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This story contains explicit descriptions of a sexual relationship between consenting adult men. If you are under age or don't care for this, LEAVE NOW. As usual, characters from span class="dis-ital">Highlander: the Series belong to Davis-Panzer et alia; I only play with them from time to time without any compensation. No harm; no foul; no profit. Anyone or anything new, however, is mine (left-overs again). Please read Blind Sided and Lucky Night first. Beta-read by Nikki Memmott. Thank you, tapadh leabh, grazie, merci, danke, gracias, obrigado, spazebo, arigato. You have been warned. Any errors are mine alone. Author’s notes follow. March 2002 BRATFA winner.

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RESEARCH

A Blind Date Story

Prologue: Richie’s —
After Lucky Night

Richie punched the ON button on the computer, pulled a beer from the fridge, and sat at the desk. He fidgeted while the icons popped up, and quickly double-clicked on the dial-up icon. As soon as the connection was made he opened the browser. “Okay, boys,” he muttered to the screen. “Let’s see what you’re up to tonight.”

The window opened, and he scrolled down to see a grainy image of a living room with an empty couch centered in the shot. “Nobody home,” he sighed, and clicked down his favorites list. He picked a site from the list, then clicked through link after link, pausing to read a paragraph here and a caption there, or to study an image more closely.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” he said, saving an image to his hard drive.

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An afternoon in Seacouver

Methos pulled into a parking space across the street from the second-floor walk up Richie called home. Too far away to sense the other immortal, he looked up and down the street for Richie’s motorcycle, finally spying it under a small overhang on the alley side of the brick building. Good, he thought. Richie’s home.

“Hey, Rich,” Methos had begun their telephone conversation. “How’s everything?” He held his breath for a moment, unsure how Richie had been dealing with recent events.

“Fine.”

Good. Breathing again. Methos was careful to keep the conversation light, not wanting to pressure the younger man. “Will you be home later? I thought I could drop by and we could, well, hang out. Or whatever.”

“Yeah, I’ll be home.”

“Great. See you later.” Lame, he thought, but effective.

“Later.”

Bypassing the restaurant on the ground floor, he took the stairs two at a time. Halfway up, he felt the familiar sensation wash over him. The second floor landing contained two doorways, one on either side of the stairs, and Methos knocked on the door marked with a tarnished brass B. The door opened immediately, the business end of a sword the only thing visible.

“Richie, it’s me, Adam,” he announced. He was happy to see Richie taking some precautions, at least, though he never liked being greeted with a blade.

“Oh, sure,” Richie said. He closed the door to release the chain, and reopened it wide for Methos to enter. “Come on in.” He shut the door, setting the lock and replacing the chain before placing his sword in an umbrella stand next to the doorway.

“Can I get you something?” He was already halfway across the room toward the kitchen.

“Yeah, that would be nice. Beer?” Methos looked around the room, then followed Richie to the kitchen. Though it was essentially a two–room apartment, the living room was large enough for Richie to have set up a small home office with his computer on a full sized desk with a comfortable chair. The remainder of the room was furnished traditionally, a couch with end tables and a well-used recliner in a grouping, and a stereo and television against the opposite wall. A bookcase was half used for its intended purpose; the remainder of the shelves laden with motorcycle parts and souvenirs — a miniature Eiffel Tower, a carved wooden mask from Brazil, a hand-painted tile from Spain, a colorfully striped mat from Arizona, and more mementos from other places Richie and his bike had visited.

“You’ve got a great place here, Rich.” The open refrigerator door blocked the entrance, so Methos lounged against the desk while his host uncapped two bottles of an imported brand. “I see you’re buying the good stuff these days,” Methos quipped as he accepted the long-necked, brown bottle. He raised the bottle in a silent salute and swallowed a long draught. There was a tension between them, an awkwardness born of separation after intimacy. Methos knew he had to break through that barrier, but he had to be careful in his intensity — he could push gently, and be let in a little at a time, risking the momentum of the previous weekend, or vault the wall and risk scaring Richie away from any relationship with him at all.

