DISCLAIMER - Highlander and its characters is the copyright of Rysher and Panzer/Davis Productions and no infringement is intended. The story, such as it is, is copyright Karen Colohan October 1998 (revised January 1999).

With thanks to Erika and especially to Laurey for their comments and suggestions. This story is that much better for the intervention.

JUST A LITTLE FRIENDLY ADVICE

Joe Dawson studied the man sitting at his bar, nursing a half-drunk beer, with a knowing smile. The dark haired figure was, however, oblivious to his regard.

In their turn, the hazel eyes of the Immortal who was the subject of Joe's scrutiny were trained firmly on the door. They lingered there to catch a final glimpse of the retreating form of Duncan MacLeod. When the buzz of the Highlander's presence was no longer discernible, Methos turned his attention back to his beer with a loud sigh.

Methos drinking
Joe shook his head at the folly of certain Immortals of his acquaintance. Wasn't age also supposed to bring wisdom? Apparently not, in the case of these two! Joe regarded Methos' slumped shoulders and glum expression for a moment longer and then made a decision.

"So, what you gonna do about it?" Joe raised an eyebrow questioningly as Methos finally remembered his existence.

"Hm? Do about it? Do about what?" Methos sounded genuinely puzzled by the question, but Joe wasn't buying it. He knew his subject of old.

"Come on, Adam, this is me you're talkin' to, right? Joe Dawson. You know, a Watcher."

"So?" Methos was still all wide-eyed innocence.

"So, what are you going to do about Mac?" Joe spoke slowly, enunciating every word with care.

"Listen, am I missing something here, Joe?" Methos was at his most insouciant. "Or did you suddenly start talking in a foreign language? I have no idea what you mean." The oldest Immortal downed the last of his beer and held the glass out for a refill. Joe snatched it from him irritatedly.

"Right, so you're gonna make this difficult are you?" he muttered. Joe glanced quickly from side to side, checking no customers were close by. When he was happy there was no one within hearing range Joe poured another beer and pushed it across the bar to Methos. He waited until the Immortal was taking a long swig before continuing sweetly, "What are you gonna do about the fact that you fancy the pants off of MacLeod?"

The words had the desired effect. Methos abruptly choked on his drink, inelegantly spraying his mouthful of beer everywhere. He slammed the glass down on the counter and glared at Dawson accusingly, his eyes wild with a mix of anger and sheer panic.

"Joe!!!" Methos hissed agitatedly.

"Well, don't you?" Joe met the hazel stare coolly - he knew damn well he was right - and reflected that it was nice to put one over on the old guy for a change.

Meanwhile, Methos was attempting to piece together the shreds of his shattered composure. He pulled out a handkerchief and carefully wiped away all the traces of beer from his face and then dabbed at a few splashes on the front of his grey shirt. When he was done, Methos eyed Dawson warily, as if wondering what further surprises the Watcher might spring on him next.

"I am 5000 years old, I do not 'fancy the pants' off of anyone!" Methos insisted petulantly when Joe simply continued watching him in silence. "Allow me a little dignity, Joe!"

"Yeah, all right, all right, but the question still stands." Joe shook his head, wondering how the hell someone with 5000 years on the clock could still manage to come across like a spoilt kid.

"Who says I'm going to do anything? Why should I be the one to go chasing after him? If Mac wants me he knows where to find me," Methos shot back haughtily. He risked a quick mouthful of what was left of his beer - uneventfully this time - while Dawson stared at him sceptically.

"Come on, Adam, it's obvious to anyone but an idiot..." At Methos' raised eyebrow Joe gave a snort of laughter. "Oh please! Buddy, I saw you mooning after Mac when he left. You were away in a world of your own and I don't have to be a genius to work out what you were thinking! Trust me, it's clear enough that you wanna slip between the sheets with him, but Mac just doesn't have a clue. Am I doin' OK so far? So tell me, what are you going to do?"

