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 March 2000.
by Karen Colohan
|Duncan MacLeod grinned fiercely as he savoured his victory. It might only have been a spar, but he'd beaten the oldest Immortal fair and square - which was more than could be said for the way Methos had tricked him out of his sword in the first place! Wanting to pay Methos back for the scare he'd given him, Duncan eased the katana a little more firmly against his throat. Then he watched, fascinated, as the old Immortal tilted his head back even further. If he didn't know better Duncan would|
|almost think Methos was encouraging him, daring him to make the blade bite into that pale, enticing skin until rivulets of warm red blood lent it some colour...|
With a start Duncan drew back. What the hell was he thinking? As he looked down he caught the faint flash of disappointment in Methos' hazel eyes before the long eyelashes veiled them. Had Methos wanted to feel the cold edge of the katana's blade against his neck?
With a sudden rush of memory Duncan realised it wouldn't be the first time. He abruptly recalled the damp, misty tunnels in Paris and Methos very precisely catching hold of his hand to place the sword against his own neck, offering Duncan his head and his Quickening. It also occurred to the Highlander that he had seen a similarly strange expression on the old Immortal's face then - half fear, half... something else. And it was that unidentified emotion which piqued Duncan's curiosity now.
Methos' eyes had been sparkling, alive with something far removed from his usual cynicism, throughout their spar. Then, in defeat, he had almost seemed to be leaning in to the blade's sharp edge. The muscles in his throat had worked as he swallowed - as if his mouth were dry with... anticipation? Duncan blinked in surprise. Given the circumstances of their fight this time he could surely rule out fear as a factor - Methos had to know his head was safe. So was it possible that Methos was actually getting turned on by having Duncan's sword at his throat?
Testing his theory Duncan looked down at the old Immortal, seeking the tell-tale signs. Methos had sunk down onto his knees after Duncan had pulled away and the katana he had appropriated from the Highlander now lay beside him on the wooden floor. He was still breathing deeply, but that was easily explained away by the exertion of their sparring. What did catch Duncan's eye, though, was the taut denim at Methos' crotch. The tight jeans were clearly now tighter still, barely accommodating the swell of Methos' cock.
So, the old man was turned on by danger - not an uncommon reaction, Duncan knew, but specifically, it seemed, Methos enjoyed the feel of cold steel against his throat. Well, it was fair to say that the neck was an Immortal's most sensitive spot as well as the most vulnerable, Duncan thought; so was it unreasonable to assume that it could also be an erogenous zone?
Duncan continued watching Methos - whose eyes were tightly closed, leaving him unaware of the Highlander's scrutiny - fascinated by this unexpected insight into his personality. At the same time Duncan felt a stirring from his own cock and he was abruptly grateful for the loose trousers he was wearing. What would Methos think if he knew that Duncan was aroused by this stolen glimpse into the old Immortal's sexuality? For that matter, what did Duncan himself think?
Again his eyes swept the slender figure kneeling before him. If he were totally honest with himself Duncan knew that he'd been attracted to the enigmatic Immortal since their first meeting. To have Methos turn up unannounced on his doorstep had been a guilty pleasure, to have him staying at the loft even more so. But this? What if the attraction went both ways? Would he ever be able to forgive himself if he let this golden opportunity slip away without even trying to find out? The ache at his groin told Duncan he wouldn't. There was an undeniable thrill to the idea of having the oldest Immortal kneeling at his feet, willingly offering up his throat to the kiss of Duncan's katana...
His decision made, Duncan silently raised his sword again. Slowly he brought it down until just the very edge of the blade rested against the soft skin of Methos' pale throat. The reaction was instantaneous. The old Immortal's eyes flew open, the expression in them startled and disbelieving.
"MacLeod?" Methos whispered hoarsely. He was clearly unsure exactly what was going on in Duncan's mind.
"I thought this was what you wanted," Duncan replied, his voice rough.
He fought to remain calm while his body and mind screamed at him, asking if he knew what the hell he was doing. The one thing he did know was that he had to appear confident and in control if this was going to work. If Methos sensed how much this was affecting him - how out of control he felt - he'd never take it seriously. And, abruptly, Duncan realised he had never been more serious about anything in his life. He wanted to do this, for Methos... and for the promise of what else they might have together once this first step had been taken.
"Do you know what you're offering, Mac?" Methos asked, as his sharp gaze pinned the Highlander.
"Yes." Duncan drew himself up to his full height, the katana never wavering. He looked every inch the warrior as he returned the old Immortal's stare, his dark eyes as steady as his sword.
To Duncan's surprise Methos smiled.
