"But I hate the water. Take Shelley instead." Methos grumbled. He looked askance at the rowing boat Byron was proposing to take across to the island.

"He’s still in bed with that sad, pale woman he calls wife. Anyway I’d rather take you." Byron’s wicked smile left Methos in no doubt as to his meaning. "Come on, Doc; live a little. You’ll be perfectly safe with me."

The look Byron gave him oozed promise, they’d be alone on the island, alone for the first time in days. Since that night at Mary's bedside attraction had smouldered between them, threatening to cause a full scale fire at any moment.

"I can't swim." Methos made a last, futile, attempt to keep them on dry land. To many of his romantic trysts had been outdoors, he longed, occasionally, for a nice soft bed. he told himself.

Byron stroked the older man's cheek. The simple act sent Methos' pulse racing. His pupils dilated wildly and his breathing quickened.

Byron misinterpreted his reaction as fear. "Don't worry. I'm the most accomplished swimmer in all Italy." He spread his arms wide laughing at his own boast.

Methos knew it was now or never. The flighty, talented writer would soon lose interest if he waited too long. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the unsafe looking craft, sat down and unshipped the oars.

As he concentrated on the rhythm of rowing Methos began to feel more relaxed. The morning light sparkled on the calm water. He looked across to the island. It was lightly wooded with a small secluded beach. The perfect setting for a day of sexual exploration.

They'd rowed more than half way, chatting about nothing in particular, when Byron suddenly stood up in the tiny boat, rocking it from side to side.

"You see? Nothing to it, you’ve never been safer!" He laughed.

"Sit down you fool, you’ll turn it over" Methos’ voice rose in panic; his knuckles white against the wood. The rocking motion became alarming and water splashed over the sides onto his feet.

"Fool, am I? Remember my dear Doctor to whom you speak!" Byron was mocking now. He rocked harder savouring his victim's fear; revelling in the closeness to disaster.

Byron dropped to his knees, causing more alarming shudders through the boat and caught Methos’ mouth in a hard kiss. Methos struggled, for a moment, remembered the fragility of his position and sat still. As he gave in, melted into the embrace, Byron capsized the small craft with a laugh. Even as they tumbled in he kept hold of his friend, wrapping his arms and legs tightly around the older immortal as they sank to the bottom. He pressed Methos’ mouth open with his tongue forcing water into his mouth, fighting against ever weakening struggles.

Methos panicked. He really was unable to swim. He couldn’t even escape since Byron held him firmly under the water. Darkness rose with the water to claim him.

Byron put his arms round his now near unconscious friend, swimming the few yards to shallower water. He kept Methos feet from the bottom, unwilling to let him know he was safe, feeding on his fear.

The excitement grew in him, in spite of the coldness of the water. Testing the limits, laughing in Death's face, had always excited him. The power of life and death over another took that excitement to new levels. His first kill as an Immortal, his first Quickening, had left him feeling more alive than he'd ever been before. Now only beheading would stop him tasting all those new experiences which had been denied to him by their sheer danger.

A tingling sensation coursed through his fingertips, up his arms. It spread through his body like the laudanum and settled like lightning in his stomach. He laughed again, almost hysterically now and drew the drowning man close for another deep kiss. Doc's lips were cold, his mouth full of icy water, his face slowly turning blue as death overtook him. The younger man held him under the surface again, filling the lungs with water.

Byron pressed against the limp body. The water reduced the friction but his arousal at cheating death made even the lightest touch almost painful. He knew very well what he wanted, what he'd wanted for days now. But, did he dare? Did he dare to push the boundaries this far, to do such a forbidden, sinful thing? The desire flooding his body told him he did.

He dragged the corpse onto the small island leaving Doctor Adams face down in the shallows so he didn’t recover immediately. In the heat of the Italian sun Byron stripped off his wet clothes. He stretched in the warm sun thoroughly excited now He stroked himself lightly arousal already too strong for anything more intense.

Quickly, and without moving him from the water he removed the other man’s sodden clothes. His friend had a beautiful body, strong, honed to perfection by years of daily sword practice. Legs and feet perfect, not maimed like his own. Byron made small noises of appreciation as he ran his hands over muscular shoulders, down narrow hips, to caress tight, white buttocks.

Methos’ skin was cold and clammy from the water his body heat fading quickly while he remained dead. Byron knelt in the sand between those strongly muscled thighs; his hot body drawn like a magnet to the colder one laying prone before him. He slid forward frantic hands lifting unresponsive hips, his burning cock pressed between those twin icy mounds. The relaxed muscles offered no resistance....

*********

Later

Methos came to with a start and a sharp intake of breath. Panicking he tried to get up but was held still. Soft auburn curls brushed his shoulder, hot dry skin rubbed against his own. Sharp teeth nibbled on his earlobe raising goosebumps on his chilled flesh.

"Trust me." The barest whisper in his ear.

Still confused especially by waking up cold and naked he didn't fully understand what was happening to him. He was cold and wet and ahhh!! He moaned as hot lips traced along his ribs, capturing his nipples in sharp nips then soothing them with gentle kisses. He shuddered as that same mouth licked burning wet lines down his chest, pausing to tickle gently at his navel. All too soon, and not soon enough, the wet heat moved further down his body. Down to settle round his ice cold cock, nestled limp against his body. Soft lips, concealing hard teeth, pushed back his foreskin, a tongue tickled gently around the head, running over the small slit at the top. He felt himself harden and lengthen under the touch.

Seconds of Byron’s expert ministrations were all he needed to feel that primal response to cheating death yet again.

He squirmed, trying to stop the teasing, to release the pressure building in his body. Strong hands held his hips, forced him to submit to this tender torture. Just when he thought he'd reached the point of no return Byron stopped. He drew his mouth away and held the base of Methos' cock hard preventing him reaching release. The young immortal spooned round his lover's tense body.

"You know, I think I prefer you breathing." Methos heard this as a harsh whisper in his ear.

As Byron slid into him he realised the implications of the comment. It had been far too easy, too painless to be just water lubrication. Momentarily his eyes widened in shock. Then he collapsed into wry laughter.

"Gods, man do you have no shame at all?"

Byron smiled; a reckless, wanton smile.

"None whatsoever."