"Obvious to anyone but an idiot - or Duncan MacLeod!" Methos raised his glass in salute, smiling wryly. He glanced back at Joe, as if weighing up how much he was prepared to admit to him, and then sighed deeply. "I really don't know, Joe. I suppose I thought if I hung around with him long enough he'd get the message."

"Subtlety - with Mac?" Joe sounded doubtful.

"Yeah, I know, stupid of me." Methos studied his drink morosely. "Sometimes Mac just can't see what's right under his nose."

"Couldn't you try actually saying something?" Joe suggested, as if it weren't the most obvious solution to the problem.

"I don't want to force the issue." Methos wouldn't meet the Watcher's eyes.

"In case he turns you down," Joe guessed.

"Like I said, Joe, I'm 5000 years old. I have my pride." It wasn't entirely the reason, but it was as much as Methos was prepared to admit to.

"Do you really think he would?" asked Joe. It didn't seem likely to him, but then he had an advantage over the Immortal. Methos didn't get to see how much MacLeod missed his company when he wasn't around. Dawson did.

"I dunno any more," sighed Methos. "I didn't used to think so. I'd catch him looking at me sometimes. Or he'd do or say silly things..."

A remembering smile lit Methos' features for a moment as he thought of Duncan swiping his nose with a paintbrush. Mac had certainly seen straight through his practised 'I don't care about anyone but myself' routine that day. Methos also recalled perfectly well the half-embarrassed but fond look Mac had sent his way right after. But then there had been the Kristin problem to resolve and that had been that.

"... it never went any further than that, though," Methos finished as the memory faded.

"So did you actually give Mac any hint you were - interested, anywhere in all this?" asked Joe.

"Well, not exactly..." Methos pulled a face and shrugged apologetically.

Joe shook his head in mock despair. This guy wasn't fit to be let out on his own!

"And then you upped and left with Alexa." Joe raised a hand to forestall the angry retort which rose to Methos' lips. "Don't get me wrong, buddy, I know how much you cared for her. Just look at it from Mac's point of view. What's a guy supposed to think?"

"You're saying this is all my fault then?" Methos gave an emphatic shake of the head, denying it. When no answer was forthcoming he glared at Joe, his hazel eyes demanding a response.

Joe regarded the Immortal sympathetically. Methos was wound up like a spring with tension. He and Mac were each as bad as the other! Carefully the Watcher considered what he should say. He needed to give Methos a nudge in the right direction. If the old guy and Mac were each waiting for the other to make the first move they'd probably still be dancing around the issue another 5000 years down the line.

"Adam, I'm not saying it's anyone's fault. Try and put yourself in Mac's shoes for just a minute though, OK? Say he did think you might be interested. He must have believed he'd read you wrong when you fell for Alexa and left with her," Joe explained patiently. "And Mac has his pride too..."

"So when I came back he wouldn't..." Methos was slowly putting the pieces together - as Joe had intended he should. "And he still thinks... Oh shit!" concluded the oldest Immortal with feeling.

"Exactly," agreed Joe. "Guess it's cards on the table time, Adam."

"Yeah, I suppose it is." Methos nodded to himself, as if confirming the decision he had made. Carefully he drained his glass and set it back on the bar. Methos turned as if to leave, but stopped and smiled at the Watcher instead. "Oh, Joe..."
Methos and Joe "Yeah?" Dawson regarded the Immortal fondly.

"Thanks!" There was no doubt at all that Methos meant it.

"All part of the service, buddy." Playing father confessor to a 5000 year old had its rewards, Joe decided. "Hey, what else is your friendly neighbourhood bartender here for anyway?"

Methos grinned. It was one of the rare ones, entirely free of any cynicism. It lit his hazel eyes with a mischievous sparkle that drove away all the shadows of 50 centuries of life.

"Well, I'd kiss you," Methos announced gleefully, "but quite apart from the fact that the customers would talk, you might get the wrong idea!"

