranger to the true ways of the world. That would be a pleasant change from those that believed that noble birth and talent were a step away from divinity. If I didn't have other matters to attend to I wouldn't mind attending to her. However, I am not on a schedule...

His smile widened as he said, "Would you like to join me? The beer is flat but at least it's potable." He lifted the bottle that had been resting behind his leg, half empty but enough to share.

She paused and seemed to consider the matter. She had been watching him closely and hadn't acted insulted by the offer. Still, when she answered with a polite, "No, thank you," he was annoyed, again.

This time he saw the reason. It was the one time today that he wished he was Dr. Helm. "Someone is waiting on you? The good Doctor Helm, perhaps?" The sneer was back but with a bit of ironical humour behind it for finally seeing all of the signs.

That startled her. He realized then that the relationship may not be common knowledge, even the doctor may not know. He was about to renew his quest for her company when he spotted a rider in the distance. A rider that looked very familiar.

No, it couldn't be! He got to his feet but never took his eyes off the rider. He was standing beside the woman before he realized it. "Who is that, on the black horse?" he asked her, he may as well get a name.

"That is Colonel Luis Montoya."

Damned by all the gods above! That was the man he was waiting for, but he had to make a decision quickly. She knew who the rider was, she should be able to answer this critical question. "Does he have a scar?"

"None that I have ever seen," she replied.

Not him. Thank God!

She continued, "But I do not know him very well."

The suggestion behind the last remark, combined with his relief, almost made the stranger laugh out loud. As it was, it made the urge to kiss her impossible to resist. "I really wish I had the time to get to know you better, but I believe that is the man that I came to meet," he said. Then he cupped her chin in his hand and kissed her. "I hope the doctor appreciates what he has waiting for him."

He could feel her eyes on his back as he walked to his horse. Her kiss had been full of promises of a very enjoyable evening, great passion was simmering just below the surface. But he was not about to come between any pair of lovers, or potential lovers. He had dealt with too much of that for the time being. There were letters to be delivered and an agreement to forge, a little bit of political intrigue was far preferable to any sexual entanglements. He mounted his horse and crossed the square to deliver his message.

*-*-*-*-*

Montoya had seen the stranger talking to Marta and for a moment had assumed that it was Helm. Then he remembered the doctor was at a remote hacienda supervising the birth of the first child of a powerful Don. He watched as the man kissed the Gypsy woman then casually walked to his horse. That must have been a good kiss for Marta not to have taken a swing at him. Montoya could not help but admire the horsemanship of the approaching rider. He decided not to dismount from his own horse. He would meet the man on the same level.

The stranger pulled his mount parallel to Montoya's but so that he was facing the colonel. He reached into his coat and removed a letter. "Colonel Montoya, this should explain my presence. Michael Adamson." He nodded while stating his name by way of greeting.

Adamson's Spanish was very good; cultured, with an unusual accent. But there was something else about this man that Montoya could not quite pinpoint, something that was unnerving him. Maybe it was the way Adamson was looking at him. He decided to go on the attack. "I am sure you have heard this often today, Senor Adamson, but you bear a striking resemblance to our local doctor."

"Yes. This town is getting even more interesting, for you also remind me of someone -- a long lost brother of mine. Not a brother of my own blood though."

"A brother in blood, perhaps?" Montoya prodded.

"Something like that." Further discussion of this topic was discouraged by a coldness in Adamson's eyes. "The letter, Colonel? I think we should conduct our business before the doctor returns." Briefly raised eyebrows and a smile showed Montoya that Adamson knew there had been witnesses to the kiss by the tree.

The humour evident in the knowing smirk intrigued the colonel. Adamson didn't seem afraid of a confrontation but would just prefer to avoid one. Montoya reassured him anyway, "I don't think you have anything to be concerned about. There isn't a logical basis for jealousy on Helm's part, also he has the reputation as a pacifist. It's Marta that should worry you, and if she had been insulted you would have known it. Come up to my office. I will read this in detail there." Montoya had indicated the letter and swung down from his horse. Adamson followed and handed his reins to the waiting groom.

On the way up the stairs Adamson commented, "'Logical basis for jealousy' -- an interesting phrase."

That the man had picked this phrase to comment on took Montoya completely by surprise. He was becoming fascinated by the way this man thought. "Why do you say that?"

"My first reaction was to say that there never is one. Now, I am not so sure - therefore it becomes an interesting phrase."

On arriving in the office, Montoya indicated the chair on the opposite side of the desk from his own. Adamson refused and asked, "Would you mind if I browse your library while you read? You have quite a collection here, Colonel."

Montoya gave his permission and sat down to concentrate on the message. He was often distracted by the figure in front of the shelves. The face that had seemed cynical and hard became enraptured as the hazel eyes scanned the shelves. Often a long finger would caress the spine of a volume and from time to time graceful hands would remove a book from the shelf. The fingers would linger over the cover tracing the lettering before opening the book at random. He would then read what must have been just a passage or two before returning it to its place.

