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Mt. Zealand, White Mountains, NH

"How much further is the top, Methos?"

"You know, I don't understand it. We should have been there by now. I don't remember it being this much of a hike." Methos stopped, exhaled loudly and shaded his eyes with his hand, squinting up the steep trail. It continued on before them, a steep latticework of roots, rocks and packed earth, disappearing over the top of the forested ridge they were climbing. He thought that the summit should be coming up as soon as they topped this steep slope. Saying so would probably be a mistake, though. It had been the last five times he'd said it.

He looked at his companion, who was looking back at him a bit reproachfully and taking a dry bandanna out of his pack to replace the sweat-soaked one tied around his head. Methos grinned and reached out to take the dry bandanna from Mac's hand. He uncapped one of the canteens and poured water over the red and white cotton cloth, wetting it. Then he started wiping the sweat off Mac's face and neck. Mac closed his eyes and tilted his face into the gentle touch, irritation draining out of him visibly. Methos continued swabbing with the damp cotton and grinned at the look of sheer enjoyment on Duncan's face.

"There, that's better, isn't it?"

"Mmmm..." Mac purred.

"Sorry it seems like it's so far. I'd forgotten that you haven't been getting as much exercise lately. You're just a little out of shape, that's all."

The beatific look on Mac's face vanished and the eyes flew open, dark gaze indignant. "I'm noh out of shape!"

Methos smiled. Oh, he loved pulling that brogue out of his partner. Sign of a job well done. MacLeod stood up, snatched the bandanna from Methos and tied it around his head.

"Come on, let's go. It's probably not more than another three miles or so, unless you took us to the wrong mountain," Mac grumbled, picking up his pack and starting up the trail. Methos grinned, shouldered his own pack and followed. It really couldn't be much farther, he thought. I hope.

Of course Mac wasn't out of shape, it was mostly that Methos was built to take hot, humid weather much better than Mac was. He'd also spent many more years than Mac had living in hot climates. Being cold was what bothered him. It was to escape the heat which was making Mac so miserable and irritable that he had suggested going up north for some hiking, as long as they were stuck in Boston for a few days.

They had made the trip to the White Mountains to escape the mid July heat wave that had gripped the Northeast for the past week, only to discover that it was just as miserably hot and sticky there. It just smelled better and looked prettier than Boston had. That was when Methos had suggested doing some mountain climbing. If they were going to find decent temperatures, it was going to be on a mountaintop.

They topped the ridge, and Methos breathed a sigh of relief. There was another ridge to climb, but the trees dropped sharply in height and he could see the treeline end at the top of the next rise. That meant the peak was just ahead.

When they emerged from the treeline, they both felt the breeze hit them.

"Aaah, that's better." Methos stopped, let his head fall back, eyes closed, and savored the cooler air moving over his sweaty face and throat. He reached behind and lifted his backpack up so the breeze could cool his back.

Fingertips moved lightly along his exposed throat and he smiled, opening his eyes. Duncan was standing close, trailing his fingers down his neck then up to graze his cheek. The dark eyes had regained their good humor and were regarding the older Immortal with love. He tilted Methos' face toward him and placed a gentle, affectionate kiss on his lips.

"Thank you, Methos. This was a good idea. I'm sorry I've been such a bear lately. This kind of weather just drives me mad." He turned, then slanted a mischievous look back over his shoulder at Methos as he bent to pick up his pack. "You drive me mad too, by the way. On several different levels."

"Just doing what I'm best at."

That man does look nice in hiking shorts, Methos thought, falling into step behind Mac and appreciating the view as they climbed up the last steep, rocky hundred yards or so of the trail. At the top of the last slope, the trail leveled off and broadened into a large flat ledge overlooking the valley below.

"So, worth the climb?"

Mac looked out at the view, smiling, and said. "Oh, aye. It reminds me of home a bit."

It was not the grand awe-inspiring sweeping vista they would have found in the Northwest Rockies. These mountains were older, softer and greener. Not at all unlike the ancient highlands of Scotland. The broad granite ledge they stood on overlooked a notch through the mountains, and they could see wisps of clouds drifting below them.

The two men sat down, gratefully shedding their packs and stretching their complaining legs. Mac brought out one of the two gallon jugs of water that they had brought with them and passed it over to Methos after taking a long drink out of it himself. Methos drank, then lay back on the weathered rock and murmered, "Oh, I think I could stand staying here for a while. Maybe a day or two. Or three."

