Warning: Pure, unadulterated sex ahead. Serious NC-17 of the slash variety. That means men. And more men. No women, understand? Plot? We didn't bother. Substance? We left it out. Sex? Nothing else! Nothing implied, we spelled it all out (and we spelled it correctly, so don't bother to check). You won't have to think about it, we gave you all the details.
This is a Smut Grrrls production. Dedicated to the creation, promotion, and limited distribution of Highlander Erotica. We live to / .
Please do not re-post, reprint or otherwise distribute without the express permission of the authors and a fire extinguisher for your keyboard.
Disclaimers: Needless to say this story is not meant to profit from the creations of Davis/Panzer or Rysher. The characters belong to them...the warped imagination is ours.
Duncan set the last of the pots in the dish drainer and contemplated his water-soaked hands ruefully. He didn't mind doing his share of kitchen duties but this was the sixth day in a row that Methos had disappeared, leaving him to clean up the supper dishes alone. Duncan was tired of it. There had to be some way to convince his lover that he was expected to do his share of the housekeeping chores. Duncan slid the bottle of dish washing liquid under the sink and pulled the dish towel out from where he had tucked it into the waistband of his pants to catch splashes. As hung the damp towel on the drying rack, an idea sprang to mind. The perfect revenge. And, given his lover's propensity for playing games, this particular scheme should have a highly satisfactory conclusion.
It took him two hours of shopping the next day to find exactly what he needed. The sales clerk, assuming it as a gift, offered both a gift box, and to wrap his selection in the store's distinctive, heavy black matte paper. Duncan started to refuse, then reconsidered. This was even more perfect. Methos couldn't resist presents.
That evening, he caught his lover's arm as they left the dinner table, drawing him casually to the couch. He was careful to hide the gleam of anticipation in his eyes. Methos wasn't easy to fool but Duncan only needed to keep him in the dark for a limited period of time.
"What's up?" Methos glanced at him curiously, but allowed himself to be cuddled against his lover's shoulder.
"Let's chat," Duncan said casually.
"Okay. Any particular topic?"
Duncan nuzzled his neck gently, one hand combing through the silken hair. He was pleased that his lover was allowing his hair to grow out a few inches. The buzz cut Methos had been wearing when he showed up at the loft a couple of months ago had been less than flattering to his angular features.
"Oh," he said casually, "a little of this, a little of that."
Methos chuckled warmly and rubbed his cheek against Duncan's hand. "Do you want to talk or to fool around?"
"A little bit of both. Is that a problem?"
"No," Methos grinned. "Except for the 'fooling around' part. 'A little bit' is hardly your style."
"Look who's talking."
"That's one thing you learn in a long life, You learn to spend time on what's really important."
"Speaking of things that are important," Duncan grabbed the opening. "I bought you something today."
"Really?" Methos twisted his head around and looked at his lover curiously. "What?"
"Just a present."
"Well?" Methos said impatiently. "Where is it? What is it?"
"All in good time," Duncan teased. He slid his hands under Methos' bulky sweater and rubbed his stomach invitingly.
"What?" Methos grinned slyly. "I have to earn it?"
"Not at all," Duncan assured. Pulling away from his lover, he retrieved the intriguing black box and set it on the counter between the kitchen and the living area. Methos started to stand up and Duncan grabbed his hands, pushing him against the back of the couch.
"Not so fast," he teased. "You're not quite ready for it, yet."
"Ready?" Methos looked at him suspiciously, then smiled. "Ready, how?"
"You'll see." Duncan sat back down on the couch and pulled Methos back to lean against him again. "First, let's do something about all these clothes, what do you think?" He whispered the words against his lover's ear as he ran his hands back up inside the cotton sweater again. Methos leaned forward obligingly, letting Duncan pull the garment over his head and toss it behind the couch.
"This is promising." Methos arched his back against the touch of his lover's hands on his chest.
"I had hoped you might feel that way." Duncan hugged his waist gently and ran a line of gentle kisses along Methos' shoulders. He ran his fingers around the edges of his lover's nipples, not quite touching the sensitive nubs and Methos shivered and stretched against him luxuriously.
