torch, September-October 1999
torch@doubleagent.org

Disclaimer: Rysher Panzer David. For A., because it's more or less his birthday. It had to be done. Based on the episode Money no object. I can't be the only one who wondered about that scene. :-) Feedback, please, to flambeau@strangeplaces.net. Do not archive this story without permission.

Hay fever

A hot tub. Cory was talking about a hot tub. That he was probably going to try to get Amanda into as soon as possible, damn his eyes.

"There's room for two more." Waggle of eyebrows, and Duncan tried not to choke at the invitation. Only Cory. The memory leaped up in him despite his best efforts to suppress it.

* * *

Sun slanted in through the wide cracks in the barn wall, striping floor and hay and blankets, gilding every floating mote of dust. It was a sweet, warm, lazy summer afternoon, perfect, beautiful, and Duncan MacLeod wished he could just relax and enjoy it. Unfortunately, circumstances were conspiring against him; he was spending this perfect and beautiful afternoon cooped up in a rickety barn with a machine gun-wielding lunatic. The fact that the lunatic in question was not currently wielding anything more dangerous than a stalk of hay made no difference.

Duncan paced. It was a large barn, plenty of room for long strides. Amanda was bound to be back soon, and they could get out of here. He paced some more, grinding clods of dry earth under his heels. Amanda had gone shopping. Back soon was not a concept that applied here. He reached the wall and turned around. Amanda might be back in a few hours, or she might get herself arrested, or she might take up with the next featherbrained criminal who batted his lashes at her... no, one was enough. Had to be enough.

Coming to a stop, Duncan put all the frustration he felt into a single glare. "I'm not doing this again," he said firmly. "I'm not digging you up again."

Cory Raines lay draped gracefully over a striped blanket, straw between his teeth, hat down over his eyes, shirt-sleeves rolled up. In response to Duncan's glare, he shifted a little, shrugged a languid shoulder. "Oh, come on, Mackie boy! Would you leave Amanda and me in our coffins?"

"Amanda, no. You, in a heartbeat." And the sooner the better.

Cory pouted. Beautifully. Then he laughed and tilted his head back, losing his hat in the process, to drink from the ever-present silver flask before saying, "Aw, Mac. And here I thought you liked me." Cory got to his feet and brushed ineffectually at the hay clinging to his pants and shirt, then sauntered over to Duncan and held the flask out. "Come on. You need to relax."

"I need to have my head examined," Duncan muttered, but after a moment's hesitation he took the flask and drank. And spluttered. "Jesus, Cory!"

Cory grabbed his flask back before Duncan could drop it. "I guess it's an acquired taste."

Cheap moonshine. Duncan shook his head. "It's just right for you," he said and spat to one side. Not only did the man have no morals and no common sense, he had no taste in liquor.

Cory just laughed. "Hey, I didn't force you to drink it. Lemme help you get the taste out of your mouth."

"Don't tell me you've got Altoids," Duncan muttered.

"No," Cory said, leaning up against him, and kissed him. And that line about helping Duncan get the taste out of his mouth was a lie because Cory tasted of moonshine himself, sharp bite of alcohol and a strange underlying sweetness, something Duncan couldn't quite place and—

He gripped Cory by the shoulders and pushed him away into a stripe of sunshine. "What the hell are you doing?" Cory just cocked an eyebrow at him, and the sun raised reddish gleams in his dark hair, and Duncan had to admit it was a stupid question. "I don't even like you."

"But you think I'm attractive," Cory said matter-of-factly. "Anyway, we have to do something to pass the time till Amanda gets back."

"Yeah, well, it's not going to be that." The moment he let go of Cory's shoulders, the other immortal stepped in close again, with a glint in his eyes that said he had his own ideas about that. "No, Cory."

Of course, Duncan reflected, he'd been saying no, Cory at regular intervals since the moment they'd met, and it hadn't had any discernible effect. It didn't work this time either. It was like trying to talk to a cat. Or Amanda.

Cory just looked amused. "Has anyone ever told you you're kind of sexy when you do that?"

"When I do what?"

Cory kissed him again. Duncan spluttered. "That." Cory ran his hands over Duncan's shoulders and down his chest. Duncan growled. Was this what it meant to be an immortal and a warrior? Cooped up in a barn, fondled by a lunatic, a grinning half-drunk lunatic with sparkling eyes and a remarkably — pretty — mouth...

Oh, hell. What with one thing and another, he'd actually spent quite a lot of time hiding out in barns, and you had to make the time pass somehow. He grabbed Cory and kissed him back.

Long moments later, Cory looked at him with wide-eyed delight. "I still don't like you," Duncan said.

"Whatever you say, Mac," Cory agreed a little breathlessly. "In fact, why don't you show me again how much you don't like me?"

Two long steps for Duncan, with Cory moving backwards light on his feet like a drunk dancer, and they were tumbling onto straw and blanket, landing twisted closely together, chest to chest, mouth to mouth, and moonshine-flavored Cory actually tasted a lot better than just plain moonshine. Duncan curved a hand around the side of Cory's head, thumb brushing up against the ear and that raised a shiver. He rubbed his cheek against Cory's, feeling stubble catch and snag, both uncomfortable and erotic, then caught the lobe of Cory's ear between his teeth. Bit. Licked. Cory moaned and broke against Duncan like a wave, his whole body a caress.

Duncan pulled back. "You really want me to show you? I'm thinking I could do that by just getting up and walking away."

