Disclaimers: The characters in this story originate from Highlander: The Series, and are used without permission. This story contains an m/m relationship so don't read it if you don't like that.
It was a strange set of circumstances that conspired against me at the start. It was after a month in Paris, a month spent rebuilding a friendship. The incidents with Keane and Byron both brought us closer together and drove us farther apart. I thought, after Byron, that I had lost my chance. But Methos surprised me and stuck around.
We were lucky. The other Immortals who make their home in Paris or who visited the ancient city seemed to steer blessedly clear of my barge. Instead, we filled our time with afternoons at art museums and evenings of chess, lively debates, and quiet companionship.
I would have stayed the whole season in Paris like that, if it had not been for a break-in at a Seacouver storage unit where I keep some of my belongings. I almost left it to Joe to check things out for me, but I had a couple mementos of personal significance hidden away there, and I wanted to check them myself. I booked a flight back to Seacouver almost immediately.
Funny thing was how easily I talked Methos into going along.
"...and then there is this kind of frog in the rainforest that my friend Andy told me about. It's really small and not like my frog Bud at all. It's got this poison that can kill you like just like that. Andy said he had one that his Uncle caught in the jungle. He said he had it in this shoe box he carried around with him for a whole week. I knew he was lying so I didn't have to open the box to look. He tried to make me for a whole week, but I knew he was lying..."
Methos stared at the kid sitting next to him. He was beginning to think children under the age of fifteen should be shipped cargo.
"Hey," Methos interrupted just as the kid began to elaborate on a snake he had caught last summer. "What was that?"
The boy followed his gaze to the window. "What?"
"Out on the wing! I thought I saw something out on the wing!"
"There's nothing there," the boy said, but he kept looking anyhow. In fact, every time he started to look away, he turned back to check again almost immediately.
When the kid finally managed to tear his face away from the window, he looked slightly pale. Methos watched him stare straight ahead for about half a minute. Suddenly the boy jumped up, muttering 'excuse me' to Methos and MacLeod as he nearly crawled over their knees. Methos watched him enter the lavatory.
"I guess he didn't like the view," Methos commented, smugly.
"You're terrible," MacLeod said.
"What?"
Methos was even happier when he saw the kid take an empty aisle-seat near the back.
Turbulence rocked the plane again. The middle-schooler's abandoned plastic cup of soda slid across the seat-back tray to soak the knee of Methos' jeans. He swore and switched on the overhead light.
"Serves you right," Duncan laughed, and Methos gave him a sour look.
After several minutes of ignoring the Highlander, Methos said,"Who's idea was this again, anyway?"
"Come on, there's only an hour left," Duncan suggested.
"An hour and a half, according to the Captain." Methos tried to loosen a cramp in his leg and immediately encountered the seat in front of him. "If we'd stuck with our original reservations, we wouldn't be flying coach."
"If we had stuck with our original reservations, we'd still be sitting in a New York airport," Duncan reminded him.
"Well, at least we-" Methos began when the plane suddenly dipped alarmingly, throwing them all momentarily forward in their seats. The plane quickly leveled out, but Duncan noticed Methos clutching his armrest. The co-pilot came on the speaker immediately, reassuring everyone that they were just experiencing turbulence and apologizing for any inconvenience.
"Still, at least we'll be back in Seacouver soon," Duncan attempted to restart the conversation.
Methos did not appear to be listening. He seemed to be staring off into space, and Duncan watched him for many seconds before the other man pulled himself into focus and returned his attention to Duncan.
"Yeah," he said. "Then maybe I can-" He was cut off again as the plane dipped a second time. This time the copilot did not come on over the speakers.
Duncan saw him clutching the arm rest again. When he looked a little closer, he could see his friend's features were strained.
"This has really got you spooked," MacLeod said in an amused voice, a smile tugging at his lips.
"So sue me if I don't want to get decapitated, incinerated, or otherwise permanently mangled in an air crash." He emphasized the particularly nasty words.
"It's perfectly safe..." MacLeod began.
"Yeah, until something happens. Seriously, MacLeod, this is one of the few ways other than the Game that we can get killed. Permanently."
"Stop being so pessimistic. You fly all the time."
Methos turned to face MacLeod before continuing.
"That doesn't mean I'm not aware of the danger. Besides, the odds are eventually going to stack against me."
"We'll be fine," MacLeod said.
Methos smiled, relaxing, "Now who are you trying to convince?"
