Consent of Twain by Aristide "Naught can constrain consent of twain." —Old English Proverb Methos felt the buzz of Immortal presence as he walked up the ramp of the barge, and his steps quickened a little. Duncan was home, then. Good. He'd thought that MacLeod might do a disappearing act after killing Kalas, despite the happy ending; and Methos had hoped to see the Highlander again before he fled back to Seacouver. Humming a little under his breath, Methos approached the outer door to the barge. He was actually raising his hand to knock when the door sprang open and a black streak leapt out at him. "Mmumph!" Methos managed, backpedaling frantically in an effort not to fall on his ass. There was a lithe body wrapped completely around him, and his face was being smothered in folds of dark silky cloth that smelled of perfume. "Yikes!" he heard faintly, and then hearing and sight returned fully as he was released. "Amanda," he said breathlessly, "what in the world was that about?" Amanda smoothed her rumpled robe, trying hard for a dignity that was somewhat strained on a small, barefoot woman wearing a man's silk lounging robe that was at least ten sizes too big. "Sorry, Methos," she said without a trace of self-consciousness, "I thought you were Duncan." Methos smiled. "Well, if it makes you fling yourself at me, you can go ahead and think so—here, I'll help." He lowered his voice, striving for that dense burr that Duncan manifested when his emotions ran high, "'Och, lassie, gi' me some haggis afor' I go inta' battle!'" Amanda frowned fiercely. "That was truly horrid, Methos," she complained, "you sound like Robert Burns on Quaaludes." "Is that what you drove him to? I never thought it polite of me to ask." Amanda punched him playfully on the arm and Methos chuckled, as if his bicep wasn't completely numb. "I take it he's gone out then?" Methos asked seriously, subduing the urge to rub his offended appendage. Amanda nodded, wrapping the robe more firmly around her body. Methos noticed for the first time that it was quite cool out here this evening, and tried not to stare at the way Amanda's nipples were outlined by the thin silk. "I expect him back soon, as you may have guessed." Methos felt mild embarrassment heating his cheeks, and cursed his telltale pallor. "Well, I'll be going," he mumbled, turning towards the ramp, "will you tell Duncan I stopped by?" "Methos—wait!" Amanda pursued him across the deck, unmindful of the chill wind that plucked at her robe, revealing bare, smooth legs. "What did you want? I mean—do you need me to give him a message?" "Oh no, no message," Methos responded quickly. Did she really think he couldn't take a hint when one was standing mostly naked in front of him? "I was just dropping by—you know..." Amanda was smirking at him, eyes bright behind windblown tangles of hair. "Just a friendly visit?" she asked archly. Methos ignored her tone, forcing his cold hands deep into the pockets of his coat. "Yes. A friendly visit. Just to talk." He felt ridiculously defensive. Amanda turned her head coquettishly to the side, eyeing him up and down. "Just to talk?" she asked, "Not to look?" Heat stained Methos' cheeks again as her question absorbed into his consciousness. "What are you on about, Amanda?" he demanded, meeting her playfulness with cool reserve. Amanda was shaking her head. "Oh no you don't, Methos," she chided, "don't try that haughtier-than-thou act on with me. I'm not blind, you know. I've seen the way you look at him." Methos had honed his reasoning skills to lightning-quickness over five thousand years, giving him ample time to prepare a response calculated to devastate Amanda's pert insinuations. "So what?" he asked irritably. Amanda smiled, moving towards him until they were almost touching, her face turned up to his with teasing confidence. "So..." she said gently, reaching out and taking the lapels of his coat in her small hands, "So—I want to watch." "You want to what?" he asked unbelievingly. The chill night air was much more apparent now, given that he was suddenly so hot he felt like he glowed. Amanda moved a step closer, the only one that remained between them. The folds of the robe she wore rustled against his coat, the sound maddeningly loud to his ears. "Come on, Methos," she said seductively, "I've been waiting for someone like you for a long time. He trusts you, he likes you, and you're very attractive." Methos couldn't believe it but she actually batted her eyelashes, and to his even greater surprise it worked—it was abruptly laughably difficult to maintain his stoic exterior. "Look, Amanda," he said cautiously, reaching to tug at her hands, "I'm very flattered, and I'm sure that you'll be able to—" "Don't try to tell me you don't want him," Amanda said softly, nuzzling herself against him with a gentle wiggling motion that sent chills of delight down his spine; a signal his body hadn't felt in so long it seemed almost new, "you know it would be perfect—I'm hot, he's innocent, and you're—" her hands released him, sliding quickly down to the front of his pants, causing both of them to gasp, "well, you're hung like a horse, for one thing." "Amanda!" he squawked, scandalized, "Let go!" She did, but not before she gave him a tantalizing squeeze. Methos drew in a deep breath, trying to clear the haze of confusion and arousal that seemed to be making everything fuzzy. She was so close, so warm and tempting...but then his mind locked onto one detail, the one thing that remained clear despite all of Amanda's talent. "He'd never go for it, Amanda," Methos said resolutely, shaking his head. "You know it as well as I. I've read his Chronicle—the boy is as straight as they come." He paused and squeezed her just a little, alive to the springy warmth of her body in his arms. "Duncan is not about to tumble into bed with me—not even if you're in it too." Amanda sighed. "Oh ye of little faith," she said, resting the top of her head against Methos' chest. "We trick him into it, silly," she continued, "we have to be sly, plotting, and devious." She looked up at him abruptly, as demanding as a child on a birthday morning. "Do you mean to tell me that you've been alive for five thousand years and you haven't learned how to be devious?" "I have some acquaintance with it," Methos acknowledged dryly. Amanda took his hand and tugged at him, pulling him towards the open door. "Come on, Methos," she insisted, "let's talk about this inside, where it's warm." Methos allowed himself to be led through the door, excitement battling with hesitancy as his stomach tightened. There was an immediate need to back off from the situation, to make sure his head was at least one of the organs involved in this affair. There were possible risks here that should be considered—angles like a faceted diamond that must be studied before the first blow is struck. He hadn't let himself dwell much on his attraction to Duncan. In these relatively easy days of floating through time without regard for the speed of the current, it had been the simplest choice just to let it ride. After all, a wealth of time is a wealth of opportunities, and it was entirely possible that a combination of the passing of years, the evolution of trust, and the inevitable human need to experiment might someday land him in the right place at the right time. He hadn't dwelled on it; and yet Amanda knew. The tingles of excitement muted somewhat at the thought that he had somehow offered up pieces of himself without meaning to. That would be bad. "Amanda—wait a minute," he said, twisting himself out of her grip, "I didn't think I was that obvious. Does Mac have any idea?" Amanda scoffed, smoothing her tangled brown locks. "Mac wouldn't twig unless you walked up to him wearing a sandwich board that said 'I want to get wildly fucked by Duncan MacLeod'. Even then it might slip by him—you'd be amazed at the level of ignorance our boy can attain when he tries." Methos smiled again. He couldn't help it—she was irresistible. "So let me see if I've got this right," he said, "you want me to try and pull an ignorant, heterosexual prude, and you want to watch?" Amanda stepped close to him again, and Methos' senses sparked at the yielding warmth of her body, the subtle musk of perfume and woman, and the certainty that she was naked under Duncan's soft robe. He almost growled. "I don't just want to watch, Methos," she said, one of her hands tickling gently over his hair, "I'd feel horribly left out." "Oh, well, we can't have that now, can we?" His voice was casual, teasing even, but his body didn't feel casual at all. Such licentious promise in her eyes... it had been a very long time since he'd been with anyone, and although his mind was happy to traipse along for years between the rare partners he found who fulfilled his requirements, his body insisted that it was about damn time. Now he let himself go just a little bit, let physical desire overwhelm him as he enfolded Amanda's smaller form, pulling her lips to his own while he slid his thigh between her open legs. He kissed her deeply, languorously, and very, very slowly; gripping her hips to move her more firmly against him. Her mouth was sweet—a wet, open flower that melted under his tongue. He felt her shiver. The hips in his hands arched towards him, and he smiled as he gently released her. Amanda's eyes sparkled with warm brilliance, a heat echoed by her flushed cheeks. "Jesus, Methos," she gasped, one hand pressed to her chest, "forget Duncan—let's go to your place." Methos laughed, and reached out slowly to brush unruly hair back from her brow. "Oh no, Amanda," he said softly, enjoying the heat which loosened his limbs and curled lazily through his insistent erection, "I want you both. Now, don't you think you should tell me your brilliant plan for getting our mutual friend to go along with us?" Amanda sighed, wrapped her arms around herself and bounced with impatience. He smiled again. "I don't think we need a plan," she said disgustedly, "I think I should just hold him down while you kiss him once, and that should do it." Methos raised his eyebrows. "While that idea is not wholly without merit, I think we'd better come up with something a bit more subtle, don't you?" Amanda grinned back at him, her counterfeit pique fading. "Okay Methos—listen up. I'm going to go change, and you're going to start cooking. There's sole marinating in the fridge; make a salad, warm the bread—you know the drill." His smile faded abruptly. "I see. This wasn't about you wanting to have me play with your boyfriend—you just wanted an excuse to give me orders." Amanda immediately went sultry on him. "I haven't even started," she promised, and kissed him softly on the lips. Before he could think of a suitable retort she had gathered up an overnight bag from the floor and disappeared into the bathroom. Methos took his coat off and flung it onto a chair before obediently heading for the kitchen, grinning at his own foolishness when he found himself whistling. By the time Amanda was ready Methos had followed most of her directions, and was languidly chopping various things into a salad while he savored his second beer. He looked up when the bathroom door opened. It had been on his mind to tell her that there hadn't been anything wrong with the way she was when she went in—the robe had been cute in a gamine sort of way. His words stopped as she walked towards him, away from the clouds of steam that had obscured her. Simply put, she looked beautiful, and very elegant, and quite enchantingly dangerous. Her hair was caught in a gold clasp, her body draped in a black velvet dress that left little to the imagination. Methos paused with a red pepper in one hand and a knife in the other, taking her in from her sweetly repainted lips to her black peau de soie pumps. He whistled appreciatively. "He's going to kick me out as soon as he sees you, you know." "No, he's not," Amanda contradicted tartly as she went to the wine rack, "because you're going to be so charming, and I'm going to be so insistent that you stay." It