by Margaret
24/08/99
Disclaimer: Methos and Duncan and the concept of Immortality belong to someone who isn't me, I'm just borrowing them. No harm meant, no profit made.
Notes: Thanks again to Karen, who, feeling under the weather, asked for a present, and since we couldn't arrange for her *actual* request, had to settle for the nearest fanfic equivalent. Sorry about that ;-)
Rated: NC-17 for m/m sex
To say that Methos was in a bad mood was an understatement on the same scale as saying Caspian wasn't a fussy eater. In fact, actually saying that Methos was in a bad mood would probably be a massively unwise thing to do, since it might well result in summary decapitation for making such a blatantly stupid remark.
Methos had woken up in a bad mood that morning. No particular reason for it, although the grey sky probably hadn't helped any. Breakfast had been an almost silent affair. Mac had been unusually perceptive of his lover's mood and even more unusually had not made any comment on it, realising that to do so would just make matters worse. The mood hadn't let up by the time Adam Pierson left for work.
Since coming to live with Mac in Seacouver, it had seemed logical to get some sort of job, to maintain Adam Pierson's life if nothing else. So now the World's Oldest Immortal worked for the University Library as a translator for their foreign and historical texts. The pay wasn't brilliant, but it was enough to live on, even if he didn't actually need it, and the work, though routine, was enough to stop him from getting bored.
Today, however, it wasn't enough. If Methos had thought the work might distract him, he was wrong. In fact, it was just the opposite, as things went from bad to worse. Adam Pierson spent most of the morning on hold trying to contact one person or another. Then during his lunch break one of his more tolerant, but unfortunately tactless, colleagues practically announced Adam's relationship with sometime lecturer Duncan MacLeod to the entire staffroom. Predictably, this didn't go down at all well with some of the more senior (read: elderly) staff. They had spent the rest of the day treating him like he had some sort of contagious disease... which was, of course, utterly ridiculous, since he of all people couldn't catch a cold if he tried.
The afternoon had just improved on that. He had spent more time on hold; attended a dull meeting that had dragged on longer than it should have which had then resulted in him being too late to contact the one really urgent name on his list. With only half an hour left to go, suddenly five different people had wanted his attention, all of whom being higher up the chain than he, had demanded priority. The one good thing about the day was that his payslip had arrived... until he looked at it and realised they'd sent the money to the wrong bank. How they mistook 52 for 79 he'd never know, but they had. Methos had been known to fill in a tax form entirely in Roman numerals before, but that was entirely different... and besides, Mac had refused to let him post it. Of course the final straw, predictably enough, was when Methos had walked home without an umbrella and the heavens had opened.
So it was a very tired, wet and thoroughly pissed off World's Oldest Immortal that opened the loft door onto a darkened room. Mac had forgotten to turn the lights on again; just because he knew his way around in the dark didn't mean everyone else did. Methos did actually know his way around the loft in the dark, but he wasn't going to let that stop a well-justified complaint. He didn't bother turning the light on either however, the dim evening light filtering through the rain clouds matched his mood too well.
The loft had an empty feel to it, although the sensation of Presence and the light under the bathroom door said otherwise. Methos didn't bother calling out to Mac as he shucked his coat and stripped off his soggy sweater. It was a pointless exercise anyway; since Bordeaux Mac had been able to identify Methos by buzz alone, and in his present frame of mind that just irritated him more. It wasn't that Methos actually minded his lover's newfound ability; it was just that it had previously been a talent only available to Immortals 5,000 years or over, i.e. him, and he hated to lose that advantage to anybody - it was the principle of the thing.
He crossed the loft to the kitchen, nearly catching his shin on the corner of the coffee table on the way. He was tempted to shout at Mac to put the bloody light on once in a while, but he restrained himself. It wasn't actually Mac's fault that he was in such a foul mood and Methos just knew that if he opened his mouth and started an argument he'd end up saying things he'd regret later when he went looking for somewhere else to live and someone else to love. Better to simply say nothing at all, but if anyone so much as thought the words 'sullen silence', he'd punch them. His self-control had definitely seen better days.
A quick survey of the contents of the fridge revealed nothing he felt like having; even the thought of a beer didn't appeal. So he stood and stared out of the window instead, his clothes damp and his hair still dripping cold water down the back of his neck. Despite Duncan's protestations to the contrary, Methos had yet to be convinced that 'drowned rat' was his most appealing look. On another day he might have been tempted to indulge in a small investigation as to just how appealing Duncan found it... but not today, he just wasn't in the mood.