***

They sprawled on their stomachs on the sun-warmed gray stone close to the edge of the dropoff, the sudden indolence as pleasant as the cool breeze. Lying shoulder to shoulder they half-dozed, silently enjoying the surroundings and each other's presence. 'Like a pair of cougars lazing on rocks in the sun, Methos thought. 'No, more like wolves', he amended. Wolves mated for life.

'Caught for good at last, by a Scottish boyscout. I would have simply laughed myself sick if someone had told me that three years ago.' He opened one eye and peered in Mac's direction as he felt a broad, warm hand touch his back and slide down to cup one of his buttocks. 'Correction. A horny Scottish boyscout.'

Methos looked up at Mac and drawled lazily, "Excuse me, sir, but did you lose a hand? Because I just found one on my ass."

Duncan grinned at him, unfazed, and continued to run his hand over Methos' flank."Why yes, I believe I did. Sorry, it tends to run off on me and do what it wants. D'ye want me to take it back, then?"

Methos licked his lips and looked thoughtful. "Hmm, not really. But you know we probably shouldn't start this here."

"What, someone's going to fly by in a helicopter and see us?" Mac dipped his head down and licked, then nipped at an earlobe, breath warm on the long neck. Methos felt the spark of warmth that always lay close to the surface with Duncan flare up and send a wash of arousal down his spine to center at his groin. He shifted on the rock, suddenly uncomfortable.

"You are sorely tempting Mr. Murphy here, love. You know this is the quickest way to guarantee that we get company arriving up here."

"Mmmmm." Duncan purred low in his throat, continuing to lick and nibble."How far do you think we can get before Murphy's Law kicks in? And anyway, what are they going to do? Call the police? Well, when they finally make it up here four hours from now, I think we'll probably be done by then. What do you think?"

"Sounds like a plan to me." Methos rolled onto his side, facing Duncan and drew him in for a kiss. His hands passed along the lines of Mac's muscular back, caressed then squeezed his buttocks through the hiking shorts, his fingers digging in slightly. Duncan groaned and pressed himself against the slender body, rubbing their erections together through their clothing. Tongues darted in and out of mouths, teasing, slicking along teeth, over the roofs of their mouths. Their breathing merged, a heavy tidal rush in Methos' ears as he gave himself over into arousal. Duncan rolled onto his back, pulling Methos to lie on top of him. Methos straddled Duncan, moving his hips, rubbing himself against Duncan's hardness, drawing little gasps of pleasure from the Scot. Duncan ran his hands up under his slender partner's t-shirt, felt the smooth skin covering lean, corded muscles, drew his nails lightly across Methos' nipples until they hardened. He listened, grinning, to Methos' moans of appreciation, quietly taking in the sensual picture of Methos, head fallen back, eyes closed, slender body curved forward to meet the hands caressing him.

Methos bent down to quickly capture Duncan's mouth for another kiss, then started to lick the salty skin along Duncan's jawline, moving down to the hollow of his tanned throat. He reached down and undid the snap on Duncan's shorts and slipped his hand inside his briefs, closing around the warm hard shaft inside.

Duncan froze, his eyes closed, then he moaned, shifted his hips and opened his eyes. The two of them were still for a moment, breathing raggedly, each looking into the other's eyes gone black, pupils dilated with arousal. Duncan's hands moved down, pulled the waistband of Methos' shorts out and slipped inside to fondle him, causing Methos to draw in a sharp breath, his hips pressing into the large, skillful hands...

***

High-pitched loud voices shattered the silence, announcing the arrival of at least two young children.

"Shit." Methos groaned and rolled off of his lover, reaching down quickly to zip up Mac's shorts, not an easy task at the moment.

"Shit," Mac agreed, hastily rearranging the waistband of Methos' shorts then rolling onto his belly, squirming to arrange himself as comfortably as possible.

"Murphy strikes," Methos muttered, his breathing erratic, trying to arrange himself on his stomach as well. He looked up to see who their extremely unwelcome visitors were.

They were a man and a woman who both looked to be in their early thirties, and three children; one boy, two girls, whose ages seemed to range between the ages of six and nine. The children rushed across the rocks, exclaiming in delight at the view, and the fact that they had reached the top. The parents swung their frame packs down to the rocks and stretched, obviously grateful to be rid of them.

