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Eyes On The Prize


Title: Eyes On The Prize

Author: chelle

Author's email:

Author's URL:

Fandom: Highlander

Category: Slash

Pairing: Duncan/Methos

Archive: Ask first

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Gratuitous, and I do mean gratuitous, use of fanfic clichés.

Notes: The notes for this one could be longer than the story. This one came about because Suze suggested I needed a new obsession, and Kamil passed onto me a RL friend's observations about Methos, and the two fused in my mind. Diana DeShaun is the reason you all are reading this. She encouraged me to share, beyond the group of friends who've already seen it, and she provided the title. As always, I am in Kamil's debt.

"He's doing it again," Richie said.

Joe looked up from the bartending schedule he was writing, a quizzical look on his face.

"Mac, he's doing it again," Richie repeated.

"Doing what?"

"Look at him."

Joe glanced over at the table where Mac and Methos were listening to the band. "Sitting with Adam?"

"Look closer. He's not watching the stage."

Joe looked more closely. Mac's eyes were on Methos. Joe shrugged.

"What do you think he finds so fascinating?" Richie asked.

"About Adam?"

"About his crotch. Mac can't keep his eyes off it."

Joe looked again. That did, indeed, appear to be where Mac was looking. Of course, Methos was in his usual Mac-is-in-the-room sprawl, slouched down in the chair, with his legs so far apart one of them might as well have still been in Paris. "Adam does kind of put it out there to be looked at."

"I don't look. Do you look?"

"A little. Maybe. Sometimes," Joe admitted. "Hey, it's hard not to."

"At least you're not mesmerized by it. It's kind of like one of those snake acts, you know, where you can't look anywhere else."

"I thought you didn't look."

"I don't. We're talking about Mac here."

"If you're so curious about why he does it, why don't you ask him?"

"You ask him. You're his Watcher."

"I'm not the one who wants to know."

"Don't you need to know? Adam's an Immortal."


"So, Mac's looking at another Immortal like that." Richie tilted his head in Mac's direction.

Joe looked at Mac again. He was still staring. "I like to give the people I watch some privacy."

"You think they're doing something private?"

"Not yet. Mac wouldn't stare like that if they were, but they will be if Adam notices."

Richie glanced from Mac to Joe. "He'll notice."

"He probably already has."


This was the life, Methos thought. Good music, cold beer, and Duncan MacLeod staring at his crotch. Mac was staring so intently it took all of his considerable will to keep from getting an erection, just from the heat in the man's eyes. There was something about those soft, warm, puppy dog brown eyes studying him in such detail that was decidedly kinky.

He shifted in his seat, raising his hips slightly.

Mac's eyes grew wider, and the tip of his tongue darted out to lick at full lips.

Hiding his grin, Methos took a drink of his beer.


Duncan forced his eyes upward, away from Methos and toward the stage. The two guitarists were doing one of those stand close together and play off of each other things. Not for the first time, Duncan wondered if any of them ever realized how blatantly homoerotic that was. The lead guitarist slid his hand up the neck of his guitar, and back down, almost as if he were caressing it. The action created lascivious thoughts of being able to slide his own hand up and down…Duncan swallowed and looked away.

That was a mistake. His eyes were immediately drawn back to their previous location, only now he had images in his head of his hand and warm, firm flesh. Maybe he should take Methos shopping for jeans that didn't fit quite so well.


Joe leaned on the bar. "All right, so, if Adam's…you know…is like a snake. Who's the snake charmer?"

Richie burst out laughing. "Thanks, man. I did not need to go there."

"Your metaphor, not mine. In fact, you're the one who brought the whole thing up to begin with."

"What are you two chuckling at?" Mac asked from behind Richie.

Joe and Richie's eyes locked for an instant, and they both muttered, "Nothing."

"What do you think of the band?" Joe asked.

Mac had already turned to look back at Methos. "What?"

"The band. Do you like them?"

"Yeah. They're pretty good."

"What does Adam think?"

"He likes them, too. At least, I think he does. He seems to anyway."

"Everything all right, Mac? You seem a bit distracted."

Mac shook his head. "I'm fine, everything's fine. How are you?"

