by Sandi and Taselby
This story is rated Adult for adult content, including the graphic description of homoerotic sex. If you are under the age of 18 (and do not have your parent's consent... yeah, right) or if the loving depiction of consensual M/M sex does not appeal to you, PLEASE turn back now. You have been warned. If you persist in reading this despite our warning, don't come crying to us if you get offended. You know if you should be here or not.
Methos, Duncan, and the concept of Immortality are the property of someone else with more lawyers than me. I claim no ownership, no money... Just for fun, eh? We promise to return the guys relatively unharmed when we're done with them (which is turning out to be longer than we thought, but who's complaining?...). ;)
The characters of Megan, Zack, and their mother are the original creation of Sandi.
There were no Betas employed in the creation of this tale, electing instead to rely on each other for editing and creative input. This is our first collaboration together, but not likely to be the last, since it was so much fun!
Please direct all questions, comments, and silly remarks to Sandi, <firstname.lastname@example.org> or to Taselby, <email@example.com>
Duncan MacLeod heaved an exasperated sigh and shifted his armful of wriggling preschooler higher on his hip, questioning the wisdom of the old saying that "a babe in the house is a wellspring of pleasure" for only the seventh or eighth time that afternoon. The tingling rush of another Immortal's approach made him instinctively tighten his grip on the little girl he held, even as his eyes flicked across the loft to check the placement of weapons and exits, should they be needed. At the sound of the elevator beginning it's creaky rise to the loft, he relaxed, relieved that Methos was finally home. He was so relieved that the cavalry had arrived that he was nearly caught off guard and pulled over as his free arm shot out to snag the other object of his frustrations, a pint sized dynamo who had also heard the lift, and was racing to investigate.
He barked out a command in his best soldier's voice. "Stop running, Zack! You'll get hurt!"
Methos stood very still as he surveyed the scene which greeted him. Duncan MacLeod, chieftain's son and brawny Scottish warrior that he was, looked for all the world like a scruffy housewife as he struggled to restrain one squirming bundle who looked to be about six years old without losing his grip on the other child he cradled against his hip, a beautiful little girl perhaps a year or so younger. Or rather, she would be beautiful, if her face hadn't been smeared with the dry crust of what appeared to be spaghetti sauce. Mac's hair was flying in loose disarray, and his shirt was liberally spattered with the same red substance. There was a slightly wild look about his eyes that Methos had never seen before on his lover. He had to laugh as Mac ducked his head to avoid small hands that seemed intent on transferring that sticky substance into the Highlander's hair.
"Well, well, if it isn't the 'Immortal Barney'!" he quipped with patient amusement. This was better than a matinee.
"Don't start, Methos!" The threatening growl fell flat as Duncan lost the spaghetti sauce battle, feeling tiny, wet fingers grab his ears. He groaned, "Feel free to jump in here anytime!"
Methos laughed as he shrugged out of his coat. "Oh, no, Mac, you seem to be doing just fine on your own." His eyes swept over the loft, which was in total disarray. Methos had seen demolition crews and inept burglars do less thorough jobs of utter destruction. He winced in sympathy. Mac's newest acquisition, a beautiful 12th Century African urn, had been among the casualties. No wonder the Highlander looked near the end of his rope. //If Immortals can have panic attacks, Mr. Clean MacLeod must be pretty near the edge.// Methos realized he should probably go to Mac's rescue, or at least begin some damage control, but watching the younger man struggle was too entertaining for the moment. He could tease Mac about this one for months. Methos straightened the cushions on the leather couch, and eased onto it in his customary sprawl.
"How did you come by these Munchkins, MacLeod?"
Duncan's reply turned into a yelp as the grasping fingers of the little girl tugged at his hair. "Megan... sweetheart... please... not the hair." He was forced to release Zack, who promptly scampered away to come and stand before Methos, regarding him with frank, six-year-old curiosity.
Mac grabbed a cloth and worked to make Megan presentable again. Methos thought Duncan might have better luck with a fire hose and a copper pot-brush, and healthy portion good old-fashioned Appalachian hill country lye soap. "They belong to another staff member at the university. She had an emergency, and there was no one else to watch them."