Richie nodded. “Yeah, I got used to what you drink, Old Timer.” He reached past Methos’s hip toward the computer. “Here,” he said. “Let me turn this off.

Methos intercepted Richie’s hand and stood, bringing his body into close contact with the younger man’s. “Don’t I get a proper hello first?”

Richie’s “Yeah,” was lost as their lips met, at first briefly, then again, and again, finally opening to each other in a deep, passionate kiss. Methos intended the kiss to be the start of a slow re-acquainting, but he soon lost command of the kiss. Their tongues slid into and around each other’s mouths, both of them relearning the textures and shape of the other’s mouth.

It had been a long week since Joe Dawson had attempted to play a practical joke by setting up the two of them in a blind date at a gay bar. While the Watcher looked on, the two men had played along, dancing close and leaving together.

What Joe hadn’t known was that their show was for real.

Richie had been surprised to discover his attraction to the oldest immortal, but Methos had lusted after the younger man for years. All it had taken was the sexually-charged atmosphere of the bar and half a slow-dance together to trigger their feelings for each other to surface.

“Adam — we’re not pretending anymore, are we?”

“I never was.”

They’d spent that night at Methos’s apartment, making the first, tentative moves toward a relationship that threatened to overwhelm both of them.

Methos’s Apartment, the previous week.

Waking slowly, Richie had savored the feelings that filled his mind one by one. He was warm, covered by a soft-as-a-cloud comforter, curled against an even warmer, welcoming body, with strong arms encircling him. Methos, he thought. I’ve spent the night with Methos. He stiffened for a moment, the idea of sleeping with a man still foreign to him. Methos hummed in his sleep, and stroked his hands across Richie’s back. The younger man relaxed against his lover, his body molding to Methos, the golden and alabaster bodies fitting together like an Escher tessellation.

“Morning,” he mumbled when he felt Methos stir. He tilted his head back just as the older man turned to kiss him, and their lips met, reawakening the passions of the night before. Again Richie was overwhelmed by the feeling of rightness when they kissed. There was a little nagging voice at the back of his mind, but the heat of Methos’s tongue exploring his mouth pushed any doubts or questions he had far, far away.

They shifted position so Richie lay on his back, Methos leaning over him. Hard already, Richie’s erection rose along Methos’s hip, gentle thrusts rubbing the swollen shaft against the smooth skin. He could feel Methos’s organ rising against his own body, and adjusted the direction of his thrusts to further stimulate the old man.

Methos moaned into Richie’s mouth and pulled back to speak. “Gods, you do learn fast,” he muttered, his lips brushing Richie’s with each word. The older man skimmed a hand across the golden-furred chest and belly, twisted his fingertips in the forest of curls surrounding the base of the straining organ. The feather-light caresses along the shaft and over the velvety head brought wordless cries of pleasure. Little by little the caresses became firmer and more rhythmic, and Richie snaked his hand along Methos’s flank to find the old man’s cock full and leaking, more than ready for Richie’s mirroring caresses.

Richie matched every move, every change in pressure he felt, hoping to bring Methos the same incredible sensations that coursed through his own body.

Soon the motion of their hands spread, and their bodies undulated in concert. They traded whole body caresses, Richie learning each technique and move from his more experienced lover.

“Feel good?” Methos asked rhetorically, only to be answered by Richie’s mumbled affirmative.

“More, Meth — Methos,” he begged. “Teach me more.”

Richie’s.

The kiss took on a life of its own, soon involving their arms and hands holding and caressing as they maintained their oral contact. Eventually the need to breathe became paramount and they drew apart. Richie blushed and said, “Hello.”

“Hi.” The awkwardness threatened again, so Methos cast his eyes for a diversion. “So what’s this?” Methos’s attention was drawn to the computer screen. In a small window he saw an image of two men engaging in anal intercourse. After a few seconds, the image refreshed, their positions changed slightly.

“Nothing,” Richie replied too quickly. After a tense moment he explained, “It’s one of those web-cam sites. These guys have cameras all over their house — the living room, the bedroom, even the bathroom.” He tried again to reach the keyboard, but Methos stopped him by grasping both his wrists.

