Disclaimer: Rysher and Davis et al own the characters of the highlander series and this particular incarnation of immortality, not me. I intend no copyright infringement and will make no money from this story.

Warnings: This story contains explicit m/m sexual content. It is adult in nature. If you aren't an adult yet, I'll have to ask you to come back when you are. If the idea of two men together squicks you, or just isn't your cup a tea, I've got lots of Het stories that might interest you. (link to my main page at the bottom.)

A VALENTINE FOR METHOS

By
Kiristeen ke Alaya

Part One


Richie cautiously approached the apartment building, hoping he'd gotten his information correct. His hopes rose the closer he got without feeling the telltale tingle of another immortal. He slipped to the side of the building and waited patiently. This first leg of his covert mission was the most crucial, and he had no control over how long it took.

He grinned as he recognized the next car that pulled up in front of the building. It hadn't taken that long after all. He continued to wait and watch. The woman climbed out, locking her car door after double checking that she had her keys in hand. As she made her way toward the front door, he strolled casually around the corner, resisting the urge to smile even wider. He knew how this was going to play out. The last time Methos had tried to hold the door for her, she'd looked like she was going to hit him.

"Hello," he said, nodding politely.

She looked at him warily. Then her eyes brightened with recognition. "Hello," she responded, nodding back at him, and returning her attention toward the door.

Richie pulled out his own, useless, keys just as she brought hers toward the lock. "Here, let me get that for you," he said, moving forward.

"I can get it!" she snapped. "I am *quite* capable of unlocking and opening a door."

Richie held up his hands in apparent surrender. "Forgive me," he said graciously. He could afford to be gracious, she was the one with the keys to the building. "I meant no offense."

She sighed as she twisted the key. "It's alright," she replied with an indelicate snort. "As long as you don't take *my* attitude to heart either."

"Never," Richie replied, reaching for the door *after* she passed through. Walking in behind her, he continued blithely with his rehearsed statement. "It must be difficult to get past stereotyping in a predominately male dominated society." He almost rolled his eyes as he said it. When she smiled brilliantly at him, however, he was glad he had restrained the urge.

"Yes, indeed it is, young man. It's so nice to find that the youth of today are finally beginning to understand that."

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied with a nod, all the while gritting his teeth against her own assumptions. He'd only been immortal for a few short years, but already he was sick of being called 'a youth', or 'young man'. Especially when the people doing it were, in all probability as young or younger than he.

After another few moments of conversation, Richie was able to make good his good-bye and head up the stairs. Only letting his frustration show after she'd disappeared into her apartment, one thought kept circling through his mind, and not for the first time. He *had* to find a way to look older than 19. 'Maybe I'll ask Methos,' he thought, as he approached the immortal's door. 'He should know the good tricks.'

Richie's smile blossomed, when no immortal presence signaled. Methos wasn't home. He had been pretty sure the other immortal wasn't planning on being back in town until later tonight, but it was reassuring to have it confirmed. Pulling a small leather pouch out from an inner pocket of his jacket, Richie eyed the locks on the door in front of him, then looked down and unrolled the leather. When Amanda had pulled him aside last Christmas and given him this set, he'd never thought he'd actually get any use out of it, but had been touched by the thought, nonetheless.

The leather was new, but the tools nestled inside were not. In fact, she'd told him they were over a hundred years old. He grinned as he pulled out the picks he would need. She'd even gone so far as to tell him there was a story behind them, but had refused to tell him just what it was.

All of Richie's wheedling had only managed to get a promise from her. Her gift to him on his 100th birthday would be *that* story. Her grin had promised a juicy tale and he planned on making her live up to it. Right now, however, he needed to concentrate on this dead bolt lock.

*Snick*

Richie quickly moved on to the lock below the knob, his stomach fluttering nervously. If someone caught him out here, it would certainly ruin his plan for this evening. Jail wasn't the place he wanted to spend Valentine's Day.