"Have I ever mentioned what great hands you have?" he asked lazily.
"Dishpan hands," Duncan said pointedly.
Methos glanced at him quickly and smothered a grin. "I beg your pardon?"
"You know what I'm talking about."
"If you're tired of washing dishes, hire a maid service," Methos told him slyly.
"That's an idea." It wasn't any part of Duncan's plan to provoke an argument on the subject. He caressed his lover's chest gently, long, lingering strokes from the shoulder to the top of the faded jeans. If possible, Methos relaxed even more completely, laying bonelessly against his lover's broad chest.
"You don't want to argue about it?" he asked incuriously, his attention focused on Duncan's wandering hands.
"Not at the moment." Duncan tested the sensitivity of his lover's navel with one curious finger. With his other hand, he unbuttoned the first button on the loose jeans and slid his fingers inside to trace the waistband on the silk boxers.
Methos sighed and arched his neck, rubbing his cheek against Duncan's slowly. "Very nice, MacLeod. Now get on with it."
Duncan chuckled softly. "All in good time. Unless you have someplace else you need to be?"
"I'm not going anywhere," Methos promised.
Duncan used both hands to unfasten the rest of the buttons on the jeans, making certain he pulled and tugged the material against his lover's swelling erection constantly. Methos laughed quietly, then gasped when Duncan's hands slid inside the jeans to rest against the hardness. Duncan listened to his lover's breathing carefully, smiling.
"You know," he said, "you purr like a cat when I touch you this way."
"Do I?" Methos' hips pushed against his hands slightly.
"You do. It's very sexy. I always have the urge to scratch you behind the ears," Duncan teased, ignoring the invitation with difficulty.
"My ears," Methos said pointedly, "are not what itches at the moment."
"Really?" Duncan was tempted to abandon the rest of his plan and continue this intriguing slow seduction. He suppressed the urge regretfully and pulled his hands free.
Methos made a sound of disappointment. "What are you doing?"
"You'll see," Duncan promised. Pushing the other man to his feet, he kneeled before him to unlace the heavy boots and pull them and the rest of his clothes off quickly. Duncan's hands lingered on the lean muscles of his lover's legs as he stood back up, but he was determined to carry out the rest of the evening's program according to his original plan.
"I'm feeling underdressed." Methos tugged on the hem of Duncan's shirt pointedly.
"Not for long," Duncan promised. "Now...about that present."
Methos slipped into his arms and grinned. "It can wait. I have a better idea."
"I'm surprised that a man your age hasn't developed more patience." Duncan rested his hands on the firm waist for a moment, then turned his lover toward the kitchen, stopping next to the counter where he had left the mysterious box.
"The kitchen?" Methos looked around curiously and Duncan could tell he really wasn't registering the pile of dirty plates and cookware. He turned to face Duncan, reaching for the gift.
"Don't rush it," Duncan chided, pulling the box out of his reach.
"Hey, it's *my* present..." Methos narrowed his eyes. "Why can't I look at it?"
"Actually, it's for both of us," Duncan grinned. "It's kind of a game."
"Really?" Methos smiled in anticipation. "Well, what are you waiting for?" He put his hands on his hips challengingly, smirking at the gleam in his lover's eyes. "Let's play."
"If you say so. Turn around and close your eyes."
Methos didn't move for a moment, then he turned around slowly, looking nervously back over his shoulder. "I don't know about this, MacLeod."
"It won't hurt a bit, I promise," Duncan said, biting back another smile.
Methos closed his eyes and stood with his back to his lover patiently. The muscles in his back twitched nervously and Duncan massaged them soothingly. "Trust me," he said huskily. Methos relaxed slightly. Duncan pulled the top off of the box, watching Methos react to the faint rasping sound. Pulling out the filmy garment, he held it over Methos' head, then let the silky material slide down his lover's chest slowly, barely brushing the erect nipples, then whispering feather-light against the burgeoning erection. Methos shivered and licked his lips and Duncan smiled in satisfaction. Quickly he tied the soft fabric around his lover's lean hips, then stepped around him to admire the effect.
