Methos closed the yard gate and headed for the homestead, taking his sweat-darkened hat from his head and using it to bash the caked dust from his jeans. Cattle dipping was not high on his list of favorite pursuits, particularly in this heat. Stupid creatures. But it was done now, the hands were all gone and all he wanted was a cold beer, Duncan and a shower -- not necessarily in that order. Although, perhaps Duncan might have something to say about that, considering the ripeness of the stench Methos could smell emanating from his person.

Duncan had finished up his work and gone into the house about half an hour before, murmuring something about preparing dinner...or something. Whatever. Methos made his way across the yard, long strides eating up the distance, his eyes hungrily searching for his lover's form. He was around -- Methos could feel him -- he just couldn't see him.

His eyes scanned the afternoon gloom that spilled lazily from the verandah surrounding the house. There. A hint of sun-bronzed skin caught by stray beam of sunset, the pure whiteness of a broad smile. Duncan. Methos grinned to himself and quickened his steps. Duncan stayed where he was. As Methos neared the bottom of the wide steps that led up to the verandah, he was finally able to see his lover clearly.

What he saw dried his mouth and stopped him dead in his tracks.

Duncan was naked--no, better than naked--he was almost naked, his broad, tanned shoulders gleaming like oiled mahogany, highlighting the swell and curve of his muscled chest as it narrowed down to his slim waist and down to... Methos swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat and blinked twice. Chaps. Black leather chaps. Nothing else.

Lord.

Methos stood frozen as Duncan sauntered out to the verandah rail, curling his fingers around the wood and leaning forward, arching his back a little so that the curve of a rounded buttock peeked out in profile. MacLeod, you slut. His lover still hadn't acknowledged his presence and Methos couldn't seem to find the oxygen required to make a sound.

Duncan stretched through his shoulders, lengthening his body and defining each muscle group, his gaze still firmly fixed on a point far from Methos. Posing. A small smug grin curved his lush mouth, the only sign that betrayed his awareness of his audience. The point of a pink tongue slipped out and swept over his lips, wetting them slightly before disappearing.

Somewhere from the darkest depths of five thousand years of experience in dealing with the unexpected, Methos found the coordination to put one foot in front of the other and navigate the stairs. His hungry eyes never left Duncan's body, gorging himself on the sight before him. The heavy, black leather garment hung low on his hips and framed his crotch, emphasizing the heavy masculine dangle of his cock and balls.

Duncan remained where he was, posed like an erotic sculpture gazing out across the wide, brown landscape. The warm breeze lifted a stray lock of his hair and as Methos came closer he could see how it curled, still damp from the shower. Closer still and Methos could smell the soap-and-fresh-air scent that rose from Duncan's skin like mist from a lake.

And, a miracle, he found that he still could construct a sentence in English. "This was a surprise," Methos rasped.

Duncan turned a little, lifting his head to look over his right shoulder, delight in his eyes and a sweet, lazy grin on his lips. "I'm glad you think so. Not...too much?" Duncan's voice never rose above an arch purr, and Methos slipped in beside him to kiss the smugness on Duncan's mouth into something entirely different.

Methos lifted his face away at last, and slid his hand down Duncan's back from the corded strength of his shoulder, down the twin columns of muscle that guarded each side of his spine, to rest finally on the black leather that was buckled around Duncan's hips. "No," Methos whispered. "Not too much at all... One of those times when less is...definitely more...."

The skin under his fingertips was warm -- smooth and flawless -- the muscles beneath rippling softly beneath his fingers. Duncan hadn't moved, he still leaned forward against the verandah rail, his weight on his hands and his leather-clad legs spread to shoulder-width. Methos smoothed a hand down over Duncan's ass finally, leaving the slick leather for the velvet of his skin. A tiny, needy sound escaped Duncan's throat and Methos leaned in again to capture it.

Slow, incendiary kisses followed. Duncan turned at last to face him and the sleek press of his better-than-naked body against Methos', the warm grasp of solid arms around him, tore a rough moan from Methos' throat. "I have wanted to do that all day," Methos murmured against Duncan's neck between nibbles of salt-sweet skin.

Duncan leaned back and smiled sleepily. "Really?" he asked softly. "I never thought you had such small ambitions." Clever hands stole up over Methos' chest, unbuttoning his shirt and continuing right on down to unfasten his jeans so that his erection surged out wantonly. "I've been waiting all day to do this," and Duncan sank to his knees, gathering Methos' cock in his hands and then his lips in one fluid movement.