Adamson's attention had just been caught by another volume when Montoya finished the letter. This time, instead of furtive glances, the colonel watched the other man openly, not masking his interest. Montoya would guess the man was about ten years his junior, barely 30. He was tall, some would say skinny, but Adamson's lean build was likely deceptive for Montoya could see the flex of well developed muscles under his shirt as he reached for the book. Given his connections, it was likely that Adamson had spent some time at sea. Montoya found his eyes drawn to the long legs and he remembered how they had easily commanded the horse. He was finding this man more interesting by the moment.

Adamson may have been oblivious at first, but by the time he went to choose a passage from the arbitrary page he must have known of Montoya's attention. He read this selection aloud.

Mad in pursuit and in possession so;
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;
A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe;
Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream.
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

Montoya was not surprised to hear the English words, for the volume that had been chosen was his favorite. He was surprised by the effect the familiar words had on him when spoken in that smooth voice. He felt like he was being seduced. Yet it was being done so casually, without the obvious signs he was used to, so he couldn't be sure. The only way to find out would be to keep Adamson here.

"Would you join me for dinner, Senor Adamson? You will not find a better table in Santa Elena."

"I would like to, Colonel, but I must find accommodations for the night."

"Stay here. I cannot have the envoy of a foreign dignitary staying in the local hotel." The disdainful look on Montoya's face showed exactly what he thought of the establishment.

"Envoy of a foreign dignitary?" The laughter in Adamson's voice was contagious and Montoya had to work to keep his expression serious.

"Yes, if anyone asks, you are an envoy of a foreign dignitary. When asked which one, you say it is confidential, orders from Governor Reyes. No one here will question that."

"Will Governor Reyes question that?" There was still a smile in Adamson's voice as the hazel eyes met Montoya's.

"Not when the order is coming from me." Montoya could not help the smug pride that crept into the statement.

The smile faded from Adamson's lips but the eyes bored into Montoya's as if they could pull all of the secrets directly from his mind. When Adamson finally spoke his voice was soft and the laughter was back. "I will stay."

*-*-*-*-*

Dinner was very enjoyable, the food was better than Adamson had expected and the conversation was stimulating. Montoya was well read and had a sharp mind -- any topic he was not acquainted with he could ask intelligent questions about. Adamson had noticed the chess board in the colonel's office and was tempted to suggest a game, but business should come first.

"So Colonel, now that I am well fed and complacent," that brought a poorly concealed chuckle from Montoya, "you should be willing to discuss the business that I came here to conduct."

Montoya sat back in his chair and took a long, assessing look at the man sitting at the table with him. "You had best be clear, Senor Adamson. Which business you are referring to, specifically?"

Adamson broke into a wide grin. He had been gently flirting with Montoya all evening, but subtly, so that if he had guessed wrong the insinuations could be easily ignored. The colonel's body language and the comment confirmed that the interest was mutual and the advances well received. There was no need for subtlety now.

The colonel's chair was pushed back from the table so Adamson had a good view of the man within it. The immaculately tailored clothes covered a well proportioned body. Not the body of a bureaucrat, but then Adamson had seen him ride and knew this man did not spend all of his time behind a desk. It was the face that drew him though; so familiar, yet impossible to confuse with Kronos'. It was not just the neatly trimmed beard or the lack of the four inch scar, it was because he knew if he met those blue eyes he would not see Death looking back at him.

Meeting Montoya's eyes, Adamson elaborated on his suggestion. "The letter, Colonel. Let us deal with that so that we may move on to more pleasant business.

Montoya rose from the chair but motioned his guest to stay seated. As the colonel moved to give instructions to his servants and guards for the rest of the evening, Adamson had the opportunity to admire the form in motion. There was an economy of movement, almost graceful in itself, but giving a greater impression of constrained power. Montoya seemed to be a man who held a lot of things back. This intrigued Adamson further, for there were very few men in positions of power who would not use it to indulge their desires and impulses. Recently he had been in close contact with one for whom indulgence was being raised to an art form.

The colonel beckoned to him from the doorway and Adamson rose from the table. This time he was the one being studied for Montoya had paused in his turn to leave the room to watch Adamson walk toward him. He swept Adamson with his eyes, from head to toe, before leading them back up the stairs to his office.

Adamson fell into step behind the colonel, behind and slightly to the side, just like a first officer would walk with his commander. Just like he would walk in public with his brother so many years ago, letting the other man take the lead. Theirs had been a difficult partnership, but it had been a partnership... at least until the end. Was that what he was doing here? Trying to recapture the connection he used to have, even for a brief moment? Then he realized that was impossible. No matter how similar they were in appearance there was one fundamental difference, Montoya was not immortal. To be with Kronos required a level of trust that he would never have to give a mortal.

