The door closed, shutting out the television cameras and the audience eagerly watching their every move. The apartment was dark except for the moonlight spilling through the crescent shaped window over the door, and the only sound was the traffic passing on the street outside. Although conversation had flowed almost uninterrupted since Richie’s opening gambit in the car, now that they were finally alone both men found themselves at a loss for words.
Squelching the urge to pin Methos up against the door and kiss him until neither of them could stand, Richie released Methos’ hand and asked, “Do you want a beer?”
Having expected to be crowded back into the door and thoroughly kissed, Methos was slow to respond to Richie’s question. “Yeah,” he answered finally, following Richie to the kitchen. The open refrigerator door blocked the doorway to the kitchen, so the ancient immortal just leaned on the top and waited for Richie to emerge with their beer.
Richie straightened, and found himself face to face with Methos. The light from the refrigerator door played across the elder immortal’s face, revealing the hazel eyes so close to his own, and Richie again wrestled with the need to taste the tender smile playing on Methos’ lips. Holding one brown bottle gingerly by the neck, he offered the bottom end to Methos and withdrew his hand as soon as he was sure Methos had a firm grip on it.
He’d been the one to extend the invitation to stay, but the implications of that were starting to catch up with him. All he had to do was touch Methos and in a matter of seconds they’d be oblivious to anything but their passion, but Richie was reluctant to make that move. They’d been there and done that. Something about the way Methos had held him in the hot tub and in the car on the way home, something in the way he had responded to Methos’ touch, told Richie that their desire for each other was only the beginning. The problem he now faced was taking his intuition and putting it into concrete words that would explain his hesitation to Methos.
Taking a deep breath, Richie backed up and closed the refrigerator door, removing the barrier between himself and Methos. He stepped close, not to take Methos’ lips, but to take his hand. Warmth spread through Richie when Methos simply closed his hand around Richie’s and took half a step back. Now Richie had enough room to walk out of the kitchen, and the freedom to decide where they would go next.
“We...” Richie cleared his throat. “We could sit in the living room for a while, put some music on.... If you want.”
“All right,” Methos agreed solemnly, surprised to find that some of Richie’s nervousness was rubbing off on him. It had been months since Richie had gotten over his awe of the world’s oldest immortal, and once he’d been convinced that his lightest touch was enough to arouse Methos, Richie had even overcome the last of his shyness in their bed. It touched Methos deeply that Richie was so uncertain now in the privacy of his apartment when the TV cameras had done little to diminish his natural bravado.
When they reached the living room they unclasped hands, with Methos settling himself on the couch and Richie going over to the CD player. “What do you want to listen to?”
“Whatever you want,” Methos shrugged, a smile in his voice.
Richie turned back to look skeptically at the older immortal. “You’re being awfully agreeable tonight.”
“It would be rather foolish to object, wouldn’t it, when what you’re suggesting is exactly what I want to do?” Methos pointed out.
“I know you want to... you know,” the younger man replied, gesturing towards the bedroom.
“Oh, yes,” Methos nodded. “But that isn’t all I want. It never has been.” While Richie stood, frozen, the ancient immortal continued, “Relationships with immortals are never easy. You’ve seen that. Even casual flings tend to blow up into a complicated mess.”
“No kidding,” Richie agreed wryly.
“I want you,” Methos went on. “You know that. But we would never have ended up in bed if all I wanted was to get laid.”
“I don’t know what I wanted, Methos. I really don’t. One minute we’re friends, the next minute we’re burning up the sheets — It never stays the same long enough for me to get a handle on it.”
“We’re not in a hurry, you know. It takes however long it takes. It goes wherever it decides to go. This isn’t something we have to define, or put a label on.” Methos met Richie’s gaze squarely. “Just be with me, in whatever way you’re comfortable with.”
The quiet plea in Methos’ voice shook Richie to the core. Methos never asked for anything, never seemed to need anything. Richie’s fingers trembled when he hit the play button on the CD player, but his words flowed steadily when he turned back to his lover. “What I’m comfortable with? That’s the whole problem. I’m never uncomfortable when I’m with you.” Taking Methos’ hands and tugging him off the couch, Richie waited until his face was settled in the curve of Methos’ shoulder and their bodies moved easily to the music drifting from the speakers before he spoke again. “I do these crazy things when I’m with you. I sit on the floor and eat all of this weird Indian food every week. I call you at work because I just can’t wait another minute to talk to you. I buy five different scents of bubble bath because I don’t know which one you’ll like. I never used to take bubble baths, Methos.” Richie leaned back just far enough to look into Methos’ eyes. “I never thought I could be the way I am with you, but now I can’t be any other way.”
All of the things Methos wanted to say in response condensed into a heartfelt groan before his lips descended to capture Richie’s. He poured himself into the kiss, using the endless caress of their mouths to convey the thoughts and feelings for which he had no words. In Richie’s response he found them not just returned, but redoubled.
“God,” Richie groaned when they came up for air. “I wanted to do that all day.”