The younger man blushed again. “I thought I could learn some — stuff — from watching them.”

“And have you? Learned anything?” Methos watched as the screen refreshed again to show the two men, now separated, lying next to each other on the rumpled bed.

The reddened skin darkened even more. Richie took a deep breath and sighed. “Yeah. Some.” He pulled his hands away from Methos and raised them to the older man’s face. “I was gonna try some of it out tonight,” he admitted before pressing a kiss to Methos’s mouth.

The tension disappeared, the awkwardness melted as Methos’s arms wrapped around his lover and held him close, and he responded to the kiss with fervor. They were both panting and gasping for breath when they finally separated. “So what are you waiting for?” Methos’s voice was husky and low, his breathing ragged.

Richie smiled broadly enough to light the entire apartment. “You just got here,” he said. “I — uh — didn’t want to start without you.”

Methos bent his head to nuzzle the base of Richie’s throat. He ran the tip of his tongue along the tendon that stretched to the perfectly shaped ear, and nipped at the fleshy lobe before whispering, “I’m here.”

“You want —” Richie gasped as the tip of Methos’s hot, wet tongue traced the curve of his ear. “— couch or bed?” The younger man hadn’t noticed where Methos had directed him, that during their kiss they had moved from the desk toward the couch. The backs of his calves met the front edge of the couch, and the next thing he knew he was sprawled against the cushions, and Methos was worrying open his shirt buttons. On the computer screen, forgotten behind them, the dark-haired man deep throated his partner.

“I’ve missed you,” Methos mumbled as he pushed the thin fabric aside to reveal the golden-furred chest. He’d wanted the younger immortal for years before they finally connected; it was all the more difficult to control himself now. He found one tightly budded nipple, and laved it gently. Feeling a shiver pass through the young body beneath his, he pulled at the erect flesh first with his lips, then with a careful bite.

Long, slender fingers combed through the silky black strands of Methos’s hair as the still-inexperienced younger man fought to maintain some shred of control over his own body. He squirmed under Methos’s ministrations, arching his back, trying to bring as much of his body in contact with Methos’s as possible. His snug jeans were uncomfortably tight with his growing erection, and he rubbed his groin suggestively against Methos’s thigh. The increased stimulation made him gasp, and he thrust his hips against the older man again and again. Finally, he thought when Methos reached for the buckle on his belt.

The older man’s experienced fingers worked deftly at the buckle, then the buttons of Richie’s fly. He slid his hand into the opening only to find another layer of clothing between his hand and his goal. He teased his fingertips across the straining fabric, so tight he could feel the ridge between the shaft and crown. As Methos spiraled his touch around the bulbous head, a dark spot appeared at the tip. His own breathing becoming more and more ragged, he roughly pulled both the jeans and briefs from the slim hips and pushed them to Richie’s feet. As soon as the young man’s erection was freed, it was engulfed to the root in a perfect example of deep throating.

“Oh, YES!” Richie called. “Oh, god, yes, Methos.” Those few words were the extent of Richie’s vocabulary, and he repeated them over and over until, with another shout, he poured his essence into Methos’s mouth.

Releasing the softening organ, Methos immediately pressed a kiss to Richie’s lips, sharing the bitter-salt taste of the younger man.

Slender fingers plucked at the older man’s shirt. “You’ve still got clothes on.”

“Be my guest.” He pushed himself up, and sighed as strong hands pulled the loose-fitting shirt up and over his head, then gasped when those same fingers pinched his nipples, rolling them into hard nubs. He straddled the younger man’s hips, kneeling so his belt and fly were easily accessible. “Let’s see what you’ve learned.”

“I didn’t know there was gonna be a quiz,” Richie responded as he slipped the leather through the buckle and opened the faded jeans. A gentle push on the bare shoulders encouraged Methos to lie back, leaning against the opposite end of the sofa. “You feelin’ lucky again, or you have something against underwear?”

The hard, straining cock that was released was already slick with pearly pre-cum. Without hesitation, Richie bent his head to sip away the gathering fluid, then licked the whole length of the turgid shaft. He slipped a hand beneath the heavy balls to caress and gently squeeze.

