The Cookie Story
by Chelle

continued from part two...


Methos had turned over during the night and Duncan woke to find Methos' back against his chest; he was holding his lover securely against him. Smiling to himself, he rubbed the end of his nose against the back of Methos' neck.

"That tickles."

Duncan did it again.

"MacLeod."

Still smiling, Duncan loosened his hold enough so that Methos could maneuver onto his back.

"What's for breakfast?" Methos asked.

"I don't know. Cereal? Toast? I might have a couple of eggs."

"You planned a seduction without giving any thought to breakfast?"

"I didn't plan a seduction."

"You didn't?"

"No, I hoped for a seduction."

"There's a difference?"

"Of course, if I'd planned on seducing you I'd have purchased a variety of breakfast foods."

Methos laughed, but only for a moment before Duncan silenced him with a kiss.

Unfortunately, the growling of Methos' stomach sent Duncan to the kitchen in search of breakfast food, leaving Methos alone in the bed.


When Duncan returned Methos was sitting cross-legged on the bed with The Gay Kama Sutra open on his lap. "What interesting reading material you have, Mac."

Duncan flushed. He'd forgotten about the stack of books on his bedside table. He placed the tray laden with cereal and fruit on the bed, and knelt next to it.

Methos was watching him with an intensity that made Duncan look away. "Duncan, have you ever had a male lover before?"

Duncan reached for an orange slice, stuffing it into his mouth as he muttered, "No."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Feeling like a teenager caught with a copy of Penthouse, Duncan went on the defensive. "What should I have said? 'Methos, will you do me the honor of being my first male lover?'"

"That would have done nicely, yes."

"Why does it matter?" Duncan turned back toward him, challenging.

"Why couldn't you tell me?"

Once again, Duncan looked away. Methos moved the tray out from between them and knelt in front of him. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes, of course. It's just. I was embarrassed."

"Embarrassed?" Methos echoed.

"I'm four hundred years old. Don't you think I should have done this by now?"

"No."

"No?" Duncan asked.

"Not if you hadn't ever met someone you wanted to do it with. Besides, I don't recall sex between men exactly being encouraged at any point during the last four centuries, at least in Europe."

Duncan sighed. He'd been trying to avoid feeling foolish and instead had ended up feeling, well, foolish. "You're right."

"I'm always right."

"No, you're sometimes right; you're always insufferable."

Methos popped an orange slice into his mouth. "And you're always cute."

"Cute?"

"What's wrong with cute?"

"Nothing. Its just that I'm usually described as handsome, as in tall, dark, and."

"Nope, you're definitely cute."

"If I'm cute what are you?"

Methos grinned. "Insufferable. You just said so."

Duncan threw an orange slice at him.

"And adolescent. You're cute and adolescent."

"Eat your breakfast, and then I'll show you exactly how adolescent I can be."

"Promise?"


Edward Hastings paused in his digging, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. He hated digging peat, but he loved living in Donegal and with almost no trees to be had digging peat was necessary if one wanted to be warm in the winter.

Movement tickled his peripheral vision, and he turned his head to look up the hill. There weren't many places to hide in the spare landscape. That was one of the things he liked about it. That, and it was holy ground, an abbey abandoned during the famine time and now his.

More movement. No presence tickled his awareness, which meant the most likely cause of the movement was sheep. or Watchers. Damn, he thought he'd escaped them. Picking up his hoe, he began walking up the hill.

"I know you're there, so why not just show yourself?" he called. No answer. "There's no point in hiding. If you've business with me, come out, and we'll attend to it." He paused. "And if you're sheep, you can still come out. Shearing time is months away."


The three of them were settled around his small table. It had been sometime since he'd had guests, especially two. Setting the teapot down, he reached for the honey, all the while eyeing his visitors curiously. "Would you care to tell me what the Watchers want with me after all these years?"

The two glanced at each other, clearly startled. "You know about Watchers?" the young man, Kevin, asked.