Methos rolled his eyes, Mac was such a sucker for a woman with a sob story. "Does the phrase 'Just Say No' mean anything to you, Mac?"
Before Duncan could answer, Zack decided he wasn't getting enough attention, and reached over to tug on the hand of the world's oldest living man. "I'm Zack. Who are you?"
The lanky Immortal leaned forward to whisper menacingly, "The guy your Mummy warned you about!"
"Methos!" Mac gave a warning glance as he set Megan on her feet.
Methos sighed heavily and softened the homicidal light in his eyes, giving the youngster what he hoped was a 'go-away-and-don't-bother-me' look.
"You may call me Adam. If you must call me at all!" His tone of voice indicated that addressing him would be both unwelcome and possibly dangerous. Zack was, of course, oblivious to the nuances of the implied threat.
His fierce scowl only elicited a grin from his new-found friend, who proceeded to scramble up into the couch next to him. As Methos cast a wary glance at the boy, he felt another pull on his fingers. Looking down, he saw that Megan, now minus the sauce, had trained her big, blue eyes on him.
"Mac! Come and get them!" He had faced men twice his size in mortal combat, had traveled the fierce, barren, wild places of the earth alone, with nothing but his wits to keep him alive, had faced down kings and empresses and would-be gods... and none of it had unnerved him like being left alone with children. He wasn't good with children, and had often thanked the whims of fate that Immortals were sterile.
The Scot smothered a laugh at the naked panic in his lover's voice, and watched Megan work her magic.
"Mr. Adam, will you tell us a story?"
//All this one needs is wings and a halo,// Methos thought to himself. "Um... no. I don't think so."
Zack began to jump up and down on the couch. "Yeah! Hey! It's almost Halloween! How about 'The Headless Horseman?"
"MAC... LEOD!" This was all he needed, bloodthirsty tots who wanted stories about beheadings. He fought back a shudder, and glared across the loft at Mac.
"That's a great idea!" Duncan thanked God for his immortality. If looks could kill, he'd be six feet under about now. He couldn't laugh. If he so much as chuckled at the mix of panic and menace in those hazel eyes, Methos would kill him. Slowly.
"Mac, no! I don't do children!"
"Tell you what," the younger man decided to resort to bribery. "Their mother should be here any time. If you'll occupy them for a few minutes while I straighten up around here," his voice dropped to a seductive tone that almost always worked, "well, then, I'll take you out to a great dinner, or... something."
Methos' gaze narrowed as he watched the Highlander, who chose that moment to reach up into the cabinet, emphasizing the ripple of muscles across his broad back. //The man is shameless.//
Before he could protest further, Megan moved in for the kill. "Please, Mr. Adam, please?"
//Gods, no... not the quivering chin!// He could feel his position weakening, the strength of his resistance slipping from under his feet like a weakened embankment. //Oh, well. This had better be worth it, Mac.//
With a plaintive sigh, Methos reached down for the little girl, settling her on his lap. There really was something relaxing about the scent of a clean child. Someone should make an air freshener, or an aromatherapy oil. "All right, then. But only one story! You got that?"
"Okey-dokey" she happily agreed as she cuddled up to rest her head on his chest. Even Zack inched a little closer, not wanting to miss out on a single thing.
As Mac began to clear the kids' dishes away, Methos cleared his throat and began. "Now, let's see...."
"One abunce a time." Megan took her thumb out of her mouth for this important announcement.
Zack pulled himself bold upright and asserted his big-brotherliness, explaining for his sister. "All her stories have to start with 'one abunce a time,'" he declared with a serious look in his eyes that warned against denying the little girl.
"Okay," the immortal grinned, "once upon a time..." his gaze wandered the room to find inspiration in the form of his lover. Methos' smooth baritone voice continued, "in a faraway land, there lived a great warrior."
"How far away?" Megan coaxed.
His voice drifted out, soft and wistful, like sunlight over a morning mist. "Oh, a long, long way from here, in a land called The Highlands. It was a land of tall, stoney mountains, and lakes so deep that no one has ever seen their bottoms... of dark forests and meadows filled with wildflowers. A beautiful place, filled with magic and danger, where they say faeries used to live. It was a very old land. The warrior was born in this great land, and in the care of his family, nourished by the green land and the mountain air, he grew to be a strong boy."
