chelle

Highlander

Disclaimer

No copyright infringement is intended or should be inferred. No money was made from the writing or posting of any content on this fan site.

From Bi The Way, at http://www.bitheway.org/

chelle's site is maintained by chelle.

The Perhaps Hand

chelle

Title: The Perhaps Hand

Author: chelle

Author's email: chelle@chelle.slashcity.org

Author's URL: http://chelle.slashcity.org/

Fandom: Highlander

Category: Slash

Pairing: Duncan/Methos

Archive: Ask first

Rating: NC-17

Notes: This story is set post TB/NTB, which is not evident from the story itself. As always, I am indebted to Kamil for her invaluable criticism. Any remaining problems, incoherencies, or downright weirdness are solely my responsibility. She can't be held accountable for them. The title is from ee cummings' poem "Spring is like a perhaps hand."

Spring is like a perhaps hand
(which comes carefully
out of Nowhere) arranging
a window, into which people look (while
people stare
arranging and changing placing
carefully there a strange
thing and a known thing here) and

changing everything carefully

spring is like a perhaps
Hand in a window
(carefully to
and fro moving New and
Old things, while
people stare carefully
moving a perhaps

fraction of flower here placing
an inch of air there) and

without breaking anything.

***

"Dinner was good, Duncan," Methos said, stepping close behind Duncan and invading his space, trapping him against the sink.

"Glad you liked it," Duncan answered, keeping his voice indifferent, stiffening his muscles against Methos' invasion. It was always better when he resisted at first, and Methos had called him Duncan, which meant he wanted sex. The rest of the time he was still Mac or MacLeod, but when they fucked he was Duncan.

"I did. Should I thank you, perhaps find some way to repay you?"

"You could do the dishes." Duncan was pleased at the innocent tone he'd managed. Methos would take it as insolence, and Methos liked punishing Duncan for his insolence.

"Ah, but we both know I don't do dishes."

Methos still hadn't touched him, but Duncan could feel his warmth all along his back. "Exactly what do you do, anyway? Anything useful?" Snide, mildly irritated, Duncan's tone was perfect.

"Have you forgotten, Duncan?" Methos leaned forward, placing a hand on the counter on either side of Duncan. "I do you."

Methos did him. Duncan hadn't forgotten, couldn't forget. Marks of Methos' possession were burned into him, right down to his core. "So, do me."

"I plan to," Methos' breath was warm against his neck. "Believe me, I plan to." Methos stepped back, and Duncan was suddenly cold, but he wouldn't turn around, wouldn't give Methos the satisfaction.

"Turn around." The voice that issued the command was soft, low, and dangerous. Duncan forced himself to finish the pan he was washing before giving in and turning slowly around. There was a tilt to Methos' mouth, his amusement at Duncan's token resistance clear. Duncan's resistance was never more than a token. He enjoyed submitting to Methos. It was liberating not to have to be responsible for anything, not even his own pleasure. And Methos was safe. Duncan could trust him, more than he could trust himself.

Methos' gaze moved slowly down him and back up. Duncan held his breath. He held his breath every time Methos looked at him like that, some part of him afraid he'd be found lacking and Methos would turn away.

"I can't do you if you're dressed."

Relieved, Duncan exhaled. He'd passed, again.

"Shirt, Duncan. One button at a time."

Once, just once, Duncan had opened only enough buttons to let him yank the shirt over his head. Ever since, Methos had been very particular in his instructions. Using both hands, he undid the top button on his shirt, and then the next.

"Look at me."

He'd been staring at the floor in front of Methos, and he forced his gaze upward, to Methos' face.

Methos smiled his approval. "Wouldn't want you to forget who it is you're doing this for."

As if he could forget, as if he wasn't branded, marked for life by Methos' hands and Methos' cock. As if he didn't remember every single detail of every time they'd fucked.

'I don't forget.' He almost said the words aloud.

Keeping his eyes on Methos' face, he undid another button, then another. The remaining two buttons were tucked beneath his pants. He pulled his shirt free, squirming as little as possible. Methos liked it when he squirmed. Shrugging, he let the shirt slip to the floor.

"Press your palm against your cock."

