Fearless Heart
by Chelle

Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were they'd have kissed on screen at least once.

Notes: I'm sending this one out because in my head it's a companion piece to "Standing Still." The two stories aren't actually connected in any way, but they are thematically similar and I was working on them at the same time. Thus, for me, they're linked.

This one owes it's origins to Lum, who ranted, and Killa, who asked. Thank you, Lum, for making my brain work, and thank you, Killa, for the encouragement.

Thank you to Kamil, just on general principles. /g/

Another title stolen from Steve Earle.

Musical observations in this one are mine, inspired by Howling Wolf.


Duncan woke slowly, fighting consciousness every step of the way. He'd been dreaming of Tessa, and he wanted the dream back.

He rolled over, away from the sun shining though the barge's portholes. He clung to the remnants of his dream, the feeling of loving and being loved in return, that deep-in-your-bones acceptance. He missed that. He missed her.

Duncan shifted, trying to get comfortable; his erection wouldn't allow it. Not bothering to try and resist, he wrapped his hand around his cock and stroked slowly. At first, he'd felt guilty about this, imagining Tessa while he jerked off, but then he remembered how pleased Tessa had been when she found out that he fantasized about her. She'd made him describe one, in detail, and then set about making the fantasy pale beside the reality of what she could do to him.

His hand wasn't enough. He opened the top drawer of the small stand beside his bed. His hand fell precisely onto the object he was looking for. Taking out both the plug and a small bottle of lube, he coated the plug quickly and slid it into place. He tried to capture the same gentleness Tessa had used when penetrating him. He failed. He always did.

Resuming his stroking, he concentrated on his memories of Tessa. If he tried hard enough he could almost feel her over him, her warmth sheltering him, his muscles flexing around the plug as he tried to get deeper inside her. No matter how deep he'd gotten, it had never been deep enough.

He stroked more firmly. Her voice, her smell, they were tantalizingly close.

Presence pushed at him. Letting go of his cock, he reached for his katana. Then he remembered. Methos was picking him up this morning. The Citron was in the shop and Methos had offered to drive him to Melun so he could assess some antiques for a friend of Maurice.

Duncan wrestled with the tangled sheet, just managing to pull it over him before the door opened.

"Mac?" Methos called, his eyes quickly locating Duncan.

"Are you ever going to learn to knock?"

Methos shrugged. "I didn't think it mattered."

"Well it does."

"What's up with you?" Methos walked toward him. "I'd ask if you got up on the wrong side of the bed, but you're still in it."

"I overslept."

Methos was at the foot of the bed, looking down at him. "You should get a move on, or you're going to be late."

"It won't take me long to shower. Why don't you go get coffee or something?"

"I picked up both coffee and juice on the way over, and a couple of Egg McMuffins."

Duncan made a face.

"Worried about keeping your trim figure?"

"Hardly."

"Come on, MacLeod, up and at 'em."

"Can't you just--?" Duncan made a twisting motion with his hand.

"You want me to turn around?" Methos asked, clearly amused. "Trust me. You don't have anything I haven't seen before."

"Privacy, Methos. I want some privacy."

"What are you hiding?"

"Nothing."

"I interrupted something, didn't I?"

"What is there to interrupt? I'm alone."

Methos smirked. "Exactly." His voice was mockingly gentle as he continued. "It's okay, Duncan, I've seen erections."

"Like anyone could stay hard while having a conversation with you."

"Damn, and here I thought my dulcet tones excited you."

Duncan snorted.

Methos turned around. "Hurry up. My breakfast is getting cold."

Duncan stood and pulled the top sheet from the bed, wrapping it around his waist. He took a step; the plug started to slip. He clenched his buttocks, and took another, smaller step.

"Having trouble walking?" Methos asked, his back still to Duncan.

"No."

"Can I turn around?"

"In a minute."

Methos chuckled. "You're not hiding anything, you know."

"I'm not trying to."

"You're wearing a sheet."

