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 1999.

For Margaret, for giving me an excuse to watch all those Methos episodes again and thus laying the foundation for this! :-) No redeeming features here, pure PWP!!


Methos stuffed clothes haphazardly into a holdall, his earlier good mood totally evaporated. He had been looking forward to another lazy evening on the barge - good food, better beer and maybe a challenging game of chess to round things off - but it seemed there were other things Adam Pierson needed to be doing. Albeit that there was no place else Methos would have preferred to be than here with Duncan MacLeod. Methos sighed.

There was no doubt that being with the Watchers gave him great cover, but there were times when his association with them could be very frustrating. Like now. The phone call informing him that his new boss required his presence to discuss the progress of his research had annoyed Methos considerably. Generally the brass didn't trouble themselves much with the researchers - which suited Methos just fine - their attention tended to be focused on the people who did the 'real' work out in the field. Apparently not so with the latest incumbent of the European co-ordinator's office. Methos was long past the time when he'd had any inclination to justify his existence to anyone else - and that was what this summons felt like.

Belatedly, Methos remembered some of his clothes were in Duncan's laundry hamper and he headed into the bathroom to retrieve them. Methos pulled out a tangle of garments, recognising several as his own. Something else came out with them too and Methos paused. It was Duncan's favourite white sweater. It was somewhat of a favourite of Methos' as well - Duncan always looked especially good in it.

Almost before he realised what he was doing the old Immortal had raised the soft wool to his face, brushing it against his cheek. As he did so Methos caught a hint of Duncan's scent on the sweater and he inhaled deeply. It was a mistake. The mix of Duncan's after shave and the unique scent of his skin which still clung to the wool went straight to Methos' groin and he groaned softly. Damn, but he definitely had it bad for MacLeod if just the smell of his laundry could turn him on! How long was he going to torment himself, hanging around in the Highlander's presence and hoping in vain that Mac would get a clue? If he had any sense at all he'd cut his losses and disappear for good.

Ignoring his own advice Methos buried his nose in the bundled wool and drew in another deep breath, fuelling his arousal still more. He really was a bloody idiot, but even such small moments as this were worth hoarding. It was all he was ever likely to have, after all.

The sound of the barge door opening, accompanied by the wash of Immortal presence, startled Methos back to reality. Duncan had returned from his errand and Methos needed to tell him about the phone call, and the fact that he was leaving. The old Immortal dropped his hands away from his face, intending to put Duncan's sweater back in the laundry hamper. To his surprise Methos found himself stuffing it into the holdall with his own clothes instead. What the hell? Ah, Mac had enough jumpers that he wasn't going to miss just one. And this way Methos would have something tangible to fuel those small fantasies he found himself indulging in altogether too frequently for his peace of mind. Something that had rested as close to Duncan's skin as Methos dreamed of doing... Oh, this was sad, Methos told himself sternly as he zipped up the holdall and prepared to bid Duncan farewell. He didn't replace the sweater, though.

Methos was in an even worse mood a few days later when he finally opened the door to his apartment and slung his bag inside. His new boss was, in Methos' estimation, an arrogant bastard. He had demanded concrete results on the Methos project very soon or else Adam Pierson could expect to find himself reassigned. Pompous ass! Who did he think he was talking to? Methos growled to himself as he stalked to the fridge and retrieved a beer. Several long, deep draughts from the bottle later and Methos had calmed down somewhat. At the time he had been sorely tempted to just draw his sword, rest it against his boss' neck and ask the idiot if that was concrete enough proof for him, but fortunately Methos' good sense had prevailed.

Looking for a distraction Methos took his beer and his holdall over to the bed. He put the beer bottle down on his bedside table and upended the holdall, dumping its contents on the mattress. Maybe doing laundry would finish cooling off his current bad temper. As he was sorting through the garments Methos suddenly found something that made him stop. Duncan's sweater - he'd actually forgotten that he had it. A fond smile curved Methos' lips as he touched the soft wool and he remembered the impulse which had prompted him to take it in the first place. He could do with Mac's company about now, but the Highlander was halfway across Paris on the barge and it was late.