"Save it for Mac," Joe agreed, shaking his head at Methos' sudden mood swing. "Now get out of here, Adam; before I remember just how much you owe on your tab..."

Methos was already halfway to the door.

"OK, OK, I'm outta here!" he called back over his shoulder as he pulled his coat closer around himself and headed for his van.

******

Methos drove the distance to the dojo quickly and parked up outside. Once there though he sat for a long moment, just looking up at the light shining from the windows of Mac's loft. 'Cards on the table' was fine in theory, but now it actually came to it, Methos was more nervous than he cared to admit. What if Mac did turn him down? So Joe didn't think it was likely, but the possibility remained. If the worst happened could their friendship survive it?

A rebellious part of Methos' brain cautioned him that maybe that wasn't the worst thing that could happen. Rather he should be more concerned about the possibility of Mac welcoming him with open arms. Ah yes, if Duncan did let Methos into his bed what would he want in return? Commitment to a mortal was one thing, finite, but to another Immortal... It was almost enough for Methos to start up the engine again and drive back to his own apartment without a backward glance. Almost...

On this trip Methos actually was staying at his own place, rather than crashing at the loft. He hadn't quite been prepared to torment himself that much on this occasion. It should have warned him that crunch time with Mac had arrived, Methos realised belatedly.

Taking a deep breath, Methos made a decision. He climbed out of the van and headed for the dojo. He never trusted the lift - no means of escape should trouble strike - and, as was his wont, he took the stairs to the top floor instead. Methos almost used the spare key Mac had given him some time ago, but a nagging voice held him back. What if he and Joe were both wrong and Mac had someone else in there? An interruption at a delicate moment would hardly endear him to MacLeod and Mac could have called somebody after he left Joe's. Methos knocked instead.

The sense of presence grew stronger and then the door was opened. Mac looked wary, and his katana was ready in his hand, as he peered outside. He relaxed though, lowering the sword with a smile, as he saw who his visitor was.

"Methos! Come in. I didn't expect to see you again tonight." Mac stood aside to let him in.

"Hence the reception committee!" Methos nodded towards the katana still clutched in Duncan's hand. "Sorry, late change of plans, if you're busy though I can go..." He paused, ready to make a tactical withdrawal.

"Oh? Oh no, please, stay." Mac wondered if Methos had been stood up by someone, but decided against asking. It would hardly be tactful. "Did you lose your key?" he asked instead.

"Hm? No, I was - just being polite. Actually, I wan't sure if you'd be on your own," Methos admitted a little awkwardly.

"As you can see..." Duncan gestured around the otherwise empty loft. It wasn't usually like the old Immortal to worry about such conventions.

"Yeah, well, just as long as I'm not interrupting anything important." Methos moved further into the loft, shedding his coat - and the sword it concealed - carefully. After that it didn't take him long to take up his favourite position, sprawled on Mac's couch.

"Beer?" Mac asked, though he knew the question was unnecessary.

"Yeah, thanks." Methos looked over his shoulder as Mac fetched it from the fridge. He accepted the proffered bottle gratefully, turning it between his long fingers.

Duncan took a seat at the other end of the couch and retrieved the glass of scotch he'd set aside when Methos arrived. As he sipped at it Mac regarded his visitor curiously over the rim of the glass. For all his apparent air of relaxation MacLeod sensed an unusual tension in Methos.

"So, what can I do for you?" Mac asked brightly when Methos remained resolutely silent. "Or is it just that you find my company irresistible?" It was meant to make Methos laugh, or crack a joke of his own. Instead the other Immortal seemed to flinch at the words. What exactly was going on here?

Methos stared at his beer, took a quick pull from the bottle and considered his answer. Perhaps it had just been intended as a joke, but it cut too close to the bone. Did MacLeod have any idea at all? Eventually Methos reached a decision of sorts.

"Joe thought... No, I thought, that we should talk, Mac," Methos began at last. "There's something I need to ask you."