took a moment for the implications of that to sink in. When it did, Methos almost choked on a mouthful of cucumber. "That's your big plan?" he gargled credulously, "you tell him you want me to stay, and he's supposed to go for it?" Only Amanda would think that she could controvert four hundred years of ingrained behavior by being pushy. Amanda patted his hand gently as she hunted for a corkscrew. "Don't make a fuss, Methos—you forget, I have centuries of experience at making him do exactly what I want." Methos sighed and shook his head, but Amanda kept batting her eyes at him and nudging him until he gave it up and smiled, patting her ass encouragingly. If it worked, it worked. If it didn't—well, he could probably convince her to take the blame for the idea—it wasn't in Duncan's nature to hold something like this against her. Especially in that dress. "I look forward to seeing you in action." Amanda's brows went up. "I'll bet." They shared a laugh before settling back to work, and there was a brief but companionable silence. Methos found himself enjoying the simple pleasure of sharing domestic labor with someone; he watched her surreptitiously from beneath lowered lashes as she set the table, poured wine and lit candles, appraising the way she moved sinuously to the soft music she'd chosen. It seemed almost as if he could perceive her age and experience in the gentle progression of her unconscious grace, a manifestation of sensual hedonism that boded well. Excitement was undeniable, despite his doubts that this would actually work—and his doubts were considerable. He pressed his lips together to keep in the inevitable reservations. Sometimes it seemed that his mind was more of an enemy than an ally. Not often, but...sometimes. Soon everything was ready, although there had been some delay in having to produce enough side dishes to make up for the original two- person menu. Amanda took a last critical look at the table and then turned toward him, carelessly flinging away the dishcloth she'd been using as she moved close and snuggled into his chest. "Now," she said huskily, "Duncan has five minutes to get here before I forget the whole thing and take you to bed all by myself. You have a wonderful neck, Methos; have I told you that?" Methos shivered as her fingernails traced over his sensitive throat. Her scent was exquisite; expensive perfume over the subtle musk of arousal. Despite her shower it seemed that he could smell Duncan on her skin—if he gave in now and explored the secret hollows of her body, he knew he would be able to find that scent, track it down to its source... Regretfully he took her hands away, holding them gently in his own. "Not too much of that, if you please," he chided softly, amazed at the steadiness in his voice, "I've been on short rations for a long time, and you're offering me a feast." Amanda's intrigued eyes looked deeply into his. "Really?" she drawled, "How long a time are we talking about?" Brazen tart. He slid his grip to her wrists before clamping down, levering her arms behind her and using them to pull her hard against his renewed erection. "I haven't forgotten anything, if that's what you want to know," he growled into her ear. The pull was undeniable. Even as he told himself not to start something that could possibly be interrupted before he could finish it, his mouth descended, drawn. A brief pause for breath and then he bit and savored the satin skin of her neck, giving in, giving over; dimly hearing her eager gasp as he ground his throbbing, constricted cock against the tender swell of her groin. Amanda went limp in his arms, but her voice had nothing of surrender in it. "Okay, Methos—that's it. Get those clothes off and..." She trailed off as both of them looked up, caught by the sudden wave of Immortal presence. "Oh boy," Methos breathed. "Raincheck," Amanda whispered, sliding out of his arms. Methos grimaced as a moment of panic tightened his breath, willing himself to relax. At least the sudden rush of adrenaline had helped reduce the tension in one particular part of his anatomy—it would have been very odd to greet Duncan while sporting a tent. He reached into his jeans to adjust his aching organ. "Methos!" Amanda hissed, sotto voce, "Not yet—let me talk to him first!" Duncan entered the room on the warm wave of their laughter. It was a wonderful meal. No matter what happened after, Methos thought, the evening had been a success. Duncan had evidenced a certain reluctance to eat until Amanda swore that Methos had cooked, at which point he sat down gladly. Wine, stories and humor then flowed freely, and the three of them ate until the dishes were scraped clean. Methos enjoyed everything; the companionship, the warmth, and the smoky, knowing glances that Amanda sent him every time Duncan's attention was elsewhere. She really was delightfully deviant—it wasn't often that he met someone who took as much pleasure as he did in beguiling virtuous innocents. Duncan was perfect as the unsullied lamb between two wolves; sweetly lecherous with Amanda, bantering good-naturedly with Methos, and completely oblivious of the sinister forces plotting his ruin through amiable smiles. The food was long gone, and now the wine went the same way as Duncan poured the last of the second bottle equally between three raised glasses. "This was a wonderful surprise," Duncan said earnestly, tipping his glass to Methos. "Again—my compliments to the chef." Methos could feel it coming, the polite hint that he should make himself scarce. Before he could even look at Amanda she took care of it; pulling gently at Duncan's wineglass and leaning toward him to display a generous amount of cleavage. "Duncan, will you make us some coffee? I'd really love some right now." Methos suppressed a grin. Perhaps this would work after all-Duncan seemed utterly susceptible to Amanda's manipulations—not that Methos could blame him. He watched in amusement as Duncan wobbled, starry-eyed and obedient, into the kitchen, and then followed Amanda's insistent grip on his hand as she pulled him towards the couch. They sat cozily side by side, and Methos found himself wavering between two strange extremes of arousal and absurdity. Duncan was still in the kitchen making a racket with the coffeepot when Amanda grazed him under the cover of a giggle; her whisper soft thunder in his ear. "When I cue you, go to the bathroom." He rolled his eyes at her, about to make a crack regarding Morse code when she smiled, crossed her legs high, and drew his hand briefly over the tops of her black stockings. Nice. Very nice. Methos was wondering what sort of revenge he should take when Duncan arrived. "Coffee's brewing," Duncan said apologetically, lowering himself onto the couch on the other side of Amanda. Methos hadn't noticed exactly when she'd lowered her skirt, but there was no impropriety evident when Duncan leaned toward them, taking Amanda's hand. "So," Duncan asked, his eyes bright and so warm that Methos felt the weight of his gaze, "what are you two talking about?" "I was just saying that it's too bad that Methos didn't have a date for this little get-together," Amanda replied vivaciously, "we could have gone to a film, or something." "There's nothing wrong with just the three of us, Amanda," Duncan said, almost chiding her. Methos bit his lips. "Yes, I know, but—it makes me wonder—" she turned toward him, for all the world the picture of solicitous curiosity. "Do you have anyone special right now, Methos?" His face heated as he blushed—that was good, very convincing—too bad Duncan would never know that he was blushing at Amanda's shameless tactics. As it was, he played the part, looking away from them slightly. "Not right now," he said softly, "I'm too picky." Duncan, always alive to a possible sensitivity, of course tried to rescue him. "Amanda," he said testily, "just because Methos doesn't currently have a girlfriend—" "Or a boyfriend?" Amanda interrupted brightly, turning towards Methos. Over her shoulder he saw Duncan's mouth flap open in shock. "No," Methos replied blandly with just the smallest trace of regret, "no boyfriend either." He sighed a bit. Oh—this was just too much fun—he'd be laughing about this one for decades... Now Amanda turned to Duncan, and Methos marveled at her self- control as she sighed in frustration that would have convinced a polygraph. "Mac, you're catching flies," she remarked dryly. Duncan closed his mouth with a snap. His eyes were much wider and less warm than they had been, but Methos didn't find them any less appealing. "What's your problem, Duncan?" Amanda continued, suitably demanding, "Is there something wrong with the idea of Methos having a boyfriend?" Methos thought he could get used to this. Watching Duncan MacLeod squirm in agony was quite pleasant in its own way. "No!" Duncan insisted too quickly and too loudly, all the while staring at Methos as if he'd sprouted horns. "Of course not!" Amanda brightened. "Oh good. For a moment there I thought you were going to go all Victorian on me." Methos was enjoying this immensely, enough so that he actually regretted it when Amanda gave him his cue, her warm thigh squeezed purposefully yet subtly against his knee. He stood, finding it harder than he'd expected to look demure. "Excuse me," he said quietly. "Mac—may I use your bathroom?" He stole a quick glance at the Highlander, tickled by the combined look of confusion, wariness and feigned nonchalance that blended so uneasily on normally placid features. "Of course!" Duncan said too heartily. Methos turned away quickly before his own grin of merriment could spoil the mood—MacLeod had been sophisticated enough to stop himself from saying 'of course any bisexual friend of mine can use my bathroom', but Methos guessed that it had been a near thing. He mumbled his thanks as he strolled away, and managed to wait until he was behind the closed door with the tap running before he broke into satisfied chuckles. At least this wouldn't be a dull evening, he reflected giddily. Little by little he forced himself into a more sober mood, turning his thoughts to the question of whether Amanda would be able to pull this off. He hoped so—he'd spoken the truth to her when he'd said that he wanted them both. They were both very appealing to him; Amanda wild and uninhibited and lovely, Duncan more reserved but full of hints about the passion that might lie buried deep within that splendid and disciplined body. Overcoming those reservations, that captivating hesitancy... was there any game more worth playing? His mind suddenly contributed an image of himself as the filling in a Duncan/Amanda sandwich, and he smiled. It could be good. It could, in fact, possibly be spectacular. He sat for a moment on the closed lid of the toilet, pushing such tantalizing thoughts aside. It would never do to be overeager. He shut his eyes. Adam Pierson. Harmless, bashful Adam. There he was, behind Methos' closed eyes in all his gormless grad-student splendor. Who could possibly be afraid of such a sweet, self-effacing geek? When his raging erection had subsided and it seemed that a decent interval had passed, Methos washed his hands and tried to quell the flutters of excitement that shivered in his stomach. He opened the door and walked into the main room, hoping for the best, his face a study in innocence. Methos was impressed—Amanda must be very good indeed. Duncan looked both terrified and determined, his cheeks glowed deep rose beneath clear olive skin. Beautiful. They'd both turned towards him as soon as he entered, standing tete-a- tete next to the couch. Methos offered what he hoped was a friendly and nonthreatening smile, coaxing a nervous grin from Duncan. "Well folks," Methos began, heading for his abandoned coat, "I'm sure you have a full agenda for the evening, so I'll just wish you—" "Uh... Methos," Duncan interrupted. Methos paused, pretending not to notice Amanda's elbow sunk deep into the Highlander's ribs. "Before you go, I... um, Amanda... I mean, we..." Methos stopped moving, carefully gauging the