"Do you trust me, Duncan?"
Two weeks later, and his words still rang in my ears, his voice rich with shades of meaning I didn't realize were possible, issuing a challenge I wasn't certain I was up to taking--and not certain I could refuse.
Two weeks.
Do you trust me?
Did I?
Could I?
It wasn't that I didn't trust him, exactly. But...things hadn't been the same since Bordeaux, and then we went and added more emotion into the swamp we called friendship: we started sleeping together.
How do you know he won't hurt you again? That insidious little voice needled me when I was least expecting it. I didn't know he wouldn't hurt me again. But I didn't know for sure that Amanda, or Joe, or hell, anyone else I called 'friend' wouldn't hurt me in some way, eventually.
And this wasn't exactly the sort of situation I could ask just anyone about--even if I were inclined to do such a thing.
I'd played the moment over in my head so many times I didn't have to close my eyes any more, but I did anyway. It made the visuals richer, more alive.
"Have you ever given yourself completely to anyone, Mac? Submitted...opened yourself up?" Methos was lying on our bed, linens all rumpled beneath us, the burgundy sheets contrasting vividly with his pale, pale skin. He was on his back, one arm flung across his forehead, head turned just slightly toward me. And his eyes--God, they were dark. Dilated. Hazel gone to aged amber, liquid whisky solidified. And there was so much in them, staring at me. All I could do for a minute was stare back before I shook my head.
"Have you?" An odd heat fizzed through me at the promise in his eyes, making my throat tighten around the words. I didn't know how to answer--the answer was 'no'--and countered as best I could.
"A long time ago." He smiled at me, eyes darkly mocking--mocking himself, not me. He shifted over onto his side, curling one arm under his head before reaching for me with the other. One long finger touched me as he traced slowly down my chest, tickling me ever so slightly, and the heat in his eyes raised goosebumps the tickle didn't. "It feels like you're completely vulnerable, leaving yourself wide open, available for anything--or anyone--who might happen along. But at the same time, it's a feeling so pure, so...uplifting." He glanced up at me. "One might even say spiritual."
"One might, eh?" I settled my hand on his and flattened it against my chest, enjoying his heat. "So. This...submission. Who--?" I tried for casual, but wasn't sure it worked.
Methos wiggled his hand out from under mine and stroked downward, slowly, teasing the short hairs on my belly, rimming my navel quickly with the tip of his finger. I shifted over so I could look at him, could see his face better. He met my eyes and smiled that tiny smile--the one that looks so secretive, like he's holding a trump card close to himself--making the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly. Not for the first time, I wondered how old he'd been when he'd become Immortal. "No one you'd know, Mac."
Which meant only that he wasn't going to tell me. "How is it--spiritual?" I closed my eyes, shivering when his finger stroked between my legs, touching skin still ultra-sensitive, though the bites he'd given me earlier were healed.
"Like meditation, maybe. Or doing a kata. Going to a higher place in your mind. Letting go of everything, letting someone else take control." He pinched my thigh lightly, then again, higher up, his knuckles brushing my scrotum. "It's a beautiful thing, submission. Watching someone open up to you, watching them relax and accept all you have to give...and taking all they offer." At some point Methos moved closer to me, brushing his lips against my ear as he spoke. I shivered once, the image he painted blossoming across the backs of my eyelids. When I opened my eyes, he was staring down at me, lips hovering over mine. A tiny smile danced there, eyes dark with unnamed emotion. "Do you trust me, Duncan?"
He didn't give me a chance to answer, instead covered my mouth with his, his fingers burrowing into my hair, pulling me closer, tighter, until I lost track of myself, much less any questions that needed an answer.
"Dammit." I tossed aside the book I'd been staring at, but not reading, and shifted uncomfortably. It was a powerful memory. Potent. I looked up cautiously when I heard a faint snort; Methos was watching me, his eyes calm, almost indifferent. It was a casual glance, but looking past the calm, his eyes held secrets of power, need and desire. I held his gaze for what seemed like a long time before looking away, settling my sights on the rain-spattered window. It was a wet, chilly night outside; the windows were steamed around the edges of the panes. It was warm inside, though, and I was comfortably sprawled on one end of the couch, being slowly driven insane by my thoughts.
