|Never Run from Anything Immortal
The characters in this story and the concept of immortality don't belong to me. They belong to the corporate suits at Rysher and Panzer/Davis, who don't let the boys have nearly enough fun, but are pretty good sports when we do. Not for profit, just for laughs. This story is rated NC-17 for m/m sex and language, but who's going to worry about a little swearing when there's all that juicy sex going on in the next room?
Many thanks to Tiffany, Our Fearless Leader, for telling me I could write the sex scene, and to Olympia for telling me I did it right. Many margaritas to Lady and Patty for their patience with my HL fixation, and for getting me on line so I could share it. But most of all, thanks to Zen and Nancy for their support, encouragement, and for laughing at my sickest jokes. With that much help, obviously, any mistakes that remain are my own fault.
The title is stolen from "The Last Unicorn." To paraphrase, "never run from anything immortal, it only attracts their attention."
Part One: Beam Me Up, Obi-Wan
Methos closed the last suitcase and turned to look around the room. The small apartment felt even colder now that his personal things were gone. Everything that belonged to him was packed or already in storage. That's it, he thought, time to go. Picking up his bags Methos left, not bothering to lock the door. Anything still in the apartment was the landlord's concern. Methos' life in Paris was over.
The last thing Joe Dawson expected to see when he opened the door to his apartment was the world's oldest immortal sprawled on his couch, his feet resting on the coffee table, an almost empty bottle of vodka in his hand.
"Methos? What are you doing here? How did you get in?"
"Cheap locks. You should get those changed, Joe. No telling who might decide to let themselves in." Methos raised the bottle to his mouth and took a long drink. "I just stopped to say goodbye."
"Goodbye?" Joe walked over and settled in the chair across from his friend. "Kind of sudden isn't it? What's up this time? A hot blonde? A lead on another one of your journals? Or is Bora Bora just too tempting this time of year?"
"No, Joe. Not that kind of trip." Methos took another drink. "Too many people know who I am here. It's time for me to disappear."
"Just like that?" Joe looked steadily at the older man. Methos looked like he had been drinking for quite awhile. His eyes were red and his short, spiky hair was even more mussed than usual. No, not just drinking, Joe decided, he's been crying.
"Methos, what's going on?" The Watcher leaned across the table and took the bottle from the unsteady immortal. "God, Methos. It's not even the good stuff. Haven't you learned anything from MacLeod?"
A strange look crossed the other man's face. Oh no, Joe thought in horror, he's going to cry. Damn, why did I have to bring up MacLeod. Me and my big mouth.
"Nothing I hadn't already figured out on my own." Methos took a deep breath and placed his suddenly trembling hands on his thighs to steady them.
"I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean..."
"It's all right, Joe. It's not your fault my best friend can't stand to be in the same room with me for more than five minutes. Damn. Why do you think I never talked about my past, Joe? At least, never about anything that mattered. Think what a hit I'd be at parties! 'Hi, I'm Methos, but you can call me Death on a Horse.' He wasn't ready to hear that, Joe . I don't know if he ever would have been."
"Give him some time, Methos. Mac's got a hard head, but eventually things get through. I know, I've been there. You two were good friends before Kronos showed up, and I really think Mac was coming around, until this mess with Byron..." Shit, thought Joe. There are just too many land mines in this conversation.
Methos laughed softly and shook his head. "It's too much, Joe. There's just too much in my past Mac can't handle. Did you see the way he looked at me when Byron showed up? He says he doesn't know who I am anymore, and I can't blame him for that, but I can't stay here and...I'm just too old for this."
Methos put his head down in his hands and began to cry. Joe moved to the couch to comfort his friend.
"Empty. Totally empty. All his things are gone. He didn't even leave any beer caps behind the fridge." Duncan MacLeod leaned against the table and tried to catch Dawson's eyes. "Joe, aren't you worried?"
Joe didn't look up from the newspaper he was pretending to read. "Not a bit. Adam's a big boy, Mac. He's been taking care of himself for a long time. And he only flips beer caps behind your fridge. What were you doing at his place, anyway? I didn't even think you knew where he lived."
"Richie knew. He says it's useful to know things like that. Probably something he picked up from Amanda. Don't change the subject, Joe. Are you just going to let him disappear again? Become a legend again? If you're not concerned as his friend, aren't you at least curious as a Watcher?" Duncan reached over and pulled the paper out of Joe's hands.
Dawson took a deep breath, and looked up at MacLeod, "Of course I'm curious, Mac. But in this case, I decided it was more important to be a friend than a Watcher. There are lots of Watchers, but Adam doesn't have many friends."
MacLeod winced as he heard the unspoken 'left' at the end of Joe's statement. "Joe, I didn't have any choice. Byron wasn't going to stop. How many more people would have been sacrificed to fill the emptiness he felt? How many more..."
