WARNING: This story contains fantasy sequences involving sex between an adolescent and an adult.
Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to three guys named Rysher, Panzer and Davis.
Thank you to Pumpkin and Monica for encouraging words, Kamil for the always welcome DuncanSlut perspective, and Annie Devlin for the beta. Thank you to Gena, for well, being Gena.
Duncan spotted the intruder as soon as he stepped into the loft. "What are you doing here?" he grumbled at the Immortal ensconced on his couch.
"I needed a quiet place to catch up on my reading."
"And what's wrong with your apartment?"
"Construction. They're working on the road. Lots of jackhammering. Very annoying."
Duncan continued into the kitchen, returning with a bottle of water. "Ever hear of these places called libraries?" he asked as he settled onto the chair across from the couch.
"Too uncomfortable. I ask you: how can they expect anyone to read in those damn highback wooden chairs?"
"So what are you reading? Another dusty tome in some obscure language only you and a couple of scholars still know?"
Methos chose to let the jibe slide. He could afford to, after all. "New release, actually. Cover caught my eye."
"It's not my usual thing, but, yeah, I'm enjoying it."
"Maybe I'll borrow it when you're done. I could use a good read."
"I suspect you already have a copy." Methos held up the book. "Don't they give you one when you pose for the cover?"
"I didn't pose for the cover."
Methos ignored his protest. "I do wish you'd told me about the career change. Although if anyone can give Fabio a run for his money it's probably you." He paused, contemplating the cover of the book in his hand. "Not that I can see you doing commercials for 'I can't believe it's not butter.' Let me think. I know... cars. Expensive German, no, Italian automobiles. Lamborghinis." He smiled slowly. "Or maybe gym equipment. Your naked chest could probably sell a lot of Bowflexes. I mean, look at what your semi-naked chest is doing for Blade of the MacLeods."
"I did not pose for the cover."
Duncan shook his head. "You're having entirely too much fun with this."
"Did you think I wouldn't?"
"I didn't think you'd be imagining me half-naked on television hawking exercise equipment."
"How did you think I'd imagine you? Half-naked on the floor in front of a roaring fire?"
"Nah, too romantic."
"I can do romance," Methos protested.
"I'm sure you can," Duncan replied, and Methos knew the patronizing tone was intentional. "But I doubt that is how you imagine me."
"I don't know. After reading this I'm imagining all sorts of things."
"Such as?" Duncan challenged.
Not about to back away from a challenge, at least a verbal one, Methos answered, "Well, there's the obvious. You naked in a field of heather."
"In keeping with the Highland theme."
Methos nodded. "But you being Duncan MacLeod hero of a thousand romances opens up all sorts of possibilities. You as a nobleman forced into piracy as a result of some grave injustice, struggling to remain honorable. Better yet, you're the son of a Native American chieftain and you've fallen in love with the son of the local army commander."
"It's my fantasy, don't I get a role?"
"How about voyeur?"
Methos shook his head. "As much as I like the sidelines, there are some things I would rather do than watch."
"And fucking the Indian chieftain's son is one of them?"
"Definitely. Your turn."
"Spilling your favorite romance novel scenario."
"I don't have a favorite scenario."
Methos snorted. "I see. You don't read the books, you only pose for the covers."
"I don't pose-"
"Uh-huh. Where's your vaunted sense of Highland honor, of fair play? Come on, MacLeod, spill it."
The corners of Mac's mouth twitched. "All right." His expression was one Methos had never seen on the Highlander before, a mixture of triumph and provocation. "A young Scottish lad is caught stealing from an English lord and is forced into servitude to the lord as punishment."
"And you're the lad."
"So it's a Romeo and Juliet kind of thing. The Scottish boy and the daughter of an English aristocrat."
"Actually, no." Duncan grinned. "It's the lad and the lord."
My, my, Methos thought, this could get interesting. "So what, exactly, does this lord do with you?"
Methos began to laugh.
"First, he makes me take a bath," Duncan continued in spite of Methos' laughter.
"That seems accurate enough. Scottish lads in the seventeenth century didn't smell all that good."
Duncan glared at him.
"I'm sorry. Please, go on."
"He makes me do only manual labor at first, but then he decides to teach me to read."
"How magnanimous. And what causes this sudden kindness?"
"I don't know. I didn't bother with the details."
"I hope you bothered with the details when it comes to the sex." Methos fought back a chuckle at the look on his friend's face. "So he's teaching you to read, and you're attracted to him, I assume."
"Poor, innocent Duncan."
"Do you want me to get to the sex?"
"No more interruptions. Promise. My lips are sealed."
"One day I do something which makes him angry and while we're arguing he pushes me against a wall and kisses me. Then he reaches into my trousers and, well, you get the idea."
Methos nodded, his lips pressed tightly together.
Duncan didn't continue and after a moment Methos exploded. "That's it? A kiss and a handjob?"
"No that's not it, but you don't need to hear all of it."
"Of course I do."
"It's more sex than you shared," Duncan pointed out reasonably.
Methos looked at him for a moment, considering. The two of them were going to take this constant one-upmanship too far one day. As the elder of the two he should put a stop to it, be the one to walk away. He let out an explosive breath. "Fine. I'm the English lord, you're the Scottish lad."
"Who said you're the English lord?"
"Who else would it be? Fitz?"
Their eyes met for a moment, each considering the possibility. "Okay, you're the English lord," Duncan agreed.
As though I weren't all along, Methos thought. "That night I order you to come to my rooms. Then I order you to strip. You protest, but in the end you do as I tell you. Nervousness is poring off of you in waves, so is arousal. You fumble a little with the last button on your shirt, but I resist the urge to help, knowing that if I start touching you I won't be able to stop."
"You nearly trip as you remove your trousers. Once they're off I walk slowly around you, studying you. You hold yourself proudly, but my gaze unnerves you and we both know it; it also excites you, and we both know that too."
"I walk to my bed and recline on my side across the foot of it. I tell you to touch yourself. 'What?' you gasp, confused. 'Touch yourself,' I repeat, 'surely, you've done it before.' Tentatively, you raise your hand to your cock and begin to stroke. It's incredibly erotic, watching you pleasure yourself, knowing no one else has ever seen you like this." Methos glanced at the real Duncan. His legs were spread, obviously moved to accommodate the erection distorting the perfect fit of his slacks.
"Your hand is moving rapidly, too rapidly. 'Easy lad,' I say, 'slow down.' You do as I ask. You're rough with yourself, pulling the skin back and forth, concentrating on the area just beneath the head." Methos smiled. "You aren't nervous anymore, but you're too far gone to realize the impact you are having on me. I'm transfixed by you, your beauty, your innocence, your raw sensuality, your willingness to show it all to me, to let me see you. I'm not sure if you are courageous or reckless." Methos locked his eyes on Duncan's face. The other Immortal was breathing rapidly, his hand clutching the bottle of water. Duncan's arousal matched his own, maybe surpassed it. They were playing with fire, but somehow Methos couldn't bring himself to stop. He slid deeper into the couch, his own legs falling farther apart.
