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 February 2001.
The St. Valentine's Day Massager
by Karen Colohan
Duncan MacLeod pulled up the lift gate and stepped out into the loft, closely followed by Methos. It was clear that they had been arguing. Indeed, Methos was still holding forth at some length, despite Duncan's attempts to placate him.
"What did he fucking think he was trying to do? Recreate the fucking St. Valentine's Day massacre fucking single handedly? Did you see the arsenal he had on him?"
"Oh come on, you're a right one to be talking about concealed weapons, Methos. Now will you just try to calm down. It's over; you took his head, no problem." Duncan sighed. "You need to chill out - I can help. I told you..."
"Dammit, MacLeod, will you stop fucking fussing. I'm fine!" Methos snapped as he paced back and forth across the loft.
"Oh sure - you're wound up like a spring," protested Duncan. "Let me do this for you."
"Are you surprised? I could have had my head taken by some bloody, fucking idiot who..." Methos suddenly came to a dead halt and, with an obvious effort, reined in his anger. He took a deep breath and tried again. "I'm sorry, Mac, but is it any wonder I'm a little stressed out right now? You know I don't like to fight if I can avoid it."
"I know. I'm sorry I wasn't there when he challenged you..." Duncan began.
"Shit, that wasn't a request for you to hold off all comers for me." Methos shook his head. "If I could have walked away I would have, but he threatened to start shooting that bloody thing indiscriminately. Involving innocent bystanders isn't playing fair. I couldn't take the risk."
"I understand. And that has nothing to do with me offering to do this for you," Duncan coaxed. "I've been told I'm very good at it."
Methos looked the Highlander up and down and then gave a wry smile in spite of himself. "Christ, Mac, put 'em away. They ought to be classified as deadly weapons!"
"What? What are you talking about?" Duncan looked honestly puzzled.
"The big soulful eyes you flash at people when you want to get your own way," said Methos accusingly.
"Wha... I do not!" protested Duncan indignantly.
"If you say so, Mac. Anyway, I surrender." Methos raised his hands in a mock gesture of defeat. "A massage does sound like a great idea - if you're sure you don't mind doing it."
"Really, I don't," Mac assured him. "I'd like to, and I think it would do you good. There's a massage table and everything I need down in the dojo's storeroom. I'll go and get it - and towels. You just make yourself comfortable and get out of those wrecked clothes."
"I'll take a quick shower first if that's OK, Mac," said Methos. "I don't find that dried blood on the skin makes for the best massage."
"Be my guest, I won't be long," Duncan called back over his shoulder as he disappeared down the stairs to the storeroom.
Methos wandered distractedly around the loft for a moment before shrugging out of his coat and dropping it over the back of the couch. It landed with an audible clank and he sighed. He hadn't wanted to take a damned Quickening, but the idiot had left him no choice. Putting mortal lives in danger for the purposes of the Game wasn't right - he and Mac both agreed on that. But the Highlander hadn't been there at the crucial moment and the challenge had already been made and accepted by the time he arrived on the scene.
It wasn't that the guy's Quickening was especially powerful or difficult to assimilate, but it had imbued Methos with a restless energy he just couldn't seem to shake off. And, of course, it had also stirred up other kinds of energy in his body that needed to be worked through. That was the real reason he wanted the shower. In truth, he'd barely taken a scratch - though his favourite sweatshirt was now a write-off, he noted irritably. He pulled it off over his head and dropped it on top of his coat. He'd have to raid Mac's wardrobe for a replacement later.
No, it was nothing to do with getting rid of blood from the fight - well, not from the surface of his skin anyway. But if he was going to be stripped down to nothing but boxers in front of Mac he needed to tame the raging erection that was now pressing painfully against the zipper of his jeans. He didn't want Duncan getting the wrong idea...
Well, it was the right idea, actually, but it was never going to be more than a fantasy played out in Methos' mind. Mac wasn't interested in him that way and probably wouldn't be amused if his offer of a simple massage precipitated an unfortunate reaction from him. Methos needed to get under the shower spray and relieve the impulse quickly and efficiently so that he could accept Mac's offer in the spirit it had been made.
Quickly, before Mac came back and found him, sporting a hard on, in the middle of the loft, Methos headed into the bathroom and locked the door. He turned on the water to heat up and then unzipped his jeans. He gave a deep sigh of relief as the pressure on his aching flesh was eased. He slipped a hand inside, touching himself through the flimsy material of his boxers. His erection pulsed and Methos gasped. It wasn't going to take much time to bring himself off at this rate.