"Obviously."

"But, how?"

"I met mine. Lovely woman. She died forty years ago; I visit her grave every March." He was silent for a moment. "They never replaced her. Didn't want to waste resources on a man who'd been out of the Game as long as I had. At least, that's what I assumed." He took a sip of his tea. "Has that changed?"

Another glance passed between his guests. "No. We're looking for someone. We thought you might be him," the young woman, Jane, answered.

"Really?"

She put down her cup, leaning forward slightly in her chair. "I don't suppose you know Duncan MacLeod."

"No, although Connor talks about him often."

"You're friends with Connor?" There was excitement in the young man's voice.

Edward nodded, took another sip of his tea. "He comes here from time to time, when he needs quiet."

"What about Kronos?" Jane asked. "Did you know him?"

"Kronos? How do you know about Kronos?"

"Duncan MacLeod killed him," Kevin answered. "At least we think he did, none of us were inside the building where it happened."

Edward frowned. Someone had killed Kronos. Hard to believe. "So, who is this Immortal you're looking for?"

"Someone who was there when MacLeod took out Kronos. He's tall, with dark hair."

Edward smiled. "That's not much of a description. I thought you people were trained observers."

"We weren't there," Kevin said. "We only have others' descriptions to work with."

"I see."

"What do you know about Kronos?" Jane asked. "Did you know him?"

"No, I never had that misfortune. I only know of him. I grew up in southern Spain. About twenty-five hundred years ago, when the area was still recovering from the Horsemen."

"The Horsemen?"

"The Four Horsemen. Kronos was their leader."

"What did they do?" Kevin asked.

"They were a band of mounted raiders. They took what, and who, they wanted. What they didn't want, they destroyed. After they rode through a village there was almost nothing, or anyone, left. They raided the area where I grew up a few years before I was born. It's a miracle there was anyone to raise me."

"It was that bad," Jane said, encouraging him.

He nodded. "It was. There had been a community of five villages, each helping the other. When the Horsemen were done, there were barely enough people left to fill one."

"Kronos was their leader?" Kevin asked.

Edward nodded again.

"Who were the others?"

"I don't know their names. We knew them only as Famine, War, and Pestilence. I always assumed Kronos was Death."

"The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?" Jane asked. "Like in the Bible? You can't be serious."

"I am. Not everything in the Bible is fiction, you know."

"You're saying the Four Horsemen were Immortals?" Kevin said.

"I don't know about the others, but Kronos was. One of the men in our village saw him killed, run through with a spear, but one of the other Horsemen pulled the spear out, and he got up and walked away."

"How come they knew his name, but not the others?"

"He used to call it out in battle, 'I am Kronos, the end of time' or some such nonsense."

"You never met him?" Jane asked, sitting back in her chair.

"No, I never did. I never wanted to."

"Do you think it's possible that they were all Immortals, and that one of them could still be alive?"

Edward smiled. "I'm here, aren't I?"


"What are you thinking?" Kevin asked as they walked back to the car.

Jane grimaced. "I'm thinking that Caspian and Silas were two of the Horsemen. Aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am. But what about the fourth?"

"Our tall, dark-haired stranger?"

"That's a stretch, don't you think? More likely he's just another friend of MacLeod's."

"Maybe. But if so, why was he at the submarine base before MacLeod? Wouldn't they have gone together, if he was helping MacLeod rescue Cassandra?"

"I don't know. Let me think about it."

"And Kevin, to survive that long, he'd have to be either good at fighting or good at hiding, don't you think?"

"Or both."

"Like Methos," Jane said, and Kevin turned to look at her, startled.

Jane smiled. "Just thinking. Let's go. What do you think the chances are of our finding a restaurant that makes a decent burger?"

"In Ireland? Slim to none."

"I thought you'd say that."

"We can stop in town and ask."