Duncan did as he was instructed, feeling his erection through the fabric of his pants.

"Are you hard?"

"Yes." You know I am, he added silently.

"So hard you ache?"

"No." It was the truth, but it was also a challenge.

"You will be." The words weren't a promise. They were a statement of fact. Duncan knew it, and so did Methos. "Use your fingers, trace your cock with them, just hard enough so you can feel it."

Duncan stroked with his fingers. His eyes were locked on Methos', holding his lover's gaze, not letting Methos look lower, not letting Methos watch him.

Methos smiled his approval. He liked it when Duncan challenged him. "Go start a fire, Duncan, and then turn down the lights."

That was a surprise. Methos rarely bothered with ambience. In fact, he usually preferred to take Duncan the way he had last time, when he'd bent Duncan over and fucked him while Duncan braced himself against the kitchen counter. Romance was not Methos' style, at least not with Duncan.

Duncan stepped away from the counter, walking slowly into the living area, pretending he didn't love the feel of Methos' eyes on him as he moved. He knelt in front of the fireplace and began to ball up newspaper. He piled wood on top of the newspaper, exaggerating the movements of his arms and shoulders as much as possible.

The fire caught quickly, and he moved to rise, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. "You look beautiful by firelight." Methos' words were barely audible. Duncan wasn't even certain he'd heard them. Methos never said things like that.

Duncan looked up at his lover, and Methos squeezed his shoulder. "I'll get the lights."

I'll get the lights. It wasn't the kind of statement that should send shivers of anticipation down your spine, but it did. Duncan kept his eyes on the fire, resisting the urge to follow Methos' path around the barge with his eyes.

Methos came up behind him once again, resting his hands on Duncan's shoulders. "Open your pants."

It took only a moment for him to get his belt open and his pants undone.

"Can't see much from here," Methos said. He moved, kneeling in front of Duncan. "Stand up."

Duncan stood.

"Take off your pants."

Duncan pushed the pants to the floor and stepped out of them.

"Boxers, too."

Grinning, Duncan pushed the soft cotton slowly downward. Methos watched the boxers as they journeyed to the floor, and then he lifted his eyes slowly upward, until he reached Duncan's face. Methos shifted slightly, leaning forward, and his tongue darted out, licking quickly at the end of Duncan's cock.

Duncan's breath caught. This was not what they did. Methos didn't caress; he gave orders. He instructed Duncan on how to touch him, how to touch himself, and Duncan did as he was told. Methos only touched him when Duncan begged, and even then he told Duncan what to beg for. ' "What do you want, Duncan?"

The question, the soft, sensual tone of Methos' voice, the very idea that Methos would ask, sent Duncan's arousal skyrocketing. Methos had promised he would ache, and he did, and all it had taken were four simple words: what do you want. "I—" Duncan faltered.

"Ask. Ask me for what you want."

It had been such a comfort not to have to give voice to his own desires, and now here Methos was, making him do that very thing. "I—" Duncan swallowed. "I want you to kiss me."

"Ask."

"Will you kiss me, Methos?"

"Come here." Methos opened his arms in invitation, and Duncan dropped to his knees in front of him.

Duncan had initiated their first kiss months ago. It had been drunken and fumbling at first, but then Methos had taken control and Duncan had surrendered. Giving up control to Methos had been intensely erotic, and it had become more so as the weeks had passed and Methos' demands had grown. But they had never kissed the way Duncan had wanted to that first night, long and slow and sensual. Until now.

Methos held him close, pressing Duncan's nude body against his clothed one, but he didn't caress Duncan with anything but his mouth. He explored Duncan's mouth like they'd never kissed before. It was delicate and tender and it left Duncan gasping and aching, putty in Methos' hands, just like always.

Methos' mouth left his, and Duncan had to resist the urge to follow it, to plead for more. "What else do you want, Duncan?" The words were barely audible.

What else did he want? Everything, he wanted everything. But that answer would simply cause Methos to smile indulgently, and maybe decide that Duncan couldn't be trusted to ask after all. He pulled back enough so that he could see his lover. Methos was still dressed. "Undress for me."

"Ask."

"Will you undress for me?" Duncan emphasized the 'will,' making it as much a dare as a request.

