Do It For Me
Duncan unpacked the big box, smiling with pleasure as he pulled away the wrapping.
Methos craned his neck. "What's this?"
Methos sauntered over as Duncan held up a fine white sweater and beamed.
"You already have one of those."
"I have six."
Methos eyed the box. "And–"
"And a dozen new ones"
"You're insane, MacLeod. You know who you remind me of? The nutcase in Nine and a Half Weeks, with a closet full of white shirts. Of course, he also had a closet full of harnesses, but– what?"
MacLeod grinned. "My other box should be here tomorrow."
The Other Box
Duncan's other box arrived on Tuesday.
"I thought you were joking," Methos said. "Aren't you going to open it?"
But Duncan set it in a corner and ignored it. He ignored it until Saturday. Methos ignored it too.
He was nit-picking his way through a new edition of Apicus when he heard the sharp whisper of a knife blade on cardboard, and lost his place.
The box was open. Duncan smiled and lifted out something slick and studded and black.
Methos raised his eyebrows, then very slowly and very deliberately leaned back into the couch and opened his legs.
"So the deal is, as long as I wear this collar, I'm your–" Methos smiled. "Slave."
"Right." Duncan's eyes glinted with amusement. And something else.
Methos looked up through his lashes at Duncan, letting the collar slide through his fingers.
"And I can take it off any time I want to?"
"Yes," Duncan said patiently.
"Ridiculous. Here, you put it on me." He bowed his head in mock submission. "But what's to prevent me from taking it off whenever I–?"
Duncan clicked the leash into place and tugged gently. Their eyes met, held.
Methos licked his lips. "Oh."
Methos winced. Nipple clamps. Good God.
"This isn't torture, Duncan, this is– Jesus!" he said as Duncan's hands bore down on the clamps. "Child's play," he said more breathlessly.
Duncan moved behind him. Methos strained and twisted, but the ropes held him upright, splayed.
Duncan moved back into his vision, holding a short whip in his hands. Methos's mind went dark, remembering. Oh yes. Screams. Blood. Sometimes his. No mercy, no safe words. No kind of playful. It was brutal and ugly even when it–
Duncan touched the whip to Methos's lips. His eyes were hooded.
"Child's play," Methos whispered.
Duncan pulled the leash taut. Without a word, Methos slid into Duncan's lap. The feel of denim and silk against his bare skin embarrassed and aroused him. Duncan was hard. He was hard. But Duncan was clothed. Methos was naked.
"Look at me." Duncan's eyes were as dark as Methos had ever seen them.
Duncan wrapped Methos's hands around his own cock.
"Do it," Duncan said.
"I need something–"
Duncan brought Methos's hands to his mouth, and spat. "There you go."
Methos looked into Duncan's eyes and fucked his fist until he came on Duncan's silk shirt.
Methos was blind. He fought to orient himself, but was lost; vertigo engulfed him and he started to shake.
"Mac– please." Panic and pleasure mixed together in confusion.
"Easy... easy." Strong hands pushed him backwards, soft lips touched his panting mouth.
"Please–" it came out a sob.
Warm callused hands slid down his arms to his wrists; a slight pressure, a catch undone– his hand were free. Methos reached out convulsively, clutching warm bare skin. Fingers slid under the blindfold and pulled it away gently.
Duncan smiled down at him, and kissed one of his eyes, then the other.
Methos opened his eyes on darkness, flinching in confusion against the presence of another immortal. He was bound to the bed.
"Shh." A warm hand quieted him. Duncan lay between Methos's legs, breathing softly against his cock. Moonlight painted his fine muscles with light and shadows.
Methos wanted to touch him, to plunge his hands into Duncan's hair. He tugged at his bonds, and Duncan sucked him harder. Oh. Methos strained against the bonds, and Duncan took him deeper.
Release. Heat. Liquid. Weightlessness. Breath.
Methos closed his eyes, and Duncan softly licked him back to sleep.
Methos had been delighted when Duncan had accepted the collar from him.
Duncan had taken the cuffs, too.
And the blindfold.
He wasn't wearing any of them now. He was on his knees with his arms stretched out before him, his wrists crossed as if they were bound.
But they weren't.
The blindfold lay next to his closed eyes.
Methos leaned over him, and ran his tongue slowly up Duncan's spine, loving the way Duncan shivered under his touch. He lifted Duncan's hair and kissed the warm nape of his neck.
Unbound. Bound hand, head and heart.
Duncan sat on the edge of the bed. Naked. Ankles bound, knees spread. Hands cuffed, held tight behind his back. Blindfolded. Head down. Waiting.
"Well, aren't you a pretty picture," Methos said cheerfully, touching his fingers to Duncan's flushed cheek. "And you blush so prettily, too." Duncan smiled crookedly and made a rude gesture behind his back.
"I saw that," Methos said. He ran his fingers through Duncan's hair, wrapped it around his fist and pulled back roughly until Duncan's face was upturned, then pushed his cock into Duncan's yielding mouth and thrust in the ancient rhythm.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
The collar lay heavy on Methos's neck. He buckled a matching band on Duncan's wrist and held out the leash.
Duncan fingered it briefly. "Not now." He leaned close. "It's enough to know I can bring you to heel whenever I choose," he breathed into Methos's ear. He licked Methos's neck along the collar's edge.
Methos shivered. He bowed his head, then smiled, thinking of Duncan trussed up just for him. I can wait, Highlander. For my turn.
"Wear this for me," Duncan ordered, placing a garment in Methos's hands.
Smiling wider, Methos pulled the white sweater over his head.