Happy Holidays, Taz! (2/2)
Title: Mediterraneo (2/2)
Author: Killa/killabeez aka The Crapon and Jean-Paul Sartre teamup to Fight Nausea
Written for: Taz/tazlet (Happy Belated Birthday, Taz!)
Pairings/Characters: Duncan/Methos/Amanda (and various combinations)
Rating: NC-17
Author's Notes: Thank you so very much to my two kind betas, unovis_lj and hafital, who helped make this better. It was a great kindness on both their parts, and so much appreciated. I deeply hope it pleases.
Summary: Ten years ago in Paris, Duncan walked away and didn't look back.
Go To Part One
Mediterraneo
* * *
The kitchen light was on when he came in near dawn, clothes damp and sweat drying cold on his skin. He heeled off his dirty shoes in the front hall, then stood silent, listening. The house was quiet. Relieved, he returned to his room for a change of clothes, then slipped the car keys from their hook by the kitchen door and went back outside.
Late morning sunshine sparkled on the sea, dazzling his vision as he pulled up the drive hours later. He squinted and parked the car, getting out and retrieving his purchases from the back seat.
Amanda was already out on the patio, lounging by the pool in a black bikini, sunglasses, and a wide-brimmed hat. Methos sat barefoot at the breakfast bar sipping coffee. He looked up as Duncan came in, taking in the heavy cloth sacks he carried. His eyebrows rose. "Someone's been busy, I see."
Duncan carried the sacks into the kitchen and set them on the counter, beginning to unpack them. "Woke up early," he said. "Figured I'd visit the market, fix us some breakfast."
"Mmm," Methos said, noncommittal. Duncan felt his face warm. "There's coffee, if you like," Methos added, as if he hadn't noticed, "and figs from the garden."
Bowls of fruit, yogurt, sliced fresh bread, feta, and tomatoes went onto a tray. Duncan finished the yogurt with a drizzle of honey and found Methos hovering at his shoulder. The world's oldest five-year-old stole a slice of apricot, dipped it into the yogurt and popped it into his mouth, dodging Duncan's elbow with a smirk.
"Oh, cherries," Amanda said when he brought the tray out onto the patio. "You read my mind."
"Couldn't have you starving, now could I?"
Methos, trailing in his wake, gave a snort of derision. "Like that's likely."
Amanda smiled, serene. "Now, now, darling. Don't be rude. It's too nice a day."
The sun climbed the sky, began to seep into the terra cotta tile as they lounged and ate. Its rays weighed soft yet heavy on the skin, and sapped the desire to do anything but soak it up and breathe the smell of the sea, the gentle garden-scented breezes. Though he'd half-intended to make his excuses and leave that afternoon, Duncan thought it seemed ungrateful to fight it too hard.
* * *
Around mid-day, Amanda disappeared indoors, and Duncan heard water running. He stirred from the doze he'd slipped into and stretched.
Methos sat reading a few yards away. "Nice nap?" he asked without looking up.
"Mm," Duncan answered. Two could play at that game. He kept his eyes narrowed against the glare and surreptitiously surveyed Methos's profile through his lashes. "What time is it?"
Methos huffed a soft laugh through his nose. "You definitely haven't been here long enough if you're asking that question."
Duncan's mouth quirked. He turned and looked out at the view, the trees and rocks and wide, blue-green sea. The pool beckoned. "Time for a swim, then," he said.
Methos nodded and turned a page. "Now you're learning."
Maybe he was, Duncan thought, heading indoors to change. Last night, he'd struggled with his conflicted, uncomfortable feelings, all the more unsettling because he'd thought himself past the place where he could feel such things. Finding out he was wrong had been like feeling the blood rush back to starved limbs after hours of meditation, the same flood of painful sensation. But none of that mattered much in the face of seeing his friends find some measure of happiness; none of that changed the reasons he'd had for coming here in the first place.
Duncan shed his clothes and pulled on a pair of swim trunks, thinking it would serve them right if he went without. He thought he could guess what game Amanda was playing at; she knew him better than anyone, and he wouldn't put it past her to have seen his attraction to Methos long before he had. He couldn't be angry with her. For all her flaws, she didn't have a cruel bone in her body, and she couldn't know all the layers of fraught history that lay between the two of them.
That line of thought threatened to derail him into dangerous territory, and he closed the door on it firmly. He was here now, and there'd be plenty of time to have a serious talk with her about what boundaries he would and wouldn't permit her to cross. As for Methos, Duncan didn't trust himself just yet. But he'd had plenty of practice at guarding himself from that quarter, and he was determined not to regret his decision to come here.
The second half of the day passed in much the same way as the first. Duncan swam laps for a long time, then lay in the sun, finally retreating indoors to shower and meditate. When he got hungry, he rummaged in the fridge for leftover olives and feta. The other two seemed to sense his need for space; he saw little of them, and thought they were keeping their own distance, Methos seemingly engrossed in his book and Amanda announcing in the afternoon that she was going shopping. Duncan wandered the gardens for a while, feeling better, more at peace, than he had in longer than he could remember.
Back inside, roaming the house as the late afternoon sun slanted in across the tile, he found a room full of nothing but bookshelves. Methos's house, he remembered, and smiled. He found a leather-bound copy of The Good Soldier and stretched out on the couch to read; when he fell asleep, the book cradled between his thighs, he dreamed about nothing at all.
* * *
"I," Amanda announced, breezing through the door and setting her parcels down on the breakfast bar, "am officially bored."
Methos's head came up in alarm. "Heaven help us."
"You took the words right out of my mouth," said Duncan, not really kidding. They'd been listening to Boris Godunov while he made dinner and Methos watched, providing unsolicited commentary on the opera and his cooking techniques.
Amanda rolled her eyes at them and pushed herself away from the counter, strolling around it with a sway of her hips. She laid a hand at the base of Duncan's neck and leaned close, looking into the pot he'd just finished seasoning. "Is that cioppino?" she asked. "It smells absolutely divine."
"Close enough. It's mariscada--the Spanish version."
"I knew there was a reason I kept you around," she said, and kissed him on the cheek. She'd moved away in the next breath and started rummaging in her shopping bags. "Wait'll you see what I bought. You're gonna love it." She stopped, and shot Duncan a sly smile. "No, wait, on second thought, it'll be a surprise--when the two of you take me dancing tonight." At Duncan's look, she held up a hand. "No excuses. And that goes for you, too," she added, before Methos could put his two cents in.
Duncan exchanged a look with Methos, who wore the same look of bemusement he did. "Did that sound to you like we have a choice in the matter?"
"What do you think?" Methos replied.
Amanda huffed her exasperation. "Don't look at me like that, you know you love it." She smiled, abandoning her bags to turn the full force of her undeniable charms on them both. "I know a great club, terrific music, decent drinks, the real deal." Draped over Methos's shoulder, she aimed her best pleading look at Duncan, who despite years of practice found he wasn't proof against it. "Come on, what do you say? Please? For me?"
"You really are shameless, aren't you?" said Methos.
"You're just figuring this out now?" Duncan said in disbelief. Amanda was still giving him the look, all little-girl, lost-kitten. He shook his head. "What kills me is that I still fall for it."
"Yes!" Amanda crowed, and jumped, clapping her hands.
"Only yourself to blame," Methos told him, failing to hide his amusement.