Eventually Methos became aware that the noise of the shower had stopped and the silence that descended on the loft then was practically deafening. After a few minutes though, Mac still failed to appear and Methos wandered in that direction - not that he was curious, he just didn't feel like standing still any more. Methos came to a halt by the bed; he would have said he was lost in thought, but he wasn't really thinking, at least he didn't think he was. Time seemed an alien concept in the dim and silent loft so he couldn't have said how long he had been standing there when he heard a faint noise from behind him. He was just beginning to turn when he was tackled to the bed. Before Methos could quite grasp the situation, or his apparently naked lover, he felt his arms being drawn up over his head and cold metal bands closed around his wrists. A quick tug revealed them to be quite sturdy and securely fastened.
"Mac!" The tone was part surprise, part anger. It was too dark to make out anything but the vaguest of outlines, but he could feel Mac shift his weight and realised his lover was moving to sit straddling his thighs. There was a quiet clicking sound and a flame flared into life, illuminating his Highland lover, naked as he'd guessed and holding a small lighter.
Moving carefully, so as not to give his irate lover the opportunity to throw him off, Mac leaned over and lit the candles sitting on either side of the bed. Under normal circumstances Methos would have appreciated the way the candlelight reflected off his lover's bronzed skin and long hair, right now however, he was too supremely pissed to care.
"MacLeod." Methos' voice was flat; a no-nonsense tone that promised dire consequences to any hapless Highlander who failed to heed it. "I am *not* in the mood for this. Let me up. Now."
The Highlander blatantly ignored his lover's less-than-amused protests and went to work on Methos' belt.
"MacLeod!" Definitely a warning this time, not so subtle either. "Get the fuck off me!"
That too went ignored as jeans, boxers, boots and socks all came off together to drop in a heap at the foot of the bed. By the time Mac went to work on the damp t-shirt the protests had subsided and a sullen silence reigned. Duncan was just a little unsettled by that, a quiet Methos was generally something to be wary of, but he thought... well, hoped, he'd be able to persuade his ancient lover to forgive him.
Mac worked the damp, clingy t-shirt up his lover's chest and over his head. Unfortunately the handcuffs made it impossible to take it off completely and since there was no way he was going to remove the handcuffs at this point, Mac simply bunched the material around his lover's slender wrists to pad the metal a bit. Mac settled back across Methos' thighs and finally met his lover's eyes. Hard green eyes glittered back at him and the normally smiling, or at least smirking, mouth was compressed into a hard line. Mac sighed, he had hoped his lover's obvious displeasure would have softened a bit by now, but apparently not. Good job he'd come home early to get everything ready beforehand or he'd be in serious trouble now. Not that he wasn't, but at least he had the resources handy to get out of it... he hoped. Nothing for it now, but to forge ahead and hope for the best.
Duncan regarded his lover carefully for a moment then in one quick move, raised up slightly and flipped his lover over to lie on his stomach. There was a slightly startled silence as Duncan settled again straddling his lover's legs, then he reached out to snag the bottle of massage oil from the bedside table where he'd put it earlier. The scent of spices filled the air as he poured a generous amount of the liquid into his hands and began to warm it between his palms.
Methos had always claimed to like Duncan's hands, though looking at them, Mac couldn't see why. His hands were broad; sword-callused and blunt, his fingers lacked the casual elegance of Methos' slender digits. Now there were beautiful hands, talented too - Duncan felt his heat, and other things, rise at the memory of what those hands were capable of. But much as he might want it, that wasn't on the agenda tonight - tonight was dedicated to a little Methos appreciation. And since Methos liked his hands, that seemed the best way to start.
Methos tightened his grip on his temper as strong, warm hands came to rest on his shoulders; smoothing and warming the still slightly damp skin. This... this he had needed an hour ago and where had Mac been then. Broad hands glided down his back and Methos could feel all his hard-earned anger begin to evaporate. It wasn't fair, he shouldn't be this susceptible to anyone; he had a damn good right to be in an absolutely foul mood and Mac was rapidly putting all that effort to waste. Bastard. But even his irritation at his lover's actions dissolved when Mac began to knead the tense muscles in earnest.
