by Dswdiane

* * * * * * * * * *

Disclaimer: Not my characters. Owned by others. No money made, no harm intended. NC-17 for slash type sex and spanking. Under 18, go away, please.

Oh, very grateful and sincere thanks to tarsh, shrewreader, and Amand-r for brilliant editing and comments. I could not have done it without them and any remaining errors are all mine.

Oh, this story started with Sleepless Night and continued with Kansas in August, both of which I think can be found on the Persuaders archive.

* * * * * * * * * *

Duncan chuckled as he unloaded Methos' shopping bags. Mostly clothes. Underwear, jeans, and shirts. But what made the Scot chuckle were the CDs. The Stones, Springsteen, Sisters of Mercy, Smashing Pumpkins. Duncan wondered if the man had ever made it out of the 'S's' and then he found Bauhaus, Jane's Addiction, Zappa, Police, No Doubt, Lush, and Genesis, before he stopped looking at the titles and just starting laughing. He gathered that Methos planned to drag him, kicking and screaming if necessary, into the 20th century, musically speaking.

Methos had slept through the night and was sleeping when Duncan left to run the next morning. He was still sleeping when Duncan got home.

Duncan decided to let the man sleep until he was slept out and moved quietly around the loft, cleaning, unloading the shopping bags, and preparing lecture notes for his next class.

Methos started to stir in the early afternoon. "Duncan," he mumbled as he woke and stretched.

Duncan rose from his desk and went to the bed. "I'm here," he said gently. Methos rolled over and into his arms.

"None of it was a dream?" Methos said sleepily as his eyes opened. "We're lovers, and you've decided you can put up with me?"

"None of it was a dream."

"And you've given me permission to be a brat? " Methos said, his eyes glinting. "MacLeod, you have no clue what you've let yourself in for."

"I think I do," Duncan said. "And you have no clue how much your butt is gonna hurt if you behave the way I think you're going to behave."

Methos laughed, grabbed Duncan by the sides of his head, pulled him down and kissed him. "Let's not worry about it right now," he suggested. "Let's just make out." He reached out and pulled Duncan's shirt off. His mouth started to explore Duncan's stomach as he fumbled with Duncan's jeans.

"I think I can handle that," Duncan said as helped Methos with the button.

* * * * * * * * * *

"I'm hungry," Methos complained as he laid in Duncan's arms. "I'm not sure I remember the last time I ate."

"Omelets?" Duncan suggested. "Bacon, toast?"

"Yes, yes, and yes."

Duncan disentangled himself from his grumbling lover, grinned, and said patiently, "I can't cook while I lie here in bed with you."

"Oh, why not? Clone yourself." Methos rose. "I'm going to shower. What did you do with my clothes?"

"The ones you bought?" Duncan gestured to the wardrobe. "I gave you some drawers and cleaned out some closet space."

Methos paused on the way to the shower. "Am I moving in?" he asked, cautiously.

"Your choice," Duncan said, just as cautiously. "I'm extending the invitation."

Methos found his drawers in the wardrobe and pulled out clothing. He turned back to Duncan and caught the anxious anticipation on the other man's face.

"Duncan," he said carefully and seriously as he moved back toward the bed. He put his arms around Duncan, turning him to his back and gazing down into his face. "I'm so scared that I'm shaking. But if you're willing to take the chance, I am." Methos suddenly started laughing.

Duncan stared at him. "What?" he asked.

"What on earth will Amanda say?" Methos chortled.

Duncan grinned. "I don't even want to know," he said. "But I suppose we'll find out." He looked up at Methos and kissed him.

"Oh, to hell with food and a shower," Methos said. "Something just came up again." His mouth started down Duncan's body, and Duncan moaned as Methos started to caress his nipples and his belly button and his inner thighs.

* * * * * * * * * *

"I love you, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," Methos said as he stretched in his lover's arms. "But do you have any idea what you're asking?"

"I'm asking you to live with me," Duncan said. "Methos, I know this space might not be big enough for the both of us. Though there's a lot of room on the floors below. But, we don't have to stay here. And I know you hate the barge. . ."

"Hush," Methos said gently. He put a finger to the Highlander's lips. "It's got nothing to do with space. It has to do with you and me living together. And I love the barge as long as we park it on dry land. But, hell, Duncan. . . this only started last night or was it night before last? I'm totally lost."

Duncan pushed the other man away, staring at him incredulously. "Are you really that dense?" he sputtered.

Methos shook his head and started laughing. "No," he choked out, "but I thought *you* were. . ." Duncan swatted him hard, but Methos just kept laughing. "I'm sorry. It's just I've loved you so damn much for so damn long, and I never let myself believe the feelings were reciprocated."

"Oh?" Duncan grinned, grabbed the other man, and rolled him under his densely muscled body. "You think I never noticed how many times you risked your life to save mine? You think I never noticed that you've always been there when I needed you? You think. . ."

"Shut up." Methos put his hand over Duncan's mouth. "The question wasn't about whether you ever noticed that I loved you. The question was how was I supposed to know you loved me?"

"Oh." Duncan was very quiet for several seconds. "I don't think I've ever let you know. That's why it's my turn to give you whatever you want. I love you. Methos, I love you like I've loved no one since Tessa died."

It was Methos' turn to be very quiet for several long moments. "I think," he said with a grin, "that I am going to cry."

Duncan shook him. "Go take your shower," he said gruffly, blinking back the tears in his eyes as he half-heartedly pushed away from Methos. "I'll go make some food."

Methos grabbed him, hugged him tightly, kissed both of his eyelids, and pulled away. "Good. I'm starving. And have we decided if we're going to live together?"

"I think that's still in negotiation," Duncan answered. Methos nodded and went to the bathroom.

* * * * * * * * * *

"So, what's the schedule around here?" Methos asked as he inhaled the cheese, onion, and green pepper omelet that Mac had made, and that he had smothered in sour cream.


"You teach a class at some ungodly hour of the morning when no sane person should even be awake," Methos said. "What else do I have to become accustomed to? What is on the damn schedule?"

"Oh." Duncan grinned as he realized that Methos was seriously considering the offer to live together. "I teach at the university three mornings a week. There are martial arts classes here at the dojo. I teach some afternoons and evenings. I do some consulting about antiques but that's scheduled as it goes."

"And what do I do with the bookstore if I stay here?" Methos asked, eating a strip of bacon.

"Hire a manager," Duncan suggested.

"Adam Pierson doesn't have a lot of money," Methos said.

"Duncan MacLeod has plenty," Duncan said easily.

"You haven't asked how much money Methos has," Methos said.

"Baby, you're older than most gods presently worshiped," Duncan said. "If you don't have money squirreled away, you're an idiot."

Methos took his plate to the sink and started rinsing it. "Okay," he said, staring down into the drain. "I make messes, and I don't clean them up. I'm selfish, inconsiderate, and self-centered. I'm moody as hell and hard to get along with. I alternate between being horribly demanding and forgetting that I'm even in a relationship. I'm very high maintenance on one day, and then on another, I'm not even around. . ."

Duncan caught him from behind and hugged him hard. "I don't care," he said. "I want to live with you. I love you. And besides, if you really push me hard, I'll just paddle you till you're screaming."

"Promises, promises," Methos said, grinning.

Duncan hugged him even harder. "Baby, do you know what you're asking for?"

"Uh, duh, Duncan," Methos said. "I know exactly what I'm asking for. I'm not an idiot. I know you love to 'top'. Maybe I can teach you how to do it right. Oww. . .." Methos started laughing helplessly as Duncan smacked him on the ass, whirled him around in his arms, kissed him thoroughly, backed Methos over to the bed, and toppled him down on it.

"Just do me a favor," Methos laughed out.


"Try not to come so soon again, okay, big guy? OWW. . . Jesus, Duncan, that hurt."

"Meant it to."

* * * * * * * * * *

Duncan pulled himself out of Methos' arms and looked at the clock. He groaned. "Methos, I have to teach a class in about 30 minutes."

"Cancel it. . . No, don't swat me. Don't swat me. Don't . . . Ouch."

"I'm gonna shower and get ready," Duncan said firmly.