"That's not the point, Mac," Dawson interrupted. "Why does this have to be about you?"
"I'm not talking about me, Joe, I'm talking about Byron. Me--Adam left because I killed his friend. I thought he understood, but then he up and disappears. No 'I'm outta here', no 'see you later, MacLeod,' he's just gone. Why didn't he talk to me, Joe?"
"What reason did he have to think you would listen, Mac? You were barely speaking to him." The contempt in Dawson's voice brought Duncan's head up in surprise.
"Joe, what's wrong? Mike was your friend. I thought you understood."
Dawson stared at the other man for a long moment, then sighed. "Come on, MacLeod," he said, pushing himself to his feet and reaching for his cane. "We can't have this conversation in a bar; it may get loud and personal. Let's take it to the barge. And bring the bottle."
"All right, Joe, obviously I'm missing something here. Tell me what the problem is." Duncan handed the watcher a glass and settled himself on the couch.
Joe poured himself a drink, handed the bottle to the other man, and leaned back in his chair. Staring at Duncan, he shook his head slowly. "MacLeod, I don't even know where to start."
"Start by explaining why you're angry about Byron," suggested his friend.
"Mac, I'm not angry about Byron. I'm angry about how you've treated poor Methos."
"Poor Methos?" MacLeod's eyebrows climbed up his forehead in amazement as he considered the novel concept of 'poor Methos'. "Now that I really don't understand."
"MacLeod, ever since Bordeaux you've been treating Methos like he owed you money. How many ways does he have to pay for his past? A person can change a lot in a few thousand years. Get over it. Treat Methos like a friend again, or at least like a human being."
Joe looked over at the Highlander and saw tears in the dark brown eyes. Scottish guilt trip commencing, he thought. "You want to hear something really funny, MacLeod? Methos thinks of you as his best friend. Pathetic isn't it?"
Mission accomplished, Joe thought. The tears had broken free and were streaming down the Highlander's face. Under other circumstances, the sobs working their way up from the immortal's chest would have brought a matching lump to the Watcher's throat. But Dawson was still too pissed off to feel sympathy for MacLeod. Joe reached out and poured them both another drink. Picking up his glass, he raised his eyes and stared at his friend. This reaction was more than he had hoped for, even for a MacLeod guilt trip.
Struggling to get his emotions under control, MacLeod reached for his drink, then forced himself to meet the other man's eyes. Expecting to see pity or contempt, Duncan was surprised to see neither. It took him a moment to realize that his friend was trying not to...smirk? Duncan blinked as a dark suspicion began to grow. A small flame of anger started to burn deep in the Highlander's chest.
Tossing down his drink, Duncan slammed the glass on the table and stood. "The two of you planned this little guilt trip, didn't you? Damn that manipulative son of a bitch to hell. I'll kill him. I'll break every bone in his skinny body. Twice. I'll give him a rectal exam with his own sword. I..I..." MacLeod groped for a suitably painful punishment. "I'll hide his beer!"
"Stop right there." Joe leaned over to pour MacLeod another drink. The Highlander was going to need it. "Methos really did leave, Mac. And he doesn't plan on coming back."
"And I'll just bet he talked to you before he left. That's why you aren't worried about him disappearing, isn't it? Tell me, did you drive him to the station?" Duncan could feel the enamel on his teeth giving way under the grinding pressure he was applying.
"He came to say goodbye, yes. And if you call getting staggering drunk and sobbing in my arms 'talking' to me, then yes, he did. And it was the airport."
"Sobbing? Methos was crying?" The small flame of anger in Duncan's chest flickered once and died. A small, guilty hope began to grow in it's place. Dropping back into his seat, he reached for his drink and downed it without noticing.
"As if his heart were breaking." Tears burned in Joe's eyes as he remembered the feel of the oldest immortal's slender body shaking in his arms, muscles trembling with a grief that was almost despair. Joe flushed as the memory renewed his anger at the Highlander.
"Tell me where he is, Joe." It was a softly spoken request, not a demand. The Highlander was closer to begging than Joe had ever seen him.
Dawson sipped his drink. Looking at Duncan, he frowned. "Why should I? I promised him I wouldn't tell anyone. Specifically, I promised him I wouldn't tell you."
"I have to find him, Joe. I have to tell him I'm sorry. I have to tell him..." MacLeod's voice choked off and he reached for his glass, surprised to find it empty.
Joe picked up the almost empty bottle and upended it over the Highlander's glass. He let his voice soften. "Mac, I can't do that. I promised him I wouldn't. Methos has made a clean break. He doesn't need you to re-open the wounds."
"I don't want to re-open the wounds, Joe. I want to heal them."
"How, MacLeod? Joe picked up his own drink and turned a skeptical look on his friend.