"Like me, you mean?"
"Yeah, Zack, like you. Now hush and let me finish."
"Now, as in many old stories, our hero's father was a great chief in the land, and proudly raised his only son to take his place one day--to rule the land and care for all the people who lived there. He taught him all the things a chieftain should know: honor and loyalty, the importance of courage and duty, the love for his people, and the burden of leadership, and the sorrow of war. Over the years those lessons were put to the test as many fierce battles were fought, as evil men tried to take the beautiful land away from the good people of The Highlands."
"Oh, cool!" Battles and bad guys naturally got Zack's attention. But Methos noticed that Megan frowned and tightened her grip on his shirtfront. He gave her a reassuring squeeze and continued.
"But victory was always his. Our hero had learned to choose his battles wisely, and always fought on the side of good, using all his knowledge to drive out the enemy. And in addition to all of his courage and skill, he possessed a kind of magic, because he had the power to live forever!"
Megan's eyes grew wide with wonder. Zack looked skeptical, but intrigued nonetheless. As for Duncan MacLeod, he grew very still, meeting Methos' gaze across the room. The older man's voice held him captive.
"Soon, because he was needed to use his magic all over the world, The Highlander left his homeland and began to travel the earth, and everywhere he went, he would help good people who were in trouble, and he fought any evil that he found. He protected the weak and the innocent, and when his protection failed, as sometimes it did, he avenged them."
Duncan gave up all pretense at cleaning. He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, as enthralled by the ancient immortal as the children were.
"Cool. A magic warrior." Zack sighed dreamily, no doubt picturing himself in that very role.
"That's right. And he roams the earth to this very day, armed with his great battle sword, defending good and vanquishing evil."
Well, that was enough for Zack. But not for Megan. She raised her head and gazed up at him sleepily. "All alone?"
Methos smiled a little sadly and reached a hand to brush her hair from her face. "No, love, not all alone." She settled back down, eyes drooping shut as he finished her story.
"Our hero spent many, many years traveling all over the world, doing great deeds, until one day he happened up on another like himself--another person who had the magic. This one was not quite as brave, or as strong, or as good..."
Methos' eyes met Duncan's, speaking volumes. The Scot stood motionless, barely breathing, hypnotized by the voice of his lover, by the intense hazel eyes that held him spellbound.
"But this other magic person loved our hero very, very much, and vowed to stay by his side so that, together, they'd grow stronger, until finally, one day, the evil will be defeated and good can rule the earth."
The hypnotic voice dropped to a whisper. Duncan fought to swallow past the tightness in his throat, but before he could speak, the lift began to creak and groan, and the spell was broken.
Zack ran to greet his mother, who rushed in to apologize for being late.
"Hey, it's OK, Mom. Mr. Adam told us a way cool story."
Duncan made the necessary introductions and Methos stood, holding the sleeping Megan in his arms.
"I'll help you out to the car with them," Methos volunteered.
Zack ran ahead to the elevator, all the while waving his imaginary sword about in an animated version of the Highland hero, as his mom tried vainly to keep up, and Methos followed with Megan sleeping comfortably against his shoulder.
"Be back in a minute, Mac."
Once they reached the street, Methos helped buckle Megan into her car seat, gave Zack a high-five, and saw them on their way.
Rejecting the elevator in favor of the stairs, he headed for the dojo's side entrance. Anticipating a good dinner and a relaxing evening with his lover, Methos remembered the look on Duncan's face earlier, when he'd expressed his feelings for him through the story he'd created. In the months since their relationship had moved from platonic to physical, Mac had shed his inhibitions to become the most passionate lover Methos had ever known. Duncan poured his heart and soul into their lovemaking, and 5000 years of existence had made Methos an expert in reading those emotions. He had absolutely no doubt about how much the Highlander cared for him.
But he knew that Mac still stumbled over verbally expressing what he felt about their relationship. And Methos had never pushed, willing to wait for Duncan to work it out for himself. He would hardly admit, even to himself, how very much he wanted-- needed--to hear Duncan say what he felt. As he reached to open the door, he mentally scoffed at himself. //Get a grip, old man. Next, you'll be wanting sonnets and roses!//
Entering the loft, his eyes unerringly located his lover, breath catching at the sight of a barefoot, jeans-clad, bare-chested Duncan MacLeod leaning against the counter, his hair still damp from a quick shower.
