"Wake up, sleepyhead."

He opened one eye, looked into the smiling face of his lover and couldn't help smiling back. Sitting up, he took the cup of coffee that was offered to him. "I think there's some inequity here. You threaten my life if I wake you too early, but if I want to sleep in..."

Methos sat on the bed next to him. "I suppose that's true. But you're a morning person, right? And it's morning. I wanted to make sure you didn't miss this one."

MacLeod had been vaguely following what Methos said, sleepiness and the fresh coffee in his hands a distraction, then his last words penetrated. "Why this one?"

"You haven't been keeping track of what day it is, have you?" MacLeod shook his head. "It's the solstice. Happy birthday." Methos leaned in and gave him a kiss. "Want to know what I got you?" MacLeod was curious about that. They'd spent the last few weeks together in this tropical hideaway, and there was no place to shop on the island. So he nodded and waited. "I got you me."

MacLeod chuckled. "At least you didn't have to go far to get that." He pulled Methos in for another kiss. "But I think I already have one."

"Not quite like the one I'm giving you today." The undercurrent in his voice caught MacLeod's attention. "For the next twenty-four hours, I'm yours to do with as you please. Use your imagination, indulge your greatest fantasy. I'll be your manservant, body slave, sex toy, whatever you want."

"I'm not sure I understand." He looked at Methos in confusion and a little mistrust. "Why would you want to do something like that? And how do I know this isn't some sort of practical joke?"

"Because it's your birthday," Methos said with a little annoyance. "Can't you look at it as a chance to indulge yourself?" MacLeod knew Methos could see the hesitancy on his face. "You spend most of your waking hours worrying about what other people want or need or how they feel. I want you to think about what you want and how you feel."

"But isn't that pretty self-centered?"

"It would be if you did it all the time. You don't. I'm talking about a day to let yourself play." Methos smiled and touched MacLeod's face. "No fantasy too small, no fantasy too strange. Say it and it's yours."

"No." He was shaking his head. "I don't ... I've never done anything like that. I don't play those games."

Methos looked at him with an odd expression, almost speculative. "Maybe you should. Or is it that you never had anyone you could play them with?"

MacLeod considered the question. He'd certainly played many sorts of games with Amanda, but most of them had been her idea. Tessa had been playful, but not like this. He'd had households with servants, but none that he'd expected this sort of service from. He didn't know how to answer Methos, so he said nothing.

After a few moments, Methos broke the silence. "I'm guessing you never had anyone offer you these freedoms." He reached out and took MacLeod's hand, then continued softly. "And I'm also guessing that you never allowed yourself to let go enough to do anything like this." He smiled a little. "No matter. It's never too late to start."

MacLeod pulled his hand free. "I'm not sure I want to start."

"Okay, then how about doing it because I want you to? I don't know anyone who doesn't have some sort of fantasy that they'd like to indulge."

MacLeod had to admit that was true. There were a few things he was sure he could never do, but they were kind of fun to think about. "Maybe. For you." He hesitated for a moment. "Did you mean what you said about any fantasy?" Methos nodded. "Then why don't you start by bringing me more coffee."

Methos was off the bed quickly, taking the cups to refill. "As you wish, Master." When he came back, he sat on the end of the bed again. "Have you figured out what you want to do?"

"I guess I haven't, but I have a few ideas." He glanced up at Methos before going on. "I've always had this thing about dungeons."

"Dungeons? You?" Methos laughed softly.

"Yeah. Dungeons." MacLeod sounded a little defensive. "You know. Chains. A rack. Iron maidens. Whips." He caught Methos' eye. "I thought you said any fantasy."

"You're right. I did." MacLeod could see the thinly veiled humor in the hazel eyes. "I had no idea I'd have to spend a week building a dungeon first, though."

"Well, if you're going to use that as an excuse, I suppose I could think of something else."

"No, if you want a dungeon, you can have one. I'm sure we can find enough to make do." Methos got off the bed and started to pace as he talked. "We need something for restraints. I think there's some rope. A rack, you said? That could be more difficult. We'll need some long boards." He stopped and looked at MacLeod. "I'll be right back. I think I saw what we need around back." He started to leave the room.

"Methos, come back." Methos stopped and turned in the doorway. "The dungeon was only one idea. If it's too much trouble we can do something else."

"No." Methos was shaking his head. "This is your fantasy. I want you to have what you want the most."

MacLeod reached his hand out toward Methos. "Come here and sit down." He took Methos' hand as his lover sat on the bed. "I don't need a dungeon. To tell the truth," he felt the heat in his face as he spoke, "I wouldn't know what to do with one." He looked up at Methos. "When you said any fantasy, I tried to think of the wildest thing I'd ever imagined. And that was it."

Methos turned MacLeod's hand over and massaged the palm with his thumbs. "All I meant was to pick a fantasy that you would have fun with and that you wouldn't ordinarily ask for." He worked on the muscle at the heel of MacLeod's hand. "But, you know, if you ever want to try the dungeon idea, I can help you with it."

"Yeah, I know. The man who's been there and done everything. That's who I'm stuck with."

"Some people," Methos began, trying to sound wounded, but unable to hide the humor in his voice, "would consider it a privilege to have 5000 years of expertise at their disposal."