*Click*

He rose quickly, gathering his tools and slipped inside Methos' apartment. Richie shook his head, smiling at how, surprisingly, easy it was to *get* inside. With the old man's paranoia, he'd have thought it'd be a lot more difficult. However, he was just as glad it was fairly easy; it made his plans go that much smoother.

Glancing down at his watch, Richie grinned. Methos' plane should be landing any minute now. Of course, knowing how airlines just *loved* schedules, he had made allowances. The limo he'd hired to pick up his 'valentine', had instructions to get the man here promptly at 6:08pm. If anything interfered with that, they were to call. He shuddered at the number of things that *could* go wrong, but immediately put them out of his mind. Tonight was for positive thinking.

Pulling off his backpack and coat, he withdrew everything he needed and set to work.

***

Methos let out a held breath as the plane landed. 'Gods! I hate flying,' he thought fervently. It wasn't so much that he feared flying, as he simply didn't trust it. It was great for quick getaways, and it was, most certainly, better than taking a boat across the Atlantic. 'Yes, boats are definitely worse than planes.' It just wasn't easy getting past over 4500 years of *it can't be done*, to less than a couple a hundred of actually flying.

He did have to admit, though, as he was striding down the gangplank, it was much better *now* than it had been in the early days. He chuckled quietly. He had adamantly refused to even *think* about getting on a plane until after they stopped looking like toys built in someone's backyard.

"Dr. Pierson?"

Methos started at the unexpected call, glancing warily at the man who'd said his name. "And you are?"

"Your ride, Sir."

Frowning, Methos swiftly reviewed his options. "I didn't call ahead for 'a ride'," he said cautiously. 'Who did?' he thought. 'Who was after him this time? And if they thought he was stupid enough to--'

"No, Sir. A Mr. Richard Ryan arranged for it."

'Oh!' "Well, in that case, just let me get my checked bags." Methos moved away from the man, watching his reactions carefully. Nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary. The uniformed man simply followed him like a good chauffeur. Still... "You, of course, were hired directly by this 'Mr. Richard Ryan'?"

The man's mouth twitched upward in a sardonic twist. "Of course not. He spoke to the main office. However, he did leave this," the chauffeur said, handing a sealed envelop to
Methos.

With narrowed eyes, Methos accepted it, scanning it briefly before carefully ripping it open.

        Adam,

        Get your paranoid butt into the limo.

"Limo?"

"Of course, Sir."

Methos rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the note.

        Get your paranoid butt into the limo. They have instructions to take you home,
        then wait for you to make yourself presentable.

'Presentable?' Methos thought with an indignant snort. 'What am I? A prize? Or a woman?'

        And don't get all huffy on me. Just remember, I'm waiting at the end. Me,
        plus those other things you like so well.

        Richie

Methos gaped. He did that on purpose! 'Of all the idiotic ... Only he would--' Methos cut himself off mid-thought, nearly laughing out loud, and finished collecting his bags. Feeling much better, now that he had his protection in hand, he turned to his escort. "One more stop and I'll be ready to leave." This wouldn't take long. He had someone to get even with.

His escort looked about ready to protest as Methos headed toward the restrooms, but snapped his mouth shut and nodded.

****

Richie took a quick peek out the heavily shaded window. He'd added the extra covering himself, just so Methos wouldn't see anything odd, when the limo pulled up. Didn't want him getting suspicious ahead of time. He grinned and turned away, making sure the window was completely covered. Yet another, of many, looks to his watch confirmed it was almost time, 6:06. With no call from the driver, he had to assume everything was going according to plan.

((Barring strange lightening storms that knocked out things like cell phones.))

Richie froze, forcing himself to breathe around the sudden aching tightness in his chest. He wouldn't think about that. Everything was going to go as planned. No immortals were going to interfere. Resolutely pushing such depressing thoughts from his mind, he hurried about the room, lighting the candles. If they weren't late, he didn't have a lot of time left.

As soon as he had them lit, he returned to the front window, pulling aside the covering the smallest amount that let him see to the street. Now all he had to do was wait. It should be long. He grinned as he saw a long black limousine drive into view and he quickly smoothed shut the window curtains. Then, hightailing it to the back of the apartment, he climbed out the rear window, closing it behind him.