"Hi." They waved at the two men stretched out on the rocks by their packs, a customary courteous greeting between hikers.

"Hi." Duncan raised a hand in greeting, a strained smile on his face. Methos recognized the expression on Mac's face. It was his "I wish you bloody people were anywhere else in the world at this moment instead of here with me, but I was raised to be polite" look. Methos nodded in their direction, raised a hand and gave a halfhearted "Hello." He knew his face was still flushed and he sounded a bit breathless.

The couple gave him and Mac pleasant nods, then slightly dubious looks, then sat down and began to unload their packs.

One of the children, an adorable little girl of about six with light brown hair in a ponytail not unlike Mac's, came up to them and stood, staring at them curiously.

"Hi," she said. Methos looked at her and attempted a smile, then looked off into the distance, hoping if he ignored her she might get bored and leave. Mac was much better with children than he was.

When Mac realized that Methos wasn't going to say anything else, and the little girl showed no signs of going away, he summoned up the kindest smile he could under the circumstances, and spoke. "You shouldn't be so close to the edge, sweetheart. Why don't you move back a little?"

"You're here," she said, with flawless, direct six year old's logic.

Duncan hesitated, then said, "Uh, you're right, we are. But we're lying down so that we can't possibly fall off, see?" Methos winced. He could see the next thing coming.

"OK." She plopped down on her tummy next to MacLeod. Her ponytail flipped into his face as she turned her head to look out at the view, then back, to lean in face to face to the astonished Highlander.

"Yuck. You're all sweaty. My mom says my dad sweats like a horse, too," she whispered conspiratorially to Duncan. He raised his eyebrows, straining to maintain a kind exterior and wishing desperately that her parents would come over and tell her not to be so friendly to strange men. Methos was being no help. His head was turned away and Mac could see a slight tremor in his shoulders as he struggled to hold in laughter. Dismissing the sudden microsecond's impulse to reach out and roll Methos off the edge of the cliff, he searched for something to say to the tyke, preferably something that would make her leave...

"Ashley, get over here! Stop bothering those men!"

Her parents had finally looked up from unpacking their lunch and saw their daughter chummily ensconced next to the two hikers, looking like she'd known them all her life. Ashley reluctantly scrambled to her feet and stomped back over to her parents, whining, "Moo-oom! I was right heeere."

Mac breathed a sigh of relief, then narrowed his eyes at his snickering partner. "Fat lot of help you were."

Methos chuckled, wiping at his eyes. "You were doing fine, MacLeod. You're much better with children than I am. Even if you do sweat like a horse." He grinned. "I think it might be time to start back down, though. Hm, I rather wish I'd brought a jacket to tie around my waist, now. Guess we'll just have to carry the packs strategically until we get out of sight. Then we can get back to the car and go look for someplace a bit more private. What do you think?"

"I think we're going to make it down this mountain in record time," said Mac as he started to get up, grabbing for his backpack.

An hour later they were about halfway down the mountain. The trail at this point ran parallel with a large stream for a while. Methos looked at the swiftly running water flowing between smooth, weathered flat rocks and stopped.

He was hot, sweaty, uncomfortable, and his new boots were beginning to rub a blister on his ankle from the furious pace they were setting in hiking down off the mountain. It meant an extra ten minutes or so added to the time between now and until they could reach the car and go looking for privacy, but he needed to stop, cool off and give his ankle a few minutes to heal.

"Mac."

Duncan, already ten feet farther down the trail, stopped and looked back up at Methos. He sighed, and climbed back up to where the older man stood waiting.

"What? Something wrong?"

"I need to stop for a minute. Come on." Methos left the trail and picked his way down to the edge of the water, sat and started to unlace his boots.

Mac followed him down, sliding a bit once or twice on the pine needles carpeting the steep incline. He hunkered down next to Methos as the other was finishing removing his socks and draping them over a branch above his boots.

"You know that's going to make it twice as uncomfortable when you put those back on," Mac said, reaching out to remove a dead leaf that had settled in Methos' dark, cropped hair. Methos looked at the water, then back at the Scot.

"I don't care. It'll be worth it. I need to stop and let this get better, anyway," he said, indicating the angry red mark just above his anklebone. "New boots."