"You're close to coming, and I consider telling you to stop, but I can't make my mouth form the words. Then it's too late. Your fluid hits me, landing on my clothes, my face. You drop to your knees; I rise and go to you. I take your face in my hands and tilt it upward. 'You did very well, Duncan,' I say quietly. Then I kiss you. It's a struggle to keep myself from plundering your mouth, but I don't want to frighten you. I want you willing. No, I want you eager, begging for my touch. So I keep the kiss gentle, quiet, reassuring you with my lips. The kiss goes on and on in spite of the awkward position. You groan and part your lips in invitation. I dive in, taking the time to explore you, taste you. This kiss is the opposite of the hasty ones we exchanged during the day. There's no anger here, just sweet, aching pleasure."
"Your hands lock on my hips, pulling me downward and I go. We're both on our knees now and you're reaching for my shirt, struggling with the buttons. I pull away from the kiss and together we remove it. You reach out to touch me, and there is such awe in your expression I wonder if you've ever had a real lover before. Your hand is warm, and wherever it touches me I soften. This surprises me. I had expected to control this encounter utterly, instead I want to surrender myself, to let your warmth fill me, let your innocence envelop me. But I don't. I can't."
Methos stopped, his eyes squeezed tightly closed. The game had suddenly become far too revealing.
It was the first time Duncan had spoken since Methos began his tale. Taking a deep breath, Methos opened his eyes. Concern had almost superseded arousal on the Highlander's features. Methos smiled, and evidently reassured, Duncan returned the smile.
"You open my pants and press your mouth to mine. Your lips smother the groan I can't contain when your hand closes around my cock. It's been longer than I can remember since anyone touched my like that, without artifice, with no motive other than a genuine desire to give pleasure. I am grateful for the inexperience which prevents you from realizing how lost I am, how, with a simple touch, you have devastated me." Methos closed his eyes; he couldn't look at MacLeod. He needed to stop this. It had gone too far already.
But his mouth betrayed him, or maybe it was his cock, more probably it was his heart. It didn't matter who was the culprit; the words continued to pore from him unabated.
"A few strokes of your hand is all it takes and I'm leaning against you, shuddering. When at last my body calms I take a few deep breaths and open my eyes. I'm gazing downward at your still hard cock."
"I stand and hold out my hand. You take it. I pull you to your feet and lead you to the bed. You settle onto the center, stretching out on your back. Once again I'm struck by it, your beauty, your innocence. It awakens a desperate hunger in me, one I'd believed long buried. There's a bizarre purity in my need for you. Somehow it's free of taint, free of the stain of my sins. You make me generous; you call to some part of me that wants to give, and protect, and trust."
"'My Lord?' you ask, unsettled by my stare. 'Adam,' I correct, 'in here I'm Adam.' 'Adam.' You say my name and I can no longer keep my distance. I climb onto the bed between your legs. My hand closes around your erection and I start to lean forward. Your hands on my shoulders stop me. 'You don't have to,' you say. 'Yes, Duncan, I do,' I counter, continuing my descent.
"I sigh with pleasure as my lips close around you. You're warm and smooth and the glide of your flesh over my lips and tongue is as gratifying as it is pleasurable. Part of me wants to do this slowly, but I can't. I need you to moan, need you to come. I don't have to wait long. Your hips are bucking, and instead of holding you still I let myself ride your rhythm. Your hands clasp my head as your thrusts become more and more uneven. Knowing the end is near I suck harder and you climax, my name on your lips."
"I continue to suck, swallowing rapidly, determined to have all of you. Your hands slide from the back of my head to my face, gently disengaging me from your cock."
"I lift my head and meet your gaze, grateful for the lack of questions in your eyes, even more grateful for the affection I find there. I smile gently, and when you return it I lower my head, resting it on your abdomen. I drift off to sleep with your hands petting my hair." Methos paused. "The irony of a forty-six hundred year old man receiving comfort from a sixteen year old is not lost on me."
The words at last ran out and Methos fell silent. He kept his eyes closed, vividly aware of the Highlander's presence. The air between them vibrated with tension. Methos didn't want to face whatever came next, knowing it would inevitably, inexorably lead to tragedy, probably of Shakespearean proportions.
The word was said quietly, and by a speaker much closer than Duncan had been the last time Methos looked. He opened his eyes. Duncan was next to the couch, gazing down at him. "Duncan." Methos cursed the need, the uncertainty in his own voice.
He watched as the Highlander knelt on the couch, straddling one of his legs. Watched as Duncan leaned forward, one arm to either side of Methos' head. He knew he should say something. One biting remark and he could avert this. But all he could do was gaze upward, unable to push away the one person whose nearness he craved.
Duncan's lips brushed his, and Methos cursed his trembling body for betraying him yet again. The kiss was slow and easy. The wild arousal coursing through both of them should have made it passionate and out of control, but Duncan, Duncan kept it slow and easy. Methos hated him for it, for giving affection when lust would have been so much easier.
Duncan's lips abandoned his mouth and slid to his neck. Methos tilted his head instinctively, offering more of himself. A hand slid under his shirt and Methos inhaled sharply in anticipation.
Warm, callused fingertips moved over a nipple and he arched into the touch. The mouth on his neck began to suck. It was too much. He pulled back, trying to pull away, but there was nowhere to go.
"Let me, Methos. Please, let me."
The ache in Duncan's voice was almost palpable. There was no turning away from it, not for Methos. He acquiesced, raising himself and lifting his arms he allowed Duncan to remove his sweater.
Duncan was sitting on his heels, looking at Methos. Methos looked back. The man was beautiful, and he was gazing at Methos with such desire and tenderness that Methos could only stare, as transfixed as the fictional Lord Adam had been.
One quick tug and all four buttons on his jeans were open. Methos lifted his hips, and Duncan pushed the interfering garment down. Flesh encircled his cock and Methos drew in a shuddering breath. The real Duncan's touch was much like the imaginary Duncan's had been, more knowing but still without artifice, still wanting nothing more than to give.
Grief choked him. He would lose this. His deepest desire, the one he never allowed himself to imagine had become real, inescapably, undeniably real. And he would lose it, lose Duncan MacLeod. The loss was inevitable, had been from the day they met.
He closed his eyes, unable to look at his lover any longer. Duncan stroked, and pleasure began to cover the grief, forcing it down. Methos let the pleasure take him over, let himself thrust into the Highlander's accepting grasp.
The pulses started in his feet, each one stronger and further reaching than the one before it. He clutched at Duncan as the orgasm overtook him and his whole body jerked, freed at last from the extended arousal.
Methos sank spinelessly into the cushions beneath him. Inhaling deeply, he released the breath slowly and opened his eyes.
Duncan was smiling at him. "And to think I was leery of you discovering that book."