Part Two


With two quick flicks of his wrist, Methos unlocked his door and opened it. He blinked twice, then stepped back, unable to resist the useless urge to check the number on his apartment door. Shaking his head, he returned his attention to his glowing living room. It was dancing with the living flame of hundreds of strategically placed candles, the flickering of light and shadows giving the very air a welcoming spirit. And despite his confusion, he took a slow, deep breath, letting the blended scent of sandalwood and cinnamon wash over him.

'Richie has to be responsible for this, so why isn't he here?' Methos wondered, inching forward and allowing the door to close behind him. What else was planned here? He understood the ruse with the limo, but he was definitely getting his own back for that 'make yourself presentable remark', *and* for that trick with his real name. But, why wasn't the brat here to enjoy the fruits of his... "Aha!" Methos murmured in sweet satisfaction, as immortal presence tingled along his spine, eliciting a far different response than normal. He grinned.

Stepping toward the door, he waited. Several long moments passed with no knock, and no greeting, although the presence never wavered. He frowned, waiting for several more breaths. What was the brat waiting for...Christmas? He bent slightly and peeked through the security eye...nothing. He pulled back. "What the bloody hell?"

"Richie, if this is your idea of a joke, it isn't funny," he called out. "I'm opening the door, and if I were you, I wouldn't stand too close." He thought he heard a faint chuckle, but he couldn't, quite, be sure. Stepping back, he dropped his coat off and pulled out his sword, then yanked the door open.

Despite being prepared for just about anything, Methos jumped when the view revealed, Richie, leaning casually against the far wall, sporting a cat and canary category grin.

"Get in here," Methos hissed.

Richie straightened slowly, his smile never wavering. "Did I give you enough time?" he asked, as he crossed the hallway.

"Time?"

"Yeah," Richie replied, his smile turning to a smirk, "to make yourself presentable."

"I'll presentable you!" Methos hissed. At the same time, grabbing Richie's arm, he propelled the younger immortal into the apartment. Which, in turn, let him close out the outside world. Locking the door once again, he heard a soft chuckle behind him. He turned, a reprimand in his thoughts and on the tip of his tongue, but it died before he could utter a single word of it.

He sucked in a quick, startled breath instead. 'Damn! The kid can do that to me every time!' The soft light flickered off the red highlights in his hair creating the illusion of an ever-moving halo. 'I'll bet he knows it, too,' Methos thought.

"If you're an angel," Methos said softly, a small smirk, curling the corners of his mouth, "I guess that would make me...what? The last temptation?"

Richie chuckled. "You're mixing your myths."

"Yeah, I know," Methos replied with a shrug, strolling gracefully across the small room, "but it works."

Richie lounged back in his chair, legs spread just slightly in obvious invitation. He let his head rest on the back of the chair, purposely exposing the vulnerable line of his throat. One arm draped carelessly across his leg, framed the growing bulge in his skin-tight jeans with one hand.

As Methos watched, Richie's tongue darted out to lick his upper lip. Smirking, just slightly, he crossed to the posing youth, and leaning down, he softly kissed the parted lips.

"If you were the last temptation, even Jesus wouldn't have been able to resist," Richie murmured lightly against Methos' mouth.

A bolt of pure, visceral lust shot through Methos' gut and straight to his groin. Richie's words hit him at a primal level and he moaned in response, filling to a nearly painful hardness instantly. Moving closer, he straddled Richie's lap. Letting his knees slide between the arms of the chair and Richie, he deepened the tantalizing kiss until their tongues were dancing in an erotic tease of slow seduction. Methos wasn't sure who, exactly, was seducing whom, but oh, was it fun trying to figure it out.

Richie's hands moved up Methos' thighs to his hips and suddenly pulled him closer, raising him up onto his knees, and tearing his lips from Richie's. Methos arched his neck to the side, gasping, as the younger immortal's lips descended to his collarbone, and he was suddenly very grateful he'd chosen to wear a low necked sweater this morning. Lightly nipping and sucking along the sensitive bone, Richie made his way to the frantically beating pulse in the hollow below Methos' throat.