"Well?" Methos said impatiently.
"You can open your eyes."
Methos opened his eyes, immediately looking down to find out what it was that was brushing so tantalizingly against his erection, then stared at his lover in amazement. "An apron?"
Duncan grinned wickedly, taking in the oddly erotic sight of his lover's hips barely concealed by the translucent fabric of the impractical garment. He adjusted the folds carefully, draping it around the thrust of Methos' arousal until the barely-there sensation made his lover shudder and step back.
Duncan suppressed another urge to end the game before it started, crossing his arms on his chest to keep his hands off of the inviting picture in front of him.
"Exactly what do you call this game?" Methos looked reassured by the familiar gleam in his lover's eyes. "Playing 'house' doesn't really appeal to me."
"That's because you haven't tried it my way," Duncan assured him. He curled his hand around Methos' arm and pulled him into the kitchen slowly. "Besides, it's not exactly 'playing house'.
"Really?" Methos looked intrigued. "What is it, then?
Duncan pushed Methos over to face the sink full of dirty dishes. "It's more like, 'Let's Make a Deal'," he said wickedly.
Methos back went rigid. "What kind of a deal?" he asked cautiously.
"You know," Duncan said certainly. He knew Methos' fondness for game shows. "I give you a task and, if you complete it in the allotted time, you get a prize."
"Oh, really?" Methos said with resignation. "Let me guess. It's my turn to do the dishes."
"No," Duncan told him. "It was your turn to do the dishes *last* week. You've missed your last four turns, to be precise."
"Does this game come with a penalty?"
"Trust me." Duncan handed him the bottle of dishwashing liquid. "You don't want to go there."
Methos glanced at it, then over his shoulder at his lover thoughtfully. Shrugging, he gave in. "Okay, I get it. So, let's say I complete the assignment. What do I win?"
"That's where it gets interesting," Duncan promised. He stepped closer to his lover until his own erection brushed against the temptingly bare flesh. His hands slipped under the soft gauze to stroke the slight curve of the muscular hips. "If you complete the assignment within the required time," he explained, "then *I* get what's behind curtain number one." As he spoke, his hands slid around to cup his lover's firm cock, squeezing gently.
"Ahhh..." Methos sighed almost inaudibly at the touch, then again when Duncan's warm hands disappeared.
Duncan stepped away resolutely and headed toward the living room. "You have fifteen minutes."
For a moment there was silence from the kitchen area behind him and he could feel Methos' gaze burning into his back. He didn't relax until the water started running into the deep sink. Smiling slightly, he dropped onto the couch and flipped on the television, hoping to catch the last few minutes of a special on antiques restoration he had planned to watch that evening.
The noise from the kitchen area was slightly louder than necessary but Duncan refused to notice, keeping his eyes glued to the television set. Neither man spoke until Duncan returned to the kitchen for a cold beer. He opened the bottle and dropped the cap into the trash can, looking at Methos' back thoughtfully. The silken fringe of the bow swung tantalizingly against his lover's firm ass as he moved in front of the sink. Duncan squirmed slightly as he imagined that soft caress against his own naked body.
Methos seemed to sense the thought. Resting his dripping hands on the edge of the sink, he smiled slyly over his shoulder at his lover. "Tell me something."
"Anything," Duncan promised recklessly, his eyes riveted to the fascinating shift and flow of smooth muscle. His mouth watered and he swallowed hard.
"Why didn't you just *say* you thought I should do the dishes more often?"
"I thought this would be more fun." Duncan forced his gaze up to Methos' sly grin. "And more memorable. I didn't want to have to keep reminding you."
"Really?" Methos shifted his feet, spreading his legs slightly and Duncan's mouth went dry. "You didn't want to have to repeat this?"
"Turn around," Duncan asked softly.
Methos grinned wickedly and shook his head. "Sorry. I have a schedule to keep."