Duncan looked, immediately lost his impatient stance and frowned in sympathy. "Ow. All right, let's take a breather for a few minutes."

Methos rose, lightly jumped to the flat surface of one of the many rocks rising out of the broad stream and began to pick his way out toward his goal, a large flat stone near the center of the stream bed. He heard Mac call out behind him, "Just don't fall in and hit your head."

Methos smiled and shook his head affectionately. He still couldn't quite get over deep Mac's protective streak ran. It amused him no end that Mac seemed to think that after five thousand years of surviving on his own everything that the world had seen fit to throw at him, Methos needed to be looked after. It also touched him deeply, sometimes almost to the point of tears.

"No, Mother."

"You think I'm joking, don't you? I know you. It's no joke."

He looked back. Mac was standing at the bank, grinning at him. He was also watching him intently. Methos sat down on the large rock and lowered his feet into the clear, cold, swift water. He moaned in sheer pleasure at the sensation and stretched out on his back. He didn't need to open his eyes to know that Mac was staring at him. Idly he wondered how many minutes Mac would last before he couldn't take it anymore and came out to join him.

"Oh, Mac, come on. You've got to come out here, this is delicious."

Opening his eyes, he turned his head to look at Mac, who was sitting crosslegged on the shore. As Methos met his gaze he raised his eyebrows and pointed at his watch.

"Three minutes, yew ol' fraud. Then we're on our way, if I have to come out and drag you back." As Methos' expression brightened, he growled, "And I guarantee ye' won't enjoy it." Methos sighed, giving up. He sat up, drawing his feet out of the water. Once Mac was on a particular course, he was set on it. Methos didn't envy any stray Immortals who might run into MacLeod on the way back down. It was likely to be the shortest fair fight in Immortal history.

He suddenly sat up straighter and shaded his eyes as he looked downstream. The greenish eyes narrowed and he began to smile. About fifty yards farther down, the stream had strayed to the right for some reason, and carved out a pocket in the bank away from the main current. It formed a small pool, the strong current diluted there, stirring only lazy eddies in the surface of the clear water. He doubted it would be very deep, but it was undoubtedly shielded from view of the trail above by the mossy high overhang of sand and tangled roots above it. As long as they were quiet... He could probably do quiet. Maybe. If they went down the trail just a bit, and found a way down through the undergrowth...

"Oh, Mac..." He got up and grinned at the Highlander. "You're going to like this. I want to show you something I just found." He hopped to the next stone, beginning his trip back to the bank. The stone shifted, his wet foot slipped and he flailed his arms for one wild instant in a vain attempt to regain his hopelessly lost balance.

As he fell, he saw Mac's expression, an indescribable mixture of triumphant righteousness and horror, for a fleeting moment before the swift, cold water closed over his face. At least I didn't hit my head, he thought as he slid down the water-worn stream bed, bounced bruisingly off a few smooth rocks, and fetched up in the shallows of the pool he had just discovered.

He spit out a mouthful of dead leaves and stood up streaming water, staggered a few steps, then caught his balance. His shoulders and ribs smarted like hell.

"Methos!" He looked up and saw Mac standing out in the stream on two rocks close to the large flat rock he'd been sitting on, looking down at him. When he saw the slender Immortal standing up soaked but unharmed in the waist-deep water, he breathed a sigh of relief then assumed a truculent stance, hands on hips. Methos waited in resignation. Mac brought his hands up to cup around his mouth and shouted, "I believe the expression called for here is "I told you so." Not that I'd be so petty as to use it, but--"

One of the rocks he stood on, which had held steady under Methos' slighter weight, became dislodged. The rest of Mac's observation was lost as he slipped and fell into the water with a bellow, the swift current carrying him over the smooth rocks, tumbling him a couple of times and then depositing him with a splash in the pool. Methos waded the few feet dividing them and bent down to put his hands on the Highlander's shoulders as he emerged, spluttering, from the cold water. He looked into Mac's face, a kind expression in his hazel eyes and said. "Duncan. You've answered the question that has plagued philosophers for millennia. There is a God. I--" The rest of his observation was lost as strong arms yanked him down into the water, ducking his head under. It actually felt rather good. All of the grimy stickiness he'd accumulated during the hike was gone, and he broke the surface, wiped the water from his eyes and stood up.

The two soaking wet Immortals looked at each other, dripping. Duncan shook his head and looked down at the water. "Damn it. My boots."