"Yeah," Duncan muttered. "Don't remind me."
* * *
He'd been dubious about the whole thing to begin with, but when he stepped out into the living room and saw Methos standing at the bar opening a bottle of wine, he began to appreciate just how bad an idea this was.
He cleared his throat. "That's a new look for you," he said, when Methos looked up and caught him staring. Methos was wearing black, flowing trousers, a black tank top, and a belt with a silver buckle. With his tan and casually chic hairstyle, he looked like a model--or an extremely expensive paid companion.
"Not really," Methos said, voice mild. Embarrassed, Duncan turned and crossed to the couch. As soon as he sat down, he wished he had something to do with his hands. "You look good," Methos added, and the flush of heat Duncan felt only confirmed that he was in over his head.
He was saved by Amanda's entrance, which she made in typical Amanda fashion. "So?" she asked, turning a slow circle. "What do you think?"
Duncan rose and took her hand as she glided down the steps into the sunken living room. "You look beautiful," he told her, meaning it. "Even more than usual."
"Ditto," Methos chimed in, eyes bright with admiration. "Better bring your sword, Mac. We're gonna have to fight them off in droves."
She laughed and took the wine glass he offered her, waiting until Duncan followed suit to raise it in a toast. "To us," she said, the backless, darkly-sequined halter top she wore swaying and glinting with the movement. She wore a fine silver chain around her midriff, and it peeked over the waist of her tight, fashionable jeans; when she moved, the scent of her perfume teased Duncan's nostrils.
"To us," he echoed, his voice rough at the edges.
It occurred to him belatedly that his earlier confidence in his ability to handle this situation had perhaps been premature.
* * *
The taxi dropped them at the curb, the steady thump of the bass thrumming up from the pavement before they even got out. On the sidewalk, Amanda hooked one arm in his and one in Methos's; between them, she led the way past the line and straight up to the bouncer at the door, who nodded at her like they were old friends and let them in for the price of a kiss on the cheek.
Inside, the music was deafening. It was also as hot as the inside of a steam room, and Duncan was glad for the thin T-shirt he wore.
Methos leaned close, his breath teasing at Duncan's ear as he shouted, "I don't know about you, but I'm going to need a drink."
"At least one," Duncan fervently agreed.
They made their way to the closest bar, losing Amanda to the writhing throng of young bodies before they'd gone fifteen feet. The sensory assault was a drug in itself, and Duncan felt as though his blood throbbed and pulsed in time with the beat. Methos made a beeline for the pretty young bartender; Duncan let him handle things, since he seemed to have it under control.
He expected beer, but when Methos turned and put a drink in his hand, it was a small glass, milky and smelling of anise: ouzo. He took it gratefully and sipped; it was cold, refreshing, and bittersweet. Methos flashed a smile at him, then turned and leaned one elbow on the bar, taking in the scene. There was no point in trying to talk.
Amanda loved places like this. She'd gotten him to take her once or twice in Paris, and it wasn't his thing but he had to admit he could see the appeal. To lose oneself in the music, in the pure physical response of the body, was a pleasure uncomplicated by anything outside the thumping beat and strobing lights. In here, for a few hours, nothing else mattered.
Duncan let his gaze wander. The clientele was universally young, wearing as little as possible, and if the place had one rule it seemed to be, keep the alcohol flowing. No one here was feeling any pain.
He felt his eyes drawn to the place where they'd lost Amanda. It wasn't hard to spot her in the crowd. She had her arms raised, her hair swept off her neck, and moved to the music like it owned her. Methos was right, he thought, watching the young men drawn to her like moths. One of them should have brought a sword.
As if he'd read the thought, Methos twisted around beside him and signaled the bartender. A minute later, with a smile Duncan read as a dare, he took Duncan's mostly-empty glass and traded it for a full one, then left him, letting himself be swallowed up by the pulsing lights and gyrating bodies. Duncan saw heads turn as Methos made his way through the crowd. He couldn't blame them. Feeling an unsteady flutter low in his belly, he averted his eyes and took a sip of the substantial measure of scotch Methos had handed him.
Who was he fooling? Not himself, certainly. In moments he'd downed half the glass and had eyes for nothing but the two of them, the energy in the club seeming to spike in their immediate circle as Methos reached her and Amanda surrendered to his claim without ever touching him. Watching them move together, their easy sensuality and natural balance, Duncan couldn't pretend to be immune, and when Amanda turned her head to look at him, his body reacted despite himself.
She arched her brows at him, echoing Methos's dare, and Duncan shook his head. His fingers tightened on his drink. He could feel sweat prickling at his pulse points, and an overpowering urge to get the hell out of there. He tried to tell himself that he was misreading the situation, that this wasn't what it seemed--a bald-faced conspiracy between the two of them to seduce him--but he was hard-pressed to read it any other way. As for his resolve of earlier in the day, it had deserted him, and the question of how much of this was Amanda's idea and how much Methos's seemed all-important.
Under the buzz of alcohol and the deep throb of the bass, old feelings stirred within him, and he didn't know any more whether he should be relieved by that, or alarmed. Most of all, he didn't know how to cope with the sudden knowledge that his friends hadn't simply walked away from their shared past the way he'd tried to for so long.
The music changed. It gripped the blood harder, and Duncan found himself draining the rest of his glass, pushing himself away from the bar. He threaded his way through the sea of bodies, feeling himself pulled along by their sexual energy. Caught in the grip of it, he let instinct carry him; what felt like moments or maybe hours later, Amanda was touching his shoulder, his waist, guiding him into the rhythm of her body.
He closed his eyes, but he felt it like a gut punch when Methos closed the circuit behind her, one hand resting at Amanda's hip.
* * *
Duncan had a moment, standing on the curb in the cool, early hours of morning, where he watched the other two kiss with slow, lazy heat, and reason tried to assert itself. He might have balked had Amanda not latched on to his belt and refused to let him back away.
"Amanda--" he said, stiff, avoiding their eyes.
She shut him up by dragging him in, kissing him with salt on her lips. They'd danced for hours, and despite the drinks they'd fed him, Duncan felt all too sober.
Amanda's tongue teased his, and he closed his eyes against the sight of Methos watching them. "Tell it to somebody who hasn't known you for four hundred years," she said when she broke away, voice husky from breathing the fog machine smoke.
Head bent against hers, heart skipping in his chest, he swallowed and nodded.
She pulled him into the back of the taxi; Methos rode up front, the car too small for them to squeeze in together. Duncan held her tucked against him, letting his head fall back against the seat. She seemed content to do nothing more than stroke his hair, a slow, soothing rhythm, and it would have been a lie to say he wasn't glad for the reprieve. Somewhere in the last few hours, he'd gone past turned on into some torturous, low-level state of arousal that seemed to hum under every inch of his skin. The bare, warm silk of Amanda's back made his throat ache, and he was pretty sure that if Methos actually touched him with more than the casual brush of his fingers, he was likely to self-combust.
After hours of deafening noise, the ride home felt eerily silent, the wind from the open windows cool against his face. Duncan closed his eyes and let the sweat dry from his skin, the tension flow out and away. He felt light, unanchored. The man he'd once been felt far away, left behind in some other lifetime.
The car stopped. He was aware of Methos paying the driver, aware of Amanda's hand resting warm and still against his heart. "We're home," he said, and she stirred, smiled up at him as if he'd answered a riddle with the right answer.
