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 April 2001.
touch my skin and tell me what you're thinking take my hand and show me where we're going lie down next to me look into my eyes and tell me oh tell me what you're seeing - "Take my hand" Dido
Truthfully, he hadn't intended to do it. He hadn't meant to notice that Methos had left the bathroom door open, just a crack, when he went inside.
Just going to take a nice long bath to soothe the aches from these poor old bones, he'd said.
Duncan had laughed right along with the other Immortal, teasing him about being so unfit. It had been a tough workout, though, both of them at full stretch. In the end, the spar had left them sweaty and exhausted. Of course, being the good host that he was, Duncan had let Methos have first use of the bathroom to clean up.
While he waited for his turn, Duncan had puttered around the loft, drinking several glasses of water and dabbing at his sweaty face with the damp towel wrapped around his shoulders. Methos seemed to be taking a very long time and Duncan had cast a wistful glance in the direction of the bathroom. He couldn't help wondering if there'd be any hot water left by the time he got a shot at the shower. And that was when he'd noticed it - the slightly open door.
Once he'd seen it, he didn't mean to walk any closer to that tiny window of opportunity. Nor did he deliberately choose his angle of approach so that he would be able to see the occupant of the room whilst remaining unobserved himself. Not really, it just worked out that way... Consequently, Duncan found himself standing just outside, tentatively peeking into the steamy interior of his own bathroom.
Methos had indeed opted to make use of the large tub, rather than the more prosaic shower. And he'd clearly raided Duncan's store of bath oils as well. Now he appeared very much at home, lying back in a sea of herbal scented bubbles and looking for all the world as if he were asleep.
Shocked by this bout of blatant voyeurism, Duncan was on the verge of turning and creeping away. Before he could retreat, though, Methos moved. He sat up and soft, white foam streamed down his pale, perfectly muscled torso. Duncan stood, transfixed, as the old Immortal reached for a sponge and loaded it with more of the creamy lather.
With evident pleasure, Methos began to move the sponge over his body. First he stretched out one arm, drawing the bubbles all the way down it from his shoulder to the very tips of his fingers. Then he reversed course, the sponge travelling all the way back along the underside of his arm. When he was done he repeated the process on the other side. Next he bathed his chest, using firm, circular strokes. The water darkened the few silky strands of hair that adorned his otherwise perfectly smooth skin, drawing the eye towards his small, rosy nipples.
And Duncan couldn't help noticing that Methos seemed to pay especial attention to the area around those taut nipples. His strokes slowed, becoming almost sensual in their intent. Duncan had to bite his bottom lip hard to prevent himself from making a sound at the enticing sight. And then he noticed the heaviness at his groin, the first stirrings of an erection.
His face flushed, whether from shame or the heat of arousal he wasn't sure. He knew he should move, turn away from that delicious vision. It was a gross invasion of Methos' privacy. What would he say if he realised that Duncan was furtively watching him bathe - and getting thoroughly turned on by the sight? Duncan could almost hear the acidic comments - outrage and disgust tempered by sarcastic humour at his expense. He didn't need to be told that he was being a fool; he knew.
He didn't mean to stay exactly where he was. His intentions were good, but he couldn't drag his eyes away from the display in front of them.
Methos had dipped his sponge into the water again. When he brought it back into view it was trailing a shower of bubbles in its wake that landed in small patches of white on his skin. Disregarding them, he stretched out one long, strong leg and began to move the sponge slowly down its length. He flexed and relaxed his foot as he worked, apparently trying to ease a cramp out of it. Then he bent his knee so that the bubbles could do their work, cleansing the long toes and the elegant arch.
By the time Methos began to repeat the treatment with his other leg, Duncan was fully hard. Any thoughts he'd had about walking away were abandoned. He wanted - needed - to watch. All his long-buried desires for Methos were suddenly and shockingly brought to the surface by this stolen moment of false intimacy.
Knowing it was wrong wasn't enough to make him give up this precious treasure. Before he could think better of it - or let his conscience have a say in the matter - Duncan had loosened the cord on his sweatpants and thrust his hand into them, burrowing inside his briefs as well to touch his needy cock. It was hot and hard and filled his palm satisfyingly as he began a slow, steady stroking.
Methos, meanwhile, seemed to have finished washing himself as he lay back in the bath once more, his eyes closed. But then the sponge again reappeared from under the water, returning to circle the oldest Immortal's nipples for a slow, torturous moment before trailing down his torso to dip back out of sight under the layer of bubbles which covered his hips. The leisurely process was repeated several times.
It was unbelievably erotic - the motions of Duncan's hand speeded up appreciably in response - but didn't seem to be serving any particular purpose. At least, it didn't until Methos shifted slightly and the layer of foam which had covered him began to drift away. Then Duncan was able to see what had been invisible to him before.
Methos' hands had been busy under the cover of the bubbles. One was wrapped tightly around his cock - which was every bit as erect as Duncan's own - stroking firmly up and down its length. The other hand was also playing its part. On each downward sweep the lathered sponge was teasing the swollen tip and then gliding down to swirl over Methos' balls before disappearing even deeper.
