Onan the Barbarian

Tritorella, esjay, Diana Williams, Em, Athena and Layna

This is more silliness, a sequel to Comes a Scotsman and Forgive me my trespassing Thanks to Tiggy for the beta.

Duncan sighed and rolled over. This is getting bloody ridiculous. He swung his legs out of the bed, grabbed his bathrobe and pulled it on irritably. He was going to murder Methos ... no, Joe. Joe was the one who'd put the old bugger up to it, he was now sure. They just had to pull that stunt during one of the increasingly frequent droughts in his love life.

He poured himself a Scotch, stared at the glass, then poured the drink back in the bottle. He'd already tried this. Television. 'A Brief History of time'. BBC World Service. Nothing worked. This was the third night in a row when sleep had been as hard to find as an honest whore.

He looked through a porthole. Out there were people in love. Having a good time. Having sex. So why was Duncan MacLeod not out with them, plowing a furrow through the eager young women with whom he had always been able to take his pleasure at will?

Because a woman isn't what you want. He didn't want to woo, he didn't want romance. He wanted a good hard fuck, any way he could get it, but he wasn't about to go trawling for it. What was pleasant and easy with the ladies got old and sordid fast with guys, and he was sick of old and sordid.

Speaking of which.... He got a ten second warning before the door clicked. "What do you want, Methos?"

He didn't bother turning around. He didn't think he could cope with the knowing smirk.

"Saw your light on, I thought I'd pop in." His abandoned glass was taken from his hand, and then he heard the silvery tinkle as scotch was poured out.

"Have a drink, why don't you?" Duncan said with heavy sarcasm.

A chuckle came from behind him. Reluctantly, he turned to find his filled glass being held out to him, and Methos holding a drink of his own. Yes, the smirk was in place. "Someone's in a mood."

"And whose fault is that?" he snapped.

Methos held out his arms in a generous gesture. "That's why I'm here, MacLeod. I've come to help you with your little difficulty."

"And what are you, the masturbation fairy?"

"Wow, you've really been chewing on the straps, haven't you?" Methos plopped onto the sofa and swung one long leg over the end of it. "No one ever died of sexual frustration, you know. Except maybe that one guy I kne...."

"Oh fuck off, Methos. I've had enough of the tall tales. Why don't you tell me something true for a change."

Methos suddenly swung his leg to the ground and sat up, looking at Duncan intently. "Why don't you, Mac?"

There was that damn voice again. Low and husky, like it was soaked in whiskey, and with a line direct to Duncan's libido. "What?"

"Tell me something...true. Something... real. Make me...feel it."

Oh Sweet Sobbing Jesus. "You want...?"

"I want. I really, really want," Methos said, sprawling back on the sofa, managing to look like the main dish at a banquet. "Give it to me, Duncan...."

Duncan shoved Methos' legs off the sofa and plopped down beside him. "Idiot," he said, not without a degree of fondness. "Next time you want to seduce me, try doing it without using Spice Girl lyrics."

"I don't think it was Spice Girls, Mac," Methos answered with an earnest expression that only proved to Duncan that he was taking the piss.

And that he hadn't denied he was trying to seduce him. How very interesting.... Duncan's cock twitched in his boxers.

He swiveled a little in his seat, tucking one knee up so he was facing his unexpected visitor. "Methos," he said, keeping his voice to that low tone that had always worked so well on lovers before. "Why are you here?"

"I told you already, I saw your light on...."

Duncan whacked him with a throw pillow.

Methos snatched the pillow away and tucked it under his own head, the movement accidentally causing a sinuous ripple down the length of his body. Accidentally...yeah, right.

"And thought I'd pop in and let you return the favor."

"Return what favor?" Duncan demanded, reminded all over again by the heat crawling all over his body in sticky little fingers. "Public humiliation? Let me get my coat."

Methos chuckled quietly. "Idiot." A long-fingered hand settled on Duncan's knee. "Here's a hint: we're gonna need fewer clothes, not more."

"Fine." Duncan grinned, though he was fairly sure it was too wolfish not to give the game away. "Take yours off."

The surprise on Methos' face was almost worth the earlier humiliation.

Almost.

Methos reached for Duncan's bathrobe sash. Duncan batted his hand away.

"Not me. You." While Methos stared at him in apparently genuine shock, Duncan got up off the sofa and dragged a chair over, then settled himself comfortably opposite the other man.

"I've had enough of being the entertainment. Now get undressed."

"Mac, what makes you think you can order me...."

"You're in my house, you'll do what I say."

"But it isn't even a house! It's a boat," Methos pointed out.