When he got out, Methos was on the phone. "I need my luggage," Methos was saying patiently. "I don't care if it accidentally went to Baton Rouge or Bora Bora. When will it get here?. . . Okay. . . Thanks." He hung up the phone and sighed with exasperation.

He looked up at Duncan who was getting dressed. "I love how you look in a gi," he said with a grin.

"I love how you look wearing my clothes, even if you do keep grabbing my favorite sweaters. And why are you still wearing my sweaters? You bought yourself clothes," Duncan said. He finished pulling on his gi top, walked over to Methos, and pulled him into a hug. "I just love you. Period."

Methos leaned into the Highlander's hug and kissed him on the nose. "I like wearing your sweaters. And, I just love you, too. How long are your classes?"

"From four till eight," Duncan said.

"What do you want for dinner?" Methos asked.

"You can cook?" Duncan pulled back slightly from the embrace in which he still held the other man and looked at him with a faint grin.

Methos rolled his eyes. "No, you idiot Highlander," he said. "I've been alive for over 5000 years, and I've never managed to feed myself. I just starved to death over and over between partners who could. . .Oww . . ."

Methos pulled back and stared at Duncan thoughtfully. "Are you going to whack me every single damn time I make a sarcastic, sardonic, smart ass remark?" he asked, quietly, dragging himself out of Duncan's arms, walking back to the sink, and starting to deal with the breakfast dishes.

Duncan started. "I kinda thought you wanted me to," he said. "If I was wrong, I'm sorry."

Methos sighed as he rinsed a plate and put it in the dishwasher. "My fault," he said softly. "I've given you no clue about when I want to play and when I don't. Actually, I love being smacked on the ass almost any old time. I guess it just jolted me the wrong way that time." He rinsed another plate, put in the dishwasher, turned, and rested his butt on the edge of the counter, leaning back on his arms. "Sorry, love."

Duncan sighed, crossed the loft to the kitchen area, and hoisted himself up to sit on the counter catty-corner to where Methos was leaning. "So when do we talk about when you want to play and when you don't? And how I'm supposed to figure it out?" he asked.

Methos shrugged and went back to cleaning the kitchen. "Later," he said. "You have a class to teach right now." He finished filling the dishwasher and turned back to Duncan. "What would you like for dinner?" he repeated patiently. Duncan grinned wickedly, his eyes sparkling. "How about beef stroganoff and asparagus with Hollandaise sauce?

Methos raised an eyebrow, grinned, and accepted the challenge. "You have what I'd need to cook all that in your kitchen?" he asked.


"Then it shall be yours." Methos looked up at the other man from under his lashes. "And you'll get to wash the dishes."

"Hmmm, can we renegotiate on the Hollandaise sauce?" Duncan asked as he slid off the counter.

"No." Methos tilted his head and gave Duncan an evil, lopsided smile.

Duncan stopped dead in middle of kitchen. "You know," he said thoughtfully. "I have always found that look absolutely irresistible." He reached out, grabbed Methos by the sides of his head, gently, and pulled him into a long, hard kiss.

"Mmmmmmmm," Methos responded leaning into the kiss, and closing his arms around Duncan with one possessive hand stroking the other man's ass. As Duncan broke contact, Methos said, "Now, I don't want to let go."

"Have to, baby," Duncan said gently, patting Methos on the butt before heading for the stairs. "And we need to talk about what you want and how I'm supposed to know when and how you want it."

Methos nodded and turned to clean the kitchen counter tops.

"Methos," Duncan said, turning on his way out. "If you have to go out, just let me know where you're going."

"Why?" Methos asked acerbically. "Duncan, I'm a very big boy. I have been alive a long while." He finished the counters, rinsed out the sponge, and ran the garbage disposal.

Duncan waited patiently until the noise stopped and said,. "Because there's at least one insane head hunter out there,"

"Duncan, have you ever known me to go looking for a challenge? Don't I usually avoid fighting just about as assiduously as I possibly can?" Methos asked, as he started dragging out the utensils, pots, pans, and spices he needed to cook the meal requested.

"First of all, Methos, the situation has nothing to do with accepting challenges. This guy's not playing fair. He's shooting first," Duncan said. "Second, what would it hurt to just let me know where you are?"

"Idiotic, overprotective, overbearing . . ." Methos muttered, shaking his head as he grabbed onions and reached for a can of tomato paste from the cabinet. Duncan stood at the entrance to the stairs. "Duncan, haven't we already had a fight about this very topic? I'm not good at remembering to let folks know where I am."

"I imagine it's a topic we'll fight about a lot," Duncan said pleasantly. "It's really not uncommon to let your loved ones have a clue about where you are. I realize that you're not used to being loved, and I'll forgive you your lapses, but could you, at least, try? And I'm going to be late if I don't go down right now."

Methos sighed and shook his head. "Yes, dear," he called out as Duncan headed down the stairs. He went to the refrigerator, pulled the beef out of the freezer, and put it in the microwave.

* * * * * * * * * *

An hour later, the stroganoff was simmering and Methos was glancing through a local newspaper. There was an ad for an antique bookstore that caught his attention. He looked at the address, looked down at the dojo below him, shook his head, turned the page, and then turned back again.

He called the store and got directions on how to get there. He once again looked down at the floor below him, decided he'd be back before Duncan was through teaching, thought about telling the other Immortal where he was going, and decided he didn't want to deal with what he had decided were Duncan's needless and fretful worries. He looked for pen and paper and tore a page out of his journal to jot down a note about where he was going. The phone rang.

Methos answered. "Oh, hi, Anne. . .Yes, this is Adam. . ..Yes, I'm here visiting.. ..He's teaching right now. .. .I'll tell him you called but if you really want to leave a message why don't you call back... and I'll let voicemail pick up. . .Yes, I look forward to seeing you, too."

Methos listened to the phone ringing again as Anne called back to leave a message. He turned off the flame under the stroganoff, carefully calculated how much time he would need to prepare the rest of the meal, and decided he would have to be back before seven.

He went to his computer, clicked on the map maker program, memorized several routes back and forth from the book store, then looked at his watch and flew out the door.

He was two blocks down the street before it occurred to him that he couldn't remember if he had finished leaving a note. He paused, looked again at his watch, shrugged, and went on going. He was sure he'd be back long before Duncan was finished teaching. He barely had time to go to the store and finish making dinner. If he doubled back and made sure that a note had been left, he'd not have the time to make it to the bookstore at all.

*Besides,*" he thought, rebelliously, *why should I have to account to Mac for every step I take, every move I make.* He groaned. *Oh, wonderful, now I get to have Sting singing in my head for the next hour or so.*

The bookstore made Methos almost giddy. He spent about a half-hour browsing and chatting casually with the proprietor. He had taken several antique volumes off the shelves and to the cash register when the buzz of another Immortal hit his head.

"OH, shit," Methos breathed out as he handed the store owner the cash for his purchases.

"Beg pardon," the store owner said.

"Um, excuse me," Methos said. He hastily grabbed his change, took the bag of books and manuscripts, and headed out the door, looking in every direction.

A shot sang out and Methos dived for cover.

"Oh, shit," he said again. He had landed behind a dumpster, sighing with relief at the cover it gave him. He took the Beretta out of his pocket and groaned.

*Mac is gonna kill me,* he thought as he ducked and scrambled in a direction that he thought was away from the other Immortal. He immediately sensed the buzz of yet another Immortal and cursed to himself. He thought hard and stayed low as he dodged from cover to cover.

He felt like an idiot as he ducked across the pavement, but he kept going and managed to get back inside the bookstore. The proprietor stared at him as he literally rolled in with his gun still out.

"There are people out there, shooting at me," Methos explained. "Do you have a back door?"

The man nodded, his eyes still wide and his mouth open, and gestured. Methos headed in the direction indicated. "Oh," he said almost as an afterthought, "I don't suppose you'd consider *not* calling the police?"

The store owner stared at him. "Thought not," Methos called out cheerfully as he went out the back. He emerged in an alley and ran toward the direction in which he still sensed one of the enemy Immortals. He came out cautiously on a street, found cover behind a car and looked in every direction.

A bullet hit the pavement beside him.

