Summary: Duncan decides to get to know Methos a little better after the events in Till Death.
 
 
 

Sweet Conflict
Jessica L. Blackstone

Duncan MacLeod didn’t even turn at the feel of the buzz heralding the presence of an immortal close by. His brown eyes remain focused on tying the light gray tie around his neck, wondering what excuse Methos would come up with this time to explain his presence.

“Place looks good,” the older immortal complimented as he entered the barge.

“Huh, no thanks to you.”

“I beg to differ. Who was it who was tossing packing straw on the floor?” the accented voice argued from its safe position still on the landing. “I’ve come to make it up to you. Take you out to dinner.”

“I’m not really in the mood for mixed nuts and beer...” Duncan said knowing his friend’s penchant for tavern food.

“Mac, I’m talking a real dinner here,” Methos protested in an injured tone.

For the first time MacLeod turned to really look at the deceptively young looking man, surprised to find that for once Methos was dressed well in an expensive black suit.

“Going to a funeral?” He asked, amusement making his accent thicken.

“Ha. Ha. That’s the thanks I get for trying to make peace. Later MacLeod,” Methos said in a dismissive tone, suddenly wondering why the hell he was still in Paris hanging around the irritating Scot when he had other things to do.

He was halfway through the door when a softly spoken, “Methos” had him hesitating.

“Let’s go. I’ve been wondering when you would show.”

Methos gave a snort, “Are you saying I’ve become predictable?”

“Maybe...a little,” MacLeod allowed as he put his long coat on, careful to artfully conceal the katana in its folds. “The Ming vase was a bit much, after all,” Duncan said. He was still miffed that the priceless gift he had gone to so much trouble to get for Gina and Robert de Valicourt had ended up decorating the floor of his barge in pieces. Methos owed him.

“It better be a damn good restaurant, Old Man,” he warned Methos with a glint in his eyes.

Methos only chuckled. It was one of the best restaurants in Paris and according to Joe, the Scot’s current favorite.

Later that evening

“Well?” drawled Methos arrogantly as he and MacLeod walked along the Seine on their way back to the barge.

“It was all right,” MacLeod murmured, wondering how long it had been since he had felt so at peace. His eyes caught glimpses of the arresting face of the tall man walking comfortingly alongside of him between the shadows thrown by the streetlights.

The food had been fine, exquisite really, but it hadn’t been the food that had made him enjoy the evening; it had been the company. Methos had been quite charming at dinner, showing once again his chameleonic talents. Cynicism hadn’t made an appearance once they had been seated.

Without words, they had companionably begun slowly walking along the river, after deliberately parking Methos’ car much farther away than necessary to avoid notice.

Methos followed the unusually quiet Scot onto the boat, wondering what was on his friend’s mind.

“Scotch?” Duncan asked as he walked over to fix himself a drink.

“Nah, hand me a beer,” he replied as he shrugged out of his coat and tossing it on the couch. He strolled over and accepted the bottle the other man held out.

“I’m not looking forward to tomorrow,” he said as he walked over to the couch, instantly sprawling on it as he took a long drink.

“Oh, why’s that?” Duncan asked as he joined him on the couch.

“I have to find a place to live. I hate moving,” he added unnecessarily since he had already informed Duncan of his aversion in quite vocal terms a few days ago. “I’d stay at the Chateau de Valicourt, but it’s too far to commute.”

“Not to mention how you would explain to the Watchers why a researcher was living in the home of two immortals.”

“Hmmm, there is that,” Methos acknowledged as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back with his body completely relaxed on the couch.

“You could stay here. There’s plenty of room.”

“Unless the renovations were more extensive that you told me, MacLeod. There is still only one bedroom on this boat.”

Something changed in the air as the careless words fell from the ancient immortal’s mouth. He slowly opened his eyes while turning his head to meet the intense face of one Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.

“I see,” he said as he sat up and put the bottle on the floor by the couch. His reach for his coat was halted by the touch of a firm hand on his arm. He turned his head to look at MacLeod again, knowing that it was a damn fool thing to do. His eyes were instantly caught by the Scot’s, closing at the feel of the warm lips against his.

Duncan had wondered what it would feel like to kiss the lips of one of the most irritating mouths he had ever come across. Groaning when that mouth opened instantly, his tongue luxuriated in the feel of moist heat as he desperately tried to satisfy the surprising hunger he felt for this exasperating, enigmatic man.