balance between wide- eyed innocence and polite curiosity. Duncan swallowed and lowered his eyes, and Methos' gaze flashed to Amanda. She was on the edge of laughter, clamping her lips together, and Methos looked away quickly before her barely repressed mirth could ignite his own. His stomach hurt, actually hurt from trying to hold it in. "We were wondering," Duncan continued nervously, "if you might like to stay with us tonight." Methos wasn't about to make it easy—this was too perfect. He maintained his open expression. "Sure," he mumbled meekly, "I'll take the couch, if you're certain I wouldn't be intruding..." Duncan looked at Amanda in an apparent panic, and Methos realized that Mac had gone as far as he was willing to go. Methos opened his mouth to rescue the situation before it could deteriorate totally, but before he could speak Amanda rose to the occasion, moving towards him with feline grace. As soon as her back was to Duncan she favored Methos with a look that would have had him drawn and quartered, if looks could maim. His mouth twitched. He couldn't help it. "No, Methos," she said seductively, her soft voice in stark contrast with the malice in her eyes, "he means stay with us—with both of us." Her hand rested gently on his arm, but Methos felt each fingernail poised for assault, and figured he'd better abandon his babe in the woods act before it got him into mortal danger. Methos went for the Oscar. He paused for a beat of time, allowing the penny to drop before he turned to Duncan. All hesitation and uncertainty, he almost wished it wasn't quite this much fun. "Mac—I didn't know you... that you were so inclined," he finished shyly. Duncan had turned a lovely shade of red. "Well," he said, aiming for a worldly tone that spoke volumes about his lack of experience, "I don't really know if I am or not." His voice wobbled on the last syllable, and he stopped to clear his throat. "It's been a long time." Methos was enchanted. He wondered briefly what fumbling boyhood experiences Mac was drawing on, and determined to weasel it out of him later, if all went according to plan. "Well then," Methos said calmly, slipping one arm companionably around Amanda's waist, "how can I decline such a gracious offer from two such kind hosts?" "Don't feel obligated, Methos," Duncan said desperately. Methos struggled with a wild burst of laughter. "We don't want you to do anything you'd rather not..." "Get over here, Duncan," Amanda snapped, holding her hand out insistently. Damn, she was good. Duncan smiled nervously. "Yes, okay," he said, not budging an inch. A pause, and then Methos heard Amanda's impatient sigh. "Well, um..." Duncan continued slowly, "I've been running, and I need a shower. Why don't you two get settled, and I'll be right back?" Duncan didn't wait for their response, but headed for the bathroom without another glance, closing the door behind him. Methos leaned into the curve of Amanda's neck, shaking with stifled laughter. They held each other up for a few moments, perfect partners in crime. When the giggles dried up Methos pulled away, smiling at her and tweaking her nose playfully. "I don't believe you got him to do that," he whispered, conspiratorially, "now if we can only stop him from dying of heart failure before we get started..." "He'll relax eventually," Amanda insisted staunchly, "as soon as he gets over the fact that he's attracted to you." Methos looked at her; the urge to laugh evaporated by a sudden rush of heat and intrigue. "Oh yes," she continued, "he is. He just doesn't know how to deal with it yet." Methos felt absurdly pleased. He took her hand and placed a gentle, lingering kiss on the palm. "So, my Sublime Queen of Manipulators, what should we do to relax him?" Amanda thought a moment, and her lips pouted prettily, tempting him to kiss her again. Soon enough, he promised himself. If he got her started again... "How are you at massage?" she asked, taking his hands and pulling them towards her breasts, "I'll bet you're good with your hands—" He gave her a brief squeeze, relishing warm, velvet-covered curves, then wiggled his fingers in front of her. "Give me some oil and clear the decks, woman," he said commandingly, "if I can't make him comfortable I can at least make him slippery and limp." Amanda elbowed him hard. "Damn it, Methos," she whispered, sputtering, "don't make me laugh! He'll think we're plotting something!" The scene was nicely set before Duncan returned. There was low, torchy music on the stereo—Methos had offered to run out to buy a copy of the three-hour extended mix of 'Love to Love you, Baby' and a ceiling mirror, but Amanda only thwacked him soundly with the pillow she was fluffing. Candles were lit, the bed turned down invitingly, all in all a charming place for a seduction, Methos thought. He was debating whether or not to open another bottle of wine when a warm body pressed insistently against his back and two small hands slid around his waist, driving all thoughts of Montrachet from his mind. "Mmm," Amanda purred as her hands burrowed under his sweater to stroke his chest, "I feel like it's my birthday and Christmas all rolled into one." He turned to face her. Her eyes were wide and liquid, her lips invitingly open; sweetly impatient. He ran gentle fingertips from her throat to her cleavage, surreptitiously opening the top button of her dress. "We'd better unwrap you then," he joked quietly. Buttons opened obediently for his nimble fingers, and within moments her dress fell away with a velvet rustle. "How much do you think we should... um, take off?" he whispered, sliding his fingers under the thin straps of her camisole. Amanda shivered. "Personally, Methos, I don't think you should be wearing anything but sweat and a smile, but I think our boy might find that a bit of a challenge." They shared another moment of hushed laughter, and Methos kissed the top of her head fondly as she started to tug at his sweater. They undressed each other slowly, teasingly, and by the time the bathroom door opened with a cloud of steam both of them were on the bed. Methos, after a tug-of-war in which he'd had to resort to dirty tricks, had managed to retain his boxer shorts; but evidently Amanda had forgiven him—she acceded to his request, and kept her garter stockings and pumps on. Duncan emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped securely around his waist; damp hair combed back to a seal-shiny pelt. He examined the room curiously before approaching them with a tight smile. Methos smiled in return, a genuine but wasted effort—Mac's eyes skipped away from him, focusing instead on Amanda. "Hi," Duncan said softly, unconsciously emphasizing his musculature by running his hands over his own wet hair. Methos felt the back of his neck prickle, a tingling rush of energy that warmed him. "Hi," he returned amiably, "welcome back." "Lay down," Amanda coaxed, patting the empty space beside her. Duncan stretched out next to them, one hand locked around his towel as if it might fly off. Methos bit his lips to stifle a grin. Amanda, bless her hedonistic soul, was more than equal to the task of breaking the ice. As soon as Duncan was settled she grabbed his face, pulling him down and into a kiss. Duncan made a muffled noise of surprise but no real protest, and his hand came to rest on her bare waist. Methos watched them kiss, and felt himself begin to stir as he placed a hand on Amanda's slightly hollowed stomach. He slid upwards, tracing a gentle line until his hand covered Duncan's. MacLeod stiffened at Methos' touch, but Amanda had the Highlander's head in a deathgrip, and after a few moments of tension, he relaxed. Methos sampled the texture of warm, still-damp skin, brushing his fingertips over the fine hairs of the other man's forearm, noting the goosebumps that immediately raised on the darker flesh. He explored the curves of Duncan's muscular shoulder before slipping upward behind the other man's neck, tingling again as silky strands of hair delighted his fingers. Against his side Amanda began to writhe with arousal, and the tidal shifting of her body increased his own desire. He stroked down Duncan's arm until he had the other man's hand in his own, pulling gently, leading their joined hands downward between Amanda's trembling legs. Duncan's gasp was barely audible under Amanda's groan, and Methos felt an erotic convulsion shake his own system as he slid his and Duncan's fingers through deliciously wet female flesh. The other man pulled away from Amanda's suddenly weakened grip, and Methos found himself meeting smoldering, chocolate-brown eyes. "You seem to know what you're doing," Duncan said with a trace of uncertainty. "I've been around the block a time or two," Methos remarked dryly, knowing that the time for sham innocence had passed. Duncan was here, in bed; no signs of running away except the new fear in his eyes. Methos saw the hunger behind it, however; desire that waited only for the right circumstances to call it forth—a tale told in a silent language, a story Methos knew well in a dialect he spoke fluently. "Feel how much she wants you," he said softly, moving the other man's fingers lower, "she's so wet, Duncan, she's just dripping—feel how her body pulls at you, shaking with the pleasure you're giving her." Amanda sighed deeply, her hips lifting towards their joined hands. Duncan licked his lips nervously, but the heat in his eyes flared in contradiction. "You're talking about her as if she isn't here," he said hesitantly. "We both know she's here," Methos said gently, turning his head toward Amanda. "Everything all right, love?" "Oh my God," Amanda managed, her head arched back to expose her delicate neck. Methos smiled, and lowered himself to her nipple. Her breasts were small and lovely, and Methos savored the one closest to him, using his teeth with gentle pressure and the friction of his tongue until he felt her entire body arch in response. From the corner of his eye he saw MacLeod following his example, both of them immediately rewarded by Amanda's cries of pleasure. Methos was achingly erect now; his cock painfully neglected as he lavished Amanda with every caress that might please her. He felt Duncan's fingers beneath his own, pumping smoothly in and out of her drenched body while Methos slowly stroked her clitoris. Despite the leisurely pace he knew Amanda would come soon; her muscles fluttered spasmodically, and her hips were doing all sorts of limber gyrations in an attempt to have more of them. Methos raised his head a little and looked briefly at Amanda, but she was utterly lost, her brows drawn together in passion as her head tossed on the pillow. He turned to Duncan, equally lost in tracing her rosy nipple with the tip of his tongue, locks of clean hair nearly obscuring his face. Time for the next step. He took a deep breath. "Duncan," he said softly. As soon as Mac lifted from Amanda's breast Methos leaned forward and took his mouth, pressing against him with a demanding, needy, openmouthed kiss. Methos nearly lost his own tongue as Duncan drew in a sharp gasp and twitched galvanically. He felt the sudden pressure as Duncan plunged violently into Amanda's sheath, stimulation that in turn pushed her finally over the edge. Methos felt her orgasm deepen his own hunger, burning him—she cried out their names in ecstasy as they kissed above her heaving body, their joined hands buried in throbbing wetness. Duncan's lips opened fully to him for just a moment, and Methos reveled in the slick softness of the other man's mouth, enjoying the faint abrasion of stubble against his own sensitive skin. He moaned, and Duncan gasped again. It all seemed to be over far too soon, and Methos forced himself to back away. One last shiver below, and then he pulled his fingers gently from between Amanda's quiescent thighs. Duncan stared at him with a combined look of trepidation and lust, and Methos smiled gently. "Well," Methos breathed, "at least that's taken the edge off for her." Duncan actually smiled back at him, one eyebrow lifted