Methos rolled away and scrambled toward the gunshot, cursing under his breath every inch of the way. Running toward gunshots was madness, but he didn't see any choice under the circumstances.

The shooter was in the protection of a doorway of a shop that was closed. He was right across the street. But there was a large truck blocking any clear shot. Methos groaned and thought.

There was a dumpster at the head of an alley, in front of the truck. Methos stared at it. The buzz of the second Immortal was not even detectable.

Methos took a deep breath and ran, weaving, across the street. More shots rang out and a bullet hit him in his upper left arm. Methos yelled out, clutched at his chest, staggered, and fell behind the dumpster. He went very still and waited.

The buzz of the other Immortal got closer and closer. Methos continued to lie, immobile, watching the corner of the dumpster.

A gun came around the edge and fired off several haphazard shots. One of the bullets caught Methos in the right thigh, and he raised his eyebrows and cursed under his breath, but did not make a sound.

The other man threw himself around the corner of the dumpster and at the wall of the next building, aiming his gun at the still body on the ground.

Methos immediately shot him in the chest. The other man fell, firing wildly, and yet another bullet hit Methos in his right shoulder. Methos groaned, yet still managed to pull out his sword with the left arm that had already healed.

Police sirens wailed, getting closer. "OH, SHIT," Methos spat out. There was no time to take a head and a quickening before the cops got there. He dragged himself to his feet, and ran, limping away from the direction in which he had sensed the other Immortal.

* * * * * * * * * *

Methos staggered into the loft. His clothes were covered in blood. He looked at his watch. It was 6:45. He was amazed that the entire adventure had taken so little time.

Had he remembered to leave a note? He looked and found the sheet of paper he had torn out of his journal. It was blank. No, he had forgotten the note. He groaned and hoped Mac had not come back upstairs.

He ripped off the incriminating articles of clothing and ran to the wardrobe to pull out jeans and a sweater. *What to do with blood soaked, bullet- ripped clothes?* He sighed deeply. *Burn them. No, not right away.*

He heard the elevator coming up, and his heart stopped. Methos thrust the bloody garments under a sofa cushion and headed for the kitchen area. He hadn't quite made it there when the elevator door was raised. Mac stood there, hands on his hips, glowering.

"Where were you?" MacLeod demanded.

"What?" Methos opened the refrigerator and took out the asparagus.

"I took a break at six, and you weren't here," Mac said forebodingly.

"Oh." Methos tried to quell the butterflies in his stomach and turned to Duncan. "I went to a bookstore. Sorry. I forgot to leave a note. I meant to, but the phone rang, and, oh, it was Anne calling for you, and I got distracted and. . ."

Mac was looking around the room, and his eyes were on the lumpy cushions on the couch nearest the elevator.

Methos' stomach clenched. "Mac," he said loudly. Duncan turned his head. "I was two blocks away before I remembered," Methos said desperately. "I just wanted something to read. . . .Oh, fucking hell."

MacLeod had raised the lumpy cushions and dragged out the bloody, bullet ripped clothing. He held them up and glared at Methos. "Are you okay?" he demanded.

Methos nodded. "I had a bit of trouble," he admitted, cautiously.

"Aye," Mac acknowledged. "And I have another class to teach." MacLeod threw the clothes on the floor. "Leave those right there."

Methos nodded again, his mouth dry.

Duncan went to the stairs, opened his mouth, closed his mouth, and just glared before he went down the stairway and back to the dojo.

Methos stared down at the vegetables in his hands, laid them on the counter, and started to cut off the ends. "Oh, fuck!" Methos threw the knife at the wall. He was starting to shake with the aftermath of combat and the realization that MacLeod was furious and that even worse, Duncan had looked hurt, confused, and wounded.

Methos resisted an urge to just sit down on the floor.

Instead he picked up the knife again and continued to slice the asparagus. To his own amazement, a few moments later a tear plopped down on the green vegetables as he put them in the steamer.

*I don't cry,* he thought distantly. *I cried a lot yesterday, but that was because I was worn out and jet lagged. This is stupid.*

Another tear rolled down his face and fell on the top of the pan as he put it on a burner. Methos shook himself angrily and got eggs out of the fridge for the Hollandaise sauce. Tears continued to well in his eyes, and he ignored them except to swipe at his eyes and mutter to himself.

*So, he's mad at me,* he thought as he filled a large pot of water to boil for the noodles. *So what else is new? He's been mad at me off and on ever since he found out I rode with the Horsemen. Oh, fucking shit, I don't need to even think about the damn Horsemen.*

Methos continued to prepare the meal that Duncan had requested and simply tried not to think about why the tears continued to roll down his face.

It wasn't possible. The problem was not about Duncan being angry. Methos suddenly and clearly remembered what Duncan had said, *It's really not uncommon to let your loved ones have a clue about where you are. I realize that you're not used to being loved, and I'll forgive you your lapses, but could you, at least, try.*

Methos saw again the look in Duncan's eyes as he stood in front of the elevator. He knew those eyes better than he knew the sight of his own hand closed around the hilt of a sword. Those brown eyes had been more hurt and confused than angry. The last thing on earth he wanted was to hurt Duncan. More tears welled. He shook his head, close to furious with himself, and went on making dinner.

He was pouring the noodles into a colander when Duncan came back. Methos dumped the noodles back into the pot they had come out of, threw in some lumps of butter, stirred them around, and put the lid on.

Duncan stripped off his gi top, threw it on a chair, and crossed the room to lean against the center island, wearing a black t-shirt and his gi bottom. He watched as Methos put the pan back on the unlit burner. A tear splashed down on the top of the pot.

"Methos," Mac said gently. He took a step and grabbed Methos around the waist, pulling him into his arms.

Methos sighed with relief and turned, putting his head on Duncan's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I really did mean to leave you a note. I tore a page out of my journal, and I was about to write when the phone rang, and I got distracted and then I wanted to get to the book store. I was two blocks away before I remembered. And then I got resentful that you even wanted me to leave notes, and Duncan, I just fucked up, okay? I'm an idiot, and. . ."

"Hush," Duncan said, gently. "Yes, when I came up here on my break, it scared me silly that you weren't here, and there was no note. But we'll talk it out and talk it through. Hush. There's no need to be so upset, and you're not an idiot." He looked over Methos' head, noting that all the food was on burners that were either on simmer or off. Duncan guided Methos over to the couch and pulled him down into his lap.

"I just went out to a bookstore," Methos said, swiping furiously at his eyes. "And I am not crying. I think I'm allergic to your loft."

Duncan pulled him close. "Okay," he said, patiently. "You're not crying. I've got it. Now, will you tell me what happened?"

Methos put his head down on Duncan's shoulder and told him the entire story without a single edit. Mac held the other man tightly. "Methos," Duncan said, "you could have been killed."

"Tell me about it," Methos said. He took a deep, catching breath. "Are you angry with me? Did I hurt you?"

Duncan sighed. "Why were your clothes under the damn sofa cushion?"

Methos shrugged and hid his face in Duncan's shoulder. "Just did it, hiding them," he mumbled, "didn't want to worry you."

"Were you planning to hide all of it from me?" Duncan asked.

Methos shrugged again. "No," he said grumpily. "Dammit, Duncan, of course, I was going to tell you about it. I just didn't see any point in you having a heart attack between your classes."

Duncan chuckled. "Good point, Methos, but did it occur to you that you got blood all over the cushions?"

Methos shrugged. "I'll get them cleaned," he offered. Duncan snorted. "All right. All right. I'll buy you a new couch."

"I *like* this one. I have very fond memories of a long, lanky, much beloved body sprawled all over it."

"I'm sorry about the damn cushions. Besides all the blood stains are on the bottom, and I've gotten most of it off." Duncan raised an eyebrow and picked up the cushion next to him. It was clean and still damp on the underside.

"Dammit, Duncan, are you angry with me? Did I hurt you?" Methos' breath caught and more tears welled.

"I was irritated when I came up here and found you gone without a note. I was angry when I found your bloody clothes 'hidden' under the sofa cushions. Annoyed that you were seemingly trying to keep secrets. And scared out of my mind. There was a lot of blood on those." Mac pointed to the heap on the floor. "And, yes, it hurt me that me that you didn't bother to leave a note, after what I'd said to you."