MacLeod pulled his hand free, then used it to pull Methos against him. "I do. And someday we'll see how much you really know about dungeons." He leaned back against the pillows, holding Methos to him. "But not today."

"What did you have in mind?"

His fingers moved idly along Methos' arm. "I think today I'll indulge myself by letting you do everything."

"Everything?"

"Everything I ask. I might tell you to go away and let me sleep. Or I might get you to cook me something." He looked at Methos and saw the twinkle in the hazel eyes. He was obviously in the right spirit of the game. "I could have you bathe me. Or I could get you to pick me some coconuts." Another glance showed a little grin on Methos' face. "I could ask for hourly blow jobs. Or I could make you go catch dinner with your bare hands." He spread his hands expansively. "The possibilities are endless."

"Limited only by your imagination." Methos glanced at the sheet loosely covering MacLeod's groin, then smirked at MacLeod. "Or your stamina. Where should we start?"

"Your clothes. This," he plucked at the tee shirt Methos was wearing, "will not do." He thought about what little they had with them on the island. Then he knew what he wanted Methos to wear. "I know. Those loose cotton shorts. And no underwear. That's all." He waited impatiently while Methos found the garment in question. Standing with his back to MacLeod, Methos pulled on the shorts, the thin fabric clinging to his ass. As Methos turned to face him, he could see the barest hint of Methos' cock and balls moving freely under the loose cloth. MacLeod always liked the suggestion of something hidden rather than overt nudity. Now, as Methos stood in front of him, it was as erotic as he had expected. He felt himself start to harden as he watched his lover strike a few poses.

"What's next?" With an effort, MacLeod brought his attention back to the conversation, then realized he hadn't planned the next step. He looked blankly at Methos' smiling face. "Then, with your permission, Master..." MacLeod nodded, then watched as Methos moved toward him. Slim hands pulled back the sheet that was the only thing covering him. Methos' eyes met his with a little smile before he buried his face in MacLeod's crotch, nuzzling and licking. MacLeod moaned softly as first one testicle then the other was drawn between the insistent lips. He wasn't completely sure what had prompted Methos to do this, but he wasn't about to stop him and ask.

His balls were licked and nuzzled until his cock was rock hard and oozing precome. Just as he thought he'd go crazy if Methos didn't touch his cock, he felt tongue and lips along his length, then he was engulfed in Methos' hot mouth. His hips bucked upward, seeking the moist depths of Methos' throat. Relentless mouth and hands drove him on, stripping him of any chance of control. All he could do was thrust uncontrollably, seeking the quick release that would end the sweet torture. Soon enough, he felt the eruption building inside him. Then it was there, announced by his strangled cry, and he was shooting hard, filling Methos' mouth with his hot fluid. He was barely done when he pulled Methos up and kissed him roughly, tasting himself on Methos' tongue.

As he broke the kiss, Methos smoothed the hair off MacLeod's brow, then gave him a little smile. "You think you'll be ready to do that again in an hour?"

MacLeod was confused momentarily, then let his head drop back, laughing weakly. "I did say that, didn't I? Hourly blow jobs." He kissed Methos again, then held him close, letting his hands wander over the smooth skin of the other man's back. "No, I think I'll have to change the schedule. If we did that every hour, I'd be dead before lunch." As he caressed the soft skin, MacLeod realized there was one more thing he wanted. "I have another rule for today. Rule number one is that you wear those shorts." He reached and put his hand on Methos' ass cheek. "Yeah, that's definitely rule number one. Rule number two is that I want you close enough to touch any time I want to. You have to ask permission to go farther away than that."

Methos wriggled against MacLeod. "Okay, you have two rules. I can handle those. Have you decided what we're going to do today?"

"The only thing I've decided is that I don't want to decide." He smiled at Methos. "How's this for a fantasy? To spend a day not making any decisions more complicated than beer now or later. You figure out what we're going to do and make sure I have fun doing it." He gave Methos a quick kiss. "Think you can handle the responsibility?"

Methos chuckled at MacLeod. "I think so. This could be fun. I do have some games I think you'll like. But first, shower and breakfast." He moved off MacLeod, then took his hand to lead him to the bathroom. "Permission to take off the shorts while we shower?"

"Granted," MacLeod agreed with a grin. He watched as Methos quickly stripped off the shorts, revealing a half-hard cock. Seeing that started a renewed response in his own body and he pulled Methos to him, holding his naked ass cheeks, pulling their crotches against each other. Methos maneuvered them into the shower and the spray eased the friction where MacLeod was pressing his now fully erect cock against Methos. He kissed Methos gently, deeply, then reached his hand between them to wrap around both their erections. Methos added his hand to MacLeod's as they stroked their cocks together, as they climaxed together and as their mingled semen washed down the drain.

Moving enough to be able to reach soap and shampoo, Methos washed MacLeod from head to toe, then quickly washed himself. Out of the shower, MacLeod was dried first as well. Methos pulled his shorts back on, then led MacLeod to the bedroom where he handed him a pair of knit jogging shorts. "Will that be enough clothing for you, Master, or would you like more?"

"This will be fine."

"Good." Methos took MacLeod's hand again and led him to the kitchen, where he started making breakfast.

"You know, you don't have to hold my hand everywhere we go."

"How else will I be sure not to break rule number two?" Methos' face and voice were serious, but he made no effort to hide the humor in his eyes.