Methos lifted the sweater up as he had before and sniffed at it, but Duncan's scent had faded. The garment had been tangled up with his own things for too long and the unique Highlander smell was gone. A pity, Methos mused. Ah well, he might just as well wash it with the rest of his things then. With a faint sigh Methos headed for his kitchen and the washing machine.


Several days later Methos got a call from Joe Dawson, telling him he was in town and suggesting they got together with MacLeod at Le Blues Bar for a drink one evening. Methos hadn't managed to catch up with the Highlander since his return from Watcher headquarters and he readily agreed to the arrangement. The old Immortal had finally come to the conclusion that being in the same city as Mac and not seeing him was more of a torment than being around him and having to refrain from doing or saying anything that would give away what he was feeling. Wryly, Methos had admitted to himself he'd always had something of a masochistic streak.

The following evening Methos showered and shaved in preparation for an evening of good beer, good music and better company. He pulled on a comfortable pair of jeans and rummaged in his closet for a shirt. Instead his hand came to rest on Duncan's white sweater, now washed and neatly folded. Methos hesitated, reaching for a favourite henley instead, but some perverse impulse made him go back to the sweater and pull it out. Methos wondered briefly exactly what message he was intending to send to Duncan by turning up in one of his garments. He smiled as he realised it didn't take a genius to work that one out. He wanted Duncan, wanted to be closer to him - as close as skin to skin. So far Duncan had seemed oblivious to that fact. Well, tonight he was going to get a wake-up call, Methos decided.

He pulled the sweater over his head and smoothed it down. Again Methos was caught by the tactile sensation of the silky soft wool against his fingertips. It felt good - and the sweater felt even better to the rest of his skin. Almost as good as Methos imagined Duncan would feel, if they ever were this close. The old Immortal studied his reflection in the mirror. The sweater was a little too big for his slighter build, but it was comfortable and it looked good on him.

Methos met the reflected image of his own eyes in the glass. The light of anticipation in them was unmistakable. This was either going to be the best night of his long, long life, Methos decided, or else the most unmitigated disaster. If Duncan rejected him... Ah hell, but at least then he would know for certain. No more guessing, no more games - one way or the other Methos was going to resolve this thing between himself and Duncan tonight. Now faintly apprehensive Methos picked up his coat and put it on. He settled the sword concealed in its folds and headed for the door.


By the time Methos arrived at Le Blues Bar Duncan and Joe were already settled at a table. Duncan looked around as Methos' presence washed over him and he waved to attract the other Immortal's attention. Methos walked over to join them with a casualness he suddenly didn't feel.

"Hi, Methos." Duncan welcomed him with a smile.


Meanwhile Joe called across to the bartender to bring a fresh round of drinks over.

"How'd your meeting go?" Joe enquired as he turned back to watch Methos sit down.

"Good news travels fast," said Methos shortly. "Trust me, you don't want to know."

"That well, huh?" Joe shrugged. "Hey, don't take it personally. As far as I can tell every researcher in Europe is getting their ass hauled into that office to justify the work they're doing. It's just a new guy flexing his muscles. Storm in a teacup."

"I'm sure that makes me feel a whole lot better. You know he actually threatened to hand the Methos project over to someone else!" Methos looked incensed. "Tell me, Joe, where do they find these guys? Not one of them has a clue!"

"One of the mysteries of life," said Joe sympathetically. He was well aware of the reputation of the latest European co-ordinator and couldn't imagine he and Methos getting along at all. He was an opinionated, irritating SOB... Which thought led Joe to wonder which of the two he was referring to! Fortunately, he was saved from further speculation by the arrival of their drinks.

Methos took a deep swallow of his beer and then decided it was time to bait his trap. He stood up again just long enough to remove his coat, which he folded carefully and placed on the chair beside him. Then he turned very deliberately to face Duncan as he sat down again, sprawling back in his seat.

Duncan watched Methos settle himself, idly noting the white sweater the other Immortal was wearing. It looked good on him - rather more expensive looking than Methos' usual choice of clothes. It was a little big on him, but Methos did seem to have a penchant for baggy sweaters and shirts. As Duncan took a second look he realised it was just like a sweater he had... One it suddenly occurred to Duncan that he hadn't seen since Methos' recent departure. He glanced at it again. It was his sweater. So what the hell was Methos doing wearing it?