Duncan opened the bathroom door. "I'll be out in a minute."

"Make sure you wash whatever it is," Methos called after him.


"So," Methos asked as they drove, "what was it?"

"What was what?" Duncan took a bite of lukewarm McMuffin. No way he was going to ask Methos to stop for something else.

"What did you have in your ass?"

Duncan choked.

Methos grinned.

"It was a plug," Duncan admitted. Better to be open about it now and hope Methos would let it go, than to try and weasel out of it and deal with Methos' knowing smirks for the rest of the day.

"Thought so."

"You couldn't allow me a little privacy, could you?"

"It isn't as though you weren't expecting me."

"Actually, I forgot you were coming."

Methos chuckled low and warm. There was as much affection as amusement in the sound.

Duncan looked out the window at the French countryside. It was early summer and everything was lush and green and so very alive. "I miss Tessa," he said quietly.

"I know," Methos said, voice equally quiet, equally soft.

Duncan closed his eyes, shutting out Methos' compassion. It was much easier to be with Methos when he was being cynical or deliberately amusing.

"Did I ever tell you about the first time I came to France?" Methos asked.

"No."

"All of Gaul was divided into three parts-" Methos began.

Duncan interrupted. "You weren't with Caesar's legions."

"Of course not. I was a camp follower."

"You weren't."

Methos simply grinned.


It was late evening when they started back. The sun was setting and Duncan watched the sky turn from orange to red. After four hundred years he'd concluded that sunsets pretty much all looked the same.

Methos was listening to some book review show on the radio, and Duncan pushed the search button, changing the station. He didn't want talking heads; he wanted music.

"Hey," Methos protested.

"You mind if we listen to some music?"

"No."

Unhappy with the station the radio had settled on, Duncan pushed the search button again. He kept pushing it, looking for a station he could stomach.

"Will you just pick one and stay there?"

"Sorry."

"What's eating at you?" Methos asked.

"Nothing. I just get bored on long drives."

"How did you ever survive sea travel?"

"I wasn't so confined. I could at least move about the boat."

"How about this? You count all of the red cars we pass; I'll count all of the blue ones, and we'll see who counts the most."

"I don't think so."

"I was just trying to keep you occupied."

"You could tell me something really personal," Duncan suggested.

"What?"

"You found out something private about me. It's only fair that you share something in return."

"I don't think so."

"Come on, Methos, tell me how you like to masturbate."

"I don't."

"You don't masturbate," Duncan repeated.

"After five thousand years it loses it's appeal."

"You are so full of shit."

Methos grinned. "Yeah, I am."

"So tell me."

"I wrap my hand around my cock and jerk it back and forth."

"Is your hand just under the head, or is it at the base?"

"Under the head."

"Fast or slow?"

"It varies."

"Firm or gentle?"

"Depends on my mood."

"What do you do with your other hand? Pinch a nipple? Fondle your balls?"

"Okay. This conversation just got way too weird."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Usually it's holding a book."

"Of what?"

"Porn. What do you think I read while jerking off? Pushkin?"

"What kind of porn?"

"It varies, but most of the time it's lesbian erotica."

"You haven't gotten over the two women fantasy yet?"

"It's not that. It's better written, more complexity, more emotion. Male writers always seem to get hung up on either the size of their dicks or the power of their thrusts."

Duncan laughed. "Will you loan me some?"

Methos looked around, glancing several times into the rear view mirror.

"What are you looking for?"

"The signpost. The one that said 'Twilight Zone.'"


Duncan found a radio station that was playing Ellington's "New Mood Indigo" and the conversation stopped as they listened. The sun was completely gone, and the quarter moon provided just enough light that Duncan could make out Methos' profile. The music and the view conspired to lull him into a state of contemplation; except he wasn't contemplating anything, he was just existing in a dark place with soft music and Methos. He liked it there, and Methos' voice, when it came, startled him.

"What do you think about?"

