by Sandi


WARNING!! The following story is rated NC-17, due to graphic sexual content. It is a slash tale, which means it involves two lusty guys doing the wild thing, so if that is not to your liking, please hit your delete button, and we'll all be happier.

Methos and Duncan belong to Rysher. I only take them out from time to time. I make no money off them and no copyright infringement is intended. However, since Rysher has decided to let them go, they are welcome to come and stay at my house.

In past stories, I've taken Methos and Duncan to various outings, and they have had much fun. I like to put them in improbable places and situations in my never-ending quest to prove that they're slashable anywhere! In this story, we go out for a new and different adventure. Let me say that I myself am a country girl, and am in no way making fun of country music, redneck bars, line dancing, or anything in that realm, so please don't jump on me for that---this is all in fun. Otherwise, I really appreciate all comments and constructive criticism. Thanks to everyone on the ROG-L, Preverts and Non-Preverts alike, who have been so nice about my clumsy attempts at fanfic. I stand in awe of the writers here, and only hope that someday.........and, oh yeah, about Methosgrrl---it's not her fault!!

Methos took in his surroundings with amused detachment. In his 5000 years of living, he thought he'd spent the night in every conceivable abode, from tents to palaces. But this was definitely a new twist--"The Tumbleweed Motel", deep in the heart of cowboy country, U.S.A! He grinned to himself--he thought he was dealing with it much better than MacLeod. He watched as the Highlander gave another huge, unhappy sigh and began pacing again.

"Duncan, you're wearing out the carpet...such as it is. You may as well relax. Until the garage can repair the car tomorrow, we're stuck here. Even you can't do anything to change that."

Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod shot his lover a frustrated glance. "But, Methos--the Tumbleweed Motel!! Look around you! John Wayne wallpaper! Covered wagon lamps!! Cows on the curtains, for Gods' sake!! I don't think I can do this!"

Methos laughed and swung his long legs to the floor, rising from his sprawl on the bed. "Take it easy, Mac. I'll tell you what. I noticed a bar a couple of doors away."

"Imagine that! You noticed a bar!" snorted Duncan, still in a testy mood.

Methos chose to ignore that barb, eager to get his partner back into a good humor. Spending the night in Cow Town was going to be hard enough. Spending it with the mother of all Scottish brooders in a snit would be unthinkable. With a speculative gleam in his hazel eyes, he slowly approached the disgruntled immortal. "Come on, Duncan. We'll walk over and have a beer or two." Reaching out, he clasped the Highlander around the waist, drew him close, and kissed him slowly, enticingly--a kiss filled with promises of things to come. He felt the tension easing from Duncan's body, and broke away to whisper in his ear, "Then, we'll come back here and...um...entertain ourselves till morning. How does that sound, hmmm?"

"How long did it take you to master the art of seduction?" Mac asked in a low, husky voice.

The older man chuckled, "Centuries, MacLeod...centuries."

A single lamppost shone in the street outside the motel as the two immortals walked towards the "bar' a short distance away. However, as they approached the parking lot which was filled with every imaginable make and model of pick-up truck, lamplight was hardly needed. The whole sky was lit by the huge, garish neon sign. Duncan stopped dead in his tracks and turned to his companion. "Big Joe Bob's Wild Horse Honky Tonk"?? No way, Methos!"

The Englishman jumped to keep him from turning back. "Come on, Mac, what can it hurt? Besides," he looked around him at the deserted streets, "it's not like we have options here. A quick beer or so, and we'll call it a night." He turned on his best, pleading, little-boy look, and was rewarded when Duncan shook his head and started again towards the club. "Oh, all right, but only a quick one!"

Tentatively, they entered the doors to the huge, barn-like building. The place was packed. It was easy to believe that this was the only game in town. As they paused to take in their surroundings, the two immortals felt as if they'd truly stepped into another world.

Dressed in jeans at least, in jeans, thank God! and sweaters, they were acutely aware of being the only ones in the building not decked out in full cowboy regalia. They found themselves surrounded by sizable fellows in pointed-toe boots, five-gallon hats, gold belt buckles that weighed more than Methos, and shirts that were, at the least shiny and at the most sequined. Many of these modern-day trail bosses were accompanied by tall, willowy ladies in tight jeans, or short skirts, and fringed blouses, with lots and lots of hair, and the ever-present, high-heeled, kick-ass boots.

Smoke hung heavy in the air, bottles and glasses clinked together, raucous yelling mixed with the deafening sound of the country music pouring from the band. A large dance floor in the center of the room was crowded with couples showing off their best western swing style. At one side of the room, a crowd was gathered in a corner, loudly cheering whatever was going on. Somehow, Mac didn't think it was a dart game. The bar was at the other side of the room, and that's where both men headed, trying not to attract attention to themselves.

After commandeering two barstools, Methos narrowly avoided a confrontation by placing a well-aimed kick to Duncan's shin as he heard him sputtering, "What do you mean, you've never heard of Glenmorangie??" The burly bartender shoved two bottles of something with a horse on the label in front of them and turned away.