With a frown Duncan looked hard at Methos. He didn't really want to make a fuss about it in public, but he did want to know what game Methos was playing. The other Immortal had to know that he would recognise his own sweater. So why wear it? For that matter, why take it in the first place? Puzzled, Duncan met Methos' eyes. There was an unexpected hint of a challenge glittering in their hazel depths. There was definitely something going on here, but what?

With a slight smile Methos looked away, starting another conversation with Joe and all but ignoring Duncan. The trail of crumbs had been laid. Now it was up to the Highlander whether or not he followed it, though Methos was certain Duncan's curiosity had been piqued.

As he watched the old Immortal Duncan decided that Methos was on particularly good form tonight. The sharp wit was very much in evidence all evening. Methos appeared to be devoting most of his attention to Joe, spinning tall tales to amuse and confuse the Watcher. Nevertheless, Duncan somehow got the feeling that he was watching a show being put on for his benefit. The sly old bastard was definitely up to something - and Duncan was determined to figure out what it was.

When Methos finally declared it was time for him to call it a night - some time after the bar had actually closed - Duncan also made his excuses to Joe and followed the old Immortal out into the car park. Methos was leaning down with his key in the lock, but he tensed instinctively as he felt the buzz of another Immortal behind him.

"Only me," said Duncan, stopping a few feet away from Methos.

"Good, I'm not in the mood for a fight tonight," said Methos lightly. He straightened up, turning to face Duncan. "Did you want something, Mac?"

"I was about to ask you the same question." Duncan regarded Methos curiously. "Why are you wearing my sweater?"

Methos smiled. "Ah, so you did notice," was all he said.

"You must have taken it when you went off to your Watchers' meeting," mused Duncan. "What I don't understand is why."

"Don't you?" Methos looked genuinely curious.

"No, I don't." Duncan stepped a little closer, trying to read Methos' expression behind the shadows cast by the street lights. He looked even more enigmatic than usual.

"That's a pity." Methos' tone was light, but Duncan could sense there was more beneath it. He was definitely missing something here - something important.

Methos had turned away again and had his car door open. Not wanting him to leave without explaining himself, Duncan stepped up close behind the other Immortal, crowding him.

"What aren't you telling me here, Methos?" he asked. "Have I done something? I know you're trying to make a point, but I'm just not getting it. I'm sorry."

"No, you never do, do you, Mac?" said Methos softly. He smiled wryly to himself. It was time to get out of here before he made an utter fool of himself. Mac was still just as oblivious as ever. Well, maybe some things just weren't meant to be. At least it wasn't as bad as an outright rejection. He'd still have the friendship. Methos moved, ducking his head preparatory to getting in the car.

"Methos, wait!" Duncan put a hand on his shoulder, wanting to stop him from going. "Why do you always have to talk in riddles? Just tell me what's going on and what my sweater has to do with it."

Duncan felt Methos resist and tugged on his arm a little harder, spinning him back around to face him. He wasn't prepared for what Methos did next - though just for a moment he thought the old Immortal was angry and was going to deck him as his hands came up from his sides.

Instead, Methos finally let his control slip. Duncan was just too close. He could feel the Highlander's warmth at his back, smell the remembered scent of Duncan's skin and hair. So, Mac wanted to know what point he was trying to make? Methos decided the time had come when actions would speak louder than words. As he found himself face to face with Duncan - the Highlander now only inches from him - Methos reached out and pulled the other Immortal into his arms.

Before Duncan could think to protest Methos leaned forward and claimed the Highlander's full lips. They had parted slightly as Duncan reacted to Methos' abrupt actions with surprise, not expecting to find himself pressed close to Methos, held fast by his strength. And Methos was not in the mood to pass up an opportunity like that. He insinuated his tongue between the parted lips, finding Duncan's tongue and caressing it with his own. Duncan tasted of fine Scotch and pure, undiluted Highlander. It was a heady combination and Methos couldn't get enough of it. He had 5,000 years of experience to call upon and Methos used all of it as he kissed Duncan. After all, this might be his only chance to taste and explore Duncan's mouth and Methos wanted it to be utterly memorable - for both of them.