"Oh, MacLeod, somehow I always manage to underestimate you..." Methos tilted his head back. The move exposed his neck fully as Methos very deliberately offered its pale length to the Highlander. "So, now that you have me, what exactly do you plan on doing with me?"
Duncan watched as Methos again closed his eyes. It was a clear acceptance of whatever the Highlander might chose to do to him. It was also an expression of Methos' absolute trust in him. That realisation sent a thrill of delight through Duncan. His already swollen cock got harder still as Duncan took in the enticing picture the old man made. But Methos' question had been a fair one. Just what did he do now that the old Immortal had given himself over into his hands? Whatever it was going to be, Duncan decided, he didn't want it to happen on the cold wooden floor of the dojo.
"Come upstairs," he coaxed. "Anyone could walk in on us here."
Methos' lips twitched slightly in amusement at this and Duncan realised that the danger of interruption was just another part of the turn on for the old Immortal. Well, that was one thrill Methos would have to do without as far as Duncan was concerned. He preferred his private life to stay that way! Duncan lowered his sword and reached down to tug at Methos' arm until eventually the other Immortal conceded defeat and got to his feet.
"You take the fun out of everything," grumbled Methos, though the complaint sounded good-natured enough.
"I still have to live here, even after you've gone back to Paris," Duncan reminded him. "I think we should confine this kind of swordplay to the loft."
"I suppose so," conceded Methos, "but it does rather take the spontaneity out of the whole thing."
"Trust me, Methos, this is all still quite enough of a surprise for me!" admitted Duncan with a wry smile.
"Not a bad one, though, I hope?" asked Methos, a shade too casually.
"Oh no!" Duncan was quick to reassure him. He didn't want Methos to find an excuse to back out of this now. If he did, Duncan was sure he'd never find the courage to broach the subject again.
"Good, it's about time someone broadened your horizons," grinned Methos as he sauntered across the floor of the dojo.
The two Immortals entered the lift and Duncan pulled the gate down behind them with a metallic clang. The car slowly lurched upwards and they both remained silent until they were back in the loft and Duncan had locked the lift to ensure their privacy.
Methos strolled casually along the length of the loft until he came to Duncan's bed. Then he dropped to his knees at the foot of it in a controlled, graceful motion. Looking back towards Duncan - who seemed to have been rooted to the spot - the old Immortal smiled seductively. "Now, where were we?" he purred.
Duncan felt the rich, deep voice wrap around his cock like a physical touch. He was suddenly so hard he could barely walk the few feet required to bring him within reach of Methos. The old Immortal watched his approach with a knowing expression and Duncan was quite sure he was all too aware of exactly the effect he was having on him. His only consolation was that his loose workout clothing denied Methos the visual evidence of it.
Finally Duncan was close enough to the kneeling Immortal. Methos was looking up at him, once again baring that perfect, pale throat to his gaze. Duncan leaned in close, looming over Methos. With a quick, decisive gesture he raised the katana, laying the sharp edge of the blade just below Methos' Adam's apple. The old Immortal's soft sigh of pleasure was clearly audible to him. With a little more daring Duncan pressed the sword against Methos' skin a fraction more firmly. The sigh became a moan and the other Immortal leaned in to the deadly touch still further. It was enough to cause the blade to bite into his vulnerable neck, just barely. As Duncan saw the faint line of red which bloomed across Methos' throat he began to pull away guiltily. The old Immortal's voice stopped him, though.
"Don't you dare," whispered Methos. "Christ, MacLeod, will you just kiss me!" he added more forcefully as Duncan hesitated.
When Duncan still held back Methos reached up in frustration. He grabbed two solid handfuls of Duncan's dark hair, which was already escaping from its clasp. With his grip secure Methos hauled Duncan's face down close to his own.
"I mean now!" he hissed. Then Methos closed the remaining distance between them, his lips finding Duncan's in a first, heated kiss.
What little ability Duncan had retained for rational thought deserted him in an instant. His whole universe narrowed down to the soft, moist lips which were so thoroughly devouring his own mouth. His fingers lost their grip on the katana and it clattered to the floor, instantly forgotten. Instead, Duncan's hands sought out Methos' broad shoulders so that he could urge the old Immortal to his feet. When Methos obeyed, Duncan pressed against him, wrapping the other man in a fierce embrace.
Methos responded hungrily as he found himself nose to nose and swollen cock to equally swollen cock with the Highlander. Methos' tongue forced its way eagerly past Duncan's lips, hastening to explore the sweet, moist interior of his mouth thoroughly. Duncan's tongue tangled with his and they duelled for dominance in the breathless intensity of the kiss. Methos nipped at Duncan's full lips as he pulled back just long enough to draw breath. Then he dove in again, eager for more of the Highlander's mouth.
