Fandom: Highlander Pairing: Duncan/Methos Rating: NC-17 Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me Beta thanks to Mog & Tehomet Finished 12/31/04
Dreaming of You by Carene

Methos woke with his face buried in a pillow, his body tense and curled away from the sleeping man beside him. The dream that had woken him jangled in his head and made him feel vaguely nauseous, even though he could remember nothing of the dream except its emotional undertow. He stretched out slowly, breathing deeply and relaxing into the warmth of Duncan's bed. As the dream-dread faded, a luxurious feeling of safety took its place, and he felt Duncan's presence beside him more sharply, until it became unbearable not to turn to him. He shifted carefully in the bed, and propped himself up on one elbow.

For a long time Methos simply watched Duncan sleep, thinking about nothing but the way the moonlight and shadows played across his face, drawing his cheekbones in broad, dark strokes, smudging his eyelashes, lightening the long strands of hair across his shoulder. He was more than beautiful; in sleep he relinquished much of the power that, awake, he wielded with such unconscious grace. But Methos could still feel it. If he reached out, if he let his fingers trace the softness of Duncan's lips, or pulled gently at the tangle of hair at Duncan's throat, his touch would animate the spirit that illuminated Duncan's features even in repose.

Methos let his hand fall to the bed and watched Duncan sleep. He, obviously, was not visited by nightmares -- not tonight. He was breathing easily, a soft, slow rhythm that Methos envied. He leaned closer, so he could feel Duncan's breath sigh against his face. Closing his eyes, he relaxed into the measure of Duncan's breathing, and remembered other rhythms, a hot panting against his mouth, a sharp intake of breath, a shuddering exhalation raising the hair on the back of Methos's neck and oh yes, oh God, oh Duncan yes.

Methos held his breath now as Duncan stirred, and held himself still as Duncan rolled over on his back -- smiling as Duncan's breath caught in his nose with a snock. Duncan flung one arm outward and turned his face away from Methos.

Methos felt the gooseflesh rise on his arms. Duncan's throat, so thoughtlessly laid bare for him -- surely it was made for Methos to press his lips there, where the shadows softened the strong lines of muscle and bone. Made for the touch of lips and tongue and teeth, in gentleness, passion and abandon -- never for the sword's terrible cut, and the lashing electricity of his quickening.

Never that. Methos's own throat constricted as he bent to taste the salt of Duncan's skin, but he hesitated. He settled back. A strange, and certainly unaccustomed, contentedness stole over him, to just be here, in Duncan's bed. It was enough, for this moment, to watch him dreaming, to possess him in secret.

Gently, Methos tugged away the sheet that half-covered Duncan, until Duncan's sex lay exposed to his greedy gaze. His cock was half-hard. Methos smiled and wondered at his dreams -- and then, in his mind's eye, Duncan was standing naked before him, hip-shot and cock-hard, his face alight with invitation. Methos had felt such a lightness in his heart that there was nothing, nothing else for him to do but go down on his knees.

Duncan's cock in his mouth was his reward, and he claimed it eagerly, sucking Duncan into a frenzy of lust. Lost in his own desperate abandon, he ran his tongue over Duncan's balls and took his cock deep into his mouth, making sounds that weren't words in any language spoken -- but understood, oh yes. His ardor had set loose an answering abandon in Duncan so free and wild it rocked Methos back on his heels, and afterward Duncan had in turn fallen to his knees, kissing Methos to the floor. They had tumbled over each other clumsily, like wrestlers just learning their holds, and Methos had never felt so thoroughly mauled with lust, so wanted, so hard --

Like he was now--

He had taken Duncan's hand and closed it around his cock, but Duncan let go to clutch Methos's shoulders, and buried his face in Methos's neck.

"Please," he had said, his voice ragged with desire, "fuck me."

