A loaf of bread, a jug of wine--and fifty people taking notes. Perfect! It's the ideal setting for a bit of discreet mischief. I feel an almost indecent grin spring to my lips at the thought. Duncan's occupied with his students, and he's left me sitting off to the side here, just out of sight of them. The things one can do when left to one's own devices.... It's brilliant, absolutely brilliant! A rush of unholy glee spreads through me, and I sprawl a bit more comfortably, contemplating Fate. She's being far too accommodating today. I couldn't have planned this better myself if I'd tried. Which worries me for a moment, but then I'm certainly not above taking advantage of it. Nothing specific in mind yet--just plenty of ingredients for wreaking havoc, and enough boredom floating around to make it seem like a really good idea. The opportunity is just too exciting to resist. So I'll gather a few of the more enticing supplies, sit back, and wait for his concentration to lapse just enough....

He looks so serious, teaching. I wonder rather whimsically if he truly believes that more than five of these boys will retain a word of his oh-so-thrilling lecture. Especially with the sword-fight demonstration still to come. Strangely, the students look serious too. Some of them are probably even paying attention, listening diligently to the whys and wherefores of Scottish history that Mac spouts with such conviction. I bet if we actually collected their notebooks, there might even be something more than a handful of teenage fantasies.

It's definitely time to shake that composure of his.

By the look of him, Duncan's almost convinced himself he won't have to hold up his part of the bargain. That would be the one he made with the Devil-- who would be me--to get me out here and into this kilt. Perhaps he's considering I might not have been serious, not truly. Which, of course, makes this the perfect opportunity to knock his complacency a bit. Keeping him churning on a slow boil all day--that's the recipe for the results I'm after tonight. Just like leading a lamb to the slaughter, or falling off a horse. Easy, and you never forget how.

Little does he know he could have gotten me here with much less effort. After all, a month in the South Pacific next winter--Tahiti or Bali, maybe even Fiji or Samoa, Rarotonga, the Cook Islands, wonder if I could talk him into all of the above?--it's a rather high price to pay for a day's services as teacher's aide and general lackey. Even in a kilt. Not to mention the rest of the agreement, the part he doesn't yet believe.

On the other hand, these are teenagers....

All he really needed to do was bat those eyes of his a few times. Sometimes it scares me how quickly I defer to him. The power he has over me, that I let him have over me. He'd never misuse it, but... it's there, and I've given it to him. That's more than enough to send me running for the hills, except that I'm not. What is it about him that keeps me here, in the face of my own terror? Gods, I'm five thousand years old and still a pushover for a brawny Scot with more looks than sense. Must be sure not to let him know that.... I don't want him able to see completely through me, after all!

Have to watch that smirk of mine, though. The game's up if he catches me at it this early on. He has a much higher resistance level when he's aware that there's something to be resisted.... Fortunately, he's focused on his pupils at the moment. Think innocent, Methos, think Adam Pierson. Think harmless, think accidental eroticism. Think getting him so bloody hard he'll not know what hit him.

Oh, this is going to be fun! Sometimes I think I'm far too easily amused.

Where was I? Oh, that's right, seducing Duncan. Time for some fun... it's amazing how thoroughly you can arouse someone with just a jug of wine to work with. Something about the way it looks, the dark red liquid spilling into a waiting mouth. Maybe just a drop or two sliding down the throat, drawing attention to the act of swallowing, of what else could be sliding down that throat... it can be exceedingly erotic, done by the right person. And amazingly innocent, too.

Damn, there goes that grin again.

The loaf of bread, now, that just makes it too easy. French bread, a hard outer shell and soft and sweet in the centre. Hold the shaft, nibble at the tip, an utterly innocent (of course) caress up and down as you eat... talk about your phallic symbolism!

Not to mention the scones. Scones have never been considered an aphrodisiac, but the things you can do with them, all that cream and jam.... they really should have been. Jam slipping from atop a freshly bitten scone to linger unbidden at the corner of my mouth--I can see Duncan's expression now, his tongue slipping slowly out in mirror of mine. Flicking softly to the corner, to pick up the jam, then gently around his mouth, as though to lick up every morsel of the scone that lingers on mine. The juicy taste of the fruit rolling over my tongue, filling my mouth with the sweetness of spring strawberries. And Duncan staring in frustration, wanting the treat and me both, and able to take neither....