"Problems, Mac?" Methos shifted around, edging one long leg toward me until only the barest width of space separated his foot from my thigh. Warm inside. The temperature increased by a factor of ten.
"No. Just--not interested in reading." I looked back over at Methos, wondering why I hesitated over answering him. I trusted him. Right? Trusted him enough to care for him...to love him. To need him. To need what he was offering, though...did I trust him that much? In spite of all we'd been through--or maybe because of it--each day the emotions felt a little stronger, a little clearer. Friendship, need, want, love...trust. I could need and want Methos without trusting him, but the friendship I felt...the love I felt...surely that didn't come without it? And if I trusted him with my heart, why not with my soul, too?
I resisted the urge to put my head in my hands and groan. Was I making this more complicated than it had to be? Probably.
I wondered if Methos was aware of my thoughts, my internal struggle. He seemed to be psychic sometimes, even with his claims to the contrary. He hadn't pressed me for an answer. Hadn't asked me repeatedly. Hadn't *mentioned* it, actually. Those dark eyes met mine for another moment, then he smiled.
"Right." He picked my book up and turned several pages, eyes gleaming with a strange light, before reading the title aloud. "'Brunelleschi's Dome: How a Renaissance Genius Reinvented Architecture'." A grimace accompanied the next turned page. "No wonder you're not making much headway. This is as dull as rice pudding. Why?"
"I happen to like rice pudding." I shook my head with exasperation. "Just because it doesn't appeal to you--"
He laughed. "Lighten up, Mac." He turned another page, frowned again, then looked back at me, his eyes darker than before. When he spoke, his voice was soft, unassuming. "Well?"
I heaved a sigh, my earlier turmoil giving way to irritation. I loved the man, but he was occasionally the biggest pain in the ass in existence. "Haven't you ever read something just because it caught your eye? I saw it in the bookstore--"
"No." He bumped his foot against my thigh, and I looked over reluctantly, not sure what I'd see; not sure what I wanted to see. Two weeks now, no other mention of trust or submission or anything else, and I'd been on edge the entire time. Everything Methos said or did was suspect, with my mind running away with itself. I swallowed and met those warm, hazel eyes, and was surprised to see my own internal chaos mirrored there.
"No?"
Do you trust me?
"No." He paused, then kneaded my leg with his toes, his eyes dark and fathomless, watching me. "What's wrong?"
Nothing like bringing it right out into the open. "I--" I shook my head. There was no way I was going to sit here and say, 'sure, I trust you, Methos, and the idea of submission intrigues me even while it terrifies me, so what'd you have in mind?' It would never happen. Not even if *I* lived to be five thousand years old. If I couldn't resolve anything inside my own head, how the hell would I do it out loud?
"It doesn't have to be that difficult." He startled me by sitting up and folding his legs under himself, and I glared at him.
"What, you read minds now?" The warm feeling from earlier was dissipating, leaving me jumpy and restless again.
"I've watched you pace for two weeks, Mac. I remember the conversation, too, y'know." He leaned forward and settled one hand on my thigh, stroking lightly. "It wasn't meant to scare you. Just to--I don't know. See if you were interested. And if you're not," he shrugged, nonchalantly, "it's not a big deal."
"I'm not scared." I stiffened under his touch, then relaxed when one corner of his mouth quirked upward, my voice grudging when I answered him. "Okay, maybe--thrown off balance."
"Mmm." He stroked upward, fingers drifting over my groin, teasing me lightly, briefly, through worn sweats before moving upward to touch my stomach, my chest, my neck. He settled his fingers over the pulse point in my neck and looked at me. "Off-balance, hmm?"
"Maybe," I clarified. Scared? No. Yes. Hell. I opened up my mouth to tell him to get the hell away from me, and he kissed me. Leaned in close and brushed his mouth over mine, then teased my lips with his tongue until I forgot I'd wanted to say anything.