Adamson didn't realize he had stopped walking until Montoya's amused voice brought him back to the present. "I thought you wanted to complete the arrangements for the cannon first?"

When Adamson looked puzzled at the comment, Montoya indicated the doorway they were standing beside. Adamson glanced in and realized that it must be the colonel's bedroom. He smirked; wholeheartedly convinced that Fate had a nasty sense of humor.

"I'm sorry, Colonel. I got lost in some memories."

"Unpleasant ones?" Montoya's tone suggested he was genuinely concerned.

"Not necessarily, but filled with regrets."

This time it was the colonel's blue eyes that were trying to draw the secrets from Adamson. Then Montoya nodded, with a look that said he understood completely, and continued to his office.

~~~~~

The negotiations for the agreement went smoothly. Montoya knew exactly what he wanted and had developed a plan on how to receive the goods and deliver payment. All Adamson had to do was make a few minor adjustments in regard to timing and amount, as well as note a contingency if the first attempt at delivery was unsuccessful. With cargo such as illegal cannon, the weather was as much a factor as keeping out of sight.

Adamson was seated at Montoya's desk finishing the notes on the final arrangements; he could feel the colonel's eyes on him. It was distracting, but also very enjoyable. He glanced at Montoya through his eyelashes while finishing the last sentence. Adamson wondered if the colonel knew what an appealing sight he made, for the man had found a delicate balance between relaxation and control. Both men had removed their jackets, but the colonel's silk waistcoat helped him retain a formality while the soft cotton of the shirt sleeves draped sensually in contrast. He was resting against the back of the arm chair, limbs arranged in a casual pose, yet there was nothing casual about his posture. Just like with his movements, there was an air of constrained power. His face was the only exception; the blue eyes were in constant motion, flowing over the man seated at the desk. Adamson could detect the look of hunger starting to appear on the controlled features. He spoke without raising his head from his task. "If you're going to look at me like that, Luis, you either have to kiss me or tell me what you're thinking."

Montoya paused for a moment as if considering the options, then rose and said with a small smile, "I was remembering the last... encounter I had involving that chair."

Adamson relaxed into the chair, with a demeanor that could not be described as constrained, and glared playfully at Montoya. "You're going to make this difficult, hmm? Fine, I'll play. Who was seated in this ornate monstrosity?"

"I was." The small smile became a smirk as the colonel walked around his desk and leaned against it, looking down at the man in the chair.

Verbal foreplay was always enjoyable and Adamson was fully prepared to encourage the venture. "And who was the other person, or was this a solo effort?"

Montoya snorted. "No, there was a young lady involved."

"How young?"

"About half my age."

"Not that young then."

"Thank you very much!" Montoya sounded insulted but Adamson could see the amusement in his eyes. The colonel was enjoying the game as well.

"Just checking. So, is she truly a lady or are you just being polite."

This incited actual laughter from Montoya. "Whether she is truly a lady could be open to debate, but the rest of the world thinks she is."

"And what was this lady doing?" said Adamson archly, hoping to encourage a demonstration rather than a recitation.

Montoya seemed to pick up on the hint but continued, "She was trying to seduce me."

Adamson rolled his eyes at the obvious comment. "Yes, yes. But how did she succeed?"

"I'm not sure she did. We were interrupted by her father."

"Who was not pleased with you compromising his daughter." A very common reaction to a very common situation, Adamson was getting bored with this line of discussion.

"No, Governor Reyes was not pleased with his daughter's seduction of me. He is very possessive."

Ah ha! This was the topic that had caught Adamson's attention in the first place. What kind of man would be able to influence Reyes, who had the reputation for being quick tempered, stubborn and dangerously confident in his own right to rule. Adamson had to know more. He rose from the chair and stood in front of the colonel, almost trapping him against the desk. Montoya held his breath as Adamson leaned in and whispered in his ear, "Tell me about Juan Reyes."

"I'd rather not." The words were hard, sharp, and final.

Adamson had felt the quick intake of air that had preceded the colonel's refusal. He also felt a little gentle persuasion was all that was needed and so ran his lips along the rim of Montoya's ear before insisting in an even softer voice, "Tell me."

"Considering the fact that I am the one with the resemblance to a man from your past, Michael, I should be the one asking questions."

Adamson straightened and took a step back. He had badly miscalculated the sensitivity of the topic. He could mention the doctor, but with Reyes obviously being the touchy subject there was little point. He hadn't thought about Kronos since they had entered the office and was convinced that those similarities were no longer an issue for him. Still, the barb stung. "Touche. First blood to you, Luis."

The pain that flashed across Montoya's face was brief, but unmistakable, and there was a hint of regret under the warning in his voice. "If you are going to engage in this battle you have to expect a little blood."

