Pairing: Duncan/Methos
RATING: NC-17
SERIES/SEQUEL: Nope
DISCLAIMER: Not my characters - no copyright infringement intended
NOTES: Originally published in Chronicles of the Heart 2
SUMMARY: "Yes, I suppose I do, Mac. I think this is a good time to tell you that I've wanted you since I first laid eyes on you."
* * * * * * *
Step 1:
Mesmerized, Duncan watched the needle move swiftly and surely. It really shouldn't be so surprising... He'd just never thought of Methos as having any domestic skills at all. So, when the ancient had settled himself on the sofa with a pile of clothing and a sewing kit, Mac had found himself fascinated by this new side of his friend.
Tapping his foot in time with the music that flowed through the room, Methos finished mending the rent in his favorite sweater and set it aside. Next, he chose a shirt, carefully selecting a button that matched the others on the garment, then, contentedly, he threaded the needle and settled back to attach said button.
Duncan drained his beer and rose to fetch another. "You need one?" he asked, holding up his empty bottle.
"Sure, Mac," Methos answered absently.
Bearing two fresh beers and a bowl of peanuts, Duncan returned. He set Methos' drink on the table along with the nuts and sat back down to watch.
Apparently amused at Duncan's intent observation, Methos looked up. "What? Never seen anybody repair clothing before?"
With a slight smile, Duncan shrugged. "No, it's not that. I just never thought of you as the domestic type."
Methos chuckled. "C'mon, Mac, even the world's oldest Immortal has to do these things. 'Sides, Adam Pierson, grad-student-on-a-budget, would hardly take his clothing to a tailor for minor repairs."
"Yeah, I guess... you just seem so..." Duncan shrugged, "competent at it."
A snort. "After so many years of practice, MacLeod, I'd have to be, wouldn't I?" Absently, Methos reached over for a handful of peanuts, popping them in his mouth and chewing enthusiastically.
"Well, I'd gotten the impression that you were usually married - you *did* say you'd had 68 wives, after all. And, you're not always a grad student. Surely you've lived more, ah, affluent lives."
"Yes, and yes," Methos answered. "And, when I'm married I sometimes let my wife take care of these things - but I don't always have a wife, Mac. Just as I'm not always wealthy - at least not in the eyes of the mortal world," he shrugged. "I've spent more than enough time as a servant or slave." He smiled ruefully. "I'm not exactly the Spartacus type, so I generally ended up in the household of my master. One learns a wide variety of talents that way; wardrobe maintenance being one of them."
"A slave?"
"Sure, Mac," Methos answered easily. "I've put in my time, believe me."
"What... what was it like? Being a slave, I mean."
"Oh, sometimes bearable - most often it was simply dreadful." Looking up, Methos met Mac's inquiring gaze. "There's really no way to describe the experience of being owned by another... the helplessness, the frustration, the anger... the loss of self."
Shaking his head, unable to grasp the concept of being another person's property, and equally unable to understand what made one man think he *should* own another, Duncan hid his confusion by reaching for some peanuts.
"I can't imagine it, Methos. I just can't. The whole thing is beyond anything I can even begin to understand. Those times must have been awful for you," he said finally, in a low voice.
"Some masters were worse than others," Methos shrugged. "The ones that used me as a pleasure slave were the worst."
Mac choked. Coughing, he reached for his beer and took a deep swallow. "Pleasure slave?"
"Hell, MacLeod," Methos sneered, "Even you must have some awareness of what slave owners were capable of. You did fight in the American Civil War, didn't you? How do you think all those mulattos and octoroons so popular in New Orleans came about?"
"But, that was the women... I guess I never thought-"
"You *have* heard of homosexuals, haven't you?"
"Well, sure," Duncan answered, shifting uncomfortably under Methos' eagle eye. "I just never thought of it that way. I mean-"
With a scathing look, Methos smiled grimly. "Welcome to the real world, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."
"So..." Duncan looked anywhere but at Methos and those all-too-knowing eyes. "That must have been... difficult. You being straight and all."
Methos eyebrows migrated upwards. "Who said I was straight, Mac? Not I." Casually he popped another handful of peanuts into his mouth, smirking at the look of stunned confusion, which Duncan knew all too well was evident on his face.
"But you... Alexa... 68 wives..." Mac stammered. "I assumed that you were heterosexual."
"Mmmm," Methos finished with the button and looked around for his scissors. "I'm bisexual, Mac - always have been. Say, would you bite this thread for me? My mouth is full of peanut debris." He held the thread in question up for viewing. "I'm done, but seem to have lost my damned scissors."
Still trying to wrap his mind around the concept of Methos - *Methos* - in bed with another man, Mac nodded absently and crossed to sit next to him.
Shirt in one hand, needle and thread in the other, Methos waited for Mac to do as requested. "What about you, MacLeod?" he asked casually as Duncan bent to his appointed task.
"What about me?" Mac asked distractedly; the scent of Methos was doing the strangest things to his insides.
"Ever had a male lover?"
Mac bit off the thread and sat up. "Um, no, actually, I haven't."
"Never been tempted?" Methos probed.
*That* certainly got a reaction. Duncan squirmed in his seat - still next to Methos - and he felt his blush take on a fiery hue. "Yeah... I've been tempted," he mumbled. "Just never occurred to me that my interest might be returned."