I concentrated on the feel of his mouth on mine, of the way his fingers felt, stroking over my t-shirt, teasing at my nipples, and slowly my apprehension, my irritation bled away. Methos kissed me over and over, coaxing, asking, then demanding a response from me. I kissed him back, my hands wandering over him, touching everywhere he touched me. He growled low in his throat and pressed me back, pushing at me until I shifted so he could lie on top of me, his weight full on me, holding me down.
It's easy to forget how big he is, from the way he downplays his size: slouched in on himself, wearing baggy, loose clothing, his stance almost screaming 'unaware'. Lions appear unaware, too, out in the wild. I groaned loudly when my hands were grasped and pushed upward, stretching my arms up over my head. Methos shifted above me until he could nuzzle my neck, holding me pinned to the couch. Apprehension and lust burned through me, leaving me shivering and trembling in their wake.
"Methos--" I twisted under him, not really struggling, but unable to hold still. "I--"
"Shh." He whispered against my neck, then bit me gently, making me vibrate. He bit me again, harder this time, his voice rough in my ear. "Do you trust me, Duncan?"
I closed my eyes as the cool fingers of fear clutched at me, loosened by the heat that slithered through behind it when his teeth scored the tender, highly sensitive skin just under my ear. I clenched my fingers, unable to do more than form an ineffectual fist, and shuddered. "Yes. Yes, I trust you."
My reward for that was a sharp bite, which left my neck and my cock throbbing in time together, and left me gasping and shaking in his arms. He sucked hard on the still-tingling skin, his tongue beating a staccato rhythm on my flesh, before he murmured, "Let me show you how much that trust means to me." His voice was a harsh whisper that painted images of red behind my eyelids: red for heat, and lust, and the color of seduction. I think I whimpered; I know I moaned.
I opened my eyes then and looked at him. His were dilated wide, black pupil surrounded by a thin ring of dark, smoky whisky. It took me a minute to find my voice in the face of his hunger--of *his* trust. "What...how? Show me how?" My wrists were still gripped tightly; I could feel his pulse pounding against mine.
"Give you something you've never had before." His voice was rough; I could almost hear the low growl, could feel the pricks of the words against my skin. Methos nuzzled me again, nipping, licking, sucking at my neck, until I writhed beneath him. He released my wrists then and I surged upward, pulling him tight against me so I could grind my mouth against his.
We lost ourselves in kiss after drugging kiss, until both of us were gasping for air. Methos pulled back first and held himself above me, partially propped on his elbows. I could feel his cock hard and hot through thin sweats and worn denim and pushed upward, rubbing myself against him. The heat in his eyes made my stomach tighten with need. "Then give it to me."
"You don't even know what I want to do." He paused, a slow, hot smile spreading across his face. "Aren't you curious?"
"Of course I'm curious. You mention trust, submission, pin my arms over my head--do you want to tie me up, Methos? Is that it?"
He moved slowly backward until he could kneel up. I could see his erection highlighted against the denim of his jeans, and reached up to stroke him lightly. "Actually," he pursed his lips, "I want to fist you."
"You want to do *what*?" My hand fell away from him as shock zinged through me. I'd seen pictures, of course, of men and women alike taking someone's hand--or more--but it was hard to imagine it could really work. I sat up slowly, mulling over his words, thinking about what he just said. The harder I thought about it, the more I wondered if it would work. If I could take it. My cock throbbed and I shuddered. "Now?"
"That was the idea." He grinned at me, and it was both predatory and amused all at once. I shivered once and glanced at his hand as he brought it up toward my face. I flinched briefly when he touched my mouth, before I caught myself. His voice was soft, but resounded through me. "It'll fit, Duncan."
I think I could count on one hand how often he called me by my given name. Usually "Mac" or "MacLeod", or, more infrequently "Highlander." Hardly ever was I "Duncan" to him. A name reserved for special occasions. Like fisting? I couldn't stop the stupid grin that spread across my face, and wasn't certain if it was from amusement, or impending hysteria. I reached up and grasped his hand; it looked larger than mine, broad, almost square across the widest point, with long, elegant fingers that ended in short, clean nails. It would fit? But I trusted him, right? I took a deep breath and nodded, trying to quell the fear grabbing at me deep inside. "Okay." Another deep breath. "Now what?"
