Thou Shalt Not Ignore Methos
by
Sapphire
June 1999































Methos prowled the perimeter of the room, pausing occasionally to either stare in frustration out one of the barge's portholes or at the at the man hunched over the laptop at the dining room table. MacLeod had been totally immersed in whatever he was doing on the laptop for over an hour now. Methos' eyes narrowed in thought as he resumed his prowling. MacLeod had totally ignored his not-so-subtle hints about being ready to turn in for the night. The only response that Methos had managed to generate from the other man thus far had been a distracted, "Night, Methos."

The oldest immortal frowned. He shouldn't have to put up with this. He didn't have to put up with this. Sometimes he felt like a cranky old man who had been around too long and deserved what pleasure he could get wherever he could find it. And right now was one of those times. He was not amused by MacLeod's easy distraction from him. The daft Scot hadn't even glanced up once so that Methos could entice him with one of his long sensuous stretches that usually drew those smoky dark eyes to his leanly muscled body. And that in turn usually led to some heated sex, which Methos was more than ready for tonight.

Methos didn't like being ignored. At least, not by Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. He much rather preferred being conquered by MacLeod and ravished and taken and . . . Methos exhaled slowly to regain control when his body reacted to the mental images he had conjured of himself and MacLeod -- the two of them rolling around on the bed in a playful sexual struggle for domination. Trying not to let his irritation show, Methos rubbed a soothing hand over his groin. Down, boy, he coaxed, feeling the beginnings of a hopeful erection.

His restless pacing stilled while he ran scenarios through his head. Settling on the one most likely to succeed, his features were transformed by a wicked smile that would have alarmed MacLeod, if he had been paying any attention to the silent man on the other side of the room.

Quietly and methodically, Methos removed all his clothing. Fingers gently enclosed his semi-erect cock and he stroked it absentmindedly while he contemplated the best angle to approach MacLeod. Decision made that a sneak attack from the rear would work best, he stealthily moved in that direction until he had silently glided to a stop behind MacLeod's chair. Under no misconception that MacLeod was unaware of his near proximity, Methos maintained a silent vigil, waiting for some form of recognition from the other man.

Nothing.

Methos reined in his irritation and instead leaned forward to capture the familiar scent of his lover. His eyes closed in contentment, enjoying all the feelings that particular scent raised within him. When his eyes flickered back open, it was to see MacLeod still sitting in the same position, still staring at the laptop screen. Did the man have no concept of the strength of his sexual pull toward others? Methos knew they were both in this relationship for reasons other than sex but he had to admit that the sex itself was damn good and hard to resist. Particularly when MacLeod was sitting in a chair, clothed in nothing but a towel wrapped haphazardly around his waist after his shower.

"What do you want, Methos?"

Methos, starting at the unexpected sound of MacLeod questioning him, regretfully placed the lovely mental images of what he was planning for the Highlander back on the shelf until he was ready for them. "What?" Methos nearly rolled his eyes behind MacLeod's back. Brilliant response, Old Man. Five thousand years experience and the most seductive reply you can come up with is a weak 'what?'

"What do you want?" MacLeod repeated, never taking his eyes from the laptop screen.

Methos glared at his lover's unresponsive back for several seconds as if the power of that glare alone should be enough to gain the Highlander's undivided attention. When that failed, he peered over MacLeod's shoulder to take measure of his competition. All he saw was a series of numbers rolling by. He frowned. The stock market? MacLeod found the stock market more alluring than him? That transgression would soon be rectified.

Containing his urge to pounce, Methos made the opening gambit in his campaign to conquer MacLeod. Quietly moving to one side of the seated MacLeod, he swung a long leg over the chair between the seated man and the back of the chair. Before MacLeod had a chance to comprehend his
intention, Methos had inserted himself on the chair behind MacLeod, who had unconsciously scooted forward to accommodate him.

Content that Phase I of his plan had been implemented, Methos relaxed and began the next phase of his attack. Pressing his bare chest against MacLeod's equally bare back, one hand freely wandered the length of the Highlander's well-muscled arm while Methos' opposite arm wrapped around MacLeod's chest. His cock, trapped between his body and MacLeod's lower back, was pulsing pleasurably at this turn of events.

MacLeod melted back against Methos' chest momentarily until the Highlander suddenly straightened, attempting to put a few inches distance between them. His voice was soft but firm when he spoke, and still held too much of a distracted note for Methos' contentment.

"Methos, I'm busy here."

"No problem, MacLeod. Go right on with what you're doing. I'll just watch." Methos leaned his chin on MacLeod's shoulder and peered at the laptop screen as if it were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. His left hand, not quite so enamored by the current status of the stock exchange, slipped under MacLeod's arm to tease a nipple.

MacLeod, his attention still riveted on the laptop, batted Methos' straying hand away as if shooing a pesky fly out of the way. Methos' hands glided up MacLeod's arms with a soft touch to rest companionably on the Highlander's bare shoulders. Strong fingers massaged tense muscles. MacLeod continued to ignore Methos but the tension slowly seeped out of his body, and he leaned back into Methos' touch without being aware of it.