They went inside. Duncan felt Methos's presence close behind him. Amanda led the way through darkened hallways, across the moonlit patio, along a breezeway to glass doors and her bedroom beyond. At the threshold, she took his hand and drew him inside.
She left him only long enough to turn on the sound system and put in a CD. Music with a slower, still sensual beat began to play, its low rhythm spilling out from hidden speakers. Eyes on Duncan, she came back and leaned up against him, her breasts soft, her perfume warm and faint now, mixed with the scent of her body; she reached up and drew a hand gently down his cheek, then closed her eyes and kissed him, sweet and full on the lips.
It had been so long that for a moment, he forgot everything else and gave himself to it. They'd always been good together, but never so much as now, years between them and too many regrets to count. Unthinking, he brought his hand up, covered hers, tracing the long lines of her fingers. The haunting music pulsed through him, and he let the kiss draw out, savoring it, then finally letting it go.
She pulled away and reached out a hand. Methos took it and stepped close, bending his head at her urging to kiss her with the same slow care, the same tenderness. The knot of Duncan's response wound deep in his chest. Then Methos pulled back and met his gaze.
Duncan swallowed. Butterflies turned in his stomach, unsteady flutters and underneath, the zero-gravity sensation of vertigo. He could feel Amanda watching them, intent, but couldn't seem to look anywhere but at Methos's leaf-colored eyes. He drew a deep breath.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he brought his hand up and laid it awkwardly on Methos's shoulder, his thumb resting against the warm beat of Methos's pulse. He leaned forward barely knowing he did it; Methos swayed into the motion, so subtly that he hardly moved. It was up to Duncan to close the distance, and he did so, intent now on Methos's mouth as he leaned in, closed his eyes and brought his lips down to brush hesitantly against Methos's.
Methos's breath teased his lips, and he let himself test the softness of Methos's mouth. He held himself still, heart beating fast in his ears. He'd been so sure this would never happen, but here they were, Methos's shoulder warm and solid under Duncan's hand, his lips parting.
Duncan's breath hitched, a soft, choked sound he couldn't help. Without thought he brought his other hand up and stepped in close, held Methos's head still and asked for more with his tongue. With gratifying eagerness, Methos opened his mouth and let him in.
Methos's tongue met his, twined hotly. Duncan groaned. Distantly, he knew Methos's hand found his hip, that they were pressing up against each other, mouths melting together with sudden heat. Duncan's erection met with a solid stiffness when he rubbed their hips together, and the shock of sensation made him shudder and catch his breath.
He broke away and bent his head against Methos's neck, trembling with reaction. Christ, if this was what one kiss was like, he feared for his sanity if they went further.
"Guess that answers that question," Amanda said, fervent approval in her tone.
Duncan swallowed. "Guess it does."
"No argument here," Methos said, sounding as breathless as Duncan felt. "But maybe we better try it again to be sure."
"Tell you what," Amanda said. "You two continue that conversation while I take care of a few things."
When she'd vanished into the bathroom, Duncan turned his head, found Methos's pulse with his lips and tongue. The smell and taste of his skin were immediately addicting, but better still was the way Methos shivered against him when Duncan licked and bit him there, mapping the contours of his throat and jaw. Methos tilted his head back and held Duncan's close, encouraging. His hair, stiff with salt and gel, prickled Duncan's palm. His cock lay hard against Duncan's.
"Tell me what you like," Duncan urged, the stretch of Methos's tank top in his hands and his palms sliding under to find bare skin. He immediately wanted more and raked his fingers up Methos's back, making him gasp. "Tell me--"
Methos answered by pushing himself against Duncan's body and demanding voracious use of his mouth, his tongue. His belt buckle dug into Duncan's stomach and, Jesus, Methos could kiss. Duncan moaned faintly and gave himself up to it willingly, letting Methos have his way.
When they broke again for air, he couldn't help the grin that quirked at his mouth.
"Something funny?" Methos asked, eyebrow raised.
"No, just--" Duncan touched the soft hair at Methos's temple, thinking of how many times he'd wanted to do that. He let his eyes roam over Methos's face, relearning its sharp angles. "How come we never did this before?"
"Because Amanda's not usually one for sharing?" Methos said, amused.
"Besides that," said Duncan. He spread his hands against Methos's muscular back and reveled in the solid feel of him.
Amanda came back into the room and began lighting candles here and there, directing an indulgent look their way. "You boys all right?"
"She seems fine with it now," Duncan observed.
"That's because she's not in love with you any more. At least, she thinks she isn't."
"Mm," Duncan agreed. He studied the bow-shape of Methos's mouth, imagining it stretched around his cock. "And you?"
Methos chuckled. "Me? I'm quite sure she's not in love with me."
"Smartass. You know what I meant."
Methos's lips curved, the sphinx-smile. "Foolish boy."
"You two had enough time to work things out yet?" Amanda teased, coming up behind Duncan and reaching around to unbuckle his belt.
"Maybe in another five centuries or so," Duncan said, and Methos's eyes crinkled at the corners in wry agreement. Duncan finally let him go and brought his hands down to cover Amanda's. He pulled her around in his arms, putting a little distance between himself and Methos so he could breathe. "What are you doing?"
"Just trying to help things along," she said, all innocence. She was barefoot but otherwise still dressed. She cupped Duncan's face in her hands, then took his hand and pulled him playfully toward the bed. When they neared it, she reached up and unfastened a hidden clasp at the back of her neck; the shimmery halter top slipped off and she cast it aside, gloriously bare to the waist save for the silver chain.
Little was said for a while then, as Methos joined him in caressing her breasts, Methos in front and Duncan behind, supporting their weight and stroking the soft curves underneath while Methos kissed and bit her nipples. When she was breathless and flushed, Methos helped Duncan unfasten her jeans and slide them off.
Methos's clothes were next. He was as beautiful and spare as Duncan had always imagined, his cock curving up full and proud against his belly, enough to make Duncan's throat go dry.
Amanda pushed Duncan down to sit on the edge of the bed and knelt behind him, pulling his T-shirt off. This close to temptation, Duncan couldn't help himself; under Methos's hungry gaze, he reached out and pulled the other man to him, closed his eyes and bent to nuzzle his lips against Methos's cock. His tongue slipped out to taste. The salty slickness of Methos's precome slid over his palate and he made a soft sound of need. He wrapped an arm around Methos's hips and sucked him deep, lost in the earthy pleasure of it.
"Mac." Methos sounded ragged, undone. In answer, Duncan teased the sensitive bundle of nerves under the head, and Methos's breath hissed between his teeth. His hand came to rest heavy on Duncan's head. "Mac, please. Stop."
Duncan did as he asked, though it wasn't what he wanted. "Something wrong?" he asked.
Amanda shifted around beside him. She held his gaze, suddenly intent.
"Duncan, listen to me. Look at me. We're not letting you go."
Duncan frowned. "What are you talking about?" She just shook her head, tight, and he looked to Methos for explanation. But Methos's expression held the same intensity, the same anger under the surface.
"It's not that easy, MacLeod. Joe told me how you tried to say goodbye to him in London. Very touching."
Taken aback, Duncan wanted to protest, but he couldn't deny it. It had been goodbye, even if he'd never said the words. Just like he'd intended when he got on that plane for Athens.