Breakfast made and served, Methos herded MacLeod onto the porch and into one of the lounge chairs. Arranging MacLeod's legs on each side of the chair, Methos sat in the vee he created and fed them both.

When they were done, MacLeod pulled Methos against his chest. "I like your ideas so far. What's next?"

Methos tucked his head against MacLeod's shoulder. "I thought a swim in the lagoon, some sunbathing, maybe a little fishing, then lunch." He nipped MacLeod's neck gently. "After lunch is when the real adventures will start."

"Mmmm... I'm looking forward to it." His hands ran across Methos' chest, stopping to toy idly with a nipple. "But for now, don't we have to wait an hour before swimming?"

"We can wait as long as you like, Master." Methos arched his back, pressing his chest into MacLeod's hands.

MacLeod sighed, but didn't move his hands off Methos' skin. "If we don't move, this could end up a day of nothing but sex." He felt the renewed stirring in his groin and marveled at the response having this man near could draw from him.

"I didn't realize that would be a problem. But if it is..." Methos got up and pulled MacLeod with him. "...we'll go play in the water now." He sent MacLeod ahead of him and chased him the short distance to the beach, then tackled him on the sand before reaching the water. Turning him on his back, he straddled MacLeod's hips and caught the hands that reached for him, holding them on the sand next to MacLeod's head. "Permission to undress before going in the water?"

MacLeod tried to buck Methos off, but relaxed quickly into the sand as he was held in place. "Granted." As soon as Methos' grip on him eased, he unseated his lover, flipping him on his back and unceremoniously stripping off his shorts, then pulling off his own. With a wicked grin, he ran to the surf and entered the water in a flat dive. He stopped, standing chest deep in the water, and watched as Methos followed. As Methos reached him, he felt his legs pulled out from under him and he was under water, held by hands on his shoulders. A quick kiss and he was released as Methos swam toward the rocks that separated the lagoon from the rest of the ocean. He followed and they were soon perched on the rocks next to each other, looking across the expanse of ocean.

"We didn't bring the fishing gear with us," MacLeod observed. "Going to be hard to catch dinner this way."

"Maybe. It's too early to think about that." Methos turned and looked at the lagoon behind him, then at the slightly rougher water of the open ocean. "You want to swim out there today?" he asked, indicating the ocean in front of him.

"Nope. The lagoon today." With that, MacLeod stood and dove off the rock. When he surfaced, he turned on his back and floated idly as he waited for Methos to join him. When Methos was next to him, he turned over and began the swim that had become part of their routine most days. A landmark on each side of the lagoon was one end of each lap they swam, not stopping until they felt a pleasant fatigue in their muscles. Making their way back to the beach, they collapsed on the sand, lying on their bellies as they dried in the sun.

MacLeod turned on his side and propped his head on his hand, the other hand reaching out to run along the lines of Methos' back. He liked the slight honey color that the sun had brought to his lover's skin, but he had a small twinge of regret that he hadn't asked Methos to wear something while sunbathing. That would have left him with some of the pale ivory color that he also loved on that body. As he drew his hand down the long back, MacLeod imagined how it would have looked if the honey color stopped just at the buttocks, leaving the rounded cheeks with their original paleness. He sighed, knowing it was certainly too late now, but storing the thought away for another time.

Methos smiled and opened his eyes, then reached and brushed the sand off MacLeod's face. He glanced up at the sun, which was nearly overhead. "If I can have permission to go out to the rocks by myself, I'll catch dinner."

MacLeod kissed the palm of Methos' hand. "I think I can do without you for that long." He watched Methos walk back into the lagoon, then swim to the rocks. From the rocks, he dove down into the water on the ocean side. A few minutes later, he reappeared on the rocks holding two spiny lobsters in his hands. He swam slowly back to shore, holding his wiggling prizes away from his body.

Stopping next to MacLeod, he held the pair out for him to admire. "I think we need to get these into the bungalow. If Master would agree to carry our clothes back and accompany me?" MacLeod nodded and stood up, picking up their shorts as he followed Methos back. The dinners-to-be were put in the fridge and beer was pulled out and offered to MacLeod. "Beer now?" MacLeod chuckled and took the bottle. Methos went on. "Lunch will be a picnic on the beach. But I should clean the sand off you before I start working on it." He led MacLeod outside and brushed the sand off his skin with a soft towel, starting at his face and working down his body. His touch was gentle and sensual, and MacLeod closed his eyes as the hands moved over him.

By the time Methos got to his crotch, MacLeod was already aroused, and the hands brushing the sand off his balls and from between his ass cheeks only increased his response. He heard the soft question. "Now?"

MacLeod shook his head. "No. Later." Businesslike hands finished brushing the sand off his legs, then Methos stood and handed him his shorts. He watched Methos make their lunch, then walked with him to the edge of the beach and the dappled shade of a palm tree. Again, Methos fed them both, and when they were done, MacLeod leaned back against the tree and Methos lay his head in MacLeod's lap. MacLeod was dozing and had one hand draped across Methos, idly caressing him. He wasn't too close to sleep to realize how much he was enjoying their day so far. Ever since he'd found Methos again he'd felt an almost desperate need to be close to him and touch him, but knowing that Methos didn't always enjoy it as much as he did, he had held back. Today was a perfect chance to touch and feel as much as he wanted.

