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Gilding the Lily
"What do you think Mac?" MacLeod looked across the little shop to see Methos holding up a packet he had dragged out of the icy depths of the freezer cabinet. He could make out the picture of the ice cream Methos was suggesting. A mini-milk popsicle. He stared at the slim, white tubes on the packet and then at the grinning face of his lover. He shook his head. "If you're thinking about doing with that what I think you're thinking, you're on your own!" He turned back to the display of local cheeses, trying to make his choice. A few moments later a packet of Magnums was deposited in the wire basket the Scot was holding as the old Immortal sauntered past on his way to the display of souvenirs. MacLeod watched him go past with a tolerant eye. He normally holidayed in places away from the tourist trails and was amazed at the amusement his lover could obtain from the tacky souvenirs. There the old guy was, happy as could be, browsing through the warped and faded postcards, dismal tea-towels, cheap dolls in national costume and pottery created by the artistically challenged. The Highlander paid for their purchases and went up to Methos, who was holding a clay bulls-head painted by someone who appeared to have been working in the dark. "Put it down, Adam," he said, in the tones of a kindergarten teacher addressing a child who holding something wet and messy. "But..." 'Adam' began. "You are not buying it for Joe!" Mac was trying to put an end to Methos' campaign to buy the worst-ever present for the Watcher. "But it's got 'A Present from Crete' written on it," Methos pointed to the words. "So he'll know we've been to Crete," he added helpfully. MacLeod closed his eyes and counted to ten. "No," he said firmly and took the bull out of his lover's hands and put it back on the shelf. He pointed Methos in the direction of the door and pushed him in front of him. Both men waved to the old woman behind the counter as they went past. "She looked disappointed we didn't buy it," Methos said. "I'll bet! Her grandmother was probably trying to sell that piece when she was a little girl!" Methos grinned at that but didn't reply, instead turning and heading back up the hill to their villa. MacLeod, realising too late that he'd been left to carry the bags again, shook his head and followed suit. He looked at the old guy ahead of him and worked out that bag carrying was a small price to pay for the view. The heat of Crete in June meant that Methos had abandoned the camouflaging sweaters and jeans he wore in Paris and Seacouver. There was a lot more of him on show and MacLeod was enjoying every inch of it. His eyes lingered over the well-defined shoulders and the shapely legs of the man in front of him. A broad grin was on the Highlander's face by the time they reached the villa gate. And that was another reason to smile. The villa. At first he had been disappointed when he saw the place Methos had booked for them. MacLeod had visions of a place by the sea, but this was halfway up a hillside. But the villa was secluded, overlooked by no one, offering virtually complete privacy. That meant nude sunbathing. MacLeod had become reconciled to his lot almost immediately. It didn't take long to put the groceries away. Without a word said between them, they picked up the beach towels and other accessories and made their way out to the grass beside the pool. They had fallen into a rhythm of sightseeing and sunbathing on alternate days. Yesterday had been spent touring the little fishing villages on the southwest coast of the island, that meant today was dedicated to sun worship. And other things. "Do my back?" Methos had stripped quickly and oiled up, now he held the tube of suncream out to MacLeod. "Of course." The Highlander squirted the lotion on to his palm and started rubbing it on the smooth skin in front of him. After a fortnight of Mediterranean sun he was so tanned as to be indistinguishable from the natives. Methos was slower, but he had lost his native paleness and was developing a golden tan. Running his hands slowly up and down the back of his lover, MacLeod approved the change. He squirted out some more sun lotion and started moving down from the broad shoulders to Methos' narrow waist. His hands moved down, almost without him willing them, to cup the firm globes of Methos' naked arse. "I did my bum," Methos told him without turning round. "I don't want to risk you missing a bit," MacLeod said, slowly moving his hands up and down. "I wouldn't want *this* to get burned." He slipped a slick finger into the gap between the cheeks. Methos sighed at the touch and then squirmed out of reach. "Now, now," he said in mock reproof, "time for play later." "Promises, promises," grumbled MacLeod. "Oh I promise," Methos smiled and picked up the bottle of lotion to return the favour. That attended to, they both settled down on their respective beach towels in the warm morning sun, uttering