"OK, fire away." Duncan smiled encouragingly, still puzzled by Methos' hesitation. He'd seen his friend far less nervous when he was walking into a situation that might cost him his head!

Methos closed his eyes. He couldn't do this and look at Duncan at the same time! If he tried to he would never get the words out; he'd be too busy trying to read the visual cues and gauge Mac's reaction. Not that it was going to be easy however he went about it. Why, even after 50 centuries, didn't it get any easier? But Methos had always found it hard to let down his guard, to actually admit that he cared. It wasn't that he didn't, it simply wasn't in his nature to reveal that much of himself readily. Giving another person that kind of hold over you wasn't a good survival tactic and Methos had learned that lesson to his cost thousands of years before. Damn it, and here he was about to break his own long held rule about never doing so with another Immortal!

"Are you OK? Methos...?"

A soft touch on his arm brought the oldest Immortal back to himself and his eyes flew open involuntarily. Mac had scooted closer and was resting a hand on Methos' shoulder in concern.

"What? Oh, yeah, I'm fine," Methos lied distractedly. In truth he was far from fine. Mac's sudden proximity was almost overwhelming in Methos' current vulnerable state. He could feel the warmth of every one of Mac's fingers through the sleeve of his shirt like a brand.

"Methos, are you in some kind of trouble?" Mac asked, now even more concerned by his friend's uncommunicative state. The other Immortal kept avoiding his eyes and seemed unusually flustered. Something had to be wrong. "If you are, please tell me. Did you come to me for help?"

Oh yes, he was in trouble all right, Methos reflected wryly, but not the kind Mac was doubtless envisaging. Methos didn't dare move because he knew that if he did he was likely to fall on Mac and kiss him senseless. This really wasn't working out the way he had hoped at all. The quiet concern in the soft voice and the sheer closeness of the other man had conspired to thoroughly arouse Methos. So he sat and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, desperately trying to will his body back under control.

Still touching Methos lightly, MacLeod studied him more closely. The old man really wasn't acting like himself tonight. Methos, he noted, was breathing slowly and deeply, almost as if he were trying for a meditative state. His hands, though, were clamped on the beer bottle in a death grip, giving the lie to that possibility. Methos looked a little feverish even, his cheeks unusually flushed. This was ridiculous, MacLeod thought to himself, why didn't Methos just tell him what was wrong and be done with it?

Duncan swept the tense form with his eyes again and suddenly pulled up short as a detail he had missed before now caught his attention. He hadn't noticed it at first because it certainly wasn't anything he'd been expecting or looking for. It did, however, more than likely explain a few things about Methos' odd-seeming behaviour, MacLeod realised. Well, well, well...

Finally, much to his relief, Methos felt Mac's hand withdraw. It made it a little easier to think straight so he opened his eyes cautiously. The younger Immortal was still sitting close, turned towards him on the couch. Duncan was watching him speculatively and Methos returned the dark-eyed stare warily.

"Better?" Mac asked solicitously. He wondered how easy Methos was going to make this.

"Hm?" Methos looked at Duncan stupidly. Was what better? This surely wasn't the way the conversation was supposed to be going. It had certainly all seemed a lot simpler when he was sitting in Joe's!

"You didn't seem quite yourself, Methos," Duncan pressed. "You were a little - preoccupied. Anything you wanted to talk about? You did say you wanted to talk..."

Yeah, he had said that, hadn't he... Now, though, Methos was having not just second but third and, very probably, fourth thoughts as well.

"Just woolgathering, probably had too much to drink," Methos lied. "You know how it is." Quickly he set his bottle of beer aside to give substance to the lie. He noticed Mac was still watching him closely, though, as he sprawled back in place.

"Methos, you're a godawful liar!" It was said forcefully, but without rancour. Mac's lips lifted in a rueful smile as he surveyed his evasive friend.

