|The "Other" Game
WARNING: The following story is rated NC-17, for it's graphic sexual content. It is a slash story, meaning it tells the tale of my two favorite male immortals engaging in homosexual-type doings. Consider yourself forewarned.
The characters of Methos and Duncan belong to Rysher. I know this--I may not like it, but I know it. I make no money, as is always the case. I intend no harm. Much thanks, and no blame, goes to Methosgrrl.
This story is dedicated to football widows everywhere. It's that time of year again. I hope this gives you something nice to think about while you're waiting for your mate to finish watching the game. There is no sign of a plot here.
Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod carefully replaced the last chess piece, now polished to a bright sheen, into it's velvet niche and snapped the case closed. He smiled to himself as he heard yet another long suffering sigh escape his lover, and glanced in his direction. The tall, slender Englishman prowled restlessly about the loft, stopping a moment to stare out the window, his back to the room. Duncan's gaze lingered appreciatively on the world's oldest immortal, marveling at the grace and casual elegance contained in his spare frame. Sunlight from the window shone on the soft, dark hair and pale skin. The loose fitting sweater, Duncan knew from first hand experience, hid the tightly muscled body of an athlete. Mac's eyes traveled downwards, noting the enticing curve of Methos' ass, the endless legs snugly encased in soft denim, and finally down to his bare feet, the toes flexing in the carpet.
Methos shoved one hand deep into his back pocket and leaned forward, stretching his arm above his head to grasp the window frame, drumming his fingers on the wood.
Watching him, Mac swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat, feeling other parts of his body tightening as well. Gods he shook his head ruefully, how does he do it? Does he just know how to make me react like a horny adolescent?
The object of his perusal chose that moment to drop his arm and turn to face the Scot with a hopeful expression, "MacLeod....why don't we go to Joe's for awhile?"
Duncan answered patiently, "Because, Methos, it's a football Saturday, and you know what that means....noise....crowds, big screen TV's...I thought you didn't go in for that scene."
"Yes, well, I don't! And I'm surprised at Joe--he's not exactly the sports bar type either." Methos sauntered to the refrigerator to retrieve a cold beer from it's depths.
"Hey, cut him some slack, Methos. After all, he has to make money. And if it's football season, he has to cater to the football fans."
Methos deftly twisted the cap off the bottle and took a long, deep swallow before frowning at the Highlander, "You know, I've never seen the appeal of that game, anyway." He leaned one hip against the counter, shrugged his shoulders, and turned up his patrician nose in distaste. "I fail to see how an entire nation can grind to a halt every Saturday afternoon for weeks, captivated by a bunch of sweaty, pumped up Neanderthals chasing a pigskin back and forth."
Duncan sighed, knowing he needed to do something to diffuse this situation. A bored Methos is a dangerous animal he reflected. Maybe it was time to give his partner a little lesson in the fine art of 'armchair quarterbacking'.
Straightening up on the leather couch, he smiled at Methos and patted the cushion beside him, "Come here."
The older man eyed his lover warily, not quite knowing what to make of his too-innocent smile. "What? What are you up to, MacLeod?"
"Methos....trust me." Duncan used his best boyscout look.
Methos groaned, "You'd think after 5000 years, I'd know better," even as he pushed away from the counter, leaving his beer and moving to the couch. He settled his long frame next to Duncan, stretching out his legs in front of him, his thigh coming to rest comfortably against that of the Highlander.
"Now then, Methos, I think it might help if I gave you a bit more insight into the game of football." Duncan reached for the remote, switching the TV on, but being careful to leave the volume off. Instantly, the screen was filled with the images of a game in progress---huge stadium packed with spectators, mascots and cheerleaders cavorting on the sidelines, sunlight glinting off band instruments, and...yes...sweaty, pumped up Neanderthals engaged in a fierce battle over the coveted pigskin.
"No, MacLeod, I absolutely refuse..." Methos began to rise, but Duncan was too quick for him. Mac slid his arm around the older man's shoulders to hold him still and leaned to silence his protests with his lips. Gently but insistently he held Methos close, turning his head slightly to deepen the kiss. After only a moment's hesitation, he felt the other man relax and press against him, parting his lips to allow the flicker of Duncan's tongue to dance against his mouth. Long moments later, the Scot pulled back slightly, looked into the glazed eyes of his lover, and whispered, "now...where were we?"
Methos frowned and fought to steady his breathing, "uh....football, Mac."
Duncan smiled and moved back to his position next to Methos, leaving one arm along the back of the couch, and gesturing towards the television. "Methos, you have to look beyond what you see there. What it comes down to is a mix--sort of the best of both worlds." His eyes still trained on the screen, Mac brought his other hand to rest on his lover's thigh, squeezing firmly, hearing the faint gasp..."both strength"....he relaxed his fingers to slide them slowly, sensuously, along the denim..."and finesse...."
