“ She wants a what story? A bathtub story?” Richie asked the dark haired figure dragging him in the direction of the bathroom. “What for?”

“Why do you think, Brat?” Methos returned with an amused quirk of his eyebrow.

A flush darkened the younger immortal’s cheeks. “What is it with her and bathtubs, anyway?”

“Let me think,” Methos drawled, tugging Richie close to him. “You, me, naked, wet...”

“Okay, okay, I get the picture,” Richie breathed, hovering a heartbeat away from Methos’ lips before stepping back. “Let’s get this show on the road,” he ordered, pushing his lover the rest of the way into the bathroom.

Once inside, Richie shut the door, leaning heavily against it as he watched Methos pull towels from a nearby cupboard. “Why don’t you work on the wet part,” he suggested when Methos met his eye in the mirror, and I’ll work on the naked part.”

“It is my honor to serve,” Methos replied huskily.

“Jack and Daniel never say it like *that,*” Richie chuckled around the desire clenching painfully in his gut.

“They had damned well better not,” the elder immortal responded, the words muffled by the sound of water gushing from the tap into the bathtub. He ignored Richie’s questioning look and pointed out, “I thought you said something about getting naked.”

“So I did,” Richie acknowledged with a laugh. He started to yank his shirt out of his jeans, but changed his mind at the last minute in favor of a series of small tugs that had Methos grinding his teeth impatiently. One by one he slipped the buttons through their buttonholes, and finally the shirt slithered off of his arms and back and fell to the floor.

“Asking for it, aren’t you?” Methos drawled when Richie made no move to undress further.

“Oh yeah,” the younger immortal agreed.

“Are you going to finish before this tub gets full?”

“Probably,” Richie conceded. “You think I should?”

“You did say naked,” Methos reminded him.

“Nice to know you heard something I said,” Richie sighed in mock exasperation. “I guess I should take my pants off then.” He slanted a glance up through his lashes. “Socks, too?”

“Naked, Brat.”

“Oh, right,” Richie replied as though understanding had suddenly burst upon him. “Naked. I got it.” In one motion he pushed his pants down along with his socks and stepped clear. “Is this what you had in mind?” he asked the ancient immortal with an innocent smile.

“Oh, yes,” Methos nodded, hazel eyes glowing warmly. “You’ve got the idea.”

“I’m glad you approve.”

An eyebrow arched suggestively, Methos questioned, “What’s not to like?”

Richie’s grin stretched across his whole face. “The best part’s coming up, though.”

Hazel eyes traveled up, down, and back up again. “You look pretty naked to me. What else can come off?”

“Your clothes.”

“You think of everything, don’t you?” Methos praised, spreading his arms away from his body. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Lucky me,” Richie breathed, sliding his hands under Methos’ sweater. The shudder that rippled through Methos at the contact was echoed in his own body. His eyes flickered to meet the other man’s for just a second, but that was signal enough. Methos’ arms were over his head a beat later, and the sweater followed closely behind.

Freed from the sleeve, a slender hand reached out to cradle Richie’s jaw. When the younger man leaned into the touch, Methos’ thumb stroked gently across Richie’s cheek. “Rich. . .” he sighed.

Blue orbs blinked open, gleaming with contented pleasure for a moment before the curly head angled away from Methos’ hand. “Naked. Right.” Rosy lips quirked mischievously. “I keep forgetting.”

With a soft snort of disbelief, Methos shut off the water and turned back to his lover, “The wet part’s done. Now you have to finish the naked part.”

“It is my honor to serve,” Richie replied, echoing Methos’ earlier quotation as he reached for the button on Methos’ jeans.

“Jack and Daniel never say it like that,” Methos half laughed, half groaned as Richie’s hand slipped inside the denim and past the opening in his boxers, following the zipper’s progress down the length of his erection.

“They’d damn well better not,” Richie whispered near Methos’ ear before easing the waistband of Methos’ boxers away from his straining cock and pushing boxers and jeans to the floor.

Methos braced a hand on Richie’s shoulder and stepped out of the material puddled at his feet. His grip tightened and his knees wobbled slightly when Richie took advantage of his kneeling position to suck just the tip of Methos’ shaft into his mouth. “If you keep that up,” he reminded the younger man between gasps, “our water’s going to get cold.”