"You jerk," Amanda said then, softly. "You didn't really think you'd get away with it, did you? What do you take us for?"
He looked at her; her eyes were wet, and Duncan found himself with tears in his own. Of all the things he'd expected, this wasn't one of them.
"It was never about you," he said, voice rough. "Any of you. You have to know that."
"What I know," said Methos quietly, "is that there comes a time when you have to accept that no one makes it through this life on their own." His gaze held Duncan's, intent. "Trust me, MacLeod. I know of what I speak."
Duncan's chest felt heavy. "Yeah," he said, his blood pounding slow and inexorable. He reached out and stroked Amanda's hair. "I hear you."
"Glad to hear it," Methos said, his eyes bright.
Amanda let out a breathless, relieved laugh. "That makes two of us." She squeezed Duncan's hand, then tugged him back onto the bed, baring her teeth in a play snarl. "Now, do what I say for the next few hours, and I might forgive you."
He gave in, helpless to do anything else. She and Methos together were a formidable force, and they didn't spare him; Amanda held him still and kissed him, scratching patterns on his chest while Methos worked his jeans off. Methos's palms on his bare legs and hips made him shiver. He closed his eyes and lost himself in Amanda's kisses and the powerful rush of need that started to build in his body as they made love to him without shame or hesitation. Methos kissed and bit gently at his neck, his shoulders--he groaned and gave way, rolling onto his back so that Methos could spread himself out on top, their naked bodies coming together with a hot brush of skin.
He broke the kiss with Amanda, looking down with hooded eyes. Methos was braced over him on hands and knees, watching them. Duncan reached for the back of Methos's neck, pulled him up and claimed his mouth, deep and wet and hungry.
Amanda sighed. "Really not going to get tired of that any time soon."
"I know what you mean," Methos said, voice rough when he broke away at last. His eyes raked Duncan's body. "Christ, Mac, I really want to do you. Will you let me?"
Every instinct Duncan possessed said yes before he even had time to think about it. Against the sudden fist of arousal in his belly, he swallowed and tried to draw breath. Beside him, Amanda was holding hers. The thought of her watching made heat flame up his neck, and he couldn't prevent the low shudder that ran through him.
"Yes," he said hoarsely. "I want you to." There'd been no one like that for him since Connor, but there was nothing he wanted more.
"Duncan," Amanda breathed, stroking his hair back off his face. He met her look, saw her reach out and run the backs of her fingers against Methos's arm as if she'd invented the two of them and couldn't be more pleased with the result. She sighed and tucked herself in against him, resting her head against his. "He's going to make you feel so good. Aren't you, Methos?"
"Dangerous little vixen," Methos growled, seizing her hand and mock-biting her wrist. She squeaked, and he apologized with lips and tongue, nipping his way up her arm for a moment before pushing himself back off the bed with easy grace. "Don't go anywhere," he warned them both.
He opened the leather-tooled box on the night stand and took out a jar, setting it within easy reach, then knelt back on the bed between Duncan's knees. "Relax, Duncan," he said, stroking his hands down Duncan's flanks and thighs, then between them, a heated, calculated pressure against his balls and the muscle beneath. Duncan spread his legs and tried to control his breathing but he was as hard as he'd ever been, his cock leaking onto his belly. Methos's eyes were hot on his and he read the urgency there. Later there'd be time for exploration, but this first time was going to be fast, and he wanted it that way. He nodded.
Amanda stroked his side, took his hand. Methos slicked himself with the cream lubricant, then scooped a generous measure of it onto two fingers and reached for the furl of Duncan's opening, pressing in firm but gentle circles.
God-- oh, God. Duncan choked it back, eyes closing despite himself, and turned his face into Amanda's neck. She kissed his cheek, stroked his temple, and Duncan swallowed, his throat dry and his heart beating hard. "Do it," he choked out. Methos's fingers slid into him, and he shuddered, felt his whole body give a heartfelt assent.
He stood it as long as he could. Methos stroked the cream inside him, circled his fingers to loosen the muscle, awakening a deep, thick pleasure that flowed through Duncan in hot waves. At last he couldn't take it any more and surged up, reaching for Methos and pulling his hand out, grabbing him by the balls and slick cock and pushing Methos inside him. Then they were fucking, rough and hard, Methos giving it to him the way he needed it, his own body straining for it. They clutched at each other and Methos wound his fingers in Duncan's hair, licked him open and kissed him, deep and fervent, their breath coming in short, muffled gasps into each other's mouths.
Methos went slowly at first, but it was too much, urgency building before Duncan really wanted it to. "Amanda," Methos managed, breaking away, voice ragged and desperate. He drove into Duncan with fast, forceful thrusts, pushed him down and grabbed Duncan's hips so he could fuck harder.
His cock felt like a hot iron bar sliding inside Duncan, immense and relentless and so good Duncan couldn't think. He didn't know what Methos wanted, didn't care, until a slick, warm hand closed over his cock and stroked nerves that felt like they all fired at once. Duncan threw his head back and panted, riding Methos's thrusts and Amanda's slippery grip on his cock, barely aware of what he was doing when he turned his head and found Amanda's mouth, opening for her tongue with a low moan. His hand found the back of her head; his legs wrapped around Methos's waist and urged him on.
Not letting you go, Methos told him with every thrust, and the throb and hum of Duncan's response overpowered him; he couldn't escape it.
"Methos," Duncan gasped, breaking away as orgasm started to take him. Methos thrust deep and curled in over their bodies. He bent his head to Duncan's shoulder as he shuddered and came, as he cried out and muffled it in Duncan's neck. There might have been words locked in his throat, but he held them back, pulsing hot within Duncan's body and shaking with release.
When it was over, Duncan lay dazed, Methos still pressed inside him. Amanda stroked him through the last of the aftershocks, his own come a sticky mess on his chest and belly. He raised an unsteady hand to the back of Methos's head and rested it there, trying to catch his breath. At last he met Amanda's bright gaze.
She was flushed, arousal written all over her, like she'd been given the Hope diamond all wrapped up in a bow. Duncan cleared his throat.
"Methos," he said, voice husky.
"Mm," Methos responded. He sounded blissed out to within an inch of his life, but when Duncan said nothing else, he finally lifted his head.
He seemed to get it, because he pulled out, eased Duncan's legs down and rubbed at thigh muscles that had started to cramp. Duncan let him go and shifted up with some difficulty, then rolled over on top of Amanda, moving down between her legs.
"You," Duncan growled, low in his throat.
"Oh, my," she breathed, sounding faint.
He buried his face against her. She was so wet he could smell her arousal, sweet and hot, and when he licked her, the taste burst lemony over his tongue. At her cry, he moaned softly and closed his eyes, licking her slow. "Methos, help me out, here," he murmured, circling unhurried over slick heat. She shivered and made the pleading sound he loved so much, the one that told him she hoped he'd never stop doing what he was doing.
When Methos slid around behind her and held her down, Duncan settled in and did his best to oblige.
* * *
Much later, when they lay curled together and spent in the guttering candlelight, Duncan said softly, "You could have given me some warning, you know."
Amanda was out cold, her limbs sprawled and long, graceful feet tucked against Duncan's calves. It was Methos who stirred and looked up, a wan smile finding its way to his lips.