quizzically. "You obviously don't know Amanda very well," he muttered. "What—" That was as far as Methos got before two strong hands latched onto his arms, and before he knew it he was flat on his back with a desperate and extremely aroused woman pinning him to the bed. "Get inside me before I kill you," Amanda hissed, straddling one of his thighs moistly as she yanked at his boxers. "Hey—okay—wait...Ow!" it occurred to him that he probably should have anticipated this. Methos had purchased sensible, sturdy cotton boxer shorts, but they lasted maybe three seconds under Amanda's assault. He surrendered before she could start tearing into the rest of him, took her hips firmly in his hands and guided her onto his erect shaft. Amanda moaned loudly as she sank down onto him, and Methos echoed her as he felt himself buried in slick wet heat. She shivered vibrantly, alive to his touch; opening, responding, answering every caress as she moved smoothly over him. Methos bit his lip and just let her use him as she wished—her demands increased in violence and urgency, sweeping over any resistance he might have made. Not that he would resist her at this point. He wasn't stupid. Feeling almost as if he were being mauled by a force of nature, Methos tried to steady his breathing, to bring his body into some semblance of control. Excruciating pleasure was all very well and good, but if he came before she finished she would probably kill him. He turned his head and saw Mac watching them avidly; his eyes wide and hot as he knelt beside them. Methos saw that he'd lost the towel, and that his cock was standing rigidly up from a dark forest of curls, a thick erection ridged with veins, crowned over the foreskin by a smooth, purple head that made Methos' mouth water. "Duncan," Methos gasped, his shoulders aching as Amanda sank her nails into him, "don't just sit there and watch—help me!" "Right—sorry," Duncan said apologetically, shaking his head as if shaking off a dream, "it's just that I've never just watched her..." "Come on, Duncan," Amanda gasped, leaning forward over Methos' body, "I want both of you..." Methos shivered when he felt Duncan's weight settle onto his lower thighs behind Amanda. The silky moistness around him was incredibly tempting, and he had to struggle to remain still as the massage oil was fumbled for, found, handed, poured and used. Methos found himself staring into two pairs of overheated eyes, trying not to move, trying not to groan with pleasure, trying not to explode. Amanda had pulled almost completely away from him, and over her shoulder Duncan winced with evident discomfort. "I don't want to hurt you," Duncan managed. Methos could see the effort the other man was making to go slowly, but it was surely, positively going to drive him mad... "That doesn't hurt!" Amanda insisted frantically. Methos would have applauded her if he hadn't been otherwise occupied. The tip of his cock was squeezed ruthlessly as both men tried to find room within her body; every sense attuned to an incredible detail of sensation—he felt every throb of Duncan pulsing against him as they worked their way slowly inside her. The two of them shared the welcome responsibility of supporting Amanda, her muscles gone lax as she was overwhelmed with either pain or pleasure. Soon Methos was completely sheathed in exquisite tightness; his shaft pounded with constricted blood as it rubbed minutely against Duncan's through the fragile wall that separated them. Amanda moaned repeatedly as Methos stroked her shivering thighs, her face beautifully abandoned, utterly lost. Over her shoulder Methos saw Duncan bite his lower lip. Poor boy. To be so checked by consideration, so completely caught by the demand to stay in control of everything... "Duncan," he whispered, just loud enough to be heard over Amanda, "it's up to you now. Can you feel me, pushing against you?" "Yes," Duncan gasped, shaking long hair back from his eyes; "I don't want to hurt her." Methos reached lower, and his hands found a grip on the other man's straining, muscular thighs. "You won't," he assured quietly, teasing the dark skin under his fingers, "take her, Duncan—take both of us. Show us what you can do." "Methos..." it wasn't a question or a protest; simply a statement. It warmed him, thrilled him; it told him that Duncan was aware of this moment, alive to the closeness they shared as Duncan began to move, stroking his cock with each gentle thrust. "Yes," Methos responded, his body arching under the delirious pleasure, "I feel you." He certainly did. Duncan moved faster, causing waves of heat that spiraled from deep within to tingle through every nerve. It was almost enough...it was definitely too much...it was so bloody perfect... Methos released one of Duncan's thighs and slid his hand around to dip his thumb into the well of sleek moisture between her legs, starting a firm massage of her lovely, swollen flesh. She responded immediately; her moans took on a desperate edge as she struggled to open herself further, to give him greater access. A few more gentle strokes and Amanda came, so softly and vulnerably that it made Methos' heart pound. He watched with undiminished hunger as Duncan pressed deep and held her while she cried out, dark arms wrapped firmly around her shuddering, twisting body. Methos groaned as her internal muscles rippled over him like some kind of tangible melody, engulfing him, pressing his aching cock even harder against Duncan's. There was a brief pause; a moment when he and Mac simply basked in Amanda's cresting pleasure. Then she moved again, her hips rocking back and forth with renewed demand. "Again," she gasped, one hand groping backwards to caress Duncan, the other scratching a burning path down Methos' chest, "please—yes..." "Give her what she wants, Duncan," Methos panted as he felt her need blend seamlessly with his own, "let it go..." Duncan's face was tight with restraint, and he shook his head. "No—" he murmured. "Yes!" Methos and Amanda chorused, a harmony of demand. Methos shifted and pulled her hips down hard, tilting her, spreading her further open for Duncan's cock. With a desperate groan Duncan obeyed their joint imperative; his hands tangled fiercely with Methos' around Amanda's hips as he thrust hard into her. Amanda repeated the affirmative over and over as Duncan took her, her body squeezing Methos repeatedly as she climaxed. Methos couldn't say anything—he could only express the extremity of animal desire in low, guttural moans; moving closer, moving up, lifting with all his strength into hot, tight, wet welcome. Methos slid relentlessly deeper as Amanda shuddered around him; Duncan shoved against him; wonderfully ruthless, wonderfully demanding—finally... oh yes... He struggled for control until he felt Duncan swelling, stretching the delicate skin that surrounded them to the utmost limit, pulses as hard and fierce as the beat of a drum. With a sudden moment of dizzying intensity Methos realized that Duncan was looking deeply into his eyes, groaning with ecstasy, watching him over Amanda's shoulder as she sobbed. Methos felt every spasm of the other man's passion as much as his own; his heart thundered in his chest as Duncan throbbed against him, coming with him, joined to him through the tender medium of Amanda's body. By slow degrees Amanda slumped forward onto Methos' chest. Both men supported her, lowering her gently. She was terrifically hot and drenched with sweat, but Methos embraced her gratefully nonetheless; held her with one arm while his other hand caressed Duncan's thigh— soothing, comforting, holding both of them as close as he could. Cold air iced his lower body as Duncan pulled slowly away, and Amanda shivered slightly in his embrace as they both slipped out of her. Duncan stretched out beside them, and leaned close to Amanda's face to stroke her hair. "That was incredible," Duncan murmured. "Amazing," Methos contributed, panting. "Humph," was all Amanda could manage. Time stretched out, each elongated moment pausing in an endless swell of peace. Methos sighed, happy to drift through this interlude without the accustomed clamor of his thoughts. He and Duncan took turns cuddling Amanda while heartbeats and respiration slowed, and Methos relished the damp skin that pressed his own as sweat slowly dried in the cool air. Amanda returned to his lips again and again; her mouth flavored with the salty tang of Duncan. Methos tasted her deeply, passion transformed for now into a quiet sharing of tenderness. He knew that Duncan watched them kiss, and he wondered briefly about jealousy now that the three of them weren't insane with lust, but apparently the Highlander had adjusted nicely to the idea of sharing his toys. He smiled at the thought, and Amanda bit his nose softly. Finally she moved away from both of them, turning to kneel on the bed while she stretched languorously and sighed. "Shower," she said firmly, her nose wrinkling, "I think we all need one." Methos echoed her sigh, catching her playful tone as if it were infectious, and sat up. "We stink, therefore we bathe," he said unnecessarily; and reached out to rumple her tangled hair. Amanda frowned at him, shaking her head. "You ought to be flogged," she murmured derisively, slapping his hand away. Irresistibly cute. He smiled, benign. "Humor is what separates us from the rest of the beasts," he insisted. She couldn't defy him for long, and a grudging smirk finally surfaced. "Oh yeah?" she retorted, "Well, your humor is what separates you from anyone who has tact, taste, or decency." She drove her point home with one finger, poking him in the ribs. An act of war. Methos tackled her, and subdued her quickly amidst the rumpled bedclothes. He was about to make a comment about people who preached decency immediately after what must have been at least ten orgasms, when he caught MacLeod's face out of the corner of his eye. Duncan's features were grim and tense with disapproval, and his body looked absolutely rigid. Hmm... Maybe jealousy wasn't unknown here after all... "Hey," Methos said to him softly, "don't mind us, we're just playing around." "I can see that," Duncan said curtly, moving to his feet in one smooth motion. "I'll be in the shower." Methos didn't stop him. If the Highlander needed time, well—time was something all three of them had plenty of, after all. Amanda sighed as Duncan disappeared, and leaned her head against Methos' arm. "Oh jeez," she muttered, "not another spasm of MacLeodian angst—just when I was feeling so good..." Methos patted her shoulder. "He's young," he said consolingly. Amanda raised her head, frowning again. "He's a weenie," she snarled. Methos wiggled his eyebrows at her. "A really big weenie," he murmured with exaggerated awe, "a really big weenie, Amanda!" She laughed with him then, slumped bonelessly against him as she chuckled. He held her close, breathing in her scent—truly staggering after their recent experience—and felt his penis stir in response. She was so warm and pliant in his arms, and smelled so much like a woman who'd just been thoroughly ploughed by two men... Amanda was immediately aware of his arousal. Her giggles tapered off quickly as she snuggled against him, and her cool, adroit fingers circled his stiffening shaft. Methos clenched his teeth with effort, and moved her gently away. "In the shower, Amanda—now!" he insisted, rising to his feet, "Duncan would never forgive us if we started without him." Amanda crossed her arms and tried to wither him with a glare. "Oh— fuck Duncan!" she said petulantly. "Don't mind if I do," Methos retorted, ignoring her giggles as he dragged her towards the bathroom. Duncan maintained his icy, distant behavior for about thirty seconds before he got caught up in Amanda's infectious playfulness. The Highlander's tense pout relaxed into a smile; a gentle, uninhibited smile that Methos had never seen on him before. Within three minutes Amanda had won Duncan over completely, and now she berated him soundly for the lack of forethought that had resulted in having a shower