MacLeod took a deep breath and slowly released it. Raising his head wearily, he met the other man's eyes. "I'm going to tell him the truth. I'm going to tell him that I love him. I'm going to tell him that he's the center of my world. I'm going to tell him I can no longer imagine my life, or my bed, without him in them."
Dawson sputtered and choked as he felt expensive scotch burning it's way up his sinuses. "MacLeod, you're drunk," he wheezed, when Duncan had stopped pounding on his back and he could talk again.
"So are you, but so what? I'm in love with Methos, Joe." Duncan began pacing around the room. "That's what the problem was, Joe. Not his past; I've accepted that. That's why I've found it so hard to be around him lately. Every time I saw him I could barely stop myself from tackling him. I haven't felt this way about anyone in a long time, Joe. I actually didn't trust myself to be alone with him, do you believe that? But every time I started to say something, he'd make some smart-ass remark and spoil the mood. I had this whole romantic seduction scene planned: candlelight, his favorite chocolates, vintage champagne, three different flavors of edible massage oil. I had everything waiting back at the barge. Then Byron showed up, and I got pissed, and then the whole situation went to hell. Now Methos has disappeared and I can't tell him."
Joe stared at the Highlander. Edible massage oil? He was sure this was a lot more than he wanted to hear. "Isn't this kind of sudden, Mac? Don't you think you should give a lifestyle change this drastic a little more thought?"
MacLeod smirked drunkenly at his Watcher. "Just because I've never been in love with a man before doesn't mean I've never been with a man. Brian, Jacob, Fitz..."
"Fitz and I were very good friends."
Joe fumbled for his glass and realized it was empty again. "I just never thought you...I mean, I never pictured you..." MacLeod grinned and Dawson decided he didn't want to go there. He took a deep breath and started over. "MacLeod, I don't want to rain on your parade, but what makes you think Methos is going to be interested. Has he ever given you any reason to..." Dawson stopped, once again remembering Methos crying in his arms. "Hell," he murmured under his breath, "all the clues in the world and it never even occurred to me."
"I've had a lot of practice at hiding it. You are going to tell me where he's gone now, aren't you? You wouldn't stand in the way of true love, would you, Joe? He's just too good at disappearing. Without your help, I'll never find him. You're my only hope, Obi-wan." Duncan got up to fetch another bottle of scotch. If he had to sacrifice a bottle of his very best single malt to get the information he needed, he was willing to do it. All's fair in love, he thought, and besides, immortals didn't have to worry about long hangovers.
Dawson watched Mac open the cabinet where he hid his most expensive scotch from Methos, curiosity dawning in his eyes as a new thought occurred to him. "MacLeod, tell me, just how much of your anger at Byron was jealousy?"
MacLeod flushed as he broke the seal on the new bottle. He had hoped that the other man was already too drunk to make that particular connection. "I'm not sure. But I've given it a lot of thought, and I am sure that Byron and I would have ended up where we did in any case, but...I'm just not sure, Joe. The way he looked at Methos..."
"And the way Methos looked back. So, the whole Byron mess was messier than I realized." Dawson paused, then grinned drunkenly up at MacLeod. "Do you think Methos knew what was going on?"
"God, I hope not." Mac sat down, then reached over and poured his friend a drink. "Joe, stop snickering. This is not at all funny."
"I know." The Watcher took a deep breath and banished the image of the oldest immortal as the garland-decked prize in a tug-of-war between Mac and the poet. "You may have waited too long, Mac. Methos thinks...well, you can imagine. He may not be willing to listen anymore,"
"Does that mean you're going to tell me where he went? I'm not going to hurt him again, Joe. I promise. Kill him for scaring me to death, yes. Hurt him, no. Now where is he?"
"During Mardi gras? Great. I have to find one immortal drunk in a city full of drunks who think they're immortal. I think I'm going to need some help, Obi-wan."
Part Two: Never Send A Man to Do a Woman's Job
"Stop complaining, Robert. I think it's very romantic."
"Of course it's romantic, my love. Obviously we're a good influence on Duncan. I just don't see why we had to fly tourist." Robert de Valicourt reached around his wife to pull yet another of her suitcases off the luggage carousel.
"They were the only seats available on such short notice," Joe Dawson replied. Watching the carousel revolve, he wondered if it would be easier to simply replace his wardrobe. Just before his face turned an even more bilious shade of green, a long arm reached from behind him and snagged Dawson's bag.
"I've got it, Joe," Duncan said. "Why don't you and Gina get us a cab. Let Robert and I deal with the luggage."
"It's a deal. Remind me never to fly with a hangover again," groaned the Watcher as Robert grabbed another of Gina's bags. By Joe's count, there were already five pieces of expensive luggage at Robert's feet, and the immortal was still eyeing the carousel.
Gina turned and headed down the concourse toward the exit. "Not a cab, Duncan, a limousine. I called from the plane."
"I still can't believe she managed to get hotel rooms in New Orleans during Mardi gras," Dawson remarked as he turned to follow her.
