Dynamic Tension

by Kris Larson

Disclaimer: Don't own em, don't wanna. Too much trouble.

Series: This is a sequel of sorts to "Palaistikos," and, as promised, features a piece of gym equipment.

Note: This story was inspired by a Chi Chi LaRue video, which Valerie and I watched over Christmas... and watched... and watched... (research -- GOTTA love it!).

Aknowledgements: Thanks to her and Tia for the beta read. The title comes from "The Charles Atlas Song" from "The Rocky Horror Picture Show." ["In just seven days (and seven nights), I can make you a man...."]

Dynamic Tension

by Kris Larson

"Shit!"

Without disturbing his lazy sprawl along the couch, Methos glanced up from the morning newspaper, halfheartedly craning his neck towards the expletive. "Problem?" he called out.

The distinctive clank of metal on metal, and then a loud, disgusted sigh, answered before a single word of response. "That bench has *gotta* go," Richie announced, upon emerging from the spare room. He strolled over to the living room, and stopped a few feet from his supine companion.

"What's the matter with it?" the elder Immortal inquired, while folding the newspaper into a reasonably neat pile in his lap.

"Some of the stuffing wore out... where my ass usually rests," his lover explained. "I tried fixing it, with duct tape, but it hurts now." A slender hand reached behind to rub the offended sweats-clad buttocks.

Methos pulled himself up into a proper sitting position. "Can't have that," he admonished, with sincerity. He reached out both hands, and, cupping the youth's firm globes, pulled the frustrated exerciser towards him. "Don't want anything to hurt *that* glorious bum," he added huskily.

Richie leaned down, and met the tilted up face in a brief, delicious kiss. "No great loss -- I got the bench used, so it didn't cost much," he explained, running his lips along the elder's ear. He pulled up and out of the embrace. "Let's go buy another one after work tonight," he suggested

Methos leaned back against the cushions of the couch. "Sounds positively riveting," he sarcastically remarked.

"Sorry," the younger Immortal apologized, planting his hands on his hips. "What if I buy you dinner after?"

A moment of pompous ponderance, then a slight, satisfied nod. "Things are certainly looking up."

"I thought you'd like that," Richie noted, with a beaming grin.

"Oh, I wasn't just talking about the dinner invitation," Methos lecherously hinted, leaning forward toward his lover. One hand reached out, and brushed against the sweat-glistened, naked stomach muscles, then dropped lower, to caress the perceptible tenting of the cotton cloth.

"Later -- I gotta get to work, remember?" the now-laughing strawberry blonde admonished. He captured the roaming hand, and raised it to his lips for a kiss. "When I get home, we'll haul the old thing out to the curb, then head out to the store... and dinner. Okay?"

"And then?" Methos feigned, mustering every reserve of faux innocence.

"You're too much," Richie noted, with an exasperated shake of his head. He turned away, and padded off to the shower. "And I'm locking the door behind me!" he announced, before disappearing into the bathroom.

<<Bloody hell -- I've become too predictable. Either that, or the Child has finally mastered clairvoyance!>> With a loud, frustrated sigh, Methos peeled himself up off of the couch, and wandered slowly towards the weight room, to stare at the errant piece of equipment.

As Richie had reminded them both, the bench was, indeed, a second hand rose. The naugahyde was cracked in several places, and the lower half of the bench sported an ugly, raw wound, from which stuffing had obviously been lost. The bare wood of the underside shown through, obviously feeling unpleasant against the youth's tender posterior. Methos poked a single finger into the gaping hole in the cushioning, then, added a second. The corners of his mouth curled up, in response to a flash of demonic brilliance.

Chuckling softly to himself in smug satisfaction, Methos hustled back to the living room, and scooped the phone off of its cradle. He punched one of the autodial buttons, and waited impatiently, as the person on the other end took his sweet time picking up. "MacLeod -- do you still have that veritable hardware store you acquired during your house remodeling period?"

-------------------------------------

An hour later, Methos stood in MacLeod's office, watching intently, as the Scot explained the proper usage of a Makita router.

"And here's the scale for the depth control ring. This will make sure you don't go too deep."

"Oh, I want to go deep," Methos assured the Highlander.

Mac shot Methos a slightly irked glance, then returned his eyes to the tool. "And here is the shaft lock -- you can change the bits with a wrench."