that could barely fit three people. In keeping with her reputation as a woman who took advantage of opportunities when they presented themselves, Amanda kept snapping Duncan's buttocks with a wet washcloth every time his back was turned, blaming it on Methos. In retaliation the two men ganged up on her; and Duncan restrained her from behind while Methos tickled her mercilessly. Amanda was drenched and shrieking in Duncan's arms, and despite the light mood of the moment Methos felt something dark and appealing stir through him at the sight. The two of them presented a beautiful picture of demand and unwilling submission; locked in struggle under cascading water. Methos stopped tickling and moved his hands from Amanda's ribs to her breasts; an unexpected, urgent caress that stopped her in mid- shriek. His cock stiffened. Abruptly, Duncan looked up into Methos' eyes. Methos watched the Highlander's grin fade away as he stepped close to both of them, his face only centimeters from Duncan's as he crushed Amanda between them. "You really want to make her pay?" he asked suggestively. There was no sound from Amanda, even though his hands were rough and insistent on the tender weight of her breasts as he looked at MacLeod in blatant challenge. Duncan looked lost. "What?" he asked uncertainly. Methos kept their gazes locked as squeezed slowly downward from breast to thigh. Amanda gasped. "We really should punish her," he murmured calmly, sliding one hand up and inwards to cup her groin. Satin flesh shivered under his touch. "Hold her for me—will you, Duncan?" Duncan's nervousness was apparent and immediate; his cheeks flushed as he looked down at Amanda in response to her sudden, violent moan. "What are you—you're not going to hurt her..." "I'm not," Methos assured him, brushing Amanda with the lightest of touches against her delicate vulva, making her twist in Duncan's grasp, "I'm just going to make her pay for being such a hot, teasing little strumpet, Mac, and I want you to make sure she can't get away..." Duncan remained unconvinced. "I don't think—" Support arrived from an unexpected source as Amanda's head whipped upwards; water splashing all of them. "Don't think, Duncan—just do it!" she gasped. "Okay," Duncan said sullenly. Methos struggled not to smile; the Highlander looked as if he had just agreed to impromptu dental surgery. It was enough—grudging acquiescence was still acquiescence, after all. "Thank you," he said politely. Duncan didn't respond. Methos turned to Amanda, smiling gently at her. "What safeword do you want?" Amanda's eyes were luminous, inviting, deep with desire. "Paris," she said dreamily. He turned his grin to Duncan; hoping somehow to bridge the gap this new fear had opened between them. "If she says 'Paris', let her go. Anything else, just hold on. Okay?" Mac wouldn't look at him. Methos waited. Finally Duncan blinked water out of his eyes, and leaned down to Amanda. "You're sure about this?" Amanda leaned contentedly back against him, smiling into his concerned face. "Absolutely," she replied gently, "It's what I want." Methos allowed himself a faint smile. She was something, all right... Duncan shrugged as his hands tightened on her arms. "Okay then— whatever." Methos would have liked to kiss those pouting, unhappy lips; he didn't think Duncan could possibly maintain that frown while Methos sucked on his tongue... but now wasn't the time. He kissed Amanda instead, holding her chin while he pressed deeply into her mouth. He caught her lower lip in his teeth, and captured her groan of desire as he bit down. He ravished her mouth for a long, dizzy time, all the while refusing her body's demand for further stimulation. He still cupped her between the legs, but he only teased slightly, gliding through dripping water with feather touches. She panted for air when he finally released her lips. He paused for a moment, admiring the hectic patches of color that brightened her cheeks. "We've been very good to you—haven't we, Amanda?" he murmured seductively, one finger tracing her mouth. She shivered. "Yes," she sighed, "you've both been... so good to me—" "And you've been very wicked, haven't you?" he chided with mock sternness. "Awful—Evil—Very bad!" she agreed, writhing in Duncan's grasp. Adorable brat. "Shall I punish you for it?" he asked gently as his finger sloped down to tease one erect nipple in slow circles. "Oh ...I don't..." she breathed, arching into his touch. She sighed quietly, but that was all. Methos turned his attention to Duncan, and his body flushed warm with gratification and lust when he saw that grudging obedience had become desire. The Highlander's gaze was hot and unfocused, and his cherubic lips parted to allow quick, panting sips of air. Their eyes met. It was almost shockingly arousing, the connection between them, and Methos had to forcibly repress his own urges, reminding himself that right now both of them were devoted solely to the mastery and pleasure of the woman who squirmed between them. He smiled what he hoped was an encouraging smile, and then looked back at Amanda. "Can you feel him behind you, Amanda? Do you feel his cock pushing against you?" He pitched his voice low, just loud enough to fill the little world the three of them shared. Amanda sighed again. "Yes, I—oh yes..." "You want him, don't you?" Methos demanded. "I want him," she admitted, leaning backwards. Methos grinned evilly, capturing her eyes. "You can't have him. We're going to punish you first." Amanda whimpered, her head tossing in refusal, scattering droplets over all three of them. "Oh no," she protested, "no—no—no..." "Yes, Amanda; right now." He looked to Duncan. "Remember—Paris." Duncan nodded, his eyes nearly black, his hands tight on Amanda's arms. "I'm with you." Again Methos felt the urge to kiss him like thirst on his tongue, but refrained. Instead he sank to his knees on the floor of the shower, almost welcoming the discomfort of the hard porcelain as a distraction from the ache in his groin. He gripped Amanda's ankles firmly, pulling her legs open. Amanda uttered a very convincing cry of distress, heating Methos' blood further and eliciting a hiss from Duncan. "No—please," she moaned, "what are you going to..." Her body wrenched as Methos pressed his mouth to her center, the tip of his tongue barely dipping into her. Despite the flow of water she was slippery with arousal—musky, salty and sweet, a perfect seashell of woman. He growled with satisfaction. "No," she repeated as he licked slowly over the sleek bud of her clitoris, "no... oh yes... yes—please, don't stop..." He teased her unmercifully, flicking, tasting, smoothing; pulling away every time her hips thrust toward him. His grip on her ankles prevented her from wrapping her legs around his head, but he had to fight her on it. When she finally sobbed with frustration he switched tactics; and pressed deeply into her without moving at all. Amanda went wild, almost pulling free from both pairs of hands as she struggled desperately. She begged ceaselessly between frantic gasps for breath, interspersed with piteous moans of despair. Methos kept her trembling on the very edge of release, no quarter given as he calculated how much he thought she could take, always stopping just short of completion. The focused teasing made Methos' own desire bearable—he remained cool and distant, invulnerable to the demands of lust as he licked, sucked and nibbled on Amanda's tormented flesh. He'd promised punishment, and that was exactly what she'd get. Attuned to her with every sense, he heard Amanda turn her appeals to Duncan, telling him in graphic detail exactly how she would please him if he would only let her go. Over her stammered entreaties Methos heard the Highlander growling low in his throat—a wanton, carnal sound that jolted him with erotic longing. Enough already. Slowly Methos pulled back from Amanda, ignoring her cry of protest. "So tell me, love," he said calmly, looking up at her flushed face, "do you want to come now?" Water couldn't obscure the real tears that welled in her eyes, touching Methos with the sweetness of control. "Please," she sobbed, her whole body limp, "anything—I'll be so good to you..." Duncan's head appeared over her shoulder, fierce eyes burning with desire. Methos knew that look, although it was a shock to see it on Duncan's face. Power. Duncan blazed with it, and Methos nearly gasped aloud with helpless response. He released Amanda's ankles to stroke softly down her inner thighs, enjoying the resultant quiver. "You can come whenever Duncan gives you permission, Amanda," he said steadily. He didn't restrain her again. She was past the point of resistance. Instead he used his hands to spread her open, exposing delicate pink flesh dripping with water. He bent towards her again, soothing her fire, coaxing her surrender as water flowed over his cheeks. Her moans were quiet now, a plaintive sound like the cooing of doves. Soft; she was so soft and tender and inviting... Methos felt her flutter under his tongue, rhythmic pulses that pulled him deeper. He nuzzled into her, his tongue seeking the hot, slippery center of her being. When a strong hand pressed the back of his head, Methos looked up. Duncan held Amanda with only one arm; all her resistance turned to abandoned submission, and the Highlander's other hand caressed Methos, cradled the back of his neck to pull him firmly forward. Methos groaned, muffled by the tender flesh he devoured, his body on fire. Amanda was open—so open to him, and Duncan's hand demanded everything, sealing them together in bliss. Her body waited, trembling; suspended in patient agony under his slow and gentle teasing until Duncan spoke, his voice husky with passion. "Now, Amanda—come now, love. Let go." With a low, prolonged cry of ecstasy Amanda obeyed; her legs closed around Methos' head, locking him to her as she pulsed endlessly against his mouth. He drank her in, feeling his own body tremble with hunger; burning him with a depth of need that was almost frightening. It took almost a full minute for the flutters of her pleasure to die away, and when Methos resurfaced as her thighs released him he found that she was nearly asleep in Duncan's arms, completely enervated. The two men bathed her tenderly; taking turns supporting her while the other soaped and rinsed. Methos restrained his baser instincts for the moment, and followed Duncan's lead in ignoring the fact that both of them had rampant erections. The sheets were blissfully cool, and Methos relished the touch against his overheated skin as he helped slide Amanda neatly into the center of the bed. He settled a pillow carefully beneath her head while Duncan pulled the sheet up to her chin. Amanda expressed her gratitude by making a faint 'umf' sound and curling immediately into what appeared to be shockingly innocent sleep. Methos couldn't help but smile. "She looks so sweet—" Duncan snorted, a surprisingly derisive sound, jarring him. "Yeah. Go figure." Suddenly the two of them were chuckling, eyes locked in depraved amusement while both of them muffled their laughter in an effort to be quiet. When humor had faded to manageable levels, Methos sighed and settled himself gently on the other side of Amanda's still form. As tempting as it was to take advantage of Amanda's comatose state to seduce Duncan into something mutually rewarding, Methos knew that he'd already pushed Duncan's limits quite a bit. His intuition suggested that he should just settle back and see what kind of effect desperation and curiosity had on the Highlander—frustrating, yes; but possibly rewarding in the long run... He reached out slowly; noticing that Duncan's laughter tapered off at once, but he stopped his hand when it rested over the sheet covering Amanda's hip. He began a gentle stroking that only barely brushed her sweet, feminine curves, and saw her smile faintly; the translucent skin of her eyelids flickered as if she was lost in a happy dream. His mouth twisted wryly at that—she probably was. Duncan moved gradually closer in small