Methos reflected, somewhat ruefully, that the Highlander had always been able to put him at ease, and that was even before they'd got together. Despite being an Immortal magnet, Duncan's presence had always meant a kind of sanctuary for the ancient Immortal; a feeling that had only strengthened since they'd become lovers and Methos knew for certain that he was welcome within the Highlander's world.
A small groan escaped him as Mac dug in on a particularly stubborn knot of tension. Gods, Mac was good at this, had the hands for it too; broad, strong and warm and Methos was definitely appreciative. He could feel his bad mood draining away with each stroke of his lover's talented hands and, ever the pragmatist, Methos let it go. It was a losing battle anyway, and this felt far too good.
Duncan smiled to himself as another small sound of contentment escaped his lover's lips. It was always nice to have confirmation of his lover's unpredictable moods. He felt a slight shift beneath him as Methos got himself a little more comfortable, seeming almost to sink into the bed. Methos' ability to become one with the furniture never ceased to amaze Duncan, and a relaxed Methos put even cats to shame.
Quite sure his lover wasn't going to throw him off now, Duncan shifted his weight and began to work his way down Methos' long legs. When he reached the ankles Duncan looked up the length of his lover's body, feeling a surge of satisfaction at Methos' obvious relaxation. He smiled broadly, at this rate the danger was more likely to be of Methos falling asleep on him rather than the earlier threat of bodily harm. He picked up one of his lover's feet and began to knead it with a little more force than was strictly necessary. Duncan almost laughed out loud at the inarticulate sound of protest that caused. He swiftly kissed the sole of the foot in apology before lowering it and taking up the other, being a little more gentle this time. A low moan of appreciation echoed in the otherwise quiet loft and Duncan began to work his way back up.
Duncan slid his hands lightly over Methos' skin, enjoying the warmth it now radiated. The softness of Methos' skin always surprised him and right now it was gleaming almost golden in the soft candlelight. Beautiful. Duncan's hands roamed the length of his lover's body and he watched the muscle ripple beneath his touch, marvelling at the response such a simple thing could evoke in him.
When his hands reached Methos' shoulders, Duncan was stretched out almost the length of his lover. He was careful to balance himself so that his lover wouldn't be taking all of Duncan's weight, but Methos didn't seem to mind. In fact, he was purring. Mac smiled gently, he had never quite been able to work out how Methos made that noise or why he found it so reassuring when he did. He could only guess that it was because it was a clear sign of his lover's happiness, something Methos rarely gave.
His hands reached Methos' bound wrists and Duncan shifted slightly to the see his lover's face. Methos' eyes were closed, the long lashes casting faint shadows over the fair skin. The warm candlelight did much to soften the sharp features, leaving Methos looking absurdly young, an illusion heightened by the small smile of contentment playing on his lips. Slowly the lashes raised and Duncan found himself the focus of eyes the colour of molten honey and the warmth of that regard brought forth an answering heat in Duncan, one he'd managed to ignore thus far. Methos' smile deepened and Duncan couldn't help but answer it, enjoying the genuine pleasure in his lover's expression. Privately Duncan thought that Methos hadn't had much in the way of happiness in his life in a long time. Methos' mood this morning had just prompted the Highlander that it was about time that he did something about it.
With a wicked grin for his lover that drew forth a sweetly anticipatory smile, Mac levered himself up and dropped a quick kiss on his lover's shoulder blade before settling himself back into his original position straddling Methos' thighs.
This time when Duncan began to move his hands over Methos' body, he did so with the clear intention of arousing his lover. He stroked his hands over the smooth skin, simultaneously creating and satisfying an unsuspected need for touch. When his wandering hands came to rest at Methos' waist Methos squirmed, pressing himself against Mac as much as he could from his hampered position beneath him. Mac was acutely aware of the feel of his lover's skin against his own and it seemed to be feeding impulses straight to his cock. Acting on a sudden urge Mac bent over his lover again to place a soft kiss at the nape of his neck. The resulting arch of Methos' body pressed Duncan's cock tight into the crease of his lover's ass. Duncan moaned against the damp skin beneath his lips, the faint vibrations causing an echoing moan to escape Methos' lips. Reluctantly Duncan raised his head, breathing in Methos' scent and he found himself craving more of the taste of the ancient Immortal. Duncan lowered his head to the base of Methos' neck again and licked at the small beads of perspiration that had formed there. It was impossible then not to follow their trail down Methos' spine; Duncan slid his tongue along the same path, taking the occasional detour to explore a particularly tempting patch of skin. He kissed, licked and nipped at the soft skin; tasting spices from the oil, salt and the unique flavour that could only be Methos, it was intoxicating. By the time he reached the base of Methos' spine he could feel the fine tremors running through the long body beneath him.