"Anyone I know?" Methos teased.
Finding himself unable to speak, Duncan nodded.
"Hmmm," Methos mused. "Was it recent, this temptation?"
Another nod.
Grinning now, Methos casually placed one arm along the back of the sofa behind Duncan and let his fingers comb through Mac's hair.
Mac stiffened under the touch for a beat then tilted his head back encouragingly. "Very recent. Um, in the last two years, actually. Kind of caught me by surprise, to tell you the truth."
"I should imagine so," Methos said softly. "So, who's the lucky guy?"
Duncan turned to meet his eyes. "You know damn well who it is, Methos," he growled.
"Yes, I suppose I do, Mac. I think this is a good time to tell you that I've wanted you since I first laid eyes on you." He smiled at the other man and leaned a bit closer. "What do you say, Mac... want to investigate the possibilities?"
Swallowing heavily, Duncan looked away for a moment. Turning back, he smiled tentatively. "I'm a little scared, Methos. It's all so new."
"We'll take it slow, Mac," Methos reassured. "Ease into it."
Intrigued, MacLeod nodded slowly. "Okay. Just... have patience with me, okay?"
"Oh, you can count on me, Duncan. If, at any time, you want to call a halt, just tell me. I wouldn't want you to feel that I'll be angry. Disappointed, perhaps - but not angry."
With a shuddery sigh, Mac leaned into Methos side. "Where do we start?"
"How about with a simple kiss, Mac? That won't be too foreign for you."
Tilting his head up, Mac smiled. "Okay."
Leaning down slowly, obviously not wanting to scare the man off, Methos gently laid his lips on Mac's. Once Duncan had had a chance to grow used to the touch of another man's mouth on his, Methos parted his lips to let his tongue trace a line around Mac's mouth.
A jolt of desire hit Duncan in the gut, and he groaned. Placing one hand on Methos' nape, he opened his mouth and invited that tongue inside. Oh gods, it was wonderful - more than wonderful. Gleefully, he explored the recesses of Methos' oral cavity, inordinately pleased with himself when the ancient groaned in response.
Finally, when the need for air forced them apart, Methos grinned. "That's step one. Completed quite successfully, I'd say."
"Mmmm," Mac licked his lips. "What's step two?" he asked huskily.
"You just have to wait until tomorrow to find that out, Highlander," Methos answered with an evil smile. "Slow and easy, remember?"
"But Methos..."
Laying one finger on MacLeod's lips, Methos shushed him. "Trust me, friend. These things are best when eased into. I wouldn't want to rush you."
"What if I want to rush?"
Methos shook his head. "Mac, I'm not interested in a one-nighter. And what's more, I'm not going to take a chance on you waking tomorrow only to wallow in guilt and regret. We do this my way."
Reluctantly, Mac nodded his agreement. "All right, Methos... tomorrow." He grinned. "What time tomorrow?"
Laughing aloud, Methos pressed a quick kiss on those tempting lips. "We'll see..."
Duncan groaned. "You're really enjoying this aren't you?"
"Absolutely! And, hopefully, my enjoyment will increase day by day."
Stretching, shamelessly reveling in the lustful way Duncan observed him, Methos yawned. "Think I'll turn in now, Mac."
"Yeah, it is getting late," Mac frowned in feigned irritation. "Though how the hell I'm supposed to sleep with you right here on the couch, I can't imagine."
"Oh, you'll manage, Highlander. You'll manage."
********
Step 2
Duncan was going to lose his mind. There was little doubt about that. If Methos kept up this teasing, flirting, promising-but-not-delivering shit, he was going to go stark staring mad.
The day had started nicely enough, he supposed.
Methos had been awake and - gasp - cheerful. He'd had coffee ready. He'd cooked breakfast. He'd suggested - *suggested* - a sparring match.
To which he'd turned up in shorts. That was all - just shorts. Very skimpy shorts.
MacLeod thought he just might have a heart attack on the spot. Hell, he'd been so distracted by the sight of Mr.-Always-Covered-From-Head-To-Toe in shorts, he'd barely managed to remember to breathe. The spar had been, predictably, a balls-up disaster. Methos had played with him like a cat with a mouse. Chasing him from one end of the dojo to the other.
And not once, not even one fucking time, had he allowed their bodies to come into contact with each other.
Could frustration kill a man, Duncan wondered.
Then, after a shower - not shared - Methos had cooked lunch. Which had been admittedly lovely - still, if he didn't get at least a touch - a simple kiss, a hand on his shoulder ... *something* ... Duncan was going to explode.
Just about the moment Duncan decided to jump the old man, Methos started bustling about, gathering his backpack and coat. "Got some errands to run, Mac. I'll be back around 8. Be ready to go out." He grinned. "Wear something sexy."
Choking on the beer he'd been in the act of swallowing, Duncan stared at Methos in dazed confusion. "Out? Sexy? What are you up to?"
"Step 2, MacLeod. I'm taking you out dancing." Methos smiled widely and took off down the stairs.
Dumbly, Mac just stood there for the longest time, examining Methos' words. Dancing? *Methos* was taking him *dancing*?
What the hell?