His smile widened and I shivered again, and repeated my mantra. I trust him. I trust him. I trust him....
It didn't occur to me until later that although I'd given him permission, he hadn't really been asking for it.
"You're going to do *what*?" It was like a repeat of half an hour ago, my voice wild and uncertain, his eyes warm with concern, trust, and amusement.
"You need to be clean," he explained again, voice soft and patient. Warm and thick, like whisky and honey in hot tea. "Surely you've had an enema before?"
"Well yes, but--not for--not like--" I stuttered over the words, over my tongue, which felt entirely too large for my mouth. Of course I'd done cleansing before. Just the nature of what *we* did together called for it, and he damn well knew it. I glared at him, feeling the absurd urge to pull another towel around me. The one I had wrapped around my waist seemed insufficient.
"Mac." This time he sighed, softly, my name almost an exhalation. Warm, warm eyes. I could drown in those eyes. "Do you trust me? Truly."
I hesitated. If I said no, what would happen? If I said yes, what would happen? I wasn't sure I wanted either one. Was there a third choice? Besides--I did trust him. Maybe it was me I didn't trust. Afraid of needing Methos too much? Afraid of needing what Methos could give me too much?
"Yes." I crossed my arms to still the trembling. The bathroom seemed cold, though I knew it wasn't.
"You're sure?" He peered closely at me, eyes searching mine.
"I trust you." I shivered and he stepped closer, one hand cupping my face, drawing me closer to him before kissing me lightly.
"Good boy." His mouth was warm on mine, breathing the words into me. It was easy to relax with his hands on me, and I did, determined to give him what he was asking for. One of his hands touched my waist, then the towel, and I stiffened, shivering again when the thick terry was tugged off me. "C'mon, Mac. Into the bedroom."
"The...bedroom?"
"Yes." He gave me an unfathomable look and turned toward the door. I followed, my belly tight with apprehension, anticipation, uncertainty.
He'd been busy while I was getting undressed. Duvet and blankets stripped back, and several towels folded over the sheets. The bag was resting on the table beside our bed, bulging with water. I shivered at the sight of the gleaming tip at the end of the long flexible tubing. This was...more than I could do. I took one step backward then stopped at the look in his eyes. He frowned slightly. "Bed, Duncan."
My given name again. I shuddered and took a step forward, then another step, watching his eyes. They weren't warm any more, they were hot. Fireball hot. My cock twitched, and I realized I was naked while he wasn't. I felt at once vulnerable and turned on by that.
"Methos--"
"Yes?"
"Never mind. Should I..." I swallowed. "Which way--?" I gestured toward the bed.
"Whatever's more comfortable for you." He stepped closer and brushed his mouth over mine again, reached up and stroked my hair. "Relax, Duncan. You'll enjoy this. I promise you will."
Not the enema, I wouldn't. I did them because they were necessary for cleansing, but not because they were something I enjoyed. I lay down on my back and drew my legs up slowly, my mind running circles on itself. Why was I doing this? Submission. Trust. What would follow after I gave in to this? Whips, chains, and handcuffs? Was I insane? Even trusting him implicitly, was I insane? But--I realized I wanted to...give him this. Show him I trusted him. I relaxed back, taking a deep breath, feeling inexplicably warm when he smiled at me, pleasure showing on his face.
"Lift your hips." I obeyed, and Methos pushed a pillow beneath me. "That's it, Duncan." His smile was the last thing I saw; I shut my eyes when his fingers touched me, stroking lightly over my cock, only half-hard, and uncertain if it was interested. He cupped my balls, fingers smoothing over them, holding me gently, before continuing downward to press lightly at my anus. I groaned softly when he tapped against me, pushing at the muscle there. A sudden rush of air moved past me and then I felt something cool, slick, and unyielding moving into me. I opened my eyes. I had to look at him.
"Methos..."