Methos shrugged. "We'll just have to take everything off and dry it out a bit before we go on then, won't we? Stick close to the overhang here, no one'll see us," Methos said, and started to draw Duncan's shirt off.

"You've got a point," Mac's muffled voice came from under the wet shirt as it came up over his head.

They peeled the wet shirts, shorts and underwear off each other, slinging them up with effort to hang from the branches of some of the lower birch saplings. Mac laughed as Methos' T-shirt slid off the slender, springy branches to land in the water a second time. Methos tried to give him a black look as he rescued the disobedient garment, but he couldn't manage it and started to laugh too. His laughter became heartier as he watched Mac hop around one-footed, trying to get his soaked boots off. Mac finally got the stubborn footwear off and tossed one boot, then the other, up onto the bank, looking ruefully after them as they landed with sodden thuds. Then he removed his silver hairclip, tossed it carefully on to the bank and looked at Methos.

"Don't yew dare bloody say I should have taken my boots off when ye' told me too. I will hurt you." He crossed his arms. "Well. It'll be a bit before those things are even a little bit dry, even in this sun. What do you want to do?"

Methos was silent, drinking in the marvelous sight of Duncan standing in the water, weight shifted onto one foot, the bright sunlight streaming through the trees to dapple the olive skin and long dark hair that lay plastered around his broad shoulders. The beautiful dark face regarded him with an expression of amused affection which shifted and brightened into something deeper as he met Methos' eyes and read what was there only for him. Methos shook his head and snapped out of it, walked up until they were almost touching.

"I don't know, but we could have some very good sex while we're trying to decide." He slipped his arms around Duncan's neck, purring, "No one can see us from the trail. It's a good ten, twenty yards that way, and we're right under this bank. As long as we're not too loud... Murphy taketh away..."

"And Murphy giveth back," Mac rumbled, dipping his dark head in to nuzzle along Methos' long neck (which was once again pale, any traces of sunburn healed). Methos' eyes became slits, glittering with pleasure as a hot tongue traced its way up the water-cooled skin to explore his ear.

"We only -- aah -- have the trout for company. Oh, that's nice. I think we can trust them to keep their mouths shut about this."

***

They stood and kissed in the cool, gently swirling water, caressing each other, each relishing the feel of the other's hardness pressed together, rubbing together, delicious friction bringing them to a more urgent level of arousal.

Methos drew his nails slowly down the broad back, feeling his lover shiver at the caress. Oh, he didn't know how he'd ever existed without this...

Duncan drew back and looked into his face, a spark of mischief in his dark umber gaze, then started kissing, licking and nipping his way down Methos' lean, wiry torso, and stopped at his navel, dreamily exploring it with his tongue. Then he took a deep breath and submerged. Methos gasped "oh," as he felt Duncan take his straining hardness in, lips sliding down the rigid shaft. He looked down and saw the cloud of dark hair floating in the water like seaweed in the gentle current. The sensation of the hot mouth surrounding the water chilled skin of his erection was startlingly erotic. He reached down under the water to run his hands over Duncan's shoulders, neck, face, anything he could touch, the floating hair a gentle tickle on the skin of his forearms.

He was close to release when the exquisite touch stopped. Duncan's head broke the surface and he sucked in a huge whooping gasp of air. Then he looked up, grinning, into the flushed, finely-boned face. His hand still moved under the water, sliding, gently squeezing. Then he drew in another deep breath and disappeared under the water again. Methos closed his eyes and tipped his head back, trying to hold in his cries as his orgasm seized him, hips moving, mouth open in a silent yell. His knees began to give way, and Duncan caught him on the way down as he emerged from the water, the two of them going to their knees together, water lapping around their collarbones. Duncan held him steady as he recovered his senses, face pressed into his neck, tasting the pale skin.

"Oh, Mac, that was nice", Methos said, still panting a bit. "Give me a second here."

"Mmm-hm," Duncan replied, continuing to explore his throat. Methos began to draw in long, deep breaths, filling his lungs almost to the point of pain before letting the breath out, hyperventilating a bit, sending extra oxygen into his racing blood. Then he stood, drawing Mac up to his feet and kissed him.

"My turn, kiltboy." He nipped Mac sharply on the shoulder, then drew a last deep breath and dropped below the surface of the water.

