Let's Go Outside

"Come on, you can't sit around the barge all day, Methos. It's a beautiful day – come out with me." Duncan leaned over the back of the sofa, where Methos sat reading, and nuzzled the back of his neck as he tried to manipulate his lover into falling in with his plans.

"I don't care – if I want to see how beautiful it is, I'll go up on deck. I don't have to go trudging around Paris, running your errands." Methos shrugged off Duncan's busy mouth irritably and kept reading.

Duncan wasn't having it. "Meth-os...isn't there any way I could convince you to come with me?"

"You'll be gone, what, half a day? Can't you do without me for that long? When did you develop this clingy streak and how can we fix it?" Methos sniped, without raising his eyes from his book.

"I just wanted the company, but if you'd rather stay here by yourself..." Duncan murmured close to Methos' ear – not missing the smattering of goose bumps that spread over the pale skin as his breath tickled it.

Methos paused in his reading, dropping his shoulder just a fraction, tilting his head, and exposing a little more skin for his partner's attention. Duncan – not really as clueless as he sometimes appeared – took the hint and pressed his lips more firmly to the fine skin, sucking a tiny amount into his mouth and biting gently. Methos breathed a little deeper, the beginnings of a purr starting in his throat. MacLeod bit a little harder, and Methos' breath hissed through his teeth. He sprawled further into the sofa, his legs falling open slightly.

"You don't really want to go out, do you, Mac? I can think of other – more entertaining things to do with our time." Methos' voice was just beginning to get husky with need and he turned and pulled Duncan down within kissing range.

Their lips met, gently at first – a subtle, brushing taste that soon merged into a deeply passionate caress. Their tongues tangled wildly and darted in and out of each other's mouths. Methos moaned deep in his throat and Duncan's hand slipped up to rest on the source of the vibration, his thumb stroking the pulse point softly. Methos' arms tightened around him in response. He sucked Duncan's tongue into his mouth, teasing it, promising more of the same rhythm if he would just...

Duncan broke away and raised his head. "Sorry, lover, gotta go."

"Bastard! You did that on purpose," Methos hissed. Of course it might have been easier to take his outrage seriously if he hadn't been half-lying on the sofa with swollen lips and his eyes almost entirely black with lust.

"I have too much to do, unfortunately... You'll just have to hold that thought until tonight." All the while Duncan was trailing his fingers over the lines of Methos' throat, tracing the sensitive spots over and over.

"Very unfair, MacLeod. Where ever did you learn such dirty tricks?" Methos whispered as his head fell back against the sofa.

"Can't imagine... Come out with me, I'll make it worth your while..." Duncan slipped a hand down the front of the loose shirt that Methos wore and rippled his fingers across one small nipple.

"Or I could just throw you down on the floor and have my way with you anyway," Methos growled under his breath.

"You could try..." Duncan said with a hint of steel underlining his words.

Methos sighed, a great exhalation of breath puffing out as he stood finally. "Come on then, let's get this waste of time over with. The faster we get your errands done, the faster we can get back here." He watched an odd expression flit across Duncan's face as they gathered their coats and swords and left the barge together, but it was gone so quickly that he decided to ignore it – for now.

"So where do we start this tribute to tedium?" Methos sighed again as they drove off from the quay.

"Can you at least try to look interested in spending time with me?" Duncan's voice was low and seemingly tinged with hurt and as they pulled up at a red light he turned to his lover and unleashed his secret weapon – hugely vulnerable, liquid brown eyes.

In spite of himself, Methos was chastened. "I'm sorry, Mac. I do want to spend time with you, but you know how all this running about annoys the hell out of me." You do realize he does that on purpose, don't you? Methos' inner voice protested.

"I'll try to make it interesting for you then, shall I?" Duncan said as the light changed and they moved off again.

There was a tone in the Highlander's voice that his lover didn't quite trust. What are you up to, Kiltboy? Methos narrowed his eyes and folded his arms but said nothing.

***

Their first stop was an auction house where Duncan wanted to look at some seventeenth century silver. Methos wandered off through the crowded, dusty warehouse while MacLeod discussed hallmarks with a dull little Frenchman. Over against a far wall was a stack of old books and they drew him rather magnetically and predictably. After a while he forgot how boring this was and got lost inside an interestingly bound edition of Dracula. He was admiring Bram Stoker's dexterity with point of view when Duncan's presence flooded his body like a double shot of fine scotch, warm and soothing. Shortly afterwards, the man himself was close behind him, the heat of his body radiating through their clothes.