MacLeod gave him a nasty look.
"Look, I wouldn't fly if I didn't think it was safe," Methos said. "I just get a little paranoid sometimes."
"Yeah, well, be careful. You keep talking like that, and it might start wearing off."
Methos removed the newspaper from the seatback pocket in front of him and began unfolding it even though he had already read the whole thing. After much fidgeting, he refolded it with the crossword puzzle to the front.
Duncan watched him retrieve a pen and begin to fill out the puzzle. MacLeod closed his eyes and thought about his friend. He was glad they were back to a kind of casual friendship. He hadn't admitted to the Old Man how much he had missed him while they had been at odds. Good friends were rare enough, and losing one like Methos would be a tragedy. He realized that now. Something Methos' had once said to him sprang to mind...too important.
His name startled him out of his reverie.
"Hey, MacLeod, what's a three letter word for--"
Methos' voice had taken on the tone he used almost exclusively for MacLeod baiting. "Don't even..." Duncan warned.
Methos grinned playfully at MacLeod.
"What turnabout's not fair play?"
Twenty minutes later, the plane experienced another sudden lurch, this time accompanied by a sharp mechanical whine. The correction took longer and was accompanied by a dip to the right before they leveled out. The emergency lights flickered on.
"Shit," Methos whispered.
Duncan heard him over the other passengers, whispering and shouting out their own panicked questions. He could hear a couple of people crying.
"Please be sure you and all your belongings are secured," came a flight attendant's voice. "We are experiencing some difficulty, but we are attempting to correct the problem."
MacLeod very much wanted to know what exactly 'some difficulty' entailed, but all the flight attendants remained strapped-in in front and were not available for question. He turned to Methos, unsure whether he did so looking for reassurance or planning to give it. Any attempt at speech he might have made, was cut short by the overwhelmingly loud sound of rending metal. Jesus, he thought, desperate with the need to know what was going on but with no means to gain any answers. The emergency lights flickered.
"Methos..." He trailed off as he felt the angle of the plane begin to change.
"This is bad, you know," the other man said, much calmer than Duncan expected.
Duncan did not say anything for a time; however, when he realized the pilot was not correcting their angle, he discovered there were things he needed to say to Methos. He turned to face the older Immortal. When he spoke it was in a rush, as the sense of immediacy increased.
"Methos, I'm sorry. I never really said it before, but I'm sorry about some of the things that happened. You're my friend, and I let myself forget that in light of some things that I thought came before that at the time. I was wrong. You're my friend and that is what's important."
Anything further was lost in the chaos that followed.
Alive! Duncan coughed painfully as he struggled back to consciousness. The pain was everywhere, but it was a comfort that he felt it at all. I'm alive! the thought bringing a flood of relief. He shifted, the pressure in his chest from his recently restarted heart subsiding enough for him to open his eyes. The sight of the devastation around him made him freeze. And then Methos!
Duncan scrambled up as quickly as he could, dislodging the rubble that lay partly across his body. Freeing his foot from where it was pinned under a sheet of metal finally allowed the injured limb to begin healing. Putting pressure on it almost sent him back to the ground, but through sheer determination he managed to retain his stance. Standing, he was better able to survey the sight of the crash and was barely able to keep from being physically sick. The sight of the crash was expansive and the scale of the carnage, monumental. Nothing stirred.
Duncan closed his eyes for several seconds. He could not feel the presence of another Immortal. His stomach lurched with this realization. He told himself to be calm, that perhaps the older Immortal's injuries had been more severe and that he had just not recovered yet. The ghost pains still throbbing from all over his body mocked him. How much more 'severe' could even an Immortal survive? Trying to suppress further thought, Duncan began the grisly task of searching the wreckage.
After uncovering several bodies, Duncan ascertained that there was no way a mortal could have survived this crash. Most of the bodies were far to mangled to be identifiable. He tried to ignore the evidence he found of severed limbs and body parts burnt completely away, but they fueled doubts in his mind none the less. He lingered at bodies only long enough to ascertain that they were not the one he was looking for. Duncan put aside his grief for these unknown mortals, in favor of his more immediate concern for one Immortal.
Duncan's heart nearly stopped when he finally found the familiar body curled beneath the wreckage of a wing. Immortal healing had taken care of much of the burns, for which Duncan was thankful or he might have passed this body by as well. Duncan knelt, and gently pulled his friend from beneath the wing. A huge length of shrapnel had taken the man in the chest and remained embedded there. The metal penetrated the body from front to back along almost the entire length of Methos' sternum.