Drawing back with a last swipe of his tongue across the crown of Methos’ erection, Richie rose. “Somehow I think being cold is the last thing we have to worry about,” he snickered, “but by all means, let’s get in.”

When Methos simply stared back at him wearing an inscrutable expression, Richie nodded towards their waiting bath. “Aren’t you going to get in?”

“You go first.”

“Why?” Richie asked, shaking his head. “You want to hold me, and I’ve been thinking about you wrapped around me since we got in here.”

Methos frowned. “How did you...?”

“How did I know that? Don’t you know?” Richie teased. “I can read your mind, Old Man.”

“Don’t do that, Richie,” Methos answered, his voice dangerously soft. “Don’t analyze me, don’t think you know me.”

“I do know you.”

“Do you?” Methos sneered, barricading himself behind a wall of cutting words. “What do you know? What side of the bed I sleep on? How I like my coffee in the mornings? Is that knowing me?”

“It’s part of it,” Richie replied, his voice as tense as his body in response to Methos’ tone.

“What’s the rest of it?” Methos purred. “How hard I like it, how fast I want it? What I want your pretty mouth to do to me?”

“Is that what you think this is?!” Richie shouted, his temper fraying. “You think I’m here because of hormones, you arrogant son of a bitch? You think I’m still some stupid teenager being led around by my dick and calling it love, pretending that we want more from each other than our next orgasm?” Richie waited, then pressed, “Is that really what you think, Methos?” When the older man remained stonily silent, Richie asked, “Was I wrong?”

“Undoubtedly,” Methos returned, the chill spreading through his body a sharp contrast to Richie’s fury. “To which thing specifically are you referring?”

“You wanting to hold me. Was I wrong about that?”

There was another noticeable pause before Methos answered. “Did I want your ass in my lap? Of course I did.”

“And my head on your shoulder, and my back up against your chest, and my hands running up and down your naked legs — did you want that?”

“A nice side benefit,” the ancient immortal shrugged, ignoring the way the buried hurt in Richie’s voice lashed at his heart.

“Look at me, Methos!” Richie yelled. “Look me in the eye and tell me the reason we’re getting into that tub is so you can fuck me.”

“That’s the only reason I wanted to take a bath with you,” Methos responded, outwardly composed but inwardly braced for the explosion he knew the lie would cause.

“You are such a fucking liar,” Richie hissed. Eyes blazing, he took a step closer to the other man. “If you don’t feel anything for me, I can live with that, but don’t you dare lie to me about it. Don’t do anything for my own good, and don’t treat me like I don’t know what I feel, what I want. I know you, Met, and I know we aren't here because I let you screw us both senseless you, Methos, and I know we aren’t here because I let you screw us both senseless anytime you want.”

“Well, that’s part of it,” Methos retorted, still on autopilot. He flushed under Richie’s exasperated gaze. “Well, it is.”

“You bastard,” Richie sighed, torn between laughter and irritation at Methos’ honesty. The slightly sheepish expression on Methos’ face finished the job of soothing his temper, and with a groan he let it go. “God, Methos, you are such a prick sometimes.” He read the intent in Methos’ eyes and pressed a hand to Methos’ lips to halt the apology he sensed was imminent. “Don’t say it,” he warned, softening the words with a half smile. “Just get in.”

“Only if you’re coming in after me.”

“I’m right behind you,” Richie promised.

“Thank you.” Methos swallowed, then admitted, “I do want to hold you.”

“No shit,” Richie snorted. A reluctant grin finally fought its way free as he let Methos help him into the tub. “It’s your lucky night, Old Timer, because I want you to hold me, too.”

The splash and trickle of the bathwater was the only sound as the two men climbed into the tub and settled easily into a familiar position, Methos leaning against the back of the tub and Richie resting against Methos’ chest.

It occurred to Richie to ask Methos if he was cold, but he was too lazily content to be bothered. The rise and fall of Methos’ chest and the slippery warmth of Methos’ skin next to his own absorbed his complete attention. A kiss pressed against his hair brought a sigh to his lips, and he snuggled more deeply into his lover’s embrace.