Begged, Methos thought, feeling both awe and smug satisfaction looking down at Duncan now, marveling at how peaceful he looked, just as if he hadn't bucked like a rutting animal against Methos's cock and moaned into the sheets a longsupplication fuck me, fuck me, fuck me--

Methos tightened his hand over his cock, remembering; feeling again the heat of Duncan's body against his, the passion that made Duncan's eyes so deep and so black, the need written so plainly on his face. Methos had lost himself in the strength and tenderness of Duncan's embrace, in the sweat and sweetness of his body.

Methos inched his hand closer to Duncan, aching for his touch. But his fingers stopped a hair's breadth from Duncan's own, and he savored his helpless longing for the man next to him, so splendid and so unconscious of his desire. He didn't know why Duncan loved him. He'd been foolish enough to ask, and got only raised eyebrows for his trouble. Methos knew -- from long and bitter and sometimes glorious experience -- that love struck where love struck and there was no science ever invented in the world to explain it. But in the midst of their tumultuous lovemaking, Methos had felt fear catch at him like a barb. Why? the question rose in his mind, unbidden and unwanted; and it rose to his lips, though he could have bitten his tongue as soon as the word escaped. Five thousand years old, and he still blurted out foolish questions at the wrong moment.

For an answer, Duncan had casually thrown him on his back, pulled his hands over his head, and kissed his arguments away -- literally. Feeling somewhat affronted, Methos had tried to argue, but couldn't get more than a word out of his mouth before Duncan covered it with his own, and the words were lost in kisses that left Methos with little enough air to breathe, much less argue. Duncan pressed his hips against Methos, rubbing their slicked-up cocks together until Methos had felt both the remnants of the argument and the fear fade away.

Overcome by his own longing, but still unwilling to wake Duncan, Methos suddenly felt he could no longer stay in the bed. He slid from the cocoon of Duncan's sheets and walked quietly to the window. The cool night air soothed his overheated skin, and the view of the street, prosaic and deserted, calmed his troubled thoughts. He smiled to himself at his own self-torment, wondering why he didn't just kiss his overlarge sleeping beauty awake -- or better yet... he closed his eyes and was sprawled on the couch, dreaming. Unlike his earlier nightmare, this was a rare pleasant dream, something about a warm spring -- and light. But the delicious feel of warm water welling up against his body had become somehow more -- focused -- centering on his cock and sending waves of pleasure through him. He had reached down and --

Woke up on the couch with Duncan between his legs, with his cock filling Duncan's mouth. He'd been instantly, urgently, awake, his whole body twanging hard with lust, and he'd come before he had time to take in what was happening. Duncan had been gleefully unrepentant, but allowed Methos to bully him into doing it all again later, when he was awake from the beginning.

Methos's hand had strayed to his cock again. Hard. Of course. He sighed and turned back to the bed.

"The warrior at rest," he muttered, but the words came out softer than he had intended, for the man sprawled so artlessly across the bed was worthy of a canvas, and if Methos were a painter, the loft would be filled with images of Duncan. Brief notions of cameras, learning to sketch, racks of watercolor brushes tumbled through his thoughts, then he shook himself. Get a grip. Pretty soon you'll be writing his name ringed in hearts.

But he couldn't quite shake off the emotion that made him shiver slightly as he gazed at Duncan, yearning to feel again the desire that had arced between them as their bodies pounded together, flushed and hot and hard. He had trembled, then, in Duncan's fierce embrace, and felt Duncan tremble against him, even as they crashed into each other like gladiators. Duncan had been born a warrior; was a warrior still, and he loved with a warrior's urgency. He gave no quarter, no mercy, no pity. No surrender.

Funny thing, surrender, Methos thought. Most people thought of it as submission, capitulation. You waved your white flag, and the other guy won. And -- Methos's mouth tightened -- you could relinquish your body, even your soul, in surrender to a lover who took it all. But Duncan declared love as a challenge between equals -- and you accepted his challenge knowing you would both conquer and surrender, or you forfeited all.