Strong hands grabbed the narrow hips, bringing the tempting body even closer as it pressed against him until Methos was lying half across him.

Duncan reached up with his left hand to grab the back of Methos’ head, pulling it gently back as he ended the deep kiss. “I want you.”

Methos stilled at the words, hesitating. It had been a while, in fact over a century, since he had gotten involved with another immortal. Never one with such a high moral code or sense of honor, but he wanted this, wanted MacLeod.

“Bed?” He breathed against the tempting lips as his green gold eyes caught and held Duncan’s desire-ridden ones.

“Bed.”

Duncan gently pushed away from the body his hands were still holding, pulling Methos along as he stood up. He pushed the suit jacket from the deceptively narrow shoulders as he and Methos made their way towards the raised bed at the other end of the barge. Various items of clothing from both men’s bodies carelessly found their way to the floor, marking their progress in exploring each other’s body intimately in between aggressive kisses.

Methos sprawled across the bed, pulling MacLeod on top of him. The feel of the muscled body under his hands, increased his urge to hurry. Desire transforming into pure lust to feel MacLeod deep inside of him.

MacLeod, however it seemed, had other, more leisurely plans.

Duncan nosed Methos’ navel as he gently pulled down the black slacks and underwear off the thin body, his cock hardening at the deep little moan Methos gave as he began to explore the depression with his tongue.

“MacLeod,” he growled, the increasing frustration making his voice deeper. MacLeod’s soft chuckle did not help.

Duncan stood up, quickly discarding the items of clothing he was still wearing. Methos watched through half-lidded eyes as Mac reached for something on the ledge behind the bed...a bottle of oil.

Their eyes met.

Methos sat up, taking the bottle of massage oil in his right hand. He deliberately poured some on his left hand, his now completely gold eyes meeting MacLeod’s as he reached out to caressively coat the Scot’s erect cock with the smooth oily liquid.

With his slick hands lightly holding MacLeod’s hips, he laid back pulling Duncan between his spread legs.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Duncan said in a heavily accented voice, as he knelt between the long legs positioning himself at the entrance of the enticing body.

Methos gave a slight shake of his head, the Scottish brogue making a shiver run up his spine. “You won’t.”

If there was one thing he had learned in five thousand years, it was how to consciously relax, particularly those muscles. He never had been one for pain. Methos was therefore completely responsive when he first felt the head slip gently past his body’s initial barrier. He closed his eyes at the incredible feel of Duncan’s cock sliding slowly, so damn slowly inside of him until his ass rested upon his lover’s upper thighs.

“Methos...”

He knew what the damn Scot wanted. Knew it would be this way. He slowly opened his eyes, hoping the Boy Scout would see what he wanted.

His hands instinctively clenched MacLeod’s arms as Duncan began to thrust inside of him.

Duncan watched mesmerized as the gold eyes darkened as he started to thrust into the tight yet pliant channel. The feel of the heat surrounding his cock, making him rougher than usual. Very soon, the idea of slow lovemaking dissolved as he began hammering into the body beneath him.

Methos seemed to glory in the rough, almost brutal treatment MacLeod was giving him. His body half-arched as the delicious intruder slightly brushed against his prostate.

Duncan felt the slight bump against the head of his cock, repeating the motion. It was a delight to see the normally composed, tight-lipped Methos writhing and moaning in pleasure.

Methos tightened his legs around MacLeod’s waist, the incredible pressure building up inside of him overwhelming him making him dig his heels into Duncan’s lower back.

The feel of the long legs encircling him added tension to the friction between their two bodies as Duncan thrust even deeper, laughing as Methos began tossing his head in delirium.

His arm muscles bulged as Duncan fought to stay sheathed in the writhing body beneath him as he repeatedly withdrew his cock almost all the way before slamming back in to the hilt.

It was after the fourth vicious thrust as it just brushed his prostrate that made Methos stiffen, giving a half-scream, half-moan as he came.

The feel of the muscles contracting around his cock only served to increase Duncan’s agitation as he strove for completion. He forcefully drove into Methos even faster as he felt the come splattering his stomach and leaned over into his thrusts.

Methos’ incredible eyes were half-lidded as he looked into his lover’s and murmured, “Duncan...”

Duncan came at the heat he saw in Methos’ eyes. His hands clutched the hips in a bruising grip as his come shot deep inside the willing body. It seemed a long time had passed before his cock ceased to shallowly thrust into the heat surrounding it.