Wonder if he'll be able to remain so cool and collected when he's sporting a full-blown erection under that kilt of his?

Oh, I love that expression. The slightly bewildered look he gets when he can't quite believe me. Like he keeps expecting me to add 'just kidding', or some other tag to reassure him. The way it turns just ever so slightly anxious when all he gets is my trademark smirk, and he's left to guess how serious I am. He's going to argue, I can tell. He's opening that mouth already.... that wonderfully expressive, beautifully talented mouth.... hold, stop, time out! Keep ahold of yourself Methos, time to forestall the Scot already.

"Oh, no, MacLeod. If I'm going to wear it, you're going to fuck me in it."

Oh, yes. There goes the mouth. Open and close, open and close. He can't quite decide how to respond. Gods, how I love doing this to him. He's so bloody sexy when he's speechless. Oh, oops, time to start talking again....

"And you're not going to bother with foreplay, or teasing, or any of those things you so love to spend so much time on. You're going to grab me, and drag me into Joe's storeroom, or, better yet, the alley. And you're going to yank up my skirt, and you're going to lift up your skirt, and you're going to sink your dick so far into me the tip hits my teeth."

Ah, yes. That's the response I want. Can you feel it yet, Mac? Feel my arse, closing tight around your cock? Feel the breeze through the alley way blowing so cold across your balls? The brick against your hands, rough under your skin, textures and scents and sounds grounding you against the heat of my body pressed against your chest and your thighs, the molten desire running through the both of us? Feel the unnatural awareness of the door, the street, the rooftop, knowing anyone could walk out and see?

Oh, yes. Moisten your lips, your eyes wide, breath sharp. There's not quite enough air in here anymore, is there Mac? I love watching you, love turning you on with words hissed low and sibilant, so that I get to truly see what I do to you. Watch the way my words go straight to your cock and wrap around it, wake it to life. The way your breath comes faster, your eyes spark desire, your stance shifts just that little bit to accommodate your awakening erection.... How do you make me so hot so fast, Duncan? Watching just the tip of your tongue tracing your lips like that, your eyes half-closed for the brief seconds it takes your tongue to circumnavigate your mouth... you drive me so close to losing control. So close.

Oh, you've found some words. Just a sec while I replay the audio record in my brain....

"It's no' a skirt, Methos."

**blink**

Ah. That's all you can find to say, Mac? Have I fried your brain that badly already? Oh, the things you do to me.... a laugh, low and husky, spills from my chest. Where did that come from? No matter, I can use it.....

"Oh, MacLeod. Believe me, when you're standing in that alleyway with your cock buried so deep up my arse, you're not going to give a damn what it's called. You'll be too busy using the last of your brainpower in thanking every ancestor you had for developing clothing that leaves such... easy... access."

Lean in close, yes, that's it. Careful not to touch... grab the tartan from the other side of him. He's blinking at me, I think I've startled him again. Normally he'd have pulled me down on top of him by now and we'd be engrossed in each other's bodies. Hmm, drop the robe here I think. Stalk naked to the bathroom. His eyes on my arse, but he still hasn't moved. I don't think he can. Turn around at the door, one last taunt.... Run my hand over my erection, yes, that's good. Mmmmm. Cock my head, stare through my lashes. "Tonight, Highlander. It's a date."

There's something to be said for anticipation.

"Forget the munchkins, Mac. There's a perfectly good wood over there."

A slight stiffening, a quick indrawn breath. I don't believe it! He'd forgotten, he'd actually forgotten that we were standing here in front of forty or fifty teenagers. Well, what can I say? I'm good. Nice modest smirk, just to hassle him further.

"Just you wait." Oh, that's nice. Dark velvet coating his voice.

"Promises, promises."