Duncan knew exactly what Methos was asking. "Tessa. She's the only lover I ever had that I continued to fantasize about after we'd been together for several years." He paused. "Have you ever felt that strongly about someone?"

"A couple of times."

"Men or women?"

"Women," Methos answered. "My relationships with men were always too competitive, too dysfunctional to maintain that kind of passion." Methos glanced at him, and then back at the road. "What about you?"

"My relationships with men? There haven't been any."

"You're kidding."

"Why does that surprise you?" Duncan asked.

"You always struck me as very passionate, and not terribly inhibited. I just assumed..."

"I'm not. Inhibited, that is. I just never met anyone I wanted who also wanted me."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Why?"

"You're very attractive."

Duncan ignored the spark of pleasure created by Methos' words. "Brian wanted his drugs more than he wanted me, and Jacob had Irena, and..." Duncan shrugged.

Methos didn't answer, and they fell silent once again, remaining that way for the rest of the drive.


Duncan paused outside the entrance to Joe's, taking in the feel of Immortal presence. He was pretty sure it was Methos, but the adrenaline rush hit him anyway, making him tense. He ignored it and opened the door.

Methos was sitting at a table on the far side of the bar, near the stage, and Duncan moved to join him. He was a couple of feet away when a waitress passed by and deposited a second bottle of beer on the table. Removing his coat, he draped it over the chair opposite Methos, sitting in the chair closest to his friend.

"You just made it," Methos said. "The show's about to start."

Joe was debuting a couple of new songs tonight, and it was the kind of thing neither Duncan nor Methos was likely to miss. Duncan didn't get a chance to answer before Joe took the stage.

Joe opened the set with a song from his last CD. It was fast and catchy, as close to R&B as it was to blues. I was also popular with the regulars and Duncan smiled as he caught the sound of a couple of the regulars singing along. Methos smiled, and Duncan knew he'd heard the additional voices as well. Picking up his beer, he settled in to listen.


Joe played the first new song mid-way through the first set. The opening notes were slow, with an easy sensuality, each note coaxed from the guitar by skilled and knowing hands. Duncan didn't really hear the lyrics. He was lost in the guitar line, each note more commanding, and yet more vulnerable, than the one before it. The sound reminded him of Methos, and he glanced at his friend. Methos was watching the stage, a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth. Duncan wondered if Methos found the song as compelling as he did.

Joe reached the bridge and a harmonica joined the guitar. It wasn't harmony, and it wasn't counterpoint; it was somewhere in between the two. The two sounds slipped in and around each other, striving toward something. Perfection, he supposed. The perfect note, the perfect union.

The thought triggered familiar words: 'To form a more perfect union, establish justice, ensure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense...' Duncan bit back a laugh at the bizarre turn his thoughts had taken.

Methos gave him a quizzical look, evidently noticing his suppressed mirth.

Duncan smiled. Maybe he should tell Methos what he was thinking. Methos probably assumed he hadn't even read the American Constitution. In fact, he'd read it when it was first written and it's ratification was still in doubt.

Methos returned Duncan's smile and then turned his attention back to the stage.

No, his thoughts wouldn't really surprise Methos; they'd make him laugh, perhaps, but they wouldn't surprise him. Methos knew him too well for that. Hell, they even knew each other's masturbatory habits. An image took shape in his mind of Methos naked atop a dark blue comforter his cock in one hand and a book in the other. Arousal shot through him, followed by mirth as Methos struggled to turn the page. This time he failed to contain the laugh, and a bizarre, partially suppressed giggle escaped his lips.

"What is wrong with you?" Methos sounded more amused than annoyed.

"Nothing. I was just thinking."

"Ah, that explains it." Methos turned his face toward the stage.

Duncan was silent for a moment considering what to say next, if anything. He should let it go, but the thought of Methos' reaction was just too tempting. "It was more like daydreaming. I had this image in my head... of you." Duncan waited until Methos was looking at him before continuing. "You were reading, and you couldn't turn the page in your book." Duncan paused again, letting his words sink in. "Because your other hand was occupied."