"Not rooms, the penthouse. And you can get anything if you're willing to pay enough for it," Duncan answered.
"I wonder if she packed tablecloths," mumbled Robert, retrieving another bag.
"Well, that's the last of the 'M's." Joe put down the phone and reached up to rub his ear. He had been on the phone for four hours. "Still no Adam Pierson registered."
"You're sure he was coming to New Orleans, aren't you, Joe?" Duncan was pacing behind the couch. He had been pacing behind the couch for the last two hours.
"As sure as I was the last five times you asked, MacLeod. Listen, why don't you go take a walk. Search a few more of the bars on Bourbon street, have a drink or three. You're beginning to get on my nerves." Dawson stood up and moved toward the room service cart.
Duncan grimaced. "Sorry, Joe. I'm just worried."
"My poor Duncan," Gina reached over from where she was reclining on the sofa and took Duncan's hand. "Don't worry. We will find your Adam, and he will forgive you. It will all be wonderfully romantic. You'll see."
"I hope so, Gina. He doesn't have any reason to forgive me. I've treated him, as Dawson so eloquently puts it, like shit."
"Oh Duncan, I'm sure Joseph was exaggerating. You could never be that cruel to someone you love. You have a romantic soul. Come, sit here with me and tell me more about your Adam. I didn't get to know him very well in Paris. Our time together was a bit...hectic."
"'My Adam'. I like the sound of that." Duncan managed to grin.
"You do?" Robert raised his voice into the telephone. "Pierson, that's right. No, no message." Before he could hang up the phone Duncan was standing beside him.
"Where? What hotel? Are you sure it's him?" Duncan reached out and grabbed Robert's arm.
"The Royal Orleans. And no, I'm not sure, but they have an Adam Pierson registered." He grinned at Duncan. "I guess you'll just have to go check for yourself. He's in the penthouse, too."
"I guess he decided not to be a 'poor grad student' on this trip," smirked Dawson.
"'Poor grad students' do not get hotel rooms in New Orleans during Mardi gras without reservations. Duncan started for the door and froze as a horrible thought came to him. "What if he doesn't want to see me? What if he won't talk to me?"
"Is this just occurring to you, MacLeod?" Dawson gazed at him in disbelief. "The man fled the continent because he didn't want to see you or talk to you. Don't you have a plan?"
MacLeod's face went blank. The blankness gave way to a look of panic, and his eyes darted frantically around the room.
"Of course he has a plan," Gina stated firmly. Rising from the sofa she grinned at the Watcher and tossed her long, dark hair over her shoulder. "He brought me."
"Two points." The world's oldest immortal watched the latest champagne cork settle in the crystal bowl on the sideboard next to the three corks already in residence. "I really think I'm getting the hang of this. The Americans invent such amusing games. Mindless, and ultimately pointless, but amusing." Stretching his long, denim clad legs, he settled back on the sofa and looked around for his glass. Spotting it by the champagne cooler on the bar, he frowned. After a moment, he shrugged and raised the bottle to his mouth. "Oh well, I wasn't planning to share it anyway." As the cold glass touched his lips, he felt an unwelcome, all too familiar sensation.
"Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Whoever it is, they had better have brought their own champagne." Reaching under the sofa, he retrieved his sword and moved, none too steadily, toward the door. He reached it just as the knocking started. Leaning against the wall beside the door, Methos called out. "Go away. I'm on vacation."
"Adam? It's Gina de Valicourt. Open the door."
Gina? What was Gina doing in New Orleans? More to the point, what was Gina doing in New Orleans outside his hotel room? Maybe she had finally left Robert and wanted him to comfort her. Things were looking up. As he reached for the lock, another question popped into his champagne-saturated brain. How did Gina know where he was? Only Joe Dawson knew he was in New Orleans, and Gina didn't know Joe. But Gina knew MacLeod, and MacLeod knew Joe. Methos started to feel a little more sober. "I'll kill him. No, first I'll pull out every hair in his beard. By the roots. Slowly. One at a time. Then I'll kill him."
"What did you say, Adam?"
"I said 'is the Boy Scout with you'?"
"Boy Scout? Adam, if we keep shouting through the door, we're going to attract a lot of attention."
She had a point. Methos reached over and unlocked the door. Cautiously stepping into the hall, he looked one way, then the other. Gina. No boy scout. Bowing to Gina, he raised one long arm to wave her into the room. She caught him just before he tipped over.
"You're stronger than you look." Methos looked up at her and grinned.
"So Robert says." Gina pulled him upright and held him till he found his balance.
"So you're still with Robert? I didn't think my luck could have changed that much." Carefully navigating back to the sofa, Methos collapsed in a sprawl and waved a hand in the direction of the bar. "I'm celebrating, have some champagne."
