What Methos Won't Do For...
by Chelle

Disclaimer: Not mine.  They belong to some lucky guys name Rysher, Panzer and Davis.

The initial idea for this story came during an evening of beer, pizza and HL vids.  Thank you to Gena who was sharing all three and provided some early, laughter-filled advice.  Thank you to Steven for the alcohol info, and taping the aforementioned vids.  Lastly, thank you to Annie Devlin for hunting down the stray commas.   This was originally written for Kamil, but I don't think she'll object if I share.    


The elevator opened and Duncan met his guests as they stepped off. "Dinner’ll be ready in about half an hour."

"Smells good. What are you makin’?" Joe asked.

"Cornish hens." Duncan answered, going to the bar. He returned with a snifter and handed it to Joe, continuing into the kitchen. He brought back a beer and handed it to his other guest. "It’s a local microbrew; I think you’ll like it."

"Thanks," Methos muttered. "I’m sure I will." He waited until Duncan had turned back toward the kitchen before rolling his eyes. Joe noticed the action and chuckled softly.

Duncan returned with a glass of single malt Scotch. He joined Methos on the couch, his body angled so that he had a clear view of the older Immortal’s profile.

"How’s your brandy, Joe?" Methos asked.

"Not bad, not bad at all."

"It’s Courvoisier," Duncan explained.

"Ah," Methos nodded. "And your Scotch?"

"It’s Glenmorangie. Glenmorangie is always good. Something wrong with your beer?"

"No, nothing’s wrong with it." Methos answered, slightly wistful.

A short time later they settled down to dinner. The glasses in front of both Duncan and Joe’s places held wine. Methos didn’t have a glass. He had a bottle.

Methos stared at it. Okay, so the first time he’d visited the loft he had asked for beer. But that didn’t translate into only wanting beer, at least it wouldn’t have in the mind of a normal person. That Methos drank beer and only beer did, however, appear to be the conclusion Duncan MacLeod had reached. Whenever Methos visited, Duncan offered him beer. Whenever he visited Methos, Duncan brought beer. It was becoming tiresome. More importantly, Methos was in danger of developing a paunch.

He kept his peace during dinner, but when Duncan served him beer with desert he snapped. "MacLeod, you’re serving chocolate mousse. Beer does not go with chocolate mousse."

"You’re right. I’ll get you some pretzels." He reached for the mousse cup.

Methos intercepted his hand. "Leave the mousse. Take the beer."

"You don’t want it?"

"I don’t want it."

"What do you want?"

"Milk."

"Milk?"

"Milk. White liquid, comes from cows and other mammals. Goes well with chocolate."

Duncan picked up the beer bottle and turned away. Methos glanced at Joe; the mortal was struggling to contain his laughter.

Duncan set a glass of milk in front of him and Methos smiled his gratitude. "Thank you."

"You’re welcome." Duncan didn’t return the smile, and his reply was somewhat stilted.

The rest of the meal passed in tense silence.

Methos leaned back in his chair, pushing his empty mousse cup away. "It’s a fellatio fixation isn’t it?"

"What?" Duncan exclaimed.

Joe nearly choked on his wine.

"This thing with you, me and beer," Methos explained calmly.

"There isn’t any thing. I thought you liked beer. My mistake." Duncan rose and began to clear the table.

"Then how come you never serve me beer in a mug?"

"I always thought it tasted better from the bottle." Duncan answered, his back to his guests.

"Uh-huh. It’s a fetish."

"It is not a fetish," Duncan answered through clenched teeth.

Methos rose and went to stand next to Duncan at the kitchen counter. He picked up the beer he had refused earlier. He brought it slowly to his lips, then lowered it slightly. "Are you sure?"

Joe took out a pen and notebook.

Methos raised the bottle again and took a drink. Duncan watched him, eyes intent. Methos lowered the bottle slowly, letting his lips linger on the rim. Looking directly into Duncan’s eyes, he raised the bottle yet again, quickly this time. He drank deeply, his head tipped back to accentuate the activity in his throat.

Lowering the bottle, he parted his lips with the tip of his tongue, just for a second. Duncan’s own tongue mirrored his action, and Methos smiled knowingly. "Joe, put away the notebook," he said, not taking his eyes from Duncan’s face.