What have I done now? This was supposed to be a simple diversion with an interesting person in a comfortable bed. When did this become a war? Then Adamson thought about what little he knew of Reyes, and of Montoya. If Montoya was as ambitious as he seemed, was it possible that there had never been a relationship that hadn't been a battle for power, any encounter that hadn't had an ulterior motive? Adamson was not about to ask, but he made a resolution that for the rest of the night there would be no thoughts of the past or plans for the future. If he had learned one thing over the years, it was that the only truly important moment was the one you were in. He was going to do his best to make sure that Luis Montoya stayed with him completely in the present.

*-*-*-*-*

Montoya watched Adamson with the growing certainty that the opportunity of indulging himself with this man was slipping away. Damn! That was an over reaction. All he wanted was a few details as a starting point for the rest of the night. Therefore, when Adamson captured his mouth in a kiss, Montoya was startled and then further surprised at the gentleness of the caress. He had expected at least anger. The kiss didn't even have the power of a seduction behind it, if anything it was a simple invitation.

"There is no need for a battle with me, Luis. There is nothing you would want of me that I won't freely give, and the only thing I desire from you is your desire."

Montoya narrowed his eyes and moved away. No one says things like that without an ulterior motive. No one actually says things like that at all.

His thoughts must have been written on his face, for Adamson just laughed. "My God! You are paranoid. It's all right, I'll leave." He collected his coat and saddlebags, and walked out the door.

"Michael." Montoya wasn't sure why he had said that one word, but it halted Adamson's departure down the hallway. The look he had on his face as he turned surprised the colonel; there was no anger or ridicule, just expectation. As he approached the man, Montoya realized an explanation was in order and indicated the nearest room to continue their conversation.

He closed the door to his chambers behind them and was overwhelmed by an image of the last time he had made such a gesture. He leaned against the door as he shook away the memory, for today there was no one looming over him ready to pounce. Adamson had moved to the centre of the room and had the same patient expression on his face as he had worn in the hall.

He looks positively serene and I'm practically shaking. This was supposed to be a simple matter. Montoya bought a little more time by taking Adamson's saddle bags and placing them on a nearby table and then circled the room as he collected his thoughts.

"Juan Sanchez Reyes," began Montoya, "was not the first mistake I made, nor the last. To say he was the greatest mistake would give him too much power, but my association with him had far reaching effects. He is part of the reason I am in Santa Elena." Just getting the first sentences out had settled the colonel's nerves and he again took up the role of civil host by offering Adamson a seat in one of the comfortable arm chairs. Adamson ignored the chair and stretched out on the bed. Montoya couldn't believe the audacity of the man, but he did look enticing, laid out like a veritable feast.

He must have been staring a little too long for Adamson chuckled and prompted, "If Reyes is such a thorn in your side, then why the confident attitude that he would take orders from you?"

This startled Montoya, he had not realized how easily he fell back into old patterns. The fear and anger that had taken up residence in his gut, uncurled and disappeared. He smiled at his own foolishness. "I tend to get lost in memories and habits of the past when it comes to Reyes. Our present relationship is rather different. I have discovered a new aspect of his personality -- he may love to wield power, but in some instances he prefers to have that power taken from him."

Adamson smiled and nodded. Montoya knew he would not have to further the explanation. So he was surprised when Adamson asked, "Which do you prefer?"

Montoya hoped he had concealed disappointment. This was not the what he had hoped for. One of the reasons he had been attracted to Adamson was that he sensed that this man may be an equal -- physically, in intelligence, and in strength of will. But the pragmatist in him was not about to let this opportunity pass because of disillusionment, so he answered the question in a way that would be to his advantage. "It is better to be the one with power than to be powerless."

Adamson flowed off the bed and stood close in front of Montoya, holding his eyes in a calm, steady gaze. "You could have answered the question with neither," said Adamson in the same low, mellow voice he had used when reading the sonnet.

How does he do that? Just a slight change in tone and I would refuse him nothing. And the bastard knows it, too. Montoya watched the smile that spread over Adamson's face start at the gold-green eyes. "You're a smug son-of-a-bitch." Annoyance and amusement battled in Montoya's accusation.

The amusement was returned in the reply, "Takes one to know one."

The kiss started like the first, just a gentle invitation. The difference this time was that the invitation was accepted. It was like steel meeting flint - sparks flew. Those sparks quickly ignited the lust that had been growing steadily since Montoya first watched Adamson ride across the square.

Montoya barely noticed the fingers raking through his hair and firmly guiding his head; he focused completely on the sensations caused by Adamson's mouth. The taste of him was intoxicating. His lips, though not generous, were mobile and sensitive, and provided just the right balance of tension and yielding. His tongue was coaxing, tempting Montoya to deeper exploration, not that much urging was needed.