A low whisper spiced with the hint of a burr tickled Methos' ear. "I want you."

"Well, that was poorly timed. You could have had me half an hour ago, in case you've forgotten," Methos sniped softly as he leaned back against his partner's body..

In an instant Methos found himself seized and pushed into a small alcove formed by the juxtaposition of a huge armoire and a tall Edwardian bookcase. They were concealed, but only if no one walked past. Duncan's lips crushed into his and his tongue plundered Methos' mouth greedily, his hands busy all over the long, slim body, sweeping him into sudden, painful arousal. He moaned a little in the back of his throat and melted into Duncan even more bonelessly. This is insane. MacLeod has finally cracked. I can't believe we're making out in the middle of Antiques de Tallon. He's going to get us both arrested. Hmm... But, do I really care at this point? Umm no... Sentient thought became too difficult so he gave it up as a bad joke as MacLeod's hand caressed his erection, clearly outlined through the soft faded denim of his jeans. Duncan's thumb traced the outline of Methos' shaft as the rest of his hand circled and rubbed. Methos sighed into Duncan's mouth and melted into him a little more.

"Monsieur MacLeod?" A reedy, French-accented voice called out through the echoing building. "Monsieur MacLeod, are you still here?"

"Fuck!" Duncan cursed under his breath as he broke off the kiss, but kept his hand busy a bit longer with Methos' groin. Methos could only stand there – slack jawed – and enjoy it, rocking his hips into Duncan's hand. "Oui! Yes I'm here. Un moment..." He stepped back, letting go of Methos at last. "Get yourself under control and I'll see you out the front in a minute," MacLeod all-but-ordered with a darkly possessive grin as he stalked off to find the antique dealer.

Ahh, so that's the game we're playing...Well I'm up for it – so to speak. With a rueful smile, Methos buttoned his coat and went to the front of the building, still a little flushed and dazed, his heart rate slowly returning to pre-groping levels. He watched from beneath heavy-lidded eyes as MacLeod concluded his business with the Frenchman.

You are so whipped old man... One touch, one kiss and you're ready to have sex more publicly than you have since your last Roman orgy.

Of course that thought wasn't terribly productive in terms of being able to walk normally in a tight pair of jeans and Methos found himself uncomfortably aroused again, just by the thought of what Mac might have done if they hadn't been interrupted by that pissant Tallon.

Duncan, hard and deep inside me, thrusting wildly into me, fucking me up against the wall; his hot hand wrapped tightly around my cock, his teeth sinking into my neck as we come together...

"Are you ready?" A brown-sugar voice infiltrated the fantasy.

"Oh yes..." Methos answered dreamily. Hello! Reality time... "I mean yeah, let's go." Shaking his head at his own foolishness, Methos followed his lover to the car.

As they drove along Methos recovered the use of enough brainpower to ask Mac what was next on the agenda. His body was still tingling and hypersensitive, even his clothing seemed to be conspiring against him to keep him far too aroused for public decency.

"The Gustav Moreau museum actually. I promised the curator I'd loan them a small painting of his that I own. Shouldn't take long."

"The Moreau, huh?" This should be interesting.

"The curator's someone you might know, Marcus Constantine."

"Yes I know him." You could say that. "Wasn't he at the – "

"He's just gone to the Moreau. How do you know him?"

"It was a long time ago. Hardly worth mentioning."

"Problems?"

"No, nothing like that. I always rather liked Marcus."

"Oh yes?" Duncan's tone was arch and just a little possessive.

"Gods, MacLeod. Unlike some people I could name, I haven't slept with every Immortal I've ever met."

"I have not slept with every Immortal I've ever met! That is such an exaggeration! You make me sound like such a... such a..."

"Slut?" Methos offered helpfully.

Duncan nearly drove into a bread delivery van at that comment. "I am not a slut! I'm just..."

"Promiscuous?" Methos blinked innocently. "Was that the word you wanted? Easy, perhaps? Indiscriminate?"

Duncan's mouth was pulled into Methos' most beloved of all expressions – the pout. "Is that how you see me?"

"It's not my fault that your chronicles are a laundry list of all your conquests, and such interesting reading they are too," Methos smirked.

"You know entirely too much about my past. It's not fair."

"All's fair in love and war, MacLeod. You should know that."

"And which is this?" Duncan sniped, still pouting.