increments, amusingly reminiscent of a wild animal approaching with utmost wariness. Methos smiled down at Amanda and pretended not to notice, memorizing the length of her eyelashes and stroking, stroking that same small, safe section of sheet as he waited patiently for Duncan's arousal to override his fear. It required great effort not to permit a triumphant grin when Duncan's broad, square hand appeared over the flat expanse of Amanda's sheet- covered stomach; amazingly dark against the white linen. He maintained his focus, petting Amanda hypnotically as if there weren't two hundred pounds of damp, luscious, horny Scotsman sizzling against the sheets just on the other side of her. His vision clouded as an acutely vivid picture sprang to mind—it would be fairly easy to get Duncan flat on his back and helpless, and he saw himself taking control and riding the Highlander's big, beautiful cock until he screamed for mercy. Suddenly it was much more difficult to maintain the fiction of absorption. When Duncan's hand brushed hesitantly against his, it was all Methos could do not to vault over their sleeping companion and take what he wanted. Control, Old Man...Down, boy! Methos looked up quickly, wide-eyed as if pulled out of a sudden reverie, and met Duncan's gaze. It was almost too perfect. His first glance into the other man's eyes told Methos that he wasn't alone in his world of make-believe—Duncan's touch might be tentative, but his features held all the assurances of casual familiarity—you actually had to look pretty deep to see the panic underneath. Methos rigidly sustained his own surprised, slightly anxious look—only the inner man was allowed to exult over the gratifying sweetness of playing hesitant prey to MacLeod's counterfeit libertine. He let the moment hang between them, watching with barely repressed affection as Duncan called on some unguessed resources for strength and leaned resolutely towards him, slowly enough that Methos' mouth blossomed into a hot focus of the ache that was his entire body by the time their lips actually touched. The last time they kissed Methos had driven the encounter, an advantage taken of a quick moment of desperation, as sudden and shocking as the first stroke of energy in a Quickening. This was a different caress entirely—controlled on the surface, but hinting strongly at some great, undisclosed passion—much like the man who initiated it. Methos didn't have to feign the gasp and shiver that swept his system as Duncan's lips closed over his own, and there was no need to pretend to be overwhelmed when Duncan's hot, silky tongue thrust abruptly into his mouth. Duncan left him panting, pulling away long before Methos considered himself done. The brown eyes were hazy and glowed with banked heat, bravado abandoned in a moment of tingling closeness as they looked at each other candidly, need reflecting need. "You're very good at that," Duncan murmured; and Methos let the fun and games end as he stole gingerly over Amanda's motionless form, as desire conquered his self- imposed resolution to avoid transgressing Duncan's limits. "There are things I'm better at," he responded quietly. The harmony between them faded as Duncan's eyes shuttered behind new fear, but Methos gladly sacrificed accord for the indescribable pleasure of stroking such tender, satiny skin. He stretched out—not too close, but close enough to feel the heat of Duncan's body like a glimmer of temptation—and ran his hand softly over the smooth, warm curves of Duncan's chest. He took it as slow as he could. He ignored the tight, brown nipples entirely, enticing as they were—MacLeod's breathing was short and rapid, his eyes wary, and Methos was not about to do anything that might tip the precarious balance of permission. Instead he sought out new aphrodisiac sources; delighted when he found tender spots that made Duncan's eyes dilate with sudden, bewildered response. He deliberately tended each of these in turn, raking his nails lightly over the other man's hard sternum, softly caressing his indented waist, tracing slow patterns against the perspiring skin at the base of his throat... It was difficult to say which was more arousing—feeling Duncan's body under his touch, or watching him surrender. Methos shivered again as Duncan arched into his hand for the first time, eyes wide and hot and unfulfilled. "I..." Methos waited. Duncan looked taken aback, as if he hadn't meant to speak aloud. Methos stopped moving restlessly from place to place, and simply stroked his thumb languidly over and over the vein that pulsed at the side of Duncan's neck. "What is it?" he queried softly, willing to push a little now that capitulation was almost in his grasp. His own needs were under control, at least for right now—Duncan's inhibitions were sloughing away with each touch of his fingers, he was sure of it. Sooner or later the hesitant act would— "Kiss me," Duncan breathed in a frantic, whispering rush, and before Methos could even begin to comply a firm hand caught the back of his head and drew him down to into the heady reality of wet, urgent kisses. It was a surprise, Duncan's appetite for kissing—unexpected, but gratifying. Methos trembled as Duncan sucked enthusiastically on his tongue, trying not to lose control as searing shocks of pleasure arrowed straight to his neglected groin. He gasped at the same moment that Duncan groaned, and the sound of their mingled desire told Methos that enough was enough already—two quick moves and Duncan's cock would be deep in his throat... "Wow." A small voice intervened before he could move. Methos' heart sank as Duncan froze beneath him. He retrieved his tongue just in time before the other man's mouth pulled hastily away, head turned sideways towards where Amanda peeked over his shoulder. Methos reluctantly looked from Duncan to Amanda, reminding himself stringently that she was the reason he'd had this chance in the first place, and therefore it would be impolite to kill her. Her eyes were huge and avid. "Don't stop on account of me, guys," she said softly, as close to timid as Methos had ever heard her, "that was...really...remarkable..." Methos sighed as Duncan pulled away from him, trying not to feel utterly disappointed as the other man sat up and buried his face in his hands. Now that the Highlander's back was to them he loosed his best scowl at Amanda, mouthing silent words at her. Thanks a lot, you... She gave him an apologetic shrug in return, mouthing back at him. Sorry! I didn't think he'd stop! Methos rolled his eyes. Tell me another one... Now she combined apology with an appeal for forgiveness, a sweet and sorrowful pout that made him smile despite his irritation. Please don't be mad...I'll make it up to you— Before he could make any further silent comments Amanda reached up and took Duncan's arm, pulling him resolutely back between them. "What's the matter with you, Duncan?" Her voice was low and playful, but the rebuke was definitely there. "You're not usually so rude to your partners." Methos chewed pensively on one edge of his thumb to cover a smile at Duncan's stubborn scowl. "I didn't mean to be rude, I just... you surprised me." Amanda was having none of it. Apparently fully awake now, she rose up on her knees to lean heavily on Duncan's chest with her arms crossed, threatening and adorable at the same time. "Really?" she asked silkily, "It looked to me like maybe you surprised yourself." She turned to Methos, her eyes bright with mischief. "I think he was rude to you. Don't you think so?" "Amanda..." Duncan's tone was the essence of aggravated warning. She didn't seem to notice. "Well, let's see..." Methos replied, following her lead, "what's the standard punishment for rudeness?" Her face was so beautifully, perfectly sly, wicked in every way—he wanted to kiss her. Hard. She leaned back away from her perch to settle on her heels, and regarded Duncan with careful consideration while she held out her hand towards Methos. Not about to pass up this opportunity, Methos took the offered hand and rose smoothly to his knees, turning so that he had an unhindered view of Duncan glaring from one of them to the other, looking extremely provoked. "I say we see how fucking hot we can make him." Amanda's words, spoken in that slow, feminine, threatening cadence, sent shivers down Methos' spine. As if on cue, Duncan gulped. Methos stared blindly at the ceiling and bit deeper into his lower lip, his body rigid with strain as he wondered whether Amanda had been a little confused about who exactly was supposed to be being punished here. "Amanda—" he hissed through clenched teeth, "I don't know how much more of this I can stand—" "Umm..." Not the most coherent response, but probably the best she could do, given that her mouth was full of his cock. He was still on his knees next to Duncan's prone body with Amanda on the other side; a position that puzzled him until he realized that not only would MacLeod have no choice but to watch Amanda go down on him, but also allowed her to brush Duncan's erection with the soft globes of her breasts as she rocked slowly back and forth. Despite her vague mumble she eased up on him a little, no longer tormenting him with sweeping curls of her tongue on every upstroke. Methos sighed appreciatively, allowing his hands to thread gently into the damp strands of her hair, and retreated far enough from the edge that he risked a glance at Duncan. Poor guy. Amanda had told him in no uncertain terms that he was not allowed to move, participate, or otherwise interfere; and with a particularly devious touch she'd said that she trusted him, upon his honor, not to budge until she told him he could. Abruptly Methos didn't feel quite so put-upon that he was expected to withstand Amanda's hot, clever little mouth, since Duncan looked like he was having a pretty challenging time himself. His smooth, dark skin dripped with sweat; beaded droplets radiant in the dim candlelight over splendidly tense muscles. His eyes were fierce with undisguised hunger, his brows furrowed with strain. Methos would have liked to relieve him; would have liked to take him in his arms and lick every bead of sweat from his skin before finishing him off, but right now it was just too gratifying...too hot...too much... "Oh, God..." It didn't matter that Amanda was taking it easy on him—his nerves were blistered with pleasure, and her mouth felt too damn good. He arched into her, hands in her hair tightening unconsciously to a firm grip. His eyes dropped closed, bringing his other senses into sharper focus—Duncan's thigh trembling against his knees, a draft of cool air against his perspiring shoulders, and Amanda, beautiful Amanda, so soft and welcoming and fiery— Her hand snaked around him and squeezed unbearably just as Duncan uttered a desperate moan, tearing Methos two ways at once. He gasped and bucked wildly in her grip, wondering dimly if he might simply implode from the pressure, from the pleasure, from the pain. Amanda held him tight—he heard her light, wicked chuckle as if from far away, and his whole body tensed in a sudden cramp of denied longing. "You evil, evil woman," he panted, glowering down at her one single, visible eye glinting merrily beneath a draped veil of shiny brown hair, "you know what I'm going to do to you for that little prank—?" His words melted away into a pained groan as she released her stranglehold on him and slid smoothly upwards with a teasing, apologetic stroke. "Enough—" Duncan's voice was low and hoarse, drawing Methos' attention away from his thoughts of revenge. He looked up. MacLeod appeared to be even more miserable than before, his hands clenched fiercely into the sheets as if he'd tear them to shreds in a moment. Methos shivered as Amanda released him, and watched her creep sinuously up Duncan's tense, rigid body. "Have you learned your lesson, Duncan?" Her fingers traced his suffering face tenderly, a mockery of mercy. "You're not going to be rude again, are you?" A deep growl was the only response, and Amanda tsked mournfully. "Still