He pinched his leg. Winced. Okay, not a dream, then.
Once it sank in that Methos was indeed gone for the time being, Duncan shook himself out of his fugue and set about dealing with several chores he'd been neglecting. He had to do *something* to keep himself busy - until 8.
//Wear something sexy//
He was toast.
8pm. Finally. And Duncan was ready - well, as ready as he was ever likely to be. Impatiently, he paced through the loft as Methos closeted himself in the bathroom, getting ready, one presumed.
At the sound of the door opening, he spun around -
And his jaw dropped.
Just where had Methos been hiding this ... this ... Damn! The man was wearing a white silk poet's shirt, open to the navel, and the tightest black leather pants Mac had ever seen. He was sex on two legs, and judging by the smirk on his face, he was well aware of it.
Burnt toast.
"So," Mac squeaked. He cleared his throat and tried again, "Where are you taking me?"
Methos just smiled. "You'll see."
And, boy, did he ever. The Wolf. Filled with bodies. Male bodies. Everywhere. Dancing, drinking, flirting ... and back in the corner on the couches - *shit*. Mac swallowed heavily and stuck to Methos like glue.
As they made their way to the bar, he started to notice the appreciative looks Methos was getting. The way Methos seemed to take it as his due. His absolute comfort in this environment - so strange to Mac.
A man - a rather handsome man at that - greeted Methos with a little more enthusiasm than Mac was comfortable with. In fact, when the guy hugged Methos, pressing his body altogether too close to the old man's, Mac actually growled deep in his chest.
Disengaging himself from the young mortal's hold, Methos smiled and stepped close to Duncan. "Mac Ramsey, this is Duncan MacLeod - Duncan, Mac is a friend of mine."
MacLeod frowned.
Another man wandered up, draping himself around the Ramsey fellow, and Duncan felt marginally better.
"And this," Methos continued the introductions, "is Vic Mansfield, his partner. Vic, this is Duncan MacLeod."
Duncan nodded at Mansfield, absently noting his incredible resemblance to Cory Raines. "Good to meet you."
"Likewise," not-Cory responded. "You'll have to excuse us now - this is my dance."
And they were off.
Methos shrugged and grinned. "They haven't seen each other for a week - they've got some catching up to do. We can talk with them another time."
"Sure, fine," Mac answered, not really caring one way or the other. He was far too busy keeping an eye on all the eyes on Methos.
Seemingly oblivious to the attention he was getting, Methos leaned across the bar to place their drink order.
Mac broke out in a sweat. "Methos!" he hissed. "Do *not* bend over in those trousers."
Affecting sublime innocence, Methos turned to look at MacLeod. "What's the problem, Highlander?"
"You ... they ... Just don't."
Shrugging, Methos paid for their drinks and leaned back against the bar, one hip cocked jauntily. "Anything you say, Duncan."
Drinking deeply from his scotch, Duncan jumped and choked when an unknown hand caressed his ass.
Suddenly, Methos' languor vanished. He reached past Mac and grabbed the offending hand. "Mine!" he told its owner in an unmistakably threatening tone.
Well now. Duncan decided he rather liked that. Liked it a whole hell of a lot, in fact.
As the evening wore on, he found himself liking this startling new version of Methos better and better. Ever vigilant, the old man made sure to broadcast his claim to the Highlander's attention in the direction of any man showing interest in approaching the Scot.
Just as Duncan found himself doing with regards to Methos.
They drank. They danced. Methos smoldered.
By the time they left the Wolf, Mac was in a state. He wanted Methos so badly, he'd happily have begged if he thought it would do any good. Sadly, the self-satisfied smirk on Methos' face warned him that begging would be pointless.
They were doing this Methos' way. At Methos' pace.
Damn him.
Back at the loft, Methos pulled Duncan down on the couch. They engaged in a heavy petting session, Methos kissing and stroking him until Duncan was reduced to a limp mass of sheer, quivering desperation.
At which point Methos rose and pulled Duncan to his feet. "Bedtime," he announced.
Thinking the best, Duncan grinned and headed into the bathroom to wash up. When he came out, however, Methos was comfortably ensconced on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. The bastard was obviously ready to sleep.
Mac stared at him, slack-jawed for a moment, then sighed heavily and crawled into his lonely bed.
"You're going to drive me crazy. You know that don't you?" he grumbled.
"Patience is a virtue, Mac." Methos yawned and snuggled down into the cushions of the couch. "G'night, Highlander. Sleep well."
//Not bloody likely//
He tossed and turned all night, it seemed. Visions of Methos, naked in his bed, touching him, allowing himself to be touched ... His erection growing ever harder at each mental image until he finally jacked off - not even caring if Methos-that-bastard heard.
Then, finally, he managed to doze a bit. Dreaming of Methos. Waking over and over; reaching for a lover that wasn't there.
It was a very long night.
********
Step 3:
When he woke the next morning, Methos was gone. There was, however, a note on the kitchen counter:
Mac,
Sorry, had to leave early. Classes to teach. I'll be home around 7 - and I have a surprise in store. Be ready. Oh, and don't eat dinner - I'll take care of that.
MWell.
That told him just about nothing.
Somehow, he managed to keep himself busy all day. Did some work on the books for the dojo; visited Joe's for a bit. Taught his one class at the University. Worked out.