"Touchy, aren't we? Why else would I be putting up with all this running about after you if I didn't love you, you big idiot?" Methos laid a hand on Duncan's hard thigh and kneaded it with his fingers.

"Love you too, I suppose," Duncan grumbled, clearly still not happy with the turn that the conversation had taken.

They had arrived in front of the museum, a tall narrow building hidden amongst houses. Parking the SUV in the street, they walked through the iron-gated door into the museum building, and sought directions from the security guard.

They found Marcus in the main studio, studying the imposing painting that dominated the center of the wall at one end of the room. He turned to greet them as their presences met.

"Duncan!" He greeted them expansively. "And...?" He looked at Methos curiously. "Well it has been a long time, hasn't it? What are you going by these days, my friend?"

"Adam will do fine for here, thanks, Marcus. How are you?" Methos asked as he slouched against the back of the seating in front of the painting.

"I am very well. Look at this place – it's going to take me forever to whip it into shape. I couldn't be happier."

Methos grinned in understanding. "I know what you mean."

"So, Marcus," Duncan broke in, "shall we discuss this little Moreau of mine?"

As the other two men discussed the acquisition of MacLeod's painting, Methos wandered around the main studio. Some interesting work here, that much was certain – although some of it was a little too dark and iconographic for his taste. He glanced back to where Marcus and Duncan stood looking over some papers spread out on a display case full of small sculptures. One of them was a nude marble figure of a tall, thin man with very long legs. Oh that Gustav Moreau. Uh-oh, I wonder if Mac's noticed. What interesting times those were… He made me look about eighteen though… Methos sighed quietly.

As if he'd heard the sigh, Duncan turned and smiled at him, slow and intimate. He raised an eyebrow in a questioning look and then turned back to finish his business with Constantine.

"Okay Marcus, I'll leave it in your capable hands then. It'll be delivered tomorrow. Let me know when you're finished with it and I'll come and pick it up."

"Thank you again, MacLeod. It's good to see you again – both of you." Marcus shook hands with both men and they left him in the studio.

They were walking out when Duncan turned to Methos and said, "You know I think I'll find the men's room before we leave."

Methos had to work hard not to grin, he'd known that this was coming from the minute MacLeod had mentioned the Moreau. "Hmm. I think I'll come with you."

Duncan led the way up the elegant spiral staircase and Methos followed, taking advantage of the opportunity to admire his lover's fine ass as Duncan walked up the stairs in front of him.

Oh yes, trust you to know the location of the better known public sex venues in Paris. Why am I not surprised at this?

They found the men's room without any difficulty and went inside. The minute they passed through the door Methos found himself grabbed and dragged into the nearest cubicle. Duncan pushed the door closed and crushed his lover against the wall, claiming his mouth harshly and possessively. His tongue plunged into Methos' mouth and he sucked on it, grazing it with his teeth until Duncan groaned and clutched at him harder. Methos' hips began to move almost of their own volition, rubbing his swollen cock against his lover's, sending white-hot arousal flooding through both of them.

Still they kissed, their growing urgency making them fierce with each other. Lips were hard and tongues were thrusting, skimming past smooth sharp teeth as Duncan pulled the front of his pants open and pushed them down over his hips. His hands slid up to rest on Methos' shoulders, pressing him downwards.

"Please..."

Methos sank to his knees and Duncan couldn't help but groan as the hot, wet mouth enclosed his shaft. Methos sucked hard on it then let it slip from his lips, teasing. As he held it in his hand he licked the tip lovingly, thoroughly removing every trace of the thin fluid leaking from it. His tongue darted into the slit and feathered at it gently, dragging a low moan from the back of his lover's throat. With just his lips circling the head Methos began to stroke his hand back and forth along the length. Duncan shuddered and tried to push into his mouth, but Methos leaned back in the little space he had, keeping control – for a few moments longer anyway. Methos' tongue swirled around the fleshy tip once more and he sucked harder, but still only at the head.

It was too much. Duncan grasped at the short hair at the back of Methos' head and pushed his cock into his mouth. Methos moaned a little and opened his mouth wider to let him in. Not even the sound of another patron entering the bathroom could deter MacLeod, as he quickly and silently fucked Methos' mouth.

Methos was lost in a netherworld of heat and lust, Duncan's cock slipping in and out of his mouth was sending electric shocks through his whole pleasure-soaked system. The taste of flesh and fluid, the feel of silken skin over the hardness as it slid past his tongue, the trembling of Duncan's muscles under his hands, the sound of his harsh gasps, all conspired to leave Methos trapped squarely between power and submissiveness.