"Then even more so. I'm the captain, and my word is law. You're getting undressed." Duncan sat back. "Shoes first."

To Duncan's surprise, Methos tilted his head, appeared to think for a moment, then quietly and obediently untied and toed off his boots.

"Socks."

Methos bent over, removing first one gray woolen sock, then the other, exposing his long, well-shaped feet. Why am I thinking about his feet? Never mind. Methos stretched his long toes, all the while looking up at Duncan expectantly.

"Sweater." MY sweater, Duncan thought. So that's where that one went.

Methos closed his eyes, then slowly pulled the loose, oatmeal-colored cotton sweater off over his head, with perhaps more stretching than was necessary. Under the sweater was a loose, well-worn white t-shirt, with a gray-faded logo, something with an elephant; it looked as if it would be very soft. It was pulled up a bit above his jeans, showing a sliver of belly, a small neat navel. Methos' short hair was mussed. He gazed levelly at Duncan.

He's actually doing it. Somehow he'd expected more resistance, more argument -- why had he never thought of just telling him what to do before?

"The shirt...." Duncan swallowed; his mouth was dry, his drink forgotten.

Methos pulled the shirt off over his head -- again, with more stretching than seemed strictly necessary, but Duncan wasn't complaining -- exposing pale skin, no tan lines and small, deep-rose nipples.

One of which was pierced through with a small silver ring. The sight of it -- and the knowledge that it was recent, the man had had no such thing when they'd sparred last week -- made Duncan's own nipples tighten a bit in sympathy.

Was that a barely-hidden smile on Methos' unreadable face?

Oh yes. It was. Duncan let his gaze travel slowly up from Methos' mouth to his eyes. He was onto the old bastard now.

"Trousers," Duncan ordered, not lowering his eyes.

There was that cynical eyebrow again, arching as Methos dared him to insist. Fine, if Methos wanted to play chicken, he'd come to the right man. Methos' hands had slid to the waistband of his jeans, pale fingers spread against the dark fabric. Still daring him.

Duncan smiled. "Surely a man who can talk about group sex with Genghis Khan isn't shy about showing a little skin..."

Methos' hands moved to his jeans' buttons, neatly popping one after another. Crisp dark hair appeared and a hint of rosy cock.

Commando.

The entire Sahara had taken up residence in Duncan's mouth and he drained the rest of his Scotch in a gulp. Completely unbuttoned, Methos settled his hands back at his waist. And waited.

"Off," Duncan growled.

"Having trouble getting your tongue around words of more than one syllable?"

There were several things he wanted to get his tongue around, but strangely, none of them were words. His heart was beating in his chest so hard he was sure Methos could hear it.

Methos was watching him back, Duncan realized -- watching him with an unexpected intensity. One of those odd silences came and went with much given away in a short time.

"You sure you wouldn't rather just call it a draw and go fuck like bunnies?" Methos' hand strayed into the open fly of his jeans, just for a moment.

A draw? "Not a chance," Duncan answered quietly. "Come on, Methos.... Enough procrastinating, get 'em off."

A subtle narrowing of Methos' eyes was all the response Duncan got until he slipped his hands into the top of his jeans and shimmied them down.

Fuck. He really was extraordinary.

The fucking like bunnies idea was sounding better all the time. As Duncan watched, Methos' generous cock, lengthened and filled, lifting to point to the shallow indent of his navel.

"Touch yourself for me," Duncan whispered.

Methos cupped a hand at his groin. "Tell me."

"What?" Duncan rasped.

"Tell me something real."

Duncan was never really sure where his next words came from, only that they flowed out without hesitation from some place he'd been keeping hidden for just this moment. "When I kiss you, it will be for a long time. Long and slow and deep until you melt all over me."

"I don't melt." Methos' voice was as rough as his own.

"You will."

Methos curled his fingers around his cock.

"I'll hold you close and you'll kiss me back. I'll taste beer and something that will always remind me of you."

A single stroke, base to tip. "Come and do it then."

"Not yet." Duncan shifted in his seat and his bathrobe opened. Beneath it, he was hard and aching. Now Methos knew that too. He waited. Another long, slow stroke of Methos' hand, wide, dark eyes fixed on Duncan's own. Need throbbed from the soles of Duncan's feet to the top of his head. He licked his lips. "I'll pull you close against me and hear those little noises you make."

"I don't..."

"You will."

"Come and make me." Serious challenge in the narrowed gold-green eyes.

Duncan tugged the sash of his robe open and shrugged it off his shoulders as he stood. Methos' mouth dropped open -- in shock or wordless invitation, Duncan didn't know.