Duncan set his beer on the counter and pulled off his own shirt quickly. He pressed himself against his lover's back, wrapping both arms around the slim waist. "So you do," he growled against the soft neck. Nine minutes."
"Right," Methos said breathlessly. "And I'm not going to make it if you don't get out of here." He wriggled sensuously against the broad chest.
Duncan licked his neck slowly, savoring the tangy flavor of sweat. "Okay," he said reluctantly, pulling his arms free. "But hurry up."
"I have nine minutes," Methos said calmly.
Duncan returned to the living room and threw himself on the couch. He watched Methos closely, but the older man pretended to be concentrating on the dishes, refusing to meet his eyes. Duncan waited two minutes, then kicked off his shoes and socks pointedly. Methos pretended to ignore him, stacking the last of the dishes into the drainer and beginning to wipe the countertop thoroughly. Duncan waited another minute, then stood up and unfastened his own jeans, the sound of the zipper ringing loudly through the unnaturally quiet room. Sliding out of both the too-tight jeans and boxers underneath, he put his hands on his hips and stared toward the kitchen challengingly.
Methos turned his back and started wiping the rest the countertops. Duncan smiled wickedly and started for the kitchen. The instant before his foot his the tile, Methos spoke over his shoulder. "Not another inch."
Duncan froze and stepped back. "What?"
"I have six more minutes," Methos said calmly.
He leaned over to clean the front of the refrigerator door and Duncan's erection hardened to rock. "You don't *need* six more minutes," he pointed out desperately.
"Six minutes," Methos repeated firmly. He stepped over to the sink to rinse the dishcloth. Around his hips, the translucent material swirled delicately, alternately concealing and revealing the details of his erection.
"But...Methos!" Duncan shifted uneasily, his own cock demanding immediate action.
"That's the game rule, isn't it?" Methos leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. He looked at Duncan's hungry expression with satisfaction.
Duncan grinned and started to step into the kitchen. "I said *no more than* fifteen minutes," he pointed out.
Methos raised a warning hand. "One more step, and you forfeit your prize," he threatened.
Duncan let his eyes drop to *curtain number one* watching the material waft gently around his lover's hips in the air currents. It took an effort, but he didn't move. "Do you expect me to just *stand* here for the next six minutes?"
Methos checked the clock. "Five minutes. Actually," his eyes wandered over his lover's naked body appreciatively, "I don't."
Their gazes locked and Duncan was lost. "What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to go over to the bed, pull down the blankets, and lay flat on your back," Methos said huskily. "And I want your hands behind your head."
"You want me to just *lay* there? For five minutes?"
Duncan hesitated, then moved toward the bed. He could see his lover watching as he pulled back the blankets and arranged himself on the white sheets. This might be the longest five minutes of his life. His erection twitched insistently.
"Hands." Methos' low voice reached him clearly and Duncan reluctantly folded his hands behind his head. Across the room, Methos leaned his arms on the counter and watched his lover's naked body squirm against the sheets slightly. When their gazes crossed again, he smiled maliciously, but made no move to leave the kitchen, and Duncan sighed impatiently.
He could feel Methos' eyes roaming over his naked body as certainly as if his lover was there next to him, touching him with hot, possessive hands. The memory of those hands washed over him and his body shivered at the memory and the anticipation.
The time passed even more slowly than he had feared. Methos never took his eyes off of his lover and his frank enjoyment of the view kept Duncan fully aroused. He clenched his hands behind his head, fighting the temptation to give his audience of one a real exhibition. Maybe next time. This time, the rules of the game required him to wait. But not patiently. After an eon of silence he raised his head and looked at his lover hopefully. Duncan couldn't see his watch, which he had left in the living area, but he trusted Methos to follow the rules.
Methos glanced at the clock on the stove and shook his head.
Duncan dropped his head, sighing in frustration. "I'm losing the mood," he threatened.
Methos chuckled warmly, his eyes never leaving his lover's rock-hard erection. "I don't think so," he said dryly.