Methos answered the smile with one of his own. "You should have been, perhaps you still should be."
Duncan shook his head. "Leery is not on the list of responses you're eliciting at the moment."
Methos chuckled and tugged on his shirt. "Remove these interfering garments, lad."
Grinning, Duncan stood. Methos watched as his lover's clothes were quickly removed. Duncan stepped within reach and Methos' hand found its way to his chest. But what he wanted most was lower.
Within moments Duncan was over him, one knee to either side of Methos' chest. Methos held the offered penis between his hands and leaned forward to lick lightly at the head. Duncan groaned and all thoughts of finesse fled the older man's mind. Hunger devoured him, and he devoured Duncan. He pulled Duncan's cock as deeply into his mouth as the awkward position would allow, clutching it as though it were a lifeline.
His hands gripped Duncan's buttocks, moving the Highlander's hips in rhythm with his sucking. Duncan was clinging to the back of the couch with one hand, struggling to remain upright. His other hand rested on Methos' head.
Methos moved rapidly, pushing Duncan relentlessly toward orgasm. There was no reprieve, no escape, just consumption. Methos was unsure if he was consuming Duncan or being consumed by him. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the man leaning over him, the man he was pleasuring as though the pleasure could somehow stave off the end of the world.
His name was a barely coherent gasp. Methos raised himself further, altering the angle and taking Duncan even more deeply.
Almost there. Methos' hands squeezed Duncan's ass.
Duncan, he answered silently, unable to speak as his mouth was flooded with Duncan's come.
Just as in the story, he clung to Duncan's cock long after the orgasm was over, until Duncan reached down to gently disengage him. Duncan stretched out atop him, his head resting on Methos' chest. Methos' arms encircled his shoulders.
"Did you know that your jeans are still around your knees?" Duncan asked sleepily.
"Hmm. My partner was in too much of a hurry to remove them."
"It wasn't the jeans that were the problem; it was the hiking boots. Maybe this'll teach you to take them off before putting your feet on my couch."
"Maybe," Methos agreed.
"Yeah, right," Duncan sneered, and Methos chuckled softly before kissing him on the head.
A change in his surroundings brought Methos abruptly awake. He realized immediately what it was. Duncan had moved. He was now kneeling at the end of the couch.
"Hungry?" Duncan asked.
"Yeah." Methos pushed himself into a sitting position, swinging his still partially clad legs to the floor.
"I could throw something together, or we could just order in."
"Order in. I'll pay."
"Wait, let me call Joe. I want this in my chronicle, the day Adam Pierson bought me dinner."
Methos snorted. "You do that." He stood and pulled up his jeans. "Of course Joe will want to know why I was willing to buy and I would love to hear you explain that."
"Chinese or Italian?"
"You don't want to explain to Joe how we ended up naked on your couch?"
"I'm getting Chinese," Duncan answered going toward the kitchen.
Methos chuckled as he walked to the bathroom. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. He was a mess. His hair was sticking out in directions he wasn't certain could even exist in three dimensional space, his chest was covered with dried bodily fluids, and he reeked of sex.
He doubted Duncan would object to him grabbing a shower. On the other hand, he could wet down his hair in the sink, and use a washcloth to clean his chest. That would take care of the first two problems and most of the third. He smiled to himself, and it might not be a bad idea to let the scent of sex linger for awhile.
He stepped out of the bathroom a tad more presentable. Duncan had pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a loose T-shirt. The clothes he had been wearing earlier were nowhere to be seen. Methos' shirt was on the arm of the couch, neatly folded.
"What did you get?"
"Since you're buying I ordered the four most expensive things on the menu."
"Don't know. I didn't ask."
Methos took a moment to consider the situation. Irritating was his role. Just because they'd had sex that didn't give the Highlander the right to go altering other dynamics of their relationship. He was annoying and Duncan was annoyed. That was how it worked. However the Scot's bickering skills were improving at a rapid rate. Soon, Methos feared, he might even best the old man, but not tonight, not over Chinese food. "Good for you. You're finally learning to take advantage."
Duncan's glare arrived right on cue, and Methos congratulated himself. He sauntered to the couch, pausing a moment before deliberately lifting his feet, hiking boots and all, onto it.
"Nice try, old man."
Duncan returned to the chair opposite the couch. "So how much writing have you done?"
"Stories, poetry, essays, taking pen and ink and applying it to paper."
"Not much. My journals, some ad copy in the sixties, a little poetry during the Middle Ages."
"I was the original Darren Stevens."
"Somehow I doubt Endora would survive long with you for a son-in-law, not to mention Mrs. Kravitz." Duncan picked up the water he had abandoned earlier. He took a drink and then carried it to the couch.
Methos accepted the offered bottle and took a drink before returning it.
Duncan perched on the edge of the couch, next to Methos' hips. "No novels? No short stories in the New Yorker or it's Babylonian counterpart?"
Methos shook his head. "We didn't have a New Yorker in Babylon. You ever tried to draw cartoons on papyrus?" The corners of his mouth quirked up. "No, I couldn't tell you that."
"The name I used during the second half of the Nineteenth Century."
"Sorry, old man, I'm not biting. Not even Richie would believe that story."
"Why? There something wrong with the name Robert Twain?"
A knock on the door brought both men to their feet. Methos pulled out his wallet while Duncan carried the food to the table.
Methos followed him. "Fifty dollars for Chinese food for two? The word extravagant mean anything to you, MacLeod?"
Duncan shrugged. "I was hungry."
"Next time you buy. Adam Pierson can't afford to keep you," Methos said, opening one of the cartons. Garlic shrimp. He slid into a chair and reached for a pair of chopsticks.
"And here I thought you were a wealthy English Lord."
"My dissolute younger brother gambled away the family fortune when I wasn't looking, leaving us with nothing but the estates themselves and a mortgage we can't pay. I fear we shall lose everything that once bore the Pierson name."
Methos chuckled. "Yeah, you Scots are always so full of pity for English aristocrats."
Duncan's expression was suddenly distant and full of pain. Methos was still deciding whether or not he should ask when the moment passed. "What can I say? We're a compassionate people."
The rest of the meal passed more or less in silence, except for a few comments on the food. Methos' mind was remarkably quiet, but then he had forced all thoughts regarding the consequences of his actions away. His relationship with the Highlander would end when it ended, most probably when his past managed to catch up with him again. Dwelling on it wouldn't change anything, it would only take away from this moment, and Methos was determined to have this moment.
They cleared away the cartons, and while Methos wiped the table Duncan retrieved two beers from the refrigerator. He handed one to the old man as they walked back to the couch.
"So what happens in the morning?" Duncan asked once they were settled.
Methos gave him a puzzled look.
"In the story," Duncan clarified.
Methos shrugged. "Don't know. Probably more sex. You know how sixteen year olds are."
"Yeah, I remember it rather well."