Methos had enjoyed the soft thrusting of the cock within him long after Duncan had come, not really surprising considering the passionate nature of the Scot. His hands had lightly caressed Duncan’s muscular buttocks as he had continued to gently rock into him, savoring the feel of MacLeod inside him, now that both of their pressing needs were taken care of.

MacLeod collapsed down on top of Methos and kissed the mouth which was curled in a half smile.

“What’s so funny?”

“Finally understand why Amanda keeps returning...” Methos murmured, his green-gold eyes laughing as he consciously flexed his gluteus muscles, thrilled to hear MacLeod moan. ‘I guess I still have it,’ he bemusedly thought. All amusement fled as a darker memory returned sending a chill to his soul.

He moved, disturbing MacLeod who had been languidly kissing his neck.

“MacLeod,” he growled.

Duncan softly laughed, “First you wanted me in, now you want me out. Haven’t you heard that patience is a virtue, Old Man?”

“Yeah, well it’s one I don’t have. Move.”

Concerned brown eyes met gold. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Methos replied, his eyes once again inscrutable and distant.

“Right,” Duncan said, clearly unconvinced but realizing that Methos had shifted to somewhere he couldn’t reach, even in their current position. He gently grasped the hips as he carefully withdrew, his brown eyes gazing into the unreadable eyes.

Methos pushed away the arm laying over him as he got off the bed, leaving a surprised Duncan who had just lain down beside him. He unselfconsciously started picking up his various articles of clothing strewn across the barge and began getting dressed, one piece at a time, not looking in the highlander’s direction.

“Methos?”

‘I shouldn’t have given into my attraction for Duncan. What the hell was I thinking? Reckless. Stupid! Will I never learn?’ Methos berated himself mentally.

“Methos!”

Wariness filled the gold eyes that finally met Duncan’s. “Yes, MacLeod.”

“Where are you going?” Duncan asked with a confused expression on his face and bewildered hurt in his brown eyes. He sat up and swung his legs off the bed, wrapping a sheet around his waist as he stood.

“Home.”

“Just like that?” Duncan asked. It was hard to believe that he had just been inside the lean, muscled body of the stranger nonchalantly getting dressed before him. “No discussion.”

“What do you want to discuss, the weather?”

Anger flared in the Scot’s eyes at the return of sarcasm. “I want to talk about what just happened,” Duncan snarled as he strode over to stand before his old friend.

Methos head tilted as he looked slightly down to the right before returning to meet the highlander’s eyes. “It was what it was,” he said as he adjusted the coat with its hidden sword more comfortably across his shoulders and turned to leave.

MacLeod grabbed Methos by the shoulder preventing his hasty departure. “You’re not getting away that easy...”

Methos looked down pointedly at the hand on his left shoulder before looking into the familiar stubborn face of his friend.

Duncan released his hold at the look. “I just made love to you Methos! Does that mean nothing to you?”

Methos sighed, his eyes wandering around the barge as he carefully composed his answer. “We’re friends, MacLeod. Let’s leave it at that. Goodnight.” Once again he turned to leave, until he was frozen in place by Duncan’s words.

“What about my offer?”

Methos turned back to face MacLeod, with an incredulous expression on his face. His mouth twisted in a small smile. “Me...stay here on the barge?”

Duncan nodded.

“Not wise.”

“For you or for me?...You need a place to say, you said it yourself.”

“What about the Watchers?”

Duncan harrumphed before speaking scornfully, “You seem to elude notice all the time you’ve visited here before. Why couldn’t you do so in the future?”

Methos turned slowly around, ostensibly to look around the barge, but actually to give him some time as his mind whirled devilishly full of wicked thoughts, which included silently cursing himself for giving into his lust for the attractive Scot.

Each time he looked at the tall handsome man with only a sheet covering his nakedness, he remembered the feel of Duncan’s body inside his and the way the magnificent highlander’s tongue felt as he had kissed him.

Duncan aroused in him a passion that he hadn’t felt in ages, if ever. But it was dangerous, there was still the Game and Mac was still a boy scout and he, well he was still who he was, someone with 5000 years of secrets.

“I’ll stay, but only until I find a decent place to live. Agreed?” Methos offered, all the while mentally cursing his continued recklessness.

“Agreed. Now come back to bed,” Duncan entreated, taking hold of Methos left hand and backing towards the bed.