Removing the huge piece of metal proved to be one of the most gruesome tasks of MacLeod's four hundred years. It was wedged deeply in and through the bones of chest cavity. Any organs were beyond salvaging, and so Duncan did his best to ignore any further damages he did while trying to remove the metal by brute force alone. The ragged edges ripped at his hands, but he hardly noticed the pain of the new wounds in his concern for his friend. When he finally finished, he couldn't help but cringe at the ravaged mass that had been Methos' chest. This was surely one of the worst wounds he had ever witnessed and it would be a long time healing.
Duncan gathered the oldest Immortal into his arms as carefully as he could, and then lifted him up. Duncan walked away from the nightmare scene carrying his precious burden in his arms.
Duncan walked through the woods for nearly an hour, driven by a horror and a numbness that, irrationally, distance seemed to help. He only stopped when a passing owl startled him enough out of his daze enough to notice that Methos was almost healed. He carefully laid the thinner man on the leaf-covered ground at the base of an oak tree. MacLeod kneeled down, watching over his friend while waiting for him to revive. Relief flooded through Duncan for the hundredth time that night. For himself, for his friend, for the fate that had sent apiece of shrapnel where it did and not half a foot higher. The sudden sing of presence was the final relief.
Methos came alive with a gasp, half sitting up, arms flailing in front of him. Duncan caught his friend's shoulder, helping him to stay upright. It took a full sixty seconds and much coughing, before Methos regained control of his breathing. This accomplished, Methos steadied his shaking with a hand wrapped firmly around MacLeod's forearm. When memory returned, his gasp almost set off another fit of coughing.
"I'm alive," he murmured. He took a deep slow breath, as if feeling the truth of that statement. Then he raised his eyes to look at Duncan. He blinked several times as he stared in wonder at the Highlander whose face was illuminated softly by pale reflected moonlight. "You're alive," he said, reaching up with one hand to gently touch Duncan's cheek.
"We're alive," Duncan agreed.
Methos tried to sit up from his awkward position on the ground, and a solicitous Duncan caught his arms to help him up. Methos froze at the contact, feeling suddenly far more vulnerable than he liked. His eyes flew to Duncan's. The Highlander's eyes were dark and unreadable in the moonlight. Both men seemed frozen for a moment that seemed to stretch on and on in the silence of the woods. The only sounds were that of a distant nightbird and their own faint breathing. They sat like that, touching, still, but no longer moving, staring at each other with wide eyes, until an amazing thing happened, and both men leaned in together for a long open-mouthed kiss.
Methos felt the kiss burn through his body, both desperate and passionate from the beginning. He felt all his relief and his joy at being alive pouring out of him into that kiss, and he felt the same from Duncan. They reveled in the pure delight of being alive. Kissing and reaffirming life all at once. Methos was surprised and delighted that Duncan could share this kind of comfort and celebration.
Methos slid his fingers into the Highlanders thick hair, letting it twine between his fingers. His other hand, touching lightly just below Duncan's jaw line, moved in the barest ghost of a caress. When he felt Duncan's tongue slip past his open lips, he closed His eyes and lost himself completely to the kiss.
Duncan had never chosen to pursue this kind of pleasure with a man in the past, but here and now it seemed so right. He slid his hand from its grip on Methos' upper arm into an open-palmed caress of the older man's back. That produced a small moan from Methos and a slight arching of his body into MacLeod's. So encouraged, Duncan let his other hand move upward, across Methos' shoulder and to the back of his neck into what was part gentle massage and part caress, kneading the neck, creeping up to the base of his skull. In response, Methos leaned into the caress, tipping his head further back, giving MacLeod better access to his mouth, which the Highlander gladly pursued.
Methos let his hand fall slowly from Duncan's jaw down to the front of Duncan's shirt, which was badly torn. He let his fingers begin working on the remaining fastenings. When MacLeod made no protest, he continued to the bottom. When the shirt was hanging open before him, he let his hand slip under the fabric, spreading his fingers through the thick hair of Duncan's chest. Methos interpreted the sharp gasp that followed as one of pleasure and let his fingers begin a slow pattern of caresses. With Duncan kissing him so completely he couldn't concentrate on anything more than maintaining a repetitive circular motion on the warm flesh.