"Now, why would I want to change the *bits*?" Methos asked, in mock horror. "But I *do* like the idea of a shaft lock, though."

Duncan shoved the power tool back into its box, and flipped down the flaps to close it. "The instruction manual is in the box, if you get desperate," he announced, with considerable annoyance, and a healthy dose of embarrassment.

"Thank you, MacLeod," the elder Immortal offered, scooping the heavy box under one arm, while cradling several other tools with the other limb.

"I really don't want to know what you're up to," Mac explained, his eyes searching Methos' face for some sign of the devious man's intent, nonetheless. "Just get those back to me in one piece -- and in the same condition I lent them to you!"

A hint of a smirk flashed across Methos' face, before he controlled his expression. "Don't worry, you won't need to disinfect your precious router."

"One can't be too careful, when *you're* involved," Mac noted dryly. He followed Methos into the dojo, then moved ahead, to push open the doors for his precariously balanced friend.

Methos thanked the Scot once more, then headed out to his car. He packed his mechanical accomplices into the hatchback of the vehicle, and shook his head. <<Modern men -- more protective of their power tools than their more important *tools*. What ever would Sigmund think of that?>>

-------------------------------------------

(Early that evening)

A work wearied, and disgustingly greasy, young Immortal trudged up the stairs to his apartment, pushed open the door, and willed himself to make it to the bathroom, before he lost his forward momentum. Even though he felt his lover's unmistakable presence, he didn't see the other man directly. "Methos -- I'm gonna take a quick shower, then we can go, okay?" he called out.

"Fine," came a noncommittal reply, from behind the bedroom's closed door.

Richie paused for a moment, in reflexive suspicion. As much as he wondered what his underhanded lover was up to, he needed a hot shower much more urgently than the answer to that puzzle. With a slight, resigned shake of his head, he plodded into the bathroom, and shut the door behind him.

Ten minutes later, the freshly scrubbed young man emerged from the shower, infinitely happier and more refreshed than when he had entered. One navy blue bath towel was wrapped low around his waist, while another was toweling his hair dry. He turned toward the bedroom, but stopped at the sight which greeted him at the entrance to the spare room.

"Welcome home, Brat. Had a *hard* day, I take it?"

As the towel fell from his hand and onto the floor, Richie's mouth fell open slightly, despite himself. The elder man was leaning against the door jamb, wearing nothing but skin, and a most enticing erection. An erection which was currently being stroked by one of the ancient man's own hands.

"I guess you could say that," Richie slowly answered. His eyes widened, as he tried to understand his lover's current nefarious plan. "Planning on helping me toss out the weight bench dressed like *that*?" he finally teased.

"Nope."

Confusion reigned in the youth's face. "*Nope* you're not going to stay like that, or *nope* you're not going to help me take out the weight bench?"

Methos slightly increased the path of his palm, as it curled along his cock. "We're not throwing it away."

"We're not," Richie parroted, completely baffled.

"Nope -- at least, not right away."

"Oh, and why's that?" the youth defiantly asked, crossing his arms against his chest.

The smirk -- the annoying, maddening, frustrating smirk. "Because -- I've fixed it."

<<God, I *HATE* that smirk!!!>> Richie thought. For he knew, the depth of the smirk was directly proportional to the depth of trouble he was about to find himself in. And by the looks of the current smirkometer reading, this was going to be one for the record books. "You *fixed* it?" he finally inquired.

"Well, actually, I *improved* it," Methos admitted, with a slight shrug.

<<This I've *got* to see!>> the youth silently mused. His eyes locked onto the other's bobbing need, mesmerized by the familiar fingers stroking across the delicious hardness. "Will you *stop* that!" Richie blurted out, in frustration.

The fingers stilled, even as the smirk deepened, much to Richie's despair. "Why? Am I giving you ideas?" Methos purred. The other hand reached out, to brush against the obvious tenting of the waist-wrapped towel.

"Yes!" Richie admitted, with urgency covered in a laugh.

Methos released his own cock, and leaned forward. "Good -- that's the point," he explained sensuously, before kissing the very breath from his lover's lungs.

Part 2:

While his lips distracted the, justifiably, suspicious youth, Methos tucked fingers into the loosely bound knot, releasing the towel to the waiting hands of gravity. It fell to the floor in silence, allowing the two lovers to press completely into an unfettered, full body embrace.