Methos smiled affectionately and then rose to his feet. He pulled his sweater over his head, and Duncan's position on the floor let him watch the play of muscles in Methos' abdomen as the sweater came off.

Methos caught his gaze and held it as he brought one hand to the first button on his jeans. He undid it, and moved on to the second button, and then the third. Duncan realized he was holding his breath, but he didn't let it out. A fourth button and Methos' cock was pushing out of the opened jeans, clearly trying to escape its prison of denim and cotton. Duncan wanted to help, but he couldn't, not without Methos' permission.

The jeans were pushed to the ground, and Methos was standing before him clad in nothing but white cotton briefs, with the head of his cock sticking out above the waistband. Duncan wanted to lick it, to take it between his lips and savor the familiar taste. He looked up at Methos' face, and the other man smiled knowingly, as though he knew precisely what Duncan had been thinking. He probably did.

Catching the sides of his briefs in his hands, Methos shoved them to the floor and stepped gracefully out of them. He stood with his legs slightly parted and his erection jutting out in front of him, his hands resting easily at his sides. "What next?" he asked.

Duncan's mind raced. What did he want next? He resisted the part of him that wanted to lean forward and swallow Methos whole, like the supplicant he was. Few things aroused him as wildly as being on his knees with Methos' cock in his mouth, but he did that nearly ever time they fucked. Since he could ask, he might as well ask for something he didn't usually get. He could ask Methos to masturbate for him. It was something he'd done several times, masturbated while Methos watched him, more often than not giving instructions, telling Duncan where and how to touch himself. It left him completely exposed, and the prospect of doing the same thing to Methos was appealing. But as much as he wanted Methos exposed, he wanted Methos' hands on him even more. "Touch me. I want you to touch me." Remembering that he was supposed to ask, he added, "Will you?"

"Where?"

Everywhere. Inside and out. "My chest."

"Lie down."

Duncan stretched out on his back in front of the fire, and Methos knelt over him, straddling his hips. Methos reached out, as though he was going to touch Duncan's shoulders, but then he stopped. "How do you want me to touch you? Lightly? Firmly?"

"I don't care."

"You don't, huh? No preferences at all?" The words may have been teasing, but the tone wasn't.

"No."

"Guess I'll have to improvise then." As soon as the words were out of Methos' mouth, his hands were on Duncan. He traced the curves of Duncan's pectorals with his fingers, before running them through the hair on his chest, and brushing his palms across Duncan's nipples. Duncan watched his lover's hands as Methos moved them down along Duncan's sides, over his abdomen, and up the center of his chest. He watched as Methos teased Duncan's nipples with his fingers.

For a moment he again considered asking Methos to masturbate for him. He could easily imagine one of Methos' hands pulling at his own nipple while the other stroked his cock. Duncan seized Methos' wrists in his hands. "Will you suck me?" he asked instead.

The corners of Methos' mouth quirked up, and he nodded once. Duncan released his wrists, and Methos shifted position, kneeling between Duncan's legs. He leaned forward, his eyes holding Duncan's until the moment when his mouth touched Duncan's cock. At that moment, Methos' eyes slowly closed.

He took the head and a small part of the shaft into his mouth and sucked gently. He didn't slide his mouth up and down, or use his tongue or hands; he just sucked. Duncan rested a hand against Methos' cheek. It felt almost sacred, this moment of communion between them. Where Duncan was a supplicant offering worship, Methos was a holy man, offering benediction.

Unexpectedly, Methos' tongue flicked at the back of his cock, and Duncan very nearly came. Methos sat up, replacing his mouth with his hand. Duncan didn't protest, but Methos offered an explanation anyway. "I want you to come all over yourself."

Duncan knew what that meant. Methos was going to fuck him, using his own come as lubricant.

Methos' touch was efficient. He knew Duncan's body and he brought him to the edge quickly, then he softened his touch, taking away the firmness Duncan needed to come.

"Will you make me come, Methos?" Duncan knew Methos wouldn't let him come until he asked, and he wanted to make the words seductive, an invitation. That wasn't how they came out. They came out as a plea.

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes."