"Where's the fun in that?"
~ end ~
Author: Killa/killabeez aka The Crapon and Jean-Paul Sartre teamup to Fight Nausea
Written for: Taz/tazlet (Happy Belated Birthday, Taz!)
Pairings/Characters: Duncan/Methos/Amanda (and various combinations)
Rating: NC-17
Author's Notes: Thank you so very much to my two kind betas, unovis_lj and hafital, who helped make this better. It was a great kindness on both their parts, and so much appreciated. I deeply hope it pleases.
Summary: Ten years ago in Paris, Duncan walked away and didn't look back.
Go To Part One
Mediterraneo
* * *
The kitchen light was on when he came in near dawn, clothes damp and sweat drying cold on his skin. He heeled off his dirty shoes in the front hall, then stood silent, listening. The house was quiet. Relieved, he returned to his room for a change of clothes, then slipped the car keys from their hook by the kitchen door and went back outside.
Late morning sunshine sparkled on the sea, dazzling his vision as he pulled up the drive hours later. He squinted and parked the car, getting out and retrieving his purchases from the back seat.
Amanda was already out on the patio, lounging by the pool in a black bikini, sunglasses, and a wide-brimmed hat. Methos sat barefoot at the breakfast bar sipping coffee. He looked up as Duncan came in, taking in the heavy cloth sacks he carried. His eyebrows rose. "Someone's been busy, I see."
Duncan carried the sacks into the kitchen and set them on the counter, beginning to unpack them. "Woke up early," he said. "Figured I'd visit the market, fix us some breakfast."
"Mmm," Methos said, noncommittal. Duncan felt his face warm. "There's coffee, if you like," Methos added, as if he hadn't noticed, "and figs from the garden."
Bowls of fruit, yogurt, sliced fresh bread, feta, and tomatoes went onto a tray. Duncan finished the yogurt with a drizzle of honey and found Methos hovering at his shoulder. The world's oldest five-year-old stole a slice of apricot, dipped it into the yogurt and popped it into his mouth, dodging Duncan's elbow with a smirk.
"Oh, cherries," Amanda said when he brought the tray out onto the patio. "You read my mind."
"Couldn't have you starving, now could I?"
Methos, trailing in his wake, gave a snort of derision. "Like that's likely."
Amanda smiled, serene. "Now, now, darling. Don't be rude. It's too nice a day."
The sun climbed the sky, began to seep into the terra cotta tile as they lounged and ate. Its rays weighed soft yet heavy on the skin, and sapped the desire to do anything but soak it up and breathe the smell of the sea, the gentle garden-scented breezes. Though he'd half-intended to make his excuses and leave that afternoon, Duncan thought it seemed ungrateful to fight it too hard.
* * *
Around mid-day, Amanda disappeared indoors, and Duncan heard water running. He stirred from the doze he'd slipped into and stretched.
Methos sat reading a few yards away. "Nice nap?" he asked without looking up.
"Mm," Duncan answered. Two could play at that game. He kept his eyes narrowed against the glare and surreptitiously surveyed Methos's profile through his lashes. "What time is it?"
Methos huffed a soft laugh through his nose. "You definitely haven't been here long enough if you're asking that question."
Duncan's mouth quirked. He turned and looked out at the view, the trees and rocks and wide, blue-green sea. The pool beckoned. "Time for a swim, then," he said.
Methos nodded and turned a page. "Now you're learning."
Maybe he was, Duncan thought, heading indoors to change. Last night, he'd struggled with his conflicted, uncomfortable feelings, all the more unsettling because he'd thought himself past the place where he could feel such things. Finding out he was wrong had been like feeling the blood rush back to starved limbs after hours of meditation, the same flood of painful sensation. But none of that mattered much in the face of seeing his friends find some measure of happiness; none of that changed the reasons he'd had for coming here in the first place.
Duncan shed his clothes and pulled on a pair of swim trunks, thinking it would serve them right if he went without. He thought he could guess what game Amanda was playing at; she knew him better than anyone, and he wouldn't put it past her to have seen his attraction to Methos long before he had. He couldn't be angry with her. For all her flaws, she didn't have a cruel bone in her body, and she couldn't know all the layers of fraught history that lay between the two of them.
That line of thought threatened to derail him into dangerous territory, and he closed the door on it firmly. He was here now, and there'd be plenty of time to have a serious talk with her about what boundaries he would and wouldn't permit her to cross. As for Methos, Duncan didn't trust himself just yet. But he'd had plenty of practice at guarding himself from that quarter, and he was determined not to regret his decision to come here.
The second half of the day passed in much the same way as the first. Duncan swam laps for a long time, then lay in the sun, finally retreating indoors to shower and meditate. When he got hungry, he rummaged in the fridge for leftover olives and feta. The other two seemed to sense his need for space; he saw little of them, and thought they were keeping their own distance, Methos seemingly engrossed in his book and Amanda announcing in the afternoon that she was going shopping. Duncan wandered the gardens for a while, feeling better, more at peace, than he had in longer than he could remember.
Back inside, roaming the house as the late afternoon sun slanted in across the tile, he found a room full of nothing but bookshelves. Methos's house, he remembered, and smiled. He found a leather-bound copy of The Good Soldier and stretched out on the couch to read; when he fell asleep, the book cradled between his thighs, he dreamed about nothing at all.
* * *
"I," Amanda announced, breezing through the door and setting her parcels down on the breakfast bar, "am officially bored."
Methos's head came up in alarm. "Heaven help us."
"You took the words right out of my mouth," said Duncan, not really kidding. They'd been listening to Boris Godunov while he made dinner and Methos watched, providing unsolicited commentary on the opera and his cooking techniques.
Amanda rolled her eyes at them and pushed herself away from the counter, strolling around it with a sway of her hips. She laid a hand at the base of Duncan's neck and leaned close, looking into the pot he'd just finished seasoning. "Is that cioppino?" she asked. "It smells absolutely divine."
"Close enough. It's mariscada--the Spanish version."
"I knew there was a reason I kept you around," she said, and kissed him on the cheek. She'd moved away in the next breath and started rummaging in her shopping bags. "Wait'll you see what I bought. You're gonna love it." She stopped, and shot Duncan a sly smile. "No, wait, on second thought, it'll be a surprise--when the two of you take me dancing tonight." At Duncan's look, she held up a hand. "No excuses. And that goes for you, too," she added, before Methos could put his two cents in.
Duncan exchanged a look with Methos, who wore the same look of bemusement he did. "Did that sound to you like we have a choice in the matter?"
"What do you think?" Methos replied.
Amanda huffed her exasperation. "Don't look at me like that, you know you love it." She smiled, abandoning her bags to turn the full force of her undeniable charms on them both. "I know a great club, terrific music, decent drinks, the real deal." Draped over Methos's shoulder, she aimed her best pleading look at Duncan, who despite years of practice found he wasn't proof against it. "Come on, what do you say? Please? For me?"
"You really are shameless, aren't you?" said Methos.
"You're just figuring this out now?" Duncan said in disbelief. Amanda was still giving him the look, all little-girl, lost-kitten. He shook his head. "What kills me is that I still fall for it."
"Yes!" Amanda crowed, and jumped, clapping her hands.
"Only yourself to blame," Methos told him, failing to hide his amusement.
"Yeah," Duncan muttered. "Don't remind me."