To Duncan's surprise, Methos flushed, but he recovered quickly. "That reminds me." Methos reached for the coat draped over the chair beside him, and started going through the pockets. He pulled out a couple of books and handed them to Duncan. "You asked me for some reading material."

Duncan stared at the books in his hand, The Best of Lesbian Erotica, 1998 and another entitled Kiss and Tell. He looked up at Methos. The other man was grinning. Methos had bested him, again. But not for long. "Any stories in particular that you recommend?"

"I'm sure you can find the ones with anal sex all on your own."

Duncan lowered his voice to an intimate whisper, and leaned a bit closer to his friend. "Why don't you come over and read to me? That way I won't have to struggle with turning the pages."

Methos looked at him for a long moment, and the pause threw Duncan. Usually Methos had an immediate comeback.

"Duncan, if you want me to fuck you all you have to do is ask." Methos leaned back in his chair, his eyes once again on the stage.

Duncan stared at Methos' profile, his head spinning. Fucked. Is that what he wanted? To be fucked? By Methos? The arousal created by Methos' words left no doubt what the answer was. A cock. Not silicone or rubber, flesh. Warm, solid flesh pushing into him, opening him, filling him. Methos had just offered to fulfill his most secret desire, the one only Tessa, and now Methos, had known about. He couldn't say no to that.


The rest of Joe's set, and the one that followed it, took forever. He'd never wanted Joe to just stop singing before. Methos appeared completely unperturbed. It was annoying. Duncan was turned on, and the more he tried to make the feeling go away, the stronger it became. And Methos just sat there, calm and cool and collected.

Uncomfortable, Duncan stretched, extending his legs, and one leg slid under both of Methos'. The top of his thigh was touching the bottom of one of Methos'. Duncan smiled to himself, pleased at having found a perfect opportunity to disturb Methos' calm. He was pretty sure he could do it, if not with deeds, then with words. He rocked his foot back and forth, causing his thigh to rub against Methos'.

That drew Methos' attention. He smiled at Duncan, and it was a smile Duncan had never seen on his friend's face before. It was a smile full of promises, and affection. It made Duncan's heart race, and he reached for his neglected beer.

Was Joe never going to stop?


Finally, Joe stopped. They stayed long enough to say 'good-night' and left together by unspoken agreement. Duncan assumed this meant that Methos was coming home with him, but once they had gone the two blocks to the street which led to Methos' apartment Methos turned onto it.

"Good night, MacLeod," Methos said.

Duncan stared for a moment at his retreating back. "Methos?" he called, confused.

Methos turned to look at him. He'd only gone a couple of meters.

"I thought maybe..." Duncan hesitated. "You might like to come back to the barge."

"It's late, and I've had quite enough to drink."

Damn him, Duncan thought. Methos was going to make him ask. "I wasn't going to offer you a drink. I was going to ask you a question."

"Were you?" Methos asked lightly.

"I was, but you'll have to come back to the barge. I won't ask it in the middle of the street."

"Negotiations, Mac?"

"Self-protection, Methos."

"Yes, because we both know what a threat I am to you."

"Or at least to my cholesterol level. McMuffins, what were you thinking?"

"That I was bored with croissants," Methos answered, rejoining Duncan.

They walked in silence the rest of the way. It started out as a comfortable silence. Duncan might even have described it as companionable, but the closer they got to the barge, the more tense it became. Tense wasn't quite right, maybe anticipatory was more accurate. Or arousing. That was stupid, Duncan thought. Silence wasn't arousing, and he shouldn't have been aroused anyway. He was carefully avoiding all thoughts of what he was going to do when he arrived at the barge--with Methos.

They reached the steps that led down to the quay, and home. Duncan glanced sideways at his companion. Methos glanced back. They started down the steps.

Duncan took Methos' coat as soon as they stepped inside and hung it with his own. When he turned around Methos was standing just a few inches away. Duncan had expected him to sit.