Methos' touch immediately changed. He stroked hard and fast in precisely the place Duncan needed it. Within moments fluid was leaving Duncan's body in long spurts and his entire body was shuddering, but his eyes never left Methos' face.

His lover let go of his cock, and Duncan brought his hands to his chest, running his fingers through the fluid decorating it. Slowly, he brought his hands down, spreading his legs at the same time. Ignoring his now semi-hard cock, he moved his fingers to his opening. He knew this was what Methos wanted. Methos got off on watching Duncan prepare himself, and Duncan got off on doing it.

Methos took hold of his wrist, stopping him. He pulled Duncan's hand away from his opening, tugging Duncan into a sitting position at the same time. Methos was still kneeling, and he brought Duncan's hand between his own parted thighs to his entrance. Duncan's heart began to pound at the feel of wrinkled skin beneath his fingers. "Methos?"

"Touch me, Duncan."

Was that all Methos wanted, his touch? Or did he want something else? Duncan had to know. "Do you want me to fuck you?"

"Yes."

Duncan wasn't sure how to respond. In their months as lovers they'd never done this. The thought of it made him light-headed. "Lie down."

Surprisingly, Methos obeyed. He lie down on his back and slowly spread his long legs. It was part offering and part plea, and the sight did something to Duncan, released some long-suppressed part of him. He settled between Methos' thighs, his hand reaching for Methos' entrance. He touched gently, almost but not quite teasing. When Methos tilted his pelvis, silently asking for more, Duncan pushed inside.

Methos was smooth, soft, inviting. Part of Duncan wanted to push brutally into him, to fuck him as hard and as fast as his own hips would allow, and part of him wanted to coax a response, to take Methos with all the tenderness he could muster, to hold him at the edge and make him beg and plead for release. Still unsure of what he would do, he focused on the on the sight in front of him. Methos, on his back, with Duncan's fingers in his ass.

He turned his fingers, more roughly than he had intended, and Methos gasped. Methos was tight around him, and Duncan considered getting the lube. He could imagine dropping the tube onto Methos' chest and ordering him to prepare himself, just as Duncan had done countless times. He could picture Methos awkwardly supporting himself on one arm while shoving his fingers up his own ass. Duncan liked the image, but he liked the idea of lubing Methos' ass with own come even more. Withdrawing his fingers, he coated them with more of the fluid dripping slowly down his chest. He started to push back into Methos, but stopped when he realized the other man's eyes were closed. That wouldn't do. He wanted Methos to see his own submission reflected in Duncan's face. "Open your eyes."

Methos opened them, but the spark of resistance Duncan had expected to see wasn't there. Instead, there was need. The sight of it surprised him, and Duncan gentled his touch.

"Do you feel that?" The words he had intended to show his control, of Methos, of himself, came out like a caress.

"Yes." Methos' answer was part word, part groan.

"That's me, Methos, touching you." He brushed his fingers against Methos' prostate to emphasize his words. "I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to fill you with my cock, fuller than you've ever been before. I won't leave any part of you untouched. Is that what you want?"

Methos nodded.

"Say it."

"That's what I want."

"You can do better than that."

"I want you to fuck me, Duncan. I want you to fill me."

Duncan couldn't wait any longer, not after hearing those words. With his free hand, he gathered the remaining fluid from his chest. His eyes on Methos' face, he brought that hand to his cock and slowly coated it. Then he eased his fingers out of his lover and shifted forward, pressing the head of his cock to Methos' anus.

He stretched out over Methos, resting his weight on his arms and pushing just enough to lodge the head of his cock inside. Methos didn't make a sound, but Duncan was certain it was uncomfortable. He touched the side of Methos' face gently. They'd never discussed safe words, but there had been a time or two early on when he'd needed Methos to stop. He'd said stop and Methos had. He wanted Methos to know that the same was true now, that all he needed to do was say stop, and Duncan would.

Methos closed his eyes for a moment at the touch. When he opened them he smiled. It was all the reassurance Duncan needed. He pushed forward, and Methos' body yielded.