Sitting on the closed toilet seat Methos unlaced his boots and pulled them off, along with his socks. Standing up again he slid his jeans down and off. Feeling strangely exposed, though he knew perfectly well that Mac couldn't see him, Methos also slipped out of his boxers, dropping them onto the pile of clothes on the floor.
His erection sprang free, steel-hard, the tip already pushing free of his foreskin. Methos curved a hand around it and gave it a gentle stroke. The resulting rush of sensation was dizzyingly sweet. Gods, he really needed this. Just a couple more strokes and he was close to coming. Methos pulled his hand away. He didn't want to leave the evidence of what he'd been doing all over Mac's pristine bathroom!
Reaching out, he tested the water temperature. It was good and hot. Methos stepped under the hard spray and simply let it rain down on him for long moments. It felt good and he tilted his face up to meet the flow of water. But the ache in his cock wasn't going away, so Methos turned, bracing himself against the tiled wall with one hand. The hot water cascaded down the long planes of his back now and ran lower still to trace a warm trail over his buttocks. Methos shivered at the unwontedly sensual feeling of it.
With his free hand Methos gathered up his cock once more. It filled his palm - hot, hard and so very alive. Methos thanked the Gods, in whom he had no real belief, for his continued survival and for the presence in his life of the most vital - if, at times, infuriating Immortal - he'd known in centuries. Yes, with Duncan MacLeod around he certainly knew he was alive. And for that he was grateful, even if it did mean he had to take the occasional head - just to keep his own intact.
Methos stroked the swollen length of his erection, feeling the foreskin glide over the hard shaft underneath. He had to bite his lip to keep in the moans of pleasure which welled up in his throat. A little harder, just a bit faster and Methos felt the familiar tightening in his balls that foreshadowed his climax. He clamped down ruthlessly on the image of a second, much broader hand covering his own where he grasped his cock. But the warmth of the water running down his back meant he couldn't entirely banish the illusion of another body pressed tightly against his own - hot, silken skin over the hardness of muscle...
With a harsh gasp Methos felt himself convulse. He squeezed his eyes closed, face contorted in a grimace that could have been either pleasure or pain. His hand continued to stroke firmly, pulling the release from his tense body. The milky fluid marred the shiny tiles for just a moment and then was washed away. Methos felt the pleasant glow of his orgasm ebb just as quickly. It was just empty sensation, nothing but a means to an end.
He sighed. He really needed to get laid - and soon. He ought to find himself a willing body to bury himself in, over and over. If the comfort of his own hand palled that fast, he was in trouble... A traitorous voice in his head reminded Methos that there was a warm, beautiful body in the next room that would fit the bill just perfectly.
I said willing! he snarled at the offending voice before clamping down on the too-tempting thought. That was not the way to go if he was going to get through Mac's massage without disgracing himself.
Quickly Methos washed himself, using Mac's soap and shampoo. The urgent desire seemed to have been drained from his body, but Methos was aware of a low-key sensation buzzing along his nerves. This whole massage thing was a monumentally bad idea, he realised with a sigh. He should just get dressed and leave, preferably in search of the aforementioned willing partner.
But what would Mac think if he did that? Methos sighed in defeat. Right or wrong, it mattered to him what Duncan thought of him. And it was just a massage. He was old enough to keep his hormones in check while Mac did his thing. Then he'd leave and go and find that willing body.
Methos turned off the shower and dried himself with one of Mac's big fluffy towels. He scrubbed at his hair until it was almost dry, sticking up in umpteen wayward spikes. Then he slipped his boxers back on and wrapped a dry towel around his waist over the top. Taking a deep breath, he unlocked the bathroom door and stepped out into the loft, followed by a cloud of steam.
Mac looked up with a smile as he appeared and Methos' good intentions almost went out the window in that split second. The Highlander looked good enough to eat, dressed now in dark sweat- shorts and a tight white T-shirt. He was leaning against the massage table, which he'd set up in the space at the foot of his bed.
"You look more relaxed already," he said, sounding pleased. "The shower must have done you good."
If only you knew, thought Methos, suppressing a stray bubble of faintly hysterical laughter. "Yeah, I feel better," he managed to say at last. "You know, I really shouldn't be putting you to all this trouble."
"It's no trouble," Duncan assured him with another smile. "It's the least I can do for a friend."
For a friend... just a friend. Methos sighed inwardly. He really was a sad case. The sooner he found that willing body and made full use of it the better. And he'd better make sure it was a blonde - or a redhead. Definitely no long-haired brunettes, though. He didn't want a Highlander substitute... he just wanted the Highlander.