identical sighs of relaxation and happiness. About an hour later, Methos showed signs of restlessness. "Time for a snack," he said, sitting up. "Do you want an ice-cream?" MacLeod lowered the book he was reading and shook his head. "No thanks, but a glass of water would be welcome." The flap of approaching sandals told MacLeod that Methos had returned, he looked up and smiled his thanks for the long glass of iced water that was placed beside him. Methos was carrying a small shiny packet which he took over to his towel and then tore open. MacLeod watched the old Immortal hold the chocolate covered ice cream before him with evident satisfaction. The Highlander was about to get back to his book, when Methos started licking the bar. It was a simple movement, Methos licked up the bar and then licked down with broad strokes of his tongue, just a man eating an ice cream, but something about it held MacLeod's attention. Up and down went Methos' tongue. MacLeod stared at it. He knew what that felt like. He knew how Methos would do the same to him, to his cock. That thought brought a surge of warmth to his groin and he forced himself to concentrate on his page. He wasn't going to watch his lover do this. A few seconds later he was staring at the pink tongue which was now flickering over the surface of the Magnum. The Highlander found that his mouth was going dry. He lifted his left knee so that his swelling cock would be hidden from Methos. Not that the old man was looking at him. His eyes were closed as he communed with his ice cream. He had gone back to the slow, wide licks and MacLeod watched him intently imagining that soft tongue was licking him. As Methos turned the Magnum bar round and round he stopped, evidently the chocolate coating was cracking, because he started to concentrate on one spot with the tip of this tongue, pushing it into the little fissure and lapping up the ice-cream underneath. MacLeod's cock twitched at the memory of that same tongue probing the slit in the head of his cock. Then the old Immortal held the bar to his mouth and very gently bit the extreme tip of it. MacLeod groaned before he could help himself. Embarrassed at what he had been doing, he quickly turned over on to his side, turning his back on his lover. A shadow fell across him and he looked round see Methos, ice cream in hand, kneeling beside him. An earthy chuckle came from the old Immortal's lips as he took in the aroused state of his lover. He started to say something when a small piece of chocolate fell from the Magnum and landed on MacLeod's chest, just above his left nipple. Both men stared at it, with MacLeod wondering what it was going to lead to. Then Methos stretched out a long finger and picked up the flake on its tip. He raised it to the Scot's lips and MacLeod opened his lips and took the finger into his mouth. He started to suck at the finger, swirling his tongue around it, hardly tasting the chocolate as he concentrated on the effect he was having on Methos. The old man's eyes had drifted shut and a sensuous smile was on his lips as MacLeod grazed his lower teeth against the finger pad. Then he pulled his finger away. Before the Highlander could protest he fastened his mouth on the Scot's and replaced his finger with his tongue. Methos was a talented kisser. MacLeod gave up control and let his lover's sweet tongue move across his, touching, tantalising, stimulating until there was nothing left in his world except the feel of him in his mouth. The kiss was broken and MacLeod looked up in time to see Methos take a bite of the Magnum and then quickly move down for another kiss. The Highlander opened his mouth to him and found it to be cold and sweet. Their lips moved round each other in a swirl of chocolate and ice cream. MacLeod moaned softly at the intense sensation. They only broke the kiss when the last of the ice cream was gone. When they pulled apart, the Highlander looked at a trickle of cream running down from the side of his lover's mouth. He raised himself up and lapped at it gently. That gave him certain ideas. Suddenly he twisted and now Methos was lying on his back with the Highlander triumphant above him. The Scot also took the Magnum out of his hand. He smeared a generous dollop of melting ice cream and chocolate over Methos' adam's apple. Then he bent down and started to suck the cold cream up with soft kisses, chuckling as he felt the tremors run through the older man's body at his touch. A pool of cream had collected in the hollow of the throat and he lapped it up with little kitten licks, delighting in the little breathy moans it elicited. When it was gone he looked up staring into Methos' mercurial eyes to find them darkened with arousal. Moved by the naked need he saw in them, he returned to the parted lips. He had intended to play with the ice cream for longer, but the real taste of Methos excited him far more than anything artificial could. He threw the ice cream away and bent again to devour his lover in