Liquid fire enveloped him, succulent, wet heat that drew and pulled at his flesh. Desire flashed through him, lightning bolts that struck at the soles of his feet and melted muscle and bone all the way up to the top of his spine to explode in his head. He groaned helplessly, thrusting deep into Duncan's throat, feeling it swallow him whole. Delicious, constricting pressure enveloped him and Methos' toes curled in his boots as he looked down and watched.

Duncan's mouth was sealed tight around the width of Methos' cock, and his eyes were closed, his whole expression blissful. His hands slipped inside Methos' jeans, curving over his buttocks, pulling him close and encouraging him to move with every wordless touch. Methos gave in to it, tossing control to the sage-scented breeze that swirled around them. He thrust wildly, careless of everything but the orgasm building at the base of his spine.

And then Duncan pulled away, gripping Methos' cock hard at the base. A noise that was definitely not a whimper slipped out of Methos' throat. Gasping, he looked down into Duncan's face; it was flushed and smug, a teasing thrust to his full lower lip.

"Pricktease." Need was still knife-sharp inside him, searing through his veins like the best high of all. "Put that back."

"Thought you might want to put it somewhere more...interesting," Duncan murmured, stroking lightly along the length of Methos' cock. "I didn't put these on just because they look good." The tip of his tongue scorched along the underside of Methos' shaft, flickering against the tip, before he rose slowly, licking and kissing all the way up the center of Methos' belly, up his chest, kissing slick heat along his skin until at last he was standing in front of him again. "Use your imagination...."

Methos found that his imagination still worked. He pulled Duncan close, warm, hard heat turned startlingly malleable in his arms and kissed him into breathlessness, backing him up against the verandah rail until there was nowhere else to go. His naked cock brushed leather, coarse hair and velvet hardness in turn.

"Turn around," Methos said between long, wet kisses.

But Duncan seemed disinclined to release Methos' mouth, feeding on it ravenously, his tongue licking fire everywhere it touched. Methos managed to turn him -- just his body -- with their mouths still fused and Duncan's neck arched to its limit and Methos' fingers splayed across it, feeling the pulse thundering beneath his skin.

At last, he stood behind Duncan, baking in the heat shimmering from his beautiful body. Methos trailed a single finger down the cleft of Duncan's ass and felt him shudder, arching his back and opening to the touch. Methos' finger reached the small opening, finding it moist and not quite as tight as he had expected.

"You have been busy," he murmured close to his lover's ear as he teased the molten heat.

"Nothing like a little advance planning," Duncan breathed.

Methos took his cock in his hand and pressed the tip against Duncan's anus. "Which one did you use?" he asked against Duncan's ear. The image of Duncan preparing himself for this sent heat licking up his thighs to burn in his groin.

"The little one," Duncan gasped softly as Methos used the tip of his cock to trace tiny circles around his lover's entrance.

"I bet I know why," Methos whispered, his lips close to Duncan's neck. "So you'd feel every second of when I did this--" And with a single smooth thrust of his hips, Methos sheathed himself fully inside his lover's body.

Duncan sagged against him, a soft moan easing from his lips. "Yesyesyes..."

Methos gathered him close, wrapping his arms over the width of Duncan's chest, bracing him as he panted and gasped. The rough silk of Duncan's hair tumbled over Methos' shoulder as his head lolled back to rest on it.

"Methos...oh god...Methos," Duncan breathed as Methos slipped his hands down to grasp Duncan's leather-clad hips, holding him steady to plunge deep. "Slow...please...slow... Wanna feel all of it."

Duncan's body was a furnace, sending spine-melting heat in a direct line from Methos' cock to his brain, melting everything in its path. Time telescoped, narrowing to the steady staccato of mingled pulsebeats and the silky press of skin on skin. From the pinprick of time an awareness grew -- a growing, gnawing need to move, to complete this -- primal and unstoppable -- over-riding even the exquisite sweetness of Duncan's response.

But Duncan wanted it slow.

He could do slow -- for a little while anyway. Buried balls-deep inside his lover, he fought the urge to move. Instead, he nuzzled the back of Duncan's neck, licking at the beads of sweat that had sprung up. Duncan shuddered and clenched around Methos' cock.

"Slow doesn't mean stop, you know." Duncan was trying for nonchalant, but Methos could hear the need in his voice.

"I know...." He pulled back, millimeter by millimeter, until only the tip was still inside. Tight muscle gripped him, clung to him. "But there's slow and then there's slow..." As he spoke he pushed back in, not even a fraction more quickly than he'd withdrawn.

"And then there's too slow," Duncan growled.

Methos couldn't help the low chuckle that bubbled out. "Oh no you don't.... This is my surprise and I'll enjoy it how I like." Another exquisitely slow motion in and out. "You want me to enjoy it, don't you?" he whispered.