Swallowing hard, Duncan stared at the picture of sensuality arrayed so temptingly in front of him. Methos was lying in his bath masturbating... and he was standing here watching him do it. The whole concept was enough to melt Duncan's brain into a useless mass of lust-fogged goo. He tightened his grip on his own cock, pulling and stroking until he was ready to explode. Not yet, though, not until Methos...
He didn't have long to wait.
From the writhing and twisting of Methos' body it was clear that he was just as close to the edge. Finally, he arched back, his head lolling against the edge of the bath. His face contorted as his orgasm swept over him. He was biting his lower lip savagely to hold back any sound as his cock pulsed in his hand and spurts of white fluid spilled over and landed on his stomach.
His dark gaze remaining fixed on Methos, Duncan gave in to his own pleasure. His hand urged his cock to give up its hot cream. It flowed over his fingers and was absorbed by his already damp sweatpants. Heat continued to flash through him, both from the almost overwhelming pleasure of his climax and from the rebirth of shame at what he'd just done.
How could he have stood like a voyeur and watched Methos in such a private and vulnerable moment? Oh, but it had felt so very good. And Methos had looked so beautiful... unguarded, erotic, utterly desirable.
The intensity was leaving him and his body sagged against the doorpost, wrung out. Glancing back into the bathroom, Duncan saw that Methos was equally languid. There was a dreamy expression on his face as he lazily cleaned the evidence of his orgasm off his stomach with the still soapy sponge.
The silence had been so all-encompassing that Duncan started in shock when it was finally broken.
"Are you going to stand out there all day, or are you going to come in and get cleaned up?" asked Methos, his voice low and warm. There was also a rich undercurrent of humour. "I'm guessing that you need to as much as I do. So, was it good for you too...?"
Duncan froze. "Methos..." he began hoarsely.
"Don't you dare bloody well apologise," interrupted Methos. "I've had enough of broody Scots and guilt to last me several lifetimes. You jerked off watching me jerk off - get over it. Better yet, enjoy it! Say a few Hail Marys if you must." In spite of the words his voice was too sleepy for real ire.
"You knew?" complained Duncan, choosing to ignore the snide comments - for now, at least. He finally found the courage to push the bathroom door open and step inside.
Methos was watching him, his green/gold eyes heavy-lidded with remembered pleasure. With the perfect smoothness of his pale limbs he looked like a debauched angel - the damp spikes of his hair crowning him with a dark halo.
"Of course I knew. I wouldn't have survived for 5,000 years if I couldn't tell when someone was loitering with intent outside my door."
"Then why didn't you say anything? You could have stopped it at any time..." Duncan frowned, his brown eyes reflecting confusion.
"Who says I wanted it to stop?" Methos smiled.
It was inviting and sensual and Duncan thought his heart would explode - if his cock didn't beat it to the punch. "You wanted me to see you?"
"I've been wanting you to see me - really see me - for years, Duncan." Methos' voice curled around him like warm velvet. "And now you have..."
"Christ, Methos... couldn't you have found a more - direct way of getting my attention?" Duncan growled.
"And how, exactly, would you have responded if I'd walked up to you and said... oh, I don't know, something like - care to go to bed with me, I really want to fuck you?" snorted Methos. He sat up, shedding water and bubbles from his torso. "This water's cold."
Duncan eyed the enigmatic Immortal warily. "Did you? Want to fuck me, I mean."
"Always, Duncan," replied Methos with a sad smile. "Always..."
Straightening, Duncan walked over to the bath, holding out his hand to help Methos rise.
The other Immortal regarded him with faint suspicion for a moment and then accepted the offer. He stood, naked and proud, while Duncan indulged in a leisurely perusal of his pale, water-slick body.
"Do you want to know?" Duncan asked suddenly.
"I'm sorry?" Methos looked puzzled as he stepped out of the bath and reached for a towel.
"Do you want to know how I would have responded - if you'd asked?" Duncan elaborated.
His hand intercepted Methos', catching hold of the slender but strong fingers and lacing his own with them. He crowded in closer, pulling Methos' hand down with his own, sliding both inside the loosened waistband of his sweatpants. Carefully, he pressed Methos' palm against his reawakening cock, revelling in the feel of the clean, damp skin against the stickiness of his own.
Methos looked up, his eyes all wide, dark pupil with just the barest halo of gold-flecked green. He seemed to be having trouble speaking. He swallowed several times, licking his lips in a way that made Duncan's cock surge against the press of his palm. Finally he found his voice.
"Care to go to bed with me, Duncan? I'd really like to fuck you," he whispered huskily.
Duncan's free hand came up to curve against his cheek, broad fingers stroking gently and catching on the roughness of stubble. He leaned in close, his lips ghosting over Methos', just the very tip of his tongue sampling their firmness, their taste.
"I'd love to," he breathed softly. "I was beginning to think you'd never ask..."
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