He let his caressing hand drift to Methos' chest and nipples, and he felt the stirring in his groin that always accompanied the feel of Methos' body. The more he touched Methos, the harder his cock grew, and he knew Methos could feel the rising flesh against his head. His caresses grew more urgent, fingers that brushed Methos' nipples stopping to pinch and pull. Finally Methos moved, pressing his head against MacLeod's crotch, rubbing against him through the fabric of his shorts. Methos rolled over, putting his face against MacLeod's groin, licking his hard cock through the cotton, then pulling away the shorts and freeing his erection. Before touching the shaft, Methos licked and suckled MacLeod's balls, not stopping until MacLeod's hands were demanding his attention elsewhere. He licked to the head of MacLeod's cock, then took him in, suckling gently but insistently.

MacLeod watched as Methos' mouth worked on him, and saw Methos' hand reach into his own shorts to pull on his cock and knew that wouldn't do. He wanted to make love to Methos the same way Methos was making love to him. He shifted away from the tree to lay down in front of Methos, taking the man's hand off his cock and replacing it with his own mouth. As he was being nuzzled and sucked, he nuzzled and licked Methos' cock, finally taking him in and suckling in the same rhythm he was feeling. This was a perfect match as they thrust into each other's mouths, noses buried in the musk of each other's balls, hands free to caress or stimulate. He moved slowly, setting a rhythm that would make this last, knowing Methos would follow his lead.

Hips moving together, hearts beating in time, they were as much a single creature in this form of lovemaking as they were any other time. So in tune were they with each other that they knew as the other needed more, they knew as the edge of orgasm approached and would slow to prolong the pleasure. Before long, nothing could stop their finishing, and they moved faster, suckling harder, exploding and filling each other at the same time. Even when the spasms had passed, MacLeod held Methos' cock in his mouth. He loved the taste and feel of the man, and as they lay there, still holding and touching, he felt a oneness with Methos that he had felt with few lovers in his life.

When Methos' cock had softened, he gently let it slide from his mouth and turned to kiss his lover deeply, holding him in a tight embrace. They lay there, not quite dozing, wrapped in each other's arms for some time.

Methos was the first to move, finding his shorts and pulling them on. "I think it's time to get ready for our game." As MacLeod stood, he handed him his shorts, then led the way back to the bungalow. Digging in the storage bins, Methos pulled out two lengths of rope, giving one to MacLeod and keeping one for himself.

"Do you have a hunting knife with you?" MacLeod nodded. "Good. You'll need it. We also need to dress more completely for the game. We'll be working in the undergrowth, so, with your permission, I'd suggest boots, jeans, shirts, enough to be comfortable in the thick growth."

"You going to tell me what the game is?"

Methos grinned. "We're going hunting. I'd rather wait till we're ready to start to explain it all."

MacLeod made a quick decision. He'd told Methos whatever they did he had to enjoy, so he'd go along with this game. "Fine with me. What do you want me to do?"

"Get dressed. All we need is the rope and knives. May I dress as well?"

MacLeod realized he hadn't given Methos specific permission to wear anything more than the shorts. "Of course. Too bad to hide that cute ass, but if it's better for the game, I guess I can't argue." He grabbed Methos into a hug as he started toward the bedroom. "I am going to like this, aren't I?"

Methos kissed him lightly. "I'm going to do my best to make sure you do. Oh. There's one other thing. I'll have to be farther away from you for this game. I guess we have to suspend both rule number one and rule number two. Is that okay?"

"As long as you say it's going to be fun, it's okay with me."

"Let's get dressed, then. This game could take most of the afternoon." He pulled out of MacLeod's grasp and started putting on jeans and boots. The last thing he chose was a long sleeved pullover shirt. MacLeod chose similar clothing, finishing with a button front cotton shirt. Hunting knives were hung from their belts and the coils of rope were slung over their shoulders. Methos led the way out to the edge of the denser tropical growth, then turned to MacLeod.

"This game is called Hunters. The rules are pretty simple. I'm going to start into the jungle, then you come after me. The only catch is, once you start after me, I can hunt you. The first one to capture the other gets to do whatever they want with the captive." He grinned at MacLeod. "That's where a lot of the fun can come in. You still okay with this?"

MacLeod grinned back at him. He'd pit his tracking skills against anyone's. "I like it. Any time you're ready."

"That would be now. Count to sixty then follow me." He gave MacLeod a quick kiss, then headed into the jungle at a steady trot.

MacLeod counted slowly as he watched Methos disappear into the lush growth. He hadn't done much tracking in jungles, but was sure his skills were up to it. As he started to follow, he knew Methos hadn't gone far, he could still sense him. That didn't surprise him. This was a game of stealth, not running. If he were the prey, he would double back to become the hunter. If he had time, he'd set some traps. He had no doubt Methos would be thinking the same thing. This game might be in fun, but he had no intention of losing.

He moved slowly, quietly, looking for sign, following a turn toward even thicker growth. Birds chattered, annoyed to be disturbed in their privacy. This was a perfect spot for Methos to lay in wait. MacLeod left the trail he was following, skirting the densest growth. As he completed his circle, he found that the trail ended there. Carefully pushing aside the thick greenery, he found evidence that Methos had waited there. But he wasn't there now. Methos' lead hadn't been enough to put him far away, and MacLeod glanced around warily. With no sign of the other man, MacLeod knew he'd gone back the way he'd come, so MacLeod followed back to the original trail.