All the while wondering what Methos had in mind for this evening.
When he finally returned to the loft, around 6.30, there was another note waiting:
Mac,
Make yourself pretty and come up to the roof.
MThe roof?
Shaking his head in bemusement, Duncan dropped the note and headed in for a quick shower. He decided on black clothing - decking himself out in a clingy rayon top and tight black trousers. Started to pull his hair back into its customary ponytail, then decided against it.
He needed every weapon in his arsenal. For, he fully intended to get Methos into his bed tonight, come hell or high water.
At precisely 7pm, Duncan climbed the stairway to the roof. Not sure what to expect, the sight that greeted him rendered him completely speechless.
Somehow, Methos had made the small area into an extremely romantic and seductive tableau. Screens, with garlands of roses and greenery were the backdrop for an elegantly set table. A bottle of champagne waited on ice. Beyond the screens, Duncan saw a table lined with warming dishes. A violinist stood at the ready, as did the waiter Methos had apparently hired.
And then there was Methos himself. Mac gulped as he viewed Methos in a tux. Oh. My. God. The old man was the very personification of urbane elegance.
Mac wondered just how many Methos variations he could stand seeing before overload set in.
Hell - overload *had* set in he realized, as he continued to stand and stare.
Smiling, Methos crossed to him and pressed a light kiss to his lips. "Ready for dinner?"
"Um ... ah, yeah, sure," Mac stuttered, completely taken aback by the lover-like attitude. Would he ever really know this man? So many faces - each more fascinating than the last.
Dazedly, the Highlander walked over to the table and sat.
"Champagne?" Methos asked, a hint of laughter in his voice.
"What are we celebrating, if I might ask?"
Methos raised one brow. "Step 3, Duncan. This is a big one."
"Oh." Mac licked his lips and swallowed hard. "A big one?"
Nodding gravely, Methos waved the waiter over and sat contentedly, perfectly relaxed, as the man opened the champagne and poured them each a glass.
"Tonight," Methos toasted, holding his glass up.
Mac raised his glass, clinking it against Methos'. "Tonight," he repeated. Then he frowned. "Does this mean ...?"
A sly smile was his only answer.
Damn the man, anyway.
With an unobtrusive motion, Methos indicated that the musician should start playing.
Dinner was lovely, the music was lovely. Too bad he was in such a daze that he couldn't really appreciate them, Duncan thought. All he could think of was later - and the possibility that tonight Methos would actually ...
Startled, Duncan realized that the music had stopped, and Methos was looking at him expectantly. "What?" He asked defensively.
"Bedtime, Duncan."
Every bit of blood in his body rushed to his cock, and he damn near fainted. That smoky voice, holding such promise... Damn, if he survived this, it would be a true miracle.
Silently, he followed Methos downstairs, feeling nervous, and aroused, and oh, so hopeful. If Methos left him high and dry *again* - well, he'd be forced to take drastic measures.
But no - apparently, the ancient had decided that tonight *was* the night. He led Duncan to the bedside and gently, carefully undressed him - taking time to caress with hands and mouth every bit of flesh as it was uncovered.
His knees had suddenly turned to water, and Duncan sank down to sit on the bed's edge. Methos stepped back, proceeding to undress himself in a most provocative manner. Duncan wanted to touch him, wanted to explore all of him, but he just couldn't move. He was mesmerized. He was stunned. He was gonna come right here and now if Methos didn't stop teasing and get on with it.
Chuckling at Duncan's glazed stare, Methos tossed his silk boxers aside and smiled widely. "Well?" he teased. "You just going to sit there, or are you gonna make room for me in that bed?"
That got him moving. Jerkily, Duncan pulled the covers down to the foot of the bed and lay back. Groaned loudly when Methos climbed in beside him and pressed close to his side, one hand on his chest; propped up on one elbow to view the silent Scot.
"Still want me?" he asked huskily.
Duncan answered by pulling Methos down into a voracious kiss. God, he couldn't get close enough. Vaguely, he heard whimpering and realized that he was the source of the sound. Maybe tomorrow he'd take the time to be embarrassed about it, but right now all he could do was writhe against Methos' hard body, wordlessly begging.
"Mac," Methos murmured. "Mac take it easy. We have all night, you know."
"No ... not easy ... want you now, Methos ... *Now*!"
Apparently realizing that he'd pushed Duncan to the edge, Methos took pity on him and moved to cover him with his own heat. "Okay, love. We'll do easy later. Right now-"
Impatient, almost irrational, Duncan arched up under him, head thrown back, groaning - almost sobbing with need. The feel of Methos' cock against his own was almost too much. Too good. Too right.
It was everything.
Nibbling on his neck, Methos rocked against Duncan, rubbing their weeping erections together in a joyous rhythm. Duncan held him with painful strength, matching him move for move, drowning in the sensations.
"God! Yes! Methos, please ... Please!"
Grabbing a handful of Duncan's hair, Methos pulled him into an open-mouthed kiss, while his movements became more urgent, and he gasped.
"Come for me, Duncan. Do it now."
Unable to resist that voice, Duncan yelled loudly and came with great wracking shudders.
Then, he passed out.
Cold.