Duncan was a little startled as Methos moved effortlessly from seeming submission to unquestionable control. He had to admit, though, that the old Immortal's easy possession of his mouth was a delightful experience. But Duncan was ready for more. He let his hands slide from Methos' shoulders down the lean planes of his back to his narrow waist. Methos still seemed intent on kissing Duncan senseless so the Highlander was able to insinuate his hands under Methos' heavy cream sweater unimpeded. His palms glided over warm, smooth skin. Methos tensed against him, but did not protest as Duncan explored. Calloused fingers traced the line of Methos' ribs, their roughness causing a pleasing friction. Finally they slid up and around to find the two taut peaks of the old Immortal's nipples.
Then Methos did react. He groaned as the tight nubs of flesh were first pinched and then lightly grazed with the sharp edges of Duncan's fingernails. As Duncan squeezed them harder - the sudden, bright stab of pain bringing its own pleasure - Methos bucked his hips against the Highlander's. The contact of cock on cock, even through layers of material, was enough to steal his breath away. Methos tore his mouth from Duncan's, gasping in air.
"Jesus, MacLeod," he protested, when he could manage to speak again. "Where did you learn to do that? I didn't think this kind of thing was in your repertoire."
"I'm 400 years old, Methos; I've not led that sheltered a life!" Duncan grinned. "And I have bedded men before."
"Well, well, I wonder how that little detail got omitted from your Chronicles?" said Methos dryly.
"Are you disappointed? I didn't know it was a virgin you were after," snorted Duncan.
"Somehow I can't quite see you as the blushing virgin, Mac," replied Methos with a wry grin. He measured the expression in Duncan's dark eyes and noted the dilated pupils with a broadening of his smile. "So, with all this experience at your command are you sure you can't find something better to do with that mouth of yours than talk?"
"Do ye want me to kiss ye then?" breathed Duncan, deliberately misinterpreting Methos' words.
"Later," said Methos equably. He ground his hips against Duncan's in a slow, seductive tease. "Does this give you any other ideas?"
Slowly Duncan trailed his hands down Methos' chest, pausing briefly at his stomach to dip into the shallow indentation of his navel with one lazy fingertip. Methos tensed at the ticklish sensation and Duncan let his hands slide still further down. His palms ghosted over tight, faded denim, finally cupping the firm bulge at Methos' groin.
"Was this maybe what ye had in mind?" Duncan asked, his voice still resonant with the soft Scots burr.
"Oh yes. I think that is exactly what I had in mind," agreed Methos. His eyes closed in contentment as Duncan caressed his swollen cock through the fabric of his jeans.
Without another word Duncan let his fingers find the catch and zipper of Methos' jeans and slowly undid them. He felt the soft exhalation of Methos' breath against his cheek as the pressure was finally relieved. Carefully, Duncan pushed the heavy fabric down the old Immortal's hips. The silky boxers Methos wore underneath followed. Gravity did the rest and Methos quickly stepped out of the heap of fabric which pooled around his ankles. Then Duncan urged him backwards until Methos fetched up against the end of the bed. As it seemed to be what Duncan wanted Methos sat down and waited.
For a long moment Duncan simply stood and admired the view. The old Immortal was now naked from the waist down; his sturdy cock, swollen and damp with pre-come, seemed to beckon to Duncan. It urged him to come closer, to touch and taste... The temptation was too much and Duncan dropped to his knees between Methos' spread thighs. He ran his hands slowly up the long, finely muscled legs, delighting in the feel of soft skin and rough hair against his palms. The insides of the strong thighs were the softest and smoothest of all and Duncan leaned in to kiss the warm skin gently.
Methos moaned as the too gentle kisses were bestowed upon him, slowly getting closer to where he wanted to feel Duncan's lips. A louder cry was torn from him when Duncan carefully nuzzled at his balls, licking and sucking at the tender flesh. Then, finally, a hot, wet tongue painted a moist trail up the underside of his cock and Methos almost came on the spot. But Duncan's fingers wrapped carefully around the base of his cock, pulling him back from the brink.
The pressure was maintained as Duncan slowly licked the head of Methos' cock, sliding back the foreskin to sample the sticky moisture which had gathered there. The old Immortal squeezed his eyes tight shut, concentrating on the heat and the wetness that lapped at his tormented cock. It was glorious and excruciating all at once. Duncan knew exactly how to tease him and Methos wondered how he'd managed to miss out on this side of the Highlander's nature before. It was certainly a revelation.