Methos shrugged. "I'm kinda hard to kill. I think you worry too much." He took a deep breath that caught hard. "And I really did mean to leave a note."

"Maybe, I do worry too much. Maybe so. But I love you, Methos, and I don't want to lose you. And I believe you that you meant to leave a note."

Methos sighed with relief, pulled himself away from the encircling arms, and looked into Duncan's face. "Are you going to punish me?" he asked, with mischief and worry in his eyes.

Duncan shook his head and chuckled. "I've spanked you twice in the last couple of days. Don't be greedy."

"Oh, well." Methos put his head back on Duncan's shoulder, hiding the tears that welled again. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

Duncan sighed. "Look, I know that you want to be punished. It'd make you feel better if you were spanked till you were sobbing. Feel better about hurting me by not leaving a note. And relieve some of the tension from being wounded and shot at." Methos looked up again and stared at Duncan.

"Yes," Duncan said. "I understand that. Does that surprise you?"

"No," Methos said acidly. "It would surprise me if I fell madly in love with a stupid person."

"I think that would surprise me, too." Duncan put his mouth to Methos' long neck and started to nibble down it. Methos shivered, slipped his hands under Duncan's shirt and started to caress the other man's back.

Duncan pushed Methos down on his back on the couch and kissed him hard as he reached down and started to pull clothing off.

Methos cooperated fully, fairly ripping the clothes off both of them. "Uh, what about dinner?" he asked.

"I have a microwave," Duncan said as pulled his sweater over Methos' head and moved his mouth down the supple body beneath him.

Methos had already managed to wiggle out of his jeans. He was in the process of pulling Duncan's gi pants off. He groaned as Mac's mouth hit his nipples, licking and sucking. "The Hollandaise is gonna separate if I don't get up and stir it."

Mac burst out laughing. "I do NOT give a fuck about the Hollandaise," he choked out, as he continued to lick and suck. Methos grinned.

"And, Methos, gradhach. . ." Duncan lifted his mouth to ask.

"Mmmm?" Methos murmured happily as he stroked Mac's back.

"Are you really 'madly in love'?"

Methos blinked and rolled the other man off the couch and onto the floor, landing on top. He stared down into Duncan's eyes. "You," he said flatly, "are not allowed to have any insecurities."

Duncan stared back up at him. "Oh?"

Methos chuckled. "Okay," he conceded. "You're allowed to have two moments of insecurity a day. This counts as three. Yes, I am madly, madly, madly, insanely, passionately, irrationally, and totally in love with you."

"Well, thanks for clearing that up," Duncan said. He turned Methos over again and started kissing down the other man's body.

Methos threw his head back. "Duncan," he gasped out. "The lubricant is about three miles away. Do we really want to do this here?"

"We don't have to have the lubricant," Duncan said, with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Spit has worked just fine for centuries. Trust me."

Methos lifted his head and stared at Duncan who simply started laughing at the expression of bemused outrage on Methos' face. "Spit has worked for centuries? Who'd a thunk it? You know, Mac, I am just amazed at all the brand new things I get to learn each day I live. . ."

"I can get up and get the damn lubricant," Duncan said. "Or we could move this to the bed. But we might lose the passion of the moment. . .OWWww." Duncan fell off Methos and rubbed his well whacked behind.

"Passion of the moment," Methos sputtered, rolling to his feet, grabbing Duncan by the arm, and pulling him up. Methos put his mouth on Duncan's neck, nuzzled him gently and then pushed him toward the bed. Methos lowered his head and licked one of Duncan's nipples. Duncan groaned, and Methos again pushed him another step, moving his tongue to the other nipple. Duncan tangled his hands in Methos' hair, and Methos reciprocated by loosening the clasp at Duncan's neck, grabbing the other man's long hair, pulling his head back, and biting him on the neck, hard enough to draw blood that Methos licked away.

Another push had them almost to the bed. Methos moved up from Duncan's neck and captured his mouth, exploring it with a skillful tongue. Duncan moaned and one more push landed both of them on the bed with Methos on top. "There," he said. "Did we lose any of the fucking passion of the fucking moment?"

"Don't think so," Duncan said as he rolled Methos over, nuzzled his neck and gently bit an ear lobe. Methos groaned and stretched.

* * * * * * * * * *

"What kind of wine?" Duncan asked an hour later as he ran his fingers through hair still wet from the shower.

Methos considered as he worked with the food on the stove, putting the asparagus and noodles into microwave dishes. "I know this is red meat and calls for red wine," he said, almost indifferently. "But I want white."

"White it is," Duncan said. "Italian. A pinot grigio?" He rummaged through the closet he used as a wine cellar.

"Sounds good to me," Methos said, listlessly. "And would you put on some music? NO opera, do you hear me? NONE."

"No opera," Duncan repeated. "How about the music you bought today?"

"Sounds absolutely refreshing," Methos said, quietly as he took the asparagus out of the microwave.


"Put in the soundtrack to 'The Matrix' and the soundtrack to 'Singles' and "Invisible Touch' and the white Bauhaus and Men at Work and No Doubt and put them on random," Methos said.

"The soundtrack to 'The Matrix'?" Duncan protested.

"Yes," Methos said firmly. "Wonderful music. Wonderful movie. Have you seen it?"


"Then we have a movie to see." Methos took the noodles out of the microwave. "And we have food."

"Damn, Methos," Duncan said a few minutes later. "This is good. You can cook."

"Told you," Methos said absently. He picked at his food and took a deep swallow of the wine. "Duncan, what's the game plan for tomorrow? I know you have that class to teach at that obnoxiously early hour, but what after that?" He drained his wine glass and refilled it.

"We go hunting for headhunters," Duncan said. "Why?"

Methos groaned. "I was afraid you were going to say that."

"Methos, what choice do we have? Are we going to wait here for them to come after us?"

"No. But couldn't we just go to Tahiti? And avoid the whole thing?"

Duncan just looked at him.

"Really, Duncan, there's a fine art to just running away," Methos said. "We run away. They keep head hunting. Someone else whacks them. No problem. We come back and go about our lives. No fuss. No muss. Yes?"

"I have classes to teach. I have a life. Are there any more questions?"

"Maybe later," Methos said, still picking at his food and mainly just pushing it around on his plate. He drained his wine and again refilled his glass.

"Methos," Duncan said, "we have to talk about this game we're playing."

"What game?" Methos asked warily, drinking half of his new glass of wine.

"The 'you brat, me whatever game'. The one that involves spanking as needed."

Methos groaned. "I don't want to talk, I don't want to dissect. I just want to do it," he said crankily, taking another swallow.

Duncan looked at his 5000 year old 'baby' and sighed. "I'll play whatever game you want to play. If you want to be a brat, that's fine. Hell, if. . ."

Methos drained his glass, slammed his fork down into his plate, shoved his chair back, went to the bed, flopped down, turned on the TV, and started channel surfing.

Duncan rolled his eyes, sighed, and pushed his plate away. He rose and went to the bed. "Methos," he said gently. He sat and gathered Methos into his arms, grabbing the remote, and turning the TV off again.

Methos pulled Duncan down to the bed. "You want to know what I want?" he whispered. "I'm not going to talk about it at the dinner table, but I'll talk about here in bed. Turn off the lights."

Duncan reached up and turned off the lights near the bed. The kitchen lights still burned, but Methos simply dragged Duncan back into his arms, unconcerned with the distant illumination.

"I want the kind of 'play' spankings we've been doing," Methos said softly, curling up and putting his head on Duncan's shoulder. "But I want more. I want subspace, Duncan. Do you know what subspace is?"

"I think so," Duncan said carefully. "I've played with it. Actually I kinda like it" He grinned. "With me as recipient and giver. It's about being totally dominated and controlled, yes?"

"Yes," Methos said quietly, "and I like it with pain." He grinned into Duncan's shoulder and snickered. "I'll have domination with a side order of pain, please. You can hold the fries. But I'll have a medium Dr. Pepper."

Duncan grinned. "We can get lots of Dr. Pepper at the grocery store, babe."