Rushing sound filled his ears as the water closed over his head and he slid his hands around Duncan's buttocks, grasping and bringing him closer as he took Duncan into his mouth, tasting his unique flavor mingled with the faintly earthy taste of the water. Dimly he heard Mac call his name out through the distorting underwater sounds and intensified his efforts.

Up above, Duncan writhed, moaning, as his ancient lover's skilled mouth and hands drove him expertly out of his mind. Minutes passed, and between groans of pleasure Duncan began to cast occasional glances down at the dark submerged head. His broad hands passed over the thick dark hair and strong, slim shoulders, alert for any signs of distress and he looked incredulously down as Methos continued to stay under the water. Then he lost coherent thought and clutched at Methos' shoulders, crying out as his release came with blinding intensity. He dropped down into the water, sitting down hard as Methos came up, exhaled loudly and started to gulp in air, easing back to sit down facing Mac as he did. Mac simply stared at him.

"Pearl diver. Japan. Fourteenth century." Methos gasped out between breaths as he leaned forward and rested his forehead against Mac's, content just to be still for a moment. Mac closed his eyes and sat contentedly, feeling his heart start to slow from hammering to merely racing.

They moved a few feet out to the shallows of the pool, confident that they still couldn't be seen by anyone from the trail, and lay down to recover. Methos stretched out comfortably on top of Mac, who grunted a bit as a few small rocks poked into his back at the extra weight and shifted, settling the smoothed pebbles more evenly under him. Then he sighed and let his head relax back into the water, only a few inches deep where his head lay, and traced slow circles on Methos' back. Methos closed his eyes and savored the warmth of the sun on his back and the warmth of Mac's body as they lay belly to belly.

They began kissing again, lazily this time, as slow and unhurried now as they had been rushed and urgent before. Gradually arousal stirred again, and rising together they moved back into the pool, never losing touch, almost slow dancing as they moved into the deeper water, movements fluid, both possessing the grace of centuries of warrior's training. Methos pressed in with his fingers above and just below Duncan's rigid cock, searching for the pleasure points he knew as well as his own by now. He stifled a cry as he felt teeth run along his neck and Duncan's hand sliding between his buttocks, pressing in with his fingers.

"Damn," he heard Duncan mutter into his neck.

"What?" Methos said, voice a bit sharp. He desperately hoped that whatever was wrong was not going to result in Duncan stopping anything he was about to do.

"Better for you if we had something. The water will help, but--"

Methos cut him off, saying, "My shorts." Duncan pulled back and looked at him like he'd said something in Phoenician.

"Your shorts?"

Methos gestured toward the nylon biker's shorts hanging from a nearby branch. "In my shorts. The pocket." He gasped, feeling foolish for not being able to spit the words out, but his breath wasn't cooperating any more. "Sunscreen."

Comprehension dawned, and Duncan rushed to retrieve the tube of 30 spf sunscreen that Methos had brought tucked into his shorts pocket. (Just because he healed quickly didn't mean that he enjoyed getting badly sunburned.)

Returning with the tube, he squeezed out a generous amount into his palm and began to smooth it over himself, eyes drifting closed. After massaging some into Methos as well, he gently drew the other back against him and began to move inside him bit by bit until Methos growled in frustration and pushed himself back, taking Duncan all the way in. They began to move together, each knowing well what would please the other, their movements at this stage of the game slow and unforceful in gentle competition to see who would be first to give in and beg the other to move faster, harder...

Duncan suddenly lurched against Methos who gave a slight cry, then moaned. "Oh, do that again, please." Duncan laughed and said, "The trout are biting my legs. And -- whoa -- my ass," he added, jerking forward again. Methos groaned, and moved against Duncan, trying to spur him to renewed action.

"Duncan, they're trout. Not wolverines. They're biting my legs too, it doesn't hurt," he said, trying to settle into a rhythm again.

"No, it doesn't hurt at all. In fact it feels kind of interesting." Methos stopped and fell silent for a moment as he digested this bit of information, then hissed,

"Don't ever tell me I'm weird again, MacLeod."

Duncan chuckled, and began to thrust again, gently at first, then increasing his pace as Methos began to writhe against him. Thoughts of trout, wolverines, weirdness and anything else were lost as they moved faster, building toward release. Methos came first, warm ejaculate moving across Mac's cool fingers as they moved up and down his straining flesh. Methos' inner spasms triggered Duncan's orgasm and he muffled his cries against Methos' heaving shoulders. Both of them sank down into the water once more, and knelt on the pebbled bottom, still clasping each other tightly. Occasional shudders ran through their bodies, and their breathing slowly began to return to normal.