"Oh? You think so?" the oldest Immortal asked, stung.

"Uh huh," Mac agreed with an annoyingly cheerful grin.

"Why?" Methos knew perfectly well he shouldn't ask, but the fateful word had slipped out too quickly.

"Because all of this," MacLeod made a vague gesture in the direction of Methos' sprawled form, "has nothing to do with too much drink. I think it does have everything to do with this though..."

Before Methos knew what was happening, Duncan's hand snaked out. Without hesitation the palm was laid squarely across the denim at Methos' groin. Two pairs of eyes focused in the same place. It was readily apparent to both, from the curve of the big hand, that Mac had found plenty to get hold of. Nor did he seem in any hurry to let go.

"Please..." Methos groaned, and had no idea if he was asking for more or wanted Mac to stop. Neither did Duncan.

"Now tell me, Methos, isn't this what you came to talk about?" he asked, his strong fingers massaging the cloth-covered bulge gently.

"Yes!" Methos had no more strength of will for lies or evasions. Duncan's hand, still restlessly moving, had robbed him of the ability to think, to do anything but feel. Though Methos did marvel fleetingly at the fact that Duncan MacLeod was, apparently, not so unobservant about certain things as he had believed.

"Methos, Methos, why did it take you so long?" Duncan's voice sounded again close by his ear. Methos shuddered at the caress of Mac's warm breath on his neck.

"I didn't think you were interested. Well, at the beginning maybe, but you never made a move, so... Oh, screw it! I didn't want to look like a complete idiot if I was wrong!" The admission was drawn out of Methos unwillingly. It sounded feeble enough to him so heaven alone knew what Mac would make of it.

"So instead you just acted like a complete idiot and said nothing! Good God, Methos, you didn't think...?" Duncan shook his head disbelievingly. "What was I supposed to...?" The words ran out as Mac drew back and looked at Methos incredulously.

"I know, because of Alexa," Methos sighed. "Joe told me you'd probably backed off because of her. I guess it would have been unfair of me to expect otherwise. Though when I came after you in France I did wonder if..." Methos paused, uncertain of just how much he ought to reveal about his thoughts during, and immediately after, Duncan's Dark Quickening. He decided on discretion. "Yes, well, things probably did turn out for the best in the end. I did love Alexa, you know," Methos felt compelled to add, "even though I knew it couldn't last."

Mac chose to ignore the more troubling implications of the old man's words. Methos might not have much time for it, but Duncan MacLeod still believed in doing the honourable thing. There had been little enough honour to go around during the Dark Quickening and Methos' not-quite-admission about his own motives then was definitely more than Duncan was comfortable with. Instead of dwelling further on it Mac let his attention be caught by something else Methos had said.

"Joe told you?"

"Mmm, we had a bit of a heart to heart after you left tonight." Methos smiled fondly. "Joe pointed out a few home truths - having first reminded me that he was your Watcher - and here I am."

"Here you are, indeed." Mac's voice had become very quiet. "I'll have to thank Joe for finally talking some sense into you next time I see him." Mac looked up, meeting Methos' hazel eyes steadily. "You know, I really thought I'd waited too long, lost my chance. God, you're a bloody idiot sometimes, Methos!"

"Guilty as charged." Methos paused, considering. "Um, Mac, I don't suppose you'd..."

Methos didn't get a chance to finish his sentence though as Duncan leaned across and covered the still-moving lips with his own. It was enough to galvanise the older Immortal into action. His arms came up around MacLeod, pulling the heavier man down on top of him.

Duncan made no objection, nor did he break the kiss. He was too intent on exploring Methos' mouth thoroughly. Mac's tongue found its way past the surprisingly soft and pliant lips and thrust aggressively into the other Immortal's mouth. Methos' tongue met his stroke for stroke, duelling as intently as in any of their sparring sessions. Both men tested and tasted, committing the new sensations to memory, until they simply ran out of breath.

