Methos was starting to think that this little trip had been rather a good idea after all.
He hadn't been so sure in the beginning. After all, it had only been a month since he and Duncan had discovered each other physically, when the crackling tension between them had turned into a smooth current of sexual electricity. Just a month since the first time Methos had felt Duncan's weight pressing him into a bed, since the first time the smooth skin and hard muscles had turned his body into a river of aching need.
Since that first time, they had made love every night, invariably falling asleep twined around one another, still slick and breathless from their exertions. And Methos had long lost count of the mornings when he had awakened to the feel of hardened flesh in his hand, instinctively stroking until Duncan moaned and began thrusting anew. The first orgasm of the morning was always the sweetest, leaving him tingling all over and more desperately in love than he could remember ever being in his life. Even after they both were spent once more, they would remain completely absorbed in each other, eyes locked, hands gently exploring intimate territory.
They had barely seen or spoken to another living being during those glorious days, which suited Methos just fine. But for a social creature like Duncan, it was almost impossible to remain so isolated for long, and Methos refused to ask that of him. So when the invitation came from yet another of Duncan's obscenely wealthy French acquaintances to spend a week at his country estate, Methos urged him to accept. He was not thrilled about the notion of sharing Duncan's attention even partially, but he knew that stifling the Highlander would have even worse consequences.
He had not expected the invitation to include him as well, but of course the concept of shame in love was alien to Duncan's nature, and the French were notoriously liberal about such matters. Their host and hostess had not so much as batted an eye when they discovered that Duncan was now keeping company with the seemingly young Adam Pierson, rather than the lovely Tessa or vivacious Amanda, and Methos had proceeded to charm them both so thoroughly that they would have cheerfully married off either of their eldest children to him, if he had not been otherwise involved.
The long July days had been filled with pleasant companionship, their nights even more so, and by the end of the week Methos was feeling as happy and relaxed as he could imagine possible. So when Duncan woke him just before dawn Sunday morning, he willingly allowed himself to be coaxed from bed and out into the gardens, wearing only loose sweatpants and blinking sleepily.
A light mist, not quite rain, was cooling the air as they strolled through the lush greenery, toward the sculpture garden in the center. The stone paving was cold and wet beneath their feet, leading them toward the bubbling fountain encircled by marble benches and beds of bright flowers. Everything was bathed in a pale, pre-dawn luminosity, giving both flesh and stone an ethereal glow.
A figure caught Methos' eye and he took Duncan's hand to pull him over to it. A young man stood frozen in stone, languidly gripping a spear with his head tilted up to the sky, every muscle etched clearly across the planes of his nude body. "He reminds me of you," Methos murmured softly, his voice low in keeping with the hush of the early summer morning. "Physical perfection."
Duncan examined the statue with a critical eye. "I don't know. I'd like to think I'd have a bigger fig leaf than that."
Peals of laughter rang through the clear air before Methos could suppress them. "Well, I suppose we'll have to see about that, now won't we?" He stepped in front of Duncan and lay his hands on the other man's broad chest, feeling the warmth of his body through the silk pajama top he wore. Duncan's deep brown eyes were equally warm, their expression sending a glow of anticipation through Methos' own chest. His fingers played lightly over the buttons of the shirt, and as he almost casually undid each one, he felt the full, sensuous lips of his lover touch his.
With a sigh he leaned into the kiss, parting those soft lips to let his tongue explore the wetness within. He slid the palms of his hands over the broad shoulders, pushing the fabric aside in favor of the more perfect silk of Duncan's skin. Breaking his mouth away from their kiss, he bent and brushed his lips along his lover's jawline, down his throat to the curve where shoulder met breast. Duncan's breathing quickened and grew hoarse as Methos hooked his fingers into the waistband of the silk pajama pants and tugged. The pants slid easily off of his hips and over the burgeoning erection, leaving his body bare to Methos' gaze.