“Yes!” Methos exclaimed, letting wave after wave of desire wash over and through him. He breathed deeply and evenly, holding tightly to the last vestige of control while Richie covered his cock with soft, nibbling kisses. He looked down to see the red-gold curls bent over his groin, and marveled at the innate talent for fellatio Richie exhibited. Finally Richie raised his head and looked at the older man.

“How’m I doin’?” he asked, his voice thick and low. He didn’t wait for an answer, but licked his lips and took the weeping cock into his mouth, sucking strongly as he took more and more. He started pulling back, using his tongue to massage and caress the sensitive head in the hot, wet cavern of his mouth.

Methos heard his own voice answer, but was not conscious of the words he used to encourage the neophyte. The words became low moans as Richie took him deeply once again, and when the slender fingers reached back to stroke the sensitive skin behind his balls, he could contain himself no longer. Spasms wracked the five thousand year old body; the slim pelvis thrust the steel-hard cock deeper into the welcoming mouth. One more stroke of the questing digits brushed over the puckered opening, galvanizing the old man, and he came forcefully, the hot, thick fluid greedily swallowed until there was no more.

Another shudder shook his body as the cool air touched his still wet, softening cock and Richie moved his mouth to kiss and lick the soft skin that held his throbbing balls. Taking one and then the other into his mouth, sucking gently, Richie worked his tongue around them, keeping Methos at the height of his orgasmic frenzy.

Pulling his knees to his chest, Methos offered his body to Richie. “I need you, Rich,” he managed to gasp somewhat coherently. “Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Richie whispered. “You want me to — to fuck you.”

“Oh, yeah.” His breath came in heaving gasps, only a few syllables at a time. “Now. I need you. In me. Please.” Methos’s hazel eyes, fully dilated with passion, locked with Richie’s dark blue eyes.

“Please,” he begged again.

“Are you sure?” Richie’s fingertips brushed Methos’s jaw. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” Bit by bit his breathing slowed. “I want you, Richie.” He glanced over his shoulder at the computer screen. “Those guys you’ve been watching — they do this, don’t they?”

Richie nodded. “I don't know how to — ”

A new light lit Methos’s eyes, and he pulled Richie to him, their lips joining in a long, passionate kiss. When the strawberry-curled head drew back, Methos raised a dark eyebrow in question. “Please?” he repeated.

Richie's nod was almost imperceptible.

“I promise you'll like it.” Methos kissed the tip of the younger man’s nose. He swung his feet to the floor and took Richie’s hand as he stood. Taking the freckled face between the palms of his hands, he brushed another kiss across the rosy lips. “There’s some technical things,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. “D’you know what lube is?”

“Yeah.” Richie blushed. “I bought Astroglide. Is that okay?”

“Salad oil would be okay. Astroglide is great.” He lowered his head and looked through his eyelashes at the blushing, naked man in his embrace. “You bought it — for tonight?”

The blush deepened. “One of the sites I found mentioned it. On the internet.” Leaning his head on Methos’s shoulder he slid an arm around the slender waist and settled his hand just above the hipbone. Richie dipped his shoulder to fit under Methos’s arm, fitting their bodies together once again.

“You’ll have to show me some of those sites.” Methos shuddered, feeling a kiss on his collarbone, the brush of lips followed by a swipe of a silken tongue. “Later,” he muttered. His cock was full and hard again, and it felt like all the blood in his body was being pulled into that single organ. A quick glance showed him Richie was in the same condition.

The bedroom was sparsely furnished, a dresser and full-size bed the only large pieces of furniture. Heavy, dark curtains hung at the windows, a match to the throw that covered the bed and pillows. Methos smiled to see a group of thick pillar candles on the dresser, a Zippo lighter next to them.

“I want to see you,” he explained as he lit the candles one after the other. Reflected in the mirror, their flickering light filled the room. Richie raised his head from nibbling on the older man’s shoulder. His golden-hued skin glowed in the candlelight. With one fingertip Methos raised Richie’s chin, leaning as he did to meet Richie’s lips with his own.