Fond amusement in the look he's giving me. He's shuttering it all away, now that he's recalled where we are. Oh well. I don't really want to get screwed in front of fifty odd kids. A cocky grin, just to spur him on. Don't want him to forget this, either, after all.

"Oh, you'll get yours, old man. Never doubt it."

Wow. He felt me up. He swatted my arse, and then he felt me up. In plain view of a bunch of teenage hooligans. Maybe I am corrupting him after all. Wonderful.

Hurry up and finish, MacLeod. We have to get on to Joe's, and then you can finally fuck my brains out. Wouldn't you like that? I would....

"Stop whingeing already, Mac. Do you really want to deprive poor Joe of the sight of me in a kilt?"

A snort, disdain or disgust or disbelief. Not sure which. "What's to see, old man? That pair of sticks poking out the bottom of it?"

Sticks? Sticks? You'll pay for that, MacLeod. Just for that, I'm going to make you wait at least another hour before I let you drag me out back. Sticks, indeed. I have very nice legs, thank you very much.

"I thought you liked my legs, MacLeod? At least, that's what you told me when I had them wrapped about your waist as you--" Mmph.

"Ow! You bit me!"

Ahh, his shriek of outrage is ambrosia to my ears. That'll teach the little barbarian to try and shut me up that way. Push past him, laughing inwardly at the indignant disbelief on his face.

"Are you standing in the doorway for any particular reason, MacLeod? Or do you just have an affinity for that spot?"

Behind the bar, Joe grabs a glass and has a beer half-filled for me before he notices what I'm wearing. His greeting dies unspoken on his lips as he stares. He blinks once, twice, then closes his eyes very deliberately. He opens them again when the beer runs over his hand, curses feebly and deposits the glass on the bar in front of me. He waves me back, then very carefully looks me up and down. His eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn't say anything, merely waves a hand at the waiting beer. "Help yourself."

In comparison, Mac's kilt barely rates a first look, never mind a second.

What is it with these people? Is the idea of me wearing a kilt really so hard to swallow? I mean, come on, I can think of more unlikely combinations while half-stoned from a quickening. I mean, really.

Well, back to the main activity of the evening: MacLeod-baiting. Turn around, deliberately sensual, caress the glass. Drain it in one long swallow, my gaze at approximately the height of Mac's groin the entire time. Flick it up, meeting eyes half-glazed with lust, as I place the empty glass on the bar and ask Joe for a bottle.

It's not particularly subtle, but ringing the neck of the bottle with thumb and forefinger and caressing it up and down surely works. Mac can barely tear his eyes from my hand as we're talking, and when he looks back down it's only because he's finding watching my other hand toy with a button on my shirt to be just as distracting.

A loud snicker intrudes on my careful seduction, and I grimace with annoyance. Can't go anywhere without running into jerks, it seems. Mac finally manages to tear his attention away from my beer long enough to ask Joe something about his day. I drape myself against the bar and Mac catches his breath, losing his train of thought yet again. I grin, triumphant, and he scowls at me. Again.

The jerks seem to have settled at a table right behind us and are intent on making their drunken thoughts on men who wear kilts apparent to the world at large. Mac is manfully ignoring them, and for a brief moment I admire his patience. He turns back to Joe and picks up the thread of conversation he lost when I leant against the bar.

A particularly asinine remark works its way through the chatter and the music, and I spin, utterly fed up. Plaster Death's grin on my face, and they're just sober enough to retreat when I lean forward over their table. Keep my voice conversational; it's always so much more effective when you combine unreasonable words with a reasonable tone.

"Back off, asshole, I'm an Immortal."

Mac and Joe are choking off to the right, but the asshole in question actually seems to be getting the message. He babbles something or other, gathers up his drunker asshole friend, and can't seem to get out the door quite fast enough. I let my grin fade to a rather more normal smile before turning to cast an innocent look at Duncan and Joe that I'm well aware neither will buy. Well, Mac might, but Joe never.

"You were saying, gentlemen?"

