Methos could think of many places he would rather be than this art show reception. He had met the best artists in history, talked with them, slept with them. And he could tell within the first few feet of the gallery door that this woman didn't rank anywhere close to the best. But she was an old friend of Duncan's, and so nothing would do except that he accompany his friend to her opening night party. Methos grumbled, but obligingly put on a tuxedo he hadn't worn in years and went. After all, considering the Highlander's past history, it wouldn't be prudent to let him out alone with an old friend. Especially a female friend, who in the scheme of things wasn't really so old after all.
Duncan was talking animatedly with the woman, a tall stately brunette in her late thirties wearing a dress cut entirely wrong for a woman of her figure. Methos stood beside him, automatically smiling politely at the correct places in whatever dreary story the woman was recounting, wondering if it were actually possible to die of boredom. Duncan, of course, was completely enthralled.
A slight growl escaped his throat as he studied his friend's enraptured expression. They were still new enough in this relationship that he felt a certain possessiveness, one which the Highlander usually reciprocated tenfold, and he was not pleased at Duncan paying such close attention to anyone but him.
Duncan and the artist glanced up at the soft sound. Methos instantly schooled his expression to one of polite interest, pretending that he hadn't heard anything. The woman quickly turned her attention back to her tale, but Duncan shot his friend a sharp look.
Behave, he mouthed silently. Methos merely raised his eyebrows.
At the next pause in the woman's narrative, Methos broke in. "You know," he interjected with an exaggerated tone of interest in his voice. "I haven't had a chance to look at much of your work. Duncan speaks so highly of it -- won't you give me the grand tour?"
"But of course," the woman gushed at him. "I'm glad to hear that Duncan still remembers...my work. He always told me I had talent. In so many areas."
"Really," Methos replied, carefully not looking at Duncan. He was already well familiar with the expression he would see on the other man's face, the odd mixture of preening and embarrassment. Instead he followed serenely after the artist, leaving Duncan to trail behind.
For Duncan's sake he listened to the woman's long-winded explanations of her sculptures and strove to hide his irritation behind his most genial mask. He looked up at the towering mounds of twisted sheet metal with inner disdain; after loving a sculptor of the caliber of Tessa Noel, he could not understand why Duncan would even look at these monstrosities, let alone praise them so enthusiastically.
They went from pedestal to pedestal, examining each work in far too much detail for Methos' taste, but every time he began to lose his patience Duncan would some how sense it and shoot him a look that clearly said, You got yourself into this one. Deal.
Then they reached the final sculpture.
"This is my pride and joy," the woman said happily. "Duncan, I'm sure you can guess the...inspiration for it."
She giggled like a school girl and made doe eyes at the handsome Scot, but Methos was too busy being stunned to notice.
A strawberry.
A giant, steel strawberry.
He could hardly believe it. What were the odds?
Odds...Duncan and strawberries....
No, this could not possibly be a coincidence. But he hoped sincerely that it was, or else a certain four hundred-odd year old Immortal was going to be sleeping in the bathtub tonight. The couch would be too good for him.
Slowly, he turned to look at Duncan. The other man was studiously avoiding his eyes, but the burning red blush that covered his entire head said all that needed to be said. The woman clung to his arm cloyingly despite Duncan's near-frantic efforts to free himself before Methos saw.
"Strawberries have always had a special meaning for Duncan and me," she explained, her voice suddenly a hundred times more annoying than it had been five minutes ago.
"So I can see," Methos replied coldly, meeting Duncan's eyes for a long moment, then turning away. "Please excuse me."
"Methos!" Duncan called after him as he walked away. "Methos, please let me explain."
Methos ignored him, and heard the Scot's protests fade behind him as he was dragged off by the artist to join another gaggle of social climbers. He counted to a thousand, backwards and slowly, willing the thundering anger in his head to go away. Most of all, he tried not to think about strawberries.