MacLeod was sure the blind had been a test of his tracking abilities. He grinned to himself as he went on, pleased to have someone this skilled to test his skills against, and equally pleased that it was a game. No lives were at stake here. He went on to the point where the trail ended, realizing he'd missed the place where a turn had been made. Carefully tracking back, he found the well-hidden sign, and cautiously took the turn, then stopped. Something about the ground ahead bothered him, and he found a stick and probed carefully, smiling as he uncovered the snare that had been set for him. That meant Methos was even closer. Setting traps took time. Now what he wanted was the place where Methos would be waiting for the trap to spring. MacLeod moved very slowly, knowing the sign to that spot would be almost invisible, and his care was rewarded.

Crouching low, he moved even more slowly, trying to avoid disturbing the birds whose calling would surely alert Methos to his presence. He followed the almost imperceptible trail until he saw Methos hidden among some large ferns, his back to MacLeod. Now it was MacLeod's turn to stalk his prey. He sat back on his heels and waited. After a bit, Methos got up and headed toward the snare with MacLeod following him silently. He watched as Methos checked the snare and looked up the trail quickly. MacLeod had not hidden that he'd found the trap, wanting Methos to know he was close behind him. Methos gathered the rope he'd used and headed into thicker foliage. MacLeod trailed behind him, close enough not to lose him, far enough not to be noticed.

He followed Methos on a seemingly random path, sometimes into thicker growth, sometimes into trees with less undergrowth, occasionally doubling back, always carefully, noiselessly. After one turn, he lost Methos. Advancing cautiously, he saw no sign of a turn, in fact, the trail seemed to end where he stood. He was still as he considered his next move. A rustling at his feet drew his attention, but not soon enough. The snare tightened around his ankles and he was jerked off his feet, landing face down on the ground. Before he could get free, Methos was on his back, binding his hands behind him.

Leave it to me, MacLeod thought to himself, to think I could beat a guy with 4500 years more experience at this. He almost chuckled at himself as Methos finished tying his hands.

Methos pulled him to his feet, then looked at him with a little smile. "Looks like I win. Are you ready for the next part of the game?" There was a bright gleam in Methos' eye that sent a shiver of anticipation up MacLeod's spine. He was led to a small clearing ringed by some young trees. Methos positioned him between two trees that were about six feet apart. First his ankles were tied, one to each tree, with enough rope that he had to stand with his legs spread, but not uncomfortably. That done, his hands were freed long enough for them to be similarly bound to the trees at his sides. When Methos was done, he was spread-eagled between the two trees. He pulled gently to test the ropes, finding them well-tied. Something in the back of his mind tugged at him, an almost familiarity with the situation he was in, but he couldn't pin it down. He shook his head and returned his attention to Methos.

His lover stood in front of him, smiling. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you look like that?" Methos stepped up to him and kissed him gently then backed away. "But I know a way to make you more beautiful." He pulled out his knife and held it under MacLeod's chin. A momentary shiver ran through MacLeod's body as he reminded himself this was Methos and this was a game. There was no danger here. The knife was lowered to cut the top button off MacLeod's shirt, the front opened with the tip of the blade. The intensity of Methos' expression sent a momentary tremor through him and he tried to examine what he was feeling. Part of it was apprehension at his vulnerability. More of it was excitement at having his flesh bared in this way. The next button was cut off, then the next, until the whole front of the shirt was open. By the time Methos was done, a slow ache had spread across MacLeod's groin.

"Better." Methos' voice was almost a caress. "But not quite good enough." He stepped behind MacLeod and took the collar of the shirt in his hand and pulled, drawing the fabric off his shoulders. MacLeod watched as the knife moved along each arm, parting the fabric of the sleeves until MacLeod's upper body was naked. He started as Methos' hands touched his shoulders, then slid across his back and onto his denim-clad buttocks. A squeeze, then Methos' hands moved around his hips, across his groin and up his chest to his nipples. Methos' body was pressed against MacLeod's back, and he felt the man's heat and arousal, which fed into his own. After a quick nip at MacLeod's neck, Methos moved away from him.

He walked in front of MacLeod again. "I think we can do even better than this, don't you?" He didn't answer Methos, hadn't spoken since Methos had caught him. Somehow, he knew he shouldn't speak unless he was told he could. Was that something from those almost memories? He couldn't be sure. He watched in fascination as Methos' hands reached for his belt, pulling it slowly out of the loops on his jeans. There was a momentary twinge of fear as Methos held the belt and looked at it as if considering ... what? Then a sense of great relief as it was dropped to the ground. As Methos' hands began a slow caress along the sides of his chest, his eyes held MacLeod's, the lust in Methos' gaze sending sparks straight to MacLeod's groin. Methos' hands slid down to MacLeod's hips, then across the front of his jeans that were fighting to contain his aching cock. The buttons of his fly were opened almost excruciatingly slowly, baring the white cotton of his briefs, giving some small freedom to his straining flesh. Methos' hands worked their way inside the jeans, then around to cup MacLeod's ass.