This kiss wasn’t tentative or questioning, it was deep and devouring as they opened to each other. Hands roamed over passion-flushed skin, teasing and caressing. Fingernails raised temporary welts — white tracks turned red, then faded as soon as they rose.

Breathless, Methos pulled away reluctantly and held Richie in a crushing embrace. “I want you so much,” he whispered.

“Yeah, man.” Richie was out of breath as well. “Now.” He pulled Methos away from the candles and toward the bed.

Pulling back, Methos carefully lifted a burning candle and handed it to Richie, then took one for himself. Without another word he set the wax column beside the bed while Richie did the same on the other side. Together they threw aside the dark bedspread, then slid under the soft, butter-yellow sheet. They moved together in the center of the bed, body melding against body, arms enclosing the other. Methos slid his leg over Richie’s hip, hooked his calf under the swell of the rounded ass, and pulled their hard, throbbing cocks together.

They kissed deeply, then their lips moved across cheeks, eyelids, and noses, each of them hungry for the other. “Oh, yes,” Richie moaned when Methos nipped and sucked at the spot where neck turned into shoulder, briefly leaving a mark before the tingle of healing erased it.

“Mine,” the older man whispered. “Oh gods, you’re mine.” He nuzzled up the muscled column of Richie’s neck to his ear. Delicately, he traced the curve with the tip of his tongue. “Take me, Rich,” he breathed into his lover’s ear. “Make me yours.” He rolled onto his back, pulling Richie with him, then bent his knees up, and spread his legs.

Richie slid down the long, lean body, dragging his hand along the sides of the older man’s ribcage, then sat back on his heels. He breathed deeply and evenly, his eyes dark with desire. The ivory body before him flushed pink across the chest, the dark rose nipples hard and pebbled, their color mimicked by the puckered opening revealed by the raised legs.

“I don’t know, Methos.”

Methos set his feet on the bed, his knees still bent and spread. He licked his lips, dry from his panting. “You don’t know what to do?” he asked. “Or you don’t know if you want to...”

Slim fingers stroked the tender skin inside Methos’s thighs. “I want to,” he answered.

The caress made him clench his ass and lift his hips from the bed. With a deep breath he relaxed again. “Scared?”

“A little,” Richie admitted quietly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” Heaving himself up on his elbows, Methos looked into Richie’s eyes. “What’s the matter?” He should have expected second thoughts. Richie had never been involved with a man before, and this was a big step.

“It’s silly.” He lowered his head, taking his indigo gaze away from Methos.

Feeling his arousal deflate, Methos sat up and crossed his legs. “Will you tell me? Please?”

The only sound was the muted traffic noises from the street for a long moment before Richie answered quietly.

“I’m not gay.”

Methos nodded his head in understanding. “Okay.” Silence stretched on for another long moment. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing, to drive Richie away from him, and he searched his mind for the right words, the right tone, the right touch. “I told you the other night — I won’t take advantage of you.” He scooted toward the head of the bed and pulled the sheet up over his lap, covering himself.

“You think if we do this, you’ll be a hundred per-cent gay?”

“Something like that.” The blue eyes were kept averted from Methos’s.

“Do you still like girls? I mean,” Methos paused, searching for a more politically correct phrase. “Are you sexually attracted to or aroused by women?”

“Yeah.” The freckled cheeks blushed pink.

“Are you sexually attracted to or aroused by men?”

The question brought Richie’s chin up, but he still didn’t look into Methos’s eyes. “Sometimes. Once in a while. Only you, now.” He spoke in hushed tones barely above a whisper.

It was Methos’s turn to blush. “I don’t think that makes you gay.” He tilted his head, trying to catch Richie’s eyes. “People today are too quick to put labels on everything,” he explained. “But if you’re uncomfortable about it — or anything — just say so. That’s part of what your safe word is for.”

“But you said you wanted to...”

