Fun and Games
by Sandi


Author's notes: What follows is my very first attempt at fanfic. Any comments would really be appreciated! My thanks go to Methosgrrl, even though...yeah....I's not her fault!! Thanks also to K'Kathy, TC, and Juanita, who contributed without even knowing it, so, I guess that means it's not their fault either, huh??

WARNING: This story is NC17, due to graphic sexual content of the homoerotic variety. If slash ain't your thing, please hit your delete button now!

Methos and Duncan belong to Rysher. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit will be made off this tale.

Methos failed to notice the flirtatious smile he received from the attendant as he paid his admission to the Highland Games. All his attentions were focused on finding his lover amidst the crowd. He'd come directly here from the airport, remembering that today was the day MacLeod was to represent the university staff in the athletic competition, which was the focal point of the Scottish festival.

The world's oldest living immortal scanned the crowd, faintly amused at the sight of so many Highland wanna-bees. It was the rage at the moment in America-- these festivals flourished as people were swept up in the romance, grandeur, and passion of Scotland and it's history. It seemed that everyone who was anyone could trace their ancestry directly back to William Wallace. Methos grinned-- William would have gotten a kick out of that!

Speaking of passion he thought, as he again focused on his own authentic Highland warrior. Methos had been away for several weeks on business and was anxious to be reunited with Duncan. Their relationship had only recently made its way from the platonic to the physical, and it still reverberated with the enthusiasm and freshness of discovery.

As he made his way through the stalls and exhibits towards the athletic field, he heard the haunting melodies of the pipers as they practiced for the Parade Of The Clans. The music made him think of Duncan--proud, stubborn, fierce, passionate Duncan-and he felt his pulse quicken at the anticipation of being with the younger immortal again.

He would have liked to surprise him, but of course, with them that was impossible. Even now, as he approached the fenced off area where the games were underway, he felt the sensation of another immortal, and he knew that Duncan would be experiencing the same feeling.

Methos made his way through the crowd of spectators until he was at the railing, and it only took a minute for his gaze to fix on MacLeod. Even among the impressive group of kilted athletes, he stood out, and Methos found himself fervently hoping this event would be over soon.

The kilted athlete in question was feeling very uneasy at the moment, as he was hit with the sensation of another immortal. His head lifted and his eyes scanned the crowd quietly. He knew he was at a decided disadvantage. Being shirtless for the competition left no katana space, so for the moment he was weaponless and vulnerable-a feeling he hated. His gaze swept thru the on-lookers and the feeling of helplessness was suddenly replaced by surprise and delight when he recognized the tall, slender man who leaned casually on the railing.

The tension eased from his body as he recognized his lover. He hadn't expected him back until tomorrow, but then, Methos was always full of surprises. God, he'd missed him! He'd missed the challenge of his conversation, their stirring debates, his wry sense of humor, the easy companionship, and...yeah...the mind-boggling sex! That thought caused Duncan's body to tense up in entirely new places, as he waited his turn in the axe-tossing competition, desperately glad that this was the last event of the day. He had done well overall, either placing or winning in each category on the field, thanks to the extensive training that was a part of his daily life. The line of players in front of Duncan moved slowly as each took his turn. Every player took 3 throws with the huge, heavy weapon, aiming at the target some yards away. The judges awarded the event based on the best throw of the 3 from each player.

Even as he tried to concentrate on the game, his eye and his mind wandered again to Methos, who stood with one booted foot propped on the bottom rail of the fence. Though his eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, Duncan could feel Methos' hot stare, and decided to "up the ante" a little on their impending reunion. He shifted so that his body was directly in front of the older man, and planting his feet solidly on the field, slowly drew himself up to his full height, expanding his chest muscles. The sun beamed down on the solid, bronze warrior's body as he flexed his arms a little, so that the muscles danced under his skin. He gave his head a slight shake, making his long, dark hair settle around his shoulders. And although everyone else in the audience was absorbed in watching the competitors ahead of him, he knew with a certainty that one pair of hazel eyes were fixed only on him. Confidant that he had captured Methos' full attention, he flashed a brilliant smile in his direction.

Methos realized he'd been holding his breath as he watched the Highlander's shameless antics. "Gods," he thought, "now I remember why I was so anxious to get home!" But even as his pulse quickened and he shifted to accommodate the sudden tightening in his groin, he outwardly retained his composure, his facial expression never changing.

"Flirt with me, will you?" he thought, as he rose to the challenge. "Well, two can play that game, MacLeod. I haven't lived 5000 years without learning a trick or two of my own."

As the player directly in front of Duncan stepped up to take his turn, Methos spied a young girl close by who was selling tall bottles of ice cold mineral water. Grinning to himself, Methos paid her and, pulling a bottle from the tub of ice at her feet, twisted the top off and turned back to the fence. Once again propping one foot on the bottom rail, he leaned his forearms negligently on the top rail, holding the bottle loosely in both hands. Face inscrutable, eyes still hidden behind the sunglasses, he waited the minute it took for Duncan to glance back at him, and then began....

Knowing his turn with the axe was next, Mac tried to focus his mind on the game. He quickly looked to make sure Methos was watching him, and his concentration went to hell. Dressed in tight black jeans and a soft, plum-colored henley, Methos reeked of nonchalant sexuality. The sun shone on his dark hair, reflecting off his dark glasses and highlighting the tanned forearms.

The long, lean leg that was propped on the fence moved slowly, the knee going back and forth, alternately exposing and hiding the tell-tale bulge inside the jeans. But while the whole picture was extremely enticing, it was the hands that held Duncan spellbound. Time seemed to stand still and the noise of the crowd faded as his eyes were riveted on those slender, elegant fingers.