"And, please hold the fries. Burning's not a pain that turns me on. Though I can go with hot wax or the burning of cinnamon oil or Tabasco sauce on, um, sensitive tissue. Just no real burning flesh."

Duncan shook his head. "I'd never go there, Methos. What else? About subspace."

"Half of it has to do with you being stern, demanding, and commanding," Methos went on, "and half is the pain. Pain shoots off endorphins in the brain. It makes me fly. It's like ecstasy." Methos shuddered with pleasure and fear.

"I can do that. I know what that feels like. I kinda like it myself," Duncan said. "What else do you want?"

Methos shuddered and answered hesitantly, "Duncan," he said, "I want to be. . . .punished . . .when I've been bad. I mean it. I want to be punished when I've fucked up badly. I want you to spank me hard and make me feel *punished*" Methos blushed, hot and red. "Like a child who's been rotten bad."

Duncan held the other man close, soothed, and stroked. "Shhh," he murmured. "It's okay, love. Do you ever remember being allowed to be a child? It's okay if you want to feel like a child." He paused and asked cautiously, "Methos, does being punished make you feel cared about?"

Methos looked up at Duncan with a half-embarrassed faint grin. "I don't know," he admitted. "Works in fantasies."

Duncan stared down at him. "You have *never* done this before?"

Methos flushed. "I've played with subspace. I've. . .uh. . .oh . . .hell," he put his face back in Duncan's shoulder. He took a deep breath. "No, I've never trusted any other lover enough to ask for it."

"And you think that being punished will make you feel better when you've fucked up?" Duncan sighed, as Methos nodded. "Baby, if you think being punished will make you feel better, I can do it. But you had best be prepared to have your ass thoroughly blistered."

He suddenly remembered Methos picking at his food and dragging through the evening. He blinked and asked, carefully, "Do you think you fucked up today?"

Methos stiffened slightly. "Yeah," he admitted. "I didn't leave a note. But, hell, Duncan, you said you weren't going to punish me. You didn't want to."

Duncan paused a moment. "Methos, when I got back upstairs, it looked like you'd been crying the whole time I was gone. You'd obviously been punishing yourself."

Methos kept his face buried in Duncan's shoulder. "And I'll keep punishing myself until you take over the job," he mumbled, his breath catching again.

"Can't you just let it go?" Duncan asked. "I've forgiven you. It's really okay with me that you fuck up sometimes."

Methos shook his head. "And I want you to let it go sometimes. But don't want to let this go." His breath caught again. "Dammit, Duncan, I did fuck up. And. . ." his voice caught, "I've never told anyone about this fantasy before."

Duncan held his breath for a moment and gently stroked the head on his shoulder. "Oh, love," he said helplessly, "you really need this, don't you?"

"You said you wouldn't," Methos said, quietly. His eyes welled with tears. "You said I was being greedy. And I'm asking for too much."

Duncan shook his head. "I didn't understand what you needed," he said softly. "I'll try never to deny you what you need. That's not being greedy, and it's not asking for too much. I was teasing." Duncan ran his hand down Methos' back and gently stroked his ass. "But Methos, not leaving a note was not really that big a deal. You even meant to. You don't really deserve to be punished."

"Duncan, I realized two blocks away from the loft that I hadn't," Methos said, miserably. "I just got angry that you wanted me to and didn't come back. I didn't even stop to think that it might hurt you."

"Methos, I repeat, it's not that big a deal. You do not deserve to be punished," Duncan said gently and then more firmly, "and if this is important to you, we're not playing games with it. I'm not going to punish you when you didn't really fuck up. You got that?"

Methos looked up at Duncan. "You really don't think I fucked up that badly?" he asked, tears still welling.

"No, I really, really don't think you fucked up that badly," Duncan said patiently. "And I think you've punished yourself way too much for it, already. Will you let it go? I promise you that when you do fuck up I'll blister your ass."

Methos grinned faintly and blinked back the tears. "Promise?"

"Promise. Cross my heart and hope to die," Duncan said, grinning back. "I actually kinda like turning your ass crimson red. It's cute that way."

"Cute?" Methos protested, outraged. "Cute!"

"Adorable," Duncan said solemnly, his eyes glinting with wicked glee.

"Oh, I will get you for that one, MacLeod. I'll show you cute," Methos said forebodingly.

"Actually, you show me 'cute' all the time. It's kind of a puzzle to me how someone your age can so often be as cute as a kitten." Duncan grinned and kissed the other man. "Baby, can you let this go, this fretting about not leaving me a note? Can you rest assured that I'll keep my promise to you?"

Methos kissed back and shrugged. "I think so. Yes. You really think I should let it go?"

"Yes, please, let it go. I forgive you. Forgive yourself," Duncan suggested.

"Easier said than done, but I'll try," Methos mumbled, resting back in Duncan's arms.

Duncan just held Methos close and tightly for several more minutes. "I'm still hungry," he said, "can we, please, go back to the table and eat?"

Methos nodded, wiped his eyes, sat up, and went back to the table. Duncan followed. Methos picked up their plates. "Microwave to heat these up?" he suggested. Duncan nodded.

Within a few moments, both of them were back at the table. Methos took another bite of the food and suddenly realized he was ravenously hungry.

Both men ate in silence for several minutes. Methos drained his wine glass again and Duncan refilled it.

"I actually like this music," Duncan offered.

Methos grinned. "Good," he said. "Because you're going to have to get used to it."

Duncan shook his head and finished the food on his plate, pushing it away. "Can I say one thing to you?" Duncan said, his eyes alight with mischief.

"Of course," Methos agreed as he swallowed the last bites of food on his plate, leaned back and sighed with contentment. He picked up his glass of wine and raised it to his mouth.

Duncan reached out, grabbed Methos' hand and kissed it. "I actually understand why you keep bursting into girlish tears at the drop of a hat," he offered.

The swallow of wine Methos had just taken went out his nose as he started laughing. "Good," he said. "explain it to me."

"You're scared as hell to be so 'in love' and so vulnerable," Duncan said.

"Oh, gee, another newsflash from the front," Methos said.

"Methos," Duncan said warningly. "You are not immune at this moment from getting your bottom whacked again."

"Oh? Really?" Methos grinned wickedly and deliberately thumbed his nose at the other man.

Duncan pushed his plate away, stood, grabbed Methos by the hand, and started leading to him the bed.

Methos stopped as they got there, grabbed Duncan by the sides of his head and kissed long and deeply. "I think it's time to switch," he said thoughtfully.

"Switch?" Duncan stared at the other man.

"Switch. Me top. You bottom." Methos pushed Duncan down to the bed by his shoulders, straddled his stomach, and grinned evilly. "You like subspace?" he asked as he leaned over and kissed savagely.

Duncan kissed back, went still, and nodded.

Methos nibbled at Duncan's lips, licking and caressing with his mouth. "Oh, love, I'm going to send you flying.. Be still. Do NOT talk. Be still." Methos kissed again deeply and hard. He leaned back up and looked down. "I mean it. Do not move. I'll be back in a moment, and I'm going to take you places you've never been before."

Duncan stared as Methos went out the door and stayed in the exact position in which the other man had left him, with butterflies in his stomach. It seemed as if Methos were gone for an eternity.

Methos came back with a tray, holding a tea pot under a cosy, two cups, two large glasses of water with ice floating in them and two lit candles. He put the tray on the table beside the bed.

Duncan's eyes widened.

Methos looked over at him. "Okay, here are the rules. You may writhe. You may moan and groan and make whatever sounds you please. You may not otherwise move a muscle unless I tell you to. You may not speak without asking permission. You may ask permission to speak or to ask a question. You *will* answer any question that I ask you. Except that you can always say safe words. We need to pick out some safe words. One for being emotionally overloaded. You have one?" Methos spoke slowly, carefully, and evenly.

Duncan's eyes had gotten wider and wider as Methos spoke, and the butterfly feelings in his stomach intensified. He grinned slightly. "How about Pikachu?" He suggested.

"Too many syllables, Duncan. How about Pika?"

Duncan nodded. Methos went on, "And for too much pain?"

Duncan shrugged. "You suggest,' he said.

Methos grinned. "I always liked 'fire trucks.'"