Each of them was panting hard as they finally, and unwillingly, pulled apart. Methos ran the tip of his tongue carefully around his bruised lips as he stared into Duncan's intense brown eyes in surprise. He hadn't expected Mac to respond with such hunger; frankly he'd anticipated considerable reticence on Duncan's part, not for him to make the first move. Not that Methos minded. It simply promised to make whatever followed very interesting indeed.

"Your move, I think, Methos," breathed Duncan, as if in answer to his thoughts.

"Hmm, that rather depends..." Methos observed thoughtfully. His hands were busy on Mac's back, testing the firmness of the muscles under the fabric of Duncan's shirt.

"On what?" Mac asked, grinding his hips against Methos' restively in response.

"On whether you want me here or in your bed." Methos grinned up at him, revelling in the warmth of Duncan's body where it covered his own.

"Well, I'm quite happy where I am," Duncan decided.

"That's good; so am I," murmured Methos. "But I think we could get a little more comfortable..."

Methos promptly went to work on Duncan's clothing. The shirt was easy enough to unfasten and slide off of Mac's broad shoulders. Unceremoniously Methos dumped it over the edge of the couch onto the floor. Then he snaked a hand down between them to work open the zipper of Mac's trousers. To his delight, he found a hardness to match his own under his questing fingers.

Keen to speed up the process MacLeod helped him out, drawing away and sitting up to kick off his shoes and socks. Then he stood while Methos slid forward to perch on the edge of the couch as he peeled down the trousers and the briefs Mac wore underneath. Finally MacLeod stepped out of the pooled fabric to pose unselfconsciously for the older Immortal.

"Beautiful," breathed Methos, staring up at Duncan's gloriously naked body avidly. Long, elegant fingers reached out, eager to touch and claim. Mac's hands intercepted them, though, holding Methos away.

"No, my turn," he insisted. Matching actions to words Duncan knelt down at Methos' feet and began to undress his companion. He quickly removed and tossed away the boots and socks, then stretched up to pull Methos' shirt off over his head. As the grey fabric trapped Methos for a moment, Duncan took the opportunity to drop a scattering of kisses over the pale, smooth chest. The older Immortal's skin was like ivory and Mac admired the unexpectedly well-defined muscles it covered. It seemed Methos was keeping a few secrets hidden under his habitually loose-fitting clothes - a good way of getting opponents to underestimate him, MacLeod realised abruptly. How typical of the old man...

A low moan escaped Methos' throat and Duncan relented and freed him from the shirt, casting it aside as well. Methos let his head loll against the back of the couch, waiting to see what Mac might do next. He felt Duncan's strong hands ghosting over his shoulders and once more down his chest to his waist in slow, relaxing strokes. Then the softness of Duncan's hair was trailing over his skin, and finally the moist warmth of Mac's mouth touched down.

With exquisite care Mac bent forward and circled first one of Methos' nipples and then the other with the tip of his tongue. He repeated the teasing touches until both nipples were tight peaks of flesh and then sat back to view his handiwork. Methos' hazel eyes met his reproachfully, mutely questioning why Duncan had stopped.

"Patience!" Mac chided him laughingly. "We have plenty of time. Why are you in such a hurry?"

"Great, MacLeod is a closet sadist," muttered Methos petulantly. He glared down at the smirking Scot before adding, "And you may have plenty of time, but I have my limits..."

Duncan gave a snort of laughter, but took pity on his impatient partner. He leaned forward once more to gently nip and suck the nubs of flesh he had already brought to attention with his tongue's caresses. Mac tasted the faint salt tang of sweat on Methos' skin as he continued to explore and soon the oldest Immortal was writhing under his forays helplessly. Slowly Duncan began to kiss his way further down Methos' torso and, as he did, Methos slid his fingers deep into Mac's hair, grasping handfuls of it, as if for support.