"I think you've had enough for both of us." Gina turned from closing the door. "What are you celebrating?"
"I've forgotten. But I think that was the point, so obviously it's working." Gathering his champagne bottle, Methos sank deeper into the sofa cushions. "So, beautiful Gina, what brings you to New Orleans?"
He was definitely beginning to sober up. Damn.
"Gina, MacLeod and I have nothing more to say to each other. Nothing worth saying, that is."
"He misses you very much."
"He has other friends." Methos raised the bottle to his lips.
"He's very lonely." Gina reached over and tried to take the bottle. Methos clutched it tightly around the neck and pulled it back.
"Tell him to get a cat. I understand they're very good company."
"He's very sorry he hurt you, Adam." I really am going to kill that Watcher, Methos thought.
"He wants to make it up to you." Methos started to get a sick feeling in his stomach.
Hugging his bottle to his chest, Methos attempted to get even deeper into the sofa. Maybe if he could burrow far enough into the cushions, he wouldn't hear what he knew she was going to say next.
"He's waiting downstairs in the lobby." Too late, she said it. Hell.
"That sounds like the Boy Scout. A sensible person would wait in the bar."
"I'm going to ring down and reassure him you're not dead of alcohol poisoning. Why don't you take a shower?" She walked to the phone. Methos looked around the room, wondering where he had dropped his sword. "Adam." He abandoned the sword hunt and focused on Gina. "Shower."
Rolling off the sofa, Methos made it to his feet and moved toward the bedroom. As he closed the door, he heard Gina asking the operator to page Mr. MacLeod. Stone cold sober. Bloody hell.
Part Three: I'm immortal. I'm bored. Let's party.
Methos leaned against the wall of the shower and let the hot water pulse against his back. Why would the Highlander have followed him to New Orleans? Bringing his arms up, he folded them against the wall and rested his head against his forearms. As the steam relaxed his tense muscles, he made a mental list. It was a very short list. Either he had done something else to piss MacLeod off (possible, but he was almost sure he would remember having that much fun), or someone was in trouble (Richie? Amanda? An unknown immortal to be named later?).
Neither option seemed to make sense. If he had pissed MacLeod off, again, he wouldn't have sent Gina. He would have broken down Methos' door himself. If someone was in trouble, why send Gina? Surely Joe would have come. Besides, Gina didn't act like MacLeod was pissed at him. Waiting in the lobby while he sent Gina up to his room? That didn't sound like the Highlander. The boy scout wouldn't send a woman to do his dirty work. Every possibility he came up with foundered on the same point--why send Gina?
Sighing, Methos reached down and turned off the water. Taking a towel off the heated rack, he stepped out of the shower and dried himself. Looking in the mirror, he ran his fingers through his short, dark hair. Well, he looked better. His normally pale skin was flushed from the hot shower, and the red was gone from his eyes. At least he no longer looked like he'd been on a three day drunk. Moving into the bedroom he could still feel Gina in the other room, so he stepped into his jeans before he opened the door. No Gina. MacLeod was leaning against the bar pouring himself a glass of Methos' champagne. Fuck.
Duncan turned when he heard the bedroom door open behind him. The speech he had prepared in the lobby and practiced coming up in the elevator died in his throat. God, Methos was so beautiful. The small part of MacLeod's brain that was still rational was wishing his friend had finished dressing. The rest of it had abandoned civilized thought and was busily multi-tasking as it simultaneously enjoyed the view and catalogued it for future explorations. All of his brain seemed to be feeding impulses directly to his groin. MacLeod felt his jeans growing uncomfortably tight.
Duncan's eyes moved hungrily down the older man's body. Methos skin glowed. 'Hot water', said the rational part of Duncan's brain. 'Hot', agreed the other. The long, graceful neck was joined to the shoulders by muscles that were more well defined than MacLeod would have guessed. 'Strong', said the thinking part of his brain. 'Bite', replied the other. The smooth, lean chest tapered enticingly down to the flat planes of his stomach. 'No hair', noted the first part. 'Taste, kiss, lick', the second part panted. Methos' tight, well-worn jeans hugged his slender hips and long, straight legs. 'How can he move?' The other part just whimpered. Methos bare feet shifted restlessly on the deep blue carpet. 'Long' noted the functioning part of Duncan's brain. The primitive part prepared to pounce.
"What's wrong, MacLeod?" Duncan looked strange. His eyes were glazed and he didn't seem to have noticed that he had just spilled champagne all over the bar. Something really awful must have happened, decided Methos.
Methos' cultured voice registered in Duncan's ears, but his brain didn't bother to process the words. He wondered what he had missed. He tried to bring the two parts of his brain to some agreement that didn't involve throwing Methos to the floor and fucking him senseless.
"Hello Methos," he croaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "How are you?" Brilliant, he groaned inwardly. He's going to think I'm an idiot.