His hands started to move as if of their own accord. They stroked Adamson's rib cage, slowly climbing higher until his thumbs brushed against hard nipples. Adamson responded by tightening his grip with one hand and placing the other in the middle of Montoya's back to pull their bodies closer together. Both of their jaws were open wide, yet Montoya was not getting enough. He wanted to crawl inside this man, or have Adamson inside him. The implications of that thought, as well as the lack of oxygen caused by only stealing shallow breaths, forced Montoya to reluctantly break the kiss.

They parted, taking a few steps back from each other. Adamson raked his eyes over Montoya's body before stating, "Luis, you have too many clothes on."

"I could say the same about you."

Adamson's grin was blinding as, in what seemed like only half a dozen moves, he managed to place all of his clothes, including his boots, in a pile at his feet. His answer to Montoya's incredulous look was simply, "It's a gift."

Montoya held his breath as he took in the sight before him. He had been right, this man was far from thin. Lean muscle over long bones covered in ivory skin; a living statue of classical proportion. A warm, breathing, vital work of art - that just had to be touched. The colonel stepped close again, sending the obstructing pile of garments across the room with a careless kick. He ran his fingertips down Adamson's breastbone and then turned his hand so that the backs of his fingers could glide over defined abdominal muscles. The flesh quivered under his touch, hinting that the man before him may not be as composed as he appeared. Montoya knew exactly what tone to use, the one that turned a request into an order. "We can't waste such a talent. Why don't you exercise it on me as well?"

Adamson held Montoya's gaze for a long moment, then lowered his eyes and began to remove the colonel's clothes, just as efficiently, but at a far more leisurely pace. Montoya let his eyes and hands roam over the form before him. Watching the graceful hands unbutton his waistcoat, Montoya now noted the strength in them, the ripple of muscle in the forearms with every movement of the long fingers. The untying of the silk at his throat brought his attention to the neck in front of him. Adamson's head was tilted slightly to the side, leaving an inviting curve open to gaze, and touch, and taste. Montoya moved his hands to the corded shoulders then ran them up both sides of that alluring neck. His thumbs softly glided along Adamson's throat until they hit the jaw line. Adamson had let his head drop back and his hand stilled in their task of loosening Montoya's shirt. Montoya felt the heat begin to rise in his belly at this submissive pose but the hungry look he briefly saw in the hazel eyes, as Adamson returned to his task, showed it was just that - a pose.

His upper body now bare, Montoya could now let his hands have freer reign. They returned to Adamson's shoulders and chest to feel the slight flex of muscle as his trousers were unbuttoned. He moved them to the back of the neck, sliding under the dark fall of hair, as Adamson dropped to his knees to complete the disrobing. Montoya could feel hot breath against his groin as he stepped out of his boots. His cock hardened further at the thought of warm lips and a wet tongue. Before he could make any suggestions, the man was back on his feet and the warm lips and hands were again on him, demanding all of his attention. The brief moment of submission had passed.

Montoya couldn't recall actually moving toward the bed, but they ended up there. Adamson was sitting on his heels with Montoya kneeling, straddling one thigh. This position forced Adamson to look up at him. It was such an appealing sight that Montoya had to delve into that mouth again. This time it was his fingers threading through soft hair, tilting the head to produce just the right angle. He felt Adamson's hands roaming over his body -- covering every curve, brushing every bit of skin.

When those hands caressed the back of his thighs, long fingers curving along the inner thigh, they didn't stop, but continued over his buttocks with the fingers teasing in between. At the same time, Adamson's tongue made an aggressive foray into Montoya's mouth. The duel sensations caused Montoya to instinctively surge against the other man. Adamson countered the motion, rising to his knees. This gave him the leverage to further his domination of the kiss and Montoya's senses. The colonel was not to be out done, so he captured Adamson's erection in a loose fist and stroked it lightly.

Adamson broke the kiss with a groan. "Are you in a hurry?" was the terse comment that accompanied the removal of the colonel's hand.

Very pleased with himself for prompting a strong reaction, Montoya gently mocked, "I guess for some, self-control only comes with age."

He didn't quite understand why the remark was so funny but Adamson's collapse into laughter did prompt Montoya to make a decision. He reached across the prone, still giggling, man to the bedside table and opened the small chest sitting on it. He removed a small vial.

Adamson was still smiling as he commented, "You have company often enough to keep oil at your bedside? Or is it for those solo efforts I mentioned earlier?" Adamson had begun to spread his legs when some of the oil was poured into his palm. He carefully rose to his knees, sending Montoya a silent question.

Montoya snorted in disgust at the implication of the look. "Michael, do I seem like the kind of man who would do anything just to please someone else?"

"No, Luis, you certainly don't." Adamson positioned himself at Montoya's side, two fingers slick with oil returned to the teasing that had provoked Montoya earlier. The glare that the colonel sent Adamson only prompted a smirk. "So, you are in a hurry," he said as he recoated his fingers.