"Shhh." He leaned over me and I watched him hang the bottle over the bedpost, then felt more than heard him flick the clamp open.
Warm water rushed into me, sending shivers tickling all through my nervous system. I gasped softly and fought the urge to curl over onto my side. This felt nothing at all like when I did it. I was open, exposed to Methos' eyes--and it felt so different from when I'd laid in bed and had him rake his eyes over me. I met his eyes and groaned softly at the naked emotion there. Pleasure, need, love, his trust in me. He stepped closer, then sat on the bed beside me.
"Feels good, doesn't it?" He stroked his hand down my chest, pausing to tweak my nipples. Desire flitted through me, fighting with the unfamiliar sensations of embarrassment and uncertainty. Unfamiliar in this setting, at any rate. "You'll feel even better, soon." He bent and whispered the words, his mouth warm on my ear as his hand stroked downward, playing with my cock. "You're beautiful like this, Duncan. All open and receptive...giving in--even as hard as it is."
I groaned again, softly, and closed my eyes without answering. I didn't know what to say, and what I felt right now was too intense for words.
He chuckled, then pressed lightly on my belly, pulling a moan out of me. I could feel the water moving around inside me, sloshing gently, and it sent shivers all up and down my spine. His fingers teasing at my cock added more shivers. He stroked me slowly, arousing me by increments as the water flowed into me.
I lost track of the time, lying there, body tense with growing pleasure and anxiety, thoughts circling inside my head like hunters around prey. I wasn't sure which one I was, though I was betting on prey. The problem with that was I wasn't sure I minded. I shifted uncomfortably as the first spasm worked its way through me, announcing I'd received all I was likely to hold. I had to clear my throat before I could speak. "I'm full."
Methos' hand stilled, then one finger rubbed gently over the tip, teasing the small slit there. He pressed lightly on my stomach and I closed my eyes as water sloshed and my gut spasmed again. "Very." He shifted off the bed and I heard the soft click of the clamp closing off. "You took nearly the whole bag."
I opened my eyes again. "Bully for me." But I shivered when he stared down at me, his eyes so...dark. Expectant. "Sorry," I muttered, my face turned away from him. I turned back to look at him. "I need to get up."
"How long can you hold it?" Methos reached out and wiggled the tip of the tubing, making me groan softly, my cock throbbing in time with my heart, which seemed to be pounding in my ears. "Can you hold it a little longer for me, Duncan?" His voice was so soft; it flowed over me like the water moving inside me. I held his eyes for a moment, then nodded slowly.
"I--yes." My gut twisted like it wasn't happy with my decision, but I ignored it and closed my eyes again. There was a slippery, odd sensation between my legs and my body clenched again as Methos drew the tubing out. I grunted and clamped down on the urge to let the water go.
"You can hold it." His voice was thick, husky, right near my ear. I blinked my eyes open and stared at him before nodding again. He smiled and leaned closer, his lips hot against my neck, tracing a line along my jaw. I shuddered and clenched my ass tighter. Everything inside me throbbed--I could hear a chorus pounding in my ears; it sounded like a symphony of drums.
"Please." I didn't know what else to say. I needed to void. "Methos--I need to get up."
"One more minute, Duncan."
It seemed like an eternity before he let me up off the bed, every single atom within me throbbing desperately.
For one, insane moment...I liked it.
When I returned from the bathroom, the lights were down except for one lamp shining softly on the dresser, and several lighted candles scattered here and there. There was soft music playing on the stereo, and even though I recognized it, I couldn't place it. It was smoky and sexy, very seductive music. Methos stood with his back to the bathroom door, his naked torso gleaming pale in the dim light. He'd stripped to just his jeans, and the darkness of the material made his skin appear to glow. I made a soft noise and he turned around, eyes dark amber and as hungry-looking as the predators I'd once hunted against. My heart thumped so hard in my chest I was certain he could hear it.
"Come lie down." He gestured to the bed, still spread with towels. I flicked my eyes once over the soft terry then over to the bedside table, now holding a stoppered jar. "Oil. Can't do this without it." I looked over at him.
"I thought it had to be--Crisco, or something."