Methos was tempted to ask what her name was, but he stopped himself. He didn't really want to know about the Highlander's youthful romances.
"So are we still in the same position when we wake up, or have we moved?"
Methos smiled, took a drink of his beer. Duncan appeared to be determined to have more. "I wake up during the night. I move so that I am stretched out beside you. You're still on your back. I reach up with a single finger and trace your nose. Then I brush your lips with my fingertip. You turn your head, and I pull my hand away not wanting to wake you."
"I can't pass up the opportunity to study you again. You still have the slenderness of youth, but already you've begun to fill out. If I close my eyes I can see the broad chest that will be there in a few years, the mass of hair which will grow from the few strands in the center of your chest. But I don't close my eyes, I want to see you as you are, not as you will someday be. There is strength in you even now, a strength of spirit as well as body. I'm grateful for that. You'll need that strength. Briefly, I consider telling you what you are, but decide against it. I lay back down on my side facing you, and with my hand resting on your chest, I drift back to sleep."
"I wake to you leaning over me. 'Good morning, Duncan.' You smile as you answer, emphasizing my name. 'Good morning, Adam.' I chuckle at your obvious pleasure and, wrapping one hand around the back of your head, I pull you down for a kiss."
Methos glanced at Duncan on the other end of the couch. "What kind of kiss is it, do you think?"
"Passionate," Duncan answered immediately.
Methos nodded. "I had intended a simple good morning kiss, but you have other ideas. You capture my lower lip and suck hungrily. As soon as you release me, you are pressing your lips back against mine, requesting entrance. I grant it; our tongues meet and entangle first in my mouth and then in yours. My hands are moving over you, seeking out all of the places I didn't touch the night before."
"I pull my mouth away from yours and wrap it around one of your nipples. You moan and arch toward my mouth." Methos glanced at his audience. "You planning on helping or am I going to do all of the work?"
"You're the one with the gift for words, Mr. Twain."
"What's the problem? Are you lacking in inspiration?"
"Perhaps I am."
"And you think I could help you with this problem?"
"I'm almost certain of it."
Duncan grinned. "Where were we? Oh yeah, my nipple and your mouth. I'd never realized how pleasurable it would be to have my nipples caressed. I'd caressed women's, of course."
Methos tilted his head in Duncan's direction, his lips pressed together in a straight line.
"Okay, a couple of women's. But no one has ever paid attention to mine before. And you are so very good at it. Tongue and teeth and strong, warm suction. It reminds me of how your mouth felt on my cock and I moan. You release me and look up at me, amused. I immediately re-initiate the kiss. I can't get enough of your mouth. The firmness of your lips is a constant reminder that I'm kissing a man, and for some reason that knowledge just feeds the fire. Maybe it's the excitement of the forbidden. Maybe it's just you."
"Since the day we met you've confounded me. You're unlike any other English aristocrat I've ever known. While more than capable of being haughty, you're more frequently self-mocking. I watch you all of the time, fascinated by your adaptability. Quite often you manage to blend so smoothly into your surroundings you would have disappeared had I not been watching attentively. But there is an edge to you as well. I've seen it. Push too far and instead of disappearing you dominate. That dangerous edge fascinates me even more than the disappearances and I am sometimes tempted to push you just to get a glimpse of that man."
Methos watched his new lover. There was a faraway look in his eyes, as though he were remembering the words instead of making them up. He fought back a chill. The Highlander viewed him with far more clarity than Methos had given him credit for.
"So I plunder your mouth, wanting to extract answers from it one way or another."
"I surrender," Methos picked up the story, "but only long enough for you to think you have control. Then I flip you over onto your back. My mouth moves from your lips to your neck. I've never met an Immortal or pre-Immortal whose neck wasn't hypersensitive. Yours is no exception. You tilt your head back, offering yourself to me. Selfishly, I take what you offer and demand more."
"I'm pushing you now. My hands and mouth are covering you, leaving no part of your torso without a caress, but I refuse to go lower, leaving you to thrust your hips helplessly into the air."
"Part of me feels guilty for this, for taking your innocence and leaving you helpless, but I can't do otherwise. I can't surrender to you. 'Adam, please,' you gasp, hips thrusting once again. But I can give you relief. I move atop you, letting you take all of my weight. My erection slides along yours, and I bite my lip at the sensation. Your hands grab my ass as you push against me and I push back. I lower my mouth to yours, but I can't maintain the kiss. The pleasure is too intense, too demanding of my attention. I cling to you as we thrust mindlessly together." Methos stopped, and silence filled the room.
"You know," Duncan said casually, "We may have to try that sometime."
Methos chuckled. "Yeah, some rainy afternoon when there's nothing good on TV."
"It's a date." Duncan paused. "'Course that begs the question of what we should do tonight."
Methos smiled languidly. "Speak for yourself, I have a book to finish."
"'What do you want, Duncan?' I ask as I drag my lips from your mouth to your neck. 'Something new. Show me something we haven't done yet,' you answer. I roll us over so that you're lying on top of me. I slide my hands down your back until I reach your buttocks. I trace the space between them lightly with my fingertips. You immediately tense."
"'Trust me, Duncan," I whisper. 'I do, I...' you hesitate. 'Anytime you want me to stop, you have only to say so and I will. I won't take anything you aren't able to give.'"
"My fingers are still moving, the contact barely there. I want to kiss you, but your head is turned away from me. I speak your name and you turn toward me. 'Kiss me.' You do as I ask. Kissing is one skill you are mastering even more rapidly than sword-fighting."
"Sword-fighting?" Duncan interrupted. Their second evening as lovers was proving to be much the same as the first. They were seated on the couch, with Methos spinning tales of forbidden sex between a young Scotsman and an English Lord.
"Didn't I tell you? Lord Adam is giving the lad lessons."
"Uh-huh." Duncan's tone clearly indicated what he thought of that idea.
"Hey," Methos protested, "Duncan's sixteen; Lord Adam is forty-six hundred. I think he might have a trick or two to teach the boy."
"I don't doubt that."
"Do you want to hear about the sex or not?"
"I want the sex."
"Then don't interrupt. Where was I?"
"I was kissing you. Skillfully."
Briefly, Methos considered finding a way to remind the Highlander that annoying was his role. There was just one problem. He wanted to fuck MacLeod even more than he wanted to put him in his place.
"You're teasing my lips and I groan," Methos continued, "pushing unconsciously against you. You've done it again, stripped away my control. I had intended for the kissing to distract you, to help you relax, but I'm the one who is distracted. I roll us over again and kneel between your legs. I tell you to open the drawer in the stand next to the bed and hand me the jar of pomade. You're nervous, but you do as I ask. I take the jar from you with one hand and capture your hand with the other. I bring it to my face and press it against my cheek. Turning my head, I kiss the center of your palm."
"'You don't have to do this, Duncan.' I remind you. 'I want to,' you reply, drawing your knees up and exposing more of yourself to me."