Methos heard the deep breath Duncan took, and felt his own pants being pulled down his legs as if from a distance. His focus was on the majestic body before him, hungrily running his eyes over every inch of exposed flesh. When Duncan reached to caress him, Methos seized his hands to stop him, pushing him backwards until they stood in front of one of the ornately carved stone benches. He pushed Duncan's hands to his sides, then pressed against his shoulders until he sat down on the bench. The chill of the marble did not seem to bother the Scot, who reached for Methos again and caressed his slender waist, bringing him to stand between Duncan's knees. Methos ran his hands through the thick, long hair, bending to softly kiss the top of the dark head before pulling away.
Duncan made a soft noise of protest, but Methos shushed him gently, then sank to his knees before the Highlander and moved back between his thighs. He knelt there before Duncan, gazing down at the other man's now fully swollen erection with a sense of wonder.
He had lived in many cultures during his five thousand years, and a great number of them had held the phallus as a symbol of masculine power and fertility. The Egyptians had adored the member of Osiris as the source of the sun god. In Athens, political opponents would break off the prominent shafts of the Herme idols guarding the gates to each other's houses, a form of vandalism meant to cast public aspersion on their enemy's manhood. He had often seen bands of drunken Roman youths during the Bacchanalia, accosting statues of the sex god Priapus and worshipping at his groin. Their lips and tongues warmed the stiff marble shaft until at last they gave up and went to continue their revelries on more giving flesh.
Then darkness had fallen on the human consciousness, and those glorious organs were hidden out of shame for the human passions that earlier men had gloried in. When the masculine form reemerged in artistic expression, it was a deliberately neutered figure, taking only the elements of the classical stylists which met the demands of the modesty of the modern gaze.
But Methos eschewed the concept of modesty, preferring a more carnal appreciation of the god-like bodies that epitomized masculine beauty. And no one had a more god-like body than Duncan MacLeod.
He bent his head down and kissed the weeping tip, feeling the slightest tremor run through Duncan's frame. His hands slid up Duncan's thighs, caressed his hips, then his thumbs pressed firmly on either side of the rigid cock. He rubbed the flesh at the base without touching the organ itself, building a slow but intense fire in his lover's loins.
Duncan groaned and pressed his hips upward, increasing the pressure against his groin. Methos had to close his eyes against the warm rush of sensation which coursed through his own stiffening cock. He resisted the urge to reach down and stroke it, forcing himself to concentrate on provoking more reactions from Duncan. The gasps and moans from the Highlander gave him a more intense pleasure than any caress from his own hand ever could.
His hands moved up, resting lightly on Duncan's hips as his head dipped and his tongue trailed up the underside of Duncan's cock. He lightly traced the throbbing vein just beneath the surface of the skin, until his lips moved over the head once more and at last he drew it into his mouth. Suckling only the tip at first, Methos gradually took in more and more of the shaft, applying just enough suction to make Duncan quiver throughout his entire body. Shaky hands stroked his hair, then rested on his head, and Methos knew Duncan was fighting the urge to grip him and pull him closer.
The muscles of Duncan's thighs clenched beneath Methos' arms, his hips pushing forward involuntarily. Methos heard the soft, ragged gasps Duncan was emitting, and glanced up long enough to see his lover's head thrown back, eyes squeezed tightly shut in a valiant effort to control his desire. In another few seconds he had worked his way down to the base and paused to savor the feeling of Duncan's cock deep in his throat. They were both very still for a moment, until Duncan let out a low, agonized moan and Methos at last took pity on his panting lover. He applied the full measure of his skill on the pulsing member in his mouth, letting the heat, wetness, and strong, rhythmic pressure bring Duncan quickly to orgasm.
When the last drop of precious fluid had been swallowed and Duncan's shudders of ecstasy had eased, Methos released him. He realized his own hips were thrusting futilely into the empty air, his erection straining for stimulation. Fighting to keep the last of his concentration from crumbling, Methos clutched at Duncan's sides, his forehead pressed against the other's stomach. Duncan's hands moved aimlessly over his shoulders and back, soothing and at the same time adding to his discomfort.
Soon Duncan's breathing steadied again, and he pulled Methos up into his arms. Although Duncan's erection was largely diminished in comparison to Methos' raging hard-on, both were eager for as much contact between their bodies as they could manage. They ended up each with one foot on the ground for balance, sitting on the bench facing each other in a close embrace. Methos curled his other leg around behind Duncan, scooting as close to the other man as he could before surrendering himself to Duncan's kisses.