The banging of the door as the unknown man left the room was like a signal to Methos, he reached his hands up and grasped his lover's ass, opened his throat wide and took Duncan in as far as he would go, until his lips met the coarse hair that curled around the base. Rhythmically, Methos worked his throat muscles around the shaft as Duncan continued to surge against him. Then, on a choked sob, he was coming, long hot streams of semen shooting into Methos' throat as he swallowed greedily.

Duncan's knees buckled as his spasms finally ended; Methos tightened his grasp around his lover's hips and rested his cheek against the flat belly. He felt Duncan's hand stroke his hair soothingly. Methos was still achingly erect but he wanted to wait for his lover to recover his composure before he reminded him of the fact. Unfortunately for Methos, it was at that moment that an Immortal presence surged into his consciousness.

Methos looked up at Duncan from the floor and mouthed, "Marcus?"

Duncan shrugged. It was most likely to be the curator but, until he made himself known, they could only guess. He pulled Methos to his feet and they desperately re-adjusted their clothing. Methos' heart was hammering a double-quick staccato rhythm when he heard Marcus' voice echo through the small room.

"MacLeod, are you here? Adam, you old goat, I know you're in here. Come out, come out wherever you are..."

The lovers could hear the amusement in Constantine's voice and relaxed a little.

With a last regretful look at Duncan, Methos opened the door and stepped out. "Do you mind?" he asked irritably, "What is it that couldn't wait, anyway?"

"Do I mind? I'm not the one with a poor grasp of the public decency laws. I know what these bathrooms are known for, but you two will just have to get a room."

"Very funny, Constantine. Now what did you want?" Methos sniped impatiently, unsatisfied lust shortening his temper.

"MacLeod, I need you to sign off for the insurance on the painting before you leave."

Duncan spoke at last, remarkably unfazed by their near discovery. "Yes, of course, Marcus. I'll come and do it now."

The three Immortals filed out of the men's room and went back down to the main studio. Duncan signed the papers. Then he and Methos left the museum. They were in the car, driving through the streets of the ninth arrondissement when Methos spoke up.

"So Mac, what's next on the list – a hand job at the Eiffel Tower? Fucking on the front steps of the Louvre?" Methos chuckled low in his chest at the thought.

"You're so very funny. What did I do to deserve someone as hilarious as you?"

"You've led a pure and virtuous life, of course," Methos answered with only a small snort of laughter down his nose. "So where are we really off to next?"

"I ordered a new tux – you know I promised Claudia that we'd go to her concert on Saturday and it's black tie." Duncan's hand drifted over onto Methos' thigh and was busy tracing lazy patterns over the soft denim, rising inexorably towards his still aching groin.

Methos noticed Duncan's casual use of the plural pronoun. "We?" he asked incredulously. "You promised for both of us without asking me first? Bloody hell, Mac... You know how I detest all that dressing up and making small talk bullshit! Not to mention the fact that your erstwhile protégé can't stand me, and the feeling's very mutual. She's a spoiled little brat. I suppose you think you can get me in a tuxedo too. Well, think again, boy." Venom dripped from his baritone and he picked up Duncan's hand as if it was covered in shit and dropped it back in its owner's lap.

"But you look so good in one..." Duncan wheedled. "I'll make it worth your while...."

Duncan was actually batting his eyelashes at him, Methos realized as a little of his ire melted away. So whipped... his inner critic sniggered. Duncan's full bottom lip fell a fraction lower and Methos' eyes were magnetically drawn to it. It was a beautiful mouth, those full soft lips were just the beginning, it was hot and sweet and gave a blowjob that could buckle his knees. I want him so much. Methos' hands were beginning to shake with the unfulfilled arousal that was plucking at his nerves.

A silence stretched tautly while Duncan pretended to concentrate on driving and Methos pretended that he wasn't eventually going to cave and do exactly what MacLeod wanted.

"Oh okay... I suppose I could wear black tie – just this once. Just for you. But you owe me – big." A wry smile turned the corner of Methos' mouth skyward. Whipped. Thoroughly. Methos slammed the door shut on his intrusive inner critic and concentrated on watching the manic Paris traffic whiz by.

Duncan's hand was back on his knee. "I appreciate it, Methos. Really I do. Thank you."