“I’ve wanted you for a long time, Rich.” He stretched his arms open, inviting the younger man into his embrace. When the strawberry-blond curls were tucked under his chin, Methos went on. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

They sat without speaking as the afternoon light faded, leaving the bedroom lit only by the flickering candles. Methos let his hands rest gently on Richie’s bare skin, letting the crisp curls tickle his chin. He breathed in the spicy-musky scent that he already identified with his newest lover, hoping this wouldn’t be the last time he held the younger man in his arms.

“How come I’m so scared when this feels so good?”

Tightening his embrace for a heartbeat, Methos brushed a kiss on the top of Richie’s head. “I don’t want you to be scared, Rich.” He tilted his head and rested his cheek on the springy curls. “This is new for both of us, in a way. I’ve always avoided falling in love with other immortals.”

Richie sat up and away from Methos. “What?” he asked.

Thinking over his last statement, Methos realized what he had said. Did he love Richie? He lowered his eyes, feeling a blush color his face and chest. “I’m falling — no, I’ve fallen in love with you, Richie.”

The younger man’s face split with a wide grin. “Really?”

Reaching for the freckled face, Methos drew their heads closer until their lips met again. The touch was tentative, like the first time they had kissed, but in seconds they found their passion again. Methos couldn’t tell if he pulled Richie back, or if the anxious boy pushed him, but in a moment they found themselves stretched on the bed, locked in a deep, possessive kiss that only started with their mouths. Their arms and then their legs entwined, and they held themselves as close to one another as possible. Methos felt the brush of the golden hair against his chest, and the hard pillar of Richie’s erection against his own.

“Yes.” The word was whispered in the old man’s ear as he kissed the length of Richie’s throat. “Oh, god, that’s what I needed to know,” Richie continued.

The slender fingers stroked the sides of Methos’s cheeks, pushing his head away from nipping kisses along Richie’s collar bone. The heavily furred chest expanded with each gasped breath. “It’s not so scary now.” He reached one hand to the nightstand and plucked a tube of Astroglide from the drawer, then handed it to Methos. “Here. Tell me what to do.”

Methos silently blessed all the gods and goddesses of love he could remember. Desires he had pushed aside for years, desires he’d hoped would be fulfilled someday swelled his heart. He knew what he wanted, what he needed. He wanted Richie deep inside him, to feel that thick cock fill him and stretch him to his limits. He wanted to watch Richie’s face as he contracted his body around him, pulling an intense orgasm from the young man. He knew how he would prepare Richie, how he would have Richie prepare him. It had been the stuff of his dreams for years, and his day dreams for the past week.

The old man squeezed a generous amount of the lube onto his fingers and stroked it over the hard shaft and head, paying special attention to the ridge behind the crown. Richie shivered at the touch of the cool gel, then sighed at the smooth strokes of Methos’s hand. When Richie’s cock glistened in the candlelight, Methos handed him the tube, then lay back.

Positioning himself in the center of the bed, his head elevated on a pillow, Methos lifted his hips to allow another pillow beneath them, then bent his knees and spread them. His erection stood tall from its nest of black curls, as Richie’s jutted from his own groin and pulled his knees to his chest, exposing his perineum and anus.

“One finger at first,” he instructed, watching Richie dutifully apply lubricant to his index finger.

“Like this?”

Methos felt rather than saw the line Richie drew across the sensitive skin below his balls to the tight puckered opening. “Oh, yeah. Just like that.” He exhaled slowly as the finger pressed into him, willing the muscles in his ass to relax. He felt every contour of Richie’s slender digit, and he breathed in a rhythm he knew would maximize the pleasure for both of them. Words would be too much for him, he knew, so he drew Richie’s gaze to his own hand, pantomiming his instructions.

“Twist?” Richie asked, and complied. “Oh, you like that,” he guessed when Methos bucked and gasped. He studied Methos’s next gesture and nodded. He slowly withdrew his index finger, then reinserted it along with the freshly lubed middle finger.

He needed no more instruction; Richie moved his fingers in just the manner needed to leave Methos panting and trembling.

“More?” the younger man asked as he pulled out of the five-thousand year old body once more, only to reenter with the desired three fingers.