"A restaurant with burgers?" The woman wiping the pub's counter paused. "The hotel restaurant in Donegal town, maybe. You probably drove through there on your way here."

"We did."

Her eyes narrowed. "We don't get many tourists out here."

"We were just visiting Mr. Hastings," Kevin answered, ignoring Jane's glare.

"Were you? That's good. Poor man hasn't had many visitors since his wife died."

"When was that?" Jane asked.

"Let's see. I was about ten when it happened, so about forty years ago." The woman smiled. "She was a sweet woman. Oddest thing, though. She had a tattoo on her arm. You didn't see those on women then. Now- " She shook her head. "Have you seen those tarts on MTV? They look like sailors."

"The tattoo?" Kevin asked, starting to hold out his arm. "Did it-"

Jane's hand circled his wrist, squeezing. "Thank you for the information. We'll try that restaurant." She began to tug Kevin toward the door.

"You're welcome. Enjoy your visit to Donegal," the woman called after them.


"He married his Watcher," Kevin said as soon as the car doors closed.

"Great way to hide," Jane said.

Kevin turned to look at her. "You don't think."

"I think we should pay another visit to Mr. Hastings, if that's what his name really is."

"Can we do it in the morning?"

"Yeah, I don't think he's going anywhere."

"And let's just knock on the door this time."

"You didn't like hiking over the hill?"

"No, I'm not all that fond of sheep."


Duncan opened the door to Methos' house. He still found it hard to believe that Methos had actually purchased a house. It suggested a desire for permanence that seemed out of character. It reminded Duncan of how much there was to learn about Methos. He smiled to himself; he'd learned a great deal more in the last three days.

He glanced around as he entered. Too bad it was too early in the evening for a fire. Leaving the food on the dining room table, he went into the living room to poke through Methos' CD collection. Queen, Goo Goo Dolls, Foo Fighters. Maybe Methos knew more about pop culture than Duncan gave him credit for. Louis Armstrong, Hot Fives and Sevens. Perfect. Nothing like a little steamy jazz.

Methos came home just as he finished setting the table. The old man entered the house with one hand on his sword.

Duncan smiled at him. "Hi, honey, how was your day?"

Methos released his sword and walked toward him, with that liquid sex gait that made Duncan's mouth go dry. "Slow," he whispered, leaning in to claim a kiss.

Predictably, desire washed through Duncan, and he wrapped his arms around Methos, pulling him closer as he deepened the kiss.

Methos was smiling when they parted.

"Dinner's ready."

"Is that good timing or bad?" Methos asked.

"No timing involved. It's take out."

Methos removed his coat and hung it up in the small closet near the entrance. "What did you get?"

"Chicken tikka sag, aloo samosa, and bhindi pachadi, with chapati."

Methos rubbed his hands together as he sat. "I love Indian food."

"How was your day?" Duncan asked again as they ate.

"It took forever to end."

"I thought you liked teaching." Duncan tore the last piece of chapati in half and handed a piece to Methos.

"I do." The tone of his voice made clear the words he didn't add, 'but I had something I wanted to get home to.' "How was your day?"

"The real estate agent came by with a potential buyer."

"What do you think the chances are?" Methos asked, as he reached for his water glass.

Duncan shrugged. "Have to wait and see." He took a long drink from his own glass. "There is something I'd like to ask you."

Methos smiled as expansively as his narrow face allowed. "Ask away." He scooped some chicken onto his fork.

"When are we going to have anal sex?"

Methos choked, coughing and reaching for his water.

Duncan patted his back. "Okay?"

Methos nodded. "Fine." His voice was hoarse.

"I didn't mean to shock you."

"I'm not shocked, just a little surprised."

"That I want to?"

"That you'd bring it up over dinner."

Duncan chuckled.

"But since you did," Methos continued. "How much experience do you have?"

"You're the first, remember?"

"Some things can be done with women as well as men."

Duncan flushed. He should have realized what Methos meant.