Another moan escaped Methos lips, and he buried his fingers in Richie's hair as the younger man's tongue darted out to play havoc with his senses. "Gods, Richie! How is it you make me feel like a teenager?"

Richie chuckled, sending delicious vibrations across the taut skin of Methos' neck, making him rumble in return. "Maybe because we're necking, on a chair, in the middle of the living room, when there's a perfectly good bedroom less than twenty feet away."

Methos collapsed against Richie, dropping his forehead onto the broad shoulder in front of him, heroically trying *not* to giggle. It was just too much.

Then Richie reached up, clamped his hand behind Methos neck, and deftly twisted them both off the chair, landing on the floor with Methos squarely beneath him. After that, Methos had no breath for giggles or laughter, as Richie set about divesting him of his clothing. Treating each new piece of bared flesh to the teasing attention he'd already given Methos' neck, Richie worked his way down Methos' body.

Methos arched into each caress, moaning with brush of fingertip or tongue across his nipples and the hollows of his hips. Allowing Richie the lead in this candlelit play, he rode the wave of sensation as the younger man expertly wielded his body as if it were naught more than a precious sword. Young hands, alternately slow and quick, came near but never quite touched what he really wanted those hands to touch.

He whimpered, when the hands moved away once again, stroking slowly down the inside of his thighs, his body inching downward. A soft chuckle from his tormentor, sent him bolt upright and flipping the redhead beneath him, a devilish grin curving his mouth and an evil glint in his eyes.

"So," Methos whispered huskily, running his hands up under the youth's shirt and gently rolling each nipple between his thumbs and forefingers, "that's how you want to play it."

Richie's eyes, dark with desire, also held spark of challenge. As he gasped and nodded, a hissed, 'yesss,' escaped through clenched teeth.

And now, the body beneath him was trembling. Methos rejoiced in that fact, reveled in it. Ever-so-slowly, he pulled the hem of Richie's shirt upward and Richie arched to assist in its removal. Methos leaned forward and rested his weight on his arms, twisting the sweater in his hands and keeping the younger immortal's arms tangled in the sweater and pinned to the floor above his head.

Richie struggled briefly, but broke off abruptly as Methos' mouth descended to one nipple and sucked it between his teeth with gentle force. "Methos!" he gasped.

Trailing his mouth to the neglected nipple and giving it the same treatment, Methos released his hold on the sweater, and lightly dragged his fingernails down the muscular torso, sending tiny shivers across the pale flesh.

Richie finished working himself free of the confining sweater, tossing it carelessly away. But, Methos slapped his hands away when he reached down to rid himself of his pants. "My job!" Methos responded, and curling downward, released the single button using only his teeth.

Richie's stomach twitched away, as he sucked in a quick breath. Methos grinned as he tongued up the zipper tab and snagged it between his teeth. Pulling the material safely away, he tugged the metal downward, freeing the hardened flesh beneath. Then he continued, with hands and mouth, to pull the heavy, cloaking jeans out of their way. Beneath him, Richie moaned in relief, and Methos felt the younger immortal's hands urge him upward.

He complied, but not nearly as quickly as the hands urged him to do, pausing to plant nipping kisses along the way, enjoying the instant reactions each one evoked. He could feel Richie's cock twitch beneath him as he rubbed his body against the younger immortal. His own rock-hard steel pulsed achingly in time with his quickened heartbeat.

Their lips met, raising the fire between them to a whole new level and the two men moaned in unison. Methos stopped as an unexpected tremor passed through the body that felt so delectable beneath him. Pulling back, he looked worriedly into a set of passion-dilated blue eyes.

"Richie?"

"Mmmm?"

Methos reached out and gently caressed Richie's cheek. "What's wrong?"

Richie blinked and confusion momentarily filled his eyes. "Nothing," he said softly, attempting to pull Methos back down to him, "absolutely nothing."