Joe and Richie exchanged glances. Joe didn't think he'd ever seen Mac quite so unfocused before. "Another round?"

"Yeah, that'd be good."

Joe handed him two bottles of beer.

"Thanks, Joe." He nodded at Richie, and walked back to the table.

Richie shook his head. "Weird."

Joe nodded. "He's definitely got it bad."

"For Adam?"

"What's wrong with Adam?"

"He's skinny, and sarcastic, and that nose. I don't want to be mean, but come on."

"I don't think Mac's all that interested in his nose, or his face, for that matter." Joe nodded in Mac's direction, and Richie turned to look. Mac was staring, again.

Richie sighed. "Remember the old days, when Mac liked breasts?"

Joe chuckled. "I'm sure he still does."


Duncan hung up both their coats and started toward the bar, intending to open the whiskey he'd promised Methos when he had asked him up.

Methos didn't follow him. He remained in front of the elevator, and Duncan hesitated, turning to look back at him. He was devastating. The loose, oversized sweater lay flat against his chest, outlining the muscles there in a way that made Duncan swallow. He forced his eyes lower. The looseness of the sweater caused his hips to appear more slender than they actually were. Before he could start thinking about those hips and movement, Duncan looked lower. Lean thighs gave shape to worn denim. He flashed onto an image of those thighs resting on his shoulders as he took Methos' cock deep into his mouth.

Duncan wrenched his eyes back up to Methos' face. Methos was watching him thoughtfully, his expression a mixture of curiosity and expectation. Deciding to dispense with pretense, he walked back to where Methos was standing.

They were inches apart, both breathing a little more rapidly than usual. Their eyes locked, and it was a long moment before Duncan spoke, "I didn't ask you here for whiskey."

"No," Methos agreed.

Acknowledging his desire out loud should have liberated him, Duncan thought, but it didn't. He remained still, rooted to the same spot.

Methos didn't move either; he just watched Duncan with that same air of expectation. Methos wouldn't initiate anything, Duncan realized. The first move had to come from him. Lust permeated the room, and he knew without looking that Methos was as hard as he was.

Duncan lifted a hand to Methos' cheek, and the spell was broken. They moved together, and lips found lips with unerring accuracy. The lust and the tension should have created a hungry kiss, greedy and demanding. But this kiss wasn't like that. It was soft and leisurely, a startling contrast to the heated press of their bodies.

As soon as their kiss ended, Duncan initiated another. He wasn't going to give Methos a chance to speak until he was certain the only word Methos could utter would be "please." One kiss followed another until the softness was long forgotten, and Duncan couldn't have defined the word leisurely with the help of Noah Webster. He couldn't have defined anything, except maybe intoxicating. It had a nice, two syllable definition: Methos.

Forgetting his vow to himself not to leave Methos' mouth unattended, Duncan sought the side of his neck. He sucked and tasted. Methos pulled his hips back, and Duncan panicked for a moment, but then they thrust into his, a clear demand for more.

Duncan let go of Methos and took a step back. They stared at one another, disheveled and breathing so hard they were almost panting.

"Bed?" Duncan asked.

Methos nodded. "Yeah."

They didn't touch as they crossed the loft. Standing beside the bed, Methos pulled his sweater off, revealing a smooth, hairless chest. Two tiny perfect nipples topped the clearly defined pectorals, and Duncan's tongue demanded contact. He ignored it. He could see the layers of muscle in Methos' abdomen. The strong forearms he was so familiar with led upward to the curve of a bicep and the shoulders whose size Methos seemed to be able to determine at will, narrower for Adam, broader for Methos.

Methos reached for the button on his jeans, and Duncan reached out, catching his hand. "Not yet. I want to unwrap you slowly."

Methos smiled. "Think of me as a present, do you?"

"I just think about you, all the time." He hadn't intended to admit that, but there it was.

"I know," Methos answered. "I can feel you thinking. Your thinking makes me hard."

"Good." Duncan leaned close, wanting to put their mouths to better use, but Methos' hand on the center of his chest stopped him.

"I always just rip open my presents."

Heart skipping at Methos' impatience, Duncan pulled back. His own sweater dropped to the floor, and the rest of his clothing quickly followed it. He didn't look at Methos until he was fully undressed, and then he raised his eyes to meet Methos'.