Strawberries. Suddenly, they were everywhere. He went to stare at the Rococo period oil painting on the wall, only to discover that the laughing girl sitting on the grass was wrapping her plump lips around a familiar red fruit. He meandered over to the hors d'oeurves table and munched mindlessly on tasteless cheese and dry crackers. He was starting to feel a little bit better when he happened to glance at the ornate centerpiece. Kiwi fruits, bananas and...strawberries were piled around the oddly-shaped bamboo sculpture in the middle.
His anger renewed itself and he began to see red. Only even the color red reminded him of strawberries, and he realized that he couldn't escape it even in his own head.
It didn't take much more thought to realize that his usual policy on dealing with crises was not going to work this time. Action was needed, to appease his anger, reclaim his territory -- and, incidentally, sate his lust.
Duncan would never think of strawberries again in reference to anyone but Methos himself. Although he would never admit it aloud to anyone, he intended to own Duncan MacLeod, body and soul, completely. It was only fair. After all, the other man had already claimed his heart and mind with a single look the day they first met.
He continued wandering around the gallery, wondering exactly how to best seduce his Highlander to him. The makeshift bar in the corner caught his eye and he went over to it, hoping to find a beer that was not in a little plastic cup with a mound of ice. As he approached, he saw a woman walking the other way with a curious pink drink in her hand. Inspiration followed almost immediately.
"Excuse me," he said to the server. "Could you mix me a strawberry daiquiri?"
"Certainly, sir," the man replied, and in moments Methos had his strategic beverage in hand. Now, where was his errant love...?
Ah, there, over on the opposite side of the room. He was chatting casually with several admiring friends of the artist, surreptitiously craning his neck every few seconds to search the crowd for Methos. The casual appearance of the oldest Immortal at his side startled him, but he started to smile and greet him until he saw the glass in the other's hand.
He shot his companion yet another significant look, this one demanding to know what the other man thought he was up to. Methos blithely ignored him, striking up a lively debate with a dignified dowager over the merits of the NEA's latest funding choices.
For the next half hour Methos kept his eyes firmly fixed to the elderly lady he was conversing with. Occasionally he took a long sip of his drink, letting his lips linger on the straw for a moment longer than strictly necessary. He savored the icy liquid before slowly letting it slide down his throat. Soon he abandoned the straw to a passing waiter's tray and ran his tongue lightly around the rim of the glass, stopping just before he got to the fat, ripe strawberry stuck onto the edge.
He risked a glance over at Duncan. The Scot was riveted to his every nuance, exactly as he should be, his breath quick and his eyes glassy. Keeping his eyes on Duncan, Methos took one small nibble of the strawberry. The Highlander's shoulders stiffened and his head jerked upwards slightly. Oh yes, this was much more like it. The passion of strawberries was once more firmly in his domain.
Feigning distress from the heat of the crowded room he lifted his chin to expose his throat. He pressed the half-empty glass against his neck, letting the condensation trickle down onto his collar. He rolled his head slightly to the side, rubbing the strawberry itself against his skin. The throat was an erogenous zone for most Immortals, and for Methos more than most. Duncan knew that fact intimately, and the motion had its desired effect. Methos noted with amusement that Duncan was now holding his exhibition program booklet in a sensitive position to prevent an unwanted exhibition of his own.
He turned his attention back to his conversational partner and saw in surprise that the elderly woman's own breathing was short and rapid, her face was flushed and her eyes were bright. He had been so intent on his seduction of MacLeod that he hadn't realized the effect of his provocation on the other person witnessing them.
A sudden spirit of mischief struck him and he held out his glass to the older lady.
"You look overheated," he commented with a twinkle in his hazel eyes. "Would you like a sip of my drink?"
She took the glass with an equally mischievous look, and he realized that she knew exactly what he was doing and why. She took a long draught of the now-slushy daiquiri, and with a sidelong look at MacLeod pressed the glass to her cheek. The Scot's eyes darted back and forth between her and Methos, until she deftly removed the garnishing strawberry from its perch on the edge of the glass and took a decisive bite from it. Duncan shuddered.