He held out the bottle and Duncan took it. He mimicked Methos’ earlier actions, raising the bottle slowly to his lips as Methos watched.  Drink taken, he lowered the bottle and rolled it between his hands.

"Joe," Methos said sharply.

Joe closed his notebook.

Duncan lifted the bottle to Methos’ mouth, tracing Methos’ lower lip with the rim.

Joe cleared his throat. "I’ll let myself out."

Neither man acknowledged him.

Methos’ hand closed over Duncan’s on the bottle, lifting it to take a drink. "So tell me, Highlander, if I give you a blow job can I have Scotch?"

Duncan smiled. "That depends on how good you are."

"Oh, I’ll be good." Methos opened his mouth slightly, caressing his lower lip with the bottle. "Unless you would rather the bottle and I just continue without you?"

"I have a better idea. How about you and I continue without the bottle?"

"Only if you’re sure. You seem pretty attached to the bottle."

"I’d prefer to be attached to you. That is if you can bring yourself to set down the bottle and stop talking."

"Talking can be-" Duncan cut him off with a kiss. They parted and Methos continued exactly from where he had left off. "-a powerful source of erotic stimulation."

"It can," Duncan answered, a hint of pique in his voice.

"For instance if I were to describe to you exactly what I plan on doing."

"And what do you plan on doing?"

"I believe we discussed fellatio."

"And we’re still discussing it, as far as I can tell."

Methos smiled. "Ever the impatient one." He took a long drink of the beer, then pointedly set it down. "Well performed fellatio-"

"I didn’t ask for a lecture on the subject."

"Well performed fellatio should begin slowly and build, don’t you think?"

"At the moment I’d settle for it just beginning."

"I thought I’d begin with my tongue. Light licks, almost not there, to the head. I’ll make each contact last a little longer than the one before it, see how long I can hold out before the need to taste you more thoroughly overwhelms my desire to tease you." He stepped close to Duncan, raised one hand to the side of his neck, brushed the other side with his lips. "Will your taste excite me, do you think?" Methos’ voice was low, almost inaudible. "I’m sure it will, everything else about you does."

Duncan was standing completely still, except for his chest which was rising and falling more rapidly than usual.

Methos again touched Duncan’s neck with his lips, lightly, his breath hot on the other man’s skin. "This is what I’ll do to your cock." He pressed his open mouth more firmly against the side of Duncan’s neck, letting his tongue sneak out to taste his lover. He repeated the action in a new location, adding light suction. "Imagine it, Duncan. My lips on the head of your cock, my tongue teasing the slit, my mouth closing around you, drawing you in."

Methos raised his head and looked into MacLeod’s face. "Is that what you want? Me on my knees in front of you, pleasuring you?"

Duncan swallowed visibly and nodded.

"I’ve thought about it often. How you’ll taste, how you’ll feel, the sounds you’ll make." Methos placed a light kiss on Duncan’s lips, retreating before Duncan could respond. "You do make sounds, don’t you? I always imagined you as too passionate to be silent."

"I don’t talk as much as you do."

Methos chuckled. "You can be taught."

"So can you."

"Ever hear the saying about old dogs and new tricks?"

"You’re not a dog."

"No."

"You’re a man who needs to follow up his words with actions."

"Do I?"

"Yes."

"And if I do, I get to drink something other than beer?"

"If you perform the act in question as well as you describe it I can pretty much guarantee it."

"Can you?"

"I can."

"Well in that case." Methos dropped easily to his knees. He rested his hands on Duncan’s hips and gazed upward. His eyes on Duncan’s face, he quickly undid the Highlander’s belt and opened his slacks. He reached inside, extracting Duncan’s cock. He studied it. It was roughly average in size, although slightly thicker than Methos’ own. It was perfectly straight and the head was still partially covered by foreskin. Taking the shaft firmly in one hand, he pushed back the foreskin with the other. Then he did exactly what he had promised he would.

Light touches of his tongue were followed by more lingering ones. The contact was tantalizing, just a light taste, a brief sense of Duncan’s warmth and then withdrawal. Soon Methos was swirling his tongue over the entire head, his own need for more contact, more connection stronger than his desire to tease his lover.

