Author's Disclaimer #1: This story has homoerotic content and depicts sex in loving detail. If you are under 18, or offended by such things, please delete now.
Author's Disclaimer #2: The Highlander universe and everything in it belong to someone else, and I'm not making any money off of it. 'Nuff said.
A big thank you to Meg who courageously agreed to beta this (and an apology to her for all the typos<g>).
This will likely be only the first part in a much longer tale. Comments are appreciated. This is my first major slash effort.
Set the morning after the episode The Messenger ends.
Duncan sat at the bar in his kitchen and watched Methos over the rim of his coffee mug. He smiled fondly at his friend. It was nice to have him around again, he thought to himself. He'd missed him. The older immortal was sleeping on the couch in Duncan's loft. He'd thrown off the light blanket during the night, and was clad only in a pair of boxer shorts. He lay on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes.
Duncan noted that unlike his own torso, Methos had very little hair on his chest, and just a faint suggestion of a line of hair on his stomach, just before it dipped into the waistband of the boxers. As he watched, Methos stirred. He yawned, but did not open his eyes. Raising first one arm and then the other over his head, he stretched to full length, alternately reaching with his long fingers, then curling them and rotating his arms slightly, tensing the muscles. Eyes still closed, arms still outstretched, he pointed his toes, tensing the muscles in his calves and thighs.
Duncan watched all this in a rapt silence akin to awe. He was fascinated by the play and movement of the individual muscles in Methos' arms and legs. How they moved against one another smoothly, contracting and releasing in turn. As Methos turned his arms and legs, extending the stretch, his abdominal muscles rippled across his torso. The material of the boxers was pulled taut by his movements, revealing the outline of a pronounced erection.
Instead of amusement at this natural male response to morning, Duncan gasped as his body responded in sympathy, heat rising in his own groin. Methos must have heard it, because his eyes opened and met Duncan's. He leisurely brought his arms in, never breaking eye contact. He propped himself up on his elbows, quirking an eyebrow as Duncan's eyes were drawn to the movement of his abs and pects, and then returned to Methos' face.
Methos swung his legs off the couch and rose in one sudden fluid movement. He walked over to Duncan and took the coffee cup from his nerveless hand where it was seemingly frozen in the act of lifting it to Duncan's lips. Methos took a sip, and grimaced.
"It's cold. Just how long have you been watching me?"
Without waiting for an answer he took Duncan's hand and wrapped it around the coffee mug, holding it until the grip was secure again, and walked off to the bathroom without a backward glance. Duncan watched him go. Methos' gait was fluid and rolling, taking full advantage of his long legs.
It was only when Methos closed the door behind him that Duncan realized that his mouth was slightly open, his breathing rapid, and that he had a raging hard on that was acutely visible through the sweatpants he was wearing.
What the hell?
Methos leaned back against the closed bathroom door and took a deep ragged breath. Well well, wasn't that an interesting development? He moved to turn on the shower. Was this the long-awaited opportunity for which he hadn't allowed himself to actually hope? He hadn't misread the look on Duncan's face, he was sure. And there was no way he could have mistaken that erection.
Well, MacLeod would probably think himself out of any attraction he might be feeling. He climbed into the shower, letting the hot water run down over his head and neck. And if it was only curiosity, he wanted no part of it. Duncan was too important to him. Best to act as if it hadn't happened. And, he thought, looking down at his still rock hard erection, I'd better take care of this before I go back out there. He took the bar of soap, and began to lather his hand well.
Duncan set the mug on the counter and shook his head to clear it. Just what was going on here? He'd never been attracted to men. All right, so there had been some furtive adolescent exploration with his cousin, Robert, and some drunken foolery with Gabriel Piton nearly two centuries ago, but he'd always thought those aberrations in himself. He was a lover of women, appreciating all their myriad forms. And yet here he sat, getting hot and bothered at the sight of another man stretching.
Methos stretching, a voice in the back of his mind corrected. Well, he thought, dismissing that, maybe it was just him being horny in the morning as usual. Liar, the little voice commented.