It was only when he had almost run out of breath - devouring the Highlander's lips and tongue avidly seemed far more important to him than breathing - that Methos realised this wasn't by any means a one-sided kiss. Duncan wasn't simply accepting what was being done to him, but was responding to Methos with equal ferocity. Their lips seemed to fuse and their tongues duelled for dominance. At that realisation Methos dragged himself away from the sweetness of Duncan's mouth, panting hard. He leaned back, tilting his head until he could look directly into Duncan's eyes.

The expression in them was somewhat dazed, but by no means displeased. In fact, unless Methos was much mistaken, Duncan's eyes were nearly all pupil - dark with a sudden rush of desire.

"Mac?" Methos ventured cautiously.

There was a long moment of silence, but then Duncan smiled lazily. It was a look Methos recognised, though he had never seen it directed at himself before. It was usually reserved for whoever was currently occupying Duncan's bed - a look full of warmth and promise. Methos found himself abruptly releasing the breath he hadn't realised he was holding.

"Well, that was one hell of an explanation," observed Duncan dryly. He reached up and stroked Methos' cheek lightly. "How long have you been waiting to do that?"

Methos gave a slight shrug. "Long enough... too long."

"And that's why you - borrowed my sweater? To get my attention?" Duncan frowned.

"It was just a spur of the moment thing. I was packing and it came out of the hamper with my clothes..." Methos shook his head. "It reminded me of you so I took it. And yeah, I wore it to get your attention tonight. Hey, it could have been worse."


"It might have been your underwear..." Methos grinned wickedly.

Duncan laughed and then found himself leaning closer to Methos, wanting to taste his lips again.

Reluctantly Methos held him away. "Don't you think we should take this somewhere more private?"

"I think I'd like to take you up against this car, here and now," said Duncan huskily. "But I suppose you're right."

Methos felt a flush of heat and arousal at Duncan's words. Damn, but that was a tempting suggestion - though probably not a good idea. It might be late, but there were still people around and Methos wasn't that much of an exhibitionist. No, better to get Duncan back to the barge - as quickly as possible!

"Hm, that idea certainly has its appeal," agreed Methos, "but tonight I think I want a soft bed. I want to be able to undress you and taste every inch of you."

"Every inch?" Duncan's voice was a trifle unsteady.

"Oh yes." Methos nodded, his voice deep with promise. He leaned forward to trail his tongue wetly from behind Duncan's ear down to the hollow of his throat.

Duncan shuddered. "Follow me to the barge," he demanded, pulling away roughly and heading for his own car. If he didn't leave now he really was going to have Methos over the bonnet of his car. "Don't keep me waiting."

Methos shivered as Duncan's body heat was taken from him, allowing the chill night air to caress his skin. Collecting himself he climbed swiftly into his car and gunned the engine. He didn't need to follow Duncan. He could practically drive to the barge blindfolded. Methos intended to be there before Duncan, ready and waiting for him when he reached the barge.

Duncan smiled as he watched the other Immortal's car drive out of the car park, leaving a scattering of gravel in its wake. It should be an interesting night - one long overdue. Duncan started his own car and followed after Methos at only a slightly more sedate pace.

From the shadows of the bar's doorway Joe Dawson stepped into the light. He looked after the speedily departing cars with a broad grin. Well, it was about time! Joe decided it was a pity Methos hadn't taken Mac up on his suggestion about the car. That certainly would have been one for the Chronicles! Ah well, he might be a Watcher, but he wasn't that much of a voyeur that he was going to follow them to the barge. Joe had a pretty good imagination anyway, especially given what he had just seen. He was sure he could fill in the blanks. Whistling softly to himself Joe went back inside Le Blues Bar to finish closing up.


Methos made it back to the barge in record time. A part of his brain still couldn't quite believe this was really happening, but his body certainly believed. Kissing Duncan had left Methos hard and needy, and he hoped the Highlander wasn't far behind him. Methos locked his car and then dug through his pockets for the set of keys to the barge that Duncan had given him some time ago - on account of the fact that he was so good at making himself at home there that he might as well be able to come and go as he pleased, Duncan had said at the time. Methos smiled fondly at the memory as he let himself inside.

His cock ached, trapped inside the tight denim of his jeans. In an effort to distract himself Methos prowled around the barge; first he discarded his coat, then lit a few lamps and stoked the fire until the banked blaze flared up again. He felt it the moment Duncan stepped on deck and Methos was waiting at the foot of the stairs when the Highlander came through the door.