The caustic comment that Montoya was about to make was lost in the groan that escaped him as a long finger slid in him and unerringly found the spot that made this whole exercise worth while. Adamson swallowed the next gasp in a kiss as he had the second finger join the first. Montoya's softened erection had renewed itself at the first touch and was now throbbing in time to the stimulation to his prostate. He held on to the bedpost with one hand as the other gripped Adamson's long hair to hold the man to him. Montoya wondered if this was worth the effort if he had to give up kissing his man, even for a short while. Then the fingers slid out of him and he knew it was worth the sacrifice. He pulled back on Adamson's hair to look him in the eye and said, "I'm not in a hurry, but I am getting impatient." The only answer he received was a wide grin, as the two freshly oiled fingers returned.

Montoya braced both his arms on the headboard as a third finger slid into him. He heard Adamson coating his erection with the remaining oil and expected the removal of the tormenting fingers at any moment. Instead, the still slick hand surrounded his own neglected penis sending a surge of unexpected sensation through his body. He dropped his head in an effort to control himself but the sight of his shaft sliding within that elegant hand did little to aid the situation. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, unwilling to let Adamson know how close he was to spilling before they had even begun. It would be most embarrassing, particularly after the comments he had made about self-control.

The fingers were removed from his body and the hand that had just released his cock shifted to his hip. Montoya spread his legs wider waiting for Adamson to move behind him. Instead, he felt a slightly rough cheek rest on his shoulder and heard a low, husky voice say, "You're not here, Luis. Where are you?"

"I was just thinking ..."

Adamson's whisper at his shoulder, cut him off sharper than any shout could have. "That is the only thing I don't want you to do."

Montoya suddenly found himself flipped onto his back, looking up into wild, green-gold eyes. The expression on the fascinating face was impossible to read but it made the man beautiful. He had no choice but to take that face in his hands and kiss it.

The kiss was returned hard and enthusiastically. It was so enticing that Montoya gave in to the guiding hands and relaxed his legs, opening himself up to continue the course of action that he had initiated. Part of him rebelled at the idea of being in such a vulnerable position, but he suppressed the thought, not willing to give up the opportunity to look into the hazel eyes and have access to the tantalizing mouth.

Adamson gave a small sigh as he broke the kiss. "You're thinking again, Luis."

"But this time, about how much I want you in me."

"You are such a liar." The next kiss had a savage edge to it. "But you're a very good liar."

Montoya would have laughed at that if he had any breath left, but it had disappeared as Adamson's slick cock steadily slid into him. There was little pain; just enough to add an exquisite edge to the pleasure. He threw his head back in reaction to the intense sensations and kept his chin up as Adamson lavished attention on his throat, jaw, and, occasionally, his lips. The actions of Adamson's mouth were choreographed to compliment his movements in Montoya's body. A brush of his tongue would accompany an inward stroke and a scrape or nip of his teeth matched a retreat. He had found a pace that continuously added to Montoya's arousal without giving any real satisfaction.

Montoya found his own hand reaching between them for his tormented cock. But that wasn't what he wanted, not when he had seen, and felt, those long fingers wrapped around his flesh.

"Michael. Touch me. Please."

Adamson had paused at the sound of his name and at the last word Montoya could feel a small shudder travel through the body above him. The next kiss was a brand of possession, as was the fist that closed around his weeping erection. He placed his own mark by fastening his teeth on Adamson's lower lip and tightening his muscles around the hard flesh within him. He was sure he heard a growl in response.

Then the kiss softened and Adamson renewed the steady, but leisurely, rhythm. "No blood, Luis. No battle. Remember."

"Not even a small skirmish?" Montoya teased with a leer. He saw the flash of a smile as Adamson leaned close. The chuckle that he heard near his ear was pure evil.

"I would prefer not -- this time."

The oblique promise, combined with the wicked chuckle, provided as much stimulation as Adamson's hand and penis. A surge of tension raced through Montoya's body. He could not continue this passive role, not with this man. He shifted his hips so that the gland, that was only being barely brushed with each stroke, would get more direct contact. Adamson aided in this by raising himself onto an extended arm.

This left the well formed torso open to Montoya's gaze and touch. He ran his hands up Adamson's body, curling his fingers under so that the backs of his nails lightly scratched the faintly flushed skin. At the collar bone, he flattened his hand and spread his fingers, trying to touch as much flesh as possible on the journey downward. At the top of the next caress, he scraped his fingernails over the light stubble at Adamson's jaw then down his throat. During the motion, the man's head fell back as before, but this time Montoya felt a silent purr under his fingertips.

Such an open, sensual reaction sent another wave of heat through him, bringing him precariously close to the edge again. "Stop for a moment." Adamson just shook his head at this order and grinned. "What happened to no battles?" Montoya accused.