Methos nodded slightly as he shrugged out of his coat, letting go of MacLeod’s hand to let the coat and his suit jacket fall to the floor. He followed Duncan to the bed, his eyes unreadable as he watched him get back into the bed. Methos snorted at the expression on MacLeod’s face before turning to sit on the side of the bed, his back towards Duncan, as he proceeded to take off his shoes and pants. “Stop looking so damn smug,” he said in an irritated voice.

Duncan’s hand caressed his new lover’s back under the silk shirt he still wore, an outright grin on his handsome face. “Not smug, satisfied.”

He closed his eyes at the intense feelings of arousal that began at Duncan’s simple touch on his back. He’d leave his shirt and boxers on. A tiny voice inside him cackling, ‘Worried about your virtue, Old Fool? It’s 5000 years too late.’

Methos ignored the voice as he laid down beside MacLeod, tensing only briefly when Duncan pulled him back into an embrace before relaxing against the chest. The heat coming off the body spooning up behind him, warming him in ways long forgotten.

“Night Methos,” Duncan simply said before laying back flat on the bed.

Methos shivered at the familiar expression said so closely into his ear instead of across the barge. It would only be for a short while, just until he found a new flat that both Adam Pierson and Methos could live with. Even with that silent vow, sleep was a long time coming for the oldest known immortal.

He left before MacLeod woke the next morning. Methos hated morning after’s. This one would have been even more awkward than usual. Plus he had to start putting his things in storage. He would be taking only a few things with him during his temporary stay at the barge. Thoughts of moving occupied Methos’ mind as he strode across the bridge, automatically taking a look around for any eyes that might be watching him.

‘Thank heavens Joe wasn’t in town.’ Methos froze at the thought. He started to curse himself in a very dead language at what Dawson would say if he found out about him and MacLeod. ‘Dawson is going to kill me!’ He doesn’t need to find out, it’s just going to be temporary and Joe isn’t planning on coming to Paris anytime soon.

The desire MacLeod currently felt for him would burn out soon enough and hopefully their friendship would survive. No need for Dawson or anyone to know. ‘No need at all,’ he assured himself as he got into his car, not feeling at all reassured.

Duncan knew instantly that he was alone on the barge when he opened his eyes. Methos had fled. Thoughts of the ancient immortal occupied his mind as he rose to begin his morning routine.

A satisfying feeling infused his being at finally acting on the attraction that had existed between him and Methos from their first meeting. It had ebbed and flowed but had persisted through Alexa, the dark quickening...

His fascination with the immortal hadn’t been sated by even a thimbleful by their all too brief joining of yesterday. As Duncan sat down to enjoy the breakfast he had prepared, he wondered how long it would be before the exasperating man returned to the barge.

He was just buttering a side of toast when the feel of an immortal presence coursed through him. MacLeod quickly rose grabbing his sword as he approached the door, just as Methos stepped through it, carrying a large black case.

“Need some help?” He offered with a small-pleased smile at the other immortal’s return.

A beat of three passed before Methos replied, his hazel eyes full of mocking amusement, but whether for himself or the highlander it was indiscernible.

“Other bag is outside,” Methos replied as he walked down the stairs, past MacLeod. He laid the bag horizontally on the table behind the couch as Duncan walked up behind him.

“Listen, MacLeod...” Methos began before he was cutoff by a passionate deep kiss which ended all too soon.

“Glad you’re back,” Duncan tossed over his shoulder as he walked towards the door, presumably to get his new barge-mate’s bag.

Methos stood there, stunned at the effect that just a single kiss had on him. ‘This is going to be the death of me.’ His blood was coursing furiously through his veins, and his dick was rock-hard and not from the cold.

He was still standing in the same place when MacLeod returned carrying the hold-all full of his clothes.

“This all?” Duncan asked disgruntled at the small amount of belongings his new lover had brought.

Methos nodded before he spoke, “Only what’s important. Rest is in storage.” For someone who hated moving, he had gotten horribly adept at it in five thousand years.

Duncan set the bag down on the other couch to the right of Methos. “Need some help unpacking?”

“No. I’ve got it. MacLeod, let’s keep...this between us, okay?”

“I would hope so,” Duncan replied in a bantering tone.

Methos pressed his lips together, not at all amused.

“Okay, okay. Have you eaten?”

Methos shook his head no.

“How about I make you some breakfast.”

Methos nodded, totally bemused at the situation. Coming to his senses after a minute to call out to Duncan’s retreating back, “How about a cold sandwich instead?”

Duncan turned back slightly to nod as he continued on his way towards the galley.