"I've changed my mind."

Methos narrowed his eyes at Duncan. You Scottish wanker! "If you stop now, I'll take your bloody head."

"Oh, I'm not going to stop, but I don't want you to touch yourself. In fact, I want to make sure you can't touch yourself." Duncan stepped closer and Methos' eyes automatically shifted lower, eyeing his prize. Just a little bit closer and he'd be able to reach out and touch it, taste it. "Give me your hands."

Methos jerked his eyes up from his contemplation of Duncan's...assets, his self-defense mechanisms automatically kicking in. "Why?" he asked suspiciously.

Duncan held up the sash from his robe. "I'm going to tie your hands out of the way."

Methos snorted. "I don't think so."

Duncan raised an eyebrow. "I thought you liked being tied up. You made quite a big deal about it in your little story. Unless you were making up the whole thing...?"

Check. Methos scowled and lifted his hands. Duncan tied them together with the soft sash, then tugged Methos' arms above his head so he could secure them to the frame of the couch. "How am I supposed to put on a show for you if I can't touch myself?" he grumbled.

"The same way I did for you," Duncan said, straightening back up. Methos eyed the cock and balls just inches away from his face; if he arched up just a little bit...

"Uh-uh," Duncan said, stepping back with a grin on his face. "You're going to lie there and listen to me telling you exactly what I'm going to do to you when I finally touch you. You're going to get so hard that you'll feel like you're going to explode, and you're going to make those little noises for me. If I like what I hear and see, then I'll let you have this." He cupped his erection, lazily stroking it once, twice, before releasing it. He ran one finger across the tip, gathering the fluid, and then held his finger in front of Methos' face. "Have we got a deal?"

Methos eyed the finger hungrily. "Yes." He opened his mouth, eager for a taste, and watched in disbelief as Duncan pulled his hand away and sucked his own finger. "Mac!"

"You have to earn it first," Duncan reminded him, and then grinned. It was a wicked grin, one that promised retribution for all the teasing Methos had subjected to him over the years, and Methos' cock twitched with anticipation.

This is going to be hell, he thought. He could hardly wait for Duncan to begin.

Duncan could hardly wait to begin.

He stood from where he had stooped to fasten the sash and looked down on Methos possessively. Methos' pale, lean body lay before him, waiting for him to start. God! Methos looked so fuckable like that, stretched out, his back arched slightly from the position his arms took, his legs parted invitingly. He could imagine parting them further, roughly stabbing his cock into Methos' tight opening and then pounding into that silken heat, while that pale body writhed underneath him, pushing hard, keeping to his rhythm, until he was ready and Methos was begging for it and then reaching for Methos' erection and pulling them both over the edge as the pleasure exploded in them...

He made a hungry step towards the foot of the couch and the movement brought him back to himself. That wasn't the plan this time. He would keep that idea for another time.

He turned back to the head of the couch to where Methos was watching him with knowing, interested eyes and knelt down so that his face was inches away from his friend's. "Close your eyes," he said in a voice deepened and roughened by lust.

"What?" Methos frowned.

" Close. Your. Eyes," Duncan repeated.

Methos narrowed them instead. "What are you planning to do?"

"Methos, just shut them. I want you to be concentrating on what I'm saying, not distracted by other things." Duncan glanced down at his own erection and then looked back into Methos' eyes, which obediently closed.

"Good boy." Duncan leaned closer so that his lips were next to Methos' ear. "If you're lying comfortably, then we'll begin...."

Methos squirmed a little but then calmed, his eyes still shut, Duncan noted approvingly. "I'm going to start by nibbling kisses just below your ear, just dry little pecks with maybe a hint of teeth behind them. I'm going to move up following your hairline. Just the same little kisses, all the way over, spending a little more time at the sensitive spots, like your temples, just so you know I'm there. And when I've got to the other side, I'm going to your jaw. And this time there'll be more than just a hint of teeth, I'm going to bite you, oh so gently. Lots of tiny little bites, the kind that set off little fires inside you.

"Then the next place is down this long neck of yours. Kisses I think, nibbles and soft wet kisses, in long, slow lines down, to the prize." Duncan shifted position so that he was bent over Methos' neck, with his lips just above the hollow in Methos' throat. "One of these days I'm going to pour honey in this hollow and see how long I can take to lick it all away. Does that sound like a plan?"

Methos didn't say anything, but Duncan could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.