His shoulders raised in an elegant shrug. "Some think so. I've used it before. Pretty much anything that smoothes the way is okay."
"Ah." I held my ground for a moment longer, feeling the tremors going through me. "Can I...ask a favor?"
He inclined his head, eyes warm. "What?"
"Don't...hurt me. I don't want--" I bit my tongue, wishing it hadn't come out sounding so desperate. Wishing I hadn't said anything. I wasn't a coward, and all this was, was sex. Except it felt like a lot more than *just* sex, and part of me wanted to give in so bad to all the seduction wrapping around me. I was more scared of that than whatever else Methos had planned.
Methos held his hand out to me and I hesitated, then moved toward him, uncertain I should go and unwilling not to. He pushed me gently toward the bed so I sat on the edge, then reached out and stroked over my mouth with a single finger. "Pain has its place in some things, but not here. I have no intention of hurting you, Duncan. I want to make you feel good. Better than you've ever felt. Make you feel things you've never felt before."
"I don't like surprises," I muttered. His finger teased just inside my parted lips and I kissed it.
"There won't be any surprises. I've told you what I'm going to do. If," and he emphasized the word with a tap against my mouth, "if you *can't* take it for some reason, then we'll stop. But I know you can." He slid his finger inside my mouth again, then out slowly and in again. "Touch me." His voice was thick, rich with desire, and I lifted my hand to outline the heavy erection pushing at his jeans. I rubbed him gently, then harder, while he slipped his finger in and out of my mouth, teasing my lips, my tongue, the insides of my cheeks. After a few moments, when my cock felt as stiff as his was beneath my hand, and my ears rang with the soft growls he made, he stilled his finger, withdrawing it from my mouth. "Lie back, Duncan. Lie back and spread your legs for me."
I wasn't sure which was stronger at that moment: the blood pounding in my head, filling my ears with the thunderous sound of war drums, or the blood throbbing through my cock. I met his eyes and held them as I lay back, something loosening deep inside me.
"Beautiful," he murmured, standing over me. I watched him pick up the bottle and work the stopper from it. The deep, rich scents of cedar and vetiver filled the room, making my lungs tingle when I drew in a deep breath. The bed shifted when he sat back down, nudging my legs further apart. Warmth touched me then as he stroked his hands over the insides of my thighs, and his voice was--gentle, but with a thread of command in there I hadn't heard before tonight. "Relax, Duncan. Relax and enjoy it."
"Easy to say, harder to do," I replied, feeling strangely breathless. He touched me, stroking lightly between my legs, and I felt the warm drizzle of oil slicking over my skin. The scent rose up stronger than before and I breathed deeply, telling myself to relax. In spite of my words to the contrary, I found I wanted to. I wanted whatever it was Methos could give me...would give me. I knew about meditation, about finding a higher plane, of relaxing and opening to things. I could do this now, relax into what he was doing, give myself over to him. I closed my eyes briefly as I breathed in and out, as I focused on the slick sensations of his fingers teasing at the sensitive skin of my ass, and the even more sensitive places between my legs.
His fingers invaded me slowly, one at a time, the thick slipperiness of oil smoothing their way. I stretched my arms up over my head and grabbed at the headboard, holding on while he fucked me slowly, rhythmically, pressing and pushing into me in an almost silent dance. Soft sounds surrounded us, quiet sighs from him, low, heavy sounds from me. His skin seemed almost cool against me where he touched; I felt fiery inside, like molten lava had replaced my blood.
"You feel good, Duncan." His voice was rough, echoing what I saw when I looked into his eyes. I squirmed when he withdrew, though something held me open--his fingertips? More oil slithered over me in ripples as sinuous as a snake, but rich and slick. I groaned softly when he touched my cock with his other hand, those fingers silken with stray droplets. "Deep breath and relax for me." His voice was as smooth as the oil easing his way; I groaned again, breathing in deeply, then pushing out as I exhaled. I felt stretched wide, then wider still. My ass became my center, pulsing with scorching heat the further he worked his fingers in. He gave my cock a lingering caress, then withdrew his fingers, his eyes holding mine. "Touch yourself."