* * *
He'd been dubious about the whole thing to begin with, but when he stepped out into the living room and saw Methos standing at the bar opening a bottle of wine, he began to appreciate just how bad an idea this was.
He cleared his throat. "That's a new look for you," he said, when Methos looked up and caught him staring. Methos was wearing black, flowing trousers, a black tank top, and a belt with a silver buckle. With his tan and casually chic hairstyle, he looked like a model--or an extremely expensive paid companion.
"Not really," Methos said, voice mild. Embarrassed, Duncan turned and crossed to the couch. As soon as he sat down, he wished he had something to do with his hands. "You look good," Methos added, and the flush of heat Duncan felt only confirmed that he was in over his head.
He was saved by Amanda's entrance, which she made in typical Amanda fashion. "So?" she asked, turning a slow circle. "What do you think?"
Duncan rose and took her hand as she glided down the steps into the sunken living room. "You look beautiful," he told her, meaning it. "Even more than usual."
"Ditto," Methos chimed in, eyes bright with admiration. "Better bring your sword, Mac. We're gonna have to fight them off in droves."
She laughed and took the wine glass he offered her, waiting until Duncan followed suit to raise it in a toast. "To us," she said, the backless, darkly-sequined halter top she wore swaying and glinting with the movement. She wore a fine silver chain around her midriff, and it peeked over the waist of her tight, fashionable jeans; when she moved, the scent of her perfume teased Duncan's nostrils.
"To us," he echoed, his voice rough at the edges.
It occurred to him belatedly that his earlier confidence in his ability to handle this situation had perhaps been premature.
* * *
The taxi dropped them at the curb, the steady thump of the bass thrumming up from the pavement before they even got out. On the sidewalk, Amanda hooked one arm in his and one in Methos's; between them, she led the way past the line and straight up to the bouncer at the door, who nodded at her like they were old friends and let them in for the price of a kiss on the cheek.
Inside, the music was deafening. It was also as hot as the inside of a steam room, and Duncan was glad for the thin T-shirt he wore.
Methos leaned close, his breath teasing at Duncan's ear as he shouted, "I don't know about you, but I'm going to need a drink."
"At least one," Duncan fervently agreed.
They made their way to the closest bar, losing Amanda to the writhing throng of young bodies before they'd gone fifteen feet. The sensory assault was a drug in itself, and Duncan felt as though his blood throbbed and pulsed in time with the beat. Methos made a beeline for the pretty young bartender; Duncan let him handle things, since he seemed to have it under control.
He expected beer, but when Methos turned and put a drink in his hand, it was a small glass, milky and smelling of anise: ouzo. He took it gratefully and sipped; it was cold, refreshing, and bittersweet. Methos flashed a smile at him, then turned and leaned one elbow on the bar, taking in the scene. There was no point in trying to talk.
Amanda loved places like this. She'd gotten him to take her once or twice in Paris, and it wasn't his thing but he had to admit he could see the appeal. To lose oneself in the music, in the pure physical response of the body, was a pleasure uncomplicated by anything outside the thumping beat and strobing lights. In here, for a few hours, nothing else mattered.
Duncan let his gaze wander. The clientele was universally young, wearing as little as possible, and if the place had one rule it seemed to be, keep the alcohol flowing. No one here was feeling any pain.
He felt his eyes drawn to the place where they'd lost Amanda. It wasn't hard to spot her in the crowd. She had her arms raised, her hair swept off her neck, and moved to the music like it owned her. Methos was right, he thought, watching the young men drawn to her like moths. One of them should have brought a sword.
As if he'd read the thought, Methos twisted around beside him and signaled the bartender. A minute later, with a smile Duncan read as a dare, he took Duncan's mostly-empty glass and traded it for a full one, then left him, letting himself be swallowed up by the pulsing lights and gyrating bodies. Duncan saw heads turn as Methos made his way through the crowd. He couldn't blame them. Feeling an unsteady flutter low in his belly, he averted his eyes and took a sip of the substantial measure of scotch Methos had handed him.
Who was he fooling? Not himself, certainly. In moments he'd downed half the glass and had eyes for nothing but the two of them, the energy in the club seeming to spike in their immediate circle as Methos reached her and Amanda surrendered to his claim without ever touching him. Watching them move together, their easy sensuality and natural balance, Duncan couldn't pretend to be immune, and when Amanda turned her head to look at him, his body reacted despite himself.
She arched her brows at him, echoing Methos's dare, and Duncan shook his head. His fingers tightened on his drink. He could feel sweat prickling at his pulse points, and an overpowering urge to get the hell out of there. He tried to tell himself that he was misreading the situation, that this wasn't what it seemed--a bald-faced conspiracy between the two of them to seduce him--but he was hard-pressed to read it any other way. As for his resolve of earlier in the day, it had deserted him, and the question of how much of this was Amanda's idea and how much Methos's seemed all-important.
Under the buzz of alcohol and the deep throb of the bass, old feelings stirred within him, and he didn't know any more whether he should be relieved by that, or alarmed. Most of all, he didn't know how to cope with the sudden knowledge that his friends hadn't simply walked away from their shared past the way he'd tried to for so long.
The music changed. It gripped the blood harder, and Duncan found himself draining the rest of his glass, pushing himself away from the bar. He threaded his way through the sea of bodies, feeling himself pulled along by their sexual energy. Caught in the grip of it, he let instinct carry him; what felt like moments or maybe hours later, Amanda was touching his shoulder, his waist, guiding him into the rhythm of her body.
He closed his eyes, but he felt it like a gut punch when Methos closed the circuit behind her, one hand resting at Amanda's hip.
* * *
Duncan had a moment, standing on the curb in the cool, early hours of morning, where he watched the other two kiss with slow, lazy heat, and reason tried to assert itself. He might have balked had Amanda not latched on to his belt and refused to let him back away.
"Amanda--" he said, stiff, avoiding their eyes.
She shut him up by dragging him in, kissing him with salt on her lips. They'd danced for hours, and despite the drinks they'd fed him, Duncan felt all too sober.
Amanda's tongue teased his, and he closed his eyes against the sight of Methos watching them. "Tell it to somebody who hasn't known you for four hundred years," she said when she broke away, voice husky from breathing the fog machine smoke.
Head bent against hers, heart skipping in his chest, he swallowed and nodded.
She pulled him into the back of the taxi; Methos rode up front, the car too small for them to squeeze in together. Duncan held her tucked against him, letting his head fall back against the seat. She seemed content to do nothing more than stroke his hair, a slow, soothing rhythm, and it would have been a lie to say he wasn't glad for the reprieve. Somewhere in the last few hours, he'd gone past turned on into some torturous, low-level state of arousal that seemed to hum under every inch of his skin. The bare, warm silk of Amanda's back made his throat ache, and he was pretty sure that if Methos actually touched him with more than the casual brush of his fingers, he was likely to self-combust.
After hours of deafening noise, the ride home felt eerily silent, the wind from the open windows cool against his face. Duncan closed his eyes and let the sweat dry from his skin, the tension flow out and away. He felt light, unanchored. The man he'd once been felt far away, left behind in some other lifetime.
The car stopped. He was aware of Methos paying the driver, aware of Amanda's hand resting warm and still against his heart. "We're home," he said, and she stirred, smiled up at him as if he'd answered a riddle with the right answer.