Methos almost burst out laughing. Duncan was hopelessly far gone now, if even a white-haired matron could induce such a reaction from him. Methos could almost feel the frustration burning in the Highlander's veins. Normally at this point in such play, their arms would be wound around each other, their mouths eagerly tasting the strawberry-tinged wetness of one another. His hands would be roughly exploring the hard body that pressed heatedly against his, feeling his lover's returned caresses over his own sensitized skin. And there would be less clothing. Much less clothing.
Suddenly he couldn't take anymore. He wanted Duncan, wanted him desperately. "You can finish it," he told the mortal woman, who smiled at him knowingly over the remains of the daiquiri.
"Thank you," she replied as she turned to find her coat and leave the already dying party. "I can see that you have something much better to finish."
You have no idea, he thought wildly as he seized Duncan's hand and looked for the nearest exit. Duncan pushed him gently to their left and he spotted a door in the back of the room. Together they made their way to it, nodding politely but dismissively to the few remaining guests they passed.
It took only a moment for Methos to fumble the handle of the door until it opened, but it was a moment too long for both of them. They found themselves in a dimly lit storeroom surrounded by canvases wrapped in plastic. Methos paid them no attention as he shut the door by slamming Duncan back against it, his mouth finding his lover's with an intensity the other man matched in return. They shrugged out of their tuxedo jackets and tossed them carelessly aside without breaking their kiss.
Duncan's hands were all over his body now, stimulating them both with knowledge gained from long afternoons of languid exploration. Methos could not restrain a soft moan of desire as the skillful fingers found the hardened flesh between his legs and kneaded it gently. He ran his hands mindlessly over Duncan's chest, pulling the buttons of his dress shirt apart in order to touch his skin directly.
He never knew afterward how Duncan removed his shirt and black tie without him noticing, but that he had was undeniable as one hand drew sensuous swirls over his tingling skin and the other cupped him firmly between his legs. Another moan welled up in his throat and Methos realized he was losing control of this assignation.
Ignoring Duncan's whimper of protest, Methos pulled himself away and calmed himself enough to form a hasty plan. He received another shocked look from MacLeod as he opened the storeroom door a crack to survey the gallery beyond. As he had hoped, it was now empty, the last of the reception guests having abandoned the building to darkness.
He pulled Duncan out into the main room with a brief prayer that no one had turned on the motion detectors yet. He had a definite destination in mind, but detoured just a moment at the refreshment table to grab one of the remaining strawberries, earning a sigh of anticipation from his lover.
He turned Duncan to face him, backing him up until he was pressed against one of the exhibits in the middle of the room. He didn't even have to look to know that it was the monstrous steel strawberry that had set off the chain events that led them to this moment. His hands went to Duncan's waistband and in a proprietary gesture unzipped the trousers, pushing both pants and briefs down from his hips and over his straining erection to pool on the floor around his ankles. The other man kicked them away before stripping him in return and bringing their naked bodies together for a long embrace.
Methos broke off another kiss, pressing Duncan's shoulders downward until his friend's knees bent and he slid down to sit on the floor. Methos followed, his legs splaying out on either side of Duncan as he dropped down onto his lap. Their rock-hard erections played teasingly against each other, their hips pushing eagerly for more contact.
The older man searched blindly among their discard clothing until he found the burstingly ripe strawberry he had brought with them. He closed his hand around it, squeezing it almost to the breaking point as he twined the fingers of his other hand in Duncan's dark hair, pulling his mouth to his for another long kiss.
When they broke apart this time, Methos had a firm grip on Duncan's swollen cock. His eyes met his friend's with a wordless promise of ecstasy to come, and Duncan tilted his head back with a swallow of anticipation. Methos stroked the achingly hard shaft firmly, caressing the head with his thumb before bringing his own cock to rub longingly against Duncan's. He held them pressed together with one hand as he brought the strawberry in to stroke lightly along both cocks with the other.