"Then don't fight me. I want to see you stop thinking completely." With this statement Adamson increased the pace and intensity of the movements of both his hand and his hips.

"Manipulative, arrogant, self-serving, ... "

"Oh yes." The growled phrase may have been in response to Montoya's insults but it also may have been in regard to the opening waves of Montoya's release.

Giving in to the inevitable, Montoya closed his eyes and allowed himself to get lost in the pleasure. For a few minutes his full attention was focused on the reactions of his body with no regard to anything else. When he opened his eyes he was unnerved by the fact that Adamson had not joined him but had watched him. He had not taken the man's words literally and the thought of being under scrutiny at such a moment sent a jolt of panic through his gut.

What kept the panic from blooming, was that Adamson now supported himself with both hands and, after a few seconds meeting Montoya's gaze, closed his eyes. He then seemed to fully immerse himself in the sensations of his own release. His movements were no longer tightly controlled but seemed to followed whatever rhythm his body was insisting on. His breath started to come in gasps with the occasional low groan. Instead of throwing his head back, as Montoya expected, he dropped it forward. The long dark hair fell around his face, tempting Montoya to bury his hands in the soft strands but he would not distract the man at such a time.

With the moment passed, Adamson dropped down to his elbows and rested his head on Montoya's chest as he caught his breath. Soon after, he shifted his lower body and Montoya felt the still firm penis leave him. He slowly lowered his legs, wondering briefly how his body would pay him back for this unexpected exercise. The man resting on his chest seemed to have made himself comfortable with little regard for the sticky mess between them. The blatant disregard of his expressed wishes still grated on Montoya. He would not let that pass just because it had produced the most pleasure he had experienced in recent memory. In a tone that he hoped was reproachful without being petulant, he said, "That wasn't fair."

Adamson raised his head to meet Montoya's glare, he seemed to know exactly what was being referred to. The hazel eyes were calm and the deep voice was soft, but the effect of the words were enough to send a chill down Montoya's spine. "I never claimed to play fair."

He's like a leopard on a leash, thought Montoya. A leopard may look like a large house cat but the it is only on that leash because it allows it. At any moment, it could turn on its handler with fatal results. This man was far more than he appeared and Montoya was certain he was very dangerous when crossed. But there could be a certain thrill about having a leopard on a leash. The key was to keep it amused, show no fear, and never forget what you are dealing with.

He covered his reaction by elaborating on his accusation, "So, this was a battle and you consider yourself the victor?"

Wariness and humour now met in Adamson's expression. "That's one way of putting it, though not the analogy I would choose."

"And to the victor goes the spoils?"

The humour won and a cheeky grin appeared. "I think the phrase that applies best is that one good turn deserves another."

Montoya raised an eyebrow, for the casual regard this man had for fairness had just been established. However, the colonel was a master at taking advantage of an opportunity. "Good. Then you're the one that can get the towel to clean us up."

*-*-*-*-*

Montoya awoke with Adamson's arm across his chest and the man's forehead resting against his shoulder. Those were the only points of contact though, and Montoya was relieved. The idea of sleeping with someone who insisted on being draped around him did not appeal. The reason for his waking was becoming insistent, so Montoya slipped out from under the arm and made his way to the chamber pot in the corner. He noted that the candles he had left lit were burning lower but had a few hours of light left, they must not have been asleep long. When he came out from behind the privacy screen, the sight before him brought him to full wakefulness.

The covers had been pushed aside and Adamson was now lying on his stomach, cradling his head in his arms. The pose showed off his long legs, round buttocks, and perfect back to their best advantage. The position of his arms flexed the muscles in his shoulders and curved his spine so that the swell of his ass seemed even more pronounced. Montoya admired the purely aesthetic attributes of the form for a brief moment then started to imagine himself straddling the lean thighs and running his hands over the sweeping curves. His cock stirred as he changed the scenario to his hands being covered in oil and the curves he focused on were ...

"Luis, you have that look on your face again. Either tell me what you're thinking or kiss me."

Adamson's hazel eyes peeking over the crook of his arm made the choice difficult, but Montoya chose the torturous route as the heaviness in his groin increased. "I am tempted to ask how many times you have been told you have a beautiful back, but I don't think I want to know," he said, moving to sit on the bed.

"How come that line never works the way I want it to?" Adamson sighed, and then smirked as he raised his head to meet Montoya's eyes directly. "As for the question - just remember, I'm a very good liar, too."

Adamson shifted, trying to turn over, but was stayed by a firm hand on his shoulder. Montoya reinforced the gesture by leaning across the broad back as he reached for the vial of oil on the far bedside table. As he drizzled oil along the lower curve of Adamson's spine and into the cleft of his ass, Montoya watched for any sign that the suggestion he was making was unwelcome. What he saw in response was an ever widening smile.

*-*-*-*-*