"Ye-es," Duncan answered, stretching the word into two syllables and insincerity.

Methos sank into him -- hard. Just once though. Wouldn't do to spoil it now. "Let me guess," Methos said, fighting to keep his voice steady when Duncan's body was clamping down on him like a vice, "you want me to enjoy it, but you'd like you to enjoy it even more?"

"Something like that." Duncan's reply came from between gritted teeth. "Shut up and fuck me...."

Methos didn't pull out, just gave him a slow, thrusting roll of his hips that pushed his cock in even deeper.

"God." Even more desperate than before.

Which earned him another painfully slow stroke of Methos' cock.

"Methosss..." Duncan growled dangerously.

Christ, that growl sent shivers up his spine.

"Fuck me."

"I am." Seated deep inside him, Methos began to rock back and forth, still nowhere near quickly.

"Faster," Duncan demanded, his whole body writhing against Methos'.

Damn, he was beautiful like this. Still, Methos couldn't resist teasing him a bit more. "Steady on there, cowboy. Thought you wanted it slow."

"That was then," Duncan shot back, squirming against Methos' hands on his hips.

"You should be more careful what you ask for." In and out again, his muscles -- and other places -- starting to protest very loudly.

"Thought I asked you to fuck me -- not tease me to death."

Slow grind, in and out again. "Can't I do both?"

The words were barely out of his mouth when Duncan growled, muscles surged beneath his hands and the world turned upside down. Maybe sideways. Hard to tell when it was spinning so fast. All he really knew was that he was flat on his back on the verandah with six foot of better than naked Scotsman pinning him down. And impaling himself on Methos' aching cock with an utterly delicious groan.

Lord.

And damn, this was good too. Methos lay back and let it happen. He always did like to watch. And the watching from where he lay was particularly fine. Duncan's leather-clad thighs rose and fell as he fucked himself on Methos' cock, his own cock rising thick and stiff between them, framed by those damned chaps. He wanted to burn that picture into his brain forever.

Methos wanted to touch him, wanted to stroke that beautiful cock, but Duncan had his hands grasped in his own. When had the sneaky beast managed that? Struggling seemed such a waste of time when simply letting Duncan do what he wanted felt so bloody good.

Duncan was slamming himself down on Methos' cock, driving down mercilessly. He couldn't last much longer like this; heat and desire were curling through him, sucking the blood from every part of his body but his cock. He was light-headed -- stupid with desire -- unable to want anything, need anything, except this man and the orgasm that was burning its way up from the soles of his feet.

Nothing for it but to lie back and take it. Methos forced his eyes away from Duncan's cock and looked up into his face. Bright brown eyes were fixed on his, too expressive to abandon. He watched, completely oblivious to anything that wasn't slick golden skin, hard smooth muscle or tight little ass.

Which was suddenly clenching even harder around him -- impossible as that had seemed a startled second ago. Then Duncan was screwing down on Methos cock, shouting and coming with a hot, thick splatter of fluid across Methos' belly.

And the orgasm that had been lurking in the sharp, curling heat of his belly came roaring out of him in a heart-pounding, throat-tearing rush. Bright red lit by fireworks exploded behind his eyes, then blackness and silence as loud as anything he'd ever heard enveloped him.

***

Methos woke to a gentle rocking and the scent of leather in his nose. He was still blinking himself awake, sorting out his disordered thoughts when Duncan's presence washed over him. Squinting out the porthole, he realized it was late afternoon and he'd dozed half the day away. He woke up a little more -- realized a few more things: barge, nap, bed, leather coat on said bed.

Dreaming.

Ah well. He rolled over and blinked at his lover as he strode into view. Methos smiled sleepily. Even half-awake he could tell Duncan was Up To Something. He had that look -- and his hands behind his back. It didn't take a genius. Methos raised an eyebrow at him.

Duncan's hands appeared, accompanied by roses, chocolates and a brilliant smile. "Happy Valentine's Day."

Ever the traditionalist.... The roses were red and plentiful, the chocolates dark and handmade, but Methos couldn't help the disappointed little sigh as he sat up, though he did try to squelch it. He blamed the leather scent still lingering in his nose.

Duncan pouted -- beautifully. "You don't like flowers and chocolate?"

Methos slid out of their bed and kissed him with just the right amount of hunger and apology. "They're very sweet, thank you." He slanted a look up at Duncan from under his lashes. "I was just hoping for something a little more...revealing."

Confusion creased Duncan's brow. "Revealing?"

Methos set the gifts aside and drew Duncan down to the bed, well aware of the wolfish smile on his lips. "Come down here, cowboy, and let me tell you all about it."

The End

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