When MacLeod finally, finally tilted away from the kiss he had been so eagerly accomplishing, the eyes that met Methos' were dark and desire filled. Duncan shrugged the remains of his shirt off his shoulders. Methos could not uncatch the breath that stuck in his throat as he watched, transfixed by a simple shoulder motion that seemed to contain so much barely-leashed sexuality when Mac did it.
Duncan took advantage of Methos' distraction to yank a torn and bloodstained sweater over his head. At the sight of the sweater, and the huge hole torn through it, Methos shivered, a shiver of fear, relief, and desire all mixed up together. He needed MacLeod very much in that instant.
Methos began tracing the broad torso exposed before him. When he reached the closure of MacLeod's jeans, he felt the body before him tense up suddenly, and then draw back.
"Wait," Duncan whispered.
Methos hoped desperately that the Highlander was not having second thoughts. His own need was too bright a fire now.
"I've never..."
"That's okay," Methos reassured. "We won't do anything too complicated. Just feel it." He leaned forward and nibbled lightly on Duncan's ear, then whispered: "Everything else will come..."
MacLeod groaned at that and then flipped Methos onto his back, covering the ancient immortal's body with as much of his own as he could manage, rubbing their groins together firmly. The sounds issuing form Methos' throat reassured him that he had not acted too aggressively. He let his hands spread out over the older man's chest, running them in firm caresses all over the man's torso, watching with special relish the reaction of the body beneath him when his hands brushed over hardened nipples. Duncan watched in fascination as Methos' breathing picked up and a faint flush began to spread over his normally pale skin as he became increasingly aroused.
When the latest pass of his hand caused a little whimpering noise to pass Methos' lips, Duncan paused. With a wicked grin, he pinched the nipple hard. At the continued teasing the older immortal let out a tremendous growl, and moved to upset the larger Immortal above him.
Their tumble ended with Methos sitting astride MacLeod's legs. Methos mimicked MacLeod's earlier gestures until the younger man was panting beneath him. He let his fingers sweep lower and lower until they were dipping under the band of MacLeod's jeans. He opened the button with his thumb. This time there were no protests. Only soft sounds of pleasure as Methos pulled down the zip and began sliding the garment down the Highlander's thighs.
They managed to remove their remaining clothes in short order, despite how the cloth stuck to skin where blood had caked and dried. Duncan let his desire consume him, even as he allowed Methos to lead. The older immortal gently guided him to the ground so they were laying on their sides facing one another.
Duncan beheld the dappling of moonlight and soft shadows on the angular face of the man before him, softening it, giving it an almost unreal cast. Duncan knew they were both a mess, but still the sight sent a thrill of desire through his body for the fae looking man before him. He reached out with one hand for a light caress of that cheek.
Methos smiled gently at him and then caught Duncan's hand in his own. He brought their hands down together to where their erections pressed against each other. Together, they wrapped joined hands around their paired organs. Methos rubbed the tip of MacLeod's cock with his thumb, spreading the moisture there. This caused Duncan to moan and buck his hips. With that start they began to create a rhythm together.
Methos closed his eyes, willing to give himself to the pleasure of the moment. Duncan watched, enthralled by the sensualism on the other man's face, in awe, in wonder, at how easy it was to make love to this man. Their rhythm increased with their need. Duncan felt it was both too slow and too fast. The rub of the other man's cock against his own was thrilling and new. The mutuality of this act amazed him, consumed him.
"I need you," he whispered fiercely.
Methos' eyes flew open at the words, and just then his orgasm began. The pulsing of his cock against Duncan's and the look of incredible wanting in those gold-green eyes sent Duncan right over the edge after him.
Methos awoke first. He did not untangle himself from where he and the Highlander had curled together for warmth during the night. He did yawn widely. It felt perilously good to be lying in MacLeod's arms, even in the light of early morning. The events of the night before had been born of mutual need. He hoped that MacLeod could accept that and that there would be no messy morning-after scene. The problem was his own heart was having trouble accepting that. For some reason this youngling had pulled on something deep inside him from the very beginning, and now, lying in the man's arms, it seemed that this was what it had all been about. The next thought made his heart rate speed up at the same time his blood turned cold. Could he be falling in love with this man?
Some deep defense mechanism made Methos swerve from that path of thought. His attempt to disengage himself woke the Highlander, who stirred with a great purr. Duncan blinked at him a few times, but then stretched unselfconsciously, drawing himself out to his full length. The effect of this display was immediate and apparent, and to Methos' great embarrassment Duncan noticed.