Mac sputtering is a sight I'll always treasure. He doesn't know whether to be horrified or impressed. Joe, on the other hand, is laughing fit to burst. I incline my head, and leaning in close against Mac, take the beer Joe offers as tribute. Continuing the interrupted seduction, I don't back off again. I'm sure he can feel my erection against his arse, where he's sitting on the edge of the barstool. As I caress my beer bottle like a lover, I catch him watching me surreptitiously. Oh, Mac, you're so easy.

We stand chatting with Joe a while longer, before moving to a table nearer the stage when the music begins. Under the table, I push my leg between Mac's, caressing his calf with my own. My hand slides into his lap, massaging his erection through the wool. I wonder how long it will take him to break?

Heading back to the bar for another round of drinks, a glance over my shoulder shows Mac's eyes are fixed on the material swaying enticingly over my butt as I move. I detour to the bathroom, half-expecting him to follow me. He doesn't, and when I return to the bar I notice he's staring into his empty glass, looking for the gods know what.

Mac takes the beer I hand him, but pulls his hand back when I pause to caress it. It's fairly obvious he thinks this game has gone far enough. Oh no you don't, Mac. I'm not going to let you back out now. Looks like I'll have to pull out the big guns. At the next table there's a boy who's been eyeing me up all evening. Time to give Mac a little push, I think. A little harmless flirting, and Mac's just possessive enough to respond exactly how I want him to....

Turn my chair, just enough to take in the boy. Return his smile, the next time he gives me one. He takes it for encouragement, lights up, and swaps seats with one of his friends, leans forward to talk to me.

"Hi."

I nod my head, toast him with the beer bottle. Behind me Mac shifts restlessly, glaring holes in the back of my head no doubt. Well, you know what you need to do to stop this, Duncan. Come on, get a move on will you? This kid's cute enough I guess, but he doesn't have two braincells to rub together. You know what I want; what are you waiting for? Laugh, softly, lean toward the boy a little more.

"On your feet."

Tilt my head, look enquiringly up at him, innocence plastered insincerely over my face. "Did you say something, Mac?"

His growl goes straight to my groin. "You heard me."

I raise my beer, anticipation and desire trembling through my body. Take a sip, then another, daring him to act. He does, grabbing the bottle out of my hand and jerking me to my feet. The kid jumps to my defense, but I've already forgotten him. A dark thrill runs through me as Mac tells the kid to get lost, and I nod agreement, giving him the rest of my beer as a consolation prize. Mac drags me through the bar, heading for the back exit, into the alley. Yes! I knew I could get him to do this. I can feel the anger and the frustration boiling off him, desire strong beneath it. Not that I blame him; I've been teasing him all day and it seems he's finally, finally going to do something about it. About bloody time, Highlander!

The door slams shut behind us, and he spins me around, shoving me hard against the brick wall of the alleyway. His erection presses hard against me, hot even through the two layers of wool between us. He kisses me, hard and domineering, teeth nipping at my lips and tongue claiming ownership of my mouth. I'm melting, need and desire and exultation roiling through my body.

He breaks off the kiss, licking at the blood he's drawn from my lips. I run my tongue around my mouth, tasting the salt and the iron, reveling in his strength. His eyes shine dark in the dim light of the alley, predatory and dangerous. A shiver runs down my spine, and my cock is so hard I think I might come just from thinking about him taking me.

He looks me up and down, gaze trailing fire over my body. My knees are weak, I'm not sure I can remember how to move anymore. The wind blows cold through the alley, and his hands are twin points of fire on my shoulders as he turns me, lifts my arms and places them, palmfirst against the brick. He kicks my legs apart, lifts up my kilt, exposing my arse to his gaze. He leans in, just his head, breath warm on the back of neck, relishing the shiver that runs trembling down my spine.

"You've been asking for this," he says, and his voice is chocolate coating my nerves with desire. "All day, you've been asking for this." He slides three fingers into my mouth, and I suckle, nipping at them, wetting them thoroughly with tongue and teeth. His other hand swipes roughly at my nipples, teasing them through the linen cloth of my shirt. He growls, pulls his fingers out of my mouth. Wipes them once across my arse, then again, before shoving them deep inside me. Pain sparks briefly through me and then I relax, welcoming the width of his fingers deep within. I push back, moaning, and he growls and bites at my neck. He abandons my nipples, holds his palm in front of my mouth.