Wrapping his mouth around the head, Methos sucked. Duncan’s cock jerked in response. Methos repeated the action, drawing the warm flesh into his mouth and letting it slide over his tongue.

Duncan leaned back against the counter for support.

Methos removed his mouth and raised Duncan’s cock to an angle which allowed him access to the underside. He tilted his head and, starting at the base, sucked small amounts of it into his mouth, working his way slowly upward.

Reaching the area just below the glans, he focused his attention there, alternating the sucking with caresses from his tongue.

Duncan groaned.

Methos pulled back, looked up at him, his hand moving slowly up and down Duncan’s length. Duncan opened his eyes, met Methos’ gaze.

Methos uttered a single word, "Watch." Then he engulfed Duncan’s cock once again. His actions were no longer teasing, they were deliberate. A careful, purposeful build-up; each stroke of his lips, each swipe of his tongue, every slight increase in suction designed to increase his partner’s pleasure and arousal.

Duncan’s hands left the counter to rest in his hair. There was no pressure, no effort to guide Methos’ actions, and Methos recognized the simple need for more contact. He felt it in himself.

More than anything he wanted to make Duncan come, to feel the Highlander tremble, to feel MacLeod’s semen spurting freely into his mouth. Duncan was close, Methos knew. All it would take was a bit of suction here, a caress there. Knowing what was needed, he supplied it.

And was rewarded for his efforts. Duncan’s hands on his head tightened, but found no purchase in the short hair. Duncan’s hips thrust away from the counter and his muscles spasmed, sending streams of fluid into Methos’ eager mouth.

Methos was prepared for all of it, wanted all of it. What he wasn’t prepared for was the sound of Duncan calling his name, his voice distorted with pleasure. His own cock jerked at the sound.

Duncan withdrew from Methos’ mouth and knelt beside him while Methos was still dazed. He immediately took Methos’ face in his hands and pressed their lips together. Methos’ mouth was still open and Duncan didn’t give him a chance to close it; he slid his tongue inside.

Methos leaned into him, opening to him further. He wondered if Duncan would find the taste of himself in Methos’ mouth as exciting as Methos did. A rough tongue brushed against his own and Methos groaned. Reaching for Duncan, he wrapped his arms around his lover and pulled him closer. Balance lost, they tumbled to the floor.

They both chuckled as they squirmed into a comfortable position. Methos was on his back, Duncan leaning over him. "So," Methos asked, "do I get Scotch?"

"Yeah, you get Scotch. Later. There are things I want to do with you first."

"Such as?"

"Take care of this," Duncan answered, pressing a hand over Methos’ erection. "Unless you really want the Scotch..."

"I can wait."

"Oh." Duncan started to rise.

"For the Scotch, I can wait for the Scotch," Methos said hastily, reaching out to stop Duncan from getting up.

MacLeod flashed him one of his brilliant smiles. "Good. I’d hate to think that a five thousand year old man could get impatient."

Methos reached for his hand, pressed it back against his erection. "I believe you said something about taking care of this."

"You do get impatient."

"Only when being teased by irrepressible Highland lads."

"I haven’t been a lad for a very long time."

"Prove it."

"If you insist." Duncan reached for the hem of Methos’ sweatshirt and Methos sat up enough to allow Duncan to pull it over his head. He rested a hand against Methos’ neck as his eyes slid over the other man’s naked chest. His hand began to follow the path his eyes had taken.

Methos arched into the touch. It had been months since anyone had touched him like this, since Alexa’s death. MacLeod’s hands were large, strong and callused, completely unlike those of his mortal lover, but they felt just as good. Wide fingertips traced the edge of his right pectoral. It felt to Methos as though he were being tasted. Then Mac lowered his mouth and Methos was tasted for real.

He gasped, arching even further as Duncan’s lips closed over a nipple. The hand moved onward, gliding down his ribs, before sliding across his back and finally settling over his right buttock and squeezing.

Duncan’s mouth was on his neck now, and Methos shuddered. His own hands found their way to Duncan’s shoulders, tightening convulsively as Duncan continued to caress him.

"Off."

Duncan pulled back.

"Your shirt, off," Methos explained.

Duncan released his lover and reached back to tug the shirt off. Methos’ hands moved immediately to the exposed chest, caressing for a moment before he pulled Duncan down on top of him, wanting the feel of skin against skin, wanting Duncan to cover him.