But Duncan just laughed. Then he kissed Methos lightly. It was the barest brushing of lips before he went looking for his jeans. Certainly not terribly romantic, Methos thought, but at least he accepts what happened last night.
The clothes MacLeod retrieved truly bordered on unusable. Playfully, Methos demonstrated how his entire arm and head fit comfortably through the hole in the front of the sweater.
"Maybe we should go back to the wreckage..."
"Are you crazy? Emergency crews will be all over the site by now. I don't think we could explain our miraculous survival that easily,"Methos interjected into MacLeod's suggestion.
"What do you suggest we do? We can't let them just think we're dead."
"Why ever not?" Methos asked. "Adam Pierson has had a good run. This is the perfect opportunity to start over. There won't even be messy questions about lack of a body."
"Well I'm not ready to throw my life away," Duncan exploded. The sudden sick feeling he felt in his stomach, he knew, did not come from that thought--he would not have to give up his life unless he decided to. No, the feeling stemmed from the thought that Methos might take the opportunity. Become someone else, somewhere else.
"All right then," Methos said. "It would be best then if they thought we never got on that plane."
MacLeod let go of the breath he had been holding as relief flooded him. He had worked too long and hard on this friendship to let it go easily. Methos was simply too important to him.
"So what do we do?" Duncan asked.
"We get away from here without anybody seeing us. When the passenger lists are released, we simply step forward and say, 'hey, here we are.' We never got on that plane. We didn't even know it had crashed."
"So what you are saying is we are going to trek across the countryside looking like creatures out of one of Richie's horror movies without anyone seeing us?" Duncan asked.
"Basically, yes," Methos grinned.
It took us five days across country before we felt it was safe enough to travel the rest of the way to Seacouver by more modern means. We traveled fast and with little enough to eat, but still I had a fine time. I enjoyed Methos' company immensely, and we seemed so removed from the world I didn't even question the relationship we shared for the remainder of the trip.
To my great distress, we stole clothes from an outlying summer home. I protested, but it was truly necessary. We couldn't return to civilization as we were. (And that thought haunted me when I let my mind turn to it). Afterward Methos teased me that that little theft was going to cost me a merit badge.
We engaged in other activities that would probably have technically cost me a merit badge, but out there, in a world that seemed just our own, I hardly thought twice about what we were doing. Some nights we simply held each other, taking comfort in companionship and shared warmth. Other nights we went further, sharing pleasure with hands and mouths.
My return to civilization seemed strange after that.
Our miraculous survival turned out to be more difficult to explain than Methos had anticipated. Though the suspicions we faced were of a different kind entirely than we had feared. As for Methos and myself, it hardly seemed abnormal at all to me that our return to the real world would mean a return to our normal relationship.
Our first indications that all had not gone well was the second visit of the FBI agents, almost a week after we'd returned to Seacouver. By one of those unpredictable flukes of chance, the black box of the plane had not been recovered. Suspicion was therefore rife. The television news carried a series of stories on the possibility of terrorist attack including a special report on militant groups and domestic terrorism. Our story might have been easily accepted and further investigation completely unnecessary if only the cause of the crash had been known. Unfortunately, we couldn't say anything.
When some of our belongings were found amid the wreckage, the investigation directed at us was stepped up. We were pressed harder and harder when our answers to the questions they asked us proved less and less satisfactory. Where were the receipts for the hotel we claimed to have stayed at when we decided to spend the night in NewYork rather than get on the plane? When Methos finally managed to produce convincing records, it turned to 'Why doesn't the desk clerk remember you?' and 'Why was your luggage on the plane?' That last became the biggest concern.
After four days of exhaustive investigation, we were granted our reprieve when the black box was finally, finally found on the wreck site. However, all the unwanted attention brought another problem. The Watchers. They really wanted to know why ex-Watcher Adam Pierson was traveling by plane with Immortal Duncan MacLeod. Then worse: sharing a hotel suite.
Adam had to undergo a series of interviews and meetings with a number of area Watchers. Methos didn't say much about it to me, but I could tell the experience was harrowing for him. He had spent so long maintaining a series of carefully constructed lies (something at which he is astonishingly good) only to have something as compromising as this occur.
In the end, it was Joe who came his rescue, spinning a tail about how he had enlisted the aid of the young ex-Watcher in keeping track of myself.