Long fingers threaded through Richie’s, and he brought their joined hands to his lips. He kissed each knuckle, then turned their hands so he could nibble at the fleshy base of each digit and suck gently at the center of Methos’ palms. When the older man freed his hands and wrapped his arms as tightly around Richie as possible, the red head fell to one side, exposing Richie’s neck and shoulder to Methos’ lips.

Even as Methos’ mouth wandered back and forth between Richie’s earlobe and the cap of his shoulder, Methos’ hands began roaming over the rest of Richie’s body; first the tight pucker of a nipple, then the flex and release of abdominal muscles, then the powerful tension of a thigh clenched to still the instinctive arching of hips. Broken sighs became audible moans as Methos’ explorations approached, but did not touch, the part of Richie’s body that most craved Methos’ caress.

“Methos,” Richie moaned, reaching around to grasp the other man’s cock.

“Shhh,” Methos soothed, removing Richie’s hand. “Just let me touch you.”

“But...” Richie whimpered, pressing more deeply into Methos’ touch.

Methos bit back a groan as the restless motion of his lover’s body fueled his own rapidly rising passion. “You’ll like it,” he wheedled, trailing calming strokes up and down the length of Richie’s arms.

Richie’s breathing slowing down for two concentrated breaths, then sped up again. “No shit,” he panted. “But you...”

“I’m doing just fine, thank you,” Methos replied, his point more than made by the erection he ground firmly against Richie’s ass. “I have everything I need,” he spoke quietly, “You. Just you, wild for me.” He nuzzled his nose into Richie’s dampening curls. “I wish you could see yourself like this, when you can’t think of anything but me, when all that matters is my hands on you.” Nipping just a bit too hard on Richie’s earlobe even as he finally began stroking Richie’s cock, Methos rasped, “I need you to want me like this.” He drank in the sound of Richie’s cries. “Yes, just exactly like this.”

Long past the ability to speak, Richie answered in the only way he was able, with the urgent writhing of his body against Methos’ and the inarticulate sounds of pleasure he had no idea were coming from him. Clever fingers and lips kept Richie hovering endlessly on the brink of release, taking greedy delight as Richie surrendered to the ecstasy being inflicted on him.

Finally, however, Methos’ own climax was too close, and his own need made his hands falter in their perfect rhythm. One stroke just a little too hard, just a little too tight, and Richie came apart in his arms. Tremor after tremor shook the younger man, and the room echoed with his exultant, triumphant scream. Too fiercely aroused by the explosion of Richie’s passion to rein in his own, Methos leaned his head back and thrust against the motion of Richie’s body, letting the slippery friction carry him over the edge.

“Oh my God,” Richie groaned, shifting onto his side and collapsing against Methos’ shoulder.

“I told you you’d like it,” Methos panted, lifting a shaky hand to cradle Richie’s head and leaning down to kiss his hair.

“What’s not to like?” Richie chuckled, grinning against Methos’ neck. Growing more serious for a moment, he raised his head to look at Methos. “I love you, you know.”

“I know,” Methos smiled.

“So you’ve made your point, then?”

Meeting Richie’s knowing expression, Methos’ lips quirked wryly. “Yes, point made.”

“Good,” Richie replied, laughing as he sat up and got out of the tub. “Because my plan at the moment is to dry off, drag you to bed, and get inside you as fast as I can, and I don’t want you to think that means I don’t love you.”

Methos rose from the tub in one swift movement. “I don’t think will be a problem,” he assured Richie, struggling for nonchalance instead of the adolescent eagerness he was suddenly feeling.

“You can suffer through it?” Richie teased.

“For you,” Methos purred, “I’d suffer through worse. For your sake I’d even live without the comfort of our bed, if you wanted to, say, take me here, instead.”

“That’s awfully generous of you,” Richie replied soberly, opening the bathroom door, “but I hate to think of you getting rug burn, when our room’s just across the hall.”

“All the way across the hall,” the ancient immortal sighed, staring across the seemingly endless expanse of carpet that separated their bedroom from the bathroom. “It’s so far...”

“I guess I’ll just have to start without you, then,” Richie shrugged, starting across the hall.

He stopped short when a streak of pale flesh flew past him into the bedroom. “Nice to see you’re not slow about everything, Old Man,” he told Methos’ back before closing the bedroom door and making a point of his own.

© 2002 Nikki Memmott