A small smile played at the corners of Methos' mouth. Everything was going along right on schedule. While MacLeod's hands were occupied with the keyboard, Methos' hands snaked across the Highlander's chest and stomach with a lingering caress to tug gently at the towel at the Highlander's waist. MacLeod, still apparently ignoring Methos, nevertheless silently accommodated the older immortal by lifting up slightly so Methos could whip the towel out of the way.

Sneaky bastard, thought Methos fondly. He's wanted this all along, just playing hard to get. After MacLeod had resettled between his legs, Methos' hands slid up and down the Highlander's powerful thighs in a slow sensuous massage that caused a marked change in MacLeod's breathing. Gently moving MacLeod's hair aside, Methos' breath caressed the nape of MacLeod's neck, his lips touching in a feather-light kiss there. Methos' hands firmly grasped MacLeod's hips, pulling him back against his own groin. He barely contained his pleased chuckle when MacLeod's hands faltered on the keyboard. Then MacLeod's attention diligently returned to the keyboard while Methos proceeded with his campaign to drive his point home:  Thou shalt not ignore me.

Methos' fingers attacked with a suddenness that was beyond MacLeod's ability to anticipate. Fingers teased, twisted and pulled at sensitive nipples. Nipples that were sensitive to the slightest touch. Glancing over MacLeod's shoulder, Methos was pleased to see the usual reaction to the nipple play. MacLeod's cock had sprang to immediate attention. He squeezed the sensitive nubs, giving them a final twist that sent MacLeod's cock bobbing in reply. Smiling in satisfaction, Methos danced his fingers over MacLeod's aroused body, playing a tune only the two of them could hear.

MacLeod grinned but quickly smothered it before Methos noticed. It was nearly impossible to control his reaction when Methos started playing with his nipples, something Methos was more than aware of. MacLeod's automatic impulse to the skilled fingers teasing him had been to arch back into Methos' touch. To encourage him. To let the old man ravish him so thoroughly that he wouldn't care who he was or where he was.

But that would be admitting defeat too soon. MacLeod had no misguided notions that he would win this round. Eventually he would fall to the Old Man. It just wouldn't do to cave too soon. But a Methos in heat was a powerful aphrodisiac and MacLeod's hunting instincts were quickly honing in on the older immortal. It wouldn't be much longer now.

Concentrating hard to control his breathing, MacLeod tried his best to act nonchalant. There was nothing he could do about his raging erection. It was a dead giveaway, but MacLeod refused to make this easy for Methos. He continued to gaze at the laptop screen as if he comprehended the numbers scrolling by. In truth, he hadn't the slightest clue what he had read in the last half hour. All his attention had been covertly focused on Methos, from the initiation of his agitated prowl around the room, to the silent striptease, to Methos' body pressed up against his.

Suffering a momentary lapse in playing hard to get, MacLeod's eyes slid closed and he fell into the pleasure of feeling Methos' body snuggled in close to his. The simplicity of the embrace, when Methos' hands weren't wandering over MacLeod's body, was something to be cherished. A closeness he had never thought to have with Methos. It constantly astounded and thrilled him.

The throbbing of Methos' neglected erection against his backside brought MacLeod back to the current situation. His own erection throbbed in time with Methos'. It was a pulsing throb that was becoming painful to ignore.

MacLeod opened his mouth to speak and was horrified when all that came out at first was a throaty gasp. The man at his back stilled, as if savoring the sound, before continuing his merciless attack with those talented fingers and lips. Admit it, Duncan, MacLeod chided himself, you have no willpower where Methos is concerned.

Making one last attempt at holding Methos' inevitable conquest at bay just a few moments longer, MacLeod, straining for a conversational tone, said, "Look at that. Intel stock is on the rise again."

A warm hand wrapped around MacLeod's throbbing erection. "Something's certainly on the rise," whispered a deep voice in his ear. MacLeod couldn't help himself. His head turned toward that voice, seeking the eyes that came unshuttered when they made love. Instead, he found his lips being ravenously consumed. Unable to hold back his own desires any longer, MacLeod opened his mouth and accepted the domination of the one ravishing him.

Chest heaving from a momentary lack of interest in breathing, MacLeod pulled away from Methos. Methos had no time to voice a protest when MacLeod, in one powerful surge of powerful, rose from the chair, cleared the table of laptop and anything else in his way, and pulled Methos from the chair to slam him down on the table.

Breathing hard, MacLeod and Methos stared at one another for a frozen second. MacLeod noted the familiar heated look in Methos' eyes. The one that said, Take me, Duncan. Take me hard. Take me now. MacLeod, grinning down at Methos, was not at all surprised when Methos' legs came up to encircle his waist and pull him closer.

Planting a hand on the table on either side of Methos' head, MacLeod leaned down to do his own bit of ravishing. Methos was not amused when MacLeod stopped a hairsbreadth away from his lips.

"Kiss me, damn you." The older immortal's voice was a harsh whisper.