They went inside. Duncan felt Methos's presence close behind him. Amanda led the way through darkened hallways, across the moonlit patio, along a breezeway to glass doors and her bedroom beyond. At the threshold, she took his hand and drew him inside.
She left him only long enough to turn on the sound system and put in a CD. Music with a slower, still sensual beat began to play, its low rhythm spilling out from hidden speakers. Eyes on Duncan, she came back and leaned up against him, her breasts soft, her perfume warm and faint now, mixed with the scent of her body; she reached up and drew a hand gently down his cheek, then closed her eyes and kissed him, sweet and full on the lips.
It had been so long that for a moment, he forgot everything else and gave himself to it. They'd always been good together, but never so much as now, years between them and too many regrets to count. Unthinking, he brought his hand up, covered hers, tracing the long lines of her fingers. The haunting music pulsed through him, and he let the kiss draw out, savoring it, then finally letting it go.
She pulled away and reached out a hand. Methos took it and stepped close, bending his head at her urging to kiss her with the same slow care, the same tenderness. The knot of Duncan's response wound deep in his chest. Then Methos pulled back and met his gaze.
Duncan swallowed. Butterflies turned in his stomach, unsteady flutters and underneath, the zero-gravity sensation of vertigo. He could feel Amanda watching them, intent, but couldn't seem to look anywhere but at Methos's leaf-colored eyes. He drew a deep breath.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he brought his hand up and laid it awkwardly on Methos's shoulder, his thumb resting against the warm beat of Methos's pulse. He leaned forward barely knowing he did it; Methos swayed into the motion, so subtly that he hardly moved. It was up to Duncan to close the distance, and he did so, intent now on Methos's mouth as he leaned in, closed his eyes and brought his lips down to brush hesitantly against Methos's.
Methos's breath teased his lips, and he let himself test the softness of Methos's mouth. He held himself still, heart beating fast in his ears. He'd been so sure this would never happen, but here they were, Methos's shoulder warm and solid under Duncan's hand, his lips parting.
Duncan's breath hitched, a soft, choked sound he couldn't help. Without thought he brought his other hand up and stepped in close, held Methos's head still and asked for more with his tongue. With gratifying eagerness, Methos opened his mouth and let him in.
Methos's tongue met his, twined hotly. Duncan groaned. Distantly, he knew Methos's hand found his hip, that they were pressing up against each other, mouths melting together with sudden heat. Duncan's erection met with a solid stiffness when he rubbed their hips together, and the shock of sensation made him shudder and catch his breath.
He broke away and bent his head against Methos's neck, trembling with reaction. Christ, if this was what one kiss was like, he feared for his sanity if they went further.
"Guess that answers that question," Amanda said, fervent approval in her tone.
Duncan swallowed. "Guess it does."
"No argument here," Methos said, sounding as breathless as Duncan felt. "But maybe we better try it again to be sure."
"Tell you what," Amanda said. "You two continue that conversation while I take care of a few things."
When she'd vanished into the bathroom, Duncan turned his head, found Methos's pulse with his lips and tongue. The smell and taste of his skin were immediately addicting, but better still was the way Methos shivered against him when Duncan licked and bit him there, mapping the contours of his throat and jaw. Methos tilted his head back and held Duncan's close, encouraging. His hair, stiff with salt and gel, prickled Duncan's palm. His cock lay hard against Duncan's.
"Tell me what you like," Duncan urged, the stretch of Methos's tank top in his hands and his palms sliding under to find bare skin. He immediately wanted more and raked his fingers up Methos's back, making him gasp. "Tell me--"
Methos answered by pushing himself against Duncan's body and demanding voracious use of his mouth, his tongue. His belt buckle dug into Duncan's stomach and, Jesus, Methos could kiss. Duncan moaned faintly and gave himself up to it willingly, letting Methos have his way.
When they broke again for air, he couldn't help the grin that quirked at his mouth.
"Something funny?" Methos asked, eyebrow raised.
"No, just--" Duncan touched the soft hair at Methos's temple, thinking of how many times he'd wanted to do that. He let his eyes roam over Methos's face, relearning its sharp angles. "How come we never did this before?"
"Because Amanda's not usually one for sharing?" Methos said, amused.
"Besides that," said Duncan. He spread his hands against Methos's muscular back and reveled in the solid feel of him.
Amanda came back into the room and began lighting candles here and there, directing an indulgent look their way. "You boys all right?"
"She seems fine with it now," Duncan observed.
"That's because she's not in love with you any more. At least, she thinks she isn't."
"Mm," Duncan agreed. He studied the bow-shape of Methos's mouth, imagining it stretched around his cock. "And you?"
Methos chuckled. "Me? I'm quite sure she's not in love with me."
"Smartass. You know what I meant."
Methos's lips curved, the sphinx-smile. "Foolish boy."
"You two had enough time to work things out yet?" Amanda teased, coming up behind Duncan and reaching around to unbuckle his belt.
"Maybe in another five centuries or so," Duncan said, and Methos's eyes crinkled at the corners in wry agreement. Duncan finally let him go and brought his hands down to cover Amanda's. He pulled her around in his arms, putting a little distance between himself and Methos so he could breathe. "What are you doing?"
"Just trying to help things along," she said, all innocence. She was barefoot but otherwise still dressed. She cupped Duncan's face in her hands, then took his hand and pulled him playfully toward the bed. When they neared it, she reached up and unfastened a hidden clasp at the back of her neck; the shimmery halter top slipped off and she cast it aside, gloriously bare to the waist save for the silver chain.
Little was said for a while then, as Methos joined him in caressing her breasts, Methos in front and Duncan behind, supporting their weight and stroking the soft curves underneath while Methos kissed and bit her nipples. When she was breathless and flushed, Methos helped Duncan unfasten her jeans and slide them off.
Methos's clothes were next. He was as beautiful and spare as Duncan had always imagined, his cock curving up full and proud against his belly, enough to make Duncan's throat go dry.
Amanda pushed Duncan down to sit on the edge of the bed and knelt behind him, pulling his T-shirt off. This close to temptation, Duncan couldn't help himself; under Methos's hungry gaze, he reached out and pulled the other man to him, closed his eyes and bent to nuzzle his lips against Methos's cock. His tongue slipped out to taste. The salty slickness of Methos's precome slid over his palate and he made a soft sound of need. He wrapped an arm around Methos's hips and sucked him deep, lost in the earthy pleasure of it.
"Mac." Methos sounded ragged, undone. In answer, Duncan teased the sensitive bundle of nerves under the head, and Methos's breath hissed between his teeth. His hand came to rest heavy on Duncan's head. "Mac, please. Stop."
Duncan did as he asked, though it wasn't what he wanted. "Something wrong?" he asked.
Amanda shifted around beside him. She held his gaze, suddenly intent.
"Duncan, listen to me. Look at me. We're not letting you go."
Duncan frowned. "What are you talking about?" She just shook her head, tight, and he looked to Methos for explanation. But Methos's expression held the same intensity, the same anger under the surface.
"It's not that easy, MacLeod. Joe told me how you tried to say goodbye to him in London. Very touching."
Taken aback, Duncan wanted to protest, but he couldn't deny it. It had been goodbye, even if he'd never said the words. Just like he'd intended when he got on that plane for Athens.