"Has anyone ever touched you there?"

"No," Duncan shifted in his seat, eyes dropping to the table.

"Not even Amanda?"

"I said 'no.'"

Methos held up his hands. "You brought it up."

"She tried once. I stopped her." Duncan toyed with what remained of his food, stopped, and reached for his glass again. It was empty. He set it down. "It made me uncomfortable."

"Physically or emotionally?" Methos asked gently.

"Emotionally."

"And it doesn't any longer?"

"I've been thinking about it, about you." For the first time since bringing up the subject, Duncan met his lover's eyes.

"It isn't easy the first time."

"I know."

"That's right, you've done your reading."

Duncan sat back in his chair. "If you don't want to."

Methos reached for his hand, covering it with his own. "I want to, Duncan. Believe me, I want to."

Duncan turned his hand over so that their hands were clasped. "It's not that I haven't enjoyed what we've done. I did. I do."

"So have I." Methos squeezed his hand. "But we can add to our repertoire if that's what you really want."

"It is."

"Let's get the table cleaned up."

It took only a few minutes to fill the dishwasher. Methos wiped off the table, as Duncan put away the leftovers. "It wasn't exactly the romantic approach, was it?" Duncan asked when Methos re-entered the kitchen.

"Nope." Methos dropped the cloth in the sink and went to stand next to Duncan. "But I'm a guy. I don't need romance."

Duncan wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him closer. "Oh, I don't know, romance isn't so bad."

"So says the hero of Blade of the MacLeods."

"You'll never let me live that down, will you?"

"Sure I will, in a century or two."

"Are you going to shut up and kiss me?"

"You are such a romantic, MacLeod."


Duncan followed Methos up the stairs and into the bedroom. Methos gestured at the bed, and Duncan sat. He watched as Methos moved about the room, lighting candles and placing them beside the bed and on top of the dresser. Squatting in front of the nightstand, he pulled out a small bowl and placed it in a metal frame. He filled the bowl with oil and lit a candle beneath it.

Evidently satisfied with his preparations, he settled next to Duncan on the bed. "I can do romance."

Duncan smiled widely, "So I see."

Methos pressed their lips together. He teased at first, tugging lightly on Duncan's lips, then he captured the lower one. Duncan felt himself hardening as Methos sucked.

He placed a hand on the back of Methos' neck, holding him still as he deepened their kiss.

Methos lay back on the bed, pulling Duncan with him, and Duncan settled atop his lover. "Is the oil for what I think it's for?"

"No, I'm going to use it to deep fry shrimp."

"Regular or Jumbo?"

"You really don't want me to answer that."

"Does that mean I should leave my clothes on?"

"It's a miracle we ever do it, you know."

"We might get farther if you didn't talk so much."

"Me? You started it."

"And will you finish it, Methos?" Duncan asked in a low voice, gazing at Methos from beneath lowered lashes.

Methos burst out laughing.

Duncan tried to keep a straight face, tried to appear put upon. He failed. He was still laughing when Methos flipped him onto his back.

"Finish it, Highlander? I can do that." Duncan had barely processed the words when Methos began kissing him, hot and hungry. He thrust against Duncan's erection, and Duncan groaned, even though their flesh was still separated by four layers of clothing. The kissing and the thrusting increased in intensity, until they were both at the brink.

Methos pulled away and rolled onto his back beside Duncan. "So that's how we manage to do it."

"Yeah, with our clothes on."

Methos chuckled softly. Rolling onto his side, he reached for the button on Duncan's jeans. Duncan sighed with relief as Methos lowered his zipper.

Methos shifted to the end of the bed, and tugged off Duncan's shoes. With exaggerated care, he removed his socks as well. When Methos took hold of his jeans, Duncan raised his hips and began to push at the denim in an attempt to offer assistance. Between the two of them, they managed to remove both jeans and boxers, although Duncan thought it might have been easier if only one of them had done the removing.