"Confused. What are you doing here, Highlander. Has something happened to Joe? Are Ryan and Amanda all right?"
"Everyone's fine, Methos. I just needed to talk to you. I need to know why you left. I know Byron was your friend, and I'm sorry, but...Methos, talk to me, please." Great, thought Duncan, I'm babbling. Calm down, Highlander, take it slow. Don't scare him off.
"Joe broke his sacred promise just so we could rehash the Byron scenario one more time?" Methos' hazel eyes darkened with anger. He was going to kill Dawson. But first he had to get rid of Duncan. He didn't want to spend any more time with MacLeod than he had to. It hurt too much to be this close to the Highlander and not be able to touch him. Methos decided he needed a drink. Some things a man shouldn't have to deal with sober.
Methos moved to the bar and reached out to take the champagne bottle from Duncan. Oh God, he smells so good, MacLeod thought desperately. Methos turned away to find a glass and Duncan leaned toward him, drawn to the heat radiating from the older man's body. He clenched his hands to keep them from reaching out to caress the pale skin of Methos' back. His ass looked so good in those tight jeans. The pulsing in MacLeod's groin was so intense he was surprised the other man couldn't feel it. Methos bent over to get a glass from the shelf under the bar. To hell with it. The primitive part of Duncan's brain grabbed the motor controls, and his hands reached out for Methos.
Methos turned back toward the Highlander and stared in surprise. When had Duncan moved so close? And what the hell was he doing? MacLeod's strong hands closed on the bare skin at his waist and jerked him forward. Startled, Methos lost his balance. The champagne bottle went one way, the glass another, and Methos found himself flat on his back on the floor, pinned underneath two-hundred pounds of Highland warrior.
Part Four: Doing The Testosterone Tango
"Bloody hell, MacLeod. What..." Methos voice died as he felt Duncan's mouth on his skin.
MacLeod ran his tongue up the neck that had tempted him for so long. Methos tasted just like he had thought he would. Sweet and salty. He felt Methos breathing quicken and the body under him arched up to meet his. Duncan ground his hips down and trailed his mouth up the long, vulnerable neck to fasten on Methos' mouth. He ran his hands up Methos' sides, letting his fingers revel in the smooth feel of that hot, creamy skin.
Methos decided he was losing his mind. This can't be happening, he thought. Oh God, what is he doing, and please don't let him stop. MacLeod's tongue was in his mouth, licking the insides of his lips, running over his teeth, tickling the sensitive roof. Methos' reflexes took over and his body reacted, his dick hardening rapidly. His hips flexed toward Duncan's. He groaned when he felt the Highlander's erection rubbing against his through their jeans. MacLeod pressed against him even harder, pushing his body back down into the carpet. Methos reached up and clutched Duncan's ass, trying to pull the Highlander even tighter against him.
Duncan released Methos' mouth and moved to nibble at the sensitive skin under his ear. Duncan growled hungrily, "Have to have you. Want to feel all of you. Want to taste all of you."
"Yes," Methos hissed, as he tried to maneuver a hand between them to unfasten the Highlander's jeans. He moaned in frustration as Duncan moved away from him, breaking the delicious contact. What did the man think he was doing?
Duncan stood and pulled Methos to his feet. Gathering his friend into his arms, he lifted him and moved toward the bedroom.
"God, Duncan, how Fabio. Don't you think this is a bit much?"
"I don't want you to tire yourself out. Save your strength. You're going to need it." Duncan grinned at Methos and tossed him onto the bed. Straightening, he began to strip off his clothes.
Methos landed in the center of the king-sized bed and bounced twice before he could steady himself. He looked up at the Highlander in shock. It had been a long time since he been with a lover who was that strong. A shiver of anticipation ran down his body. This was going to be so good. He watched, hypnotized, as Duncan stripped off his shirt and dropped it to the floor.
Kicking off his shoes, Duncan was reaching for the waistband of his pants when he realized Methos wasn't moving.
"What?" Methos shook his head and tried to concentrate on what MacLeod was saying. Did they have to have a conversation? Now?
"Take off your jeans. As much as I appreciate the way they hug your ass, I want them off. Now." Oh. Orders. Well, that was different. Methos was a master at that particular game. MacLeod had no idea what he was in for.
Raising to his knees, Methos arched his back and lifted his hands to his chest. Letting his fingertips caress his skin, he moved them slowly down his body. Stopping at his nipples he massaged them gently for a moment before moving on. Reaching his navel, Methos paused and traced a small circle around it. Lowering his eyes, he looked up at Duncan from under his long, dark lashes. MacLeod had stopped moving. His eyes were locked on Methos' hands, and his mouth was open. Don't forget to breath, Highlander, the older immortal thought, repressing a grin.