Methos walked over to the bag MacLeod had brought in and began to unpack. He was long finished with the clothes and was staring down at his journal when Duncan returned. He carefully replaced the journal and his other books into the bag, clearing the coffee table for the tray MacLeod was holding.

He took a bite of the sandwich, pleasure filling him at the taste. He had been hungrier than he thought. Methos gladly accepted the beer Duncan had handed to him before sitting across from him.

“Do you have a place where I can keep this?” Methos asked, nodding down at the bag with his journal, after taking a long draught to wash down the mouthful of food.

“Second top drawer of the desk,” Duncan replied. He had spent a part of the morning clearing it out in hopes of Methos’ return. “What are your plans for today?”

“Have some work to do at Shakespeare and Company, you?”

“Auction...what about dinner?”

Methos shook his head regretfully, “Going out with some friends...”

Duncan nodded his head understandingly as he stood up. “Well, even though I know you don’t need it...Here,” he said as he picked up something from under the counter of the bar and walked back over, holding it out to Methos.

A key to the barge.

“Thanks.” Methos took it and put it on the table.

“I’ll see you later,” Duncan said as he pulled on his coat and headed towards the door.

“Good fortune.”

Duncan smiled as he half turned towards the direction of the older immortal before walking through the door.

‘Maybe this is going to work, after all,’ Methos mused as he finished his meal, hope beginning to slightly war with his cynicism about his sojourn at the barge.

MacLeod was still awake when Methos finally made his way back to the barge later that evening. Methos sauntered down the stairs his gaze focused on the man who was sitting on a chair reading a book.

Duncan had his hair down.

“Have a nice night?” The Scotsman asked, his eyes flicking up from the printed page for only a second to gaze at the man who was standing still, looking down at him.

“It was okay,” Methos murmured, his hazel eyes suddenly fixated on how the light bathed the highlander’s handsome features. He allowed himself for the first time to openly gaze at his friend, letting his desire show.

Duncan slowly closed the book and carefully placed it down on the table as he stood up. His gaze met the gold eyes that seemed to burn with want.

Methos reached up to gently run his finger down the side of Duncan’s face before thrusting his hand into the soft hair to cup the back of his neck. With his eyes focused downward on the full lips, he tenderly drew Duncan closer until his lips lightly brushed them before his tongue pressed gently between them, questing for permission.

Duncan parted his lips with a soft moan as Methos’ tongue slipped slowly inside and began to languidly dance against his own, not leaving a single area of his mouth wanting for attention.

The kiss seemed to last forever but, in actuality it lasted only a few minutes before Duncan felt a gentle but sure hand glide under his sweater lifting up adeptly over his head while the other ran light fingertips over his now accessible back and chest.

He parted his lips anxiously when Methos returned his attention to his mouth, sighing when the wonderful tongue that tasted lightly of the beer Methos had drank earlier in the evening, again filled his mouth with long seductive sweeps which made shivers run up his spine.

So enraptured with the kiss, Duncan failed to notice his slow undressing by Methos’ hands until the wonderful mouth left his. He looked down at Methos who was almost kneeling before him, his fevered brain suddenly remembering the whispered word “sit” his lover had spoken just after releasing his lips.

Duncan slowly lowered himself onto the couch as if he were in a dream. The sight of Methos still fully dressed, kneeling on the floor before him calmly and deliberately removing his shoes bestowing an illusory quality. The removal of his briefs and pants merely adding to the surreal nature of the encounter.

Methos gracefully disposed of his coat, allowing it to fall to the floor behind him, as he fixed his eyes on MacLeod’s as he gently pushed the Scot’s legs apart and rose up to kneel between them, his lips catching Duncan’s in another languorous kiss.

He adeptly started smoothly drawing the highlander up with him until both were once again standing facing one another. Methos backed his way towards the raised bed at the far end of the boat. Methos’ hands and mouth caressing various parts of Duncan’s chest and hips every step of the way.

Duncan was drowning in sensations. He blinked his eyes, coming to his senses, completely bemused to find himself lying on the bed. His brown eyes instantly flew to Methos who was slowly discarding his clothing one piece at a time. MacLeod’s pulse rate increased as the smooth pale body was revealed little by little.

His breath hitched as a completely naked Methos began gliding up his body from the foot of the bed only stopping to meet the highlander’s panting lips with his own as his hands reached down to grasp Duncan’s, pressing them down when he started reaching for Methos’ hips.