When he finally, groggily opened his eyes again, Methos was busily cleaning him up with a damp cloth he'd apparently fetched while Duncan was out of it.
"Well, back with the living, I see," Methos said, teasingly.
Blushing, Duncan met his eyes. "Ah ... sorry about that. I don't usually-"
"Well, I'll take it as a compliment, then."
"Jesus, Methos," Duncan suddenly tried to sit up. "I didn't ... you never ..."
"Yes, I did," Methos reassured. "You're rather, um, inspirational when you lose control, you know. I was right there with you."
Relieved, Duncan sank down against the pillows again, and yawned. "Good thing I'm Immortal, old man - you're deadly in bed."
Grinning, Methos lay down next to him and pulled the covers up over their bodies.
"Just wait for step 4, MacLeod. You ain't seen nothin' yet."
Warmth.
Heat.
Unimaginable pleasure.
Duncan sighed and smiled in his sleep. What a dream! His cock was being ever so skillfully and lovingly attended to by his dream lover's mouth. His balls manipulated by clever fingers.
He was melting. Or burning up. Something.
Vaguely he heard a voice; "Step 4, MacLeod."
Reluctantly, Mac opened his eyes. Looked down. Groaned.
Methos was busily sucking his cock. And, from all appearances, enjoying himself immensely. Tentatively, Duncan reached down to touch Methos' soft hair just to reassure himself that this was really happening and not a dream within a dream.
"Methos," he whispered, amazed to find that the Old Man *was* really in his bed, giving him the blowjob of his life.
And that was incredible in and of itself; after four hundred years MacLeod thought he'd become pretty much of an expert on blowjobs. Of course, his previous experiences had been with women - some of them very, very talented indeed - but a mouth was a mouth, a tongue a tongue, a throat ...
"Oh my god!" Duncan gasped when his cock was swallowed whole. What the hell *was* that thing Methos was doing with his throat? Smooth muscle rippled along the head of his cock while a warm tongue busily caressed the underside.
He could die right now and go with a smile on his face, Duncan realized. In fact, as Methos' dark head started bobbing up and down, dragging his tongue roughly along the underside of Duncan's erection at each thrust, if it was possible for an Immortal to die of pleasure this would definitely do the trick.
And suddenly he was hanging over the precipice. "Methos," he gasped, "stop. Please... I'll come... I'm gonna... Oh SHIT!" With a tortured groan, Duncan arched up into that wickedly skilled mouth and sent pulse after pulse of pleasure down Methos' throat.
With an attention to detail that MacLeod had never before noted, Methos carefully cleaned him, licking away all traces of his passion from his softening cock and surrounding areas - though how anything could have been missed in the first place Mac couldn't imagine. Still, he lay quietly, enjoying the attention.
Finally satisfied that he'd cleaned up any imagined mess, Methos slithered up to drape himself along Duncan's side. "Morning, Highlander."
Tightening his arms around the lean body pressed against him, Duncan sighed in contentment. "Morning yourself." He pressed a light kiss to Methos' hair and chuckled. "So, I take it that was step 4?"
"Indeed it was, MacLeod." Methos grinned.
"And step 5?"
"Will happen when and if you're ready."
"Meeethos," Duncan whined. "How much more 'ready' could I be?"
"You'll have to ask me, MacLeod - I don't want any 'morning after' regrets from you. If we move on, it will be at your express request."
Duncan frowned. "Exactly what constitutes step 5?"
Methos rolled to the edge of the bed and climbed to his feet. With a groan, he stretched and then headed towards the bathroom. "Step 5," he said over his shoulder, "is fucking. Me fucking you, to be precise."
As Methos disappeared into the bathroom, Duncan was thankful that the Old Man couldn't see the fiery blush coloring his face.
//Me fucking you//
Christ on a crutch!
His ass clenched in a combination of fear and desire. He'd known, in a dim section of his brain, that men fucked - but had refused to think that far ahead. Sure, he wanted Methos in that way ... but, he'd kind of assumed that *he* would be the one doing the fucking.
Hadn't he?
Lost in thought, Duncan started when Methos reentered the room. The bastard was naked. Jesus, the Old Man was an incredible tease.
"You go clean up, MacLeod," Methos instructed. "I'll start breakfast."
Hoping that he'd find Methos actually dressed when he finished, Mac didn't even react to the thought of Methos cooking. Again.
He quickly showered and pulled on a pair of sweats before emerging to investigate the appetizing aroma wafting from the kitchen.
Oh hell ... Methos had indeed dressed - almost. Sort of. Kind of. After a fashion.
Had he really thought the shorts Methos had worn the other day were skimpy? These were positively indecent! Denim. Well worn. *Very* well worn. In fact, the fabric that - barely - covered his ass was almost transparent.
Mac swallowed heavily and studiously averted his eyes.
He was in trouble here.
*Huge* trouble.
Clearing his throat, Mac spoke, "So, what's on the agenda for today?"
"Oh - a workout, I suspect. Ever wrestle, MacLeod?"
Wrestling??? With Methos? In those shorts?
Damn.
He'd never survive.
"Scared, MacLeod?" The evil man asked, a smirk evident on his face. "Surely you're up to the challenge."
"Okay," Duncan reluctantly agreed. "If that's what you really want ... "
Methos just smiled.