Methos knew exactly what he was doing as he toyed with the water bottle. The ice chips on the outside of the glass melted, the water slipping down and over his fingers before falling to the ground. He placed his thumb and index finger around the bottle and inched them very slowly upwards...and back down....and back up.....

Duncan closed his eyes and swallowed convulsively, trying desperately to rid his mind of the intoxicating images that were running through it. But his willpower had fled and his attentions were drawn like a magnet back to those hands...

Methos decided to twist the knife, so to speak. This time, as his fingers reached the top of the bottle, he paused, before sliding his index finger down into its neck...then out....then added a second finger...then out again....

He fought to keep from laughing at the almost comically desperate look on the Higlander's face.

Duncan's jaws snapped shut as the man behind him nudged his side, and he realized that the announcer had called his name. It was his turn to throw the axe. As he stepped up and hefted the huge blade, he risked one more glance in the direction of his lover.....just in time to see Methos lift the bottle in his direction in a mock salute, upend it, and slowly drain its contents, his slender throat exposed to Duncan's gaze.

To the amazement of the judges and the delight of the crow, but of no surprise at all to Methos, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod threw three straight bullseyes.

Duncan made his way steadily through the crowd, stopping only when he had to accept congratulations from the spectators on his performance. He quickly reached the gate which opened off the playing field, and turned towards Methos. The older man grinned, ready to greet the Scot with a joke about his incredible ability to hit the bullseye with his weapon... but was arrested by the thunderous look on Duncan's face. His eyes widened and he instinctively took a step backwards. Mac reached the older man in 3 quick strides, grasped his upper arm, and began to propel him away from the playing field. Methods started once to speak, but managed only a squeak as Duncan tightened his grip, muttering menacingly, "Not one word, Methods!"

Mac marched relentlessly on until they were well away from the festival grounds, deep into the woods, surrounded by lush greenery, with the sound of the bagpipes only faintly heard in the distance. As soon as they were safely hidden from prying eyes, he stopped so suddenly that Methos stumbled against him. The older man backed up a step and gazed warily into the Scot's eyes, trying to discern his feelings. "Mac, what? I was only having a bit of fun! Besides, you started it!"

Duncan gazed at Methos for a long moment, then grinned wickedly, "Yes, you're right. And now, I'm going to finish it!" Two quick strides brought them together and he reached out and pulled the other man into his arms. "Welcome home," he whispered, as he bent his head to kiss his lover urgently. He felt Methos' arms come around him as he slid his tongue past the parted lips, moaning softly. He felt the warm hands roaming up and down his spine and remembered that he was still shirtless. Breaking the kiss, he stepped back and in one quick movement divested Methos of his henley. Their lips met again as he lowered his ancient lover to the ground and stretched out alongside him.

Tongues danced, teeth nipped, and lips sucked greedily as they drank of each other, until finally forced to part with gasping breaths. Duncan flicked his tongue across the sensitive spot just beneath Methos' ear, pleased to hear the soft moan. His lips trailed down the older immortal's pale neck, his tongue tasted the hollow of his elegant throat, he planted quick, urgent kisses along the collarbone, then down across the finely muscled chest. He stopped to allow his teeth to graze the nipple, hearing the quick gasp, feeling the rapid pounding of the heart beneath his lips. He felt Methos' hands on his shoulders, gently but urgently pushing him down, and he smiled as he reached for the older man's belt. It took only a minute to rid them both of the rest of their clothing, and then Duncan knelt between the other man's thighs, gazing down at this perfect being who was his lover.

Methos squirmed restlessly, his hazel eyes glazed, his voice rough, as he reached for the Highlander, "Duncan--now is not the time to hesitate!"

The Scot couldn't resist, "What? Methos, I thought you wanted to play!"

But his laughter died suddenly in his throat as, in a lightening move, Methos flipped him onto his back and covered his body with his own. "Never, ever taunt a 5000 year old man when he's feeling extremely horny, MacLeod!"

Before Duncan could react, Methos moved to take the younger man's raging erection between his lips. He heard the sharp intake of breath and felt Mac's hands in his hair, holding his head in place. His tongue traveled the length of his pulsing shaft, teasing the sensitive underside, laving the heavy sac, and returning to tease the trembling head.

Duncan grasped Methos' silky hair and tugged him upwards with a groan. Their lips met in a desperate, greedy kiss before he urged Methos onto his side, thrusting a knee between his legs to open him. As he kissed the pale shoulders and neck, he felt the trembling and knew he'd better hurry. He placed three fingers into his mouth to moisten them and ran his hand down Methos' back, over the soft curves of his ass, to the tight opening. Slowly, carefully, he inserted a finger and felt the resistance. Holding the older man still with his other hand, he gently moved his finger in and out until he felt the tension ease. Then two fingers...then three.. until Methos moved restlessly against him, "Now,!" In one swift movement, he replaced the fingers with his throbbing cock. Methos whimpered and Duncan froze, allowing his lover a moment to adjust himself, then began the ages old movement that would bring them both to the edge and beyond.

He reached around and took Methos' engorged cock in his hand, and began pumping, matching the rhythm to his own movements. Methos reached down to place his hand over Duncan's and all coherent thought fled as their frenzied bodies rocked together, racing towards oblivion. Duncan heard Methos cry his name as his warmth flooded their joined hands. An instant later he met his own release as his essence filled his lover's body.

Slowly, the trembling stopped, the breathing eased, and the pulses slowed.

Duncan grinned as he heard Methos mutter, "Score one for The Highlander!"

The End