Methos shivered again, and told himself it was just because he was getting cold, standing there naked in the middle of the night. He slipped back in between the sheets, and settled in with a sigh. Duncan mumbled softly in his sleep, and turned over on his side, facing him. After a moment, Methos reached out and placed his hand, very softly, on Duncan's chest.

Duncan stirred, and opened his eyes.

Duncan smiled sleepily and covered Methos's hand with his. Almost awake, still half-dreaming of something wild and strange, overlaying the prosaic reality of the loft. He blinked at the man in his bed, at the face so close to his, eyes bright and lips parted just enough to make Duncan want to kiss them and open them further. The ragged ends of the dream faded into the warmth of Methos's body all along his, though they weren't touching, and his sharp scent -- mixed inexplicably with the clean smell of night air -- tugged him towards wakefulness. Whatever Duncan had been dreaming of, it had made him hard. Waking to Methos's gentle touch made him harder. He felt a slow, sweet lust fill him as his eye traveled down Methos's body, so lean and muscled, so relaxed and ready to spring. Methos leaned towards him, but held back, even though he was as hard as Duncan. Duncan's eyes lingered on Methos's cock, and some hot memory of Methos driving deep inside him rose in his thoughts, unbidden but not unwelcome, and he was suddenly wide awake.

Duncan dragged his gaze from Methos's sex to his face. His eyes were now full of amusement, and Duncan realized his thoughts were plain on his face for Methos to read.

"You're awake," Duncan said, caressing Methos's fingers.

Methos smiled, and looked a little smug. "What were you dreaming about?"

"Why?" Methos's smile made him felt obscurely he was the butt of some secret joke. "Was I talking in my sleep?"

"Only with ... this." Methos reached down and ran his fingers lightly up Duncan's cock.

Duncan jumped, and smiled sheepishly. "I was dreaming of you," he said, before he knew he was going to say it.

Methos looked surprised, and then to Duncan's own surprise, Methos's cheeks turned pink.

Duncan caught up Methos's hand again, and turned it over to kiss his palm. Methos smiled and slid closer, and placed his other hand over Duncan's heart, as if it were very important to keep this connection. Duncan looked at Methos's rapt face, and wondered what the other man had been up to while he was sleeping. Maybe it hadn't been just dreams making him hard.

"Do you dream about me?" He'd meant it to be light, but it came out more seriously than he'd intended, and suddenly his heart was pounding hard under the heat of Methos's hand.

Methos was silent for a moment, a strange expression on his face, part desire and part --something else, something that shadowed his eyes. He touched Methos's face softly, and Methos bent his head to kiss Duncan's fingers.

"Only when I'm awake," he said softly. Duncan's heart thudded again. There was pain in Methos's eyes that an ironic smile didn't quite cover.

"Your dreams--" he hesitated.

"My dreams..." Methos sighed. "Tend to be nightmares, MacLeod. I would not have you in them for the world." He leaned slightly to touch his lips to Duncan's. "You belong to the sunshine." He kissed Duncan again, and Duncan's arms went around him automatically. He smiled against Methos's cheek.

"So that's why you wake me up at" -- he twisted slightly to look at the clock -- "four a.m.?"

"I'm impatient for the sun," Methos said. "He's too slow for me."

Duncan grinned and pulled Methos closer for a rough kiss, and their bodies slid together naturally and easily. He pulled Methos over on top of him, letting his breath out as their cocks rubbed together, and catching it again as Methos buried his face in Duncan's neck and kissed him along his shoulder.

Duncan smiled a little, holding Methos lightly. Methos could be so closed off sometimes, behind his mask of easy cynicism. His walls against the world stood him in good stead for survival, but they weren't as useful for living. Only once had Duncan seen Methos's walls come completely down, for Alexa, and even then, he had given her everything of himself except the truth. Now Methos was with him, there was something else he was holding back. Duncan wasn't sure but that he wanted to keep it that way.