"Are you ready?"
Duncan's voice sounded right beside him and Methos jumped. Damn, he was getting sloppy - letting someone sneak up on him unnoticed like that, even if it was just Mac.
"Hm? Oh, yeah, I'm ready," Methos agreed. And he was - he could feel his cock stirring in response to Duncan's proximity. He took a deep breath and willed himself to remain calm as he followed Mac over to the table.
"Drop the towel," Duncan instructed, and Methos stared at him blankly.
"I said lose the towel," Duncan repeated. "I can't do this properly while you're all wrapped up like that."
"Sorry, of course you can't," said Methos in as normal a voice as he could manage. "I'm still feeling a little out of it. It must be the Quickening settling. I - er, keep fading out for a second or two."
"That's OK." Duncan nodded understandingly. "Take your time."
Methos took a couple of deep breaths and slowly counted backwards from twenty for good measure as he willed his body back under control. He carefully turned away from Duncan when he finally did let the towel drop, though, and was eternally grateful when Mac didn't instruct him to remove his boxers as well. He quickly eased himself onto the table and rolled onto his stomach. Resting his whole weight on his partially swollen cock wasn't ideal, but it was definitely preferable to the alternative. Methos made himself as comfortable as he could and waited, hearing Mac moving around just out of his line of sight.
"This will probably feel a bit cold at first," Duncan said finally, "but it should warm pretty quickly."
Methos smelt a distinctly herbal scent - obviously the oil Mac was planning on using. It had a clean, refreshing tang to it and Methos breathed in deeply, letting it fill his lungs. He jumped slightly as a cool drizzle of it fell on his skin.
Duncan laughed softly. "I did warn you."
"I know. It just took me by surprise," Methos grumbled. But the cool sensation on his back did at least distract him somewhat from the heavy ache at his groin.
At least, it did until a pair of big, warm hands came to rest lightly on his skin, barely touching. Then every ounce of Methos' awareness became centred on that touch - and the direct path his nerves created from that point on his back straight to his cock, which came instantly to full hardness. Methos groaned and tried to accommodate the swollen flesh pressing against his belly. This was going to be a disaster. Whatever had possessed him to agree to it in the first place?
Duncan didn't seem to notice his discomfort, though. He just began to move his hands, spreading the oil in a widening arc. The touch was sure, but impersonal. The broad sweeps were light to begin with, but became firmer as the oil heated and Methos' pale, smooth skin also became warmer under his hands. He could feel the muscles start to ease under his ministrations and he patted the other Immortal's back encouragingly. Maybe Methos was starting to get into the massage after all.
Long, slow, deep strokes briefly worked Methos' torso like responsive clay, stretching out the tight muscles. Then the strong hands zeroed in on the taut shoulders and neck, kneading firmly. Sharp gasps and indrawn breaths marked the most painful points as Duncan located them, and his fingers lingered there, working out the knots.
In spite of himself, Methos felt his muscles slowly relaxing as the skilled hands passed and repassed over his skin. Mac had been right - he was good at this. But even as his back and shoulders gave up their tension, Methos felt other parts of his body tighten reflexively. And the treacherous voice in the back of his head whispered seductively to him of how good it would feel if the big, warm hands were to slow their passage over his skin - the touch turning sensual instead of merely relaxing.
Methos gritted his teeth and tried to shut out the goading voice. The last thing he needed would be to come while Mac was giving him what he thought was a simple massage - one friend to another.
It didn't help, though, that Mac's hands had moved lower. Now they were kneading Methos' buttocks through his boxers and then gliding down to work on the backs of his thighs. Surely the touch was enough to tempt a saint - and Methos had no pretensions to sainthood. More oil was drizzled over his heated skin and the broad fingers began to dig into the knotted muscles of his calves. Then, finally, Mac went to work on his feet, quickly reducing him to a boneless, quivering heap. If there was one thing Methos had never been able to resist it was a good foot massage and Mac seemed to have an uncanny knack of finding all his most sensitive spots.
Holding in another moan, Methos buried his face in his arms and prayed fervently for control. He was concentrating so hard on not responding to Mac's hands touching him that he didn't consciously register the fact that the Highlander had started on the return journey back up his body. Nor did he really notice the fact that the hands moving over his skin now did so in a much softer fashion - caressing rather than massaging. And, when they reached his buttocks they lingered, tracing the outline of Methos' muscles through the soft fabric of his boxers. All the same, the old Immortal relaxed his guard imperceptibly, releasing a sigh of contentment.