stubborn? How sad..." Abruptly, she turned to him. "Methos, dear, come over here, please." Light and sweet, a marked contrast to the scolding tone she used to chide Duncan. Smiling, Methos moved quietly towards her, divided between the smug satisfaction of being the teacher's pet and the dire need to stop all these absurd games so he could fuck somebody—his balls ached with heaviness, and his mind was just full of suggestions about how he should fix that... She pulled his head down to Duncan's throat. Methos took a deep breath, dizzying his senses with the warm, aromatic scent of male arousal, watching through half-closed eyes as Amanda lowered to the other side of Duncan's neck and nuzzled in. The pulse beneath his lips thundered, pounded with life as he sought out the most vulnerable places with his teeth, perspiration an erotic sting on his tongue. He was tentative at first, waiting to see if Mac would resist, but apparently fear of being licked by Methos wasn't as daunting as fear of being tortured by Amanda. Probably a wise choice. Duncan groaned beneath them, his head bowed back so far it looked painful. Methos followed Amanda's lead as she nibbled her way up the stubbled jaw, pausing when she lifted her head. She leaned forward and took Methos' mouth, and the salty, poignant taste of aroused flesh slick on her tongue as it was on his own shivered through him. MacLeod's panted exhalations were loud in the quiet room, brushing over his skin with delicious warmth. Amanda broke from him and kissed Duncan briefly, then pulled away, her eyes flashing a silent suggestion. Methos lowered slowly to moist, parted lips, offering time for refusal, gratified to find only receptive willingness. Methos' eyes fluttered closed, but when Duncan jerked beneath him and moaned into his mouth he knew without looking that Amanda had reached down for an intimate squeeze, a carefully calculated reward. They kissed Duncan in turns as desire intensified between the three of them, enveloping them in a heated, pungent haze of anticipation and lust. When he wasn't losing himself in MacLeod's passionate mouth Methos explored everything else offered—throat, ear, jaw, shoulder— imprinting on his memory every texture and response, every nuance of dark mystery that gave up secrets to his ardent senses. He felt almost drunk; his blood coursing with soft waves of languorous desire that pulled him under, willingly drowning. When Amanda moved lower Methos followed after her, leaving Duncan openmouthed and gasping for air as he chased behind the soft fall of Amanda's hair leading lazily over corded, trembling muscle, fastening anew on every spot as soon as she abandoned it. Duncan's nipples proved to be delightfully sensitive—for long minutes he and Amanda traded them back and forth until the man beneath them cried out with desperate incoherence and lifted, straining and shuddering, off the bed. Methos caught a quick flash of Amanda's eyes, and withdrew just a little, waiting while she whispered soothingly to Duncan. He caught one word, 'please', barely audible in MacLeod's breathless speech, and Amanda's mollifying 'soon, lover'. He smiled. Not if he had anything to say about it. There was a faint, moist smack of lips, and then Amanda was back with him, leading him further down. She pulled him into a demanding, openmouthed kiss, wet and urgent—he was about to grab for her, but she moved away before he could—and then drew his head relentlessly downwards, firm hands on the back of his neck pressing him towards the other man's waiting erection. "I told you I'd make it up to you..." her whisper was almost imperceptible over Duncan's sudden, ragged groan. Methos knew better than to chuckle, so he expressed his appreciation in the only way that he could, by opening wide and getting seriously involved. Duncan's cock was incredibly hard, foreskin drawn back entirely, slick with moisture; utterly alluring. Methos took it all greedily, his moan of pleasure muffled almost entirely by the massive, heavy, throbbing flesh that sang on his tongue, velvet and musk. When Duncan gasped and convulsed under him Methos moved one hand to the base of the shaft to steady it, a low, deep murmur of appreciation drawn helplessly from his throat. It only took about two seconds for Duncan to encompass enough of the experience to start thrusting, and Methos weakened terribly under the influence of invasion—beautiful, powerful hips lifted towards him...taking...and taking, and...oh dear God he wished that Duncan would get over himself and just grab his head and use his mouth properly— All thought stopped for a moment, and his body blazed with sudden heat as his half-closed eyes noticed one of Amanda's hands covering, pulling one of Duncan's, moving it smoothly towards him... A gentle, uncertain weight settled onto the back of his head, pausing there as if considering. Duncan's hips slowed almost to a stop, and Methos slowed, as well. He closed his eyes. Please... Come on... Where's that warrior courage when you— That was as far as he got with his silent prayer before pressure came and a savage groan filled his ears at the same moment that Duncan's length pistoned straight down his throat. Oh yes... His body shook violently, shuddering with pleasure as Duncan fucked his mouth with every ounce of passion Methos had suspected, straining against him and grunting in a desperate, earthy way that made his cock leap. He was going to come from this, no question—strong grip on his head, swollen, rigid shaft plunging into him—his own erection throbbed in sympathy with each pulse against the sensitive membranes of his mouth...so very close, so terribly good... And once again, Amanda put herself in dire peril by prohibiting paradise. Her hand slid briskly under his own, squeezing so hard that the flesh in his mouth swelled to a size that nearly choked him. Empathic pain wrenched his body, and both he and Duncan gave simultaneous howls of dismay. "Amanda!" he pulled back in shock, and Duncan's hand disappeared from his head as if it had never been there. "What the hell did you do that for?" Her eyes were brilliant; aroused and roguish and warm. "I'm not done teasing him yet." Methos groaned and slumped unhappily onto the bed. "MacLeod, I'm on your side in this one—do you think we should kill her?" "I...think..." the deep voice quavered, pushing words arduously between panting breaths, "I think...I'm dying..." Despite his own despair, when Methos caught Amanda's twinkling eyes he couldn't help it—it was either laugh or explode. They laughed, and to his surprise Duncan joined them; weakly, yes, but it was still a three- part harmony that he felt he'd been waiting for since the evening began. Methos was still chuckling when sudden movement stirred against his side as Duncan sat up abruptly. "Duncan," Amanda said reproachfully, "you promised you wouldn't move until I said you could. Get back there." Methos saw the heat in the wide, brown eyes before Amanda did, and understood at once that Duncan's little interval of obedience was at an end. "No, Amanda." Apparently, Duncan could do threatening as well as Amanda could. "You've seen how hot you can make me. Now you have to finish what you started." Methos watched, mesmerized, as MacLeod rose to his knees and began to advance on Amanda; menacing, stalking her, beautifully feral. "I'm going to fuck you so hard your Immortal body will be sore for a week," he growled, tensing into a crouch. "Methos," Amanda piped nervously, "do something—this is your fault, anyway..." Duncan's attention snapped to him suddenly, and Methos' blood flashed white-hot under that predatory, dangerous, erotic gaze. His breath caught. "Yes, Methos," oh—very nice, when Duncan snarled his name, "do something—" MacLeod leapt fast, and Amanda squealed anxiously as she was captured and propelled violently into Methos' arms. "Hold her for me, will you?" Their eyes were locked together again, a million miles away from where Amanda squirmed restlessly between them. Methos smiled. It occurred to Methos with a shiver of awe that contemplation of Duncan's abilities was almost enough to obscure his envy of Amanda. Almost. He slid deeper into the soft pillows propped behind his back, arching a little to try to relieve the pitiful throbbing of his erection—not that he could move much. He was tangled, pretzel-like, with Amanda's trembling, writhing limbs—her back to his chest, his arms wrapped around her torso with the sweet silken weight of her breasts full beneath his hands, his legs wide and hooked over hers, holding her open for MacLeod's pleasure. Which turned out to be surprisingly, delightfully vile. Methos was enchanted. Duncan's strategy was simple and elegant, but there was nothing refined about the execution. He kept either his cock or his tongue buried deep between Amanda's thighs, switching off whenever she got close to coming. Methos didn't think Amanda was quite as appreciative of Duncan's talent as he was—although, he amended, she might very well be—she was a wonderfully twisted little tart, after all, and just because she was currently reduced to a sobbing, moaning, pathetically begging puddle didn't mean she wasn't having fun. He arched against her again, sighing quietly. The base of her spine was pressed against his weeping erection, moist and perspiring—sweet to slide against, but ultimately not enough. He looked down. Duncan's hair draped over Amanda's thighs, dark silk over white; all he could see of whatever MacLeod was doing that made her shudder like she was having some kind of seizure. Methos tightened his grip on her, and gasped as her hips wrenched sharply upward, seeking—once, twice— This time, Amanda almost shrieked when Duncan pulled back from her, and Methos had to use considerable force to keep her immobilized. He restrained her unconsciously, aware only of the slick warmth of her breasts in his hands and the inadequate friction against his erection, staring hungrily at Duncan's swollen, moist lips. The Highlander still retained that savage, primitive quality that made Methos' insides melt and dissolve into uncontrollable desire—this was the sexual animal that dwelled deep within the normal façade of a civilized man—a fiend that Methos responded to helplessly. It was impossible to look at him without drowning in images of being on the receiving end of all that dark, primal lust. Methos tensed when Duncan advanced on them, and a soft hiss of yearning escaped him before he could stop it. Amanda was truly a delightful woman, but in that moment he wished for nothing more than for her to disperse into vapor so that he could take a turn. In a bright, blazing moment of frustrated lust, inspiration struck. Methos froze, immobile in the grip of a burgeoning scheme, only dimly aware that Duncan had once again plunged into Amanda and was pounding furiously against both of them. He closed his eyes, even desire obscured for a brief moment by gratitude so deep it was holy—a sacred revelation, only slightly bizarre under the circumstances. He firmed his grip on Amanda's breasts, took a deep, dizzying breath, opened his eyes—and stopped, suddenly face-to-face with the unexpected. Duncan was looking at him. Staring at him. Invading him—tearing into him, pulling him fiercely close to scorching, wanton heat. Fucking him, somehow, with his eyes. Oh... It took every particle of willpower he had not to squeeze up against Amanda's slippery back and let himself come. He groaned, and his utterance flickered hot in the eyes that held him. "Do it, Methos," Duncan growled, ignoring Amanda's wail as he increased the pace of his thrusts. Methos gasped, every muscle tightening, struggling against the inevitable, striving for control over his own deprived, ravenous body... "No," he managed through clenched teeth. Fierce brown eyes, blazing, demanding... His own will, his own mastery; challenging, answering...finally commanding. "Duncan—don't come!" With one smooth movement, Methos pulled Amanda's legs as far open as he could, and shoved her hips forward while he clamped