"I open the jar and heavily coat two of my fingers. I run my fingers lightly along the space between your buttocks. I repeat the action with a firmer touch, pressing marginally deeper. I do it a third time and wait for you to respond. You do, parting your legs a bit further."
"I concentrate on the opening itself now, circling it again and again. You tilt your pelvis and I press inward. 'Bear down, push against me, Duncan,' I instruct. I feel you start to open and my finger slides into you. I stop myself at the first knuckle, resisting the urge to go farther."
"I ask if you are uncomfortable and you shake your head. 'It feels odd,' you explain. 'It'll get better.' I pull my finger back fractionally and wrap my free hand around your cock, stroking slowly as I push my finger inward again."
"I establish a slow rhythm, caressing you inside and out. You're responding to my touch, you've tilted your pelvis as far as possible and you've begun to move along with my strokes inside you. I push farther, seeking your prostate. I find it. Your back arches and your entire body jerks at the connection. It's incredibly erotic, seeing you like this, doing things to you I know no one else has ever done. I'm so hard it hurts, but I don't care. All I care about is you. I caress the same place again and again. You're gasping and clenching the sheets."
"When you come I feel your muscles contracting around my fingers, feel your cock jerk in my hand. I'm perfectly still. You've turned me to stone, but unlike Medusa you did it with your beauty."
"You collapse into the bed, breathing harshly. I withdraw my fingers carefully. 'Adam.' You reach for me and I move to lie next to you. 'Adam, that was...' You're touching my face, my shoulders. I smile. 'I'm glad you enjoyed it.' You smile back, tightening your grip on me. 'May I, may I touch you?'"
"Unable to speak, I nod. I pick up the jar and hand it to you before rolling onto my back. you're between my legs and I pull them back, offering myself to you. I watch as you coat your fingers with the pomade. Fingers practically dripping you look at me. I nod and you touch me. You're tentative, not realizing that every contact is sending shocks of pleasure up my spine."
"I don't want to rush you, I want to savor this, but still I struggle to keep from begging you for more. I want you inside, any part of you I can have."
"At last you push forward and I open for you, groaning. You're watching your hand, watching yourself caress me. My eyes are glued to you. You're intent, concentrating on your actions. Concentrating on me, I realize and the thought sends shivers through me."
"Your fingertip brushes my prostate and I come. I'm caught completely off-guard, unprepared for the pleasure which takes hold of me and won't let go."
"The orgasm ends as abruptly as it began, and I open my eyes only to get lost in yours. The moment lasts for a mere heartbeat. 'You're beautiful,' you whisper. I blush. I haven't blushed in centuries."
"I feel along the sheet until my hand reaches the jar of pomade. I coat the palm of my hand and then I sit up, leaning awkwardly on one hand for support. Your finger is still inside of me and I can't sit fully upright. I reach for your cock, and stroke it, coating it with lubricant. 'I want this,' I whisper, 'I want this where your hand is.'"
"Your words shock me," Duncan spoke, picking up the story, his voice strained with desire. "But they excite me even more. I nod, withdrawing my finger. You release my cock and lean back. You are beautiful, and I swallow hard, emotions I don't fully understand swirling around in me. The desire I understand and I focus on that. I lean forward and seize your lips. The kiss starts out roughly, but it gentles quickly, lust giving way to tenderness."
"I pull back, wanting to speak, wanting to tell you what I feel, but the words inside me remain trapped there. I can't bring myself to say them. Instead I take hold of my cock and position it at your entrance."
"'Yes,' you say and I begin to push forward. There's resistance and I stop. 'Duncan,' you plead. 'I don't want to hurt you.' 'You aren't, please.' I can't deny you, not when you say it like that. Not when your desire is as palpable to me as my own."
"Your body yields to mine. It's incredible. You're warm and tight and you're squeezing me harder than anything else ever has."
Duncan took Methos' hand, and raised it to his lips, signaling the end of his narration.
Methos smiled and resumed his story-telling. "It's been a long time since I wanted anyone like this, wanted to feel another's body inside my own. You fill me, inch by careful inch and my demons are forced to the edges of my being, forced to move to accommodate the cock of young Duncan MacLeod. It's a wonderful illusion, this belief that you can drive them away. But I know it to be an illusion. Still, I choose to believe it, if only for a moment. I know sacrifices are usually of innocence, but I sacrifice my experience. I give it up. I let your innocence, your wonder at what is happening between us, shape our lovemaking."
"Still, you fill me, touching places I long thought untouchable."
"You move gently inside of me, your movements an intimate caress. It's both too much and not enough." Methos fell silent. These little excursions into fantasyland were far too real.
"I know," Duncan said quietly. "I'm losing myself in you. It isn't just your flesh enclosing me and pulling me deeper. I can feel the vastness of you; I can't shake the feeling that you could absorb me and it would barely make an impression. At the same time I can't get deeply enough. I'm no longer gentle. My motions are desperate, almost frantic. I need to come, need to feel you come with me."
Methos had closed his eyes, focusing on his lover's words. When Duncan fell silent Methos opened them. Duncan was kneeling between his legs. Methos leaned forward and they were kissing. Hungry, devouring kisses that made no pretense of control or patience.
He stood, pulled Duncan up with him. They staggered to the bed, pulling at clothing, each other's and their own. Naked, Methos arranged himself on his back in the middle of the bed. "Like this?"
"God, yes." Duncan grabbed the bottle of massage oil next to the bed and climbed between Methos' legs. The preparations were hurried, a little clumsy, but not fast enough to suit Methos. He settled his legs onto his lover's shoulders while Duncan was still coating his cock.
One hard thrust and Duncan was deep inside. Methos grunted as the force of it pushed him into the mattress.
Mac took Methos' hips in his hands and began to thrust. He wasn't gentle, or tender, or considerate. He buried himself in the old man's ass again and again. It was exactly what Methos wanted. Duncan out of control, lost in a fury of passion, all of because of him, all for him.
"Methos. Come for me, Methos."
Methos' body responded to his lover's command, and he came. Fluid erupted between them, landing on them both. Hot liquid coated his insides and Methos clutched at Duncan, using the other man to orient himself as his world twisted inside out.
Duncan sprawled on top of him. They were both gasping for breath.
Duncan spoke first, managing to choke out the words, "That was..."
"Yeah, it was," Methos agreed, sending them both into gales of laughter. The laughter was every bit as much a tension-reliever as the sex had been.
"You know," Methos said when they finally calmed down, "eventually we're going to run out of things Lord Adam and young Duncan haven't done."
Duncan grinned. "Guess you'll have to invent stories about Pirate Duncan and Captive Adam or maybe I can be the native boy and you can be the son of the local army commander. I rather like that idea."
"What do you think I am? Your personal pornographer?"
Duncan's grin broadened and he raised himself onto all fours, kneeling over his lover. "No, I think you are my personal fuck toy."
"Are you done playing with me yet?"