“I know you did,” Methos growled, shifting to nibble on ichie’s earlobe. “And I wanted you to. It drove me crazy, wanting you to kiss me, to touch me. I never realized how much I need those things, how addicted I am to you holding my hand, rubbing my back, until you stopped.”
“I’m sorry,” Richie whispered, sliding his hands underneath Methos’ shirt, tracing the muscles of Methos’ abdomen with his fingers, rediscovering the small of Methos’ back and pulling their bodies into even closer contact. “It was supposed to be a blind date. If I touched you the way I wanted to, no one would have believed we just met.” Withdrawing his hands and putting them to use unbuttoning Methos’ shirt, Richie continued, “Sometimes,though, I forgot. I couldn’t help it.”
“Don’t apologize,” Methos shushed Richie. “Just take me to bed. I want to touch you, too.”
“Well, when you put it that way,” Richie grinned, “the bedroom’s right over here.”
There was no overhead light in Richie’s bedroom, so a flip of the light switch only turned on the lamp beside the bed. That was more than enough illumination, however, for the pair to see and admire the bare skin exposed with each piece of clothing that was removed. The skin glowing warmly in the lamplight wasn’t content to be simply admired, but begged to be touched, as well, and both men were eager to oblige. For a moment they simply held each other, savoring the closeness. Almost without thought, fingers began to trail lazily across a ribcage and down the curve of a spine. Cheekbones and noses nuzzled against shoulders, thighs and hips thrust gently against each other. Inevitably a tongue darted out to taste the sheen of sweat beginning to glisten in the light. A hand clenched deeply in response, bringing twin pillars of flesh into abrupt contact, and that was all it took to transform the quiet embrace into a passionate storm.
They fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, straining to get as close as possible. After a brief tussle, Richie wound up on top. Methos would have objected, but Richie’s tongue stroking across an already pebbled nipple robbed him of breath. By the time the whole nipple had disappeared into Richie’s mouth, all Methos could do was moan appreciatively.
Slowly, an inch at a time, Richie worked his way from Methos’ chest to his navel. Richie devoted a great deal of time to the ridges and hollows there, as thoroughly aroused by Methos’ gasps and shudders of response as Methos himself was aroused by the skillful attentions of Richie’s mouth. When all that remained was Methos’ erection rising proudly from its nest of hair, Richie put his hands to work instead of his mouth in the vain hope that his breathing would return to a more normal depth.
Watching Methos’ hips arch to meet each stroke, hearing the cries he could not control did nothing to diminish Richie’s arousal. In spite of his tenuous grip on his control, Richie could not resist tasting the fluid now leaking freely from Methos’ cock. Licking his lips and humming in the back of his throat, Richie leaned down to capture more of his lover’s essence.
“Richie! Gods, Richie please...”
The tone of Methos’ voice brought Richie’s head up sharply.
“Please, Richie,” Methos panted. “Let me...”
The ancient immortal hauled Richie up by the shoulders and rolled so that the younger man lay beneath him. “You’re trying to drive me insane,” he accused between deep, drugging kisses.
“Oh yeah,” Richie chuckled breathlessly. “Is it working?”
“You know it is, Brat.”
Richie’s response was cut off by another kiss, the thrust of Methos’ tongue echoed this time by the stroke of his hand on Richie’s erection. This time it was Richie’s turn to beg. “Methos, I can’t... Please...”
“Please... what?” Methos teased. “Please... stop?”
“No! Damn it, Methos, I want...”
“I know,” the elder rasped, kissing the tip of Richie’s nose. “Me, too.”
The bedside table was too far to reach from their position in the center of the bed, so Methos rolled off of Richie to retrieve the lube and Richie hurried to grab a pillow and position it under his hips.
Kneeling on the bed between Richie’s bent knees, Methos held his lover’s gaze. He gauged the progress of his lube-coated finger as it entered Richie’s body by watching Richie’s face. Each sensation registered there instantly, telling Methos precisely when to insert a second digit, then a third.
“More, Methos,” Richie cried. “More.”
Methos didn’t waste any more time. Richie was ready for him, and as close to the edge as he. With one smooth thrust he was completely sheathed in Richie’s body. Part of him wanted to draw this part out as long as possible, to savor each moment of being connected to Richie in such an intimate way. The larger part of him was absolutely at the mercy of the desire raging through him, however. He was powerless to control the ever quickening rhythm of thrust and retreat his body demanded.
Richie matched Methos stroke for stroke, and when Methos’ orgasm shuddered through his body, Richie was right there with him. He held Methos tightly long after the dark head had collapsed onto his shoulder. His grip tightened in protest when Methos sought to pull away.
“I should go,” Methos explained.
“Not yet,” Richie contradicted. “It’s early.”
“It’s one in the morning,” Methos sighed.
“Stay anyway,” Richie demanded quietly. “I want you here when I wake up.”
“Well, when you put it that way,” Methos chuckled, getting comfortable once more, “it’s a good thing I brought a toothbrush.”