Eventually Duncan's passage was blocked by more cloth, but he made quick work of the jeans' fastenings. Then, with Methos' full co-operation, Mac tugged the denim free of the other Immortal's body. It was with a certain wry amusement that Duncan noted Methos didn't trouble himself with underwear. That sartorial preference had its advantages now, though, as Mac was granted immediate access to his prize.

Methos' cock was long and refined like the rest of his body. It was also fully hard and already slick with moisture as Duncan took possession of it. Mac wrapped his strong, calloused fingers around the smooth length of the shaft and pulled experimentally. Methos moaned in response, his hips thrusting up from the couch.

"Mac, please...!" he begged, his voice husky with desire. A moment later his tone turned to irritation as Duncan paused, then released him. "Damn you, MacLeod!" Methos hissed as Mac raised his heavy brows questioningly.

"What do you want, Methos?" Duncan asked innocently, his dark eyes glittering playfully. He sat back on his heels between Methos' spread thighs and waited.

"You know damned well what I want! Do I really have to spell it out?" Methos groaned. He glared balefully at Mac from under lowered eyelashes. He hadn't picked MacLeod as a tease!

"Tell me..." the infuriating man insisted with a provocative smile.

Enough was enough. Methos decided to go one better. Making use of the grip he still had on Duncan's hair the oldest Immortal guided Mac's head firmly down to his groin.

"Surprise me," Methos murmured wryly.

The hot flesh brushed Mac's cheek and he rubbed against it like a playful cat. The rough caress of Duncan's stubbled skin along the length of his cock felt wonderful, but still wasn't enough for Methos. He thrust against Mac blindly, needing more.

Mac relented, abandoning his games at the obvious urgency in Methos' movements. He turned his head and placed a soothing kiss on the tip of Methos' cock, licking away the gathering dampness there as he did so. The gesture drew a groan of pleasure from the old Immortal. Pleased with the response Duncan slid the fingers of one hand around Methos' shaft and began to pump steadily, matching his rhythm to the thrusts of Methos' hips. The other hand wandered across the smooth planes of his partner's chest and stomach, gently caressing. Finally, Duncan's fingertips settled on the small, tight nipples, pinching and stroking.

After that it wasn't long before Methos gave a cry of warning and then exploded into orgasm. The dark head fell back against the couch, exposing the long, smooth throat to Duncan's gaze. It was, Mac realised, an indication of the other Immortal's utter trust in him. Methos could not have put himself in a more vulnerable position. Deeply moved by the gesture Mac stretched up and rained kisses on the fair, sweat-slicked skin as Methos shuddered out his completion under him.

Duncan released Methos' softening cock and sat back, watching the oldest Immortal slowly recover. Finally Methos stretched luxuriously and tilted his head forward to look at Duncan. When the hazel eyes settled on him Mac smiled affectionately.

"Worth waiting for?" he asked softly.

"Mmm, definitely," Methos drawled lazily. A joyful laugh bubbled up and escaped him. "What am I saying? If I hadn't waited I could have been enjoying evenings like this for months! Damn you, Duncan MacLeod, you're quite amazing!"

"Really?" Mac felt suddenly, unaccountably shy. This unexpected change in his friendship with Methos was going to take some getting used to. Not that he regretted it for a moment.

"Really." Methos held out a hand. "Come here and I'll prove it to you."

Duncan let his broad, swordsman's hands be captured between Methos' own more slender palms. Methos drew them up to his mouth and spent long moments kissing Mac's wide palms and blunt fingers. Duncan let his eyes drift shut, better to appreciate the experience with his other senses.

Methos smiled at the sight of the proud Scot kneeling at his feet with his head bowed. He let his roving gaze feast on Duncan's undeniable charms. The dark, wavy hair hung loose about Duncan's shoulders like a silken curtain. The muscular torso gleamed golden, limned with a faint sheen of sweat and the taut nipples peeked out from the soft hair which covered Mac's chest.