When it was finally over, I thought we'd just resume our friendship as before. But things weren't that simple. I was somewhat surprised to discover that he still wanted me, that I had misread the nature of our liaison. I was even more surprised to discover that I still wanted him.
Methos tried cursing the committee, cursing the Watchers in general, cursing the day he had ever come up with the idea of joining the Organization. Somehow, however, he couldn't quite seem to blame everything that had happened on them. They had provided a very excellent hiding place for him for several years. It was his own fault and just plain bad luck that it was now, now, still so near the end of his stint with the Watchers, that he had finally, finally decided to come out of hiding and live again. If it had been happening to anyone else, he would have laughed.
The Watcher's latest decree had been that his actions were acceptable. That the 'lie' he had told about MacLeod staying with him in New York when he had in fact stayed alone had been ill-advised but well meaning as an attempt to keep investigators from digging too deeply and exposing the secret they all kept. That was the conclusion Methos had been carefully leading them to. It was the final part of the decree that Methos found so galling--that he was supposed to have no further contact with Duncan MacLeod.
At that point Methos had practically told them to stuff it, that he was no longer a Watcher, and that he could associate with whoever he damn well pleased. He had been slightly more tactful than that, but still he had gone too far. The issue of Duncan MacLeod stirred up too much emotion for him. It was unfortunate that he had allowed his control to slip, that he had allowed his unrelated frustrations to show.
Damn the man anyway, he thought now, drinking at Joe's bar. After they had returned to Seacouver, MacLeod had apparently decided to pretend the whole thing between them had not happened. MacLeod probably didn't even see it that way, he fumed. What really galled him was that he even cared this much.
True, MacLeod was an attractive enough man, but Methos had been able to go the last three years without being particularly affected by this fact. He had to admit that somehow he had become emotionally attached to the Highlander. That the man could be so totally indifferent when they met lately ate like acid at his stomach.
It was just a foolish infatuation, he thought as he watched Joe pouring drinks for a group at the end of the bar. He could ignore it. There was no reason he had to act on it. There was no indication Duncan would be receptive to any action. He tried very hard to convince himself that that was all it was between himself and MacLeod.
No one could have been more surprised than Methos when he gave the cabby the address of the dojo rather than his hotel. He spent the entire ride staring out the window wondering what the hell he was doing. Going to see the man at night like this after the trying day he had just had was utter foolishness. He twice opened his mouth to tell the cab driver to change directions, but somehow both times a sudden upsurgence of desire to see the Highlander kept him silent. I'll just talk to him. He has a right to know what happened with the Watchers, Methos rationalized.
Duncan felt the presence of another Immortal wash over him moments after he heard the lift start. He set his book down, marking the page. His sword was in easy reach, but he did not take it up. He knew only three Immortals who had elevator keys. Strangely, he found himself hoping it was one in particular. He had missed the old man's company over the last few days. Besides they had a chess rematch to play.
The gate lifted, revealing a slightly bedraggled looking eldest Immortal. Duncan smiled warmly.
"Long day?" he asked, knowing the Watchers had almost definitely given him a hard time. He certainly looked tired. Duncan felt strangely protective. The man should eat more.
"Yeah...." Methos looked hesitant standing at the edge of the elevator. "It's not too late is it...?"
"No, no. Come in." Since when did Methos care if he was barging in, Duncan wondered.
Methos made his way slowly across the room, finally finding a seat on the opposite side of the couch from MacLeod after tossing his coat onto a nearby chair. It seemed obvious to Duncan that something was bothering the older man. He was not sure what, but the man seemed almost...fidgety. He was about to venture an inquiry, when Methos broke the silence.
"Well, the Watchers have decided to clear me of any wrong doing ,though they certainly aren't thrilled by my actions."
"That's good," Duncan said, wondering if this was why Methos had come. He certainly was acting awfully edgy for this to be a social call.
Methos laughed then, a little nervously. "Seems I'm not supposed to associate with you anymore, though."
Duncan blinked. He did not like that at all. "And you told them...?"
"I told them to shove it."
"Good," MacLeod said, greatly relieved. For the barest moment, he had been afraid that Methos had decided his cover was more important than his friendship with MacLeod.
Methos smiled then. MacLeod was suddenly glad he hadn't hesitated in his answer, since it seemed to please Methos a great deal.
"Well, they didn't think it was that great. I'm certainly glad the more militant aspects of the organization leadership have been purged in the last few years." Methos paused. "Listen, MacLeod. I'd better be going," he said, standing up. "I just wanted to let you know what had happened."
