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Say It With Flowers
Methos came out of the campus coffee shop to find Duncan MacLeod standing looking down the road with a wistful smile on his face. " Here's your latte," he said, but the Scot just held out a hand in Methos' general direction and the old immortal had to put the covered cup in it. "What's up?" he asked the younger man. "Them," the Scot answered, pointing along the path to where a young couple stood under a tree. They were clasped together as though they were trying to occupy the same space as each other, and their lips were joined in what appeared to be an endless kiss. The girl, whose back was against the tree, held a bouquet of roses loosely in one hand. "He just gave her the roses?" Methos asked. "Yep," MacLeod said and sighed. Methos eyed him warily and then turned his attention back to the kissing couple. "They're going to asphyxiate soon," he said dispassionately. "You are the last of the great romantics, you know that, Methos?" The old immortal looked at his younger lover with a certain amount of concern. "I haven't missed our anniversary, have I?" "No. It's just..." MacLeod struggled to find the right words. "It's just that we're not very romantic. I love what we have," he rushed on, "but I miss the soppy stuff. I miss the romance." "You're saying I don't buy you flowers." "Yes. No! I don't know," MacLeod's caramel eyes assumed their little-lost-puppy look. "A few roses wouldn't go amiss." "Romance." Methos mouthed the word carefully, as though he was expecting it to bite him. "Yeah," MacLeod agreed moodily. His lower lip started to project a little. "I'll see what I can do," Methos said quickly, hoping to forestall an actual pout which would do terrible things to his mental processes. "What are you going to do?" MacLeod wanted to know. "I don't know yet. You're going to have to wait and see." MacLeod unleashed the devastating power of the full-scale pout. The old immortal wisely beat a hasty retreat towards his department building while he was still capable of rational thought. +++ Methos sat at his desk in his office in front of a pile of returned assignments without seeing any of them. So, MacLeod missed romance. He looked back at their relationship. It hadn't struck him before, but they weren't really romantic together. Sexy? Methos grinned in pleased remembrance. Oh, they were sexy together. But not romantic. Well if MacLeod wanted moonlight and roses, he'd just have to see what he could provide. He reached for the phone book and started flipping pages. +++ Methos' SUV pulled up in front of the dojo. Inside, the two immortals were a close as they could get around the manual gear stick and parking brake. It had been a good evening. Although they normally kept away from the gay scene, Methos had swept MacLeod off to a restaurant in Seacouver's small gay village. It was a place with good food and wines where they could hold hands across the table without attracting anything other than approving, and slightly envious, glances. It was also a place where the waiter could, and did, calmly serve their second course without letting on that he had noticed Methos' stocking foot rubbing against MacLeod's crotch. MacLeod was looking particularly sexy that evening. He was wearing his mesh come-and-take-me shirt and he had left his hair loose. It had been all Methos could do to stop himself from dragging the man into the bathroom and taking him on the floor beside the wash basins. Just in time he had remembered that this was supposed to be a romantic evening and had restrained himself. That reminded him. He hoped that Joe had done as he asked. He owed the Watcher a massive favour for it, especially as he hadn't told him what it was about. Still, what else were friends for, if not to owe favours to? MacLeod got out of the SUV and headed straight for the door. "Whoa, there!" Methos called after him. "What?" "Wait." MacLeod looked puzzled. "What's up?" "Moonlight," Methos explained, gesturing towards the silver light flowing into the alley. "You know. Moonlight, roses. Romance." The Scot looked at the littered alleyway. "Romance? Here?" "It could be arranged," Methos said, playing the predator, crowding his lover up against the wall, his lips seeking MacLeod's. They kissed deeply, passion flaring between them, hands stroking through layers of clothing. Far too much clothing. Methos stooped suddenly and then lifted MacLeod up into his arms. "What are you doing?" MacLeod, nearly screamed in shock. "Sweeping you. Off your. Feet," Methos said through gritted teeth. "Romance. Remember?" He staggered slightly and headed towards the dojo door. "Put me down, you idiot!" MacLeod commanded, evidently not feeling totally safe in Methos' arms. Methos ignored him until they reached the door. The combination of holding a Highlander and getting out a key proved to be too much and he put MacLeod back on his feet. Methos grinned at MacLeod trying to recover his composure, but didn't say anything. Once inside they moved towards the elevator until Methos spotted the light from the windows shining on the far wall. "Oh look," he said. "More moonlight!" He manoeuvred the Scot until they were both bathed in the pale light and then concentrated on kissing him until they were both breathless. Methos pulled and groped at MacLeod's clothing. Then he found a way in and ran his hands up the Scot's back inside the shirt. MacLeod gave vent to a sound, half groan, half hiss at the sensation and then broke free from Methos' touch. "Bed," he said, hoarsely. Methos shook his head. "Not yet. Wait down here. I've got some things to do upstairs." He brushed his lips against the Scot's doubtful mouth. "Trust me." +++ Methos was as quick as he could be, but the passion had faded by the time he made it back down to the dojo. MacLeod was standing looking out of the window. "One last thing," Methos said as his lover turned towards him. The older immortal held up a black silk scarf. "Blindfold," he replied to Mac's questioning look. His lips claimed the Scot's in a gentle kiss as he placed the cloth over the other man's eyes and tied it behind his head. "I just don't want to spoil the surprise," he explained as he led the Highlander to the elevator. Once in the loft, Methos checked that the blindfold was in place before slipping towards the bed. The room was just as he wanted it. Virtually their entire supply of candles shed soft light from every surface. The bed was covered in a cream silk sheet and, courtesy of Joe, five dozen thornless red roses. Only one thing was missing. Methos slipped off his robe and lay naked on the bed. His lightly oiled skin glistened in the candlelight as he quickly awakened his cock to full arousal. "You can take off the blindfold now," he called. +++ MacLeod obeyed the command and smiled at the scene. "See anything you like?" Methos asked archly. The look on Mac's face showed that he did. Beneath the jeans and sweaters that made up Adam Pierson's camouflage was a honed, fighter's body. Methos had the lithe frame and hard muscles of a big cat, all covered by pale skin gleaming in the soft light. It was a sight to take the breath away. And then Methos moved, gliding sinuously into another pose, his erection bobbing as he offered himself to his lover. MacLeod was still for a moment, drinking it all in and then a sly smile appeared on his lips. He had ways of retaliating. He walked the short distance to the bed, removing a piece of clothing for each step. Without making it an obvious strip-tease, he made it as sensual as possible. He lingered over every movement, displaying his body to its best advantage, a stretch there, a bunching of the muscles there. He made Methos wait for each revelation of flesh and then gave him plenty of opportunity to drink it all in. By the time MacLeod reached the wide bed, Methos' eyes shone with the same need as could be seen in the Highlander's. The ancient immortal knelt up to greet him. And the two men embraced, a slither of hands over skin, a sweet meeting of lips and tongue, a joint moaning that became a single sound of need and desire. They kissed slow, tender kisses without number. They kissed until their lips grew numb with the stimulation and their breathing became slow and laboured. The whole world was reduced to the sensation of lip upon lip, tongue against tongue, hand over naked skin and the indescribably sweet sensation of erect cock rubbing against erect cock. After a while, remaining upright became too much for them and they lay down amongst the roses, still joined by lip and hand. Despite the need building in both of them, it seemed that they had plenty of time for this slow pleasuring. Plenty of time for the giving of kisses. Plenty of time to explore the other's body with knowing hands and mouths, seeking out the sensitive points and stimulating them. Plenty of time to listen to the sweet sound of a lover moaning in wanton enjoyment. Methos held a rose and traced lazy path with the flower head down MacLeod's body from lips to penis. The petals dragged slightly against the sheen of sweat that glistened on the golden skin. He brushed the flower around Mac's ball and then pulled a handful of petals from it and scattered them around the Scot's erection. MacLeod, who had been sighing with the pleasure this procedure was producing, murmured, "Shouldn't they be forget-me-nots?" Methos, recalling without effort the scene from Lady Chatterley's Lover, replied: "Only if you're a gamekeeper." He took another rose and started rubbing the petals up and down the erect shaft, tracing as lightly as possible. "Have you been a gamekeeper?" MacLeod made a whimpering noise as the cool flower brushed against the head of his straining cock. "Tinker, tailor," he gasped. "Soldier, sailor, rich man, poor ... o-o-o-h!" The last of the words was lost in a gasping moan as Methos took the head of his cock in his mouth and started swirling his tongue around it. +++ Methos moaned in his turn at the salty sweet taste, familiar and always exciting. The time for leisure had gone; he felt his excitement mount as MacLeod squirmed under him, pushing his cock into Methos' mouth to deepen the contact between them. That movement continued for a few moments until MacLeod pulled away. Bereft, Methos stared at him. "I want you," MacLeod said. "Please, Methos. Fuck me." He turned over and presented his arse to his lover. MacLeod's perfect body lay before Methos. The broad, strong shoulders, the deep furrow of the spine, the narrow hip and strong moulded buttocks gleamed golden in the candlelight. It was as if he had been sculpted in gold. But better than the most precious metal because this body was no statue. It moved and squirmed, anticipating the touch of its lover. All this beauty was begging for Methos to take it. The old immortal nearly came at the sight. He bent and started gently biting the enticing globes waiting for his pleasure. Then he pulled back and fought for some measure of control. He reached for the lube he had placed ready on the bedside cabinet and smeared some on his erection and then spread more on his hand. He quickly pushed a finger inside MacLeod's tight opening and then, as gently as he could, added a second. The Scot pushed back on to the fingers crying out with delight as Methos moved them over his prostate. Methos revelled in this, luxuriated in the power to make the Highlander lose control. "Please," MacLeod begged this time, his voice desperate. His lover put himself in position, placed the head of his cock at the entrance to MacLeod's arse and pushed himself forward. The hot depths embraced him, pulling him deeper into the silken heat. Once he was fully in, he assumed his favourite position, lying along the Highlander's broad back, with a strong neck to nibble on and MacLeod's cock in his hand. He started slow, deep movements, rubbing against the prostate at every thrust. His voice joined the Highlander's in low moans and grunts as the sensations danced through him. It wasn't long before the slow pace became impossible for Methos to maintain. The pull of the slope he was taking MacLeod down proved too much for him and he gave in to its gradient. He thrust faster and faster and MacLeod backed towards him to meet every thrust with a movement of his own. The old immortal could feel the heat build between them and their sweat mingle as the pleasure grew and grew. It seemed to him that they were one – he couldn’t tell where he left off and MacLeod began – the Scot was crying out what Methos was feeling. Faster and faster Methos moved down the slope until he finally tumbled into a well of pleasure, pulled MacLeod in after him, and let the waters close up over their heads. +++ A few minutes or a lifetime later Methos became aware that he was lying on a rose-strewn pillow with Duncan's dark head resting on his shoulder. He was gently trailing his fingers through the Scot's light covering of chest hair. There were few sweeter times than this. "So, romantic enough?" he asked. "Uh huh," MacLeod answered sleepily. "We should move the flowers before we fall asleep." "Uh huh." "We're going to wake up with them imprinted on our arses," Methos warned. MacLeod said nothing; he was asleep. Methos gently stroked the Highlander's face with a rose and dreamily considered the logistics of moving. The problem got more and more complicated, until he fell asleep his head resting against his lover's, breathing in the scent of MacLeod and roses.
The End
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Freyja's Highlander Slash Fic |