Duncan paused a moment before descending to join Methos. In the low light from the few lamps Methos had lit the old Immortal resembled a sleekly muscular hunting cat, dark and dangerous, waiting to pounce on its prey. Duncan found he rather liked the mental image of Methos stalking him and then pouncing on him. He smiled speculatively and watched Methos tilt his head to one side, narrowing his eyes and looking at him with some curiosity. As if he was wondering what had prompted that smile.

As he passed Methos, Duncan shrugged off his coat, letting it fall to the floor. Without a word he continued on towards his bed, only stopping when he was standing beside it. Turning round Duncan saw that Methos hadn't moved. He stood rooted to the spot, simply watching Duncan.

"Methos?" Duncan asked cautiously. He wondered if the old Immortal had changed his mind for some reason.

"Is this real?" There was an almost plaintive tone to Methos' question.

"As real as it gets." Duncan held out his hand. "You do still want me?"

"Oh, you have no idea," murmured Methos with a rueful laugh. Carefully he smoothed the palm of one hand down his chest, stroking the soft wool of Duncan's sweater. "I took this because it smelled of you. That's how far gone I was."

Duncan smiled. "So, would you rather have the sweater - or me? I seem to remember something about you wanting to taste every inch of me. You'll find that a bit tricky if you stay over there." Again he extended his hand in invitation.

This time Methos did move, bounding up the few stairs to the bed. He caught hold of Duncan's outstretched hand and pulled the Highlander close. Methos buried his face in the crook of Duncan's neck, breathing in the wonderful clean scent of his warm skin.

In his turn Duncan wrapped his arms around Methos. One hand found the dark silk of Methos' hair and Duncan threaded his fingers into the short strands. The other hand ventured lower, coming to rest on the tight denim covering Methos' backside. The old Immortal shifted his weight slightly and Duncan felt the taut muscles clench under his spread palm. His cock stirred in response and Duncan moved slowly, trying to ease the pressure on his swollen flesh. All he succeeded in doing was bringing it into contact with Methos' equally hard cock.

Both men gasped and Methos' head snapped up. His eyes held Duncan's for a brief moment and then Methos was leaning in for another incendiary kiss. His mouth moved against Duncan's hungrily. Methos reached up and filled his hands with Duncan's long, dark hair, using his grip to hold the Highlander still while he ravished the willing mouth. And as he kissed Duncan, Methos' hips moved restlessly, promising other pleasures to come.

When kissing alone no longer satisfied him Methos released his hold on Duncan's hair. Instead, his hands went to work on the buttons of Duncan's shirt. They provided scant resistance to the agile fingers and Methos quickly tugged the shirt free of Duncan's waistband. After that it was simple enough to slide it off the Highlander's shoulders, leaving him bare to the waist. Methos examined his handiwork, touching the bronzed skin lightly. It was warm, smooth - velvet covering the steel of the muscles underneath.

Gently Methos' fingertips glided over the muscular curves of Duncan's chest. They carded through the light covering of fine, dark hair and sought the tight buds of Duncan's nipples. Finding them Methos pinched lightly, rolling the pebbled flesh between his fingers until Duncan gasped. Then Methos bent his head and began to lick the rosy nubs, tasting the salty skin delicately.

Duncan still had one hand cupped around the back of Methos' head. He used that hold to encourage the old Immortal's explorations. When Methos seemed intent on keeping his touches gentle, Duncan tightened his grip, urging Methos on until he began to use his teeth as well as his lips and tongue. Duncan groaned his pleasure aloud, his head falling back as his eyes closed.

The grip on his head loosened as Duncan relaxed into the sensations. Methos took the opportunity to pull free and sink to his knees in front of Duncan. He trailed damp kisses across Duncan's stomach, feeling the muscles flutter in response to the feathery caresses. With an impish smile Methos dipped the tip of his tongue into Duncan's navel. He felt the Highlander shudder at the ticklish sensation.

"Methos, are you trying to kill me here?" asked Duncan plaintively.

Methos raised his head and met Duncan's eyes. He gave him a devilish smile. "That was every inch, MacLeod," he replied lazily.

