Methos has accompanied Duncan to a formal year-end party for the history department of Seacouver U. There are about thirty or forty people there, all talking at length about moldy historical controversies.
Methos is bored.
Duncan has been involved in a lively discussion about medieval helmets with the department chair for over an hour. Methos has spent that hour discovering that the bar only has one decent brand of scotch, and no beer at all. He has also been watching Duncan. Like Methos, Duncan is wearing a tuxedo, and Methos hard pressed not to stare and drool openly.
Methos strolls over to Duncan, making an effort to seem casual. He nods at the department chair, apologizing for the intrusion. He leans toward Duncan to speak into his ear, raising a hand to shield his words.
He whispers, "Meet me in the bedroom where we left our coats." Behind his hand, he extends the tip of his tongue and runs it deftly along Duncan's earlobe. Duncan shivers, and Methos moves away, again nodding an apology at the department chair, who has apparently noticed nothing.
Methos casually makes his way upstairs and into the bedroom. The window in the bedroom is open slightly, and he can hear party guests holding quiet conversations in the garden outside. Duncan arrives a minute or so later, closing and locking the door behind him. Methos pulls Duncan into a kiss, lips bruising, tongue plundering. He breaks the kiss, grinning mischievously at Duncan. He reaches behind Duncan, unlocking the door and opening it slightly. Duncan opens his mouth to object, but Methos stops his protest with another deep kiss. Duncan begins to respond, pulling Methos closer.
Methos again breaks the kiss, this time dropping to his knees in front of Duncan. He deftly frees Duncan's achingly hard cock. He licks at it with just the tip of his tongue, tracing the ridge around the head. Duncan groans. Methos draws the head into his mouth, applying just the right amount of suction, his hand setting up a steady rhythm. Duncan moans deep in his throat, reaching for the back of Methos' head to steady himself. His breath is coming in ragged gasps.
Methos sucks greedily at Duncan's cock, using his tongue to provide moist friction, grazing with his teeth now and again. Duncan tries to whisper for Methos to slow down, but Methos will not. He drives Duncan ruthlessly toward his climax, knowing exactly what he likes and what he cannot resist. Duncan, helpless against such an onslaught, begins to pant as he gets closer and closer to the edge.
Through the open door, they can hear people coming up the stairs, talking about getting their coats. But Duncan is past the point of discretion. His cock begins to pulse in Methos' mouth, and Duncan cries out as he comes, "Methosss." Methos continues to suck and lap at his cock until the last spasm has passed.
Expertly returning Duncan's cock to his pants, Methos zips him up, and gets to his feet just as the door opens and a man enters, his wife behind him. Methos smiles pleasantly at them, ignoring the puzzled looks on their faces. They get their coats and leave.
"Yeah," Duncan responds, still trying to control his breathing.
"Can we go home now? I have this itch that I really need you to scratch," Methos asks with a wicked grin.
Duncan bursts out laughing and says, "Get your coat."