Duncan rested his weight on his forearms, placing them just above Methos’ shoulders, cupping Methos’ head with his hands.

They resumed kissing. Light brushes of lips alternated with deep probes of their tongues. Methos luxuriated in it. Duncan kissing him, Duncan’s weight pressing him into the floor, Duncan’s heat warming him. His hips thrust involuntarily upward.

"How do you want to come, Methos?" Duncan asked, just before his mouth closed on Methos’ earlobe.

Methos groaned, his hips thrusting again.

"Like this? The two of us pressing against each other? I can do that, but we should remove some more clothes first, don’t you think?"

Before Methos could answer, Duncan’s tongue darted into his ear.

"Or should I take you into my mouth? I’d like that, to learn your taste. Or I could use my hand."

Duncan’s mouth latched onto the spot under Methos’ ear, sucking hard. Any words Methos may have uttered were lost in his moan.

"Or we could fuck."

"Yes."

"Is that what you want, Methos? For us to fuck?"

"Yes."

Duncan kissed him hard and deep, before pulling back to ask his next question. "Do you want to fuck or be fucked?"

"Fuck me."

Another kiss and then Duncan was standing, pulling Methos up beside him. Methos let himself be guided to the bed. Duncan opened the older man’s jeans, pushing them past his hips. He took Methos by the shoulders and maneuvered him onto the edge of the bed. Kneeling, he removed his lover’s shoes along with the rest of his clothing.

Methos watched as Duncan’s eyes trailed up his naked form, an appreciative look on his face. Their eyes met and Methos smiled; the smile earned him another kiss.

Methos put his hands in the center of the Highlander’s chest and shoved. "If you’re going to fuck me, you’ll need to undress first."

Duncan stood, kicked off his shoes and removed the already open pants. "Better?"

"Much."

Duncan dropped to his knees between Methos’ legs. "Lie back." Methos did as he was told and was rewarded with the touch of Duncan’s mouth to his thigh, just above the knee. Duncan edged his way up Methos’ leg, sucking his way to his destination. The trip was brief. Methos assumed the brevity was caused by impatience, not that he was complaining.

Duncan’s mouth closed over his left testicle and Methos gasped. The suction was light, enough to be pleasurable without crossing into pain. He was released and the other testicle captured.

Duncan nudged the sac with his nose, his mouth moving to a lower location. His tongue touched Methos’ opening and the older man inhaled sharply. Duncan repeated his action.

Methos’ head was moving from side to side as the contact deepened. Duncan traced the opening with his tongue, not once but several times. Then he began to probe, pushing his tongue just barely inside.

"Duncan," Methos called out, pleading, desperate.

The tongue moved deeper.

It was too much. The mere thought of Duncan MacLeod on his knees, his tongue on Methos’ anus was almost enough to make him come. The reality stripped away what little control he still possessed.

He felt as though every muscle in his body were contracting, driving the fluid from his body and into the air. Only Duncan’s tongue on his ass and Duncan’s hands on his thighs kept him grounded, even as they stripped him of awareness, taking away language and thought and leaving him with nothing but Duncan’s tongue and Duncan’s hands.

"Methos."

He opened his eyes. Duncan was leaning over him. He flushed. "Sorry, I-"

"Sorry?" Duncan cut him off. "For having an orgasm during sex? I always thought that was the point." Duncan smiled, that mischievous, charming grin that Methos found thoroughly enticing. "I’m flattered. I’ve never managed to make someone come from rimming before."

Methos cupped Duncan’s cheek in his hand, stroking it with his thumb. "Fuck me."

Duncan rose, returned to his position on the floor. Methos watched as he reached into the stand next to the bed and withdrew a bottle of massage oil. Instead of opening it, he sat it on the floor. He placed all of his fingers on the top of Methos’ chest, pulled them downward through the fluid splattered there. He raised one hand to his mouth, sucking each finger clean in turn. The other was on Methos’ nipple, caressing it, coating it, preparing it to be sucked.

Fingers clean he sought out the nipple. He touched it with his tongue, tip of the tongue to the very top of the hardened flesh. Methos trembled. He was watching his lover, his eyes glued to the sight of Duncan caressing him.