Methos was distantly aware of Duncan moving, his hands sweeping gently up the length of his back to his shoulders. Then they were lifted from his body, apparently signalling the end of the massage. Methos continued to lie quietly where he was, not really having either the energy or the desire to move.
But it seemed that Duncan wasn't done with him yet after all. Suddenly, shockingly, Methos felt a new touch - and this time it wasn't the Highlander's hands on his skin. The soft brush against the sensitive nape of his neck was, without a doubt, the caress of lips.
Duncan had kissed him.
In an instant Methos froze. He didn't dare move a muscle. Was this some kind of twisted joke Mac was playing on him? Or, could it possibly be for real? Before Methos could decide the touch came again, unmistakable - and unbearably arousing.
"MacLeod," he ground out between clenched teeth, "what the hell...?"
Duncan's hand came to rest squarely on Methos' backside - warm even through a layer of material - its intent unquestionable.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice low and husky.
"What's...? Why the hell do you have your hand on my bum, MacLeod?" spluttered Methos, still too shocked for real coherence.
"Why d'you think I do?" Duncan countered softly.
"I have no idea what's going on inside that addled Scots brain of yours at the best of times. And now is not the best of times. Whatever it is, though, think again," hissed Methos.
He was caught between heaven and hell and had no idea which way to turn. Well, one option that came to mind at once was to roll over onto his back so that he could drag Mac down on top of him and let him fuck the living daylights out of him... But this was the real world and even if it sounded like a good place to start this was Duncan MacLeod he was dealing with, so...
Instead, Methos took a deep breath. "Will you kindly remove your hand before I do something we'll both regret," he said with as much dignity as he could muster, given the circumstances.
"I wouldn't regret it," said Duncan softly, but he did remove his hand.
"What did you say?" Methos risked a glance over his shoulder.
Duncan was standing, watching him, his eyes wide and dark, reflecting a definite trace of hurt.
"Methos, I'm not a fool - nor the naive virgin to the ways of men that you seem to think I am," said Duncan firmly. Holding Methos' gaze he very deliberately reached out and replaced his hand on the old Immortal's backside, kneading gently. "I know how this is affecting you. I can smell the arousal on you. Deny it all you like, but..."
"Damn, Mac, I'm sorry. I never intended you to think that what I wanted from this - from you was..." Methos gritted his teeth and tried to ignore his painfully swollen cock. The quick hand job in the shower felt as if it had been centuries ago. "I - you have to stop this now, before I can't."
"No, I don't think I should - not unless you really want me to - and I don't believe you do." Duncan smiled slightly. "I know this wasn't premeditated, Methos, but I also know you need it."
"Mac!" Methos groaned helplessly.
"Do you want me to stop?" Duncan asked, very distinctly.
"No," Methos finally admitted, shaking his head.
"I didn't think so." There was fond amusement in the Highlander's tone. "Here, let's get these out of the way, shall we?"
Duncan's fingers plucked at the waistband of Methos' boxers and he couldn't have stopped himself from lifting his hips away from the table to allow their removal unless, perhaps, his life had depended on it. With a spare motion Duncan pulled the offending garment down Methos' legs and tossed it away.
Once he had Methos completely naked Duncan carefully touched him, urging him to turn over onto his back. There was a brief moment of hesitation, but then Methos complied. Their eyes met and held as Duncan completed his first, eager survey of the old Immortal's body and the long, swollen cock which had been painfully trapped beneath him. Methos' need clearly communicated itself in the changeable eyes and Duncan acknowledged it with a warm smile.
Turning away for just a moment Duncan found the bottle of oil and poured a generous measure of it into his palm. He cupped his other hand over it, warming the viscous liquid between them. A slight smile quirked his full lips as he looked down at Methos again.
"This might be a bit cold..." he warned for the second time that afternoon.
One hand clasped the hard length of Methos' shaft while the other curved around his balls. A sharp gasp escaped him, but it had very little to do with the temperature of the oil. The sure touch of Duncan's hands had Methos on the edge of orgasm almost immediately and he was powerless to control his reaction.
Duncan wasn't about to release him so soon, though. His fingers applied careful pressure to Methos' cock, preventing him from coming. His other hand reached up to caress Methos' cheek soothingly, painting the flushed skin with a film of oil.
"Not quite yet, Methos," murmured Duncan. Then he bent to press his lips to the other Immortal's.
Straining his neck, Methos leaned up into the kiss, opening his mouth against Duncan's and devouring it hungrily. He was kissing him hard enough to bruise the full lips, but the Highlander met him strength for strength, his tongue invading Methos' mouth ruthlessly. Unperturbed, Methos sucked on the slippery flesh, learning the taste of Duncan's mouth and, at the same time, anticipating tasting another part of Duncan's anatomy entirely.