"How much longer?" Duncan demanded.
"Sixty seconds," Methos said. He grinned. "Don't rush it, MacLeod. I'm surprised a man your age hasn't developed more patience," he quoted.
Duncan laughed involuntarily, his need warring with his reluctant admiration of the older man's self-control. If their positions had been reversed, he knew he would have had Methos flat on his back on the kitchen floor by now, with *curtain number one* just a distant memory.
Finally, Methos straightened up and headed toward the king-sized bed, smiling in anticipation. Duncan started to sit up and his lover stopped walking. "Change your mind?" he asked softly.
Duncan got the hint. Instantly he resumed his previous position, turning his head to watch his lover's progress. As he walked, Methos untied the apron and gathered the soft material into one hand. The skirt of the filmy garment hung down in front of him, obscuring Duncan's attempt to gauge his lover's level of arousal.
He got his first view of his lover's naked body when Methos stopped next to the bed. The older man's cock was fully erect and the head glistened with moisture. Duncan squirmed in pleasurable anticipation, but Methos wasn't through tormenting him yet. He let the silken material of the apron slide through his hands, smiling as it fell, caught, and slithered slowly around Duncan's cock.
"Ohhh..." Duncan moaned helplessly, the too-gentle caress sending sparks of need through his body.
Methos smiled and pulled the fabric loose, then let it swirl back down around his lover's erection again. "Nice?" he asked maliciously.
Duncan's body bucked helplessly. "God...stop that!"
Methos gathered up the fabric again. "Doesn't it feel good?" He let the trailing ends of the waist ties wrap loosely around Duncan's cock, then pulled them along the hard shaft and across the crown slowly.
"Ahhh..." Duncan bucked again. "Don't," he whimpered. "You have no idea how that feels."
Methos rubbed his silk-wrapped hand against Duncan's cheek and along the curve of his lower lip. "I think I do. After all," and his voice hardened slightly, "I've been feeling it for the last fifteen minutes, haven't I?"
Duncan's eyes snapped open in disbelief. "You wouldn't," he moaned.
"I would," Methos assured him tenderly. "For fifteen minutes." He leaned over and brushed his lips against Duncan's. "Trust me," he quoted. "I'm not going to hurt you."
"Oh, shit," Duncan moaned softly.
Methos gave him an evil grin and turned his attention back to the rest of his lover's body. "I didn't feel this, of course," he said conversationally. He feathered the light fabric against Duncan's nipples, enjoying the almost invisible shiver. "But I can promise you I thought about it." He repeated the gesture. "A lot."
Duncan's back arched against the teasing, his hands clenched in his hair hard enough to hurt. He closed his eyes, straining to control his reaction as the tormenting silk trailed far too slowly back down toward his aching cock. This time the fabric puddled between his thighs before being drawn back up across his balls caressingly.
He hissed sharply, shuddering as the playful hand rose and fell, the gentle tease of the material almost painful in its delicacy against his cock.
"Mmm..." Methos purred softly. "You know, MacLeod, you're right. I've never 'played house' your way before. I'm quite enjoying myself. How about you?"
Duncan was beyond words, his entire mind and body focused on the trail of heat and sparks his lover was weaving across his body with the handful of fabric. The silk brushed across one nipple and he shivered again. It returned to repeat the action, once...twice...and he moaned. The silk-kissed flesh of that nipple burned and its neglected twin ached with the need to be caressed in kind.
The sensation drifted back down to his erection and he felt the fabric stroking his cock slowly, over and over. Finally his control broke and he was bucking helplessly, letting the fabric tease his hips off the bed until his back was impossibly arched, then leaving him naked to drop back and whimper at the abandonment.
"Methos." The one word, barely audible, was all he could manage. The silk pooled around his cock, resting gently against his body. The weight of the feather-light fabric was almost too much after the barely perceptible teasing and he panted, struggling to regain his composure.
Methos' lips brushed across his lightly. "Yes?"
Another soft kiss. "Anything else?"