Duncan shook his head. "Absolutely not," he said quietly, just before their lips met.
Duncan paused outside the door to Joe's bar. Presence. Most likely it was the old man. He pushed the door open.
Joe was seated at the bar, going through a pile of invoices. Methos was in the corner hunched over his laptop. Duncan leaned against the bar next Joe. "How long has he been here?" Duncan nodded in Methos' direction.
"What time is it?"
"About five hours. He's spent the entire time like that." Joe glanced at Methos then looked back at Duncan. "You got any idea what he's working on?"
"Not really." Duncan was watching his lover.
Joe glanced again at Methos. "You gonna talk to him or just stand there?"
"I think I'll let him work." Duncan turned around and rested his elbows on the bar. In his mind's eye he was seeing Methos as he had been that morning. Duncan had awakened him with kisses. Kisses that had started at his neck and gone slowly lower. He could hear the old man's groans, feel him tremble as Duncan's mouth covered his cock, taste him, smell him...
Duncan roused himself from his memories. "Yeah?"
"No, just thinking." Duncan looked over his shoulder at Methos. "Maybe I will go harass the old guy after all."
Joe followed his gaze. "Good luck. He's been more than a little touchy all day. Refuses to talk about whatever it is that's got his attention."
Duncan smiled to himself. "I kinda like Methos when he's feeling touchy."
Methos didn't look up until Duncan was standing over him. Then he smiled, not a sarcastic or mocking smile, a genuine one. Duncan firmly directed his heart to stop doing somersaults. "Writing?"
"Is that what I think it is?" Duncan asked as he sat and leaned forward to get a look at the screen.
Methos closed the laptop. "Not yet. It isn't ready."
"Come on, Methos, let me read it."
"Do you really want to get all hot and bothered in the middle of Joe's?"
"This is the corner, not the middle. Besides we're in the same room, these days that seems to be all it takes to get me hot and bothered."
"I noticed that."
"Proud of yourself, aren't you?"
Methos smirked. "Very."
Duncan reached under the table, finding and squeezing Methos' erection. "It appears I'm not the only one with that problem."
"I've been writing," Methos protested.
"Yeah, about me."
"No, about a much younger and..." Methos stopped abruptly as Duncan opened his zipper. "MacLeod," he hissed. "You can't."
"Sure I can. You just need to stay quiet." Duncan wrapped his hand around Methos' cock. There wasn't much room for movement, but he didn't need much. He'd spent days familiarizing himself with the other man's body and knew exactly where to touch.
"I'll get you for this." Methos choked out, even as his head fell back against the chair.
"None of that," Duncan whispered. "We can't have Joe turning around and finding you looking like a man being jerked off under the table now can we?" Methos pulled his head up. "That's better. Why don't you open up your computer and pretend to work?"
Methos glared at him. "Nice try."
"It's about to get nicer," Duncan answered, his thumb brushing Methos' glans.
Joe glanced back at them, and Methos froze. Duncan smiled. Joe gave him a quizzical look before turning back to his invoices.
"This'll look great in your chronicle. 'The day Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod jerked off former watcher Adam Pierson in a bar.'"
"My chronicle needs a little spice."
"If you're this coherent I must not be doing it right." Duncan moved his thumb from the head of Methos' cock to the side, hitting a spot he knew was especially sensitive.
Methos bit his lower lip.
Duncan continued, strengthening the stroke, combining it with the movement of the rest of his hand a half inch or so up and down Methos' shaft.
Methos' hips were moving almost imperceptibly and his hands were gripping the chair for support. The sight of a fully clothed Methos aroused and squirming was imprinting itself indelibly in his mind and Duncan wondered if he'd ever be able to look at this table again without getting a hard on. So caught up was he in the sight and feel of his lover that when Methos came he very nearly did too.
Joe was walking toward them and Duncan panicked. He sat up straighter in the chair, trying to disguise the location of his now wet hand.
A small towel dropped onto the table in front of them. "Thought you could use this. Don't worry about returning it. The health department probably wouldn't approve of me using it to wipe dishes." He continued past them into his office, leaving Duncan to stare after him.
"Don't say I didn't warn you," Methos said, before bursting into laughter.
"Mirrors," Methos explained, still chuckling. He nodded toward a mirror behind the bar. "Placed so that the bartender can keep an eye on what's happening in the corners." He picked up the towel and handed it to Mac. "You made the mess; you can clean it up."
Methos watched from the couch as the Highlander did the dishes. Duncan hadn't even hinted that Methos should share in the after dinner clean-up, or the dinner preparation for that matter. He was no doubt wondering what sort of revenge Methos was planning. Methos wasn't certain of that himself, he only knew it wouldn't involve sex in public. He paused. On the other hand, it had been exciting and if Duncan were the vulnerable one... Definite possibilities there.
Duncan glanced in his direction and Methos looked down at his book. It was one thing for Duncan to watch him, quite another for him to get caught watching Duncan. After finishing Blade of the MacLeods he had picked up To Tame a Highland Warrior, but it had proven to be a disappointment. Lots of badly written het sex and a hero that in no way resembled Duncan.
Methos put down the book and turned his attention to his own writing. He closed his eyes and began to plan the next scene. He settled deeper into the couch, remembering with satisfaction that he was still wearing his boots.
"So what put that smile on your face?"
Methos opened his eyes slowly. "Nothing special."
"Yeah, right." Duncan pointedly moved his eyes lower, stopping at the erection outlined clearly in denim.
"You are such a guy, MacLeod. Is that all you think about?"
"I'm not the one with the erection." Duncan sat on the edge of the couch near Methos' hips. "So what part of the story were you imagining?"
"Something I haven't shared with you yet."
"But you're going to now."
"Why would I?"
"I'll make it worth your while."
"The way you did this afternoon?" Methos asked, a sharp edge to his voice.
To his credit Duncan didn't flinch. "Actually, I had something a little more...involved... in mind."
"Talk first, old man."
Methos shook his head. "I like to know what the payment will be before services are rendered."
Methos continued to look at him, waiting.
"How about this? Whatever you describe, we'll do."
"Isn't that what we've been doing?"
"See, you've been rewarded for every story."
Methos' eyes narrowed. "Fine. We do whatever I describe." He considered changing the story. There were some things he'd dearly love to do to the adult Duncan that Lord Adam would never attempt with the lad. No, he'd leave it as it was. If his luck held he and Duncan would have plenty have time. If not...
"It's the night after Lord Adam introduced young Duncan to anal sex. I'm in my rooms waiting for you. You're still in the bath. I'm thinking about the last few days, about how much control I've given up. It bothers me, my willingness to surrender to you. Tonight I'll regain some of that control."
"You open the door and I turn. You're naked except for a towel. Not very discreet of you, but I can't find it in me to scold you. Your damp hair is curling around your face. I walk over to you. You smile, anticipating a kiss, a touch, but I don't do either. I tug on the towel and it comes off. I glance down, taking in all of you. 'Go lean against the wall, facing it.' You start to say something, but change your mind. Head slightly bowed, you do as I instructed."