The hand skimmed higher and Methos shuddered as it trailed up his inner thigh. I don't care if I am, so long as keeps doing that, he thought as Mac's hand found his erection once more.

"You'll have to do something about that if you're not going to give the tailor entirely the wrong idea."

"Oh yes? Have anything in mind?" Methos fidgeted uncomfortably in the seat as his expanding flesh was trapped in non-expanding fabric. Thank the gods this hideous SUV is too high for every man and his dog to see what we're up too in here. And while we're at it, thank them for automatic transmission too. Oh...my...

"I might at that, give me a minute..." Duncan trailed off and withdrew his hand as he made a quick turn into a multi-story car park.

They drove up the levels, higher and higher, and the number of cars thinned as they progressed. MacLeod found a poorly lit corner of an upper floor and parked.

"So, you've got me here, now what do you propose to do with me?" Methos murmured huskily, as he turned to look at his lover.

"Thought I'd take care of this for you." Duncan answered as he began to quickly unbutton Methos' jeans. "That's if you want me to, of course," he added as the shaft sprang out into his waiting hand.

"Do you have to ask?" Methos groaned as Duncan's mouth closed over him at last, hot and smooth.

Methos watched out for company in the rear-vision mirror while Duncan sucked and licked and nibbled his way through the entire section of the Kama Sutra devoted to fellatio. The man was a quick study, that much was undeniable.

He probably has the whole thing memorized by now. Amazing what a few solid months of practice will do for one's technique...

Then Methos' cock was sucked deep into his lover's mouth and thought went the way of the dodo. The only reality, the only sure thing in his universe at that moment, was the hot, silken flesh drawing him ever further into complete neural burnout. Methos sagged against the backrest of the car seat, struggling for each ragged breath, his eyes almost-but-not-quite focusing. So close, just a little longer… Movement in the rear vision mirror caught his eye, a security guard was lumbering towards them, his gaze fixed on the SUV.

Oh shit, shit, shit! Methos tapped MacLeod on the back and tried to re-engage his brain.

"Mac! Company! Let's go! Now!" he hissed desperately.

Fortunately, blowjobs weren't MacLeod's only talent; he also did emergencies rather well, too. Without missing a beat or looking the least bit flustered, he took in the approaching authority figure, started the car, reversed past the guard with a cheery 'Bonjour' and had them driving back out of the lot as calmly as they had entered.

"That was close," Duncan grinned as they turned out into the street.

"You think?" Methos was unimpressed with his lover's sense of humor. Then he realized that his pants were still unbuttoned and held off from further verbal savaging to stuff his hypersensitive and only half-deflated flesh back into his jeans and fasten the buttons.

"You know, Methos, it's pretty late. I could do with some lunch before we head over to the tailor's. You hungry?"

"Starving," he growled. Not for food of course...

"Good, well let's go, then." Duncan flashed a thousand-watt smile at him and turned down a side street towards a familiar restaurant.

"Sure, why not." Since I seem to have abdicated all free will today. I might as well keep going with the flow. Methos sighed again and sank further into the seat. Whipped. his inner critic added, just in case he'd forgotten.

MacLeod was driving too fast again and when he hurled the green monster into a newly available parking spot on the street, Methos was thrown against the car door, his elbow connecting with the door handle with a sharp crack.

"Fuck! Christ, MacLeod, where did you learn to drive? That really hurt." Still cursing the Scot, his personality, his parentage and all his future endeavors, Methos rubbed the injured appendage.

"Here show me... How bad can it be? It's not like it won't be healed in a minute anyway. Such a drama queen..." Duncan went on, talking himself into a shallow grave as he gave the offended limb a quick once-over.

"By that rationale MacLeod, and by the way I'm a drama queen? Look who's talking... By that rationale I could quite happily slice off your ear and feed it to you, because of course 'it'll be healed in a minute...' Shall we try that?" Acid dripped from every syllable of Methos' words as he snatched his arm back.

Duncan looked suitably chastened. "I'm sorry, Methos. I shouldn't make light of your pain. Is it better now?"

"I suppose so. Weren't you about to feed me something hideously expensive and decadent?" Methos slipped out of the passenger seat and waited beside the car for Duncan to join him.

MacLeod wasn't too slow on the uptake. "Of course, anything you want…" he answered as he stepped out of the car and went to his lover.