It was very bright. Adamson partially opened one eye, confirming the fact that it was morning and the heavy curtains had been opened, flooding the room with morning sun. Montoya was just completing the task and Adamson watched him move around the room. The red dressing gown was very attractive, but it would look even better on the floor -- with Montoya back in the bed.

"How can you be so alert with only a few hours sleep?"

Montoya's attention turned to the bed. "I have a pueblo to run, I have no choice."

Adamson pulled himself up onto his elbows and used his most beguiling tone. "Surely there must be someone you can hand over the reins to for today. Delegation is the key to any successful command."

"And let them know I am not indispensable? I think not, Michael." The answer may have been a refusal but the lines appearing around the colonel's eyes and the smile playing on his lips told how tempting the suggestion was.

But Adamson saw that reasoning was not going to work, so he took another approach. "Fine. I know a lost cause when I see one."

He kick off the blankets and stretched. The expression on the colonel's face remained indifferent but his eyes roamed the body on the bed, following every movement. Adamson reached above his head, first with one hand then the other, to loosen his shoulders and the muscles in his back. A similar motion of his legs dealt with his hips and thighs while flexing his foot helped stretch the calf muscle. Still no obvious response from Montoya. Adamson stretched his arms to the side and arched his back, tilting his head back to include the muscles along his throat in this effort. Watching Montoya through his eyelashes, the only change he saw was the shadow of a smirk.

Oh well, it was worth a try. He completely closed his eyes and gave one, last, head-to-toe stretch. It wasn't until he sat up on the edge of the bed that Adamson finally got a reaction.

"You really are a shameless slut, aren't you?" asked Montoya drily.

Adamson laughed as he got to his feet; he had to admit, it had been a very transparent ploy. He crossed to the colonel and ran his hands just under the collar of the robe. They went around to the back of Montoya's neck as Adamson leaned in for a kiss. He had meant it to be a simple acknowledgment and good-bye but the spark caught again. Like the first kiss the night before, Adamson found himself wanting to drink in the man, completely absorb him through every pore. It had been a long time since he had felt such an immediate connection to someone.

Their initial encounter had completely settled the question for Adamson - this was not a reflection of past attachments. Montoya's reactions were different, his smell was different, his taste was different. The second time had been more relaxed and very physical - competitive, playful, and once even dissolving into mutual laughter. His laughter had turned into gasps of pleasure, as Montoya "punished" him for "inciting such an indecorous response at such a moment". Then, at some time during the night, he had been caught studying the face that seemed almost angelic in sleep by the light of the last dying candle. The blue eyes suddenly returning his stare had sent a surge of desire through his body, which had manifested itself in its most obvious form. He was then reminded that Lucifer was also an angel, for his cock was quickly given to the mercy of a sinfully talented mouth. No wonder Reyes wanted to keep Montoya to himself.

Damn it, Luis! This was supposed to be uncomplicated. Adamson backed away from the kiss, realizing that if he didn't leave now he didn't know when he would leave. He had the feeling that Montoya may be experiencing something similar, which was why he was being oh so subtly kicked out.

"Shameless slut. Yes, when someone starts to know me that well it's time to go. I have a long ride ahead." Adamson collected his clothes and sat on the bed to begin to dress, starting with his socks.

Montoya smirked and settled himself in a chair to watch the proceedings. After a few moments he commented, "A long ride, are you sure that's wise?"

As he stood to fasten his trousers, Adamson narrowed his eyes at the man sprawled in the chair. "You're not that good, Luis." //I am a very good liar.//

The smirk turned into a grin. "If you say so."

Adamson buttoned his shirt as he walked past Montoya. He contemplated several enjoyable ways of wiping the smug look off the colonel's face. He settled for saying, "Arrogant bastard. What did you do with my boots?"

Montoya casually indicated the table that held Adamson's coat and saddle bags. "They're under there. Do you have the agreement?"

Adamson finished pulling on his boots before taking a look. "It's here." He met Montoya's eyes. "I'll make sure you're pleased with the results."

"I have no complaints thus far."

The two men smiled at each other but the smiles faded as they continued to hold each others gaze. Finally, Adamson lowered his eyes and gracefully inclined his head. Montoya gave a brief nod in return and remained in the chair as Adamson collected his belongings and left.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Here is the complete sonnet that Michael Adamson read:

CXXIX.

The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action; and till action, lust
Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust,
Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight,
Past reason hunted, and no sooner had
Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait
On purpose laid to make the taker mad;
Mad in pursuit and in possession so;
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;
A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe;
Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream.
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

William Shakespeare