"Shut up," Duncan muttered, getting up to pour himself a fresh cup of coffee.
They sparred late that afternoon, using staffs instead of swords. They'd been at it for forty minutes or so when Methos called a time out and stripped off his soaked t-shirt. When he was ready they started again, but Duncan was distracted. His eyes kept drifting, fascinated anew by the play of the lean immortal's muscles. Although he tried to focus on the business at hand, his concentration was repeatedly drawn to Methos' chest and abdomen, now glistening with sweat. His eye was caught by a single bead of perspiration which traced its way from his sternum down his stomach, and into the waistband of his sweats. Suddenly his feet were swept out from under him. He was on his back and Methos' staff stopped its swing millimeters from his neck.
Methos grinned then, and rapped Duncan lightly on the top of the head with his staff. "You ought to know better than to let yourself get distracted, MacLeod." He extended a hand down to help him up, and Duncan reached up to take it. Methos gripped his forearm, bypassing his hand, and with surprising strength, jerked Duncan to his feet. He kept pulling until their chests nearly touched and held Duncan there for a long moment. Duncan's breath caught in his throat. A speculative look flashed in Methos' eyes, and a smile tugged at one side of his mouth. Then he released Duncan and turned to retrieve his shirt.
"I'm off to the shower," he called back over his shoulder as he walked off toward the elevator. He was shaking his head and chuckling a little as the elevator rose out of sight.
Duncan sat down heavily on one of the benches. This was getting ridiculous. Nothing like this had ever happened before, not even with a woman. How could he be this infatuated with and distracted by a man?
Methos, not a man, the little voice whispered.
"Shut up!" he grated, clenching his teeth.
Unfair of me, really, Methos chuckled to himself as he walked across the loft to the bathroom. He couldn't resist, though, when he'd seen that MacLeod was thoroughly distracted. Distracted by me, too. He grinned. Better and better. Duncan wouldn't be able to just pretend this hadn't happened. Still, best to say nothing himself.
That night Duncan started drinking scotch after dinner while Methos stuck to his beer. They didn't talk much, just sat listening to music, Duncan sitting in an armchair, Methos on the couch. He was in his usual sprawl, leaning back against the arm of the couch, one leg stretched out, the other knee cocked. He had one arm along the back of the couch, the other hand lightly clasping the beer resting on his chest. The perfect picture of utter relaxation.
When Duncan got up to pour himself another (his sixth or seventh, he thought, but he wasn't sure), he went to the kitchen and retrieved another beer for Methos as well. He handed it to him, and then pushed Methos' legs off the couch so he could sit down. Methos protested, but he ignored it.
Methos arranged his long limbs into another sprawl, this time with his feet on the coffee table. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the couch. Duncan began watching him again as he sipped his scotch. His chest rose and fell with each breath, the soft material of the henley he had on clinging and stretching with every inhalation. As he watched, he realized that he was breathing in time with Methos, matching every intake and release of air.
Methos let himself be swept up in the soft blues. The music was perfect for his mood. The guitar was soft and sexy, the bass following where it led, while the sax sang a counterpoint. He wondered briefly what Duncan was thinking, but didn't want to open his eyes to check.
Duncan watched, entranced, as Methos lifted the bottle to his lips and took another drink without opening his eyes. After he swallowed he still held the bottle up to his lips, brushing the rim around the mouth of the bottle against his lips. He tongue snaked out, tasting the moisture there and retreating, and then he rested the bottle on his leg once more. Duncan let out an involuntary sigh, and Methos opened his eyes and looked at him. Their gaze locked.
Methos broke the eye contact and took another long swallow of his beer, draining it. He got up in another of his sudden fluid movements, and walked into the kitchen to get another beer. Duncan rose, a little unsteadily, and followed. Methos' eyebrows arched in surprise when he turned around, beer in hand, and found Duncan right behind him.
"So... are you going to tell me what's going on with you, MacLeod?" he asked quietly.