They entered the restaurant and followed the maitre-d through the cool, dimly lit interior to a secluded corner table with a banquette on one side, seating themselves at it close together. MacLeod slipped the maitre-d a hefty tip before the man smiled knowingly and returned to his post, walking through the almost empty room. Duncan turned to his lover and smiled with a slow sensual curling of lips that had Methos doing his best impression of a deer in the headlights. Then there was a hand on Methos' thigh, heat radiating through denim to melt into his skin.

Oh no, not again... Not here...oh yes...there. Methos' eyes were beginning to cross as pleasure flooded his nervous system.

Duncan turned his head a little to whisper under his breath as his hand moved erratically over Methos' groin. "You're hard for me still, aren't you?" Fingers traced over his balls, "Do you want me?" and drifted up along the hard ridge of cock. "So hard..." Fingertips teased around the different texture of the head and Methos' breathing grew ragged. "So responsive..." The flat of Duncan's hand rubbed circles over the tightly stretched jeans. "I want to make love to every last inch of you." The fingers curled and cupped. "I want to strip every shred of clothing from your body – slowly." The hand began an uncertain rhythm – pressing and grasping. "I want to mark your perfect skin with my teeth until you cry out – beg me to fuck you, until the sweat pours off you and you're mindless with wanting, until the only thing in your whole brain is the need for me to hurl you up against the nearest wall and fuck you 'til we both scream."

Methos' eyes fluttered closed as he fought the desire to let go, regardless of the time and place. "Please..." he whispered. "No more, I can't stand it..." His mouth was dry and lightning flashed along his limbs, tingling right through to his fingertips.

"May I take your order now, M'sieurs?"

Methos nearly jumped as the waiter finally rescued him from certain embarrassment. Damn slow French service. Where were you a minute ago?

***

Duncan watched as the ancient tried to recover his composure. Who would have thought a five thousand-year-old man could respond like that? Yet he did, time and again, with a wild, hedonistic abandon that turned Duncan on more than any other single thing about his beautiful, mercurial lover. He threw himself headlong into experience, bathing himself in sensation, soaking up every tiny nuance of life. And he responded to it, responded honestly and passionately; sometimes he was like a creature possessed when he was writhing beneath Duncan's body – trembling and gasping – lost in the delirium of the moment. A wave of unexpected tenderness came over him as he watched Methos slowly come back to reality and Duncan slipped his hand over his lover's, under the table, and pressed it gently.

"Oui, we'll have the fish, and a salad nicoise I think. For two, thanks."

As the waiter strolled away Duncan kept hold of the hand, stroking the cool skin with his thumb. He was rewarded by the sensation of Methos sliding a little closer to him, pressing his shoulder into Mac's.

"Are you okay, now?" MacLeod asked him.

"Well I managed not to come in my pants, if that's what you mean. No thanks to you, of course. Exactly what do you think you're playing at anyway?" Methos was clearly going for outrage but it came out breathless and raw with desire.

"I don't know what you mean," Duncan answered with faux innocence, his voice struggling for a normal tone too.

"I thought I was getting something decadent and expensive. What sort of lunch is fish and salad?"

***

Methos got his way on the dessert at least and after the crème brulee was only a memory and a sweet aftertaste on their lips the immortals left the restaurant and walked down the boulevard towards the men's wear shop. It was early afternoon and the summer heat had Duncan carrying his long coat but Methos for some reason insisted on wearing his.

Of course if I had a sword, a dagger, a pistol and at least one small knife secreted about my person I'd probably want to keep it all covered up too. It's a wonder he can walk with all that hardware... Duncan thought as he watched his lover in the reflection of the store windows. How does he do that anyway? If I walked along slouching like that I'd just look sloppy - he walks like his backbone's made of linguini and his hands are surgically grafted to his pockets and it's all I can do to stop myself from dragging him into an alley and fucking him stupid. One of life's great mysteries...

***

They reached the entrance to the busy store and Duncan led the way in and headed towards the formalwear section. The racks of suits of every description lining the walls had Methos wishing briefly but fervently for the days when the only clothes you owned were the ones you stood up in.

Is it too late to retire to a monastery for a decade or two?

He sighed heavily. Clothes shopping, was there anything more boring? Well yes, but it was a close contest. Methos found a handy vertical surface to lean against and glowered silently as an eager young man fell over himself to assist MacLeod.

How does he do that? Just shows up and stands there like the lord of the manor and people just gravitate to him like magnets, fighting amongst themselves to do his bidding. I just stand here as if I'm invisible...