"You were going to ask..." Methos suggested, letting his voice trail off.

"I..." Duncan swallowed, suddenly uncertain. "I was."

Methos grinned.

"You're not helping," Duncan snapped, hating the awkwardness of the situation.

"Was I supposed to?"

"If you want to get laid, yes."

"So that's what you wanted to ask me."

Duncan snorted softly. "Like you didn't know." He turned and led the way to the couch. Methos followed.

"I had kinda guessed." Methos smirked as he sat next to Duncan. He rubbed his hands together. "Now, you wanted me to help you ask."

Methos' obvious delight in the prospect was anything but reassuring. "You're impossible."

"It's not every day I get to deflower a four-hundred-year-old virgin, or almost-virgin."

Duncan shook his head.

Methos leaned against the back of the couch, stretching an arm out along it and behind Duncan's shoulders. "Face it, you make one helluva a nubile young thing."

"Well, you're failing as the older, more experienced lover."

"I am?" Methos asked brightly.

"This isn't much of a seduction."

"I didn't know you needed to be seduced. You seemed so eager before."

"You can be such an ass."

"All part of-"

"Your charm," Duncan interrupted. "Yes, I know."

Methos dropped his voice and gave Duncan a look that could only be described as coquettish, his eyes widening and his lower lip protruding slightly. "Don't you find me charming, Duncan?"

"No. Charming is definitely not how I'd describe you."

"Beguiling?"

"No."

"Ingratiating?"

"No."

"Exciting?"

"No."

"Brilliant? Enticing?"

"No."

"Irritating?"

"No."

"Really? I'll have to work on that."

"You do that." Duncan managed to keep his amusement out of his voice. He wanted Methos to think he was annoyed. Hell, he should be annoyed. This meant something to him, and Methos was being... Methos. He was behaving precisely as Methos did when he wanted to control a situation, and keep others from perceiving how affected he was by it. The realization made him pause. Methos wasn't as calm about all of this as he appeared. Good. Duncan smiled and prepared to rattle his friend some more. "Methos," he said softly, "will you fuck me?"

"Yes." The answer was immediate.

"Well, that's settled."

Methos chuckled. "You are something else."

"Have to be. Otherwise life gets dull."

"That it does." Methos' arm slipped from the back of the couch and around Duncan's shoulders. "So, my virgin child, where would you like to begin?"

"Virgin child? Did you just call me virgin child?"

"Is that a problem?" Methos asked, not bothering to hide his amusement at Duncan's reaction.

"Don't do it again." Duncan said the words slowly, trying to sound dangerous.

"I was just playing my part."

"This isn't a game."

"No, no, it isn't," Methos agreed, raising his free hand to Duncan's cheek. Duncan closed his eyes, focusing on the touch. "Open your eyes, Duncan."

Duncan opened them to find Methos close, closer than he'd ever been before. Methos leaned still closer, and kissed him. Duncan held still, eyes widening as Methos' lips pressed more tightly into his. He couldn't see Methos' face, just his cheek and ear.

Methos pulled back. "Duncan."

"Yeah?"

"It works better if you kiss back."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Are you certain about this?"

"Yes. I just didn't think about the kissing."

"We can skip it if you want."

"No, I like kissing."

"I'd never have guessed."

Duncan smiled at the disappointment in Methos' voice. "Let's try again," he suggested, in a voice intended to make Methos want to try again.

Methos leaned toward him.

"Can I close my eyes this time?" Duncan asked, just to get a reaction from his soon-to-be lover.

Methos looked down at Duncan's knees and shook his head. He started to pull back.

Before he could go too far, Duncan reached for him. Seizing the front of Methos' shirt in his hands, Duncan pulled Methos toward him and kissed him. It was awkward at first, and Duncan realized he was kissing Methos too hard. He eased up a bit and felt Methos respond. Methos used the arm around his shoulders to pull Duncan still closer. They got it right in that moment, the kiss becoming a shared tasting that was neither too delicate nor too forceful-a perfect union. Duncan would have smiled at the thought, but his mouth was otherwise occupied. The kisses went on and on, deeper then lighter then deeper again.