"I catch my breath at the sight of you. Long lines of muscle, smooth flesh, the inviting bulge of your ass, all of it on display for me. I had planned to just drop to my knees, but I have to touch you. I raise my hand to your shoulder, and taste your flesh with my fingertips. I move my hand slowly downward, drinking you in, savoring you. I can feel your anticipation. With my other hand I push your hair to the side, exposing your neck. I brush my lips there, feel you tremble."
"I keep my touches light, teasing you, teasing myself. I move to your shoulder, then to the center of your back. I'm holding you with both hands on your waist, balancing myself as I move lower. Every taste of you increases my hunger. It wasn't supposed to be like this. I was going to stay in control, but once again you've stripped me, removing everything but my need for you."
"I'm on my knees behind you. I turn my head, resting for a moment against your beautiful ass. Then I turn back and take my first taste of this part of you."
"You gasp as my tongue teases the top of your cleft. I suck on the place where your buttocks join. 'Adam.' Your voice is full of longing, with a hint of confusion. I pull my mouth free. 'Trust me, Duncan,' I tell you, resuming my previous activity before you can answer."
"I start at the bottom and drag my tongue along your cleft. You push back, urging me to go deeper. I do. I use my hands to part you, to hold you open as I deepen my explorations."
"I'm completely caught up in you, your taste, your smell, the feel of you under my hands, my tongue. I move to your opening, swirling my tongue around it much the same way I swirl it over the head of your cock."
"You call out my name, the one you know. Not for the first time I long to tell you who I really am. I probe deeper and you change position, leaning farther forward and giving me better access. I take advantage of it, plunging into you as deeply as I can."
"I reach my hand around and take hold of your cock. Your hips begin to move to my rhythm, forward into my hand, back onto my mouth. You're groaning non-stop now, and the sound goes straight to my groin."
"I feel your muscles clenching and I know you're close. A few more strokes of tongue and hand and you climax. You splatter the wall, but I don't care. You drop to the floor and you're in my arms. I hold you close, raining kisses on your face and hair."
Methos smiled at his lover. "Something you're willing to do, Highlander?"
"Yeah." Duncan leaned down for a kiss. "But not yet." He renewed the kiss, lingering until a quiet whimper escaped his lover. "I wrap my arm around your neck and pull your mouth to mine. I kiss you hungrily. Then I ask for the thing I've been thinking about all day."
"Adam," I begin, "will you..." I look away, hesitating. 'You only need ask, Duncan. You know that.' I look back at you, fighting back a blush. 'Will you fuck me?'"
"I know what the answer will be before you say it. I can see it in your eyes, the desire, the want. 'Are you certain?' you ask. 'I am.' You study me, trying to ascertain the truth of my response. 'I want you,' I continue, 'want to feel what it's like to have part of you inside of me.'"
"The raw emotion in your face causes my heart to soar. I can see it, the love. You touch my face and I close my eyes, feeling it in your touch."
Methos closed his eyes, hoping Duncan couldn't feel him shaking. When had he become so transparent? What right did Duncan have to see so much, to understand the things he couldn't say? Weren't any of his secrets safe anymore?
Duncan's hand touched his cheek. Methos kept his eyes closed.
"You stand," Duncan continued quietly, "and pull me up with you. You lead me to the bed. I lie down on it and you pull off your clothes before climbing in beside me. You are so gentle with me, Methos. You take me in your arms and kiss me. It's long and sweet and you're caressing me with one hand at the same time, touching my shoulder, my arm, my hip, as much of my leg as you can reach. But it's the kisses I can't get enough of. I pull you closer, wrapping my arms around you as tightly as I can. We're too close for you to easily touch any part of me but my back now, but I don't care. I want as much of you against me as I can get."
"Your kisses grow deeper, more commanding, and I surrender more with each silent order. I want to give myself to you, I want to be taken. I've never felt like this before and it terrifies me, but I can't pull away."
Face flushed with arousal, Methos picked up the story. "I take your head in my hands and tilt it back, exposing your neck. I move my mouth there, trying to be gentle, trying not to devour you. I move to your shoulder, then down your arm, tasting your bicep. I pause at the inside of your elbow, sucking. You moan my name and I can hear your need. 'Shhh, patience, love, patience,' I soothe. I place a brief kiss on your lips before resuming my journey down your arm."
"I take your hand in mine, pressing it against my mouth. I draw your index finger into my mouth, sucking, scraping it with my teeth as I pull it slowly out. I'm watching your face, and you close your eyes as I move onto the next finger."
"Finishing with your hand, I wonder if I should repeat the process on the other side. I'm kneeling over your groin and I can feel your erection beneath me, pressing into my scrotum. The sensation alone is almost enough to make me forget my intention to draw this out as long as possible. It's the sight of you which steadies me. Your face is open, trusting, and stained with pleasure. My fingertips alight on your cheek without me even realizing that I am reaching for you. You open your eyes and I feel like some great hand has taken hold of my heart and squeezed."
"I lean forward and resume my ministrations, this time to your other side. I focus on the skin beneath my lips, trying to forget what I've seen in your face, what I know you have seen in mine."
"It must be that Scottish compassion, because you let me."
"I finish with your arm and move on to your chest. I circle each well-formed pectoral with kisses, gradually working my way inward to your nipple. I haven't told you this, but their sensitivity delights me. I linger there, enjoying your shudders, savoring the feel of hardened flesh under my tongue."
Methos paused, his eyes still tightly closed. He tried to control his breathing, tried to will his pounding heart to slow. Duncan's entire hand was pressed against his cheek now; the thumb tracing his cheekbone. Unable to stop himself, he pushed into that hand.
"I want you to hurry, but I can't ask you to," Duncan said, his voice low and thick with desire. "You need my surrender and I need to give it. Still, I arch toward you, pleading silently for you to continue. You move lower, raining kisses on my abdomen. You linger at my hipbone, teasing. You resume your journey and I hold my breath, but you bypass my cock in favor of my thigh. I roll my upper body toward the edge of the bed and reach for the pomade. I hold it out to you and sitting up, you accept it."
"I watch as you open the jar and cover your fingers. I pull my legs back..."
Methos opened his eyes; he covered the hand on his cheek with his own, squeezing gently. "'It would be easier on your hands and knees,' I say softly. I can see your reluctance. 'I know, Duncan, but I don't want to hurt you,' I add. You nod and turn over. I stroke your back with my free hand, my other hand tracing your crease. I don't tease, but I am slow and careful. I circle your entrance over and over until you push back toward me. Only then do I push inward. I don't have to remind you of what to do. You bear down and my finger slides easily into you. I turn it, coating your insides with the lubricant."