Again, Methos pressed his body against MacLeod, this time chest to chest, and as he held MacLeod's ass he thrust his hips forward, grinding his crotch against MacLeod's, erection against erection. Pushing away, Methos grabbed the knife again, slicing away the fabric to bare MacLeod's legs. His moves were starting to be more violent, and MacLeod felt a twinge of fear as Methos brought the knife closer to his crotch. But Methos' eyes met his with a tiny reassurance and he tried once more to relax and remind himself that Methos wouldn't hurt him as the knife carefully separated the fabric that covered his cock and balls. Now he was standing, bound to two trees, naked except for his briefs and socks and boots. MacLeod was fascinated by his own response to all this. He thought he should be afraid, but all he felt now was excitement. His cock was hard and the head was pushing up past the elastic of his confining underwear.

"Almost perfect." Methos was standing in front of him, his voice a sensual whisper. "Do you like being the jungle savage?" He grabbed the back of MacLeod's hair, tilting his head back. "I like being the great white hunter who has captured you." He leaned in and bit MacLeod hard on his neck, then let go of him and stepped back. MacLeod could see the clear bulge of arousal in Methos' jeans which was matched by the dark lust in his eyes. "But the picture isn't quite complete." MacLeod gasped as Methos pulled hard on his briefs, cutting them away with quick slashes of his knife.

The loss of that last garment left MacLeod feeling incredibly vulnerable. Somehow, the truth of his position hadn't registered on him as long as he had some clothing. Now, with his hard cock jutting out in front of him, his balls swinging free between his legs and the play of air across his ass he felt more exposed than his mere nudity justified. He trembled slightly as Methos stood close to him, the intensity of his lover's gaze adding to his fear.

"One more thing. That's all we need." Methos was whispering in his ear. "I have to go find it. You'll be fine here. I won't be long or far. Yell if you need me." Then Methos moved away from him, walking into the jungle. Being left alone magnified his fear and brought sharp glimpses of the phantom memories. Images of pain and fright that he didn't understand, that weren't his. Almost panicking, he pulled and struggled hard against his bonds for the first time since he'd been tied. The ropes held and he growled in frustration. His trembling returned and he felt a sheen of sweat starting on his body. This was the first time since they'd started this game that he was really afraid.

He tried to tell himself there was nothing to be afraid of, but this wasn't a rational fear. Being bound and helpless drew a visceral, primal response, and he smelled his own fear, felt his fast, shallow breathing and the loss of his arousal. He wished Methos would hurry back, wanted to know why he'd been abandoned in the first place, but he wasn't going to yell for him. In a detached corner of his mind, he was cataloging this experience, wondering at his own responses. Through all the fear, the sense of excitement hadn't faded. He didn't understand, but right now he was willing to live and feel what was happening. He'd think about it later.

Finally he saw Methos at the edge of the clearing, carrying an armload of vines. He walked quickly up to MacLeod, putting a hand on the side of his face. "Are you okay?" MacLeod knew Methos could see the evidence of his fear, but he nodded, then nuzzled and kissed Methos' palm. He wasn't alone anymore and needed to thank his captor for returning. Methos dropped the vines at his feet, took MacLeod's face in both hands and kissed him slowly, deeply, easing the edge of MacLeod's fear.

As he ended the kiss, Methos slid his hands down MacLeod's body, along ribs and hips and finally the outsides of strong thighs. He knelt in front of MacLeod and picked up the vines he'd brought back with him. Long strands were draped around MacLeod's waist, creating a living loin cloth for him to wear. Firm hands stroked him back to full arousal before the shorter pieces were wrapped around the base of his cock and scrotum, just tight enough to push his balls deep into their sac and keep his cock at its hard attention.

Methos stood up and moved back a few paces, staring at MacLeod. "You are absolutely perfect." MacLeod thrust his hips forward proudly, knowing his captor was pleased with his creation. Even as he did that, a corner of his mind wondered when he had made the shift to accepting his role so completely. But it seemed right, to be bound here, doing his captor's bidding. He pushed the conflict aside and concentrated on Methos.

His lover was grinning at him. "Duncan MacLeod, jungle savage. And all mine." He stepped up to MacLeod, long fingers touching MacLeod's face. "I told you this game would be fun." MacLeod turned his head, capturing Methos' fingers in his mouth. "Lots of fun," Methos whispered. "But now, I think it's time I was as naked as you, don't you agree?" Methos stripped off his shirt, then his boots and jeans followed. He faced MacLeod, his hard cock stabbing the air, and a little smile lit his face. He moved close enough to touch MacLeod and reached a hand into MacLeod's short hair. "It's too bad you cut this. The long hair would have been a perfect addition to the picture."

MacLeod smiled back at him, then let his gaze drop, knowing no answer was expected. Methos' hands started slowly down his chest, nails raking his skin ever so slightly. At his nipples, the touch became harder, pinching and twisting until he whimpered and pulled away, then the touch soothed briefly before going on to scrape the nails over more of his chest. The red marks left by Methos' nails disappeared almost instantly, but the fire in the touch remained. Again, the touch returned to his nipples, this time pinching harder, drawing a quick gasp from him. A small part of his mind detached itself to watch in fascination. While each touch brought pain, there was more. Every pinch or scratch that was painful also sent hot desire straight to his hard cock. He didn't understand this response, didn't have time to think about it.