Methos was the one who took it further, introducing hands into the proceedings by sliding his free hand under Duncan's shirt. He didn't explore; he went straight for Duncan's nipples, brushing his fingertips across them.

Duncan broke their kiss, and pulled his shirt off, dislodging Methos' arm from his shoulders in the process.

Methos ran his eyes over Duncan's bare skin and then took hold of Duncan's shoulders, pushing him onto his back. A little more shifting and Duncan was lying full on the couch with Methos straddling his hips.

Methos' fingertips danced over his chest, but Duncan wasn't truly focused on what was happening. His mind was on what would happen, soon, when they were both naked and Methos was leaning over him, pressing into him.

Naked. He needed to get Methos naked. He tugged at Methos' shirt and Methos obligingly sat back, letting Duncan pull it over his head. Duncan probably should have taken a moment to study the revealed skin, but he'd seen Methos' chest before. He was more interested in uncovering the parts he hadn't seen. He pulled at the buttons on Methos' jeans, managing to open two of them before the other man's hands covered his own.

"Duncan, we have time."

"Don't want slow," Duncan answered.

Methos studied him for a moment and then rose from the couch. Walking to the bed, he stripped quickly and lay down on it.

Surprised, Duncan followed him. Standing at the edge of the bed, he looked down at his friend, at Methos. Methos was in his bed. Methos' long legs, and rounded buttocks, and hard chest were exposed and waiting for him. The thought shook him, so he thought it again. He was about to have sex with Methos.

"Duncan." Methos' voice was soft. It had been a long time since Methos had spoken to him like that, with concern.

"Yeah?"

"If you don't want slow, you should probably undress." Methos had edged close to the side of the bed, near Duncan.

Duncan glanced down at the pants he hadn't touched. Quickly, he opened his pants and pushed them toward the floor. Bending over, he managed to finish the job, removing socks, shoes, and pants all at once. Standing, he looked at Methos. The other man smiled and reached out a hand, touching the waistband of Duncan's briefs. The touch was on his left side, away from his cock.

"These, too."

Duncan swallowed.

"You can leave them on for now, if you want."

"No." The hoarseness of his own voice surprised him. "No," Duncan repeated, pushing them off.

Methos settled back into the center of the bed, making room for Duncan. Duncan moved to join him and they were both lying on their sides. Methos didn't say a word, didn't move, and Duncan realized that he was waiting for Duncan to initiate... something. Duncan touched his lover's cheek. "I guess slow would be okay."

Methos smiled. "Just be, Duncan. Stop thinking and just be."

Duncan tried to give him an answering smile. Just be. He could do that, couldn't he? He let his hand fall from Methos' cheek to his neck. He touched slowly, letting his fingers learn the shape of Methos. Methos was doing the same, one hand moving from Duncan's waist up along his side.

Duncan was mesmerized by it, the power of this simple act. They touched and touched even though the position meant that large parts of each of them were out of reach.

"So good," Methos murmured.

Duncan answered him with a kiss. There was no time wasted trying to get it right this time. It was right. Tender and affectionate, with hunger seeping in around the edges. Duncan sought to open it, to let more hunger in, and Methos cooperated. The kiss became wilder and Duncan edged closer to Methos, putting a hand firmly on his lover's ass and pulling him close.

Methos' erection was flat against Duncan's groin, crushed between them. He still hadn't touched it, but to do that he'd have to slip a hand between them and that would be putting more space between them than he could allow.

Methos' lips left his in favor of his neck and some how the freeing of his mouth also freed his mind, letting Duncan remember what it was he'd wanted. Pushing Methos onto his back, Duncan reached across him and opened the drawer in his bedside stand. Pulling out the bottle of lube, he handed it to Methos.