There was lust in Methos' gaze, but there was something else, too, something closer to wonder. "You are a lovely gift," Methos said softly, closing the distance between them. His hand touched the side of Duncan's neck, and their lips connected once again.

Duncan held Methos tightly, unable to get close enough. Methos' skin felt good against his, and Duncan regretted having stopped Methos from removing his jeans.

Methos pulled away, breaking their kiss, and backing out of Duncan's arms. Before Duncan could protest he lay down in the center of the bed, legs slightly apart, arms reaching for Duncan. Duncan followed without hesitation. He settled onto his side, reinitiating the kissing, and exploring with his right hand. His hand skated over muscle, down past Methos' cock, to his thigh. Duncan squeezed the inside of Methos' thigh in time with his kisses. After a few minutes Methos wrapped an arm around Duncan's neck, pulling him closer. At the same time he moved his legs farther apart, groaning into Duncan's mouth, asking for more.

Duncan moved his fingertips along the inseam of Methos' jeans, up almost to his balls, and then down again to his knee.

Methos flipped him onto his back, a growling noise escaping his throat as he set about devouring Duncan's neck and chest. Methos' mouth was everywhere, sucking, nipping, and licking. There was no pattern that Duncan could discern, no way to anticipate where Methos would go next.

Part of Duncan urged him to simply lay back and enjoy it, but he had other things he wanted to do. He cupped Methos' ass in his hands, forcing their hips together. The denim was rough against his bare flesh, but he didn't care. The sudden contact caused Methos to halt his ravishing of Duncan's chest. Duncan took advantage of the opportunity to push Methos back into a kneeling position. He reached for Methos' zipper, lowering it, feeling Methos' erection fill the newly created space.

Duncan pushed at Methos' jeans.

"I thought you liked to unwrap your presents slowly?" Methos teased.

"Get out of them."

Methos slid from the bed, his eyes locked on Duncan's as he lowered the jeans. Duncan caught his breath as Methos' long legs were slowly revealed.

Methos immediately began to remove his boxers as well. Duncan almost stopped him. He liked the contrast between the dark fabric and Methos' fair skin, but they'd just be in the way, so he kept quiet.

When Methos knelt on the edge of the bed, Duncan immediately wrapped his arms around him and flipped Methos onto his back. It was his turn to devour. He made quick work of Methos' chest, pausing at his nipples just long enough to satisfy his tongue's longing for tiny hard flesh. He spent more time at Methos' pelvic bone, teasing the often ignored skin there. He stroked one calf with his hand, kissing along the inside of Methos' knee. He was being remarkably self-controlled, Duncan thought, limiting himself to Methos' knee when his long, hard flesh was so very close. He touched the tip of his tongue to the back of Methos' knee and Methos' leg jerked.

Deciding he had been disciplined enough, Duncan edged upward to one of the long, lean thighs that had been haunting him. He dreamt about them every night, resting against his chest as he plunged into Methos, wrapped around his waist as they thrust against one another, parting in invitation.

Firm muscle, strong and hard, underneath his lips, responding to his caress. Duncan worked his way slowly upward, not wanting to miss a single millimeter. He'd imagined it so many times, being between Methos' spread thighs, touching them. Methos only encouraged him, opening his legs at every opportunity, like he had tonight in the bar, asking Duncan to look at him, imagine him…

Duncan groaned. It took all of his self control not to thrust against the sheets. It was better than he'd imagined, tracing one of Methos' sinewy thighs with his lips, and the other with his hand. He ran his hand from knee to hip and back. The curve of Methos' leg fit perfectly into his hand, as though his hands had been designed for the sole purpose of caressing Methos. Unable to stop himself he let his mouth inch a bit higher. Methos' skin was warm, and tasted just slightly of salt. His smell filled Duncan's nostrils, musky and undeniably male, so very male. Just like Methos' thighs, all lean muscle and coarse hair. Duncan pressed the thigh beneath his hand against his side. He wanted to feel that muscle touching him.


Methos' groan startled him; he'd forgotten those thighs were attached to a person. He answered it with suction, wanting suddenly to mark this territory as his.