I shuddered at the command in his voice, at the heat in his eyes, and made myself let go of the headboard. My cock felt warm, my skin soft and sleek with its light coating of oil. I arched into my own touch and moaned when Methos pushed a little deeper into me. I could feel myself stretching, opening to welcome him, and I gasped when it stung, the sensation of over-stretching rippling through me. He stopped, held himself still within me, giving me time to adjust. I could feel his hand, resting hard against me, holding me open. More oil trickled between my thighs, slicking the way for him. He wiggled his fingers, then turned his hand gently and moved deeper, and hunger spiraled up inside me, consuming me like a fireball. "Methos...god...please..." I fought the urge to push back against him, to force him in deeper, and a low, raw sound welled up out of me.
"Easy, Duncan. Easy." His free hand stroked my inner thighs, fingers tickling me lightly. "Breathe deep. Slow...steady...." He rubbed and stroked me, then pinched me lightly on my thigh as the burning sensation screamed through my body. I shouted once, then moaned as it burned harder, hotter, before subsiding into a soft, gentle stinging that seemed to caress my entire body. My erection faded, not gone completely, but unable to compete with the stronger, sharper feeling ricocheting through me. "I'm all the way in. I knew you could take it...." Methos' voice was almost gentle, crooning, and he smiled at me, a hot, hungry smile that melded with the stinging inside me, turning pleasure into pain into pleasure, sensations lapping at every part of me as the ocean does at the shore.
I exhaled slowly. "Yes..." His hand moved gently, curled into a ball of pure pleasure that rocked around inside me. I felt each movement he made as tendrils of pleasure that wound through me, wrapping me tighter within a cocoon of pure sensation. I closed my eyes and moaned, my hips moving slowly, keeping in sync with him.
"Beautiful," he murmured in a soft voice. "I knew you'd be beautiful like this." He pushed a little harder, going deeper, and I groaned as my body spasmed around his hand. It hurt, it was marvelous, it was like nothing I'd ever felt before. 'Fucking' didn't even come close, nor did making love. We might've been doing that, but it on a wholly different plane; something I'd never experienced before. I stroked my cock gently, my erection renewing again, my body hungry, needy. "Open your eyes, pet. Look at me."
I was pulsating in time to his strokes, to the music throbbing on the stereo. The further he worked himself into me, the less of *me* there was, becoming only whatever he wanted me to be. Dimly it occurred to me he wanted me to be his, and I could do that. I could be anything he wanted of me, if I could stay suspended in this hazy, sensual fog that seemed to hold sharp and soft and pain and pleasure all at once. I opened my eyes, needing to obey him, to answer the command in his voice.
Looking into his eyes was like seeing into my own soul. His eyes reflected everything I felt, bathing me in heat and need I'd never experienced before. I thrust myself back down against him, his fist a welcome invader opening me, taking me. We'd fucked, I'd taken him, but I'd never felt claimed before--never wanted to feel that way--until now. From somewhere far away I wondered at that, wondered why I should want it, but dismissed it. I could worry about that later; right now, nothing existed but me, and Methos, and the sensations he'd filled me with. I stroked myself faster, moving harder against him, groaning with each brush of his knuckles against me. I was drowning in the pleasure and pride I saw in his eyes. I groaned again, panting as I tried to get enough oxygen. "I need--"
"I know what you need. It's here for you." He pressed harder, twisting within me. I cried out and arched upward, not sure if I was trying to get closer, or get away. Too many sensations, they slammed into me, filled me completely. I held his gaze like a lifeline, certain I'd be swept away and lost in the feelings if I looked away, even for a minute. I'd never seen such a look in his eyes before and it sent heat through me that rivaled what his hand was doing to my body. "Give into it, Duncan. Surrender yourself. I have you."