Duncan stared into the changeable eyes, watching the long lashes veil them in a parody of demureness. If Methos was serious Duncan really wasn't sure that he would survive the experience.

"Yeah, well, right now there are some very specific inches that I have in mind," Duncan growled.

Again there was that smile. "Oh?" enquired Methos blandly. "And how many exactly would that be?"

"Why don't you try it for size and find out?" Duncan suggested, thrusting his hips in blatant invitation.

Methos held Duncan's gaze for a moment more, licking his lips sensually. Then he bowed his head and finally his hands were moving to where Duncan most wanted them. With agonising slowness Methos' long fingers unbuttoned the waistband of Duncan's trousers and then slid the zip down. Carefully he eased the soft material over Duncan's hips and let it glide down the strong legs to the ground. Methos' hands followed the same path down the muscular thighs, drawing fresh shudders from Duncan's helplessly sensitised body. At last the old Immortal bent and tugged off Duncan's shoes and socks, allowing the trousers to be removed and tossed aside as well.

Duncan had expected Methos to take off the briefs he was wearing at the same time, but he didn't. Instead, Methos curved his hands around Duncan's buttocks, caressing them through the silky material. One finger explored a little more deeply, circling the tight ring of muscle through the fabric. The sensation was arousing, but frustrating. Duncan wanted those elegant hands warm and direct on his skin, but Methos still wasn't ready to oblige.

The front of the briefs was damp with pre-come, clinging to Duncan's skin and outlining the hard length of his penis. Methos leaned closer and lapped gently at the soft fabric, sampling the taste of Duncan. He pressed his tongue more firmly against the shaft in its silky prison, tracing the whole length of it with long, slow strokes. The heat and the friction drew a throaty moan from the Highlander who needed every ounce of control to keep from coming there and then.

A fresh surge of moisture left the briefs clinging even more tightly to Duncan's skin. Methos swirled his tongue over the now almost transparent material, well aware of the knife-edge Duncan was on. He wasn't far off it himself. There was something almost surreal about kneeling here fully clothed in front of the nearly naked Highlander, but it felt good. And Duncan tasted even better.

Finally Methos couldn't wait any longer to see all of Duncan. Carefully, he peeled off the silky briefs, only barely registering Duncan's groan of relief. Almost reverently he took the thick cock into his hands, learning the weight and the texture of it between his palms. His fingers reached lower and explored the swollen balls and the tangle of dark, silky hair. Beautiful, Methos decided, no other word seemed to do Duncan justice.

The leisurely exploration left Duncan on the brink of release, but still wasn't enough to ease the tension which threatened to overload every nerve in his body. Duncan wanted to be buried to the hilt in the slender body kneeling before him, but he hadn't the patience for getting Methos out of his clothes. Failing that, Duncan wanted that clever, teasing mouth. He'd had hints of what its moist depths could offer, but now he wanted it all.

Duncan pounced. He caught Methos' head between his broad palms and held it still. Methos' expression was startled as the big hands cupped his face and tilted his head just so. Then the tip of Duncan's penis was pressed against his lips, slicking them with pre-come and Methos opened his mouth gladly. He would have set the rhythm of their encounter himself, but Duncan had other ideas and held him firmly in place. The Highlander knew exactly what he needed and he wasn't going to let Methos tease him with promises of it any more.

It occurred to Duncan in a small, rational part of his brain that he really should have asked Methos if he wanted this. Then he looked down and saw the blissful expression on the old Immortal's face - head back and eyes closed, his lips stretched around the swollen flesh that fucked his mouth with barely leashed savagery. Methos was no unwilling participant in this dance. Reassured, Duncan let his instincts take over again, thrusting hard and fast between the welcoming lips. He felt Methos' tongue tasting him and then it was meltdown.

Duncan came long and hard, only vaguely aware of Methos' mouth working around his cock as the old Immortal swallowed the salty fluid. The pleasure flowed through him and Duncan revelled in every last glorious second of it. When his skin finally became too sensitive to tolerate Methos' touch any longer Duncan gently withdrew from the other Immortal's mouth. Another twinge of guilt struck him as he released Methos, seeing the marks left by his fingers on the pale skin. They began to fade quickly enough, but all the same... Duncan sank to his knees in front of Methos, a look of remorse on his face.