down forcefully on her nipples. Her scream ripped through his head like a benediction, and he held her tight as she convulsed, his body tingling with tiny shocks as he breathed in the culmination of her pleasure. A stunned, disbelieving groan brought his head up, and the distressed rage on Duncan's face almost, for a moment, made him regret his actions. The three of them shifted in tableau—uncertainty, ecstasy, fury. After long moments of trying to get his breathing under control and tussling with sudden and unexpected indecision, after Amanda's cries softened to hushed sighs and she became a limp weight in his arms; Methos leaned forward and captured Duncan's mouth softly. An apology, an atonement, a plea, an offer... MacLeod pulled away from him, resentment hot in his eyes. "Why?" he demanded, still panting, his forehead tight with wrath. Methos drew up desire, allowed the power of longing to drive the words that meant such risk. There was no more use in pretending indifference—there was only the truth of the moment, such as it was. He hoped it was enough. "I want you." Amanda mumbled something sleepily, but neither of them looked at her. Duncan's anger shifted slightly to scrutiny, and Methos bit back a sigh of disappointment at this first sign of renewed wariness. "What do you want?" MacLeod's words were almost totally devoid of feeling. Methos tensed. "I want..." Oh hell. "I want you to fuck me." The cool reluctance in his stomach flared into a spark of hope as he saw his words find a mark. Further speech came without thought. "I want to get Amanda out from between us. I want to stretch out under you and take whatever you'll give me. I don't want to tease you—I don't want to hurt you—I just want to feel you come." Oh my. He was on to something here, all right. MacLeod wasn't quite the savage animal he had been, but he was getting there. Methos sighed and looked deep into the darkening eyes, letting his urgency surface, waiting... "Please...come to me—come for me...I want your cock, Highlander." Duncan's arms were so gentle when they pulled Amanda from his grip that Methos feared for a moment that he'd gone too far, that somehow he'd moved MacLeod past desire and into that careful, reserved place that balked so easily. He bit his lip, and promised himself that if Mac was reticent he'd simply go take a shower and jerk off. It wasn't what he wanted, but it would do... Amanda was solidly, thoroughly out; there was no noise in the room except for heavy breathing as they worked together to arrange her limp form to sprawl at the side of the bed. Methos' stomach fluttered nervously, and he cursed himself for a fool. Why should he care, after all? When he turned to Duncan again, Methos was wrapped securely in a palpable shield of defiance, a refuge that he'd built over more years than he cared to count. Mac looked at him guardedly, and Methos felt every inch of distance that separated them as if it were an impenetrable wall. "Well," Duncan said irritably, "are you going to get horizontal, or do I have to wake Amanda up and make her hold you down?" Methos didn't know how he'd finally wound up on his back with MacLeod on top of him, and frankly, he didn't care. All that mattered now was that Duncan's body was wonderfully heavy and hot and demanding, that hot kisses scorched his mouth and jaw with incandescent passion, and that finally he could feel the tip of Duncan's cock nudging gently up to where he needed it, slippery with Amanda's wetness and his own sweat. He could taste desperation on the other man's tongue, and it lit him from within. "Yes—" only a whisper, all he could spare. "Oh please..." Duncan lifted a little, jolting him with sudden fear, but there was no abandonment threatened. The dark eyes were wild and fierce, beautiful hair tousled into an undisciplined mane. "Do I need... what should I..." Methos pulled him close again, breathing deep of the earthy, male smell of lust. "No. Just do it. Please..." He opened—his mouth, his body— open and welcome and craving... Duncan entered him in two places at once; arms tight around him and holding him blessedly immobile while his mouth and ass were penetrated with devastating, implacable force. His tongue was bitten; his body ravished, torn, forced asunder—violated so thoroughly that all he could do was gasp his fulfillment into Duncan's mouth. Yes. Abruptly Duncan's head disappeared into the hollow of his throat, heaving breaths shivering hot over his skin. "Oh Christ...Methos..." A wave of protectiveness swelled within—unexpected, but not unwelcome—and of their own will his hands came to rest tenderly on Duncan's bowed head. "It's okay," he breathed, stroking softly, "don't stop this—please...just...take me." Duncan moved once, gently, and the pleasure was so delicate and yet so powerfully overwhelming that Methos was shocked to hear himself sob hoarsely. His hands clenched fistfuls of silk as he held Duncan's head tucked against his throat, needing him close, closer still— something to hold tight to as everything else fell away. His heart felt like it would pound through his chest, as if there were only some thin, easily pierced membrane between him and the ferocious thunder of the Highlander's heartbeat. Methos felt Duncan shudder violently above him, and with a sigh he began do what he could from his pinned position to move them against each other. He lifted his hips, pressing their connection deeper, and Duncan responded with a low, raw groan that sounded almost like agony. Methos guided, Duncan followed. Neither spoke a word. Methos kept all movement at first subtle and slow, a minutiae of learning meant to comfort and calm while he waited to give over control, to have it taken from him. The fit of Duncan's body to his own was exquisite, a sensation of harmonious accord that was intoxicating, perfect, wonderfully sensual. Methos gave and gave again and kept on giving— his body, his experience, his trust. And slowly, with wonder that was somehow the antithesis of fear, Duncan learned to take what he offered. There came a moment when the power between them was in perfect balance, when Methos realized that they moved together as if they had always been meant to. Duncan's stubbled cheek rubbed sweetly against his own, affection and solace and delight blended in one simple caress. Broad, callused fingers explored his face, teased lingeringly over his eyes, making him shiver. When they reached his lips he drew them in hungrily, sucking with rediscovered yearning for the fire that had drawn him in the first place. Duncan heaved over him and thrust with sudden force, and Methos cried out helplessly. He abandoned the fingers in his mouth, which drew quickly away to slip beneath his shoulder once again, holding him tight. Methos didn't question the desperate need they both had to hold and be held—he hadn't expected it, but it was simply too powerful to be denied, and too pleasurable not to indulge. They clung to each other like isolated survivors of some unknown, ongoing holocaust, as if all possible threats in the equation of their world were external to the tight pocket of safety created by their joining. Duncan took him hard, and Methos opened to him as if his survival depended on it, meeting each thrust with a wordless appeal for more. More was given, and more demanded, and voluptuous pleasure intensified in layers until there was nothing in Methos' existence except the man in his arms, feeding his body's hunger with fierce brutality. Methos gasped for breath and squeezed his eyes closed, trying not to come. He promised himself that he could let go when Duncan did; he wanted to know that Duncan was with him when he gave in, wanted that surrender to be as mutual as the need had been. It took all the discipline he had. Duncan had found the place inside that flayed him with pleasure every time it was touched, and Methos couldn't escape it as he was stroked from within, over and over until he thought he'd explode. He moaned, struggling for control of his body, waiting for Duncan to release him. Duncan began to shudder heavily, a vibration that Methos absorbed without effort—it fueled him, deepened all awareness of their connection—Duncan was there, right there, so close and warm and vulnerable... Methos found Duncan's mouth seeking his—they melted together— licking, smoothing, tasting the sharp edge of want— Bodies locked together, just so; and Methos held himself absolutely still and let Duncan pound into him, burning on the verge of completion...there, and there, and again, and one more...and... Oh God. Oh My God... Come with me—yes. Feel—all of you—yes. Hot...flooding...drowning... Oh...yes... Sounds, words, cries were lost between mouths sealed together, feeding and fed, and Methos couldn't have heard any of it anyway because blood was pounding ferociously loud in his ears—his heart, Duncan's heart—throbbing, pulsing, still coming, together. Yes. It was quiet in the room, and somehow darker than it should be—a slow awareness that the candles had finally burned out—for a very long time. Methos had dreaded this interval, feared the comedown and the guilt trips and the recriminations; and he was surprised and a little amused to find himself anxious when it didn't happen. Duncan stayed buried inside him, head down with soft, gentle kisses tingling occasionally at his throat, letting Methos hold him. The body above him was heavy, but it was a weight that Methos bore gladly. The smell of sex and satiation made him drowsy, and he had just started to wonder if Duncan had fallen asleep when a quiet whisper broke the silence. "That was so beautiful..." Duncan's head came up and both of them turned, looked over to see Amanda watching them with somnolent, exhausted eyes. She smiled and reached out to them languidly, and Methos gasped a little as the half-erect cock slid finally from his body. "You okay?" Duncan's eyes were clear and calm, and wonderfully present. Methos smiled. "Oh yes. Just tired." Duncan 'mmm'ed in wordless agreement, and lifted gently away. Methos shivered as cold air hit the wet heat of his skin where Duncan had been pressed close. Amanda's hand fluttered on the edge of his vision. "Methos in the middle," she insisted in a dozy murmur, and Methos didn't argue as Amanda pulled him close and snuffled him while Duncan settled blankets and spooned up sweetly against his back. He was lost in darkness, wrapped in comfort and floating serenely downwards when Duncan's voice, a little hoarse but perfectly audible, pulled him back. "Guys?" "What?" Methos' eyes opened at once. Amanda only managed "hmm?" A pause, then— "You planned this whole thing, didn't you?" Amanda's eyes opened and caught his. There was a pause while he watched her flash through panic, then uncertainty, and finally, recklessness. Methos raised his eyebrows. "Yup." In stereo. Another pause. Longer. A pause that went on until Methos was beginning to feel distinctly uneasy, until all his muscles began to tighten in anticipation of some impending menace, then— "You people are terrible. G'night." Duncan's arm crept around his waist, and warm breath tickled the back of his neck as the Highlander snuggled in. Methos rubbed noses softly with Amanda, the exhausted equivalent of a high-five. "Good night, Duncan." mtriste@hotmail.com Aristide's Stories

Author name: Aristide Title: Consent of Twain Rating: NC-17 Characters: DM, M, A Classification: Slash Comments: Graphic heterosexual and homosexual adult content. Summary: First time Methos/Duncan/Amanda. A wank that is mercifully free of the ravages of plot. A little silly. Disclaimer: This story is rated NC-17 for graphic depiction of sexual activity with both genders. You have been warned. The characters in this story are not mine. I am only borrowing them, and I mean no harm. No money changed hands (at least not with me). This material may not be copied or distributed without permission. Please do not link, publish or post this material without permission. Any comments, questions, etc. can be sent to me at mtriste@hotmail.com back to top