The tongue slid from the peak, circling twice around it before Duncan’s mouth closed over it, sucking insistently.

Methos’ cock was instantly hard.

Duncan released his prize, smiling in triumph.

Methos wanted to say something sarcastic at that look, but couldn’t think of a thing. He decided it must be due to the amount of blood currently located south of his waist. The oldest Immortal settled for leaning back on his elbows, and spreading his legs further apart, issuing a silent challenge.

Duncan picked up the bottle. Holding his hand in clear view he coated three of his fingers, issuing a challenge of his own.

Methos tilted his pelvis upward in answer.

One finger circled still moist flesh and sparks of pleasure shot up Methos’ spine. The finger came to rest in the center of his opening, pausing for a moment before pressing inward. A second finger followed almost immediately. Duncan gave him no respite from his demanding touch and Methos asked for none.

Duncan turned his fingers, spreading the lubricant, preparing Methos. He probed more deeply, and Methos gasped as Duncan’s fingers touched his prostate. Duncan withdrew; Methos whimpered in protest. Hastily applying more lubricant, MacLeod pushed inward with all three fingers, drawing a startled gasp from the man he impaled.

The older immortal pushed against the invading fingers, opening himself. Duncan moved them quickly, his own control clearly fading.

This time when he withdrew his fingers it was to coat his cock. Methos watched Duncan inhale deeply, seeking control. Methos vowed to himself that one day he would see Duncan completely out of control, beside himself with desire and frantic with need. But not today; today he would let Duncan cling to his control for as long as he was able.

The head of his lover’s cock was pressed against his opening and Methos welcomed it; bearing down he opened himself to Duncan and Duncan pushed into him.

It had been a long time since anyone had been inside of him and Methos fought the urge to force the invader out. The urge faded quickly, replaced by the desire to hold the younger man within him forever.

Duncan pulled back slightly and Methos protested the loss, even as his lover pushed inward once again. Duncan was as slow with his cock as he had been hasty with his fingers. Methos wondered vaguely if it soothed him as much to be inside of Methos as it soothed Methos to have him there.

He lifted his legs, letting them rest on Duncan’s shoulders. Duncan took hold of his hips, the change in position allowing him to thrust even more deeply.

Methos watched his lover; he couldn’t look away. The man was breathtaking. Duncan’s eyes were closed, his body lost in the rhythm of his thrusting, a pleasure bordering on ecstasy written across his features. On his knees, Duncan looked almost like a penitent in the throes of religious fervor. But Methos knew the truth, knew that if either of them indulged in worship it was he.

He had imagined this countless times, had never thought he would see it. Never thought he would see this part of Duncan.

Duncan’s thrusts became more urgent. His rising pleasure fed Methos’ own. They were both groaning, both lost to the need building between them.

‘Thank God for beer,’ was Methos’ last coherent thought before his world imploded, closing in completely on the few inches of flesh lodged deeply in his ass.


Methos was breathing rapidly, trying to stave off hyperventilation. Duncan’s breath was a harsh counterpoint to his own, and he realized the Highlander was fighting the same battle. Duncan was curled over, his forehead resting on Methos’ chest. With a shuddering breath, he withdrew from Methos’ body and pushed himself to his feet.

Methos watched him walk away, fear gripping him.

Duncan stopped at the bar. After a moment he returned to the bed and handed Methos a glass. "Your Scotch."

"Thank you." Methos maneuvered himself so that he was reclining on his side, weight resting on his hip and elbow. He raised the glass in salute before downing the entire contents in one long swallow.

Duncan shook his head. "All that work and you didn’t even savor it."

"I was thirsty. I’ve lost a lot of fluid."

"It wasn’t that much."

Methos glanced down at his chest, covered with the evidence of his orgasms. "Heh, if you say so."

"So was it worth it?"

Methos gave him a puzzled look.

"The Scotch. Was it worth it?"

"Yeah, if a glass of Scotch is the price I have to pay for sex like that I’m willing to pay it."

"You didn’t want the Scotch?"

Methos shrugged. "Nah, I’m more of a beer man."

Not even five thousand years of finely honed survival instinct was enough to enable him to dodge the pillow headed straight for his face.

 


The End