Methos tried to spread his legs further apart, but Duncan stopped him, not willing to release his prize. He traced the upper edge of Methos' thigh with his thumb, skirting Methos' testicles.

"Duncan, please."

Duncan obliged him, resuming his sucking at a new, slightly higher location.

A hand took hold of his ponytail, jerking his head back. "Hey!" Duncan rubbed the back of his head.

"Not there," Methos growled. "Here." He pushed Duncan's head down onto his cock. Duncan resisted for a moment. He had been quite happy where he was. Still, Methos' cock was beautiful, not quite as nice as his thighs, but…He opened his mouth, taking Methos' cock inside. Methos groaned and caressed his hair in approval.

Methos' flesh stroked his lips and tongue, returning Duncan's caress. He could be happy here, too, Duncan decided, settling in for a nice long stay.

It wasn't to be. Methos was tugging at him again, surprisingly quickly. "Inside me, Duncan, please."

Inside. He could do that. Duncan lifted his head, the image of Methos' thighs against his chest filling his mind and making his cock twitch. Unexpectedly, another image supplanted it, Methos kneeling over him, his thighs flexing as he stroked himself up and down on Duncan's cock.

"Kneel over me," Duncan said, shifting onto his back.

Methos knelt, one knee on either side of Duncan's chest. Duncan stared, drinking him in. Methos' hair was sticking up, making him look debauched and adorable all at once. The shoulders were at full spread, surprisingly broad, and topping a chest that defined definition.

Realizing that Methos was waiting for him, Duncan raised two fingers to his mouth and sucked. Satisfied that they were wet enough, he pushed them into Methos. Methos inhaled sharply, but his body opened readily, offering no resistance. After a few strokes, Duncan withdrew his fingers. Taking Duncan's cock in one hand, Methos began to lower himself.

Duncan watched as his cock disappeared into Methos, slowly drawn into a place of warmth, and comfort, and intense, blinding pleasure.

But not so much pleasure that he forgot to watch. Methos' thigh muscles bulged as he slid lower, stretching again as he raised himself. Watching them move in rhythm with the stroking of his cock added immeasurably to Duncan's delight. They were wonderfully powerful, and all of that power was being used to pleasure him, to pleasure them both.

"Duncan," Methos panted.

Duncan raised his eyes to his lover's face, meeting his eyes. He'd never been able to decide if Methos' eyes were green and flecked with gold, or gold flecked with green. It didn't matter. They were almost black now, fully dilated, rapture having overtaken them. Duncan found himself falling into those eyes, getting lost in five millennia worth of depth.

"Methos," he answered, raising a hand to Methos' cheek. He let his hand fall, down Methos' neck to his chest. He brushed his fingertips across a nipple, felt a tremor pass through Methos. He did it again. That little bit of flesh felt so good beneath his fingers. He teased the other side as well, and then paused to study them. Methos' nipples were pert, almost perky. Duncan fought back a chuckle. He didn't think Methos would appreciate it if he giggled while they were fucking.

Duncan moved his hand lower, encircling Methos' cock.

"Yes," Methos hissed, increasing the speed of his fucking.

Suddenly, it was all too much, and Duncan began to push his hips upward, needing to get deeper, needing to come.

It happened in the space of a heartbeat, pleasure overtook him and he let go, releasing spurt after spurt of warm fluid into Methos. In the same instant, Methos sank down onto him, his cock jerking in Duncan's hand.

Duncan forgot to lower his eyes, forgot to watch Methos' bulging thighs. Instead, he was focused on the two bits of flesh standing out like cherries atop a hot fudge sundae, pointing at him and demanding his attention: Methos' nipples.


"Are you sure they spent the night together?" Richie asked.

"That's what the guy I had watching Mac said. Why?"

"Mac's still staring."

Joe looked in Mac's direction. He was seated at table near the stage, looking at Methos. No, Joe corrected himself, staring at Methos. Maybe they hadn't done it. Methos could have slept on the couch, he supposed.

Joe sighed. At least Mac had stopped staring at Methos' crotch. Joe couldn't help but wonder what Mac found so fascinating about Methos' chest. Maybe he could persuade Richie to ask.