Methos was beginning to think they should just take their beer and go, when he felt a hand slide over his shoulder, and heard a soft, feminine drawl, "Well, hey there, sugar pie!" He looked up to find himself surrounded by a bevy of lovely, if somewhat misguided ladies, who had apparently smelled new blood.

"Oh...uh...hello, dear," he answered politely as he tried to extricate himself from her arms. Upon hearing his clipped, British accent, a second girl tittered, "Ooooh, honey, ya'll aren't from around here, are ya?" Methos squirmed as he felt Duncan's eyes on him, knowing the Highlander was no doubt enjoying himself immensely. "No, I'm just, well, passing through."

"Well, welcome to town, darlin! How about you join us for a line dance? We're fixin to do the 'Tush Push'!

Methos cringed as he heard Duncan choking back a laugh. "No, really, ladies--I don't think so, thank you." This was overheard by the bartender, who definitely hadn't taken a shine to the two strangers, and who apparently had decided to add his two cents worth. "Sorry, girls, but maybe Bubba here can't dance," he smirked.

Before Methos could react, he felt Duncan clap him soundly on the shoulder, and he closed his eyes I'll kill him-- several times! "What do you mean, he can't dance? Why, Bubba here is the best damn 'tush pusher' I know! Go on-- show 'em how it's done!"

That was all the encouragement needed for the eager girls to pull a protesting Methos on to the dance floor. He just had time to cast a threatening scowl towards Duncan, who was grinning like the Cheshire cat. "Go get 'em, Bubba!" yelled the gleeful Scot.

As the band struck up the lively beat, the girls all gathered around Methos like bees around honey, each one eager to lend dance instructions to the slender, dark-haired, handsome Englishman. "Oh, well," Methos thought, "when in Rome..." It took only a moment for him to learn the steps of the line dance, and as the music cranked up, he decided to give the Highlander a show he hadn't bargained for.

Duncan sat on the barstool, beer in hand, laughing at his lover's predicament. But after the first few bars of music, his expression began to change. Where in the hell did he learn that? Methos' slim frame seemed to be one with the music as he glided forward....then back....then turned with a casual grace before loosely thrusting his pelvis out in the movement that had given the 'tush push' it's name.

Mac shifted on the stool, the sudden tightening in his groin making his jeans suddenly very uncomfortable. With an effort, he raised his eyes from Methos' lower regions to meet the older immortal's teasing glance. Methos flicked his tongue out to lick his lips teasingly. As the music came to a halt, he gave a final thrust of his hips, smugly noting the Highlander's pained expression. Bubba, indeed! he thought, as he bowed to the enchanted girls and made his way back to the bar.

"You OK, Mac?" he asked innocently. "You look a little....uh...desperate." He couldn't contain his satisfied laugh.

"Let's get out of here," Duncan growled, "and I'll show you desperate!" He started for the door, with Methos close behind him, wearing a look full of what could only be described as anticipation.

Just before they reached the door, they were intercepted by several rather large, threatening looking good-ole-boys. Oh, great, just what we need, MacLeod thought, a brawl with the locals. He tensed, and felt rather than saw Methos take a step closer to him. However, he was surprised when the obvious leader of the group threw an arm around his shoulders. "Hey, Hoss, how ya doin?"

Methos quickly looked away, Please, God, don't let me laugh now!

"Uh...I'm OK," Duncan stammered.

"Good, that's good." The huge cowboy began to guide Mac towards the far corner of the club, where a small crowd was gathered. "Me and my buds here--we been watchin you. See, we need a big ole boy like you to help us out with a little wager."

"Well, yeah, I'd like to help, fellas, but I was just headed out..."

"Oh, go on, Hoss-give these boys a hand--we've got plenty of time!" Methos interjected, thinking that this night was turning out to be much more entertaining that he'd expected.

Giving Methos a murderous glare, Duncan turned back to the group of men, "Well, how can I help? What sort of wager are you talking about?"

"OK...here's the deal, Hoss. We need a rider, see. Big Joe Bob's taking bets we can't get anybody to ride. You ride till the bell sounds---you get the jackpot money, and we get the side bets. You look like you can handle it--piece o cake, Hoss.

"Ride? What do you mean? Ride what?" Duncan frowned.

Just then, the crowd parted to reveal the answer to his question. Mac heard Methos choke on his beer as he gazed in open-mouthed wonder at---The Mechanical Bull!

Duncan cast a wary glance towards the contraption, but wasn't left time to protest as the crowd cheered and pushed him forward. He looked to Methos for help, but the older immortal only lifted his beer in salute, and yelled, "Ride em, Hoss!"

"Fine!" huffed MacLeod. "You asked for it, Old Man!" With grim determination, he placed a foot in the stirrup and vaulted onto the 'bull.' He'd seen one of these things in a movie once. He knew that when turned on, it simulated the motions of a rodeo bull. All he had to do was to hang on until the bell sounded. He smiled inwardly--little did these guys know how much time he'd actually spent in the 'real' Wild West!