Wanting to advance things a little further, Methos brought his hands up and pulled Duncan off balance so that he fell forward, landing firmly on top of him. He laced his fingers into the thick, silky waves of the Highlander's hair, finally free to touch and caress it. He found the silver clasp holding it back from Duncan's face and tugged it out, letting the dark mane swing forward. The ends tickled against his own cheeks as their mouths continued to mate in that first, gloriously breath-stealing kiss.
A little taken aback to begin with by the sheer hunger of Methos' response, Duncan soon relaxed into the experience. The old man certainly knew how to kiss and his passion was infectious, drawing Duncan along for the ride. And it wasn't just his mouth that seduced the Highlander; the feel of the sinewy body arching up against his own had Duncan's cock swelling inside his, fortuitously, loose sweat-shorts. He would have liked the chance to get himself out of them, so he could be skin to skin with the other Immortal, but Methos didn't seem to plan on letting go of him any time soon.
Almost as an afterthought, Duncan realised his hand was still wrapped firmly around Methos' cock. Carefully he began to stroke it again, the oil allowing his palm to glide easily over the heated skin.
With a groan Methos released his mouth and they both panted harshly for air. Methos tightened his grip on Duncan's hair, keeping him close, their warm breaths mingling. Meanwhile, his other hand slid down to the small of Duncan's back, urging him to move against him.
"Methos, I'm still dressed," he gasped as his hips rocked involuntarily. "Let me..."
"No. I want to make you come," growled Methos hoarsely. "I'm already thinking about just how much fun I can have cleaning you up afterwards."
He licked his lips suggestively and then pressed them briefly against Duncan's. They were gone before the Highlander could deepen the kiss, roaming possessively over his face and neck, tasting the beads of sweat which had gathered there.
This time it was Duncan's turn to groan. The trail of kisses branded wetly across his skin and the sensuous tone of Methos' voice conspired to take him to the edge. It was one of the most erotic experiences he could recall in all his four centuries. But he wasn't going to fall on his own. He was determined to take Methos over with him.
Duncan increased the tempo of his caresses, squeezing Methos' cock firmly on each pass. The old Immortal thrust up hard into the encircling hand and Duncan let his own hips mirror the pace, pressing his erection insistently against Methos' body with each forceful thrust.
But Methos had been closer to coming from the beginning and his climax took him first. His head fell back, exposing his long, pale throat to Duncan's hungry eyes. He leaned down, sucking on the sensitive skin while Methos spent himself, his come soaking the front of Duncan's T-shirt, not that the Highlander cared. Making Methos lose control so spectacularly was worth any amount of extra laundry.
The old Immortal was still shuddering with the aftershocks of pleasure when Duncan followed him into ecstasy, burrowing his face into the curve of Methos' shoulder to smother his cries. Methos pulled the strong body tightly against him, feeling the Highlander's hips thrust hard as he spilled his essence, ruining his sweats in the process as well.
The event should have seemed somehow more - momentous, Methos found himself thinking as Duncan sagged limply against him, his body suddenly a dead weight. After all, he'd been wanting this to happen for long enough. Strangely, though, he actually found himself fighting an almost uncontrollable urge to giggle as an image of the pair of them as randy teenagers who couldn't control their hormones long enough to get undressed popped into his head. He felt giddy with the sheer delight of what had happened between them - the joy of holding Duncan as he came down from his orgasmic high.
When he'd recovered enough of his wits to be able to focus on the grinning countenance below him, Duncan eyed his new lover suspiciously.
"You look pleased with yourself," he mumbled.
"I am... inordinately," agreed Methos smugly. He was unable to suppress the giggle any longer and it bubbled up joyously. "That was gloriously - teenaged... and messy."
"Teenaged?" Duncan arched one heavy brow sceptically.
"Yeah, impetuous - fun... I liked that." Methos kept on grinning.
It was infectious. Duncan felt his own lips curve in a smile. "So did I."
"You want to do it again?" Methos couldn't quite prevent a note of uncertainty from creeping into his voice, but there was eagerness too.
Duncan's smile widened. "Do you know how to give a massage?"
Methos pushed up off the table, dislodging Duncan from his comfortable resting place. His eyes were glittering with renewed desire. "Oh, I've learned a trick or two in my time. When do you want to start?"
Turning around, Duncan retrieved the bottle of oil and held it out to Methos. "How about now?"
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