Methos accepted the lube with one hand while placing the other on the back of Duncan's neck and pulling him down for a series of intoxicating kisses. They were so intoxicating that when Methos pushed him away and back onto his side, Duncan protested.

He stopped protesting when Methos rolled onto his side as well and took hold of Duncan's top leg. He pulled Duncan's thigh forward so that it was resting on his hip.

Duncan watched, wide-eyed, as Methos opened the bottle and poured some of the liquid onto his fingers. It was going to happen. Methos was going to fuck him. Methos' hand disappeared between their bodies, and Duncan felt fingers probing between his buttocks, searching for his opening. Methos found it, but he didn't push inward; he ran his fingers around the edge, over and over. Duncan reached for Methos' hand, wanting to end the teasing, but the position prevented him from grasping it.

"Duncan?"

"Stop teasing, Methos."

"I didn't want to rush you."

"Methos, put your fingers inside me."

Finally, Methos eased his fingers inside. Duncan groaned at the sensation. It had been so long since anyone else had touched him like this. And Methos was gentle, like Tessa had been. Duncan closed his eyes at the wave of emotion that washed through him.

Methos began to stroke in and out with an easy rhythm, and Duncan could feel his fingers go deeper with each push. That's what Methos' cock would do, he thought, go steadily deeper.

Duncan picked up the lube from the pillow where Methos had left it and poured some onto his hand. Then he curled that hand around Methos' erection. Methos gasped at the contact, and Duncan held him firmly, stroking, covering Methos' cock with the liquid that would help him fuck Duncan.

Satisfied with his preparations, he released Methos' cock and took hold of his lover's upper arm, pushing it back, trying to draw Methos' fingers out of him. Methos understood what he wanted and withdrew, leaving Duncan empty. But that was okay, he would be filled again in a moment, more completely than ever before. He kissed Methos lightly, and then rolled onto his back, opening his legs.

Methos looked at his parted legs and then at his face.

"Please," Duncan said quietly.

Methos knelt between his legs, his hands stroking Duncan's thighs. Duncan tilted his pelvis, trying to make it clear that he didn't want to wait anymore. Methos raised one leg to his shoulder, and Duncan lifted the other. Methos took hold of Duncan's hips, pulling them onto his lap, and the head of his cock pressed against Duncan's anus. Duncan felt his body opening, reaching for Methos, but the position wouldn't let him move. Methos shifted, pushing forward just slightly, stretching Duncan, but only a little. Duncan bit his lip to keep from crying out in frustration. He wanted Methos over him and in him, pounding him into the mattress. Another push of Methos' hips and the head of his cock was inside. Methos' cock was wider than anything else Duncan had ever inside him, and he felt stretched. But not enough. "All of it, Methos. Please."

"Soon, Duncan."

"Now."

"I can't. I need slow. Please."

Methos needed slow. The thought sent Duncan's mind reeling. Why did he need slow? Not that it mattered why. If Methos needed slow, then Duncan would let it be slow. "All right."

Methos answered him by pushing in just a bit more. A long pause, and then a bit more. Duncan wanted to cry out, to squirm, to protest, but he didn't. He held still and let Methos slowly fill him. It was too much. Methos was doing exactly what Duncan had wanted, opening him, touching him in places no one else had ever reached. Duncan had wanted to surrender, to let someone else take control. That was part of the fantasy. But this wasn't fantasy, it was real. Methos had control of him, and he was making Duncan feel things he wasn't sure he wanted to feel.

Methos was fully inside him now, and he shifted, leaning over Duncan, bending Duncan almost in two as he placed one hand on either side of Duncan's head.

"Look at me, Duncan."

Duncan looked up, heart contracting at the caring in his lover's face.

"What do you feel?" Methos asked.

"You. Inside me. Methos, I feel you."

"I feel you, too. Welcoming me, bringing me inside, caressing me with your warmth, holding me with your strength."