Duncan could feel how close to the edge Methos was, but tasting him and savouring his responses so intimately was addictive and the Highlander didn't want it to be over so soon. The scent of Methos' arousal surrounded him, fuelling his own need for release. Duncan dropped a hand to his crotch where he could feel the heat and the dampness of his own erection through his loose workout trousers. He fondled himself for a few moments, enjoying the delicious ache as his cock swelled, but if he brought himself off Duncan knew he would be missing out. He wanted to sample Methos' skills and so, reluctantly, he drew his hand away.
To distract himself Duncan turned his full attention back to the treasure in front of him. Methos' cock was reddened and swollen and simply begging to be devoured - so Duncan did just that. He lowered his mouth over the heated length, closing his lips around the shaft. The head nudged the back of his throat and he swallowed against it. The bittersweet flavour of the old Immortal's pre-come flooded Duncan's mouth and he sucked firmly, greedy for more of it.
The added stimulus was too much for Methos. His hips bucked up off the bed. The reflexive movements threatened to choke Duncan until the Highlander laid steadying hands on him. Methos threaded his fingers deep into the dark strands of Duncan's hair and held on tight as his climax finally swept over him. He rode the waves of pleasure as he spilled into Duncan's mouth. Methos felt the Highlander's throat work as he swallowed the salty fluid without hesitation. The intensity of the sensations slowly abated and Methos slumped back onto the bed, propped up on his elbows. He watched the dark head still bent over his groin, diligently lapping at his lax cock until every last drop of come had been retrieved.
Only then did Duncan sit back on his heels and look at the sated figure of the oldest Immortal. A smug smile tugged at his lips as he took in Methos' flushed skin and dishevelled appearance. The other Immortal's hair was sweat-damp and plastered sleekly to his skull and the cream sweater was rucked up around Methos' midriff.
With a smile of his own Methos sat up, reaching out to capture a stray smear of come from the corner of Duncan's full lips. Absently Methos brought his long fingers to his own mouth and licked it off.
"You have hidden talents, Highlander," Methos observed lazily. He sounded thoroughly content.
"I'm glad ye think so," replied Duncan, his eyes following the movement of Methos' agile fingers avidly. He had plans for those fingers, and he hoped Methos would be in total agreement with them.
In pursuit of that goal Duncan eased himself up off his knees and sat on the end of the bed next to Methos. He reached across and caught hold of one of the old Immortal's hands. Duncan brought it to his lips and slowly kissed each of the long fingers in turn. Every one of those kisses was a seduction in itself and Duncan felt Methos shiver. Then Duncan drew the hand down to his groin and rested the palm over the swollen length of his cock. Duncan's deep brown eyes met the bright gold-green of Methos' gaze, begging mutely.
The agile fingers plucked at the damp, slippery material. Methos could feel the heat and the hardness under the thin fabric. As he stroked it slowly Duncan whimpered softly, clearly wanting more. Methos smiled, deciding he rather liked the sound of the small, helpless noises the Highlander was making. Methos found the tie at the waist of Duncan's loose trousers and quickly undid it. He slid his hand inside the opening and pressed his palm against Duncan's cock, which was still trapped in the tight prison of Duncan's briefs. The Highlander moaned again at the touch.
Methos withdrew his hand, ignoring Duncan's instant protest. "Hush," he murmured. "Soon... just lie back and let me look at you."
After a moment's hesitation Duncan followed Methos' urging and scooted back up the bed. When he looked at the old Immortal again he found that Methos had finally stripped off the cream sweater. The pale, well-muscled chest and shoulders were a revelation. Methos looked nothing like the harmless grad student Adam Pierson was supposed to be without the camouflage of his baggy, concealing clothing. Duncan drew in a long breath as he admired the oldest Immortal and realised just how much he had under- estimated him before. Methos might, as he claimed, be out of practice with a sword, but it was clear he had strength to rival Duncan's own. That thought added new fire to Duncan's arousal. What an enticing prospect - to be possessed by an equal... Another small, helpless moan escaped the Highlander.
Methos leaned over him, brushing Duncan's lips softly with his own. Duncan tried to deepen the kiss, but Methos resisted. Instead he set about undressing the Highlander. The loose blue tunic was easy to unbelt and pull out of the way. The strong, lightly furred chest it revealed occupied Methos' attention for several minutes. The tanned skin was sheened with sweat and Methos traced the contours of Duncan's muscles with his tongue, savouring the flavour. The dark nipples merited special attention. Methos sucked on them until they were taut, firm peaks. The salt taste was stronger on the darker, pebbled flesh and Methos returned to them again and again. He licked and bit them until Duncan was writhing helplessly under him and begging for more.