He ached so terribly, longed so much for union with his lover, and every touch of Duncan's lips against his face and neck increased the burning of his body a hundredfold. Methos silently cursed himself and Duncan for not thinking to bring lubrication with them; although having nothing but the mist and the dew to ease their coming together sounded poetic, in reality it would mean more pain for Duncan than Methos was willing to cause. He resigned himself to finding other means to completion, pressing close so that his erection rubbed against Duncan's stomach. With any luck, he could generate enough friction to bring himself to quick relief, and perhaps Duncan would lend a hand to help him along.
His lover, however, had different ideas. Even as Methos ran his hands down Duncan's back, the other man lifted himself just enough so that Methos ended up cupping his buttocks, involuntarily squeezing them with desire. Methos could not speak, and was only able to shake his head in negation as he gritted his teeth against the temptation.
Duncan kissed a line across his shoulder, up his neck and along his jaw. "Yes," he murmured into Methos' ear before kissing it sensually.
Methos let out a long moan, unable to summon the strength to argue further. His hands moved of their own volition, one coming up to tangle itself in Duncan's damp hair, while the other slipped a finger between his buttocks and gently began working its way inward.
The warmth around his hand, combined with the soft, sweet kisses they exchanged on each other's lips and face, was almost enough to make Methos let go entirely. But he wanted the rest, too much to end it here, so he forced himself not to rub too strongly against Duncan's abdomen, trying instead to concentrate on preparing his lover thoroughly. First one finger, then two, thrusting into the tight opening, mimicking the motions of his cock as he moved ever more urgently in a haze of passion.
Finally Duncan kissed him deeply on the mouth, stilling his hips with one firm hand while the other reached between them to stroke Methos' cock lightly. Then he gently disengaged, turning himself around to straddle the bench, leaning on his hands for support and lifting his buttocks up slightly toward Methos.
Methos was barely able to breathe as he moved in close to his beloved. He leaned forward onto the broad back, letting Duncan support both of them as his arms encircled the other's waist. His face rested against Duncan's shoulder, his eyes closed as he pressed his cock into the welcoming flesh. Duncan was tight around him, but Methos could feel him deliberately relaxing his muscles to make the entry as smooth and effortless as possible. Methos pushed harder, slowly working his way deeper. They both groaned at once as a final push left Methos buried completely within his lover's body.
To his near-embarrassment, that first deep thrust was almost enough. Methos inhaled sharply, shifting his grip so that one arm crossed Duncan's chest with the hand resting on his shoulder, while the other groped for Duncan's cock. He stroked the renewed erection to distract himself from the pressure in his own member, with only marginal success. His thrusts were becoming stronger and faster, and he could no longer suppress the moans that welled up from his throat. Yes, this was exactly what he needed...so perfect.
His labored breathing was in time with Duncan's as he increased the pace of his strokes on his lover's cock. Duncan was clearly making no effort at all to hold back, bucking his hips in sync with Methos' thrusts and twisting his head back to try and kiss his lover again. There was no longer any point in resisting, so Methos let himself go, striving with hips, hands and lips to bring them both to a crashing peak. Duncan let out a strangled cry and Methos felt the hot wetness in his hand just an instant before he achieved his own release.
Duncan's straining arms gave out and he fell to his elbows, Methos still draped over his back. Methos kissed the slick skin beneath him, rubbing his cheek against the strong shoulder. He managed to pull his weight off of Duncan, drawing the other man to rest back in his arms. They sat quietly, holding each other as they gradually relaxed from the strain of their lovemaking. Although much of the past month had been spent in physical exploration, Methos decided that this had certainly been their most intense experience yet.
When they recovered enough to stand, they crossed the few steps to the fountain and cleansed each other in between languid, open-mouthed kisses. Soft laughter and incoherent murmured endearments drifted over the garden as they retrieved their damp clothing and put it on. It was still very early; hopefully early enough so that no one would be awake to see them wandering back into the house.
Yes, indeed, Methos reflected. Coming here had been a most brilliant idea after all.
END
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