//Warrior, indeed!// Methos mused. Right now, Duncan looked more like a billboard model than a Scottish warrior, but Methos was just as glad that Mac wasn't the sort to pose for a camera. True, his image could be used to sell humidifiers in the rain forest if he did, but Methos wasn't quite willing to share this view with the world just yet.
He walked over and took the glass of wine that Mac held out to him and drank, savoring the full, rich flavor, before noticing the Scot's serious expression.
"I didn't realize that story-telling was included in your bag of tricks."
His reply was laced with lazy amusement. "I'm a man of many, if dubious talents, MacLeod." The older man reached to place the glass down on the counter. "One of which is generally being able to sense when something's bothering you. What's up?"
Mac crossed his arms, a frown marring his handsome features. "Methos...uh...." He paused to clear his throat.
A chill crept through Methos as he watched the usually articulate Duncan stammer. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, wondering how much grace and composure he'd be able to summon up if the Scot had decided to end their relationship. He'd not detected any sort of problem--on the contrary, everything had seemed so right. Or had he just wanted it to be?
He prodded gently, "What is it?"
The soft rolling cadence of the Highlands crept into Duncan's voice, emphasizing his emotion. "What you said... in your story... I mean, I know you were probably just fooling around for the kids, but..."
//I'll only help you out so far, Mac.// "I'm not sure what you mean."
Methos almost had to strain to hear the words, as they were still being directed at the floor. "Well, the whole thing seemed to be about us, and... uh... I mean, I know it was just something you were making up... but... well... you talked about... about loving, and, and, about staying..."
Mac raised his eyes to meet his lover's, and Methos was startled at their intensity. "Did you mean that?"
A thousand flip remarks danced through the ancient immortal's mind. And he cast every one of them aside, steadily meeting the younger man's gaze. "Every word, Duncan."
Mac released a shaky breath and swallowed past the tightness in his throat. Why was it so hard to speak the words? He had thought them, felt them, expressed them everyday with his body and his actions, so why did the speaking of them seem so final? "I love you, Methos."
Slender, elegant fingers reached up to touch the side of his face with exquisite gentleness, as if sensing the raw exposure he was feeling. "And I, you, Highlander."
The kiss was an achingly tender confirmation. Methos was held securely against Duncan's solid warmth, unresistingly drawn into the Scot's strength and magnetism as broad, heated hands roamed his back, pulling him closer. The moist, feathery touch of Mac's tongue teased until Methos opened his mouth, then moved in to lay claim.
Methos could scarecely breathe, and quickly surrendered the idea of breathing as superfluous, an unnecessary luxury that was easily done without. He felt as if he were slowly drowning under Duncan's gentle assault on his senses, dimly registering the flavor of wine on Mac's tongue, the warmth of his hands sliding underneath his sweater. The scent of Duncan's soap, the cool damp smell of his hair, the light sweetness of his mouth under the trace of wine, the heat and hardness of his erection as Methos leaned into him were all dizzying, intoxicating. He held tightly to his lover's easy strength, feeling that he might be swept away and lost in the sea of sensation.
A low moan escaped him seconds later as Duncan's lips moved to travel along his throat, lingering over the vulnerable spot beneath his ear that Mac knew so well. Methos shivered lightly as his skin prickled and tingled at the light touch, and he was hard-pressed to remember how to speak.
"Mac..." Methos arched his neck and caught his breath as teeth nipped at his earlobe."...dinner..."
"Can wait." The husky whisper sent another shiver up the older man's spine. "This can't."
"Mmm..." Methos sighed as the Highlander's hands slid down to cup his buttocks, pulling them more tightly together, as if to emphasize the evidence of his need. "Suits me."
The older immortal tried hard to concentrate on his fingers as he worked to release the button on Duncan's jeans, but was understandably distracted by the friction of the muscled thigh which Mac had inserted between his legs. He was vaguely aware of his shirt being pulled down his arms, and he shrugged his shoulders to allow it to fall to the floor. Warm hands spread over his ribs, sliding down to knead his waist and hips... hot, moist lips played along his collarbone.