"Lick it." His growl is dark and sensual, a command I instinctively obey. My tongue darts out, traces his hand from heel to tip. "Again," he murmurs, and I do. Twice, and then thrice. He pulls his hand away and I follow it in my imagination, seeing it wipe over the length and breadth of his erection. The image is erotic enough to drag another moan from me, and he jabs with his fingers, still deep within me. Then they're gone, and for a brief second wind slides cold against my arse.

A point of heat, the tip of his erection pressing solid against my entrance. Sensations double, triple. The brick rough under my palms as I grope restlessly at it. Cold against my fingers, cold as the wind swirling across me. Except for his cock, beginning to force its way in now, and his hands, twin points of fire grabbing roughly at my hips. Holding me still, preventing me from impaling myself.

Damn it, Duncan, get on with it! Please....

Ah, like that. Yes. His cock solid within me now; buried to the hilt. Pain is momentary; just enough to focus my attention completely on his burning possession of my arse. I sigh, both of us content for the moment to rest with him as deep within me as humanly possible. His balls brush against my butt as he breathes, wakening a desire for movement that's echoed in him. He pulls out, slowly, slams back in.

Ah, Mac. That's it, there. Right there.

Like that, yes. "Duncan...." I moan his name, and he hisses, drops his head to bite against my neck. Begins to fuck me properly now, pounding into my arse with a strength and force I can't do anything except accept. And accept it, I do. With pleasure.

"Ohhhh." Love this, Mac. If I could gather the concentration to speak, I'd tell you so. But you know it anyway, don't you? Those grunts you make as you slam inside me. The feel of your cock, driving so deep within me, hitting my prostate and sending bursts of pleasure to disrupt my thoughts. The way you fill me so thoroughly, again and again, pounding your way into my every breath, my every thought, my every heartbeat. I want this to never end, Mac. At times like this I want to feel you deep inside me for eternity....

Hey. You stopped. Why'd you do that, Mac? Oh, no, don't stop. There's no need to stop, it's only Joe.

Oh. Joe.

Joe, standing half out the door with cane in hand and jaw on the concrete. Well, we must look a sight. Standing here against the wall with our kilts bunched up about our waists, and Duncan's cock half buried in my arse. Bet Joe never counted on seeing this when he stepped out back for--well, for whatever the hell he stepped out back for.

Oh, boy. This isn't fair, Duncan. Move, damn you! Don't just stand there frozen and gaping, I need your cock the rest of the way in me right bloody now, Highlander.

Hmm, well, Joe's already gotten a pretty good eyeful. Might as well give him a decent show.

Ease back, yes, slowly, slowly, slowly. Duncan's cock filling me like this always feels so damn good. Joe standing there still shocked witless just makes it even better. Okay, Duncan, now you're in snug again don't you think it's time to resume fucking me properly, you bloody Scot?

Guess not. Well, nothing says I have to stay still just 'cause these two buggers seem to be currently incapable of motion. Forward, slowly, feel every inch of that wonderful length on its way back out. Just the tip of his cock inside me now, and Joe's turned bright red but still hasn't remembered how to move. Duncan's groan behind me seems to flame poor Joe's blush higher. Oh, this is good. Back again; impale myself fast and furious and Duncan moans, but still isn't fucking me off his own bat yet.

Slowly forward again. Mmmm, yes, that's good. So damn good. You feel so good, Mac. So bloody good. A strangled moan from Joe, now, as I push myself back, just as slowly as I pulled forward a moment ago. Forward, again. And back. I think I like this.

*thwack*

He's dropped his cane. Awesome. Yeah, I really like this. Who'd have thought I'd get off so much on shocking Joe? Oh, that's nice. Yesssssss.