Methos watched as Duncan accepted a suit from the young assistant and strode into a cubicle to try it on. He paused at the curtained entrance to speak to the man.

"Henri, do you think you could find something for my friend here? He'll need his by Saturday too. Can you manage that?"

"Of course. If M'sieur would come with me..." The young man led Methos to a nearby cubicle and began to take his measurements, all the while baffling him with the million and one minor distinctions between various evening suits.

Finally Methos had had enough. "Look. Henri, is it? I don't care about lapels or buttons or how the pants break. All I want is a suit that I can wear on Saturday and not embarrass myself or that man in there, whose opinion happens to mean rather a lot to me. Okay? Does that simplify things for you?"

Henri smiled in sudden sympathy. "Very much. I think I may 'ave just the thing. One moment, please..." The young man walked quickly from the change room.

Methos sighed in relief as the assistant returned in a few moments and handed him a suit.

"Thank you."

The curtain closed once more and he began to try on the tux. Methos was just fastening the fly of the trousers when MacLeod's face appeared around the edge of the curtain, smiling broadly. The face was quickly followed by the rest of the man, slipping into the small cubicle, crowding his lover.

"You look good." Duncan murmured as he trapped Methos against the wall with one hand either side of his head. "Very good... How will I be able to keep my hands off you on Saturday?" The Highlander's large hands moved to cradle his lover's face. "I can't keep them off you now..." Duncan leaned in close and captured Methos' mouth with his own, lightly brushing his tongue over the parted lips. "Sweet..." he whispered before he claimed the mouth again.

Methos melted. He was utterly and completely powerless against this gentle tenderness when he'd been expecting more of the aggressive plundering of the past few hours. This sweet, barely-there contact of lips and tongue, teased and tantalized him, but when he sought to move forward and increase the friction between them he was restrained by Duncan's hands as they held his head in place. The kiss went on, Methos' body yearned for closer contact, his hands grasped and clutched at his lover but MacLeod was immovable and still the kiss went on – the inches between them as unbroachable as walls. Duncan's blunt fingers stroked the planes of cheekbones while his lips brushed across Methos' just as gently.

It was an effort not to whimper as Duncan's tongue swept silkily deep into his mouth and just as quickly withdrew. Methos' ragged breathing lifted his chest against his lover's and he shuddered at the increased sensation. It was too much, too good and a whimper finally did escape his throat as Duncan's mouth nibbled kisses down Methos' jawline and towards his ear, sucking the small lobe into his mouth.

"M'sieur? 'ow is the suit?" the young assistant called from just outside the cubicle.

Methos opened his mouth to answer but his throat was thick with lust and the words caught there. He coughed, cleared his throat and tried again.

"It's fine, Henri, I'll be out in just a moment." He pushed Duncan away and glared at him as if to say, 'won't I?' and he let him go at last. Methos took a deep breath and concentrated on losing the erection that had returned to distort the shape of the loose fitting trousers he wore. It took a superhuman effort but thoughts of his fifty-fifth mother-in-law naked completed the deflation.

Methos slipped the jacket on and left the change room, pausing in front of the long mirror. The pants could be longer and the jacket could be neater around the waist but altogether it wasn't all that hideous… Henri bustled about taking measurements and making notes for the tailor to do the alterations. Duncan leaned on the doorframe of the cubicle and sent burning looks at his lover every time Methos looked in his direction. Lust was virtually vibrating in the air as their eyes locked hotly.

I want you so badly, MacLeod.

Henri completed his fussing around Methos and turned to MacLeod. "Are you 'appy with the fit of your suit, M'sieur?"

"I think it'll do, once the pants are lengthened of course. You can have them both ready for us Saturday, is that right?"

"Naturellement." The assistant turned and walked away, leaving them to change back into their own clothes.

Methos stripped as quickly as possible and donned his jeans, shirt and coat. He waited a little longer, listening to the sounds rustling from the next change room. When the time was right he slipped silently from one cubicle to the next.

"Hello, Mac – not dressed yet?" Methos murmured with a wolfish grin as he entered.

MacLeod was caught precisely at the moment between taking off the suit trousers and reaching for his own dark gray pants that hung on a hook on the wall. Methos' eyes raked over his lover's body. They took in the long, well-shaped legs dusted with crisp hair. They passed over the soft cotton briefs just visible beneath the long tail of the starched, white, formal shirt and lingered on the olive-skinned chest revealed by that unbuttoned shirt. The look of surprise on Duncan's face completed the picture. The dark eyes were wide and his lips parted in a small 'O' as he realized what Methos was up to.