The soft skin of the inside of his arms was next to feel Methos' hands, the scraping nails creating a such a sensitivity that the mere hint of touch had him writhing to avoid it. First his left arm, then across his body to his aching nipples again. Any touch to the sore nubs had him moaning, but that didn't stop Methos. Pinched and twisted until he sobbed, then soothed and left as his right arm learned the sharp fire of Methos' hands. Back to his nipples once more, his sobs coming more quickly each time they were touched. He wanted to beg Methos to stop, was terrified that he might. He didn't know when pain had become pleasure, all he could feel was need in the hard ache of his cock.

Methos knelt in front of MacLeod as he reached to the sensitive flesh of the inside of his thighs. His fingers scraped and pinched until the fire seared to MacLeod's core. His cock ached with wanting, he felt as if any touch on his body had a direct line to his groin. Methos stood and moved behind him, scraping, touching, sometimes pinching his back and buttocks until he was gasping at each new sensation. Just when he thought he couldn't take any more, Methos' hands left his back and reached around to his nipples. He sobbed and gave in to the feelings, rolling his head from side to side as Methos' hands pulled and twisted the tortured flesh, creating an intensity of feelings in him that he never knew he was capable of.

Methos pressed his body against MacLeod's back, and the hypersensitivity of his skin made it feel like lightning was crawling over him. Methos' hands were on his chest, rubbing his nipples, and he jerked backward to escape that, only to press more deeply against the man behind him. He was surrounded by the sensations, moaning as he realized there was no way to avoid them, nowhere he could go. His cock and balls ached, he knew he was dripping precome, but wasn't able to find release. The vines twined around him saw to that.

"I'm going to fuck you now." Methos' voice whispering in his ear drew him back from the place where all he could do was feel. The hard cock had been against his ass for a long time. He'd wanted to beg Methos to do that, but knew he shouldn't, and now it would happen. He nodded and moaned in affirmation, desperately needing the inside of his body to be touched as the outside had been so that he could be complete.

A moment's separation had him whimpering with the loss, then Methos was back, slick hands preparing him and it happened. He shouted as Methos' cock filled him, pushing deeply, then began a steady motion. Hips pushed against him, twisting with each stroke. Finally, his desire, his need was being fulfilled. His hands clenched and opened, pulling against the ropes, needing to touch himself. Methos wouldn't. Methos' hands were on his hips, his thighs, his chest, his nipples, everywhere but his cock. It was too much. He rolled his head back, begging, moaning, sobbing, but the sensations were merciless, surrounding him, filling him.

Suddenly one hand, then the other was free and he fell to his knees, Methos with him, still deep inside him. The thrusting continued, fast, deep as Methos worked toward his release. MacLeod tried to touch himself, but his arms were held close to his body, Methos' arms wrapped around him tightly. He felt the momentary stillness that came just before Methos' orgasm, then the quick thrusts and one last deep push as Methos cried out, filling him with long hot spurts.

His feet were free, too, and he didn't know when that had happened. Methos pulled them both over on their sides, holding MacLeod in his arms as he reached and unwound the vines on his genitals. A soft hand massaged his balls, then began stroking his cock, pulling, squeezing and it was barely moments before he curled around that hand, shooting in huge spasms as he released the long pent-up tension of his body.

He lay there, unable to move, and Methos turned him, cradling MacLeod against his chest, whispering to him, wordless, soothing sounds. He burrowed against Methos, seeking the comfort and reassurance his lover was offering. He closed his eyes, letting himself fall into the security of the strong arms around him. His body was trembling from the sensory overload, but the feel of Methos holding him slowly brought him back to himself.

MacLeod relaxed, nestling his head on Methos' shoulder, his face nuzzled into his neck. His mind had started to process everything that had happened, and he chuckled softly.

"What?" Methos was slowly caressing his head.

"That used to be one of my favorite shirts."

Methos kissed his forehead. "I'm sorry. I'll see if I can find you another one like it."

They lay quietly for a while, but MacLeod's muscles needed to be stretched. He moved, pushing arms and legs to their full extension, then pulling into a tight ball before relaxing and sitting up next to Methos.

"You know," MacLeod began, "that's the first time I've ever done anything like that."

"I suspected."

"It's going to take me a while to figure it all out."

Methos reached for MacLeod's wrist and began massaging it. "I'm not surprised about that. I'll help you if I can."

"I know."

"Did you enjoy it?"

"I don't know. It was so ... different. I do know that I'm not sorry it happened."

Methos smiled and took his other wrist. "Good. I'm glad of that." He let go of MacLeod's wrist and slid a hand along his cheek. "I think we need to get you back. You look like you could use some rest."

He kissed the palm of Methos' hand. "I could. And some dinner." He stood up slowly, feeling that staying upright was no small victory. Looking around, he realized none of his clothing was fit to wear. "I guess I get to be the jungle savage a little while longer." He smiled at Methos' confused look. "All my clothes seem to have that distressed look to them."

Methos got to his feet and took MacLeod in his arms. "As long as you don't have that distressed look, it doesn't matter." He gave MacLeod a gentle kiss, then let go of him to start picking up their things. He handed a bundle to MacLeod and kept one for himself, then put one arm around MacLeod as they started out of the jungle.

Where they had ended their hunt turned out not to be far from the beach, and it wasn't long before they were back at the bungalow. MacLeod was sent to take a shower, but when Methos came in to check on him he hadn't had the energy to wash, he was leaning on the wall as the water ran over him.