The ancient Immortal snaked a hand between their tightly pressed stomachs, to gently caress the other's magnificence. "Now, do I have your undivided attention?" he whispered, his breath tickling the curled wisps of hair which framed one perfect earlobe.

A moan originated from deep within him, as Richie tilted his hips up, to maximize the contact between his cock and the other's pleasuring hand. "Uh huh," he whispered, his teeth biting down into his lower lip in anticipation.

"Good -- let me show you what I've been up to." Methos lowered his hand from the other's groin, in favor of the artistic fingers of one of Richie's hands. He found their combined grasp pulled back into contact with the younger man's -- and his own -- need.

"I'm more interested in what you're *up* to now, Old Timer," Richie teased insistently, before claiming his lover's mouth.

The kiss dissolved into an amalgam of a knowing smirk on one side, and a disappointed pout on the other. "Patience, Brat," Methos urged, in amusement. "Trust me -- you'll thank me later."

<<Yeah, when I'm screaming out your name, you mean.>> A hint of a shudder shimmied through Richie's Immortal flesh, as he allowed his lover to lead them both into the spare room.

Methos stopped once the bench was reached, gesturing towards his masterpiece, with a flourish of his free hand. "Voila'," he proudly announced.

Richie stared at the sorry old bench, which suddenly looked even sorrier. "I thought you said you *fixed* it? The hole goes all the way through now!" Indeed, there was now a four inch wide hole cut completely through the bench. Richie stuck a finger through the hole, and discovered that Methos had apparently pulled the padding and lining through the hole, and stapled it into place on the underside of the bench.

The unholy carpenter watched his lover's confused perusal with amusement, and the slightly bent forward male form with definite lecherous appreciation. "No, I said I *improved* it," Methos reminded them both. "And, I have." Lips curled up into an instinctive smirk, as he enjoyed the utter bewilderment in his lover's face. He reached out, and grasped the exploring fingers. "Here -- let me show you," he persuaded in a whisper, his voice husky with need and desire. Methos cupped both hands around the astonishment laden face, stole his fill of sweet Richie taste, then released his lover. "Have a seat," he encouraged, patting the bench, just shy of the hole.

The younger Immortal searched the self-assured countenance of his devious companion, then, did as he was instructed. He first tried to straddle the bench facing the bottom end, but was immediately stopped by an insistent hand. Understanding only somewhat better what his lover had in store for him, he rotated around, finally sitting astride the bench, facing the uprights at the head of the equipment. As he watched Methos fetch a pile of pillows from one corner of the room, Richie wriggled into what he could only assume was the correct position, sitting just behind the hole.

Methos shoved the cushions under the bench, then, crawled underneath himself. He sprawled out his body into a mildly comfortable position, with his feet sticking fairly far beyond the head of the bench. He adjusted the pillows under his head and upper body, so his face was just a hair below the hole, then smirked in amusement at the endearing innocence of his lover. "That's not exactly the view I had in mind," Methos teased affectionately, nonetheless admiring the live naugahyde framed portrait of a very familiar cock.

"Sorry," Richie sheepishly whispered, sensing the uncontrollable warmth of a blush begin to heat his face.

"Not a problem," Methos gently replied. "Just move forward a tad."

"Oh... 'kay... got it." The youth shimmied forward a few inches, settling his ass across the hole. It felt strange, almost uncomfortable, but, the discomfort was immediately forgotten, as the first tingling sensation of a skillful tongue lash flickered across his sensitive ingress. "Mmmmmmm," he purred, pressing his ass deeper into the hole, to allow the other easier access.

"You approve?" Methos murmured, between staccato flickers.

"Uh huh... Ohhhhhhhh GGGGGGODDDDDDD...." Richie was reduced to near brain death, as the tongue was replaced by a saliva slickened finger wiggling inside him. He felt hands reach up from under the bench, and wrap around his thighs for support. He reached down and clung unto his lover's grip, trying to steady his own weebly rocking frame.

Moans of encouragement, and the increasingly labored breathing of Immortal lungs, were the only sounds to pierce the near silence of the apartment. Methos continued to torture his lover, with a multilayered assault of lips, tongue, and teeth, alternated with digital dalliances against the quickly firestormed prostate. As focused as he was on pleasuring his lover's body, he somehow sensed the clutching fingers release his hands, and appear to move towards the youth's unattended steel. With an exaggerated slurping sound, Methos pulled away from his repast, and admonished, "Do *not* touch yourself!"