Ahhhhhh. Seems like Joe's regained the ability to move. Duncan's half in me again, same as when he first came out. Symmetrical. What the hell am I doing thinking about symmetry while Mac's filling me so bloody completely.... Joe whirls, cursing, pushes back inside the bar. The door clangs shut behind him just as Mac's balls brush my arse, and I moan as the sound rings down my spine.

Maybe now, Mac'll start moving again. 'Bout bloody time.

Now, Mac.

"NOW." Oh, he's moving. Wonderful. Have to remember to growl at him during sex more often. Oh, yes. Do that again. No, not that--yes, that. Yeah. Yeahyesyeahyesyeahyeahyeahyeahyeahye-

Hey. Not again. Why'd you stop this time? "Damnit, Mac, I'm trying to get screwed here-"

"Shut up."

"What?" Wow. That voice. Who knew he had that caramel voice to send slithering down my spine and into every nerve end?

Ouch! That hurt. All the way to my cock.... oh yes. The only way it could be better would be to see him, the droplets of blood on his lips from where he just bit into my neck, those lips swollen and glistening, his tongue just dipping out to taste.... ooohhhhhh. Talk about your erotic imagery.

"Fuck yourself."

Huh? "Hmmm?" Isn't that your job, Mac?

"I want you to fuck yourself. On my cock. Like you did before, when Joe came out."

Oh. Oh. Gods, you're killing me here, Mac. If I don't get that cock of yours pounding into me soon I'll explode.

"Yessss...." Ah, Mac. That voice... it's going to be the end of me, I swear. I can't feel my knees anymore. Just your cock, steel hard inside of me, sliding through me with such wonderful friction as I ride it back and forth. I can feel it in my fingers, I swear. Can taste the precum dripping from the tip. Ahhhh, Mac.....

You like that, don't you? When I squeeze your cock in my arse like that, you like that so much. Wonder what you'll do when I start sucking those fingers you have over my mouth? Only one way to find out....

Ahhhhh. Yes. Finally! Yes, harder, fuck me harder, Mac. Harder.... Oh, yes. I love the feel of your balls, slamming into me like that. Love the sound they make when they hit my butt, the tease of them brushing against my skin. Love knowing that it's me that's made you this hot, this needy, this forceful. That it's me behind your hunger, beneath your body. Me who's driven you to nail me to the wall, right here in the alley out back of Joe's where anyone can wander by. That it's me that's gotten you so determined to fuck me senseless whatever it takes.

Ah, yes. Just a little more... a little harder... a bit deeper. Yeah, like that. So exactly like that. You're close, too, aren't you? Your balls are heavy against my arse, your cock hardened steel so deep inside me. You're going to come soon, and when you do, you'll take me with you. Boost me straight into the stratosphere. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Like to see me come unglued here against the brick. Well, you can do it. Just thrust a little harder, yes, like that. Again. Yes. Oh, yes. Oh yes. Just like that... once more. Yes, yes, yes. YES.

Liquid warmth invading my core. Warmth, hell. Heat, fire, more, it's a bloody chemical fire. Impossibly hot, hotter, hotter, so damn hot. Ohhhhhh. Yessssss. More. Don't stop.... yes. That's it. There. Feels good, so damn good. Semen burning through into my bloodstream, trailing the veins through every inch of my body. Turning my limbs to water, to sweet sticky goo. So much heat....

Meltdown.

*Thud*

*Splat*

*Oomph*

*time passes*

*some semblance of thought returns*

Cold. Well, half of me is. Warmth underneath though. Comfortable... if only it'd stop wiggling so much. Lie still, damn it! Beds shouldn't try to throw you off.

Trying to throw me off... and cursing. Energetic and slightly muffled cursing. In Gaelic. Oh, so that's what happened to Duncan. Maybe I'll just lie here for a while; he's going to find a way to blame this on me anyway. If I let him up he'll look at me with those big brown eyes of his, pleading and slightly injured, wanting me to pick him up and cuddle. Doesn't he know I have no bones left? Guilt tripping me on the flimsy basis that this was my fantasy in the first place.

"Oh, no. No you don't, Highlander. Gravity is not my fault--I voted for velcro."

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