"Well thanks," MacLeod said. What was going on here?
He stood as well. Waiting while Methos shrugged into his coat, which was probably a bit much for the season. He followed Methos towards the lift to say good-bye. Somehow, in the context of this odd evening, the usually unnecessary courtesy of seeing him to the door seemed somehow appropriate.
As Methos moved to tuck his hands in his pockets, a small book fell from somewhere in his coat. Instinctively polite, MacLeod bent to pick it up, just as Methos turned around to get it. When he straightened, book in hand, he found himself standing face to face with Methos mere inches away. It was a strange moment as they stood perfectly still, staring at one another. MacLeod felt something important was happening, but didn't know what.
Methos leaned forward then, taking MacLeod's face in his hands, gently placing his lips over the Highlander's own. It was a very soft kiss, completely undemanding. Duncan sighed into the kiss. So this is what it was all about, he thought. Methos increased the pressure slightly, and Duncan accommodated by parting his lips. He wanted this. It surprised him slightly, intellectually, that this was true, but his body responded as if he had known it all along. He let his eyes fall shut as the hands trailed down his face to his chest in a steady caress.
Methos rejoiced in this little surrender of the man before him. He had neither expected nor intended this, and yet he was grateful it was happening. He moved in the remaining distance so that their bodies pressed together. His arms slowly snaked around the other man's waist, pulling them even closer.
It was MacLeod who suddenly deepened the kiss. Methos was carefully tracing the full lips with the tip of his tongue, when Duncan pulled that tongue into his mouth, caressing it with his own, sucking strongly. Methos moaned at the sudden change in tenor, grinding his hips against MacLeod. This was a kiss that took his breath away, a kiss that erased all doubt and fear.
Methos let his hands drop further to caress MacLeod's buttocks, stroking lightly before digging in to pull the other man tightly to him, groin to groin.
MacLeod broke the kiss, gasping for breath. Their eyes met. There was a spark that passed between them, and an unspoken approval. Methos stepped back to shed his long coat. Before he even had it off, MacLeod was tugging at the hem of his shirt. His knuckles, brushing along Methos' chest as he lifted the shirt up, sent a shiver through the slender man's body.
Methos in turn reached to remove MacLeod's t-shirt, which somehow got tangled around Mac's hands. Methos grinned and used his grip on the shirt to pull the entrapped Highlander to the bed. Duncan was on his back laughing in joy when Methos finally freed his hands.
"There's one way to make sure we don't end up on the floor,"MacLeod chuckled.
"In that much of a hurry, were you?" Methos purred, leaning down to trace Duncan's ear with his tongue. Duncan shivered.
"Maybe."
"Maybe...?" Methos breathed, reaching down to stroke Duncan firmly through his sweat pants. Duncan gasped, desperately trying to control the thrusting of his hips.
"Definitely," Duncan choked out.
"Oh, good," Methos replied, quickly yanking off the sweat pants. He moved to kneel between the Highlander's legs, bending slightly to nip the inside of Duncan's thigh. He continued to assault that tender flesh just to the left of where Duncan really wanted him. Finally, MacLeod reached down, entwining his fingers as best as he could in the short spiky hair, and guided his mouth none-too-gently to the center. Laughing, Methos abruptly enveloped the tip of MacLeod's now-weeping cock with his mouth, setting off a strangled sort of moan from the bigger man. Methos continued his ministrations on that part of the Highlander's anatomy, also gently tracing a saliva-wet finger backwards until he was pushing for entry into Duncan's body. The finger slid in easily. Duncan only stiffened a moment later when he realized what was happening, but by then, Methos was gently crooking his finger to caress the prostate. Duncan reaction was wild. He couldn't seem to decide whether he wanted to thrust into the hot mouth or impale himself on the probing finger. Methos only withdrew when he feared MacLeod might come before he was ready.
When Methos drew back, he found Duncan watching him with eyes gone wild.
"Don't stop," he begged.
Somehow, the sight of Duncan lying there, wide-eyes and on the verge of orgasm, begging him, was almost enough to make Methos come. With his pants still on no less. Methos could do nothing other than stare, his hand dropping to stroke himself through his jeans.
"Methos," Duncan managed to choke out.
Methos quickly stripped off his shoes and jeans. Naked, he knelt once again between the Highlander's thighs.