Breakfast tasted every bit as good as it smelled. Mac sat back with a sigh of contentment and shoved his plate aside.
"Don't just sit there, MacLeod," Methos grouched. I cooked - you clean up. Meanwhile, I'll go to the druggist and pick up a few necessary items."
Mac's eyes opened wide. "Dressed like *that*?"
"Well - I'll put on my shirt and shoes."
"But ... but," Mac stuttered. "Those shorts..."
Methos looked down at the garment in question. "What?" He asked innocently. "They cover everything ... Don't you like them?"
*Like them?*
Shit!
"Of course I do," Duncan responded. "And so will everyone who sees them." He frowned fiercely at the thought and glowered at Methos. "Put on jeans - loose jeans without holes."
Head cocked to one side, Methos gave the Highlander a limpid look. "Well, if you insist."
Damn the man! Duncan knew full well that Methos was playing him like a fiddle - yet, he couldn't repress his jealous reaction - couldn't resist his own possessive nature.
"God," he growled. "I hope you're happy, Methos. You've got me in such a state that I'm acting the complete fool."
"That's the plan, Highlander," Methos said over his shoulder as he headed over to locate a pair of jeans. "That's the plan."
It wasn't until Duncan was in the midst of cleaning up the mess from breakfast that Methos words came back to him. 'Necessary items'?
Oh my.
Uncomfortably aware of what those items might be, Duncan froze. Did he want this? Could he *really* let Methos... well, fuck him? A cock up his ass was not something he'd ever considered as a fun time.
Then again, gay men certainly seemed to enjoy the experience - at least he assumed so. They wouldn't continue to do it otherwise. Would they?
And Methos surely wouldn't hurt him, suggest something that he'd not enjoy... right?
Hell - did this mean that *He* - Duncan MacLeod - was gay?
Bisexual, maybe.
Yeah, that must be it. Bisexual.
Funny how Methos was the first and only man he'd ever found himself attracted to. Odd, even.
Methos returned from his errand and hid his purchases with a smirk. And then changed back into those fucking indecent shorts - and proceeded to lounge in a most provocative way on the sofa.
Duncan thought he might just go mad.
He tried to read. Not a chance of that with the Old Man in the room. So, he made up a flimsy excuse and scurried out to his car. Driving aimlessly around Seacouver, Duncan found himself conducting an internal debate.
//Of course you want him//
::But I'm not gay::
//Maybe it's just *him//
::Possibly::
//Why *now*?//
::Because you've finally admitted that your feelings are more than friendship::
//How much more? Do I really want him to stick his cock up my ass?//
And so on.
After hours of this, Duncan finally went back to the loft. Methos wanted to wrestle? Well, okay ... it was time to put up or shut up, Duncan admitted to himself.
"Finally returned, have you?" Methos greeted him with a knowing look. "Ready for that wrestle now?"
Damn! The challengingly erotic gleam in Methos' eyes set a swarm of butterflies churning in Duncan's stomach. Swallowing heavily, he straightened his shoulders and nodded. "Just let me change into workout clothes and I'll be all set."
"Oh," Methos grinned an evil grin; "I've set the appropriate outfit on your bed, MacLeod. Change and meet me downstairs." Still grinning, he headed to the lift and closed the doors.
With great trepidation, Duncan walked over to the bed.
Holy shit! Methos called this an appropriate outfit? Biking shorts? *Only* the shorts. No underwear ... not even a cup? And where the hell was his shirt?
Consoling himself with Methos' statement that Mac would have to do the asking, the Highlander changed and went down to meet the challenge.
Damn the Old Man! Duncan was a pretty good wrestler - or, at least he'd always thought so. But Methos was better - no, scratch that - Methos used techniques that were questionable to say the least.
Constantly touching him - oh so innocently, brushing his hand across Mac's crotch. And pinning him in the most disturbing manner. Grinding his erection into the most amazing places on Duncan's body. His ass ... his hip ... his thigh ... his, um, well, his cock.
Just about the time Mac decided that he was on the verge of a stroke, Methos-that-bastard - flipped him neatly onto his stomach and just lay there, hard-as-a-rock erection pressed firmly between Duncan's ass cheeks.
And it felt good.
Really good.
Maybe this 'fucking' thing should be investigated more closely, Duncan decided.
So, he sighed and arched his hips, pressing Methos' cock even harder against him.
Yes indeed - definitely feeling good. Duncan groaned and rotated his hips, gasping at the resulting sensation. Not investigation, he decided ... experimentation.
Methos-that-bastard jumped to his feet, stopping along the way to smack Duncan's ass smartly. "Not bad, MacLeod. You wrestle pretty well for a Scot."
Still in shock from the loss of Methos' weight on him, Duncan simply couldn't process the words. In fact, he seemed to have become paralyzed. He couldn't fucking move! At all.
//Idiot!// he berated himself as Methos announced that he was in need of a shower. So enchanted was he by the thought of a naked and wet Methos, Duncan just lay there while the Old Man went upstairs.
//Why didn't you *say* it?//
::Say what? "Fuck me"::
//No, fool. "*Please* fuck me"//
Okay. He could do that.
He would do that very thing...