Hungrily Methos' eyes trailed lower, over the flat stomach and down to the strong thighs. Rising from a nest of dark curls at Duncan's groin was Mac's sturdy cock. Not quite so long as Methos' own, but definitely thicker, the sight of it brought renewed interest from the oldest Immortal.

It was tempting to consider taking that hard flesh into his mouth and milking the pleasure from Duncan that way, but Methos decided instead on something a little more mutual. He tightened his grip on Duncan's wrists and pulled until Mac was half lying across him.

"Couch, now!" Methos whispered in Duncan's ear.

Duncan saw no reason to disobey and slid up to lie close against Methos' side. The oldest Immortal wrapped his arms tightly around Mac and used his body weight to roll them over. They wound up with Duncan underneath, Methos resting comfortably on top of him.

"Much better," grinned Methos. He bent and kissed Duncan thoroughly, warming the other up nicely. The evidence of Mac's arousal was pressed firmly against Methos' stomach, trapped between their bodies by his weight.

Duncan groaned as Methos shifted position, resting heavily on Mac for a moment. Before he could complain, though, he realised what Methos' manoeuvrings had accomplished. Their erect cocks were now pressed firmly against one another and Methos was perfectly positioned to thrust against the younger Immortal.

Methos tested his positioning and was gratified by the result. His cock slid easily against Duncan's, its movement eased by the slick moisture from his earlier climax. Perfect! With lithe grace Methos began to undulate his hips in earnest.

With a low moan Duncan began to move himself. It only took a few thrusts for him to match his rhythm to Methos and then they were working together for each other's pleasure. Methos still had hold of Duncan's wrists and Mac found he liked the feeling of being possessed that the firm grip, together with the sensation of the warm body covering his own, gave him.

They were both aroused enough for the climb to the peak to be accomplished in a shamefully short space of time. Mac found his release first, tumbling over the edge into a haze of pleasure. He cried out, spilling creamy fluid over skin already damp with sweat. Aftershocks were still trembling through Mac as Methos bent and captured the willing mouth with his own.

Methos devoured the pliant lips, savouring Duncan's sweet taste until his own climax swept over him. Mac worked his hands free of Methos' grasp and reached out to pull the other Immortal more firmly against him as Methos pumped out his own seed. As the intensity of the moment faded Methos' arms gave out and he collapsed bonelessly onto Duncan's warm body.

Sticky, exhausted, but perfectly satiated the two Immortals curled up together and enjoyed the simple pleasure of one another's company.

"Happy?" Duncan asked when they were both somewhat recovered. He knew it was a cliche to ask, but he needed the reassurance that the old man wasn't having second thoughts.

"Mmm hm," Methos agreed lazily. "You?"

"Yeah." Duncan smiled, his eyes bright. "Definitely worth waiting for."

"Worth doing again some time?" Methos asked, just a shade too casually.

"Oh yeah, there are a few more possibilities I want to try..." Duncan grinned as Methos eyed him thoughtfully.

"Now?" Methos suggested hopefully, his hands wandering encouragingly.

"No!" Duncan swatted the long fingers away, laughing at Methos' crestfallen expression. "I need my beauty sleep." Methos considered this and then nodded sagely.

"Yeah, I can understand that," he agreed innocently. Duncan harrumphed loudly but still burrowed closer into the older Immortal's embrace. "Morning then," Methos suggested instead, "first thing."

"Yeah, right," Duncan muttered sceptically. "You and 'first thing' have yet to become acquainted..."

"Are you saying I'm not a morning person, MacLeod?" Methos enquired, offended.

"Uh huh." Duncan's answers were becoming less and less coherent as sleep gradually overtook him.

"Maybe you're right," Methos agreed. He dropped a fond kiss on Duncan's now relaxed lips. A soft snore was Mac's only response. "Tomorrow night it is then. Right after I buy Joe a drink to thank him for his advice, that is."

THE END

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The photos on this page are from Methosluvr's page and are used with grateful thanks.