Feverishly, he tugged Duncan's pants open, managed the zipper, and slid his hand inside to close around the throbbing flesh, hearing his lover growl in response.
"Mac..." the usually elegant, cultured voice was reduced to a strangled moan, "the bed..."
"No time," gasped the Highlander as he sank to his knees, pulling his ancient lover down with him. Methos, not about to let a few carpet burns stand in the way of Mac's passion, went willingly.
Duncan guided the slender immortal onto his back, trailing his hands almost reverently down his pale torso, marveling yet again at the thought that his beautiful, magical man wanted... needed... loved... him.
His own need for Methos was a fire deep inside him. Both cleansing and destructive, it consumed everything and offered no quarter--a fire which at the moment was threatening to burn out of control. In his haste, his fingers fumbled clumsily with the snap on his partner's jeans until Methos came to his aid. He stood and quickly shucked his own jeans and briefs as Methos finished undressing, then knelt again between his lover's parted thighs.
Almost reverently, he folded his fingers around the pulsing flesh, feeling his control slip another notch as Methos caught his breath and arched his spine in a sinuous, feline movement that spoke of dark, sensual things. Leaning forward slightly, Duncan placed the fingertips of his other hand against his partner's lips.
Holding Mac's intense gaze with this own, Methos drew the warm fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them in a deliberately erotic pattern. Duncan's grip tightened on his erection, stroking with an irregular rhythm that drove his arousal higher without letting him fall into the motions that he needed. Reflexively, he pushed his hips up, thrusting into that maddening touch, mutely begging for more.
Duncan withdrew his fingers against the gentle suction of Methos' tongue, and drew them down between his legs. He swirled them across the weeping tip of his pleading erection, picking up the slickness of the preejaculate there before pressing against the tight passage below, feeling the muscles contract at the intrusion.
"Shhh... Methos...." Quickly, he lowered his head, taking his partner's swollen cock between his lips, matching the rhythm of his mouth to the slow, careful movements of his fingers. The ragged groan that escaped from Methos was almost his undoing.
Duncan lifted his head to meet the glazed hazel eyes. "Methos... I want... I need to... I'm..."
Methos nodded jerkily. "Yes, now... please, Duncan!" the whisper was almost frantic.
There was no further hesitation as Duncan lifted the lean hips and positioned himself to enter his lover. He laid a hand on Methos' stomach, feeling the muscles quivering beneath his palm, and strong, slender fingers reached to lace through his in a punishing grip as Duncan pushed smoothly inside the velvet warmth.
Methos caught his breath at the invasion, at the aching pleasure as the younger man filled him completely. Mac stilled to allow his ancient lover time to adjust, grinding his teeth against the urge to push too quickly, too deeply.
Methos focused on the bronzed, Scottish warrior before him, knowing without a doubt that he'd never, not in 5000 years, seen a more erotic image. Duncan... eyes closed, long dark hair falling on his shoulders, broad, muscled chest glistening with sweat as he began to move with long, slow, sure thrusts.
Methos moved to meet those motions as he guided Duncan's hand down to wrap around his straining erection, keeping his own fingers closed over the Highlander's.
They moved as one, drawing out the pleasure between them as long as possible, pulled between opposing needs to hurry and drive this on to its conclusion, and the desire to linger in the delicious moment forever if they could. But that battle was lost before it was ever begun, as every breath, every tiny motion pressed them onward. Hips pushed for every inch of fulfillment, hands pumped relentlessly, need and desire coiled tighter and tighter, hoarse cries erupting as Duncan made a final hard, deep plunge, pouring into his lover just before Methos shuddered, spreading their hands with warmth.
As his trembling eased and breathing slowed, Duncan withdrew from his lover, collapsing on the carpet next to the older immortal, and drawing him into his arms.
"God, Methos... do you know how crazy you make me?"
The reply was laced with lazy amusement. "Well, Mac, I believe you just gave me a fair demonstration."
Duncan smiled as he leaned over to kiss his lover quickly. "Well, let's shower, and maybe have dinner, and I'll show you some more."
"Next time you want me to tell you a story... I have this one about two immortals stranded on a desert island...."