MacLeod happily obliged Methos, stealing the older immortal's breath away as his lips took possession. His lips laid claim to Methos as they moved from lips to jawline to throat to chest and down the stomach until his nose lay buried in Methos' groin, inhaling the musky scent of sex. Methos arched up, begging for the touch to go deeper.

Pushing Methos' legs outward, MacLeod raised up far enough to admire the erection bobbing in his face. Then his tongue snaked out, barely touching the tip of Methos' erection. If not for his hold on Methos, the older immortal would have come up off the table at the delicate touch to his most sensitive part.

"Mac!"

There was need in Methos' plea. A need for more. A need to be loved. A need to be touched, not only physically but emotionally as well. As frequently happened in their lovemaking, Methos laid himself open to MacLeod, trusting with his heart. MacLeod felt a deep satisfaction rise within him at the trust of the older immortal. It started as a warmth in his stomach but moved upward toward his heart until he thought he would burst with his feelings for the sometimes crotchety, yet strangely vulnerable, old young man. A man who moved him in ways that went deeper than he could put words to.

Knowing the moment was finally right, the warmth of MacLeod's mouth enveloped Methos' erection at the same moment that MacLeod pushed a lubricated finger gently into Methos. Methos made a sound somewhere between a satisfied moan and a surprised gasp. MacLeod raised his eyes from where he was occupied pleasuring Methos' cock with his mouth to find the other man's eyes on him, a brightness in them that bespoke of his burning desire and awe that they were truly together as one. MacLeod pushed a second finger into Methos. The older immortal's head flung back, long throat exposed, and he pushed against MacLeod's fingers, asking for more.

MacLeod carefully worked a third finger in, having to take his time with this one when he encountered the expected ring of resistance. Abandoning Methos' erection for the moment, MacLeod concentrated on preparing the other man for their union. Impatiently pushing his body toward MacLeod's, Methos emphasized his overwhelming need with strong vocalization, telling MacLeod exactly what vengeance he was going to claim if the Highlander didn't fuck him right here and right now. Withdrawing his fingers, MacLeod pushed Methos' legs toward his chest and rewarded the Old Man's creativeness with a teasing push of his lubricated cock against him. He continued the teasing, never quite pushing into Methos. Methos tried to accelerate things by thrusting himself onto MacLeod's cock but MacLeod was having none of that. He held Methos firmly in place.

"MacLeod!" moaned Methos, his voice filled with dire threats, a bit of desperation and a slight edge of humor.

Deciding he had prolonged their anticipation long enough, MacLeod eased himself into Methos. He met the expected resistance and paused, waiting until Methos pushed against him again before carefully thrusting past the tight muscle. MacLeod's hand moved to Methos' slightly deflated cock. The quick sure movements of his hand brought Methos to full erection once more.

With a final lunge, MacLeod slid fully into Methos with the ease of lovers whose bodies know each other intimately. MacLeod paused to savor the moment, savor the feel of Methos so hot and tight around him, before he pulled part way out only to plunge in again. Each time he pushed in a little deeper, a little harder, until they found a rhythm and moved together in a heated dance of love, lust and power.

In a sudden burst of frenzied movement, MacLeod gave a final hard thrust, burying himself deeply within Methos. He came with what seemed like a roar but would later be identified as the thunderous beating of his heart.

Methos' back arched off the table and the world turned white around him with the power of his arousal coming to culmination. He gave a final shuddery breath before wilting back against the table, finally releasing the deathgrip his fingers had on the table edge.

MacLeod bent over him, hands firmly planted on the table on either side of Methos, as he rode out the aftereffects of their lovemaking. Methos found the strength to lift a hand to MacLeod's face, his fingers touching the familiar face with a gentle wonder of what they were to each other. Bending down, MacLeod touched his lips to Methos' in a gentle whisper of their earlier vigor. Methos groaned against the younger immortal's mouth as MacLeod involuntarily slipped from within him.  MacLeod, understanding the sense of loss one felt at this moment, gathered Methos in his arms and pulled him up until he was sitting on the edge of the table. MacLeod, arms around the older immortal, stood contentedly between Methos' legs. Methos, arms encircling MacLeod's waist,  rested his forehead against the Highlander's broad chest. They shared a tranquil moment of utter calm and peace.

MacLeod's soft voice finally broke the comfortable silence. "Shower?"

"Ummm," was Methos' only response.

MacLeod pulled him to his feet. Picking up his abandoned towel from the floor by the chair, he pulled a lethargic Methos toward the bathroom. "You know, Old Man, I think you're a sound enough investment to add to my stock portfolio. Your shares show signs of being profitable."

Methos, coming to life, snatched the towel out of MacLeod's hand and snapped it at the Highlander's bare derriere, hitting home with a stinging burn.

"Ow!"  MacLeod jumped in surprise, rubbing at the wounded area.

"I'll show you rising shares," grumbled Methos as he pushed MacLeod through the bathroom door. Always have a backup plan in case they get uppity, was Methos the master strategist's last thought as an arm snaked out from within the bathroom and dragged an unprotesting immortal inside.

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