With a smile Methos obliged. His lips trailed kisses down Duncan's flat belly. Methos paused to dip his tongue into Duncan's navel, hinting at other pleasures to come. He moved on quickly, though. When Methos' path was obstructed by fabric he shifted position until he could pull both trousers and briefs down the Highlander's strong legs, freeing him at last.
Duncan groaned with relief as his swollen cock was released from the constraining fabric. The cool air of the loft seemed to caress his heated skin and then something far more tangible was touching him. Methos had settled himself between Duncan's thighs and one of his hands was now wrapped firmly around Duncan's cock.
"Methos, please," Duncan begged. "I want you inside me - now!"
The dark, tousled head jerked up in surprise. That certainly wasn't what Methos had expected Duncan to ask for.
"Are you sure?" he asked breathlessly.
"Absolutely." Duncan's soft brown eyes fixed on Methos steadily.
Blinking rapidly Methos ducked his head again. Duncan had made it clear earlier he was no stranger to this kind of loving, but Methos wondered how long it had been since he'd last taken another man into his body. The scent of Duncan's arousal and the promise of his submission were already beginning to conspire to bring Methos to readiness again. In the meantime... Methos carefully pushed Duncan's legs up and further apart, baring the Highlander's opening to his gaze. Leaning in Methos slowly began to lick a moist trail from Duncan's balls back to the tight ring of muscle.
Duncan gasped and gripped the sheets fiercely as the old Immortal's wet tongue began to probe him delicately. Duncan held on to the last vestiges of his control as his opening was teased with long, slow strokes of Methos' tongue. But when the moist tip finally breached him it was too much. With a desperate cry Duncan came violently.
Apparently unfazed by Duncan's reaction Methos continued with his leisurely tongue-fucking as the Highlander shuddered out his completion. Only when Duncan slumped bonelessly onto the bed, spent, did Methos draw back. He kissed the insides of Duncan's trembling thighs softly, easing the tense muscles. Then he bent over Duncan's stomach and carefully licked up the spilled evidence of the Highlander's climax. Only when he was sure Duncan's skin was quite clean did Methos settle back, moving to sit cross-legged at his side. Methos watched the expressions which flitted over the handsome face in silence.
"Christ, Methos," muttered Duncan, "that wasn't exactly what I had in mind."
"But?" Methos prompted, a slight smile curving his lips.
"But it was pretty damn spectacular all the same," admitted Duncan with an answering grin. "I'd forgotten how much I like that."
"You were too close for anything more," said Methos, but he looked pleased with Duncan's response. "Still, next time..."
"Will there be a next time?" asked Duncan quickly.
Methos' steady gaze held his for a long moment. When he spoke there was a note of uncertainty in his voice. "I hope so..." he said quietly.
"Good." Duncan nodded, looking pleased. "I...."
Before Duncan could continue with whatever he'd been about to say both he and Methos froze as a wave of Immortal presence washed over them. An instant later there was a loud banging on the outer door to the loft.
"Hey, Mac, are you all right in there?" an anxious voice called. "The elevator's locked, is everything OK?"
"Oh shit, it's Richie," muttered Duncan. He glanced across at Methos, who looked nothing if not amused. "See, I told you we needed to take this upstairs. Can you imagine if he'd walked in on us like this in the dojo!"
"I'm sure it would have broadened his horizons considerably too," replied Methos, his grin unrepentant.
"It's not funny!" protested Duncan. "Now just get dressed, Adam, quickly!!"
"Why? Are you afraid Richie might feel compelled to defend your virtue if he were to catch you in bed with me? I hate to tell you this, Mac, but he'd be a few centuries too late for that." Methos' smirk was distinctly smug.
"Dammit, Methos, there are times when I really hate you!" groaned Duncan.
Methos laughed. "You take the fun out of everything, MacLeod. All right, I suppose I ought to meet Richie - considering that I'm here trying to save his neck. Do you think he'll approve of me?"
"Probably not, he has taste," muttered Duncan dryly.
Methos grinned even more broadly. He picked up his scattered clothing and headed in the direction of the bathroom to get dressed.
"I hope the kid's sense of smell isn't very good," Methos tossed back over his shoulder as he paused at the bathroom door.
"What?" Duncan frowned at the apparent non sequitur.
"You smell like you've been in heat for a week, Mac," Methos informed him as he closed the door firmly behind him.
Duncan put his head in his hands and groaned loudly. Oh well, Richie would doubtless have figured it out soon enough anyway. Duncan grabbed his clothes and began to struggle into them. If Methos stuck around life was certainly going to be interesting, Duncan decided - and realised that he was looking forward to the challenge of it immensely!
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