It had been a long time since he'd taken anyone else like this. He'd forgotten how warm it was, and how tightly the walls squeezed you, so much tighter than a vagina. Every tiny advance into Methos increased his arousal precipitously. He didn't know how long he could hold out once he was all the way inside. He could probably distract himself with baseball scores or some such nonsense, but he didn't want to be distracted, not with Methos. He wanted to feel it, and he wanted to come, wanted to look down at the man beneath him as he emptied his balls into him, wanted to feel how wet Methos' ass would be when it was full of his come.

One last push and he was all the way in. He gazed down at his lover's face. There was a vulnerability in Methos' expression that he wasn't used to seeing. It brought back the conflicting urge to both dominate and cherish. Was that how Methos felt, he wondered, because cherished was how Methos made him feel. No matter how debasing something was in theory, that was never how Duncan felt when he was doing it with Methos.

"I'm going to come, Methos. After just a few strokes, you're going to make me come."

Methos shoved his hips upward in answer.

"But you're not going to. You are not to come. Do you understand?"

Methos nodded.

"Good. I'm going to move now." He pulled back slowly, and then eased his way forward. "Do you feel that?"

"Yes."

"Do you like it?"

"Yes."

"Shall I do it again?"

"Yes."

"You're such a good fuck, Methos, so tight, so willing." Duncan pulled back again, amazed at his own level of control. Still, he knew it wouldn't last. So he went slowly, turning every thrust into a gentle caress.

Methos was trembling beneath him, and his hands were clutching Duncan's back. "Not yet," Duncan whispered, "Don't come yet. Feel me, instead. My cock is going to jerk, and my fluid is going to spurt into you, deep into you."

"Duncan."

Duncan loved it when Methos said his name like that, like he was lost and Duncan was his only hope of salvation. Duncan didn't have the energy to tell him that, though. He was too caught up in what was happening to his cock, in the way Methos' body clung to it, caressing it as though it was the most precious thing in the universe. He'd wanted to come, but now he held back, resisting the urge, trying to prolong the moment. It was useless. His orgasm started when he was only partway inside, still pushing back in. He kept pushing as the pleasure that had been suffusing him concentrated itself in his cock, before imploding even further, doubling back on itself and leaving him trembling on top of his lover.

Methos' arms were holding him tightly, and Duncan was dimly aware that the man beneath him was chuckling. Duncan lifted himself enough so that he could see Methos' face.

Methos grinned at him. "I'll say one thing for you, MacLeod. When you say you're going to do something, you really do it." Apparently, Duncan's orgasm had looked as intense as it had felt.

It took Duncan a moment to sort out his responses to Methos' amused tone. Finally, he settled on sharing the joke. "Yeah, well, what's the point of making promises if you don't keep them. Besides…" He paused to brush a quick kiss to Methos' lips. "I can't help what you do to me."

"So it's all my fault?"

"Entirely."

"You should be grateful, then."

"Maybe."

"Grateful enough to do something about this?" Methos pushed his pelvis upward, rubbing his erection against Duncan's belly, and contracting his ass around the cock still lodged within it.

"I might be," Duncan answered. Then he kissed Methos again, slowly, in a way he knew would raise the other man's arousal to a fever pitch.

"Duncan," Methos pleaded when they parted.

Smiling at him, Duncan slid back onto his knees. Taking hold of Methos' hips, he carefully withdrew his cock. "Turn over."

Methos didn't look happy, but he turned over onto his stomach.

"Not like that. On your knees. I want your ass in the air."

Methos raised himself onto his knees, resting his weight on his forearms. Methos' skin was smooth and pale. It invited comparisons to alabaster and marble and ancient statues. But that wasn't what Duncan thought of when he saw Methos naked before him. He thought about plundering that smoothness, losing himself in it, and turning that pale skin darker, making it flush with arousal, and other things. Right now those smooth buttocks were parted before him, exposing Methos' entrance, reddened by their fucking. The sight drew him, and he leaned closer. There were traces of fluid on the deep pink flesh. Unable to resist he reached out, lapping them up. Methos shuddered. Taking a buttock in each hand, he used his thumbs to hold Methos open and then he slipped his tongue inside. Methos was wet. Duncan reveled in the slightly bitter flavor of his own come combined with the earthier taste of Methos. This was what their fucking tasted like.

Methos began to tremble beneath him, and Duncan stopped. "Methos?"