When Methos didn't immediately comply, Richie changed tactics. He smiled impishly, raising himself up. "I've got a special surprise for you," he offered huskily.

A smirk bloomed on the ancient's face as he stared across into the eyes of his lover. "Oh really?" he asked, letting the subject drop -- for now.

"Really," Richie murmured, raising his hands to cup Methos' face and lightly, leisurely kissing his soft, receptive mouth. "Come on."

"What?" Methos asked, surprise etched across his face, as Richie abandoned him on the floor.

Richie glanced over his shoulder, giving Methos what the older immortal could only describe as a 'come hither' look. His jaw dropped, then he snapped it shut. Scrambling to his feet, his paranoid nature came charging to the fore. "Richie?" he asked suspiciously. "What are you up to?"

"The usual," came the enigmatic reply.

Eyes narrowing, Methos slowly followed behind his tantalizingly nude lover, unsure what he'd find. Passing through the doorway, his eyes slid over the candles that graced the room, fixing on the youth posed on the bed, and his breath caught in his throat. Richie lounged on his side, his head propped on one hand.

Methos shifted his gaze to follow the lines of the younger immortal's form. One leg stretched sensually down the length of the bed, the other was bent at the knee, and framed the young man's rampant manhood. Methos licked his lips and raised his eyes to meet a sparkling blue gaze.

"Well," Richie purred sensuously, "if you'd prefer to watch, I can handle that." Allowing the hand that draped over his knee to drop down, he gently traced his own hardened flesh with one finger, circling the head twice.

Methos cock twitched in sympathetic response to that teasing touch and even as his breath quickened, he stepped toward the tableau set out in front of him. "I don't think so. I'm not in the *mood* to watch."

"No?" Richie asked, his tongue darting out to trace lips that were beginning to curl into a faintly familiar smirk.

"No," Methos replied firmly, capturing Richie's wrists in the circle of his hands. "In fact...I want...to do...the work," he continued, punctuating his assertion with light licking kisses.

Richie stretched beneath him, bringing their straining cocks into direct contact for the first time that night. Both gasped as delicious shivers danced across their skin. They took their time savoring each new sensation, touching and being touched, as if it were the first time.

No words were spoken during this mutual exploration, the only sounds made by the two immortals bathed in soft candle light were quick gasps of delight and surprise, as each found the other's sensitive triggers, and sought to drive the other to begging first.

Pulling back reluctantly, heart racing, Methos reached toward the night stand and pulled out the lube. Anxiously, he flipped it open, only to have it snatched from his hand. He snapped his head around to stare in surprise at Richie, his heart skipping a beat, then pounding ferociously as he took in the devious grin that graced his lover's face.

"I told you I had a surprise for you," Richie said huskily, as he smeared the slick substance over his fingers.

Methos swallowed convulsively, his throat suddenly, painfully dry. "Yes," he whispered, "you did. And..." he cleared his throat and tried again. "Just what did you have in mind?"

"This," Richie purred, reaching out with his glistening hand, Methos' eyes watching intently.

Even watching the slow-moving hand every agonizing inch of the way, Methos jumped when the slick fingers circled his pulsing cock. He snapped his eyes up to meet Richie's, the intent in those passion dilated pupils all too clear. Time stopped in that crystalline moment their gazes locked. A wave of dizziness passed behind Methos' eyes as, impossibly, he hardened further.

The hand stroking him lightly, trembled when full understanding passed between them and Methos moved forward, retrieving the small tube from Richie and dropping it on the bed beside them. Never once breaking eye contact, Methos used his free hand to gently urge Richie to open to him.

Richie's eyes flared briefly as he spread his legs, allowing Methos unrestricted access to his most intimate places. He shivered as Methos leaned over him and grabbed a pillow, one hand gently caressing his inner thigh. Taking a shaky breath, Richie raised his hips up off the bed as Methos placed the pillow beneath him.

He licked lips gone dry, a second, stronger shiver of equal parts anticipation and unease rippling through his body.