Sweet, merciful Jesus. It was his voice, his eyes, the *power* oozing from everywhere, his fist twisting and turning inside me. Fucking me. I arched again, my hips lifting from the bed, forcing my cock through the tunnel of my hand. From the corner of eye I saw his other arm moving and realized he wasn't touching me, he was undoing his pants. Taking his cock out to stroke while he fisted me. That thought flew through my head leaving white-hot streamers in its wake. I arched again, my cock pulsing as it released, thick warm liquid spurting out to trickle down, mingling with the oil.
"Beautiful, beautiful pet...." Methos' voice was hoarse, a raw growl that echoed through me. I shuddered when he twisted once more within me, a soft, keening whimper rising from my throat. He stilled his hand, only his other arm moving, working himself faster and harder. I wanted to touch him, to taste him while he spent, but was immobilized, impaled on his fist. His eyes closed briefly, then opened again, naked emotion shining in them. "Mine," he growled, the word scarcely intelligible, rough and breathless. I heard it, though, and felt it as it echoed around inside me, filling a hole I hadn't realized was there. I nodded.
"Yours."
He cried out, a harsh, painful sound, and his hand spasmed hard inside me as his seed spurted onto my thigh, my belly, my cock.
It seemed we hung there, suspended, for endless moments; the only sounds around us were the soft strains of music from the stereo, and our harsh breathing. My skin was slicked with sweat, with oil, with both of our spendings. His fist was still buried in me, my body pulsing hotly around it with each tiny, incremental move he made.
I didn't want to move from that place. It was warm and safe, held there as I was, buoyed by his trust. By my trust in him. He moved his fist again, a gentle pulling motion, and I groaned. "No--"
"Yes." His eyes were dark; I'd expected fatigue, but found energy, snapping within their depths. He turned again and I felt that burning sensation of earlier; it screamed along my nerve endings, hyper-stimulated by my orgasm, by the place I'd found myself in. But it wasn't painful, it was just so intense. White-hot lightning, melting pathways and forging new ones. Methos pinched my thigh and I gasped, unaware I'd been holding my breath. "Breathe out, Duncan. Relax. Out can be as good as in."
It was, though I ached from the emptiness he created as he eased himself out slowly. I shuddered at the realization of his earlier words: giving me something I'd never had before. Taking me places I'd never been. A higher place.
The wide part of his hand passed, burning as it stretched me, and then it was just his fingers slipping easily out of me, my body contracting painfully around the emptiness. He stroked me gently, fingers rubbing lightly, easing some of the cramps. I turned onto my side slowly, curling inward just enough to feel the throbbing and pulsing of each part of my body as I reconnected. Methos wiped his hands on one of the towels, then stroked my hip, my flank, his fingers soothing as they touched and warmed me.
"You were incredible." His voice broke the quiet, no longer the bite of command there, but a richness that beheld pride, pleasure, love. I shivered as it washed over me, taking the words, the warmth deep inside. I canted my head to look at him.
"I've never...is that--?" My tongue was too thick; I couldn't find the words. I felt like I'd been torn asunder at the atomic level, then put back together, made into something not wholly myself, but better. Different. "Did you call me...pet?" I whispered the last word, not sure if I'd heard it, or only imagined it, not sure I wanted to know.
"You are." He leaned closer, and I was struck again by the difference just a pair of jeans could make. I was naked, he wasn't. I was vulnerable...but he'd coaxed strength from that vulnerability. His lips touched my ear, his tongue warm and wet against my skin. "My pet, Duncan. Mine."
I wanted to deny it, but even now, shivering as the heat of what'd happened passed out of me, I couldn't. It'd been nothing I'd ever had before, and while part of me wanted to crawl away and hide in fear of it, I wanted it again. Wanted more of it. Wanted what he offered. I shivered again and he moved away, only to reappear behind me, spooning himself against me. One arm snaked around my waist and pulled me closer. I could feel the heat emanating from him and slid back gratefully, sighing when his hand splayed open against my chest, fingers rubbing lightly in an idle caress. His lips touched my neck and I sighed again. Peaceful. I felt utterly at peace, too relaxed to worry about much of anything, even though my entire perception of my world had just changed. I felt his mouth curve in a smile.
"We'll talk later. Rest, now. I have you."
And he did. Of that, I was certain.
~finis~
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