"I'll take that as a 'Yes', then. Well, that's for another time. Today, I'm going to push my tongue into it and cover it with lovely wet licks. Then I'll blow on the moisture so you'll know where I've been. I could spend quite a while playing that game. But I don't want to spend too long there, because your nipples are just too close to be ignored.

"Now, with nipples, you don't want to go in straight with the mouth. Oh, no. I'm going to rub them with my fingers first, two or three so that the whole area is covered. And I'm going to rub in circular movements, pressing in gently until they start to get hard. Once they're hard enough I'll take that nipple ring of yours between my finger and thumb and start to pull slightly. Those little tugs that seem to connect straight to your cock. You know what I mean?"

It seemed that Methos did know, because his head was back and he was breathing deeply through his nose.

Duncan smiled at the sight. "I'll keep that up until you're squirming. And then, and only then, will I think about using my mouth on you." He moved down until his mouth was over Methos' left nipple and breathed on it. The nipple ring rose invitingly in its dark pink mount. "And when I do, I'm going to just delicately bite it...."

Methos hissed as Duncan's teeth closed on his nipple, Duncan's tongue hooking into the nipple ring to tug on it a little, and Methos' cock jumped in obvious appreciation when the teasing became a serious bite. Duncan drew back and noted Methos' reaction to this stimulus.

"You weren't kidding about the pain thing, were you? How very interesting," Methos opened his eyes at Duncan's change of tone. Duncan moved closer to him and locked gazes. He spoke the next words softly and deliberately. "You know, if you were my slave I wouldn't share you with anyone."

Methos' eyes got slightly wider and Duncan suppressed a smile as he saw a light sheen of sweat break out all over Methos' body. He pinched the abused nipple hard, twisting the slender silver ring, and grinned fiercely at Methos' sharp intake of breath, noting with appreciation the sharp curve of his ribcage and the way his body arched seeking more contact.

"So sensitive, Methos. If you were mine," he said with delicate emphasis, 'I'd think I'd exploit that. Just to remind you who you belonged to". He twisted the other nipple sharply. "Nothing complicated, just simple cotton thread tied round each of these gorgeous little nubs to keep them nice and hard for me. They'd rub against your clothing and be a constant reminder. Remind you that you are mine." He deliberately gave the word the same emphasis.

Methos arched again, his mouth slightly open. Duncan gave the nipple another sharp twist and released it taking a step back so he could watch the way his finger marks flushed dark around Methos' aureoles before fading quickly. Duncan grasped his own cock and stroked it a few times to relieve his own tension.

"You mark so beautifully I can see why that held so much attraction for your masters. I would bind you with something finer, something like black ribbon." Duncan paused, watching as his words caused a rosy flush to spread across Methos' skin.

"Perhaps silk ribbon, something that would slide across your skin softly, so all those fine hairs on the back of your neck stood up." Methos' eyes were open again but the slightly amused expression was now gone from them. Duncan moved round to Methos' side and trailed his fingers round Methos' bound wrists and then down his arm as he continued to whisper, his breath warm and damp against Methos' ear.

"First I'd cross your wrists and bind them at the small of your back, pulling the ribbon tight so it cut slightly into your skin. Then I'd carry on winding it half way up your arms just so I could admire the effect of your skin pinking round the edges of the ribbon as you wriggled to get free." Methos' breaths were coming in short pants now and his tongue darted out to moisten his lips. Duncan allowed one of his hands to wander down to the crease where Methos' thigh met his body. The skin was warm and slightly damp and he teased it gently, delighting at the way Methos jumped and cursed.

"Do you beg as well as you wriggle, Methos?"

"Fuck you, Highlander! " The hissed response made Duncan chuckle. Methos' eyes were nearly black with arousal, but the challenge in them was obvious. Duncan leaned in very close to him, so close he could feel the heat and virtually taste the arousal the man's body was giving off. He licked a bead of sweat off Methos' upper lip.

"Such language, Methos! Do you want me to gag you? Did you know I've dreamed of doing that?"

At those words Methos went very, very still. Still chuckling, Duncan moved away and sat on the sofa opposite his bound companion. He spread his legs and did his own imitation of one of Methos' sprawls, while his hand worked his own impressive erection leisurely. He luxuriated in the sensations curling in his groin, noting how Methos' eyes hungrily followed his hand, hips twitching unconsciously in response. Duncan smiled sweetly at Methos and then closed his eyes the better to visualize his fantasy.

"I'd use one of those ring gags on you. Of course you'd beg me not to, but that would shut you up, while still allowing me to take full advantage of that talented mouth." Duncan thumbed the head of his penis.