Cory's eyes, already darkened with excitement, turned almost pure black, with just the thinnest rim of green fire showing around the pupil. And still he smiled, not quite as insouciantly as before, but close enough, reached and grasped Duncan's cock in a grip almost more shocking for being so easily firm, his hand warm and promising even through cloth. "You'll have a better time if you stay here," he said huskily.

At first it was just that hand, stroking and petting and holding him captive, getting to him in such a simple and obvious way that he almost felt stupid. Then Cory rolled on top of him, and turned subtle. Hot breath against Duncan's neck, Cory's tongue exploring the hollow of his throat. Cory had the hands of a thief, skimming swiftly over Duncan's body and getting clothes out of the way with unnatural ease. In a very short time Duncan found himself naked under Cory's still-clothed weight, and Cory kept licking at him, seemingly at random, clavicle and breastbone, biceps, chin, the edge of a nipple, the tip of a finger when Duncan reached up to capture Cory's head.

Cory's hair was long enough to provide a good grip, and Duncan tugged him down into a kiss, held him close and rolled them over. He didn't have Cory's facility with buttons and fastenings, but then, he was in no hurry. Slow was good, one button at a time and careful attention paid to what was revealed. Duncan liked to taste his partners, to use his mouth at least as much as his hands. Cory tasted of moonshine and sweat and it should have been disgusting, but it wasn't. Cory gasped and moaned and cried out at every touch, the sounds running into each other while Duncan learned the details of the smooth chest, the ticklish navel, the soft hollow by the hipbone.

Out of his shirt and trousers, Cory was surprisingly well-muscled for all his lazy airs. Duncan had never seen him with a sword, didn't know if Cory even owned a sword, but the potential was there. Duncan ran a finger down the length of Cory's erection and got a whimper in response. Then they shifted and rolled, mock-wrestling, kissing, full-body kisses with tongues and cocks rubbing together. The sunstripes moved slowly over their skin as they moved in and out of each other's grip, a leisurely roll of muscle and touch, driven by Duncan's tongue and Cory's wickedly agile fingers.

Duncan had the sun in his eyes when Cory pushed him down on his back, held down his hips and began to lick his cock. Just plain licking, up and down and around, short firm swipes like a cat washing a kitten. It was good, and strangely relaxing; Duncan sank into an erotic haze, drifting like the dust motes, every swipe of Cory's tongue pushing him a tiny fraction higher.

Then he was abruptly jolted to a new level of awareness as Cory's mouth closed around him, took him in, completely, expertly, so that the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and his breathing grew short and labored. Duncan reached out and grabbed blindly, felt his palm and fingers sting as crushed straws dug into the skin, not offering him anything to hold on to. His hips pushed against the grip of Cory's hands.

For a moment he fought against it, trying to prolong the moment, to have more of this perfect wet heat, but tensing against became tensing towards and he surrendered to the feeling, arms flung wide, head back, mouth open. Sunlight was a blinding orange behind his closed lids as he came.

Trying to catch his breath again, Duncan breathed in dust and essence of hay and went into a coughing fit. When he stopped choking and opened his eyes, Cory was looking rather smugly at him. Duncan cleared his throat of the last hay with a cough that bordered on growl and pounced on the other man, slamming Cory down flat on his back, pinning Cory's nearest leg and arm. He rubbed a fingertip over the hollow of Cory's throat, raised a sound that was mostly pleasure.

Duncan trailed his hand along Cory's chest and stomach, touching lightly on nipples, along ribs, going slow now that he had Cory where he wanted him. He slid his hand down to the inside of Cory's thighs, stroked up and then drew his nails along the same path, over and over while Cory bucked under Duncan's weight, trying to move enough to get that hand where he wanted it. Satisfying, this; Duncan smiled to himself, watching the pretty, mobile face as Cory twisted under his touch.

When he finally ran his fingers along Cory's erection, that drew a cry so startlingly loud that Duncan had to swallow it, take it into his own mouth. Cory latched on to him, claiming with lips and teeth and tongue, breathing and moaning into that kiss as Duncan began to stroke him. Fast, pushing the pace the way Cory had pushed him and Cory didn't even try to fight it, just flowed with it, arching up to fuck Duncan's hand shamelessly. Tongue fucking Duncan's mouth.

It was easy to feel the increase in tension, coil of steel springs under the skin, the hitched breathing, the frantic push and push and push again. Duncan could sense how it built, and he worked to help it, short quick strokes driving up, up, Cory shaking and wild-eyed, and Duncan sped up the motion of his hand and drew back just far enough to let Cory scream out his pleasure, coming hard and fast.

After that, it was very quiet in the barn. Cory's breathing slowed down. The drowsy buzzing of insects was muted and distant. Duncan rolled back a little, no longer pressing the other man down into blanket and hay.

"As long as we're clear on one thing," he said and rubbed his fingers over Cory's mouth.

"You don't like me?" Cory asked with a wide grin, licking his own come from Duncan's fingers.

"I don't like you," Duncan confirmed, and they kissed again, and lay silent together, drowsing.

* * *

For one brief moment he regretted Richie's presence. Then he collected himself, forced a laugh. "You know what they say, two's company, and four is..." Cory's eyes gleamed, and there was that damn smile. Think before you speak, MacLeod, it saves trouble in the long run. "...not sanitary."

And then the moment was past.

* * *

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