“Let me do all the work...” Methos whispered, his burning gaze holding promises of pleasure.

Duncan nodded, amazed at the emotions Methos was allowing him to see cross his face and fill his eyes. He closed his eyes as Methos’ lips once again took his own before parting to invite his tongue into his mouth. It became a passionate tense kiss, two tongues dueling, knowing both were winners.

Methos broke the kiss reluctantly, his eyes locked on Duncan’s as he reached down to lightly encircle the erect cock slightly behind him.

Alarm filled the highlander’s brown eyes as Methos’ began to position himself over his cock completely dry, “No!”

A hard glint entered the hazel gold eyes as Methos deliberately began to impale himself, millimeter by millimeter onto Duncan’s cock.

Both men released a huge breath when Methos’ buttocks rested on Duncan’s thighs. They stayed perfectly still in that position, staring into each other’s eyes for a long while before Methos slowly began to raise himself up, luxuriating in the feel of the cock sliding deep inside of him as he leisurely rode it.

Methos’ eyes met the highlander’s as he felt himself getting closer, dimly feeling Duncan’s hands lightly grasping his hips as they languidly made their way to bliss.

Duncan couldn’t believe the sight before him. The intense emotions flickering in the tawny eyes piercing him down to his soul.

He had never thought Methos beautiful, but the arching of his neck as he bent his head backwards when he was thrust upwards, the flash of the incredible eyes opening on the way down, along with the way his lips were slightly parted as he breathed made the highlander revise his opinion. He had never seen a more bewitching sight.

The ancient immortal picked up his speed slightly, reaching down to grasp MacLeod’s hands on his hips before all thought fled beneath a scream of pleasure as he came.

Duncan came within seconds of Methos, the incredible feel of the muscles shuddering around him bringing him to the most amazing orgasm he could ever remember. The highlander’s scream seamlessly melding into Methos’ just as his body was.

Several moments passed before Methos moved from his collapsed position forward across Duncan’s chest. When their breathing had returned to a somewhat more normal pace, Methos gently disengaged their bodies and lay next to Duncan with his head still resting on the highlander’s chest.

“Remember these types of moments. They are the only ones that truly matter,” the ancient immortal whispered as he closed his eyes.

Duncan held still, waiting for more, but all he heard was the even breathing of his enigmatic lover.

Several Weeks Later

Duncan stepped into the barge, the smile disappearing from his handsome face as he took in his lover’s activity.

Methos had paused on his trip from the open luggage case to the wardrobe with a couple of sweaters hung over his arm. His eyes met Duncan’s for a few seconds before resuming his task.

“I found a flat.” Methos informed him in a low tone as he folded the sweaters into the carry all.

Anger rose in the highlander as he noted the second bag lying on the coffee table, presumably already filled with Methos’ journal and books. “So that’s it?! I wasn’t aware you were still looking...”

He hadn’t been. Not really. Methos had stopped even going through the motions of hunting for a new apartment after a fortnight, much to his chagrin. He had fallen into domesticity with the attractive Scot too bloody quickly despite the screaming protests of his survival instincts.

But Adam Pierson had been very vocal to his friends about his desperate need for a place to live several days before the highlander’s invitation. A fellow watcher had just been reassigned to Spain and therefore no longer needed his one room flat with decent plumbing. It was for the best really, his moving out.

“We knew my stay was just temporary.”

The brown eyes narrowed at the casual reply. He strode over to stand before Methos, forcing him to meet his eyes. “And us?” Duncan asked, with a tense expression on his face.

“I’m meeting you at 8 for dinner,” Methos replied with an impassive face. Relenting after a few seconds to add, “Duncan, nothing has changed. Not unless you wish it. I just won’t be living at the barge.”

Methos leaned forward to kiss the lips set in a frown on the highlander’s face, meeting the angry eyes reassuringly. “Duncan” he whispered against the full lips, moaning slightly as the highlander’s tongue thrust aggressively into his mouth.

Duncan’s face was more relaxed after the kiss. “Need some help?”

The older immortal shook his head ‘no.’ “Did you find that 16th century tapestry?” He asked the Scot, who was still searching for a couple of items to decorate the restored barge.

MacLeod shook his head as he took off his coat, “It was 15th century and in very poor condition...”
 
 

THE END

***Next up: Will Duncan’s and Methos’ new relationship survive the events of Judgment Day and One Minute to Midnight in “The Honeymoon’s Over?”