"As in I'm on fire and need something to come put it out?" Duncan grinned again.

"Works for me," Methos grinned back. "Now say them."

"Pika, if emotionally overwhelmed. Fire trucks for too much pain," Duncan responded immediately and obediently.

The corners of Methos' mouth quirked slightly. "Good boy," he said gently.

"Oh," Duncan gasped.

Methos tilted his head to one side. "Did you ask or did I give you permission to speak?"

"Saying 'oh' isn't speaking," Duncan gasped out.

"Bad answer. I'll remember every bad answer and every violation of the rules. You remember that," Methos said calmly. "Try again."

Duncan was quiet for a moment. "No, Methos," he said softly. "I did not ask, and you didn't give permission."

"Good answer. Good boy." Methos went to the foot of the bed and pulled off Duncan's socks. He knelt and kissed each of the bare feet and sucked gently on Duncan's right big toe.

Duncan gasped and then gasped again as Methos moved his mouth to the other toes, sucking and licking, as if giving each toe a blow job.

Methos gently kissed each foot again and peeled himself out of his jeans as he inched his way back up to the head of the bed where he again kissed Duncan deep and hard, simultaneously pulling up the other man shirt and caressing him. Methos moved his mouth down to Duncan's neck nibbling and sucking, while pulling the shirt all the way up to his arm pits.

Methos raised himself to one elbow and took a swallow of water, sucking in a cube of ice. He put his mouth down to Duncan's left nipple and used his tongue to run the ice around it, followed by tiny licks, sucks, and nibbles. Duncan writhed, groaned, and without thinking put both hands in Methos hair.

Methos raised his head and shook it. "Did I ask you to move?"

Duncan groaned and put his hands back to his sides.

"Answer me," Methos demanded.

"No," Duncan moaned out.

"No, what? You may say, 'no, Methos' or 'no, sir.' You may not just say 'no,'" Methos said sternly.

Duncan's eyes widened again. "I will not," he sputtered before subsiding at the look in Methos' eyes.

"That's four," Methos said quietly with a hint of menace in his voice.

Duncan felt the butterflies take off and start strange aeronautic maneuvers in his guts.

Methos put ice and mouth back to nipple again and went back to nibbling and sucking. Duncan arched his back. Methos sat up again and grabbed the mug filled with hot tea, filling his mouth. He went back to Duncan's nipple, ice cube still there amid the hot tea. Duncan writhed and arched again as heat, cold, and insistent teeth and tongue assaulted the sensitive nub. He moaned, feeling himself getting harder and harder.

Methos took more ice in his mouth and went to the other nipple, playing for long minutes before raising up to get more hot tea.

"Imagine how this is going to feel on your cock, Duncan," he said, before putting the tea in his mouth.

"Oh, fucking gods," Duncan gasped out. Methos raised his head, looked at him, and held up five fingers. Duncan groaned, and then groaned again more loudly as the ice, heat, tongue, and teeth came down on his right nipple.

Methos played with the nipples for several minutes and then moved his head down Duncan's stomach, pulling down his sweats and boxers to his thighs and putting his mouth on the head of the other man's cock, slipping his hot tongue inside the foreskin and licking, thrusting the tip of tongue into the opening.

Duncan writhed again, almost bucking off the bed. Methos grinned, raised his head again and took more ice and water in his mouth, and brought it back down to Duncan's cock, taking and swallowing the whole shaft down to the groin, pushing the ice around with tongue, while swallowing hard so that Duncan could feel Methos' throat muscles closing around the head of his cock.

Duncan made a sound close to a sob and once again, without thinking tangled his fingers in Methos's hair. Methos came up off the cock, sucking all the way, and looked at his lover.

"I think that makes six," he said carefully. "Do you have any clue how to obey?"

Duncan took a deep, shuddering breath, "Yes sir," he said softly. "Permission to speak?"

"Oh, yes," Methos said as he leaned up and took tea and more ice into his mouth.

"I'm sorry, sir," Duncan breathed out. "I'll try to be good." And then he came close to screaming as the hot, cold, insistent mouth came back down on his throbbing cock.

Methos swallowed deeply, sucking and licking and caressing with mouth and tongue. He moved up and down first slowly and gently and then hard and fast. Duncan moaned again and willed his hands to remain at his sides.

Methos moved his head up, grabbed the tea mug, and looked at Duncan. "Doing better," he said approvingly. "You like the hot and cold?"

"Yes, Methos, oh gods, yes," Duncan gasped out.

Methos tilted his head to one side. "Hmm," he said. "I think I'll allow that." He took more tea in his mouth and sucked in another ice cube, going back to what he had been doing. He spent several long minutes sucking, nuzzling, and swallowing with the hot tea and ice cubes in his mouth, then pulled up and looked again at Duncan.

"You really like the hot and the cold?" he asked again, with an evil grin.

Duncan continued clutching the sheets hard and nodded. "Yes, Methos," he gasped out.

Methos picked up one of the candles. Duncan's eyes widened again. Methos experimentally dripped some hot wax to his forearm and winced. "No," he said. He raised the candle higher and dripped again. "Mmmm, better, much better. That's about right." Duncan's eyes grew even wider.

Methos leaned over and carefully and from the exact height used before, dribbled a drop of liquid wax on Duncan's left nipple. Duncan gasped and writhed. It didn't exactly burn, not quite and even before he could finish processing how it felt, Methos had put his mouth to the nipple and covered it with ice.

Duncan moaned loudly. Methos raised his head and grinned. "I think you liked that," he said teasingly. "Well, can't leave the other one neglected."

Duncan clutched harder at the sheets and spasmed as Methos repeated the process on his right nipple.

He moaned even more loudly as Methos moved down his body and held the candle carefully over the head of his cock. "Oh, don't," he gasped out.

Methos paused. "Did I hear a safe word?" he asked.

Duncan shook his head and then screamed as one drop of hot wax hit the head of his cock. He almost involuntarily rolled off the bed, while still gasping with pain.

"I'll assume fire trucks just rolled in," Methos said thoughtfully. "Oh, well. Most men can't take that, but you must admit it will remain a memorable experience."

Duncan stabbed the other man with a piercing glare, with tears of pain welling in his brown eyes. Methos put the candle down and leaned back up to kiss the other man.

"Sorry, love. Just experimenting. I can take and enjoy just little of it, but my pain thresh hold is unbelievably high," Methos said quietly and half apologetically. "Now, to return to our scheduled program." Methos grinned and continued to dribble the wax carefully on Duncan's inner arms and down his chest and stomach to his inner thighs, avoiding any place with hair.

Duncan writhed, moaned, and gasped. Methos finished his artistic dribbling, took ice and ice water into his mouth, went back to the groin, and swallowed all the way down, working the ice around with his tongue.

Duncan gasped and almost writhed off the bed, still clutching the sheets with his hands. "Oh, fucking gods, Methos, you're killing me."

Methos sucked hard and moved his mouth back up and off. He swallowed the water and spat out the ice into the glass. "Did you ask permission to speak?" he asked pleasantly but firmly.

Duncan moaned. "No, Methos. I did not," he said.

"No, you didn't," Methos agreed. "You're going to pay for that. Later. In a few minutes. Now I have some wax to remove."

Duncan gasped and gasped again as Methos peeled the wax off each nipple and almost sobbed as Methos peeled the wax off arms, chest, stomach, and inner thighs. "OHHHH, damn, Methos, oh, damn. And oh, fuck, no, I did not ask permission to speak."

Methos chuckled. "No, you did not. I'll remember. Skin a bit sensitive, love? I can help." He filled his mouth again with ice and icy water and licked and sucked where ever he had peeled off the wax, finishing by once again, going down on Duncan's throbbing cock.

Duncan screamed again and without thinking tangled his fingers in Methos hair, pushing him down. Methos struggled free and came back up, staring at Duncan. "Are you trying to win the bad bottom of the year award, love? You're getting there."

The butterflies in Duncan's stomach decided to do the Blue Angels air show. He moaned and then moaned again as Methos' mouth filled with both ice and warm tea came back down on his cock. Methos swallowed again, all the way down the shaft and carefully and gently sucked in both balls, licking and nuzzling.