Methos glanced at him, a faint smile curving his lips. "Only you," he murmured cryptically.

"What?" Duncan frowned, not understanding.

"Only you could take something as incredible as that and find something to feel guilty about in it," Methos elaborated. "Trust me, if I hadn't been enjoying it every bit as much as you obviously were it wouldn't have been happening."

"But..." Duncan tried again.
Methos stopped him, his fingers resting lightly on the full lips. "Mac, that was amazing - no brooding required. OK?" The old Immortal grinned - one of the rare ones that lit up his whole face, showing the even, white teeth and crinkling the skin around his eyes. "Just promise me you'll let me return the favour some time."

"Any time you like," agreed Duncan fervently once Methos allowed him to speak again. "But tell me something, aren't you feeling a little overdressed for this party?"

"Hm, maybe... Got any suggestions?"

"Yeah, just one."


"Get 'em off!"

"I thought you'd never ask." Methos climbed to his feet and with a few fluid motions stripped off his clothes.

Duncan sat back on his heels and watched the sleek, pale body finally being revealed to him. The slim hips and broad shoulders were both graceful and strong, and Methos' skin looked so smooth, Duncan marvelled. He wondered how often the old Immortal had been likened to some classical statue, fashioned from pure white marble. Hell, he probably had modelled for some of them. Well, if Methos looked like a figure of some ancient God, Duncan was happy enough to be the supplicant, kneeling at his feet.

His silent worship was interrupted, though, as Methos reached down and hauled the Highlander to his feet. He pulled Duncan close to him, fitting their bodies together like two matching pieces of a puzzle. Pressed so close, Duncan couldn't fail to notice the hard length of Methos' penis where it nudged against his hip, spreading sticky wetness on his skin.

"It seems to me you could use a hand with that," Duncan suggested.

"Oh, a hand wasn't exactly what I had in mind." Methos' eyelids lowered and he looked at Duncan from behind dark lashes.

"No?" Duncan regarded Methos levelly. He was well aware what the other Immortal was asking.

"No," Methos confirmed, his voice low and insinuating. "May I have what I want?"

There was a long moment of silence between them and then Duncan pulled free of Methos' embrace and dropped onto the bed. As Methos watched, his hazel eyes hungry, Duncan crawled across the mattress and settled himself with the pillows at his back. He reached across and opened the drawer of the bedside table. Duncan retrieved something from it and tossed it at Methos.

Methos caught the small item deftly and looked at it. It was a bottle of massage oil. He turned his gaze back to Duncan, who was watching him with a question in his eyes. Methos let a slow smile spread across his face as he advanced on the invitingly sprawled Highlander. Methos slid up the strong body, relishing the warmth of skin on skin. He planted his elbows and stared at the darkly handsome face framed by a tousled halo of long, silken hair.

"You like what you see?" asked Duncan huskily. "I know I do."

Methos pretended to consider the question, tilting his head to one side thoughtfully. "Hm, tolerable - I suppose," he decided at last, his eyes glittering. "Ow!!" Methos protested as Duncan swatted his backside sharply in retaliation.

"Play nice then," Duncan chided, grinning. "Tolerable, my ass!"

"Oh well, if I'd known it was your arse we were talking about..." Methos smirked evilly.

Then squawked as Duncan tipped him onto his back and began to torment him with kisses and licks and sharp bites that paid Methos back a hundredfold for what he'd done to Duncan earlier.

Only when Methos was shuddering with frustrated pleasure, panting hard and cursing Duncan in an eclectic selection of long dead languages did the Highlander relent. He straddled Methos' hips, searching amongst the rumpled sheets for the forgotten bottle of massage oil. He smiled triumphantly as he found it and held it up for Methos to see.

"Mmm, about time," said Methos. "Well, go on then, hand it over."

"Oh no." Duncan shook his head. "You can just lie there and wait until I'm good and ready for you."

Carefully Duncan opened the bottle and poured a little of the oil into his palm. He took note as Methos tensed in expectation of the slick stuff being smoothed along his hard penis, but Duncan had other ideas. He coated his fingers and then reached behind to slowly prepare himself. Duncan saw Methos' brows quirk upward in surprise as he watched Duncan's deliberately erotic manoeuvrings.

