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The bathroom door opened and steam flowed out into the loft. MacLeod looked up. He decided he would never tire of the sight of the damp old man. His damp old man. He watched as Methos unwrapped the towel from around his waist and used it to dry his hair.

The Scot shifted to a more comfortable position. And pretended to go back to his magazine. But he watched as Methos crossed to the wardrobe and began sorting through the drawers for a pair of jeans. And the Scot groaned silently. That sweater.

He hated it. Had hated it since the first time he'd seen Methos wearing it. He shook his head. It had been awful the day Methos showed up at his door to warn him that Kristin was in Seacouver. Years ago.

Now it was truly horrid. Faded, stretched, nappy and pulled. The cuff of one sleeve was frayed. The hem was unraveling. When Methos pulled it on over a tee shirt, it sagged a full six inches longer on the left. The neckline was out of shape.

He'd tried and tried to get rid of the damn thing. But it was as if Methos had radar where it was concerned. He'd dug it out of the fucking dumpster.

"Methos."

"Mac?"

"We're going out to the market. In public. Don't you think you could dress a little... Well, at least put on something less..."

"Comfortable?"

"Disreputable." Damn. He'd sworn he wasn't going to say anything. Again.

"Come on, Mac. I *like* this sweater. I've had it longer than you."

Ouch. MacLeod almost cringed. Almost. Fine. He looked at his lover. Yeah, just fine. War. This meant war...

Methos looked at the Highlander. Oops. Maybe he shouldn't have gone quite so far. But. Well, MacLeod was pushing again. And the old man just wasn't in the mood to be pushed. Not about his clothes, anyway.

He was digging in another drawer for socks when he felt a hand on his ass. Without turning, or even stopping what he was doing, he addressed his lover.

"So, Mac, gonna just feel the merchandise? Or are you interested in buying."

"How about a free sample?"

"Nope. Sorry." But then, the Scot's other hand reached around to cup Methos' groin. Methos automatically backed against his lover.

"How about a test drive then," MacLeod suggested.

"You in the driver's seat?"

"If you'd like."

The ancient man turned and put his hands on the Scot's waist to pull him closer. "Definitely." He leaned in to kiss the other man, but the
Highlander stepped away.

"Mac?" He trailed after him over to their bed. What the fuck was wrong with the bloody Scot now?

The Highlander sat on the edge of the bed and waited. He knew Methos wouldn't be able to stay away. At least not for long.

"Mac?"

"Methos?"

"Uh, thought..."

"Thought we were going to the market?" The Scot shrugged. "Guess I changed my mind."

"Did you? Really?" Methos sauntered over and reconfirmed MacLeod's belief that he knew the old bastard. Better than the old bastard knew himself.

"So, what are we going to do with ourselves, Mac?"

"Fuck if I know, Methos."

"Oh, now there's an idea..."

Methos pushed the Scot farther back onto the bed and moved to kneel between his spread thighs. "How about we start like this." He leaned forward and touched his mouth to MacLeod's. He pressed against the warm, full lips until he was granted access. MacLeod tasted like coffee.

Without breaking the kiss, the old man reached and pulled the clasp from the Highlander's hair. God, but he loved his hair. He carded his fingers through the shiny mane, then grabbed a handful to pull back his lover's head. Exposed his throat.

The Scot didn't move when Methos moved to first tongue, then nip at the great artery pulsing just under his ear. But he did moan. Just a bit.

"Mmm," Methos breathed. He moved to push MacLeod prone on the bed. Except the Scot twisted and it was the ancient man who ended up on the bottom. He Laughed up at his lover. "Mmm."

"You say that now," MacLeod said softly. "Just wait," he warned.

"Oh, I can wait, Mac. I waited for you, didn't I?" There was a glint in the whisky-amber eyes.

"Yes," MacLeod acknowledged. Then he bent and kissed his lover until the old man was nearly breathless. And while he was recovering, the Scot efficiently divested him of his jeans, boxers and socks. But he left him his sweater and tee.

The cool air on his nether regions caused Methos to shiver slightly, and MacLeod grinned. This was going to be good. He moved one hand to grasp Methos' erection. With the other he opened his own jeans. He saw Methos' eyes widen. Then narrow as he stared up at him.

"Ma-ac..."

The Scot laughed. Then he bent and took just the head of Methos' cock in his mouth. He looked up at the old man.

"Oh, fuck."

Methos looked down as MacLeod gave a smile around his treat. Then the man went to work in earnest. Of course, he knew exactly what it took to bring his partner to the brink. And when he had to back off. He and his lover watched each other. Methos could barely keep control as the Scot licked and sucked and tongued his shaft.

He arched up off the bed when he felt callused fingers pressing against his ass. "Oh, shit, fuck."

Before Methos could come, the Scot moved away. Methos moaned, then growled his discontent. "Mac, come on, finish. Just do it, for god's sake." He made a grab for MacLeod's head. When that didn't work he tried for his lover's shirt.

"Uh uh, Methos. We're doing this my way." He tugged his lover up, around, and over. And still fully dressed, he pressed his erection against his lover.

The ancient man grunted as the Scot took possession of his body. "Shit...Mac....oh, shit," he panted. God, it almost hurt. But it was... "So fucking good...!"

"Good," MacLeod muttered. Then he began to thrust into the old man. Hard and steady. He had to grab onto Methos' hips to keep him from collapsing onto the bed. Then he reached around to fist his lover's cock.

Methos had his forehead pressed into the mattress, and was groaning out imprecations. Orders. Threats.

The Highlander ignored him as he rocked in. Then he moved slightly and hit Methos' prostate. Oh, yes, perfect, he thought. Methos shouted, and clamped down. Hard. It was MacLeod's turn to moan in pleasure.

"Fuck...fuck...fuck...fuck..." Methos was almost incoherent. His body was flushed from his passion-induced exertions. He thought he was going to burn alive. But god, not before he came. He grabbed the sweater MacLeod had left on him, and tried to pull it off.

But just then the Highlander began thrusting quicker. Harder. Brushing Methos' prostate with every motion now.

Methos yelled. Flailed wildly as he erupted suddenly into MacLeod's grip. He shuddered again and again as he was filled with his lover's essence.

As he collapsed over on his side, MacLeod grinned.

"You bastard."

"Yes," the Scot rumbled affirmation.

"You did it deliberately. Fuck, you planned it, didn't you?"

"Huh?" MacLeod opened his eyes to see a naked Methos standing over him with a rag in his hand. "Oh." It wasn't a rag.

"You knew I loved this sweater. And look what you made me do." Methos held the former sweater, now rag, up. In his haste to get it off, the old man had ripped the raveled hem. Stitches had pulled apart. The thing looked as if it had disintegrated.

"I loved this sweater, Mac," he said quietly.

The Highlander looked at the old man. "Fuck you, Methos. You just tortured me with that thing."

"Oh. MacLeod, how could you think such..." Methos started laughing. It was true. He had.

"Well, you've had your revenge. Will you leave the rest of my things alone?"

The Scot thought about it. "Yes." He grinned. "Let me replace the sweater."

Methos took the rag and tossed it into the trash. "Sure. I was going to do that anyway..."

"But come back to bed and do me again to apologize?"

"God, Methos, you're insatiable!"

"Yes!"

End Originally posted a long, long time ago. Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.