"Duncan," Methos whispered, leaning forward to touch Duncan's face repeatedly with his lips. "I want you. Can I..."
"Yes."
So sure, so certain. Something inside Methos rejoiced.
Duncan fumbled for something at the bedside. "Will this do?" he asked, holding up a bottle of massage oil.
Methos nodded mutely.
Duncan uncapped the bottle and began spreading the oil on Methos' swollen member. Methos had to close his eyes. Watching MacLeod do this, along with feeling it, would have been too much. Methos felt suddenly consumed by a desire for this man that was not entirely physical, a desire he hesitated to name as his emotions became too intense. He was almost relieved when MacLeod finished his task and he could safely open his eyes.
Methos took exquisite care in preparing MacLeod with oil slicked fingers after he pulled the man's hips up onto his thighs. Penetration at this point seemed the most natural and most inevitable thing in the world as Methos placed the tip of his cock to enter MacLeod.
Yet, suddenly, poised at the brink, he felt a fear that was paralyzingly intense. A fear that he was about to lose himself. A fear that this act would seal something of himself to this man. For a moment he thought to pull back, but the choice was taken from him as Duncan thrust toward him, completing the union. Methos moaned. No escaping this now. His body was consumed in fire, his soul laid open to a terrifying completeness. He was thrusting deep into his lover, pressing the union ever onward. Duncan was moaning in Gaelic and making other sounds of pleasure as he met Methos' thrusts with thrusts of his own hips. The tempo grew until flesh had no choice but to give in. When orgasm finally swept them both, Methos knew he had lost.
Methos lay still long after he had awakened, gently stroking the hair of the still sleeping Highlander nestled against his chest. He knew he was a fool. A rational part of his brain told him that to love was to get hurt. And that to love an Immortal, especially this Immortal, would most likely be death. He told himself as he studied the shadows on the ceiling, his hand continuing in the mindlessly comforting gesture through the thick hair, that he had not survived this long by forming foolish attachments. That he wanted this so much should have told him to leave now without looking back. Yet, all of his heart rose up against that rational part of his mind. He loved this man. Could it be any more simple?
Sometime during the night, Methos felt Duncan stir against him. Although the Highlander remained relaxed against him, he knew he was awake.
"Thinking deep thoughts?" he asked lightly.
"Not particularly," MacLeod muttered, rolling over in Methos' arms. He nibbled sleepily at Methos' jaw while Methos slowly caressed the length of his back.
"Paris," Duncan said finally.
"What?" Methos asked somewhat dubiously.
"I was thinking we should go to Paris."
"But we just came from there?" Methos began to complain. MacLeod drew back a little before continuing.
"Yes but just think...after all the publicity we've gotten here. And all the trouble you've had with the Watchers. Hanging around with me is breaking their edict, isn't it? But in Paris, they won't be watching for you. You wouldn't even have to tell anyone where you'd gone right away. Escape it all."
Methos narrowed his eyes. Duncan seemed to be trying awfully hard to justify all of this. "I can thing of better places to 'Escape it all'."He said, holding out.
"But really, I was planning to spend the season there before I got stuck in the country so long because of the investigation. I was planning to go back anyway. I'd like you to come with me." He turned on the puppy dog eyes.
Methos didn't respond at first. He just studied MacLeod thoughtfully. The man had gone from trying to stir up enthusiasm for a trip together to making the proposal seem all a matter of course to which MacLeod wanted to add Methos' company. Either MacLeod was desperate to get Methos to come along and feared Methos hesitation meant a kind of rejection, or he had some ulterior motive for wanting to move lock-stock-and-barrel back to Paris. As much as Methos might hope for the former, he couldn't help but have suspicions.
The addition of a hint of pouting lower lip to the visage before him made the Highlander too much to resist. "Oh, alright, MacLeod. But I'm warning you, it better not be raining when we get there,"Methos capitulated.
MacLeod smiled, relief and happiness dancing on his face. He put his arms around Methos' waist, pulling him in close, laying a soft kiss on the other man's neck. Methos couldn't help wondering cynically if he were being thanked or rewarded. Moments later such thoughts were driven from his mind entirely.
Somehow they were on a plane that morning, without even stopping to say good-bye to Joe or anyone else. Methos couldn't help but to frown slightly as the plane climbed. So much had happened so quickly, he would have liked the Blues man's perspective. Still, the sun was shining and his lover had moved to grasp his hand lightly.
The End