"I..." Duncan started, but didn't know how to finish. Instead, he closed the distance, cupped Methos' face in his hands, and leaned in for a kiss. It was just a soft kiss, a little tentative, but intense for all that. He pulled back studying Methos' face for a reaction. A slight smile tugged at the corners of the older immortal's mouth and his eyes twinkled merrily as he set the beer on the counter. Duncan kissed him again, hands moving to his shoulders, not tentative this time, closing his eyes and moaning deep in his throat as Methos opened to receive his tongue. He reveled in the sensation, giving himself over to the moment. Methos tasted of beer and an indefinable sweetness, exactly as he'd imagined, almost as intoxicating as all the scotch he'd had. He felt Methos' long fingers sliding into his hair, freeing it from the hair tie and twining in deeply to take hold as the kiss abruptly turned passionate. He pulled Methos closer, hands sliding under the shirt and up the lean muscled back. Methos shivered deliciously against him and Duncan deepened the kiss further.
Duncan tried to pull him closer, wanting to press his achingly hard cock against him, but he resisted. Methos broke the kiss and the embrace, smiling his reluctance, and moved back a little. Duncan opened his mouth to protest, but Methos spoke first.
"Duncan..." he sighed, as he reached out a long finger and traced the line of Duncan's jaw. He pulled it back and continued. "As much as I would love to, and I would dearly love to, I want this far too much to risk you blaming it on too much to drink in the morning."
Duncan reached out a hand and cupped the side of Methos' face, using his thumb to caress his temple. "I'm not so drunk I don't know that this is what I want," he said in a low voice, husky with passion. As he spoke, Methos leaned into his touch, his eyes closing briefly. Then his eyes met Duncan's again, and he moved, reluctantly, back a bit more, as if the contact would topple his resolve.
"Ask me again when you're sober, if you're still interested. I'll be here. You should go to bed," he said softly, regretfully.
Duncan made as if to move toward him, but Methos stopped him with a look. "Go to bed, Duncan," he said, in low warning. When Duncan didn't move, he whispered, "Please..."
Duncan finally turned and walked to his bed, not seeing Methos sag against the counter as he did so.
As Duncan hovered on the edge of sleep, the confusing events of the evening and his still-roused passion resisting the pull of oblivion, he heard Methos whispering softly from nearby. "Sleep, Highlander. Dream well." He felt soft lips brush his temple and wanted to reach for him, but he was sliding down into the waiting darkness too quickly now, and couldn't move. Duncan gave a deep sigh, and slept.
Methos stood by the side of the bed watching him for a long time before moving off to his own makeshift bed.
The next morning Duncan rose early, showered, and made coffee, the events of the night before playing in his mind. The kiss. The kiss had been incredible. Passionate and comfortable at the same time. And yet in the morning light, he was again uncomfortable with these new desires. When he sat at the bar with his coffee, dressed only in sweatpants, he deliberately faced away from the couch. From Methos.
Okay, he thought, as he sipped at the hot liquid, I am attracted to him, no getting around that. So now what? He'd been attracted to friends before, like Amanda and Ceirdwyn, and half a dozen others. But, a man? Methos, the little voice insisted, not whispering now. Duncan finally decided to heed it.
All right, what about Methos? He liked Methos, enjoyed his company. He looked forward to their philosophical discussions, even though they shared very little common ground. And he played a mean game of chess. So, Methos was a friend he enjoyed spending time with. What else? Duncan dug a little deeper. Methos was important to him. He'd stuck by him during his dark time, forfeiting precious time with Alexa. And he'd kept him from letting his integrity get Richie killed just days ago. As irritating as Methos could be (the man's razor sharp wit should be registered as a weapon), Duncan found that he missed him intensely when he wasn't around. When he'd found him sprawled on his bed a few days ago, he was genuinely pleased, had found it difficult to restrain the urge to embrace the old guy. Even though at that moment, he'd been thoroughly annoyed with him.