Slowly Duncan raised his head and began to move back up until he could once again taste the skin of his lover's throat. Despite it surely being uncomfortable, Methos twisted his head back inviting Duncan to take advantage of the exposed throat. Duncan couldn't have refused such an offer if he'd tried, and he didn't. He latched on hungrily and took serious advantage of his lover's most vulnerable flesh. The heat radiating from Methos' body found a matching heat in Duncan. The room itself seemed impossibly warm - who would have thought a few candles could give off so much heat? The already high temperature suddenly sky-rocketed as Methos moved, arching up, pressing himself against Mac's erection. Instinctively Mac ground down, relishing the feel of the damp skin against his aching cock.
"Duncan." Oh yes, that definitely made all his careful planning worth it. The low, husky plea from his lover sent shivers down Duncan's spine and made his cock jump in anticipation. Methos groaned again, a deep, throaty growl of pleasure and writhed beneath Duncan nudging the Highlander's cock deeper into the crease of his ass. The sweat and oil-slicked skin made the movement one blissful glide, hot and slick and an unbearable tease. With a surge, Duncan reared back to sit straddling Methos' thighs; the loss of contact only tolerable because his mind had reconnected with the memory of his original plan and its promised pleasure.
Duncan raised himself slightly so he no longer pinned his lover and placed a hand on Methos' hip. It didn't take much prompting to get Methos to roll over onto his back again. Even restricted by his bound wrists and his lover's body, Methos still managed to turn the movement into a blatantly sensual act. Mac swallowed and found it impossible not to answer his lover's lazy grin; a casual invitation to debauchery that somehow managed to give the impression that it was Duncan handcuffed to the bed at the mercy of Methos' every whim. Methos undulated beneath him and Duncan gasped as his lover's cock brushed tantalisingly against his own - then again maybe Methos *was* the one in control here.
With more restraint than he would have believed possible of himself, Duncan refrained from just dropping back down and finding a mutually rewarding rhythm. Instead he reached a none-too-steady hand for the discarded bottle of oil and splashed some onto his palms. He couldn't help the grin that formed when the green/gold eyes closed at the touch of slick fingers on already tight nipples and a low groan escaped the slightly parted lips. Duncan let his hands slide over the contours of Methos' finely muscled chest, lingering whenever his touch brought forth a vocal response.
It was, Duncan discovered, far easier to hold off his own arousal when he was concentrating on driving his lover slowly insane. He let his fingertips trail lightly over Methos' stomach, enjoying the way the muscle flexed under his touch. Duncan wriggled lower and began to draw tight circles around his lover's navel with his tongue, dipping teasingly within to draw more of those wonderfully erotic sounds from his lover, while his fingers drifted lower still to slide through the dark curls surrounding the base of Methos' erection. Duncan wrapped his hand around the hot length of Methos' shaft and stroked once, watching as Methos' hips lifted from the bed trying to maintain the contact and a deep groan reached his ears. Giving in to a sudden urge, Mac stroked the hard cock again and dropped a swift kiss on the glistening head. He heard a breathless gasp that might have been his name and the rattle of the handcuffs against the bedstead. Taking mercy on his lover, Duncan adjusted his grip on the leaking shaft and lapped at the fluid gathering there before slowly taking the entire length down his throat.
Duncan took his time, savouring the taste and feel of his lover's cock, absorbing every gasp and moan he drew from his lover, every twitch of the slick body beneath him. He slid up and down the shaft with an excruciating lack of speed, refusing to give just that little bit more that would allow his lover to come. Nice as this was, and this was *nice*, it wasn't what he had in mind. Eventually Duncan had to leave off or spoil all his efforts for both of them. With one last kiss to the head, Duncan regretfully moved away from his lover's cock and began to work his way back up Methos' body; sliding slick hands up his chest and dropping light kisses on random pieces of flesh along the way.