Just as soon as he regained control of his body. Eventually Mac lurched awkwardly to his feet. Deciding that he needed to get his blood once again feeding his body, he elected to take the back stairway to the loft. Happily, as he climbed the steps, Mac found that he was able once again to move gracefully - almost normally in fact.
He walked into the loft, secure in the knowledge that he had a few minutes to prepare himself, as Methos was busy in the shower. A drink - that was what he needed. In the kitchen, though, was trouble, in the form of one very attractive - //Shit! How could I have never *noticed* what he looks like?// Methos.
"Uh-" Duncan froze, staring stupidly at the other man. "Shower? Thought you were - y'know - shower?"
"Yes, MacLeod," Methos spoke slowly, as if to an idiot, enunciating his words carefully. "Shower. Right after I get a drink."
"Oh." Duncan blushed - *blushed*, for god's sake ... *again* - and watched every move closely as Methos bent over in front of the opened refrigerator, rummaging around for a beer.
"Getting low on beer, MacLeod." Methos closed the fridge and opened the bottle in his hand, casually tossing the cap onto the top of the refrigerator. "You need to go to the store soon."
"Uh huh," Duncan agreed absently. What the hell was Methos trying to do to him, lounging against the counter in that ... elegantly sluttish way? Whatever ... it was working. Mac couldn't do anything but stare. At least he wasn't drooling.
"Say it, Duncan."
Oh man! Methos-that-bastard was perfectly well aware of just how Duncan was feeling. And Duncan knew that, no matter how badly Methos wanted him, he'd only take them to step 5 once he was asked to do so.
"I..." moving a step closer to Methos, Duncan struggled to speak. "You ... " He stopped, about a foot away from the other man and sighed. "Fuck me, Methos. I want you."
And just like that, all traces of teasing were gone from Methos' expression. His eyes softened, and a small smile curved his lips. "Then come here to me, Duncan."
He didn't remember moving. But, somehow he was wrapped in Methos' arms, warm hands caressing his back, soft lips tasting his throat. "Thank you, Duncan," that velvet voice murmured in his ear. "I know the idea is more that a little frightening for you - but... trust me, I am going to make you feel things you've never even imagined."
A shudder of fear/desire/curiosity ran through Duncan's frame, and he buried his face against Methos' shoulder. "I trust you, Methos. Really, I do ... I just had to adjust to the idea. But, I *do* want to know what it's like - with you."
"You've no idea, MacLeod, how badly I've wanted you," Methos whispered. "All this waiting and hoping just about made me crazy. I had to wait for you to come to me, though." Leaning back, Methos gently lifted Duncan's chin and stared intently into his eyes. "You understand why, don't you?"
Duncan swallowed and nodded. "You didn't want me doing it for the wrong reason - didn't want to take advantage of my ... um, fascination with the whole Methos legend thing."
"Yes. That, and ... well, Highlander, I'm in love with you - couldn't face myself after if you didn't feel the same way."
//In love with me//
Oh god, Duncan felt ... he didn't quite know *how* he felt about that admission. Remembering Methos once telling him that he'd never been in a long-term relationship with another immortal, because it would be too much of a commitment, Duncan suddenly comprehended just how very much this man must care for him. A surge of pride warred with fear that he'd somehow manage to let Methos down.
//Please, God let me do this right//
"I love you, too, Methos - it just took me a while to understand." His arms closed convulsively around that firm torso, and he found that he was shaking in reaction. "I'm ... not scared exactly - I just am so worried that I'll disappoint you. Don't want that - don't know how to act - don't know what to do."
Warm hands soothed him, gently running up his flanks to his shoulders. "You couldn't possibly disappoint me, MacLeod. Don't you get it? I *love* you ... we'll be fine. I'll take care of you."
"I know you will," Duncan answered. "I suppose that's part of the problem - after four hundred years of being the aggressor in sex, suddenly being the inexperienced virgin is a bit of a difficult adjustment. But, with you, I can do it."
"C'mon," Methos said softly. "Let's go hop in that shower and take it from there."
Nodding dumbly, Duncan went with Methos into the bathroom. He watched with fascinated awe the softness of Methos' expression as the ancient adjusted the water temperature in the shower, then carefully undressed him.
He reached for the snap on Methos' shorts, but his hands were brushed away. "I'll do that - this is my show, MacLeod. Let me do this my way ... please."
Releasing all of his control to the other man, Duncan smiled and stepped into the shower. A mere second later, Methos joined him, and Duncan met his gaze before lowering his eyes in the classic sign of submission.
"Take care of me, Methos. Show me."
"Yes, love, you can count on that."
Carefully, lovingly, Methos washed him from head to toe. And throughout, Duncan could see the love Methos felt for him, could feel it in every soft touch. It was so ... so ... wonderful. Duncan couldn't ever remember feeling this way. He stayed silent, soaking in the unaccustomed sensation of being cared for. Now that he'd made the conscious decision to give himself to Methos in every way, he found himself completely relaxed, no longer fearful of what was to come.
Once Methos finished with his appointed task, and Mac was squeaky clean, he quickly washed himself off and got them out of the shower and dried off. Tossing the damp towel aside, Methos grinned at Duncan. "Bed now. I want to make love to you, MacLeod."