That's all the time he had to think before the switch was flipped, the crowd erupted in cheers, and the massive machine began to bolt and buck under him. He gripped it's sides with his powerful thighs, held tight to the reins, and threw his muscular body into the rhythm of the ride.

The noise of the crowd seemed to fade as Methos watched the Highlander ride. He swallowed convulsively and a sheen of sweat broke out on his brow. Gods, had there ever been anyone built like Duncan? He could see the powerful muscles of his thighs straining to maintain their grip as the machine bucked and spun around....the broad expanse of his chest thrust out to keep his balance...the long, dark hair falling down around his shoulders... the hands grasping the reins in a death-grip...hands that Methos knew from experience could be painfully rough, or achingly gentle. Methos was mesmerized, watching his lover take control of the ride...his jean-clad ass undulating forward and backward in perfect time with the machine. He barely heard the bell sound. He stood still as Mac made his way through the cheering crowd to his side.

As soon as the Highlander was within reach, Methos grabbed his arm and propelled him quickly out the door of the club. Without uttering a sound, they hurried across the parking lot, rapidly reaching the door of the motel room. Duncan entered the darkened room behind Methos and had just closed the door when he felt himself slammed back against the wall. His ancient lover leaned into him, thrusting one knee between his thighs and planting a hand on the wall on each side of him, capturing his mouth in a kiss that spoke of urgency--of desperation--of pent-up passion begging to be released. Breaking off the soul-searing kiss, Methos raised his head mere inches from the Scot, and whispered roughly, "You had your ride, Mac--now I want mine!"

Duncan reached out to frame Methos' face with his broad hands, "I thought you'd never ask!" Then it was his turn to take his lover's mouth hungrily. He slipped his tongue past Methos' teeth and tasted him as if he could never get enough. His hands reached under the sweater to caress the spine of his lover, feeling the tremor run through the slight body. Deepening the kiss even further, he backed the older man up until they reached the bed, where they tumbled in a heap. Hastily, feverishly, they rid themselves of their clothing until they lay skin to warm skin. Duncan covered Methos with his body, letting his lips glide down the pale throat, pausing to flick his tongue in the hollow at it's base, relishing the sound of Methos' involuntary gasp.

His tongue and lips then continued their journey, along the prominent collarbone, down the expanse of tightly muscled chest, over the nipples which hardened at the first flick of his tongue. He kissed the taut stomach, feeling the abs quiver, and, finally, finally, reached his goal. His tongue licked lightly over the tip of the rock-hard shaft, tasting the essence that was Methos. Then he heard his ancient lover moan softly as he took his swollen cock in his mouth, traveling the length to the base, and back again. He felt Methos' incredibly long, strong fingers wrap themselves in his hair to hold his head in place, and felt the hips thrust up into his mouth. Eagerly, he took all that Methos was offering, using his lips and tongue to pleasure him, as he reached his hand to massage the swollen sac...to put slight pressure where it was needed.........

As Methos felt himself losing control, he took a ragged breath, and tugged on the silken locks that were wrapped in his fist...."Duncan....wait....."

The Highlander raised his head to look at his lover through glazed eyes. Understanding immediately, he straightened to lie beside Methos. He reached to the nightstand for the tube of lubricant, handing it to Methos with unsteady fingers. "I want you....inside me....now!" he whispered urgently. The older immortal placed his hand behind Duncan's head to bring him forward, and kissed him with all the passion and emotion that he had in him. Emotion that could sometimes be expressed in words, and sometimes only in actions. He then urged Duncan onto his side, running his lips and tongue across the warm, broad shoulders he knew so well. He traced the Highlander's spine with his fingers, feeling Mac shudder with anticipation. Quickly, he applied the lubricant to his palm, closing his hand to warm the liquid before reaching to place one finger against his lover's tight opening. Gently, but firmly, he inserted one finger, feeling Duncan tense up for only a moment, then relax. He held the strong body close to him with one slender arm as he prepared him, with two fingers, then three. Duncan's heart pounded beneath his arm, and his breath came in harsh gasps as the big man moved restlessly back against him. He swiftly applied more lubricant to his own throbbing cock and steadied the Highlander's hips with one hand. His teeth nipped at Duncan's neck as he entered him with one quick thrust, embedding himself in his lover's tight warmth. Mac's deep-throated groan almost made him lose control, but he stilled a moment, trying to prolong the ecstasy. When he felt Duncan pushing back into him, he began to move, at the same time reaching around to grasp his cock in his hand. He felt Mac's warm, broad palm close around his own hand, and both men began to move as if they were one. Harder, faster, deeper....until, at the same instant, they both reached the pinnacle, crying out their release.

For long moments, the only sound was the harsh, ragged breathing of both men as they fought to steady themselves, allowing their pounding hearts to return to normal rhythm, their trembling bodies to still.......

Methos still held the younger man in his arms, feeling him relax into sated sleepiness, as he whispered, "Happy trails, Highlander."

The End!