"Methossssssss, c'moooooon," Richie plaintively begged. "You're *killing* me! Please! OhhhhhhhhSHIT!!!!!" The ability to speak was sucked from his brain by the sweet sensation of a tongue diving deeper into his body.

The ancient Immortal continued his sensual torment of the faultlessly tight ass, but soon became uneasy at the mewled, strangled cries of frustration which arose from above him. It was time to set aside his brilliant strategy, in favor of what his beloved truly, and apparently immediately, needed. "Turn over, on your stomach -- very *carefully*," he instructed. He adjusted his position slightly, leaving room for the shaft to descend through the hole.

Richie flipped over into the proper position, with grateful urgency. He clung onto the uprights of the bench, with white-knuckled hands, as he felt his member engulfed by the wanton glove of his favorite mouth.

With the skill of millennia of lovemaking, Methos accepted every inch of his beloved, his tongue twirling around the shaft in encouragement, even as the head pressed further down his throat. His nose pressed up, resting in the soap scented wiry curls, and paused to enjoy the primal delight of manly scent and taste. Then, he moved, sliding his mouth back and fro, worshipping the entire thick veined length. A cried moan of his name, muffled by the padding of the bench, and, then, his lover's body froze, before emptying in waves of spasmed delight.

Seconds passed, with deliberate purpose, as Methos patiently held the limpening flesh within his oral grasp. He reached up and round the bench once again, to tenderly rake his fingers over the globed, sweaty skin of his lover's ass. Sensing the other's body begin to still, he allowed the deflated member to slide from his mouth, then, placed a soft kiss upon the still slightly salt-essenced head. "Now... *where* was I?" he cajoled, hopefully.

"Huh?" Richie mumbled, with only a hint of coherency.

"Sit back up -- the way you were, before I was so rudely interrupted."

The younger Immortal paused, as a stray neuron fired in his mind, followed by another. With a loud groan, he pushed himself up from the bench, pivoting his body back into a seated position, with his ass above the hole once again.

"Ah, yes... *now* I remember," Methos teased, from beneath. "I believe I was right about... *here*...."

Richie gasped, in unprepared shock, as the serpentine visitor encircled his, now hypersensitized, muscular ring.

More than slightly pleased at the ways he could still drive his partner to utter mindlessness, Methos resumed his indulgent appreciation of the body he knew so well, yet, which could never cease to amaze and arouse him. Urged on by the breathless, whispered chant of his name, the eldest Immortal loved and laved at the pink ribbed inlet with every ounce of his more than considerable skill. One hand released a recaptured thigh, to fumble for the tube he had stashed alongside himself. Once retrieved, he coated his own painfully steeled flesh, then, with some reluctance, pulled his face away from the wriggling ass.

A finger slid, up through the bench and into Richie, twisting... preparing.... A second then joined, stretching the taut entrance even further. A shocked gasp, tinged with pain-edged pleasure, flew from lips made ruddy from self bites of passion, as a third joined the endeavor. "Yes... Methos... now...please... want you... *need*... you...."

Moaned disappointment, spiced with delicious anticipation, escaped from the youth's mouth, as he felt the fingers slide from his body. He felt Methos shift underneath him, and he managed to stand, on sealegs made nearly useless from too many moments of pleasure. When his lover clambered to his own feet, Richie leaned into the other's urgent embrace. He devoured the other's mouth with his, as his fingers stroked against the already slickened cock he longed to feel become a part of him.

Methos disentangled himself from their desperate clasp, then brushed a final kiss across the sweat beaded forehead, before lowering himself to lay upon the bench. His feet planted flat on the floor, as he settled his shoulders against the cushion, just shy of the uprights. "Go on... climb on," he urged, in a throaty whisper.

Tightly toned thighs straddled over the elder man's lanky frame, legs supporting the youth, with his ass just above the spired need. Fingers stretched up, and gently grasped the sides of the slender, splayed hips, to guide the downward descent. Richie slowly lowered himself down, hesitating for a moment, as the widened head of his lover's cock pressed insistently against his tensed flesh. A deep, inhaled breath, and he pushed against the sensuous pressure, gasping loudly, as the shy ring was breached.