And that sounded like a fine idea to Duncan. Still silent, he walked over and climbed into the bed, settling against the pillows and opened his arms to Methos. "I want you," he said simply, in a husky voice.
A warm, lean body arranged itself along his side, and Duncan sighed contentedly. Methos just felt so *right* beside him. For several minutes, he just lay there, enjoying the closeness, the comfort ...
Then Methos started touching him. Kissing him. Running callused hands over him. Telling him at every touch how wonderful he felt, how much he was loved, how very desperately Methos wanted him.
And he loved every touch - every word that was murmured against his skin. All too soon, Duncan found himself shifting impatiently, pushing for more, turning into those strong hands ...
"God, Methos," he groaned, when *finally* one warm hand caressed his straining erection. "Want you. So much."
"Hush, Duncan," Methos soothed. "I want you, too. But, we have to do this right - don't want to rush - don't want to hurt you."
And just that voice - the promise, the care - gave Duncan the strength he needed to lay quietly, allowing Methos to move at his own gentle pace. He heard his own moans and sighs distantly, but couldn't find it in himself to worry. No, Methos looked at him with such heat at every sound, that Duncan found himself becoming even more vocal. Every centimeter of his flesh was alive with pleasure; his need grew with every touch.
When a slick finger found its way to his crack, he moaned with surprised pleasure. "Oh, that's niiice," he sighed. Lifting his knees to give Methos easier access to this heretofore-unknown pleasure zone, Duncan dazedly pulled Methos down into a kiss. "Touch me, Methos. Take me. I want you to love me," he managed to gasp.
And Methos did. Very carefully. Very slowly. With amazing restraint, he prepared Duncan, slipping first one, then two fingers inside his body. Once Duncan had relaxed into the oddness of the invasion, Methos twisted those clever fingers and brushed a spot that made Duncan arch up off of the bed with a yell.
"Duncan, meet your prostate," Methos teased. Then he did it again. And again.
Reduced to a state of mindless pleasure by Methos' clever manipulation of his body, Duncan barely noticed when a well-lubed cock replaced the fingers. He just knew he *wanted*. Wanted more and more and more.
And then Methos stopped moving. Confused, Duncan opened his eyes looking up in question. "What? Is everything okay - did I do something wrong?"
Panting, Methos rested his forehead against Duncan's shoulder. "No, love, you're perfect. Look," he instructed, lifting his upper body giving Duncan an unobstructed view. "Look at us, Duncan. I'm inside you."
Eyes wide, Duncan looked down and very nearly came just from the sight of Methos buried so deeply in his body. It was amazing. Strange, yes - an unusual fullness, one he'd never felt - but wonderful. Experimentally, Duncan lifted his hips and gasped aloud when he clearly felt an answering pulse from the strangely satisfying hardness filling him.
He could feel nothing else - only that connection, that incredible feeling of belonging to Methos. His upper brain functions had completely shut down and he could only react. Reaching to grasp Methos' hips in a firm hold, Duncan couldn't stay his body's urgings. Desperately, he sought more. Arching up in a vain attempt to increase the pleasure, wanting to feel Methos moving inside of him, Duncan moaned and tossed his head on the pillow restlessly.
"God, Methos - do it. Please, just do it. Need to feel you ... now."
"Yesss," Methos moaned, starting a slow fucking motion. "Oh shit! Duncan, I don't think I can ... I'm not going to last long here, love. Sorry - it's - I'm - " And the thrusts increased in force while Methos lowered one hand to Duncan's weeping cock. "Come for me, Duncan. I want to see you come while I'm fucking you."
Someone screamed. Duncan suspected that it was his own voice he heard - but couldn't be sure. Between the sensation of being taken in this way by Methos, that hand on his cock, and the expression of tortured pleasure on Methos' face, he could only react - fall apart - lose himself in the complete negation of self that comes with an orgasm of such intensity that he almost passed out.
"Oh yes, Highlander," Methos groaned. "That's it - give it to me - do it for me."
Lax, dazed with the pleasure, Duncan fought to keep his eyes open. He wanted - needed - to see Methos' face as he came. Knowing that the ancient's extreme pleasure was because of *him*.
Lifting one trembling hand to touch the side of Methos' face, Duncan watched avidly as Methos' expression shifted from a desperate need for control to one of overwhelming joy and release. The sensitive tissues of his ass felt every pulse as Methos poured his seed deep within Duncan's body.
With a groan, Methos collapsed, lying heavily atop of Duncan.
And, Duncan loved it. Tightened his hold on the other man, unwilling to be parted even a little at this point. "Thank you, Methos - that was everything you promised and more."
With a groan, Methos moved to one side, draping himself along Duncan's length. He pressed his lips against the shoulder his head rested upon and sighed happily. "That was just the beginning, MacLeod. I have many more things to teach you."
Duncan chuckled sleepily. "Step 6?"
"Mmmm," Methos hummed. "In the morning, Mac. I want you to fuck *me*."
The promise in that warm voice was almost enough to bring Duncan out of his pleasure-induced fog.
Almost.
In the morning, he told himself, he would take the time to fully appreciate what he'd just been promised.
But for now ...
They slept.
Peacefully, deeply - both with satisfied smiles on their faces.
* * * * * * *