Continuing to caress himself, Methos moved his hands lower. Slipping one hand under the waistband of his jeans, he began stroking the skin of his abdomen. The other hand moved over the soft denim and lightly traced the bulge of his erect penis. As Methos added a slight undulating motion of his hips in time to the stroking fingers, Duncan let out a strangled moan.
Good enough, thought the older immortal. He popped the snap of his jeans and tugged down the zipper, glad he hadn't bothered to put on his boxers. Reclining back on the bed, he raised his hips and pushed the denim down his legs, kicking it off when it reached his feet. Reaching toward the headboard, he stretched his long, slender body to it's full length, and curved his back.
A growl from Duncan brought his head up. The Highlander was stepping out of his shorts. Pausing to take something out of the front pocket of his jeans, he tossed it on to the nightstand. Methos turned his head to see what it was. Lube. Looking back at the other man, he grinned.
"Boy scout," he snickered.
"Tease," Duncan grinned back at him. The Highlander moved on to the bed and reached for Methos.
"You were asking for it." Methos laughed as Duncan pulled him back up to his knees, fitting their bodies closely together.
"I'm going to ask for a lot more than that before the night's over," MacLeod replied, his voice deepening as he ran his hands across the supple back, marvelling at the velvet softness of the skin.
"Anything you want, Highlander." Methos' voice was husky and serious. Duncan pulled his eyes from their contemplation of his lover's skin and looked at his face. "I mean it, MacLeod," he whispered. "Anything." Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to Duncan's and teased them open with his tongue.
As Methos' tongue probed his mouth, MacLeod started to imagine how it would feel touching even more sensitive parts of his body. Holding the kiss, he pushed his lover down onto the bed and stretched out over him, pressing the lean body into the mattress. Moving his body slowly against Methos', he kissed his way to Methos jaw and began to nibble his way down the long curve of his neck.
"God, MacLeod," Methos moaned. "You've done this before haven't you?" Methos moaned again and his body began to move to the rhythm Duncan was setting. His hands closed on Duncan's hips and pulled their bodies closer together, grinding his cock against Duncan's.
"Once or twice," the younger man murmured against the base of the sensuous neck. He paused to flick his tongue against the pulse beating wildly in Methos' throat, gratified at the additional evidence of the effect he was having on the trembling body of his lover.
Continuing to tease Methos' neck with his tongue, Duncan moved his hands to the other man's chest and began a new torture. Finding his lover's nipples, he began to roll them between his fingers, pausing occasionally to run his hands down Methos' sensitive rib cage before returning to his chest. The body under his began to move with more urgency.
Methos was reveling in every movement of MacLeod's body against his, every touch of his fingers and flick of his tongue. He had wanted this, dreamt about this, for a very long time. Reaching down between their hips, he wrapped his hand around Duncan's cock and started rubbing his thumb over the head. Duncan jerked above him and he took advantage of the younger man's distraction to roll them over and pin his lover to the mattress.
"God, Methos," Duncan groaned, "warn me next time."
"Consider yourself warned," his lover growled, and Duncan felt the moist heat of Methos' mouth replace his fingers over the tip of his cock. That tongue was dangerous. Methos ran it over the slit, gathering up the precum greedily. Wrapping one hand firmly around the shaft, Methos rolled the Highlander's balls tenderly back and forth in the other, while he ran his tongue gently along the vein on the underside of Duncan's weeping cock. Moving his mouth back to the top of the swollen penis, Methos relaxed and took Duncan deep into his throat.
"Oh, Methos, please!" Duncan's hips began to jerk. He couldn't stop himself from thrusting into his lover's hot mouth. Methos moved up and down Duncan's swollen cock, sucking and licking. He began making a purring sound deep in his throat. As the added vibration reached MacLeod's already over-stimulated penis, he wrapped his fingers in Methos' short, silken hair and began to beg. "God, Methos, no...stop...not yet, Methos, please!"
Methos gently raked his teeth up the cock, then released it. Lovingly kissing the tip, he moved back up Duncan's body and pressed his lips to the straining muscles in the strong jaw.
Duncan kept his eyes tightly closed while he fought to regain control of his breathing. When he thought he could stand it, he opened his warm brown eyes and looked at the demon lying pressed against his side.
Methos smiled at him and purred deep in his throat. Duncan could feel his lover's hard cock rubbing against his thigh. Turning on his side, Duncan pushed Methos onto his back and ran his hands up the other man's arms, tracing the contours of the deceptively lean muscles flowing beneath the soft ivory skin. Leaning closer, the Highlander began pressing delicate kisses to his lover's face. Slowly moving his lips across the line of the high, sculpted cheekbones, Duncan flicked the tip of his tongue around the curve of the older immortal's ear, then drew the lobe into his mouth. He sucked gently on the soft flesh for a moment, then released it to press his lips against the inviting skin beneath Methos ear. He nibbled lightly, then moistened the fevered skin with flicks of his tongue. Pressing his mouth back against his lover's neck he sucked on the sensitive skin while Methos began to writhe against him. Reaching down, he closed his fingers around Methos cock and began to move them gently up and down. Methos arched against him and whimpered. Duncan knew he had never had a more openly responsive lover, or seen anything more beautiful than Methos' face glowing with passion. For Him.