"I'm so close, please."

"Can you hold back just a little bit longer? I want to be in you when you come, but I want more of this first."

"Duncan." Methos was pleading.

"Just one more taste. Think about it, Methos. Think about me, tasting myself in your ass. I can taste you, too. I can taste us." Duncan lowered his head once again, sliding his tongue as deep into his lover as he could get it.

"Stop. I'll come if you don't stop."

Methos' words brought him up short, and Duncan stopped. He raised himself onto his knees behind his lover, and eased inside, or tried to. Methos pushed back against him, demanding, seeking impalement. Duncan took hold of Methos' hips and began to move the other man back and forth on his cock. Methos was wet and open and pliant in his hands. But it didn't satisfy him. Remembering his earlier desire to watch Methos masturbate, he pulled out, ignoring Methos' protest, and rolled onto his back. Methos stared at him, frustration and arousal in his eyes. Duncan reached out to touch him. "Straddle me. Take me into you and use me. Fuck yourself on my cock."

Methos eyes widened, but a fraction of a second later he was moving. It took only a moment before he was sliding down onto Duncan with a grateful moan. His hands squeezed Duncan's shoulders as he moved hard and fast, too fast for Duncan to be able to find an answering rhythm. Instead, he watched as Methos gave himself over completely to lust and need and the almost unbearable pleasure their bodies created together. It took longer than he thought it would for Methos to come. His head was thrown back and his hips continued to move in short, sharp thrusts as he released, his fluid covering Duncan's chest, some of it even reaching his face. The fluid stopped, but Methos continued to move, slower now, his head falling forward. His body gave one last convulsive shudder and Methos collapsed onto Duncan's chest.

Duncan wrapped his arms around his lover, grateful for the feel of Methos' heart pounding wildly, still. For one awful moment he'd actually feared that he'd fucked his lover to death. The absurdity of the thought made him giggle.

"Stop laughing, MacLeod," Methos muttered. "It spoils the afterglow."

"Sorry," Duncan answered, but of course trying to stop a laugh just made him need to laugh all the more, and another giggle escaped, then another.

"What are you laughing at?" Methos asked, shifting into a position where he could see Duncan's face.

Duncan opened his mouth to answer, but the only sound that emerged was an embarrassing cross between a giggle and a chortle, so he shut it again.

Methos' lips were shut tightly, and Duncan could feel his shoulders shake. "Give in," Duncan said.

Methos shook his head.

Duncan attacked Methos' ribs with his fingers and the laugh escaped. Duncan wrapped his arms around Methos, once again pulling him close.

Their shared mirth subsided quickly, settling into an intimacy that Duncan was loathe to disturb, even though the floor had become decidedly uncomfortable and he could feel goosebumps on Methos' back.

"I was wondering when you'd decide to take charge," Methos said quietly.

"Why should I, when you're so good at it?"

"You did pretty well," Methos answered, wiggling as though he could nuzzle closer, which he couldn't, not without cutting Duncan open and burrowing inside him. "Where did you learn to talk like that?"

"You. I paid close attention these last few months."

"Apparently."

"Want me to show you what else I learned?"

"Can you show me on the bed?"

"Definitely. But you have to move."

"I'm not sure I can do that. It seems my take-me-do-with-me-what-you-will boyfriend has fucked me into a boneless heap."

"Did you just call me your boyfriend?"

"Sorry. My take-me-do-with-me-what-you-will-I-am-yours-to-command lover fucked me—"

"I am yours to command?"

Methos smiled down at him. "Aren't you?"

Duncan patted his cheek. "Only sometimes, Methos, only sometimes."

Methos' smile broadened. "Good," he said and returned his head to its resting place on Duncan's shoulder.

Duncan stroked his lover's back, trying to keep him warm. "Thank you." He said the words quietly, unsure if Methos would realize why Duncan was thanking him. Methos had given him something he hadn't known he needed until Methos had given it to him—a haven, a place in which he didn't need to be Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod, a place in which he could simply be Duncan.

And get fucked senseless on a regular basis. He giggled at the thought.

"You're laughing again."

Duncan tightened his hold on Methos. "I know."

"You're welcome."