chelle

Highlander

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Touched

chelle

Title: Touched

Author: chelle

Author's email: chelle@chelle.slashcity.org

Author's URL: http://chelle.slashcity.org/

Fandom: Highlander

Category: Slash

Pairing: Duncan/Methos

Series: Touch

Archive: Ask first

Rating: PG-13

AN: As always, thank you to Kamil for the beta.

Presence washed over him, bringing a smile to his lips. Methos was here. Duncan pushed open the door to Le Blues Bar and stepped inside. He spotted Methos immediately, lounging at their table. Methos smiled and Duncan began maneuvering his way through the crowd to his lover.

There was a drink already waiting for him, and he gave Methos a quizzical look.

"Sparkling water, with a twist," Methos explained, his voice quiet and warm.

Duncan picked up his glass. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Duncan turned Methos' words over in his mind, trying to decide when 'with a twist' and 'you're welcome' had become double entendres.

Methos lifted his glass. "Cheers."

"Cheers." Duncan smiled, knowing his smile has overly broad, that it made him appear vaguely foolish, but unable to suppress it.

He felt better when Methos smiled back, and their eyes locked for a moment before Methos looked down at the table, still smiling.

Duncan chuckled.

Methos looked up at him, opening his mouth to speak, but the band started and he closed it again.

Duncan leaned back in his chair, preparing to listen. He lost track of the song after the first chorus, his eyes and attention drawn irresistibly to the man beside him. Methos was in his usual slouch, wearing his customary jeans and a sweater. No indication that anything was different from what it had been twenty-four hours earlier. But it was different. Duncan now knew exactly what lay beneath that sweater. He had memories of caressing warm, smooth skin and having Methos arch into his touch. He could almost feel Methos' small nipple hardening against his tongue, just as it had the night before. When a small sound had come from Methos' throat and he'd buried his hands in Duncan's hair.

Duncan shifted in his chair and forced his attention back to the stage. The song was ending, and he joined the rest of the audience in polite applause.

The band began to play again, a tune Duncan recognized, an old Bobby "Blue" Bland song, "Wise Man Blues." He wasn't really in the mood for blues, Duncan realized, no matter how good. He was excited and hopeful, with a hint of trepidation keeping him grounded. And the blues were, well, the blues. All pain, and loss, and she-done-me-wrong. Except for that song about the woman with the Ford engine in her hips that Joe was so fond of. Hips that everyone liked to ride. Duncan cast a sideways glance at Methos.

Methos wasn't looking at the stage. He was looking at Duncan.

The look in his eyes—wonder and affection—chased all thoughts of the blues from Duncan's mind. All he could do was look back.

It was Methos who broke the spell, the corners of his lips curling up slightly into an amused smile. It wasn't like any smile Duncan had ever seen on Methos' face. There was no cynicism in it, no mockery, just a bemused sense of 'look at us.'

Duncan returned the smile, and Methos gazed at him for a moment longer before turning his attention to the stage. Duncan did as well, but found his gaze drawn back to Methos' face. There were circles under Methos' eyes. Not really surprising, considering how little sleep they'd gotten. In his mind's eye, Methos knelt between his thighs and slowly leaned forward, his mouth closing over Duncan's cock.

He glanced at Methos, wondering if Methos was remembering, too.

It had been easy, easy and comfortable. He'd expected it to be awkward, but when they'd reached Methos' apartment, Methos had simply taken Duncan's coat and hung it with his own. Then he'd come to stand in front of Duncan and raised his hand to Duncan's cheek, caressing him with the pads of his fingers. They had kissed. And kissed. And kissed. They'd kissed until the ache inside him had become too much and Duncan had pulled away, dropping his head to Methos' shoulder. Methos had held him, his arms tightening around Duncan's shoulders. At last Duncan had lifted his head and whispered, "Let's go to bed."

And they had.

The two of them, touching, kissing, holding one another. Methos whispering, "Tell me what you want. Anything. I'll give you anything."

Methos' words undid him, left him struggling to answer. "This, you. I want to touch you, and hold you, and watch you come. I want to feel you inside me. I want to get lost in you."

"Yes."

Applause. Duncan glanced hurriedly around, as though looking to see if anyone had read his thoughts, and lifted his hands to join in.

Methos leaned close, slipping his hand under the table and squeezing the top of Duncan's thigh. "Distracted?"

Duncan reached under the table and took Methos' hand in his. "Yes."

Methos squeezed his hand. "Me, too."

Feeling as though their joined hands were the only thing keeping him from floating away, Duncan squeezed back. He was too old to feel giddy, but he did. He wondered what Methos would say if he kissed him, right here, right now. Duncan was still thinking about it when Methos leaned closer and brought their lips together. So sweet. He hadn't been prepared for the sweetness of Methos' kisses.

Releasing him, Methos sat back in his chair and grinned. Duncan shook his head, but he grinned right back. Joe began to sing and Methos turned to watch, but he kept his hand linked with Duncan's.

Duncan held on. He hadn't wanted to leave Methos' place afterwards, but he hadn't wanted to presume, either, so he'd left after breakfast. He'd gotten back to the barge around three in the afternoon. They had agreed to meet here at eight, and those five hours had been some of the longest Duncan could remember. He'd tried to distract himself with books, magazines, even katas. Nothing had worked. All he could think about was Methos.

Methos behind him, holding him close as he eased himself into Duncan.

Methos beneath him, gasping as Duncan stroked his cock.

Methos guiding Duncan's wet fingers to his own entrance.

Methos.

Duncan bit his lip. He had to find a way to think about something else, or getting out of here was going to be embarrassing, not to mention uncomfortable. Maybe Methos was as distracted as he was, as anxious to leave. He leaned closer than he needed to and whispered, "Are you still distracted?"

Methos answered by tugging Duncan's hand onto his lap and pressing it against the bulge in his jeans.

Duncan traced it with his fingertips. "Let's get out of here."

Stepping into the cool Paris night, Duncan pulled his coat close.

"Your place or mine?" Methos asked.

"Yours is closer." They set out for Methos' apartment, shoulders brushing as they fell into step. "Do you think there'll ever be an ours?" Duncan asked, not realizing the import of the question until after the words had slipped out.

"Yeah, I think there will."

Duncan knew the smile on his face was foolish, but he found he didn't care. "That chair will have to go."