"I swear," Duncan moaned. "I'll never ask you to wash dishes again." His body, poised on the edge of fulfillment, throbbed in disappointment for an instant, then the waves of excitement started to subside gradually.
"That's very considerate of you." Methos licked Duncan's lips slowly. "Since you know how much I hate doing dishes." He kissed his lover deeply, but briefly. "I really appreciate it."
"Right," Duncan moaned. He pried his eyes open and looked at Methos.
In spite of the older man's teasing voice, his face was flushed and his eyes were hot and hungry. The slow teasing had worked the same wicked magic on both men and they were motionless for a few moments, their eyes locked in desire as each waited to regain some fractional control over his body.
Methos settled on the bed next to his lover very carefully. Turning his head, Duncan nuzzled the curve of his neck, drinking in the salty taste of accumulated sweat and the musky smell of arousal. He pressed his lips against the tip of his lover's ear "Take me," he invited.
Methos' body froze, then his mouth closed over Duncan's in a bruising, passionate kiss. One last whisper of silk and the fabric was replaced by his lover's hand, then his hips as Methos settled in on top of Duncan, still kissing him frantically.
An instant later Methos tore his mouth free and slid down his lover's body, trailing wet, hungry kisses across both nipples and into the tight navel before his mouth closed over his lover's cock hotly.
The tight, wet sucking was almost too much after the teasing Duncan had endured. He clenched both hands in the sheets as his body surged against the pressure, then he cursed as it disappeared as quickly as it had started. His lover's mouth played down the hard length, then across the tight sac for a few exhilarating seconds before it dove deeper. Methos' hands pushed Duncan's thighs apart impatiently, pressing down until his hot tongue probed the puckered opening he was searching for.
Duncan moaned incoherently and continuously, his body rocking against the arousing and satisfying kisses. A few seconds later, one slick finger replaced the wet mouth, sliding inside the tight channel and massaging it carefully. Duncan's body was wound up to fever-heat, the only unclenched muscle in his body the one where two fingers now continually stretched and prepared him to accept his lover's cock.
Duncan pulled his legs up against his chest, and Methos followed them instantly, his mouth plunging down to possess Duncan's again, their tongues dueling and fighting for supremacy.
Raising his head, Methos smiled hotly into Duncan's pleasure-drugged eyes. Duncan felt an instant of pressure and then the too-quick-too-slow slide of Methos' cock as it breached him and buried itself deeply inside his body.
Every muscle straining, Methos stopped, waiting for his lover's body to adjust to the intrusion. At this further delay, Duncan cursed mindlessly, then wrapped both legs around his lover's waist, arching his back and squeezing the buried ring of muscle until Methos shuddered and moved, thrusting against the heat and pressure. Duncan's body sang as his lover's hips moved faster and faster with every stroke. He was lost in the delirium ... feeling his lover's body, hearing his moans, smelling the musk of sweat and arousal. One almost coherent thought amid the tidal wave of sensation reminded Methos to wrap his hand around his lover's cock, keeping them together in their relentless movement. For one brilliant, timeless instant, they hung on the edge of fulfillment, drowning in each other's desire before Duncan's spasms sucked a cry of ecstasy from his lover. The resulting eruption of sensation pulled Duncan after him. The pleasure lasted ... twisted ... extended itself, and the two men rode it endlessly until Methos lay trembling and gasping across his lover's panting chest.
Methos gathered the strength to separate their bodies and remove his weight from his lover's heaving chest. Duncan slid one arm underneath his lover's head slowly and pressed their lips together. They lay that way for several minutes, floating in the ebb of sensation and feeling their heartbeats slow to normal again.
Duncan gathered Methos against his chest gently, feeling the older Immortal snuggle into his accustomed place with his head tucked beneath his lover's chin.
"Who do you think won that one?" Methos chuckled. Duncan started to answer, then both men's bodies were rocked by twin waves of exhaustion.
"I don't know," Duncan managed. "But thanks for doing the dishes."
"Tomorrow night," his lover threatened weakly, "*you* have to wear the apron."