Duncan closed his eyes. He didn't want this. He wanted to feel lust, not tenderness. He liked living in the twilight world of remembered love. It was safe there. He didn't want to feel this, not again. Lust was good, safe and fun and good. But love, love wasn't safe, and he didn't want to feel it. How could he have been so foolish? How could he not have realized?

"Duncan?"

He didn't want to respond, but he couldn't ignore the concern in Methos' voice. He forced himself to open his eyes, to smile. "I'm okay. Just fuck me. I want to be fucked, please."

Methos smiled at him. "Okay." He brushed his lips to Duncan's before starting to move. Slowly, at first, still gentle. His flesh was gliding over Duncan's in the most intimate caress Duncan had ever experienced. With each stroke the physical pleasure increased, gradually swamping everything else, until all there was the motion of Methos within him, and the feel of Methos covering him.

He clutched at Methos' back, holding onto Methos' strength. Methos whispered reassurances, a steady litany of them. Duncan heard only snatches. "I've got you... I won't let go..." When the pace of Methos' thrusts increased, so did the urgency of his whispers.

"Please, please." Duncan didn't even know what he was begging for, unsure if he wanted it to stop or to never end, if he wanted Methos to release him or to enfold him. Methos' hand encircled his cock, and there were no more words. Duncan's entire body went taut as he came, still bent in two beneath Methos. He wasn't even aware of it when Methos joined him.

Methos was pulling away from him, and Duncan clutched at his lover. "Shh," Methos soothed. "I have to pull out. You'll cramp if you stay like this."

Duncan hated the moment when Methos slipped from him. It made him feel empty. Stretching out on top of him, Methos gathered Duncan into his arms, and Duncan realized Methos understood. "I'm okay," Duncan said quietly.

"Are you?" Methos held him a bit more tightly.

"Yeah, I just... I didn't know."

"That I loved you?" Methos asked. His face was above Duncan's shoulder, where Duncan couldn't see it.

"Yes. Or that I loved you."

"Scary, isn't it?" Methos said.

"Terrifying."

"Overwhelming," Methos added. "Horrendous."

"Horrendous?"

"Daunting, awe-inspiring," Methos continued.

"Great. I've been fucked by a walking thesaurus."

"Yeah, but I'm a cute thesaurus, and a skillful one. I have five-thousand years of experience, after all."

Duncan snorted. "By the way, call me a child again and you won't live to do it a third time."

"Threatening your lover? That's not terribly chivalrous of you." Methos raised himself up on one arm and gazed down at Duncan.

"You were born before chivalry, therefore I do not have to be chivalrous."

Methos shook his head. "You don't get off the hook that easily. You're chivalrous. I'm your lover. You have to treat me chivalrously."

"No, I don't."

Methos opened his mouth to speak, but Duncan continued. "You're not going to win this one, Methos, so you might as well give up now."

"All right," Methos agreed amiably and slid lower on the bed, laying his head on Duncan's chest. "You're awfully sticky."

"You made me that way."

"So I did."


Two years later.

Duncan rolled over as the door closed, snuggling into the sheets on Methos' side of the bed. They were still warm.

He used to love Monday mornings. They had been a delightful continuation of his and Methos' Sunday lovemaking. Then Methos had gotten a job. Now, he had editorial meetings every Monday morning, which meant that Duncan was left to bask in memories of the day before alone. He preferred to bask with Methos.

Sighing, he indulged himself with memories of the previous afternoon. Methos had apparently decided to see how long he could fellate Duncan without letting him come, because he'd used that five-thousand-year-old mouth to bring Duncan to the edge over and over again, each time easing him back. By the time Methos had let him come Duncan hadn't even been capable of begging.

Duncan lightly stroked his cock as he remembered. Methos had climaxed with him so he hadn't even been able to reciprocate. Smiling, he began to consider various possiblities. After all, mind blowing pleasure should be returned whenever possible.

Stroking harder, he gave himself over to thoughts of his favorite fantasy subject-Methos.

 


The End