"That's such a pretty picture Methos. You kneeling at my feet, mouth held open for me, hands tied, knees spread wide in submission, just waiting for me to use you." Duncan opened his eyes and allowed himself a soft moan of appreciation at the sight before.

Methos' cock was now deep red and leaking fluid, while his hips pistoned helplessly in the air. His eyes were now squeezed tight shut and his head thrown back, a thread of blood on his chin evidence of how hard he was biting at his bottom lip. Duncan swallowed noisily and worked his cock harder. "I'd take your head in my hands and turn your face up to me. Then I'd slide my cock into your mouth, slowly so you didn't gag and I'd fuck your mouth hard, just the way you like it. You'd make little choked, wet sounds round the gag as I thrust and I'd watch and then...."

And then the phone rang.

The shrill noise jangled the senses of both immortals in a manner even more irritating then the signature of one of their own kind. Methos eyes snapped opened and he spat something incomprehensible in a language which seemed to consist mainly of diphthongs.

MacLeod's erection wilted like a lupin in the midday sun. He glared at the phone, willing it to stop ringing. The answer phone kicked in. "Duncan darling, pick up. I know you're there!" Amanda's polished tones reverberated through the barge.

Duncan froze, his eyes darting towards Methos. He winced. Glacial didn't even begin to describe the current expression on the old man's face. He could almost see the penguins.

Methos sighed. A quick tug on the sash binding his wrists, untangled him from his consensual captivity. Duncan sympathized with the emotions fuelling the angry glare directed at him. While he didn't think you could actually die from sexual frustration, much more of this and he wasn't going to be held responsible for his actions.

"Are you going to answer that, MacLeod?"

Duncan sighed and rubbed his temples he could feel the start of a headache to match the unfulfilled throb in his groin. "I don't really want to," he muttered, wondering briefly why a stark-bollock-naked and still partially erect Methos was rummaging through his coat pockets at a time like this. Not that the view wasn't spectacular but....

"Right, well in that case, are you particularly attached to that phone,?" Methos straightened slightly, his expression indicating he had found whatever he was looking for. Duncan frowned, utterly confused, his attention split between his would-be lover and Amanda's continued pleas for him to pick up the phone.

"No, of course not, Methos, what on...?"

"Good," Methos interrupted, pointing his gun at the offending communication device and firing twice. Amanda's voice abruptly cut off.

Duncan stared at the mangled smoking heap of plastic and electrical wiring that had once been his phone. "You killed my phone."

Methos smiled brightly. "Yes, Highlander, the phone is no more, it has ceased to be! It's expired and gone to meet its maker! It's a stiff! Bereft of life, it rests in peace! It's kicked the bucket, it's shuffled off this mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bloody choir invisible! It is an ex-phone!"

The next thing Duncan's frazzled synapses registered clearly, after wondering what he had done to deserve a dead phone and an impromptu Monty Python skit was that he had a lap full of warm, naked and very, very aroused Immortal.

"MacLeod," Methos purred, forcing Duncan to meet his eyes. "I know this place in Bora Bora that has no phone. Do we leave now or do I have to 'kill' you as well?"

When had he lost control of this situation? It wasn't when Methos had shot the phone, he knew. It wasn't even when Methos had walked through the door, a man with a plan.

It probably wasn't even four nights ago when his 'friends' had set him up for the most humiliation he'd endured in public in at least five decades.

As Methos began to nibble delicately on his ear lobe, and began to whisper in an almost ridiculously filthy voice how much he would like Duncan to take him over to the bed and nail him to it, Duncan knew that he'd really lost all hope of dominating things years ago. Probably the second he'd laid eyes on the man.

He sighed. Why fight it when they both wanted the same thing. He bunched his muscles, made a mighty heave and got them both up off the chair, succeeding in taking Methos by surprise. "Mac!"

"Oh shut up," he growled, staggering the few steps to his bed with an aroused, startled but for the moment gratifyingly compliant Immortal grasped to him.

He threw Methos on the bed and stood glaring at him. "You're paying for that phone."

"Whatever," Methos said insolently, his hand heading for his cock. "Send me the bill."

Duncan knelt on the bed and grabbed Methos' hand. "I never said you could touch yourself. And I don't want your money."

Methos brought himself to his knees and put his free arm around Duncan's neck. "Oh?" he said, one fine eyebrow arching gracefully. "And, pray, if I was yours, how could I ever repay you for the loss of such a magnificent piece of ... equipment?"

Duncan dropped Methos' hand, and it was immediately wrapped like its mate, behind Duncan's head. Duncan leaned forward, bearing them both to the bed. "Let's start...by thinking about mink...."

The End

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