Duncan stretched forward, lowering his body into contact with Methos', gliding his hands up his lover's arms to his much abused wrists. He wrapped his fingers around the slender wrists beneath the steel bracelets, rubbing soothingly in mute apology. A slight shift abruptly brought his cock into direct contact with Methos', raising cries of surprised pleasure from both of them and bringing Mac to a sudden awareness of just how close he himself was. He glanced down and met eyes gone dark with desire and the dizzying realisation that mere inches separated their mouths. A distance that vanished immediately as Duncan fell into a hungry, open-mouthed kiss.
Tasting Methos' mouth for the first time that day, Duncan wondered how on earth he'd managed to put it off this long. With his hands bound and his legs trapped beneath Duncan's weight, Methos seemed to be trying to make up for his enforced immobility. His tongue slipped between Duncan's lips almost immediately, twining with its mate and proceeding to search out every secret his lover's mouth might hold.
It took Duncan every ounce of willpower he possessed to pull back and rescue his tongue from Methos' mouth where it had been welcomed wholeheartedly. He sympathised with the cry of protest that rose at the separation, but remained resolute as he shifted forward, raised up slightly and reached behind him with one slick hand.
Methos gasped at the combination of Mac's hand on his aching cock and the sudden realisation of his lover's intent. The gasp became a moan when he felt the tight heat of his lover's body engulf him as Duncan slowly impaled himself on Methos' cock. Duncan straightened and raised his head to meet Methos' eyes. Duncan's bronzed skin was gleaming in the candlelight, damp with oil and sweat; his long dark hair was tousled and falling into his face. Methos found himself held captive by the dark eyes that glittered with all the desire he felt.
"Gods, Duncan, you're beautiful," Methos breathed and then Duncan moved. That first motion was nothing less than heaven, but it wasn't enough and almost before he was consciously aware of it, Methos found himself falling into that rhythm that was uniquely their own, arching up into Duncan's movements.
Methos was unable to tear his eyes away from the magnificent sight of Duncan, naked and gleaming, riding his cock, Duncan's expressive face reflecting pure pleasure. Methos tugged vainly at the cuffs binding his wrists. Dammit! He wanted... needed to touch Duncan. He wanted to thread his fingers through his lover's wonderfully tousled hair, to let each silken strand slip through his fingers. He wanted to brush his fingers across those slightly parted lips and dip inside to feel the heat. He wanted to slide his palms over Duncan's well-defined torso and tease the dark nipples to hardness. But most of all he wanted to take hold of his lover's straining cock and stroke it, to bring Duncan the same pleasure he felt. To make him come and feel that liquid love on his skin and taste it on his fingertips.
Something in his eyes must have communicated itself to his lover because Duncan leaned forward, one hand disappearing from Methos' view to return clutching a small key with something approaching desperation. There was a moment's brief fumbling, a faint click and Methos yanked his hands free. One immediately slipped between their bodies to grasp Duncan's neglected erection, while the other reached up to twine long fingers in dark hair and bring Duncan's mouth down to his own. Methos wasted no time repaying Duncan for a seeming eternity of torment. He drew Duncan's tongue into his mouth, thirsty for the taste of his lover while he stroked Duncan's cock in time with his thrusts, determined to bring his lover over with him.
"Methos," Duncan gasped into his lover's mouth, his voice low and throaty, raw desire. Methos couldn't help but react, thrusting even deeper into his lover's welcome heat and swallowing Duncan's cry of ecstasy as he spurted liquid warmth over Methos' hand. Duncan's convulsive movements found an echo in Methos and he followed his lover over into oblivion.
*
The Highlander was a welcome, if somewhat sticky, weight when Methos returned to awareness. He must have moved slightly because Duncan twisted to look up at Methos from where he rested his head on his lover's chest and then started to move off.
"No," Methos murmured and wrapped his arms tighter around his lover, "stay."
Duncan raised up and lightly touched his lips to his lover's; Methos had other ideas and the kiss became a languorous exploration. Eventually they parted and Duncan propped himself up on an elbow, enjoying the absolute contentment on his lover's expressive face.
"So, how was your day?" Duncan asked with a smile.
Methos reached up and tapped a long finger against Duncan's lips, "Bloody fantastic," he grinned in reply. Then he replaced the finger with his lips for a soft kiss, "Thank you."
Finis.