But in the deep of the night, in the hours between daylight and daylight that were somehow out of time, Methos lowered his defenses to Duncan as much as he ever did, maybe as much as he ever would. Methos bowed his head as Duncan touched him lightly on the back of his neck, and took Duncan with a kiss that made him forget to breathe. He felt gentle and invisible bonds holding him down, drawing his arms outward, pulling his legs apart to let Methos slide between them. He strained against tenderness that made him arch his back and raise his knees, and Methos's warm hand pressing on his balls restrained and unsettled him. He trembled and lay submissive in fetters as light as a notion as Methos's lips touched him, leaving him bathed in fire and ice as he sucked at a nipple, then blew on it, then touched his tongue to the other, his breath warm and cold, cold and warm.

Duncan shivered and Methos soothed him with his hands, as if he were a restive mount, and murmured words in a language Duncan didn't know, but understood anyway. He felt Methos's light touch on his cock, just enough to make Duncan shudder in pleasure, then pressing just a little more, spreading his fingers down over Duncan's balls.

Duncan smiled into Methos's eyes and let Methos toy with him, just raising his hips to thrust gently into the warmth of Methos's hand, until he couldn't restrain himself any longer and closed his own hand over Methos's long fingers.

"Uh-uh-uh," Methos chided, and pushed his hand away. Duncan tried to look chastised, but couldn't keep a grin from his face. Methos wound his fingers around Duncan's cock and squeezed gently, smiling and -- fishing around under the covers with his other hand.

"What are you doing?" Duncan was momentarily distracted. Methos squeezed him again, taking Duncan's breath away. Before he could try to speak again, Methos produced a small tube from somewhere in the folds of the sheets.

"Just keeping it warm," he said.

"Heh -- ah," Duncan said sagely as Methos pressed down again. He flipped the top of the tube and poured something warm on Duncan's cock, smoothing it and slicking it with oil that had a smell that Duncan couldn't place, but went straight to his backbrain. He breathed deeply and watched, as if hypnotized, Methos's hand moving up and down his cock, feeling the familiar pleasure concentrate there, then spread through him in hot waves.

"Look at me," Methos said, giving Duncan a little flick on the nose, and the smell of the oil filled Duncan's senses. He tore his gaze away from what Methos was doing with his hand and met Methos's eyes, gazing helplessly at Methos's face, though it kept going in and out of focus. He felt he must be cross-eyed.

Methos sat up, kneeling between Duncan's legs, and had both hands on him now, one hand around his cock, stroking rhythmically and firmly, the other fondling his balls, sliding downward, touching him open, touching him inside. Duncan spread his legs open to let him in deeper and closed his eyes in pleasure.

"Look at me," Methos demanded again, and Duncan opened his eyes obediently. He was breathing harder. Methos leaned forward to let his lips just barely touch Duncan's as he panted into Methos's mouth. He wanted to close his eyes and lose himself in Methos's caress, but he kept them open, letting his eyes tell Methos all he needed to know, let Methos see him come. He thrust against Methos's hand, and cried out in the hard pleasure of release, knowing his face was open to Methos completely, and saw his orgasm deepen the lust in Methos's eyes.

Methos kept his hand pressed against Duncan's sex, as he had held his hand against Duncan's heart. Now, finally, Duncan looked away, turning his face away to try to compose himself; he was too conscious of Methos's smoldering eyes on him. When he met Methos's eyes again, the mixed tenderness and need there made Duncan wish Methos could look like that always, without the shadows in his eyes, without the sardonic set to his face. He sat back on his heels, just looking at Duncan, his hands at rest on his thighs, seemingly oblivious to his cock standing out in front of him.

Duncan found his voice. "Your turn?"

Methos smiled. "I thought that was my turn."

Duncan beckoned him closer. "Come here."

"Patience, Duncan," Methos said. "I'm not in any hurry."