Methos advanced on his lover, pulled MacLeod into his arms and whispered into his ear, "Have you any concept of how utterly fuckable you look right now?"

"Not as good as you do, I'll bet." Duncan said. His arms closed around Methos' narrow waist and he spun them to press Methos up against the wall, leaning in to whisper close to his ear as his pelvis rocked against him. "Should I take you right here, do you think? With all those people right outside? Could you stop yourself from crying out when I make you come? Shall we see if you can? Or should I stop?" His tongue snaked out to trace the whorl of Methos' ear, finishing with a gentle nip to the lobe.

"Don't..." Methos gasped, "don't stop..." He ground his denim-covered erection against Duncan's thigh. "I want you." His hands skimmed up under the crisp shirt to tunnel through the soft mat of hair and brush over Mac's nipples. "Quickly."

"Hell yes..." Duncan released his hold on him and turned him in the circle of his arms.

While Methos urgently toed off his shoes and dropped his jeans and coat to the floor, MacLeod rooted through the pockets of his own coat as it hung beside them.

Methos heard the soft rustling behind him and wondered for a moment what MacLeod was up to, and then it dawned on him. Full points for planning, lover. A large, warm hand closed around Methos' aching cock and rolled the condom over it. Methos' head dropped back as he inhaled a shaky breath. Then a couple of slick fingers penetrated and he eased back into them, fucking himself between the hands in front of him and behind.

"Quickly Mac..." I need you inside me I can't wait, this whole day's been endless foreplay, now all I want is to come with you inside me. "I'm ready now," he hissed desperately.

Duncan eased into him in a slow, smooth stroke that made him shudder down the length of his spine. Duncan paused, resting his head on Methos' shoulder for a second, while sensation threatened to overwhelm him. Then, holding him close, MacLeod began to move.

It was just a small rocking motion at first – quiet and subtle – but very quickly Methos was shaking with the force of the arousal flooding through him. He gave himself up to it – let it carry him along in a racing current of sensation. Duncan was around him, inside him, surrounding and enveloping him until the boundaries between them blurred. The rocking continued, brushing over his prostate with every movement. Methos surged back to meet each small motion, a tremor growing, first in his knees – then spreading through the remainder of his body. Duncan's arms tightened around him, pulling him close.

The tension in Methos' belly grew unbearable. His breath was coming in great shuddering rales. Starbursts of white-hot electricity burned along his veins. His head arched back tautly and knew he couldn't hold out much longer under this onslaught. He gritted his teeth until his jaw began to cramp – just to stop himself crying out with the unbearable ecstasy of it all.

Then Duncan was moving in small jabbing thrusts, sweeping them both inevitably towards completion. Methos' hand closed around his own shaft and stroked it rapidly. Duncan's teeth sank into his shoulder and Methos came, silently, his knees almost buckling as the tension flooded from his body. Seconds later, Duncan was coming too, his gasping breath hot on Methos' skin, his grasp almost painfully tight. Duncan's hands slipped up to wrap around his lover's waist and he leaned his head against Methos, who sagged into the wall, still panting. For long minutes they stayed like that, basking in the heat of the moment.

Inevitably, they had to separate. With a final kiss to the side of his lover's neck, Duncan slid from Methos' body reluctantly and removed his condom, tying it off. Methos did the same. As they cleaned themselves up enough to appear in public once more, Methos was amazed at the variety of useful items Duncan produced from the multitude of pockets in his coat.

"Such a boy scout, always prepared..." Methos teased quietly as he leaned against the wall and tried to recover himself.

"Aren't you glad that I am?" Duncan answered with a cocky grin.

"Always." His eyes flicked up to meet Duncan's and an understanding flashed between them.

Duncan recognized it and replied, "Love you."

"Love you, too. Now let's get out of here before Henri starts to wonder why it's taking us so long to get dressed."

If the shop assistant noticed anything strange about their behavior, Monsieur MacLeod was far too generous with his tips for him to make any indication of it. After making the arrangements to collect their suits, the Immortals left the store and walked back to the car in companionable silence.

"So, Mac, any plans for tomorrow? Anything you need a little company for?" Mischief glittered in Methos' hazel eyes and a crooked smile lurked at the corner of his mouth.

"We'll have to see, won't we? Any suggestions?"

**The End**

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