Duncan almost writhed off the bed, Methos came up again, still swallowing hard, licking and sucking. "I don't suppose I have to tell you that you're not allowed to come until I give you permission."

Duncan shook his head, shuddering hard.

"Speak, love. I didn't hear you," Methos said firmly.

"No, Methos, you didn't have to tell me that. I knew," Duncan gasped out, almost overwhelmed with sensations.

"Good boy." Methos leaned over and rummaged in the drawer beneath the bed. "My, my, my, you do have some interesting toys."

Duncan's eyes widened again at the thought of some of those toys.

Methos put a pillow in the middle of the bed and suddenly flipped Duncan over, face down, with his ass up over the pillow. He grabbed one of Duncan's hands and wrapped a padded restraint to it, fastening it to a hook at the top of the bed and then did the same to the other. "Just to help you remember to keep your hands where they belong, boy."

"Oh," Duncan breathed out and then winced.

"Hmm, was that eight or nine?" Methos asked.

"Nine, I think, Methos. Nine," Duncan said quietly. He suddenly felt soft, soft suede leather strips brushing across his ass. He writhed and moaned.

"Yes, Duncan, I found the flogger. And it's a very nice flogger. Seven strips of nice soft suede leather, just gentle as can be." Methos pulled Duncan's sweats and boxer farther down to about half way between ass and knees. "I've always like the half undressed look better than the fully naked. Helps you know just what vulnerable parts of your body, I'm concentrating on." He continued to stroke the flogger very gently across Duncan's ass and reached up to pull Duncan's sweatshirt up over his shoulders and head, leaving it still on his fastened arms.

Methos sat down on Duncan's thighs and started stroking the flogger across every inch of his back, down his ass and across the top of his thighs, still gently and caressingly. "Of course, it can sting, too," Methos said thoughtfully. "Not much. More like tingles."

"But not yet," Methos said happily. "We want that to be a surprise, love." He kept stroking it up and down Duncan's back, a little harder with each circuit. With his other hand, Methos reached for the lubricant and coated his hand and fingers. He reached between Duncan's cheeks and teased at the opening there for a few moments.

Duncan moaned and writhed and then moaned even harder as a well lubed finger thrust up inside him at the same time that the flogger came down stingingly across his shoulders. Methos thrust and tickled and brought the flogger down again, still only slightly stinging a half inch lower and continued down Duncan's back as Methos continued to play and thrust with his finger.

As Methos reached the middle of Duncan's ass, he raised the flogger high and brought it down as hard as possible while simultaneously pushing in another finger. Duncan groaned loudly as the sting of the flogger hit at same time that finger went in. His ass tingled sensuously.

Methos chucked. "I know this damn flogger doesn't hurt that bad. It stings, but I could lash you with it all day and barely turn you pink. Was it the fingers?"

"Oh, fucking yes, Methos," Duncan breathed out. Methos brought the flogger down hard again.

"Try again," he suggested, bringing the flogger down hard once again. Duncan writhed. It really didn't sting much at all, but it was an intense and vibrant sensation.

"Yes, Methos," Duncan gasped out as the flogger came down again and then again.

"Good boy," Methos said, bringing the flogger down to cover every inch of Duncan's ass and then down to the top of his thighs, then starting back up again, and as he brought it down as hard as he could across the apex of Duncan's buttocks, he thrust in yet a third finger.

Duncan almost managed to buck Methos right off his thighs as he moaned and writhed.

"Easy, boy, easy," Methos chuckled. "We've only just begun." He rolled his eyes and spoke to himself, "No, begone, Karen Carpenter. I don't want to hear about how you've only just begun. Damn but that horrible song was appallingly unbiquitous back in the 70's."

Duncan laughed helplessly. His entire back, ass, and upper thighs were tingling intensely from the strokes of the flogger and he was almost lost in the sensations that Methos' fingers were stimulating against his prostate gland. But he, too, could hear Karen Carpenter starting to warble "We've only Just Begun" in his head.

Methos flayed him again from shoulders to thighs with the flogger and put it down. "Nice shade of pink, Duncan," he commented. "But you still have to pay for the oh, eight or nine times you disobeyed. Flogger's just for fun, you know." He leaned over again, looked in the drawer, and grinned evilly.

"YOWW!" Duncan yelped out in protest as he felt the hard, flat surface of the top of the hairbrush come down hard on his unprotected ass.

"Let's just say eight times. And three smacks for each time," Methos said firmly.

"Oh, fucking NO" Duncan protested. "Oh, fucking hell."

"Yes, I think that made nine times, at least. 27 smacks. Too bad," Methos said, not at all sympathetically. He abruptly pulled his fingers out.

Duncan moaned as the fingers left and then almost screamed as the brush came down again on his right ass cheek, just where it met his thigh. Methos grinned and brought it down again in the same spot and then repeated the double blows on the left cheek and then across the middle. He traveled up Duncan's butt repeating the pattern and then finished with two solid smacks on the top of each thigh.

Duncan was squirming, writhing, and twisting, with tears springing to his eyes purely from pain. The hairbrush did hurt like the wrath of Hades.

"Done," Methos said casually, caressing Duncan's flaming ass with his lubed hand. "Wonderful shade of red, Duncan. Very cute." He chuckled wickedly. "You have any comments. Permission to speak, boy."

"Fuck you, sir," Duncan gasped out. "OWWWW!"

The brush came down six more times, with Duncan gasping at each blow. Tears welled and spilled, and suddenly Methos's face was right beside his kissing the tears away.

"You flying yet, my love?" Methos asked gently as his hands again went back to stroking and caressing Duncan's sore ass.

"Yes, Methos. Oh, yes," Duncan breathed out as he indeed started to feel his consciousness start soaring to some other plane.

"Then fasten your seat belt, because we are really about to take off," Methos face vanished and busy, lubed fingers again entered Duncan at the same time that a lubed hand starting stroking his hard shaft.

Duncan groaned again and writhed against the bed, pushing his ass up against the fingers and thrusting his cock into Methos' hand.

The fingers were withdrawn and Duncan whimpered softly, then came close to screaming as Methos thrust inside.

"Oh, God, yes," Duncan exclaimed. "Fuck me. . .fuck . ..OWWWW!"

Methos looked down at the reddened palm with which he had smacked Duncan hard twice across the ass. "I don't remember giving you permission to speak," he said thoughtfully. "Did I?"

"No, sir," Duncan gasped out. "No, but please. ..OWWW!"

Methos smacked Duncan's ass again and thrust in harder and deeper while stroking in the same rhythm. He pulled out and gently pushed in while stroking slowly. Duncan groaned and pushed up against him.

Methos thrust in savagely again while stroking hard and then pulled back and sent in three soft and gentle pushes, once again matching his strokes with his thrusts.

Duncan moaned and pushed hard up against him.

Methos paused, pushed in deep, and then settled into a steady rhythm of thrusting while stroking Duncan's cock in the same pattern.

"You can come now," he gasped, "whenever you want. I'll come with you."

Duncan gasped and started to spasm. Methos gasped and started to shoot into Duncan. Both of them collapsed, with Methos on top of Duncan.

"Ohhhh," Duncan gasped out. Methos reached up and released the wrist restraints and rolled Duncan over to be held in his arms.

"Are you flying, love?" Methos asked, with a grin.

"I am in outer space," Duncan said dreamily as he melted bonelessly into the bed.

Methos grinned again and stroked Duncan gently.

After many moments as Methos watched Duncan's face dreaming and drifting, Duncan stared up at him almost sightlessly and snuggled into Methos' arms. "I'm floating," he whispered. "I'm off in never-never land."

"Enjoy it, love." Methos said softly, holding the other man closely. He kissed Duncan gently.

"Oh," Duncan said, half out of his mind and cuddling into Methos' arms, "what about the dishes?"

Methos burst out laughing. "Forget the fucking dishes," he said. "I'll get them."

"You cooked," Duncan protested dreamily still clinging to his lover, with his eyes drifting shut.