Methos stepped into the shower and put a hand on MacLeod's back. "Are you okay?"

MacLeod looked up at him. "Yeah. I'm just ... I'm not sure ... but I am ... I'm okay."

Methos nodded. "I understand." He took soap and washcloth and began massaging and scrubbing, slowly and carefully. The gentle touch was exactly what MacLeod needed, and he sighed deeply as he relaxed into Methos' caring hands. After the shower, he let Methos bundle him into a thick robe and settle him onto the couch with a glass of scotch in his hand.

"With your permission, Master, I'd like to be far enough away to make dinner." MacLeod almost laughed at that, but nodded instead. He was no longer sure who was the master and who wasn't. He tried to think about what had happened in the jungle, but fatigue kept any of it from making much sense. Setting the glass on the table, he pulled his feet onto the couch and dozed.

He didn't know how long he'd slept, but a hand on his shoulder and a kiss on his forehead woke him easily. Methos was kneeling next to the couch. "Dinner's ready." MacLeod smiled as he was led to the table, a romantic presentation of the lobsters, lit by candles, flanked by glasses of a fine wine. Methos stood, looked back at MacLeod, and gestured him toward a chair.

Instead of sitting, MacLeod moved close to Methos, embracing him from behind so they were both facing the table. "This is perfect. I can't imagine a better way to end the day." He brushed his lips against Methos' neck. "And you are perfect."

Methos turned in his arms, a little smile on his lips. "That's the last time I give you scotch before dinner." He touched soft fingers to MacLeod's lips. "Why don't we eat now and do the relative analysis of perfection later."

MacLeod kissed Methos slowly, deeply, then let him go and sat in the chair Methos had directed him to. "If that's what you'd rather do." He caught Methos' gaze as his lover sat down, letting the slightest smile tug at his mouth.

Methos smiled back and picked up his glass of wine, holding it in a small salute. "Here's to many more birthdays to celebrate." He took a sip. "Now eat before it gets cold. I put a lot of effort into this."

"You put a lot of effort into everything today."

Methos shook his head. "No, I just did a few things to make sure you enjoyed the day. Now eat. We can talk later."

MacLeod followed Methos' suggestion, digging into his lobster, indulging himself in the decadence of the drawn butter. It was a wonderful dinner with a superb wine and he found himself thinking about the complexity of the man opposite him. It seemed he was always finding some hidden aspect to Methos, another facet to the jewel that was his lover. And like a jewel, in different light, different reflections were seen. Sometimes it was the flaws, more often it was glimpses of great beauty. Always it was something to be treasured, protected. MacLeod wondered if he'd ever understand enough about Methos to say that he knew what his essence was. He doubted it. He'd have to remain content with loving him and learning the pieces that were revealed to him. It had gotten them through a lot in the last couple of years, and he had no doubt it would get them through a lot in the future.

After dinner they lounged together on the couch, MacLeod resting against Methos' chest, his head back against Methos' shoulder. "This has been a fantastic day."

Methos' mouth was near MacLeod's temple and he spoke quietly. "It's not over. You get twenty-four hours, remember?"

"I remember. I was going to sleep the other twelve, if that's okay with you."

"It's fine." Methos' fingers were running idly through MacLeod's hair. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"The jungle?" MacLeod was quiet for a moment. "I think I understand most of it. It's about control, about letting go."

"More than that," Methos prompted.

"More?" MacLeod considered that. "Not just letting go. Purposely giving control to someone else. Trusting yourself and them enough to be able to do that."

"And being willing to push beyond your limits." MacLeod sensed Methos' hesitation as he went on. "If it hadn't been for our game, would you ever have done that?"

It was several moments before MacLeod answered. "Ever is a long time. But I'd have to say probably not."

"Now that you have...?"

"Would I do it again?" MacLeod finished for him. "I don't know. Parts of it were terrifying. Being tied, helpless, vulnerable..." He shivered and Methos held him tighter. "Parts of it were fantastic. The things you did ... I never knew being touched could be so intense. And the things that were so terrifying added to the intensity." He sat up, wanting to see Methos' eyes. "But what we did is only the smallest part of some of things you've done, isn't it?"

The green-gold eyes didn't waver from his own. "It is." Long fingers combed into MacLeod's hair. "Like you said, I've been there and done everything. Hell, I probably invented the tee shirt." He pulled MacLeod back down to his chest. "And I have always known that you find that a little intimidating at times. I wish there was a way I could be sure you understand that just because I've done something and enjoyed it in the past, doesn't mean that I need or even want to do it now."

MacLeod burrowed his head into Methos' shoulder. "That's one thing I think I finally have learned. But would I be right if I said that you were willing to show me some of those things if I asked?"

"You would." He kissed MacLeod's hair. "But not tonight. Tonight all I'm going to do is take you to bed before you fall asleep here on the couch." He urged MacLeod off the couch and into the bedroom, dropping MacLeod's robe and his own shorts before climbing under the blanket.

MacLeod kissed Methos deeply, lingeringly before draping himself against his lover's warm body the way he liked best, his head on Methos' shoulder, his arm possessively across Methos' chest, legs tangled together, as much flesh touching flesh as he could manage. As he drifted toward sleep, he heard one last whisper.