Duncan flicked his gaze to Methos's erect cock. "Right."

Methos narrowed his eyes, still smiling. "Ah, but you see, I have the patience of my years -- patience a sprout like you doesn't have."

"Uh-huh." Duncan sat up and leaned forward to kiss Methos's neck softly. He stroked Methos's cock lightly with the back of his hand.

"And I have been trained in various--" his breath caught as Duncan gave him a quick squeeze --"various methods of prolonging sexual gratification for -- indefinitely."

"Is that right?"

"Absolutely. What you're -- what you're doing there has no effect on me whatsoever. I can control my -- my reactions -- unh."

Duncan felt a lightness that made him laugh, and Methos's mock frown made him laugh all the harder. "Just testing your control. How's this?" He made a fist around Methos's cock and tightened his grip.

"That's -- a good -- test -- of my -- control," Methos said.

"And this?" He rubbed his thumb up and down the shaft.

"Very good. With you helping me, my control should -- agh."

"'Agh,'" Duncan repeated seriously. "That's very good control. You could try for an 'ohh.'"

"I'll work up to it." He closed his eyes to slits and suddenly his whole demeanor changed. His body stilled and his face took on the blank, inward-looking expression of a stone statue. Duncan was impressed. He felt his own body calming in response, and his hand loosened around Methos's cock.

Methos opened his eyes suddenly. "Okay. That's enough of that." With a suddenness that took Duncan by surprise, Methos shoved him back on the bed and clambered up over his chest. "You can suck me now."

"Oof," Duncan panted as Methos pushed himself in Duncan's face. "What happened to your control?"

"All gone. Open wide," Methos said. His eyes were alight with mischief and lust.

Duncan squirmed under Methos, until his elbows found purchase and he heaved upward, pitching Methos backwards. The sight of Methos sprawled at the end of his bed gave him a great deal of pleasure, especially with such a rewarding look of surprise on his face. But his smugness was short lived as Methos gathered himself faster than Duncan was expecting, and tackled him with surprising ease. He found himself flat against the mattress with Methos's sex pushed against his face. Duncan laughed into Methos's balls.

"Laugh at me, will you Highlander?" Methos growled, the laughter in his own voice barely in check. "Open that pretty mouth of yours, that's right. That's -- ohh."

Duncan almost choked with laughter at that. Methos widened his eyes innocently and thrust into Duncan's mouth. Duncan thought he'd better get serious or be smothered to death. He rolled his eyes once, to show he wasn't cowed, and sucked.

Methos had obviously abandoned his ages-old control, for he wriggled and thrust with an unrestrained wantonness that filled Duncan with delight. He let Methos grab him by his hair and pound into him, fucking Duncan's face as if his life depended on it, and after such a short time that Duncan wished he'd timed it, Methos's body tensed and what little rhythm he'd built up went all to hell, and he came in Duncan's mouth, across his lips and cheeks. He sat back a little on Duncan's chest, knocking the breath out of him. He looked inordinately pleased with himself.

Duncan rubbed the stickiness from his face. "Idiot," he said cheerfully.

"Here, let me." Methos climbed off his chest and Duncan breathed gratefully. Methos took an end of the sheet and dabbed at Duncan's face, clucking like a mother hen. Duncan relaxed under his ministrations, watching the early morning light play over Methos's face and, in a strangely affecting illusion, light up his ears. Methos smiled down at him and looked so serious that Duncan held his breath. But he just held up the corner of the bedsheet. "See? I used my half of the sheet."

Duncan rolled his eyes and opened his arms. Methos's eyes crinkled in amusement and he slid into Duncan's embrace.

The sun filtered through the frosted glass of the windows and changed from dawn-gray to golden. Methos was asleep, his chest rising and falling in a slow, even rhythm. His breath was soft against Duncan's neck.

Entangled in Methos's arms, Duncan pressed his hand against Methos's heart, until his eyelids grew heavier than his desire, and he slept.