Sitting up, he tugged his shirt over his head before Methos could try and help. Completely nude, he lay back on the bed.

Methos smiled at him, and Duncan felt like the main course at a banquet for horny old men. Funny thing was, he kind of liked the feeling.

Straddling one of his thighs, Methos leaned forward to kiss him. The earlier urgency returning, Duncan pulled at Methos' shirt, raising it up to just under Methos' arms. Methos broke the kiss, and held his arms out for Duncan to remove it. Tossing the shirt onto the floor, Duncan reached for the closure of Methos' pants. As soon as they were opened, Methos slipped from the bed.

When he returned all of his remaining clothing was gone, and Duncan luxuriated in the feel of flesh on flesh as Methos stretched out alongside him. He ran his hands over warm skin as they kissed; it still surprised him, how good Methos felt, how exciting his strength was.

Methos was caressing him as well; his fingertips were grazing a nipple, but he removed them when Duncan arched into the touch. Methos' hand moved lower, resting on the center of Duncan's abdomen as they tasted deeply of each other. The kiss ended, and the hand moved lower, closing around Duncan's cock.

Methos stroked him lightly, lighter than he preferred. Before Duncan could protest he was released, and the hand was moving still lower, to press against his perineum. Groaning, Duncan parted his thighs.

A single finger traced the space between his buttocks. "Are you sure?"

"Touch me, Methos."

Methos sat up and dipped his fingers in the warmed oil. Duncan tensed in anticipation.

The fingers returned. Methos' touch was light, a caress that almost wasn't there. The contact grew gradually firmer as Methos circled his opening again and again, almost, but not quite, penetrating him. It was maddening.

"Please."

Methos began to press inward, and Duncan bore down, opening himself.

"You have done your reading," Methos observed. What should have been a teasing, arch remark was anything but when uttered by a voice thick with desire.

Duncan clutched at the sheets. "More."

Methos began to move his finger in and out, awakening the nerve endings at the edge of Duncan's anus in a way his earlier, feather light touches had not.

Each stroke brought Methos' finger farther inside of him until. Duncan's entire body arched, his muscles contracting around Methos' finger. Methos pulled back slightly, breaking the contact with Duncan's prostate.

"Was that?"

"It was." Methos answered, the warmth in his tone feeding Duncan's desire.

"Do it again."

"Your wish is my command."

"Only in my fantasies."

"Isn't this one of them?"

This time the tone of his lover's voice sent shivers through Duncan. "Yes," he gasped as Methos pressed into him once more. He clung to the sheets, feeling more vulnerable and exposed than he ever had before.

When Methos withdrew his fingers to coat them with more oil, Duncan lay still, panting, and watching Methos. Methos' hand returned to its place between his legs, and Duncan bent his knees, pulling his legs back as far as he could.

"Duncan," Methos breathed.

"Touch me, Methos."

Methos pressed inward with two fingers this time, and the increased pressure added to the feeling of surrender. Methos' gentleness as he stroked into Duncan was almost too much to bear and Duncan closed his eyes, shutting out the sight of his lover. He focused on the penetration, on the places where Methos was touching him, the places where Methos was touching inside him. Inside. Methos. Duncan tilted his pelvis, trying to make even more of himself available to that touch.

Methos was brushing his prostate over and over, the contact never ending for more than a fraction of a second. Duncan lost track of his own actions, unaware of the sounds he was making or the way his head and shoulders were curling off of the mattress. The pressure was building, and he was coiling tighter and tighter.

Warmth covered the head of his cock and his entire body went taut, the pressure exploding in waves of pleasure.

He collapsed against the mattress, breath still uneven. He opened his eyes. Methos was staring at him. "Did I. Is something.?"

Methos shook his head. "Nothing's wrong. It's." Methos moved so he was lying beside Duncan and brushed at the hair clinging to the side of Duncan's face. "You're amazing."