He was stretched enough, Methos knew. He was ready. The waves of near-orgasmic pleasure came closer and closer together, each surge of ecstasy higher and stronger than the last. Gods, he thought with the last two brain cells still functioning, this is just his hand! Words finally formed in his mind and with a huge effort he pushed them past his vocal cords. “You. Now.”

Richie was amazed at the effect he had on Methos. He’d never seen a man in the throes of such ecstasy, and with just a few movements of his fingers. He looked down, checking his own readiness. He’d always been proud of his manhood, knowing he was well endowed, but never had he been so hard, so big, so ready. He bent forward to whisper, “Now, you’re mine.”

On his last word he trust his hips forward. Once the head of his cock was past the tight ring of muscle, the stiff shaft slid in — into the waiting, welcoming body of the oldest man in the world. He pulled back and thrust again, grasping the slim hips for better leverage. When he was again buried in his lover, Methos’s long legs wrapped around him, locking them together.

The rhythm of thrust and withdraw came to Richie naturally, and encouraged by the sounds coming from Methos’s mouth, he continued, thrusting harder and faster with each stroke.

Never would he have imagined it would be like this. His experiences with women had taught him a great deal about pleasing a lover, but could not have prepared him for this. Methos was a hot, tight channel that gripped his cock tighter than any woman’s body had, the incredible sensations driving him to thrust over and over, trying to go deeper each time until he could thrust no more, and already deep inside his lover, he ground his hips against Methos’s ass. He could feel his climax building, starting as it always did, from deep within his own body — gathering power from all his extremities, his toes, his hands, even his head — the energy collecting in his balls before exploding from him in a series of spasms that shook his entire body and left him gasping Methos’s name as he collapsed into his lover’s arms.

It was more than Methos had ever imagined. He let himself be carried away by the intensity of the love he felt for Richie, let his body respond without restraint to each touch, each thrust, each sound from the golden Adonis of his dreams. He tossed his head back and forth, his body bucking in time with Richie’s thrusts. His hands grasped the bed sheets, nearly tearing the fabric as he writhed in the purest of pleasures, but he pried his fingers loose when his cock demanded his hand’s attention.

He was hard again, his balls about to burst, when he wrapped his hand around the throbbing shaft. He stroked and pulled in time with the thrusts and withdrawals of the hot rod pistonning in and out of his ass. Every thrust pushed against the magic spot deep within him, bringing an explosion of stars behind his eyes with each overwhelming surge of passion. He came hard, hot semen flooding the plain of his body. It pooled in his navel, in the hollow of his sternum, then spread over his ribs and flanks to drip unnoticed onto the bed.

Methos’s orgasm was quickly followed by Richie’s, and the long, ivory arms immediately wrapped around the golden body as they fell together from the precipice of passion into the warm, dark oblivion of sleep.

---

The thick candles were still flickering when Methos awoke. He was aware of the sticky mess they’d made of the bed and themselves, but that was insignificant when compared with the joy he felt with Richie in his arms. They lay sprawled across the bed, Methos supine, legs still spread apart, Richie prone across him, his face tucked into the curve of the older man’s neck, warm breath ghosting across alabaster skin, golden-red curls tickling his stubbled jaw. One strong arm grasped the slender ribcage, and even if he’d wanted to, Methos couldn’t get out of bed.

With his eyes still closed, the Old Man stroked his lover’s back, long, smooth caresses from shoulder to hip and back, then down farther to cup the firm, round ass. He trailed his fingertips along the curve of flesh then followed the cleft to the small of Richie’s back. After tracing the spine upward, Methos repeated the circuit, reveling in the small noises that made their way from deep inside the younger man’s chest — noises that were neither moans nor sighs, but somehow both, noises that told him of Richie’s pleasure and satisfaction.

Another soft caress and the golden hips snuggled closer to his own, the arm across his chest tightened its grasp.

“You could keep doin’ that,” Richie mumbled into his neck, then pressed a nibbling kiss against his throat. “But I’d make a mess in a minute.” He pushed his hips closer to Methos’s, his hard cock pressed between them. He rolled back, pushing up on one elbow so he could look at the Old Man.