Methos sat stock still, mesmerized by the Highlander's husky voice, reveling in the musical lilt of the accent which had deepened, giving away just how much the Scot was enjoying his little game.
He felt the arm along his shoulders move, Duncan's warm, broad palm inching to caress the nape of his neck, fingering up the back of his head, through the silky hair...."both mental..." Methos caught and held his breath, jerking slightly when Duncan's other hand swept up to place a firm grip on the bulging erection which now threatened the worn denim of his jeans. "And physical...." Mac whispered huskily into his ear, his tongue flicking out to tease the pale, sensitive skin.
An involuntary moan escaped the ancient immortal, as he moved against the strong grip at his groin. Duncan pressed his hand tighter, knowing that his lover's aversion to the concept of underwear meant that the fabric of his jeans was rubbing directly against his skin. "It's about pressing forward....." he slowly, tantalizingly, drew his hand downwards, ignoring the strangled protest from his partner...."and retreating....."
Duncan felt strong arms come around him as Methos slid to the side until the two immortal lovers were lying lengthwise on the soft leather sofa, legs entangled loosely. Methos arched his neck, exposing the pale skin of his throat to Duncan's questing lips, as the Scot continued his merciless seduction. ...."It's about gaining new ground...." Mac's warm hand slid underneath the sweater, traveling up and over Methos' ribs, through the sparse, silky chest hair, brushing across his nipples to feel them harden at his touch. He felt a shudder run through the slender body beneath him as his lips assaulted the vulnerable throat, his tongue sliding over the throbbing pulse at it's base. "It's about stripping away your opponent's defenses...." He sat up just enough to allow Methos to raise his arms, then drug the soft cashmere sweater over his head, baring his torso Gods Duncan thought shakily, this was a body meant to be sculpted...to be painted....
That was his last coherent thought for a long time, as Methos forced him to abandon his games and focus all his senses on his lover. With capable fingers, the ancient man unbuttoned Duncan's shirt, and Mac shrugged it off, reaching for Methos'belt buckle. He drug the denim down the lean legs, following his hands with lips and tongue. Standing, he swiftly stripped off the rest of his own clothes as Methos moved from the couch to kneel on the carpet in front of him.
He held his breath as elegant fingers, which shook slightly, came to rest at his waist. He watched, entranced, as his ancient immortal lover bent to take the tip of his throbbing cock between his lips. Duncan's hands caressed Methos' neck and shoulders as the older man worked his magic. His legs trembled as Methos' mouth moved up the length of his shaft and back, alternately feather-light, and then sucking greedily. Methos shifted one hand from Duncan's waist to cup and massage the heavy sac at the base of his sex. Dimly, MacLeod became aware that he was moving rapidly towards the breaking point.
Gently, he eased away from Methos long enough to retrieve the tube of lubricant from the nearby end table, then moved back to find his lover still on his knees, but with his back to the Scot. Duncan moved behind him, wrapping strong, warm arms around the man he'd come to need and love so much, pulling him back against him. Methos turned his head to meet the Highlander's lips with his own in a kiss of almost desperate need. "Hurry, Duncan....please...."
Mac squeezed the oil into his palm, closing his hand briefly to warm it, and urged Methos forward, placing a soothing hand at the small of his back. Drawing his other hand to the base of his lover's spine and beyond, he reached the tight opening that he sought. Gently he inserted a finger, feeling Methos tighten instinctively, then relax almost at once as Duncan moved slowly, preparing him with care--first one finger, then two, until Methos began to push back against his hand. "Mac....now...."
Duncan swiftly smoothed more oil onto his own aching, swollen cock and held his lover still as he entered him, gently at first, then thrusting firmly until he was fully embedded in the velvet warmth. He heard Methos gasp and forced himself to hold still while the older man adjusted, then began to move in him, using deep strokes to reach the core of his partner. Covering the slender body with his own, he reached around to place a firm grip on Methos' swollen erection and began to pump with a matching rhythm. Moments later, he felt himself slide out of control, crying out as he buried himself deeply in the body of his lover. He felt Methos shudder as the ancient man's essence poured over Duncan's hand.
Mac pulled the afghan off the couch and drew it over both of them as he moved to lie behind Methos, gathering the lean body back against his own solid warmth, folding his arms around the older immortal, and kissing his hair.
Slowly, they regained their breath, waiting for their heartbeats to return to a normal rate. He sighed contentedly, feeling himself falling asleep, when he heard Methos whisper, "Touchdown, Highlander!"