Indeed, Methos found himself getting even more aroused as he watched Duncan carefully finger fuck himself, stretching and lubricating the tight passage for Methos' benefit.

When he was satisfied with his preparations Duncan tipped out a little more oil. This time it was Methos he reached for. He slicked the old Immortal's cock with a liberal coating of oil, mixing it with Methos' own pre-come as he thumbed the head. Then Duncan held Methos' penis steady with one hand and slowly lowered himself down onto it. It breached his body with a sharp flare of pain - it had been a long time since Duncan had taken anyone this way - and he paused for a moment to adjust.

Methos held himself still with an effort as he felt Duncan slow his descent. The temptation to simply thrust upwards and sheathe himself in Duncan's inviting warmth was almost overwhelming. But he guessed that Duncan was finding their joining somewhat painful and gave him the time to adjust. Methos wanted Duncan to want to do this again. All the same, when Duncan began to move again a small moan of relief escaped Methos' throat. The Highlander was tight and the slick heat of him surrounding Methos' cock felt incredible.

By slow stages Duncan eased himself down until Methos was buried deep inside him. The expression on the old Immortal's face was beatific as he closed his eyes and let his other senses catalogue the pleasure of finally being seduced by Duncan MacLeod.

As his body grew accustomed to the sensation of being totally filled by Methos, Duncan slowly began to move again. Using the strength of the muscles in his legs Duncan raised himself off Methos' cock - inch by slow inch. When their bodies were on the verge of parting Duncan sank down again, fast.

A deep, pleasure-filled moan was torn from Methos' throat as Duncan began to ride him hard. With an effort Methos opened his eyes. He was transfixed by the sight of Duncan moving above him - his head thrown back and his dark hair swinging loose around his shoulders. It was too much for Methos' senses to handle and he thrust up into Duncan convulsively, coming hard.

The liquid warmth of Methos' release triggered Duncan's second climax too, though his cock hadn't been touched. He had been so caught up in the feeling of Methos filling him and the intense pleasure as the deep thrusts found his prostate that he'd barely noticed his renewed erection. Now, as he spilled his own come on Methos' belly, his muscles clenched around the other Immortal's penis, wringing the last drops of his seed from him. Then Duncan slumped forward, coming to rest with his hands braced on either side of Methos' body.

Methos was still lost in the throes of his climax. His slender figure shuddered with the aftershocks of pleasure. His eyes closed again and Methos' head rested back against the pillows, baring his long, pale throat to Duncan's gaze.

Duncan couldn't resist. He leaned down and licked the beads of sweat off the smooth skin.

The rough swipes of the Highlander's tongue on his vulnerable neck finally anchored Methos. Groggily he opened his eyes to find an inordinately pleased-looking Duncan MacLeod hovering over him. Carefully, Methos shifted, separating their bodies. Then he pulled Duncan down beside him, snuggling into the Highlander's warmth contentedly. Everything suddenly felt very right with the world.

Reaching down Duncan found a not too rumpled sheet and pulled it up over both of them. A distinctly smug smile kept trying to take possession of his lips and eventually he let it. Duncan gave a pleased sigh, gently stroking the sweaty body plastered along his side.

Methos propped himself up on one elbow, admiring the view. As a look thoroughly ravished suited Duncan down to the ground. "You look like the cat that got the cream," he accused.

"Yeah, I think I did," replied Duncan suggestively. "And very nice too..."

Methos shook his head. "I get the feeling I've discovered a whole new side to you tonight, MacLeod."

"Mm, and don't you think it's my best side?" he asked teasingly.

"I'll let you know. I still have a few more to explore." Methos let his fingers wander, suggesting a few places worthy of further exploration. "By the way, I hope you realise I wasn't expecting an overnight stay. Got any clothes I can borrow?"

Duncan snorted. "Since when did you bother to ask first?" he asked pointedly.

Methos grinned unrepentantly. "So, does that mean I can keep the sweater? It looks good on me, don't you think?"

"No, you can't!" Duncan said firmly. "It cost me an arm and a leg."

"Well, at least it wasn't your head..." Methos declared.

Duncan groaned.

"... because that is mine!" the old Immortal finished with another wicked grin. And to prove his point Methos dived back under the covers, claiming the Highlander for his own all over again.

The End

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