He cared for Methos. And he knew that Methos cared for him, had demonstrated it in many ways, large and small, in the little time he'd known him. Even last night... his breath caught at the memory, but he forced himself to analyze Methos' reactions. He'd clearly been willing, eager even. But Methos had disengaged himself because Duncan was drunk.
He turned to look at Methos, still sleeping. Well he wasn't drunk now. Duncan moved to sit on the coffee table next to the couch. Methos had thrown off the blanket again, and lay on his side with one arm dangling off the edge of the couch. Duncan reached out and lightly traced a line down Methos' temple and along the prominent cheekbone with a gentle finger.
Methos shivered and sleepily opened one eye to look at Duncan. After a long moment Methos mumbled, "Morning." He sat up, rubbing his eyes and then stood.
"Let me grab a shower and some coffee, and we can talk." Duncan nodded and then stood himself. They were very close, not quite touching, and Methos searched his eyes. Then he reached out and pushed an errant lock of hair away from Duncan's face, smiling gently. He turned and headed for the shower.
Methos showered quickly. He'd expected MacLeod to be tense and guilt-ridden, maybe even to the point of apologizing for his drunkenness. Anything but waking to Duncan's caress. Clearly he had decided to deal with this, instead of choosing to ignore it. Methos thought hastily. This was not a moment for acerbic remarks, just one of those could ruin everything. It was truth time. All or nothing. He threw on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, and padded barefoot back out into the main room of the loft.
Duncan was sitting at the bar drinking coffee. Methos poured himself a cup, and joined him. They sat for awhile, sipping coffee, in a companionable silence.
"I don't know where to start," Duncan said finally.
Methos smiled. "Well, let's see... you found yourself kissing me last night, and now you're feeling a little bewildered. Why don't you start right there?" Best to get things out in the open.
Duncan flushed deep red. "I've never... well, I mean, I have, but... this is just different," he ended lamely.
"Well that clears it up," Methos chuckled. "Look, take a deep breath, and then tell me about it. What's got you in a flutter? Have you never been attracted to a man?"
"But that's just it," Duncan insisted. "It's not that I'm attracted to a man. It's you." Duncan blushed again, but pushed ahead. "I'm attracted to you."
"And I'm flattered, but why is that such a problem?"
"Because you're my friend!"
"I still don't see the problem. You've been attracted to friends, before. Several come to mind," Methos observed.
"Yeah, like Ceirdwyn," Duncan admitted.
"And Amanda," Methos agreed.
"But with Amanda it's different. We care about each other. It's more than just sex."
"Oh, I see," Methos pretended to understand. "And you're afraid that this thing with me is just sex, and that it would ruin our friendship."
"Yes. No. Oh hell." Duncan looked confused.
Methos sipped at his coffee to prevent a smile at Duncan's confusion. He let the silence spin out while Duncan wrestled with himself.
"No. The problem is that it's more than that," Duncan finally admitted.
"Oh," Methos said quietly. He was silent for a moment. "Well, we can handle this in one of a few ways. Number one, I go away and we never see each other again. Personally, I don't care much for that one."
Duncan chuckled. "No, I don't either."
"Two, we just continue as if this never happened. We can just forget about it, never mention it again." He looked at Duncan expectantly.
Duncan considered that option carefully, and then shook his head. "Nope. I don't like that one either. Any other ideas?"
Methos could see that Duncan was beginning to respond to his quiet logic. "Three, we just relax and explore this. Trust each other a little, trust our friendship, and see where it takes us." He looked into Duncan's eyes and held his gaze. "You do you trust me, don't you?"
"I trust you with my life," Duncan responded immediately.
"I'm asking for more than that," Methos said. "I'm asking you to trust me with your feelings, with your heart. Can you do that?"
Duncan looked down into his coffee cup for a long moment, and then looked back into the older immortal's eyes. "It scares me," he finally admitted.
"Duncan," Methos said gently, as if savoring the taste of his name. "I would never do anything to hurt you. Surely you know that."