Duncan felt the corners of his mouth twitch. "Really?"

"Yes. Amazing and beautiful and sensual."

"I've had similar thoughts about you. No one's ever felt like you do."

"I should hope not. I'm unique you know."

"That's an understatement." Duncan's heart wasn't really in the teasing. Wanting to return some of the pleasure he'd just been given, he attached his mouth to Methos' nipple. Methos' hands locked onto the back of his head, pulling Duncan with him when he rolled onto his back.

He wrapped his hand around Methos' cock, not stroking yet, just holding onto it as he teased Methos' chest and neck with his mouth.

"Duncan, enough."

"You want me to stop?"

"I want you to finish it."

"You do seem a tad aroused," Duncan observed, slowly stroking the length of Methos' cock.

"Duncan," Methos growled.

Duncan released him and reached for the bowl of oil. Holding Methos' erection flat against his abdomen with one hand, he drizzled oil onto it with the other.

Methos groaned.

Duncan replaced the bowl and ran his thumb upward along the underside of Methos' cock. Reaching the place just beneath the head, he pressed more firmly, moving the pad of his thumb back and forth.

The oil altered everything about the contact, letting Methos' skin slide freely in his hand and heightening his awareness of every nuance of Methos' flesh. He resisted the urge to explore, to vary his touch, just to see how Methos would respond. His lover's need was too great, and Duncan stroked firmly, with the rhythm he knew Methos preferred.

Methos' head was thrown back, and his body was arched, lifting his hips slightly. Methos lost in pleasure had already become one of Duncan's favorite sights, and he increased the pace of his strokes, his hand moving rapidly now. He knew Methos was close and he tightened his grip, bringing his lover over the edge. He slowed his movements as Methos came, his fluid landing on them both.

Methos' hand closed over his, stopping him from stroking.

Smiling, he kissed Methos' pelvic bone, and then his navel, the center of his chest, his Adam's apple, and finally his mouth.

"I don't think we qualify as good at this anymore."

"No?" Duncan asked.

"No, we're beyond good."

Duncan smiled broadly, the happiness filling him shining in his face. "So, when are you making the shrimp?"


Duncan stretched and settled his arms behind his head, watching as Methos tucked in his shirt and then pulled a sweater over it. "Nice sweater."

"Thanks."

"Isn't it mine?"

"It was. I snagged it years ago when I was staying with you on the barge." Methos leaned over and kissed him. "I can return it if you really want it back."

"Keep it, but don't complain if I borrow it from time to time."

"I won't." Methos sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his socks. "What are you going to do today?"

"I don't know. Putter." He smiled. "Who would have imagined that I'd be the one lounging in bed, while you went off to do an honest day's work?"

Methos leaned over for a lingering kiss. "Not I."

"What do you want for dinner?"

"The leftover Indian'll be fine, unless you feel inspired."

"I might. We'll see."

Methos rose from the bed and began looking for his shoes. He found one under the bed, and was holding it, while still searching for the other.

"It's in the corner behind the door."

"How'd it get there?"

"That's where you kicked it last night."

Methos retrieved the shoe and returned to the edge of the bed.

Duncan knelt behind him, and began kissing the back of his neck as Methos tied his shoes.

"Duncan."

Duncan ignored him.

Methos pulled away and turned around. "You are insatiable."

"I just wanted to give you something to think about while you're at work."

"That's just what I need. Students asking: Dr. Pierson, is something wrong? You're walking a little funny. Or better yet, is that a book in your pants, or are you just happy to see us?"

"How about: Dr. Pierson, I never knew verb conjugations were that exciting."

"Only the Greek ones."

Duncan laughed.

Methos cut off the laugh with a kiss. "I have to go."

"I'll be here when you get home."

"Why do I get the feeling today is going to crawl by?" Methos asked as he sought Duncan's lips again.

Duncan captured his shoulders and pushed him firmly back. "Go to work, Methos."

 


continued in part four...