"You jerk," Amanda said then, softly. "You didn't really think you'd get away with it, did you? What do you take us for?"
He looked at her; her eyes were wet, and Duncan found himself with tears in his own. Of all the things he'd expected, this wasn't one of them.
"It was never about you," he said, voice rough. "Any of you. You have to know that."
"What I know," said Methos quietly, "is that there comes a time when you have to accept that no one makes it through this life on their own." His gaze held Duncan's, intent. "Trust me, MacLeod. I know of what I speak."
Duncan's chest felt heavy. "Yeah," he said, his blood pounding slow and inexorable. He reached out and stroked Amanda's hair. "I hear you."
"Glad to hear it," Methos said, his eyes bright.
Amanda let out a breathless, relieved laugh. "That makes two of us." She squeezed Duncan's hand, then tugged him back onto the bed, baring her teeth in a play snarl. "Now, do what I say for the next few hours, and I might forgive you."
He gave in, helpless to do anything else. She and Methos together were a formidable force, and they didn't spare him; Amanda held him still and kissed him, scratching patterns on his chest while Methos worked his jeans off. Methos's palms on his bare legs and hips made him shiver. He closed his eyes and lost himself in Amanda's kisses and the powerful rush of need that started to build in his body as they made love to him without shame or hesitation. Methos kissed and bit gently at his neck, his shoulders--he groaned and gave way, rolling onto his back so that Methos could spread himself out on top, their naked bodies coming together with a hot brush of skin.
He broke the kiss with Amanda, looking down with hooded eyes. Methos was braced over him on hands and knees, watching them. Duncan reached for the back of Methos's neck, pulled him up and claimed his mouth, deep and wet and hungry.
Amanda sighed. "Really not going to get tired of that any time soon."
"I know what you mean," Methos said, voice rough when he broke away at last. His eyes raked Duncan's body. "Christ, Mac, I really want to do you. Will you let me?"
Every instinct Duncan possessed said yes before he even had time to think about it. Against the sudden fist of arousal in his belly, he swallowed and tried to draw breath. Beside him, Amanda was holding hers. The thought of her watching made heat flame up his neck, and he couldn't prevent the low shudder that ran through him.
"Yes," he said hoarsely. "I want you to." There'd been no one like that for him since Connor, but there was nothing he wanted more.
"Duncan," Amanda breathed, stroking his hair back off his face. He met her look, saw her reach out and run the backs of her fingers against Methos's arm as if she'd invented the two of them and couldn't be more pleased with the result. She sighed and tucked herself in against him, resting her head against his. "He's going to make you feel so good. Aren't you, Methos?"
"Dangerous little vixen," Methos growled, seizing her hand and mock-biting her wrist. She squeaked, and he apologized with lips and tongue, nipping his way up her arm for a moment before pushing himself back off the bed with easy grace. "Don't go anywhere," he warned them both.
He opened the leather-tooled box on the night stand and took out a jar, setting it within easy reach, then knelt back on the bed between Duncan's knees. "Relax, Duncan," he said, stroking his hands down Duncan's flanks and thighs, then between them, a heated, calculated pressure against his balls and the muscle beneath. Duncan spread his legs and tried to control his breathing but he was as hard as he'd ever been, his cock leaking onto his belly. Methos's eyes were hot on his and he read the urgency there. Later there'd be time for exploration, but this first time was going to be fast, and he wanted it that way. He nodded.
Amanda stroked his side, took his hand. Methos slicked himself with the cream lubricant, then scooped a generous measure of it onto two fingers and reached for the furl of Duncan's opening, pressing in firm but gentle circles.
God-- oh, God. Duncan choked it back, eyes closing despite himself, and turned his face into Amanda's neck. She kissed his cheek, stroked his temple, and Duncan swallowed, his throat dry and his heart beating hard. "Do it," he choked out. Methos's fingers slid into him, and he shuddered, felt his whole body give a heartfelt assent.
He stood it as long as he could. Methos stroked the cream inside him, circled his fingers to loosen the muscle, awakening a deep, thick pleasure that flowed through Duncan in hot waves. At last he couldn't take it any more and surged up, reaching for Methos and pulling his hand out, grabbing him by the balls and slick cock and pushing Methos inside him. Then they were fucking, rough and hard, Methos giving it to him the way he needed it, his own body straining for it. They clutched at each other and Methos wound his fingers in Duncan's hair, licked him open and kissed him, deep and fervent, their breath coming in short, muffled gasps into each other's mouths.
Methos went slowly at first, but it was too much, urgency building before Duncan really wanted it to. "Amanda," Methos managed, breaking away, voice ragged and desperate. He drove into Duncan with fast, forceful thrusts, pushed him down and grabbed Duncan's hips so he could fuck harder.
His cock felt like a hot iron bar sliding inside Duncan, immense and relentless and so good Duncan couldn't think. He didn't know what Methos wanted, didn't care, until a slick, warm hand closed over his cock and stroked nerves that felt like they all fired at once. Duncan threw his head back and panted, riding Methos's thrusts and Amanda's slippery grip on his cock, barely aware of what he was doing when he turned his head and found Amanda's mouth, opening for her tongue with a low moan. His hand found the back of her head; his legs wrapped around Methos's waist and urged him on.
Not letting you go, Methos told him with every thrust, and the throb and hum of Duncan's response overpowered him; he couldn't escape it.
"Methos," Duncan gasped, breaking away as orgasm started to take him. Methos thrust deep and curled in over their bodies. He bent his head to Duncan's shoulder as he shuddered and came, as he cried out and muffled it in Duncan's neck. There might have been words locked in his throat, but he held them back, pulsing hot within Duncan's body and shaking with release.
When it was over, Duncan lay dazed, Methos still pressed inside him. Amanda stroked him through the last of the aftershocks, his own come a sticky mess on his chest and belly. He raised an unsteady hand to the back of Methos's head and rested it there, trying to catch his breath. At last he met Amanda's bright gaze.
She was flushed, arousal written all over her, like she'd been given the Hope diamond all wrapped up in a bow. Duncan cleared his throat.
"Methos," he said, voice husky.
"Mm," Methos responded. He sounded blissed out to within an inch of his life, but when Duncan said nothing else, he finally lifted his head.
He seemed to get it, because he pulled out, eased Duncan's legs down and rubbed at thigh muscles that had started to cramp. Duncan let him go and shifted up with some difficulty, then rolled over on top of Amanda, moving down between her legs.
"You," Duncan growled, low in his throat.
"Oh, my," she breathed, sounding faint.
He buried his face against her. She was so wet he could smell her arousal, sweet and hot, and when he licked her, the taste burst lemony over his tongue. At her cry, he moaned softly and closed his eyes, licking her slow. "Methos, help me out, here," he murmured, circling unhurried over slick heat. She shivered and made the pleading sound he loved so much, the one that told him she hoped he'd never stop doing what he was doing.
When Methos slid around behind her and held her down, Duncan settled in and did his best to oblige.
* * *
Much later, when they lay curled together and spent in the guttering candlelight, Duncan said softly, "You could have given me some warning, you know."
Amanda was out cold, her limbs sprawled and long, graceful feet tucked against Duncan's calves. It was Methos who stirred and looked up, a wan smile finding its way to his lips.
"Where's the fun in that?"
~ end ~