Duncan nodded, mouth suddenly dry.
"How could I?" he mused softly, reaching out to lay his hand over Duncan's heart. "I love you."
The quiet admission undid Duncan completely. Tears blurred his vision. He reached blindly, pulling Methos to him, hugging him fiercely. Then he sought his lips.
The kiss was gentle, the meeting of soft, moist, strong lips. A slow exploration, both deliberately taking their time. The kiss deepened, each opening to the other, each tongue exploring the other's mouth. The taste of coffee. The smell of shaving cream. The feel of soft lips, hard teeth, slippery tongues. Methos' hands again sought Duncan's long hair, reveling in its silky length.
Methos broke the kiss and pulled back. Duncan made a small protestation, but Methos smiled at him then. A sudden marvelous smile that lit his whole face. He reached out to touch Duncan's face, fingertips lightly tracing every curve, memorizing every texture. Duncan closed his eyes. Methos' fingers moved lower, savoring the outlines of the muscles of Duncan's neck and throat. He explored Duncan's shoulders and chest, with his long fingers. The man was impossibly perfect, from his olive skin to his supple muscles. He grazed Duncan's nipples with his fingernails, watching as they tightened and Duncan gasped. Duncan looked at him, eyes dark and intense, and, taking Methos' hand, led him to his immense bed. They stood at the foot.
"I thought we'd be more comfortable here," he said shyly. Methos nodded but didn't speak, wanting to see what Duncan would do next.
Duncan hooked his hand around the back of Methos' neck, pulling him close for a gentle kiss, and then withdrawing. He cupped the side of Methos' face, much as he had the night before, studying it. He slid his hand down the side of Methos' neck to his shoulder. It stopped, plucking shyly at the material of his t-shirt as if asking a question. Methos grinned. He reached down and swept off his t-shirt in one fluid motion.
Duncan was again captivated by the leanness of him, the muscles, his curiosity overcoming his initial shyness. His mouth opened slightly. He pushed Methos onto the bed, almost tackling him. Methos laughed, and pulled Duncan with him, seeking his lips for another kiss. Duncan laid on his side, propping himself on one elbow so he could explore Methos' body at length. He kissed him again, a deep searching kiss, and then kissed his way along Methos' jawline, pausing to nip gently with his teeth. He explored the ridges of Methos' ear with the tip of his tongue, taking the earlobe between his teeth and sucking on it for a moment. He continued his leisurely exploration, moving down the side of Methos' neck, using his tongue and teeth to tantalize. Methos shuddered, his eyes closing, his mouth opening slightly.
Duncan reached the juncture of Methos' neck and shoulders. He marveled at the solid length of muscle that connected them, so unnoticed when hidden by the loose clothing Methos habitually wore. And his collarbones, prominent and angled just so, with a delightful hollow above each. Duncan delicately traced the line, and then tasted the hollow, eliciting a sigh from Methos. He followed the line to the base of Methos' throat, and tasted the hollow there as well. He explored the exposed throat, kissing the spot where Methos' steady pulse throbbed, and then bit down quickly, drawing a gasp.
Duncan smiled against Methos' throat and continued his deliberate exploration, enjoying the feeling that he had all the time in the world. He licked his way down Methos' breastbone, and then was drawn to his pects. They were not large, but they were well-defined and surprisingly firm. More hidden delights. Duncan kissed and licked and grazed with his teeth, spiraling in toward the light brown of his nipple. He licked and teased that bit of responsive flesh which tightened in answer. And when he scraped it with his teeth, Methos groaned softly.
Duncan continued downward, exploring every curve on Methos' exquisitely lean and defined stomach. He traced the lines of the muscles with his tongue, enjoying the feel of Methos' skin, smooth over the firm, pausing now and then to use his lips and teeth. Methos' was breathing more rapidly now, sighs and groans of pleasure and excitement coming more frequently.