deep, satisfying kisses. When the kissing had left them both gasping for air, he started to plant kisses over Methos' face and neck before moving down to lick and nibble at the old Immortal's smooth chest. This is what he loved, the familiar scent and taste of Methos. He teased them both for a while and then gave in and fastened his lips to an already hard nipple. Methos groaned and arched his back, pushing his nipple into deeper contact with MacLeod's mouth. The Highlander responded by delicately biting at the tip. Methos groans became cries of ecstasy. He put a hand to MacLeod's head and gently tried to push his lover down in the direction of his erect cock. The Highlander growled softly in the back of his throat and started to move down the sweating torso, kissing and licking as he went. The smell and taste of Methos was perfect, there really was no need for any further embellishments. He lingered over the bellybutton, kissing over it and licking his tongue in and out. Methos moans took on an edge of frustration and his hands pushed MacLeod's head further down. It was where the Scot had been making for anyway. He delicately held the rearing cock with his fingertips and began to treat it in the same way that Methos had treated the Magnum. He covered it with long, slow, wet licks with the full width of his tongue, and then flickered the tip of it over the silken surface in random movements, humming his pleasure at the taste. Finally he dipped his tongue into the pool of essence collected at the head. This was better than any ice cream. The taste aroused him even more than he was already. He wanted Methos so much. Now. He couldn't wait any longer. He pulled his head away and moved back up until he was face to face with Methos. The older Immortal gave a mewling cry of complaint. "Please. Mac," he gasped. His lover shook his head. "Not this time," he said and rolled Methos over on to his left side before he could protest further. Methos understood immediately. "Gods, yes," he moaned and lifted his right leg, giving MacLeod access to his arse. The Scot reached for the tube of suncream, fumbling with the cap in his urgency. Eventually he squeezed some of the cool cream on to his hand and he began to rub it around Methos' tight opening. Then he slipped a thick finger into the hot depths and rotated it before adding another. Methos eyes were closed and he was gasping and groaning with an expression of utter ecstasy on his face as he thrust his arse back on to the penetrating fingers. MacLeod rubbed his fingers over the prostate and was rewarded by even louder groans and cries. The sight of Methos so abandoned to his pleasure nearly overwhelmed MacLeod. He loved to see him like this, loved to know that he could bring him to such a state. It aroused him almost as much as the touch of Methos did. The thought of his own arousal brought him to the realisation that he couldn't last much longer. He pulled out his fingers and quickly anointed his aching cock with the sun lotion. Then he placed the head of his penis against the tight ring of muscle and pushed gently. Both men groaned as the tip of his cock entered Methos' hot depths. He pushed again and then he was completely enveloped in the silken heat. MacLeod had wanted to take it slowly, to make it last, but when his cock was held by Methos' tight depths he knew he couldn't wait. He reached out a slick hand, grasped Methos' weeping and neglected cock and started to thrust his hips back and forth. As he moved, so did Methos in time with him, so that the penetration was emphasised and the movement against his prostate was increased. They moved together as one, moaning each other's name as the waves of pleasure built and flowed through them. MacLeod found himself approaching the edge; he thrust deeper and rubbed a finger over the velvet head of Methos' cock. Methos shouted MacLeod's name as he bucked out of control and came, pearly whiteness spurting out on to the ground beside him. The spasming of the old Immortal's internal muscles sent MacLeod over the summit and he groaned deeply as he spurted fire into the heat that surrounded him. Then it was done. The two Immortals relaxed, gasping for air in the heat. MacLeod withdrew and pulled Methos round into his arms. Methos rested his head against a strong shoulder, content. Or not quite. "Is there any of that Magnum left?" he asked. MacLeod glanced to where he had thrown the ice cream. It was now a little brown and cream puddle with a couple of curious flies already investigating it. "Not really," he confessed. "Bloody hell, Mac!" Methos said, half annoyed, half sleepy. "That's a waste of a good Magnum!" "I'll make it up to you," MacLeod promised. "How?" The Scot dropped a kiss on a sweat-salted forehead. "I'll think of something." "You do that." Methos sighed happily into MacLeod's chest and dozed off, leaving things in MacLeod's capable hands.
The End
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Freyja's Highlander Slash Fic |