"And I'll clean," Methos said gently, kissing again. "I love you. Fly and dream yourself to sleep, Duncan. "I'll get up in a minute and clean the kitchen. I know, I know, I know. . .And I am being selfish. I've wanted you for ages. I want to wear you out with endless, passionate, never-ending sex and gaze down lovingly at your handsome face while you drift languorously into sated slumber and. . .Oww. . ." Methos grinned as Duncan sleepily swatted him hard on the butt. "Well, something like that."

* * * * * * * * * *

Methos lay in fulfilled contentment as Duncan drifted off into sleep beside him and smiled. Duncan was out. He stretched before getting up, then drifted lazily across the room to clear the table and clean the kitchen.

He sat down on the couch, pulled his legs up to his chin, and started to think. It was after midnight, and he was nowhere near sleepy. Still on Paris time. He picked up his laptop, still plugged in on the table, turned it on, and opened his e-mail. He had one from Duncan and clicked it.

"Possibilities for romance in Seacouver are endless," Duncan wrote. "Hope I can spend the rest of your life explaining that to you. Go to hotel and you'll end up in more pain than you can imagine. Pun intended."

Methos grinned. "Promises, promises," he typed back. "I'm checking with a reservations clerk right now. And sending that lovely hairbrush off as a present for Amanda. I'm sure she'll love it. You, of course, have no use for it whatsoever." He put the computer down and grabbed his journal, also still out on the coffee table. When Duncan woke the next morning, Methos was still writing. Duncan groaned, rolled his eyes, and dragged himself out of bed.

"Have you slept at all?" he asked. He leaned over and kissed Methos full on the mouth.

"Mmm," Methos responded, grabbing Duncan's head and holding tightly. "Oh, I love you, and no, and I think I need to just stay up all day and try to get my head and body adjusted to life here. It's okay. Go take a shower and wake up. I'll be fine."

Duncan kissed hard again. "You know, last night was fucking wonderful," he said quietly.

Methos kissed back, pulled away and grinned. "Oh, I hope so," he said., with a gleam in his eye. "I hope you learned something about how to top, you dense Scot whom I love more than reason can explain." He kissed again. "Go take a shower, love, and I might be kind enough not to join you."

Duncan grinned back. "I don't think I'd mind." He. disappeared into the bathroom.

Methos sat on the couch for a moment and considered, then he got up and followed the other man into the bathroom, stripping off clothes. He parted the shower curtains and looked at Duncan standing in the stream of the shower, his head thrown back to embrace the warm water flowing down. Methos stepped in behind him and put two strong arms around the belly of the man in the water.

"I'll fuck you blind, deaf, dumb," he mumbled, nuzzling Duncan's neck.

"Oh, please," Duncan responded, gasping, as he pushed his ass insistently against Methos' groin.

Methos groaned and looked around the shower, grabbing the bath oils and coating his fingers, smelling the almond scented oil and breathing deeply. He put his mouth to Duncan's ear lobe, sucked, and whispered, "you are mine, Duncan MacLeod of blah, blah, blah. .."

Duncan chuckled and pushed back against the arms that encircled him and held him. "I am yours," he agreed. He turned his head to kiss the mouth against his ear lobe. "And I own you."

"Oh, yes," Methos breathed. He kissed deeply and inserted a lubed finger into the opening below. "You own me."

Duncan writhed on the finger, then abruptly turned, slipping the finger out and jerked Methos around in his arms, turning the other man to face the front of the shower wall, bending him over. Methos grabbed and held onto the wall as hot water poured down his head and back. Duncan reached for the bath oils and lubed his fingers, pushing one suddenly between the cheeks of the butt in front of him.

Methos moaned. "Yours," he mumbled as Duncan smacked him hard on the ass while fingering him deeply inside. "OHHHHH," he groaned as the hot water poured over him, and the finger pushed deep inside. He breathed in the scent of almond oil on his own fingers and thrust back hard, squirming as Duncan's finger pushed deep inside.

"OHHH," Methos whimpered as the finger was withdrawn and, "OHHHH," he almost screamed as the finger was replaced by a hard cock between his buttocks, pushing at the opening. He raised his head and let the water stream over his face for a moment and then leaned forward, offering himself.

"Ohh," Methos breathed out as he was entered with a deep penetrating thrust. He pushed his arms against the shower wall and leaned over, hot water still pouring down his head and back. "Oh, deeper, Duncan. Deeper, harder. . ."

Duncan grinned, slapped the ass in front of him again, then held on tight around Methos' waist and nuzzled his neck, while thrusting hard and deep, and reaching around to stroke and caress the very hard shaft in front. The hot, steaming water poured over them.

"Come for me, baby," he murmured. "Come for me." He continued thrusting hard and deep while stroking with the same rhythm. The warm water continued beating down.

Methos moaned and started shaking, spurting in spasms, while resisting an urge to sink to his knees. He leaned back against Duncan who started moaning as he thrust deeply.

Duncan felt his own knees weaken as he burst into a shattering orgasm. He sank down cross-legged in the tub, with Methos in his lap, the two of them still joined together. The water washed away all the stray spurting fluids. "Oh, I love you," Duncan mumbled, holding the other man hard and nuzzling his neck.

Methos put his head back onto Duncan's shoulder and turned it for a kiss.

"I'm beginning to know," he said quietly. "And I love you, you idiot sheep fucking Scot."

Duncan chuckled and kissed back. "And I love you, you ancient, aggravating brat," he said, as he gently slipped out. Duncan stroked and soaped the other man under the hot running water and started to wash Methos fine, silky hair, massaging and caressing his head, scalp, and neck.

Methos moaned with pleasure, breathing in deeply the scent of the heather scented soap and shampoo and allowed Duncan to clean him from head to foot, massaging and caressing every inch. Then he reluctantly dragged himself out of the other man's arms.

"Someone has to make breakfast and send you off to work," he announced. "You finish showering while I make some food. And I wish I could stay here and wash you and love you, but I don't want you late for work." He kissed Duncan thoroughly, then climbed out of the shower and wrapped himself in a towel, going out the door and shutting it.

Duncan breathed deeply, rose to his feet and finished showering.

He got out of the bathroom, showered, shaved, and combed, to find breakfast waiting for him. Pancakes and sausages. He sat down and started to eat while looking at Methos suspiciously.

"I'm going to pay for this later," he said. "Yes?"

"Pay for what?" Methos asked innocently.

Duncan just glared at him as he poured more maple syrup over his pancakes.

"Yes," Methos said. "I'm going to demand and require breakfast in bed for 200 years." He grinned wickedly.

"We're going to be together for 200 years?" Duncan asked cautiously.

Methos looked at him. "You have just used up all of your moments of insecurity for the day," he warned. Duncan choked on a bite of sausage.

Methos took pity. "Yes, I imagine we could be together for the next 200 years. Unless you manage to get us whacked by worthless and inconsequential headhunters. Could we have another conversation about the wisdom of running away?"

"Not this morning," Duncan said. He put his fork down.

Methos sighed. "Idiotic, stubborn, YOUNG Immortals," he muttered to himself as he started to clear the table.

Duncan rose from the table, took Methos in his arms, and kissed him. "Everyone on this planet is young compared to you, babe," he said, kissing the other man over and over.

"Oh, Jesus, Duncan," Methos gulped out between kisses. "Are we going back to bed again?"

"No. I'm going to work." Duncan smacked Methos on the butt, let go, and headed for the elevator. "I'll be home around noon. And we're going hunting."

"Yes, sir," Methos called out. "Yes, master. Any other instructions?"

"Don't leave the loft," Duncan said with a teasing grin as he opened the elevator door.

"Fuck you," Methos said cheerfully. "I'm going to Joe's. To see if he needs any more help. You, uh, maybe, got a problem with that?"

"No," Duncan said. "I'll join you there as soon as I finish teaching." He pulled the elevator door closed behind him and was gone.

Methos picked up the CD remote, clicked the music back on, and danced across the room to Alice in Chains. He picked up the hairbrush that was still on the floor beside the bed, carried it to the kitchen, put it in a zip lock freezer bag, took it to the bathroom, and dumped it into the toilet tank. Grinning impishly, he wondered how long it would take the Highlander to find that particular implement of torture.

He couldn't remember when he had last had so much fun.

To be continued. . .

* * * * * * * * * *
Hosting by WebRing.