"I move back and forth a few times, before withdrawing my finger and applying more pomade. I push back into you, repeating my earlier actions. The third time I use two fingers, causing you to gasp. I immediately stop my inward push. 'Don't stop,' you say and I continue, but I'm more careful than ever. I turn my fingers with infinite slowness, pushing against your insides, stretching them a little more with each rotation."
"I can feel the strain in your muscles, and I brush your prostate, reminding you of how good this can feel, how good it will feel. 'Pleasure, Duncan,' I say, surprised at the hoarseness of my own voice, 'I'm going to give you pleasure. Only pleasure. If it hurts you must tell me. Promise.' You croak out a yes. I begin to stroke with my fingers, using the same rhythm I will soon use with my hips."
"'Please, Adam, now, please.' Your words slice through me. I withdraw my fingers and begin to coat my cock. My hands are shaking slightly. I position myself and, unbidden, you push back against me; you open and I slip inside, just past the ring of muscle. Your muscles are spasming around me, responding to the intrusion."
"I ask if it hurts."
"It doesn't," Duncan answered. "I feel stretched, forced open, but it isn't painful, not really. And it's you, so I can't imagine wanting to stop even if it did hurt. I need you too badly, need to have you within me. You're holding still, giving me time to adjust, but I don't want time. I push back against you, forcing you deeper."
"I gasp at the sensation as you take me," Methos said. "You're constricting me so tightly it's almost painful. But I want it. I want you around me, holding me."
"I pull away," Duncan answered, "drawing groans from us both, but I push back again immediately and you slide still further into me. I do it again and again, but my motions are jerky, without rhythm. Finally, you take hold of my hips and we begin to move together."
"It's unfortunate that baseball hasn't been invented yet." Methos picked up the thread of the story. "Because I need a distraction. I'm still only partway inside of you and it is taking every bit of self-control I possess not to come. But it's easy to keep my movements, our movements, slow and gentle. The gentleness is part of the pleasure. This isn't fucking, it's a caress, the two of us caressing each other with a tenderness that tears at me."
"You're my world," Duncan said quietly. "At that moment, all I know, all I can feel is you. I feel it when you come. I feel your semen spilling into me. It's incredible, leaving me warm and open."
"My orgasm didn't even take the edge off; I'm still hard, still aching," Methos added. "But the added lubrication makes our movements easier and I'm going deeper now. You're pulling me in, drawing me farther and farther into you, and I can't hold back. I reach for your cock."
"I want to stop you, want to hold your hand still," Duncan said quietly, his eyes glued to Methos' face. "I want to concentrate on the feel of you inside me and your hand overwhelms me. I'm suspended, caught between your cock and your hand. I'm completely yours. You've surrounded me and filled me and I've given myself to you. I had no choice."
Methos couldn't answer that, not with words. His fingers found Duncan's cheek an instant before his mouth found Duncan's lips. He let Duncan feel it all, the longing, the need that was shredding his soul, the love he couldn't put into words.
"Methos," Duncan groaned when they parted, his forehead falling forward to rest against his lover's.
Duncan stood and extended a hand. Methos accepted it and they walked hand in hand to the bed. The undressing was slow, each bit of revealed flesh needing a caress, however slight. First, Methos' sweater was removed, then Duncan's shirt. It was a long time before they got to the jeans. Duncan again forgot Methos' hiking boots and had to stop and remove them with the old man's jeans already around his ankles.
At last they lay naked on the bed, holding one another and kissing. Methos marveled at it. They were both powerfully aroused, but by unspoken agreement they made love at a snail's pace. And it was easy, so easy, to lay in Duncan's arms, kissing and touching, even though he ached, even though his cock was so hard he couldn't imagine there was any blood flowing to the rest of his body.
Their cocks brushed and Methos cried out. Duncan pulled back, breaking the contact. They looked at one another for a long moment before Duncan reached for the oil. He handed it to Methos as he rolled onto his back.
Methos settled between his lover's legs and began to prepare him. Duncan's cock was pointed straight at him and Methos resisted the urge to lean down and take it into his mouth. Duncan wanted to come with Methos inside him and Methos wasn't going to disappoint him. No matter what his tongue had to say on the subject.
The preparations were surprisingly quick. Duncan's body opened readily to his touch and Methos took advantage of it. He was pouring oil onto his palm when Duncan sat up. The Highlander reached for the bottle and Methos handed it to him. Duncan filled his palm and then rubbed his hands together. Wrapping his hands around Methos' cock he stroked with oil covered hands.
Methos inhaled sharply at the first contact; the inhalation rapidly turned into a groan. Two strokes and he grabbed Duncan's wrists. Duncan let go, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before lying back.
Methos moved out from between his legs and pushed on Duncan's hip. Duncan complied with his unspoken instruction by rolling onto his side.
Methos stretched out behind him; his hand again probing Duncan's entrance. Duncan drew his top leg up giving his lover better access.
He replaced his fingers with his cock. Taking a deep breath, Methos began to push forward and Duncan flowed around him; it was that easy. With that one smooth movement he was fully inside. He wrapped an arm around Duncan's chest; his forehead resting on Duncan's shoulder.
There was no room for thrusting, but they didn't need to. They were flowing into each other, aided by slight bumps of Methos' hips.
They eased into their orgasms, the pleasure intensifying slowly until it encompassed them, involving every part of their bodies, every part of their very being.
"So that's what Brother Hoshin was always going on about," Duncan said, when breaking the silence no longer felt like sacrilege.
Methos kissed the back of his neck, one shoulder. "I assume Brother Hoshin was a monk."
"He was Tantric, talked a great deal about the sacred aspects of sex, how you could be one with your lover and the universe."
"Hmmm," Methos acknowledged, kissing a ticklish spot and causing Duncan to squirm. "I suppose I could find worse altars than your body."
Duncan chuckled and rolled over onto his back. "You got lucky. My altar's five thousand years old and it shows."
"It does not," Methos protested.
"It does. In the eyes." He leaned up, kissing Methos lightly. "Hungry?"
"We just ate."
"I was raised Catholic. We always ate during services."
Methos laughed. "I thought I was the one with the twisted sense of humor."
Duncan smiled, happiness lighting his face from within. "Chi-"
Methos interrupted him with a kiss. "Chinese will be fine, especially in light of your recent conversion."
"In that case, Indian might be more appropriate."
"Yeah, but no delivery places. I'm too hungry to wait while we cook; I'd eat all of the ingredients."
"Weren't you the one who pointed out that we had just eaten?"
"I wasn't hungry until you mentioned it."
Duncan grinned. "The power of suggestion."
Methos closed his laptop and looked over at his sleeping lover. Duncan's mouth was open and he was snoring softly, a hint of spittle on his lower lip. Methos smiled, so much for romance. Lad Duncan never snored; come to think of it, neither did Lord Adam.
Tomorrow he'd print out the end of the story and leave it with Joe. He glanced at the clock. He should go to bed. After all, he had a quiz show to enter.