Duncan reached the waistband of the sweatpants. He paused thoughtfully, and Methos waited. Then Duncan moved to slide the sweatpants off, and Methos lifted his hips to help him. He noted the lack of underwear, paused, and looked up, curious, to see Methos watching him with a crooked grin.
"I only use them to sleep in, otherwise they're a nuisance."
"To sleep in?" Duncan queried, puzzled.
"Ever been surprised in the middle of the night and have to fight naked?" Duncan shook his head. "Well, I wouldn't recommend it," Methos answered, smiling with remembered chagrin.
Duncan chuckled at that and moved to slip the sweatpants all the way off. He bent down to nip softly at Methos' ankle and was rewarded by his quick intake of breath. He'd been worried about the newness of the experience, afraid he wouldn't know what to do. But it really wasn't all that different. He slowly worked his way up the inside of Methos' legs, moving them apart to accommodate him. He tasted and kissed and bit at every curve and hollow on his way up, the strong calf, the bend of the knee, the long lean muscled thigh. Methos closed his eyes again, enjoying the sensations, opening his mouth as his breath came more quickly.
Duncan slowed down as he reached his inner thigh, making sure to attend to every millimeter of the sensitive flesh. He moved his tongue in lazy swirls, grazing occasionally with his teeth, scrupulously avoiding the tangle of hair and Methos' straining cock. He was hesitant to continue, not sure how to proceed. But then he remembered something he particularly liked, and took a moment to gather his courage. Finally Duncan pursed his lips and blew gently at the tangle of hair, just hard enough to part the curls. Methos moaned deep in his throat. Encouraged, Duncan extended his tongue, and touched Methos' balls. He traced a series of small figure eights, lightly, lightly. Then he opened and drew one of them into his mouth, sucking gently and fluttering his tongue against it. Methos gasped at the sensation.
Duncan moved to Methos' cock. Like a line of fire, Duncan drew his tongue along the length of it quickly, only to pause, swirling at the tip. He took it in his hand and licked at the head, probing the tiny hole where moisture glistened, teasing the ridge around the head. Then he drew the tip into his mouth, first licking his lips to ensure an easy glide. He sucked at it, using his tongue to rub against it, providing moist friction.
Methos was drowning in sensation. The wet heat of Duncan's mouth, the steady rhythm of the hand and suction, and his tongue... Methos reached for Duncan, wanting him to slow down, but Duncan resisted, chuckling deep in his throat, and not letting up on his attentions. Finally Methos buried his fingers in Duncan's long hair, and let himself be swept along.
Duncan could feel Methos' balls tighten, and his cock thicken, and knew that Methos was past the point of control. And then he came, making a sound that was part groan, part whispered exclamation, his cock pulsing in Duncan's hand and mouth. Duncan continued to suck and lick until the last spasm had passed.
Methos pulled at Duncan's hair, drawing him upward into a kiss, tasting himself on Duncan's lips and tongue. Duncan was made a little breathless himself by the passion in that kiss, and smiled down at Methos when it ended.
"You like?" Duncan asked, his eyes smoky, his voice holding just a trace of smugness.
Methos chuckled, asking, "Was it that obvious?"
Duncan chuckled as well, and leaned down for another kiss.
Methos locked his arms around Duncan, and in a sudden movement, flipped them both so that Duncan was on his back. He grinned at Duncan's surprise, and said, "My turn."
Methos plundered Duncan's mouth, almost bruising with his lips in his zeal. Finally he moved his attentions across Duncan's cheek to the hollow just behind and below his ear, drawing a delighted sigh from his willing victim. He worked his way down the column of Duncan's neck, nipping, sucking, kissing, enjoying the feel of the strong muscles under his mouth.
He moved on to Duncan's impressive chest, the one he'd so long admired from afar, reveling in his ability to appreciate it now up close. His fingers ran over the muscled expanse, tormenting with only the lightest of touches. He fastened his mouth Duncan's nipple, taking it between his teeth and sucking at the same time. Duncan moaned and clenched his fists.