***

Almost half an hour later they felt recovered enough to be able to hike again without their legs threatening to give out on them. Walking unsteadily to the bank, they hauled themselves out onto the mossy surface and stood up. Wet skin dried quickly in the hot sun, and they carefully pulled the birch branches in to retrieve their clothes, still damp but much improved. Mac's boots were still waterlogged, but he allowed that he could live with it until they reached the parking lot. Casting a last fond look at the trout pool, they gave each other tired grins and turned to leave.

In comfortable silence, they made their way back up the bank to retrieve their packs and Methos' boots. They gained the trail again and began a leisurely descent, Methos in the lead this time. A bit farther down the trail, Methos spoke up. "Well, that was worth the drive."

"Aye, and the view from the summit wasn't bad, either."

Methos laughed and threw Mac an affectionate glance over his shoulder. "So. Where would you like to go hiking tomorrow?"

***

Two pairs of eyes watched them leave, and two sighs floated out in unison as they disappeared into the trees, heading back to the trail.

Marion and Beth, graduate students at the Maine Institute for Field Ornithology who were working on their Masters field project, left the makeshift blind of tumbled branches and pine boughs they had built in the heavy undergrowth on the other side of the stream. They got up and stretched gratefully, leg muscles stiff from inaction. Beth looked at Marion.

"Shit. Why are the really gorgeous ones always gay? I am so glad we came up to take notes on the Hawk Owl nest today."

"I'm going to bring that owl a hundred white mice to thank her for building her nest near that trout pool. Thank God we brought the scope!"

"And these," Beth said, holding up her Bausch & Lomb Elite binoculars, grinning.

"And this," Marion added, holding up her telephoto lens-equipped Pentax with an even bigger grin. She looked at the film counter, then at the empty film canisters scattered around their feet. "Hmmph. Well, we're not getting anymore pictures of the chicks today."

"Who cares? Let's go develop these puppies."

Institute of Field Ornithology, University of Maine, Machias

Rick pounded on the door of the developing room. "Hey, come on! You guys have been in there for four hours now! Other people have progress reports due too, you know! How many frickin' pictures could you guys take of those owls, anyway?"

Two voices, muffled by the heavy door, called out in unison, "Lots!"

Rick groaned and laid his head on the hard, cold door.

Beth looked over Marion's shoulder."Coming out nice! Hey, what's that for?" she asked as Marion began to hold a piece of paper over the lower part of the developing picture, waving it a little every few seconds or so. Marion grinned.

"It's a little trick one of my photography teachers showed me, when you have a picture that's too light in one part and too dark in another. I got a lot of light bouncing off the rocks and the water in the lower part of the picture, and the top of it's kind of dark, with all the trees in the background. What you do with this is," she lifted up the piece of paper, looked at the picture critically, then placed it back over the lower portion, "you use this to block some of the light, so that the darker part will develop OK without the lower part overdeveloping. If I just let the whole thing develop evenly, the upper part will be too dark, and we'll lose definition. And that", she surveyed the picture again, "would be a shame... there we are... Oh, my, yes. Put those boys in the gladiator outfits and send them up to my room, Jeeves."

Beth took the picture and looked at it, handling the still wet photo carefully. "Oh, yeah, very nice."

"Hey, he's pretty flexible, huh?"

"Must do yoga."

*Bang!* *Bang!* *Bang!*

"Come on, Beth! Marion! Get out of there! I'm not kidding, I got a lot of rolls to develop!"

"Go to Photomat!" Marion picked one up from the pile and held it out to Beth. "Christmas card!"

Peals of evil laughter came from behind the locked door. Rick gave up. He gave the door one last shot with his fist and yelled, "Fine! I guess I'll just get up at five in the morning and drive all the way back here from Calais to develop these before class just so I don't get a D! Bitches!" He stormed off.

Inside the developing lab, the two womens' laughter finally died down.

Wiping at her eyes, Beth chortled, "Hey, you know, Rick sounded pretty pissed off."

"He'll get over it. Come here and help me pick out which one of these I'm going to blow up to poster size."

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