Methos leaned closer to him, trailing one hand over his stomach and through the ample hair on his chest, and placed a nearly chaste kiss to his mouth. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Richie answered, the words barely a whisper. But the man hovering above him wasn't, quite, convinced. "I just never realized just how...vulnerable this position feels."

An understanding smile curved the corners of Methos' lips as bent down, once again softly kissing Richie's lips. This time, he seductively coaxed a heat-filled response, flicking his tongue out to dance with Richie's.

Richie gasped in surprised as a single slick finger worked its way down and circled his entrance. 'When did he-' Richie's thoughts halted abruptly as that erotic, enticing finger slipped inside him, and he gasped a second time, his hips twitching upward, beyond his ability to prevent. "Yes!"

Richie felt Methos chuckl against his mouth, and the finger slid in just a little further. It tantalized, promised so much, but fell short of delivering. A whimper was torn from him when the finger withdrew, his body instinctively knowing there was *so* much more.

"Shhh," Methos murmured against his throat as two fingers replaced the one, slowly sliding all the way in.

His thoughts running in circles, Richie arched under the dual stimulation, wanting, no needing, more. "Methos?" he called out plaintively. Then a guttural moan formed low in his chest as streaks of electric pleasure shot through his gut, the fingers inside him scissoring across his prostate. "God, Methos!" he shouted, in between quick lungfuls of air, as the pleasure built inside of him, slowly, oh-so-slowly. It twined within him, tightening his entire body, but it wasn't enough. "More, please, now!" he pleaded, his hands twisting in the sheets.

Then the fingers withdrew from within and the lips from his neck, leaving him feeling empty and cold. His body tried to follow, but a warm hand and soft, velvety voice held him down.

"Yes, Richie, yes," Methos replied, the whispered words floating across his senses. "I know just what you need."

Then Richie felt it, bigger than the two fingers, the blunt tip of Methos easing its way inside him, filling him, stretching him. 'Oh God!' he thought frantically, suddenly not so sure this was a good idea. It didn't normally *seem* that big

"Easy, Richie. Relax," Methos murmured, softly landing a series of soothing kisses on the inside of his knee, not moving any further.

A hand stroked him as Methos willed him to once again lose himself in pleasure. Slowly, as the haze of sexual pleasure rose, his body relaxed around Methos' hard flesh and he felt it slid in another inch. All the while the hand on his cock never ceased its slow, teasing torment.

Inch by incredible inch, his lover eased him toward unknown pleasures. He could feel the tense burn deep inside his gut rebuild, his moans growing louder. Then the fullness retreated, only to return, this time pooling spikes of heat through his belly and groin. Again and again, his lover moved within him, each descent and withdrawal sliding across that electric gland.

They moved in sync, together, apart, breath labored and erratic, hearts beating wildly. Richie felt it, finally. "Ahhh...Methos!" He cried as it crested inside him, taking him over the top in slow motion, beginning at his toes, and suddenly flashing through his body in a wave of heat, sending his essence spurting out over his own belly and chest. He felt himself spasm around Methos, milking the man inside him.

Methos followed behind him, less than a second later, filling him with liquid warmth, his name moaned out at the moment of climax.

Panting for breath, they remained frozen for long moments, neither wanting the encounter to end, just yet. As their bodies calmed, Methos pulled back slowly, allowing himself to slip from Richie's body. Then levered himself onto the bed next to his spent lover. Richie pulled him into his arms, where they both lay quietly, letting the satiation of the moment flow over them.

Wrapped in each other's arms the two men relaxed in sleepy satisfaction, as heart beat's slowed and breathing calmed. "Happy Valentine's Day, Methos," Richie murmured contentedly.

"Mmm...Richie, you too." Methos paused, then raised up to look directly into Richie's eyes. "I think this is the best Valentine's Day I've ever had."

Richie grinned, pulling Methos into loving, sensuous kiss that spoke more of love and kinship than sexual need. The two men lay side by side, and let sleep take them into darkness.

The End



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