Methos didn’t give him a second more to talk, but quickly captured his mouth in a hungry kiss. They snuggled back into the comfortable embrace, and Methos continued his soft caresses, while Richie aimlessly trailed his fingertips along the lean flanks.

They cuddled and dozed in the warm aftermath of lovemaking, Richie sinking into Methos’s heartbeat, Methos lulled by the rhythmic susurration of Richie’s breathing. A forever later in lovers’ time, Richie mumbled against the old man’s chest.

Methos pulled the younger man with him as he sat up against the headboard. “What did you say?”

“You’ll think it’s silly.”

Methos brushed a kiss across the springy curls. “Never.”

“When I was in school we studied a poem — yeah, I went to school, sometimes.” Richie swallowed before going on. “It was the most romantic thing I’d ever heard, and I memorized part of it. I thought that when I got married, I’d say it as part of the ceremony.” His voice was hushed and low.

Methos closed his eyes against the rush of emotion. He’d meant it when he said he was falling in love with Richie, but he had never expected the younger man to make any kind of response.

“Back then, I thought it would be Angie I’d say it to, but then when I became Immortal, they didn’t mean much anymore.”

“What’s the poem?”

“Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be: the last of life for which the first was made.”

“Browning,” Methos supplied under his breath. “Rabbi Ben Ezra.”

“But it doesn’t really make sense for us.” The young man sighed heavily. “We don’t grow old, and it’s not like we’re gonna die anytime soon.

“We may not grow old, Richie, but we do get older. How about if we change a couple words?” He thought a moment, then went on. “Grow older along with me, the best is yet to be: the rest of life for which the first was made.”

“Yeah. That’s good. I like that.” And with that Richie tilted his head back to capture Methos’s mouth in a searing kiss that left them both breathless.

There was nothing more he wanted to do than spend the rest of the weekend in bed with Richie, but for once he pushed his baser urges aside and took a deep breath. “Look, kid, it’s not even — ” Methos craned his head to see the bedside clock. “ — nine o’clock. Do you want to grab some dinner?”

“Where?”

Methos felt Richie stiffen in his embrace at the suggestion of going out. “Joe’s?”

Richie’s answer came too quickly. “No. Not Joe’s.”

The old man understood. As happy as Richie might be with what they now had between them, he wasn’t ready to face people who knew them, people whose judgment he cared about. “There’s always that place Joe sent us,” he offered. “They already know us there.” He remembered how much Richie seemed to enjoy dancing the previous week, and how good it felt to hold the younger man in his arms. “We can dance there.”

The golden body snuggled closer. “Hmmm, that might be nice.”

“Okay.” Methos caught Richie’s mouth in a short, hard kiss. “A couple of quick showers and then we’re off to dinner.”

While Methos showered, Richie quickly changed the soiled sheets, then switched places with Methos under the hot water spray. When he was clean and dressed, he found Methos sitting at his desk, clicking his way through several of the web cam sites he’d found. He paused at the same site that Richie had watched earlier.

“They’ve got company.” Methos sat back in the chair so Richie could see. “Looks like quite a party.”

Methos heard the gulp when Richie took in the screen shot. Three men shared the bed, entangled in a complicated sandwich of anal intercourse. Another man swung in a leather sling, his legs held up and apart while he was simultaneously fucked and fellated.

“I was never much into the group scene,” Richie explained. “But they do seem to be having fun.” He looked at the older man. “Are you into that kinda thing?

The slight tremor in Richie’s voice told Methos how to respond. “Been there, done that, Kid.” He reached an arm around the khaki-clad hips next to his shoulder and squeezed. “I want you all to myself.”

The End

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Notes:

As with all the Blind Date series, this story takes place sometime after the fifth season. The Evil Kevin Archangel is canon.

Astroglide® is the official lube of the Richie/Methos List.

With great thanks to:

Rick and Jeremy (and their guests), for the inspiration for this and other stories;

Patrick Drahos, for his very informative site; and

Minotaur, for service to slash writers above and beyond.

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This page last updated
16 November 2002

© 2002 Emma Keigh