"Methos," he whispered into the softness of his lover's hair.
"Uhmm, Duncan," Methos whispered back, continuing to push into Duncan's hand.
"Methos, I want you. I want to be inside you," Duncan murmured, tightening his grip.
"Oh, God yes, Duncan, now, please." Methos' fingernails dug into Duncan' ass. "Right now."
Methos started to turn onto his stomach and Duncan held his hip to stop him. Locking his gaze with Methos' he whispered, "No. I want to see you. I want to feel your breath on my body. I want to watch your face when I make you scream. I want to see your eyes when you come." Methos couldn't seem to speak. He nodded, and Duncan reached for the lube.
Keeping his eyes on Methos' face, Duncan reached down and moved the older man's thighs apart. He pushed the long legs up until his lover's feet were flat on the bed. Squeezing the lube onto his fingers he reached down with one hand and felt for the opening. Pressing the tip of one finger gently into his lover's body, he watched as Methos' eyes darkened and a whispered moan escaped his lips. Duncan felt his own cock pulsing with need as he moved his slick finger in and out of his partner's willing body. After a few moments, Duncan added another finger to the first.
"Duncan, oh, yes, Duncan. More, please. It's so good!" Methos sinewy body began to twist and lift off the bed, trying to press Duncan's fingers deeper.
"Shh, love, gently. It's all right, love. I'm here." Duncan reached down with his free hand and began to smooth the lube onto his aching cock.
Duncan added a third finger and began to gently stretch Methos' opening. His lover was squirming on the bed and thrusting his hips in the air. Methos began to sob.
"Now, Duncan. Now! I can't stand anymore. Please, Duncan. Please, fuck me. Duncan, fuck me!"
Duncan removed his fingers and moved to kneel between Methos wide-spread thighs. Reaching under his partner's ass he lifted the lean hips off the bed and pressed his cock against the entrance to the eager body.
"Oh God, Duncan, hurry!" Methos dug his grip into the broad shoulders above him, panting and flexing in Duncan's grasp. Duncan gripped him tighter to keep him still. Pressing forward, he felt the tight ring of muscle at the entrance yield. The moist, snug heat of his lover's body forced a feral moan from the Highlander's throat. With the last of his control, Duncan paused, and Methos jerked forward, trying to pull him deeper. The older immortal was gasping and sobbing. His moans of pleasure no longer formed coherent words, but Duncan had no doubt what they meant. He pressed forward until he was completely seated in his lover's body, then began to take slow, deep strokes.
Duncan reached down and pulled Methos legs up over his shoulders, then placed his hands on either side of the older man's head. Methos' head was thrown back, the muscles in his shoulders and neck straining as he jerked his head from side to side in time to Duncan's thrusts. Duncan began to move faster, pounding his cock into his lover with ferocious abandon. He could feel Methos' hot, leaking shaft caught between them, pulsing hotly against his skin. Methos' entire body convulsed and he screamed. The muscles in his ass clenched around Duncan's cock as Methos came. Slamming into his lover's climaxing body, Duncan threw back his head and howled as he joined his lover in ecstasy.
Methos lay on his side next to his sated lover, twining Duncan's damp hair around his fingers.
"Highlander, there's something I don't understand. Why Did you send Gina?"
"I was worried I wouldn't be able to find you by myself. I was afraid you wouldn't let me in. I didn't think you would be able to resist Gina. I brought Robert and Joe, too," Duncan admitted.
"God, MacLeod, why didn't you bring Ryan and Amanda while you were at it?" Methos was starting to snicker.
"Can you really see me asking Richie to come half-way around the world to help me seduce a man? He would throw up and try to take my head, or more likely, yours." Duncan shook his head and frowned as he pictured how the younger immortal was going to react to his latest lover. "I couldn't find Amanda, or I would have brought her, too."
"I'm having enough trouble picturing you asking Joe to do it."
"You would have been proud of Joe. He was really pissed at me when you left. And he didn't freak out when I told him I wanted you. Not even when I mentioned the edible massage oil." Duncan smiled, remembering the stunned look on Joe's face.
"Edible massage oil? You bought edible massage oil? For me?" Methos sat up and looked at the Highlander in disbelief.
"Yeah. I had this whole romantic seduction scene planned. Candlelight, champagne, chocolates. I put a lot of time and effort into making it perfect. Then I end up throwing you to the floor in a New Orleans hotel room."
"Don't knock it, MacLeod," Methos smirked and leaned forward to brush his lips along his lover's neck. "That scenes going to get a whole chapter in my journal."