Both men moaned, in luscious loving appreciation, of each other, and the intimate sensations they shared. A momentary pause, as Richie's flesh adjusted to the stimulation and fullness, then, downward he sank again, sliding slowly... so very, tortuously slowly, down to finally rest his ass against his partner's pelvic blades.

"All yours... all yours...," Methos moaned, in encouragement, as he lightly circled his fingertips along the youth's hips.

Richie nodded in understanding, before pressing upward again, along the same timelapsed path of pleasure he had just traveled. He leaned forward, slightly, and grasped the tops of the uprights, to steady his pleasure-wobbled body. Again, and again, and again, he so leisurely slid, making love to his prone beloved, just as surely as the nearly motionless Methos was loving him.

"Yessssss," the ancient one hissed in a breath, his grip on the rising and falling hips intensifying to nearly bruising force. "So good... so very good... soooo... sooooooo... Richieeeeeee...." The word faded to a groaned sigh, and then a grunt, as Methos clutched the hips, and pulled Richie down into stilled impalement against his skin. His ass clenched and flexed, as he came, filling the tightness with his slick essence.

The younger Immortal stayed in place, savoring every nuance of his lover's climax. The overwhelming intimacy of watching the sensual storm arrive, then recede, in the elder's features, was almost enough to send him crashing down into another tumult of his own.

*Almost*.

Methos soon returned from tantric bliss, only to find a still hard cock bobbing above his stomach, and the obvious desire for release in those heavy-lidded cerulean eyes. A tip of a tongue peeked from between his lips, and licked briefly. "Finish, Richie... *now*," he demanded.

All too eager to comply, Richie released one of the steel uprights, wrapped his fingers around his own twitching shaft, and pumped himself to finality. Shivered strands of liquid pearls fell carelessly across the elder's flat abdomen, like Mardi Gras beads of appreciation.

Tightened muscles hugged Methos' still Richie-sheathed cock, milking tendrils of orgasmic sensations from the sensitized skin. The flagging member raised slightly in response, then continued its subsidence.

After a sufficient wait, Richie slowly stood, releasing his body's grasp on the exhausted flesh. Once freed of the tangle of the bench, he leaned down, to caress his lips across the elder's. "I'll get a towel," he explained, with a relaxed, delighted smile, before hastening over to the doorway. He scooped up one of the previously discarded towels, and wiped clean his own body, before returning to care for Methos. He straddled his still-supine, and, most surprisingly, still-silent companion, resting his weight on the elder's thighs. His now-flaccid cock rested lazily against his skin, and nestled comfortably against the thigh underneath, as he lovingly wiped clean the other's receded need. He glanced up at the uncharacteristically wordless face, smiling shyly, as he noted how the intense olivine gaze watched him work.

The towel dabbed some of the white stain from the elder's stomach, then, halted. Flashing a sensuous grin at his still-intently focused mate, Richie leaned forward, and ran his tongue through the remaining evidence of his satisfaction. The ancient skin shivered in delight under his touch, and a contented grin curled up the plush lips, as the tongue continued its purposeful work.

Finally satisfied that his work was complete, the tongue lapped upward one last time, as Richie pulled himself back into an upright position. His tongue circled his lips in purposeful reprise, then, his face broke out in a beaming grin.

Methos sighed loudly, then shook his head in never-ending surprise. "So, still eager to take this old thing down to the curb?" he inquired slowly.

"What -- you, or the bench?... ACK!!!! No...no fair!" Richie squealed in reflexive reaction, as Methos' fingers assaulted his ticklish spots.

"That's what you get for being a brat, Brat," Methos warned affectionately. He ceased his onslaught, and the youth settled comfortably on his thighs, once again. This time, their jointly sated cocks rested in contented contact. "So?" he queried again, raising his eyebrows for effect.

"What do *you* think," came the laughing reply.

A smug smirk shined upward at the younger Immortal. "So... where *are* we going to put the new bench, hmmm?"

"Never mind *that*," Richie warned. His voice lowered to that familiar sexy catch, the one which never failed to drive Methos beyond distraction, and straight into necessity. "I wanna know what you've got *planned* for the new one!"

An echo of a shiver shimmied up the elder man's spine, before he composed himself. "If only you knew," he enunciated, with purpose. "If only you knew...."

The End

Notes: For those of you who can find smut in anything, check out the description of the Makita 1 H.P. router: http://store.yahoo.com/adatom/gattmak21014645.html