Methos let his hands drift lower, seeking out Duncan's erection, fondling it first gently, then more firmly, through the material. Duncan grew impatient and tried to free himself from the pants, but Methos stopped him with a hand on his wrist.
"Let me," Methos said, in a voice deepened by passion, and Duncan saw his own desire mirrored in the hazel eyes locked on his own. He let his hands fall back to the bed, and watched as Methos deftly disengaged him from the sweatpants and briefs.
Methos lay beside Duncan again and kissed him, and began to run his fingertips along the length of Duncan's rigid cock. Duncan groaned and pulled Methos closer, sucking on Methos' tongue within their kiss. Methos wrapped his long fingers around the base of Duncan's cock, squeezed, and pumped his hand slowly up and down, just once. Duncan broke the kiss, gasping.
Methos chuckled, moved down the bed, and took the head of Duncan's cock into his mouth. He sucked on it, gently at first, and then more strongly, all the time fluttering with his tongue. He pumped his hand in a steady rhythm, alternating firm squeezes with occasional harder ones. Duncan began to squirm under the onslaught, clenching and unclenching his fists, breathing harder.
Suddenly Methos stopped, knowing that Duncan had nearly reached the point of no return, and Duncan ground his teeth in frustration. Methos smiled, and kissed him quickly.
"I want more," he said simply. He saw understanding flash into Duncan's eyes. Duncan pointed to the nightstand, and Methos rummaged in the drawer until he came up with a tube of lubricant. Duncan moved to take it, but Methos withheld it.
"Wait," he said, his voice rich with promise and anticipation.
Methos warmed the gel in his hands before stroking it onto Duncan's cock. He rubbed it in well, using the contact to stimulate as well as lubricate, and Duncan began to move responsively under his ministrations again. Then he put the tube in Duncan's hand, and moved to lie on his stomach next to him.
Duncan rolled onto his side, running his fingers over Methos' lean muscular back. He explored Methos' buttocks, squeezing and stroking the firm mounds. He moved so that he was between Methos' legs, and continued his exploration, running a finger across the pursed flesh lightly. Methos moaned.
Duncan used his fingers to lubricate and prepare Methos, inserting first one finger and then a second. Then Duncan moved, positioning himself to enter Methos. He pushed carefully, knowing that if he moved too fast it would be more pain than pleasure for Methos. Methos reveled in the sensation of being filled, completed, relaxing to take Duncan's length within him. Finally, enclosed completely, Duncan paused, giving Methos time to adjust. Slowly he pulled back a little, and pushed forward, groaning at Methos' tightness and heat.
Duncan reached beneath Methos to grasp his cock, and slowly began to stroke in and out of him. Methos braced himself with a hand on the headboard, feeling that he was at once filled and surrounded by Duncan.
Duncan thrust into Methos, pumping his hand on Methos' cock in time with his strokes. They began to move faster and faster, both plunging toward a shattering climax. Duncan heard Methos cry out, his cock pulsing in Duncan's hand. Methos' orgasm caused the muscles surrounding Duncan to contract and release again and again. That sensation, along with Methos' cries sent him hurtling over the edge. His orgasm seemed to come not only from his cock and his balls, but from his whole spinal column. He came and came until he thought his head would explode. Then he collapsed, having only enough presence of mind to roll to one side so he wouldn't crush Methos. He drew Methos with him, not withdrawing, wrapping his arms around Methos' chest, kissing the base of his neck.
They lay like that for some time, each trying to regain control of their breathing, Duncan's penis finally softening enough to be withdrawn easily. Methos turned within the embrace, and Duncan tucked Methos' head under his chin. They stayed there, wrapped in each other's arms, legs tangled, until long after their breathing steadied and their pulses calmed.
Finally Methos pulled away enough to look up at Duncan.
"Mmm?" Duncan responded, not opening his eyes.
"Are you all right?" Methos asked quietly.
Duncan looked down at him, eyes half-lidded and dark, and smiled. "Just perfect," he answered, tucking Methos' head back under his chin.