He traced ever more complicated patterns over their shafts with the tip of the fruit, pressing harder and harder with it until they were both panting and moaning from the shivers of pleasure running through their bodies. At last the berry broke, oozing its juice over the swollen organs as Methos continued to coat them both with the sweet elixir of the strawberry.
Finally neither one of them could stand any more. Duncan shifted himself so that he was free of the pedestal and turned Methos around so his back was to his chest. He lay back and drew the other man over him until his groin was perfectly positioned over his mouth. Methos gave an involuntary thrust of his hips and dropped the strawberry to the floor as he felt Duncan's lips close over his cock. The pleasure threatened to overwhelm his for a moment, but he recovered enough sanity to sink down and take Duncan's own hardness into his hot mouth.
Duncan tasted of strawberry, mixed with his own distinctive flavor which Methos savored. He tried to concentrate on pleasuring his friend, teeth and tongue dancing over the throbbing hardness enticingly, but the feeling of the wet heat enveloping him as Duncan applied his own skillful mouth threatened to end their lovemaking before he had planned.
He ran his hands along Duncan's strong thighs, delighting in the curving planes of the hard muscles. His own lower back was stroked in return, then his hips were pulled firmly down as Duncan settled into a powerful rhythm. Methos matched it, realizing with a sure instinct that his control was coming to a quick end.
The pleasure grew more and more intense as both men strove to bring their partner as close to the edge as possible without coming themselves. Eventually Methos knew that he had to put an end to it or risk going mad. He slid his hands beneath his lover's buttocks, drawing him deeper into his mouth. He squeezed the muscular mounds gently in a silent signal that Duncan understood and returned with a firm grip on his hips.
The last moments were a blur of sensation as both men lost themselves in the feel of each other. In the last second before completion they were perfectly joined, no longer able to distinguish between their own pleasure and that of their partner. A slight trembling traveled from one to the other, and then Methos was coming hard into Duncan's welcoming mouth and seconds later receiving Duncan's release in his own.
They continued to suckle each other gently until the last sweet pangs of pleasure had faded and the taste of strawberries was all that remained of their ecstasy. They lay twined together for several minutes before Methos pulled himself up from his lover and rolled away with a sigh. Duncan turned himself around so he could take Methos in his arms and kiss him tenderly.
"You're amazing," he murmured as his friend returned his kisses lovingly.
Methos smiled smugly. "I know."
Duncan groaned and punched him lightly before pulling him close again. They lay together in silence for a little while before Duncan spoke again. "That woman...it wasn't like she tried to make out. All I did was serve her a piece of strawberry shortcake at a dinner party."
Methos raised his eyebrows incredulously. It was unbelievable, yet even more unbelievable that Duncan would lie to him about it.
"All right, so maybe I overreacted just a little bit," he admitted against Duncan's shoulder. "Still, are there any other strawberry experiences in your past that I should know about, just in case?"
He felt the rumble of laughter in Duncan's chest. "Well," his lover replied. "If this is the result I get, I'll just have to find some."
"Don't bother," Methos returned, kissing his neck before rising to his feet. "Come on, let's go home. This floor is getting very cold."
Duncan accepted the hand extended to pull him up, and the two Immortals retrieved their scattered clothing from around the gallery. They slipped out of the building rumpled and looking slightly worse for wear, but much happier than when they had entered.
Later that night, when Duncan MacLeod and Methos slept in their bed, tangled together in the aftermath of their lovemaking. a considerable shorter man opened the gallery door, pushing a cleaning cart in front of him. The caterers would return to clear away the bar and food table in time for the gallery's opening in the morning, so the janitor went out his usual routine of mopping the marble floors until they gleamed in the moonlight.
He was pushing his mop around a particularly ugly statue when he felt something squish beneath his shoe. He bent down to scrape the remains of what looked like a strawberry from the sole with a paper towel, muttering something unintelligible about the careless habits of these artists and their friends. He glanced up at the metal fruit beside him and shook his head.
He figured some things were better left unexplained.
END
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