Duncan closes the gate on the elevator and goes about putting away the groceries he's brought with him. At the silence greeting him, he quickly glances around the loft and finds Methos is exactly where he'd expected. There on the bed is a completely naked and trussed Methos, cuffed facedown to the bed on his knees, blindfolded, thighs stretched wide by a spreader bar.
Methos squirms in the restraints, shifting restlessly on the bed as he feels the approach of another Immortal. He really hopes it is Duncan. He sends a tentative Donnachaid? across the mental bond they share.
Quirking his brow in amusement, Duncan takes a moment to run his gaze over Methos' form on the bed. “Yes, Methos?” he asks levelly in a soft, amused tone, then smiles as Methos' relief and arousal wash over his senses. “Did you think perhaps it was Connor come to visit? Or maybe Richie?”
Methos groans softly, just listening to the low, sensual tone Duncan uses is making him hard again. He squirms as much as he can, shifting on the bed, laughing quietly. “Would my answer really make a difference right now?” he asks softly.
Chuckling, Duncan makes his way over to the bed, leaning over to lightly slap Methos' buttocks. “As long as you realize that it's not really in your best interest to piss me off while you're in this position, Methos, I think we'll do just fine here.” He can't help the amusement lacing his tone as Methos groans and attempts to shift slightly at the slap. “So, Old Man, I'll ask you again. Will you honor me by wearing a kilt at our wedding?” When Methos doesn't answer immediately, Duncan quirks a brow and moves closer, letting his hand fall smartly on the same spot as his previous slap. "I really don't think you'll want to say no, Methos. Do you?"
Methos jumps with the slap, shifting slightly on the bed. He doesn't say anything, his hands flexing a little in the restraints, his cock hard.
Quirking a brow at the near lack of reaction, Duncan figures it out. "Okay then, Methos, if this is how you want to play it," he replies, one finger tracing the reddening flesh lightly. “You leave me no choice but to further punish you until you say yes. Is that really what you want?”
I want you to do this. The thought glides across Duncan's mind, the mental tone husky as hell. Gods, Duncan, please? Spank me, fuck me with a dildo, fuck me yourself. I don't care. Just wrench the answer from me before I come.
Duncan simply grins in response. “I do believe you need to be taught a little lesson, my boy,” he says, punctuating his words with a few sharp slaps to Methos' buttocks. And then he suddenly stops, reaching for the dildo in the nightstand drawer. With a delighted chuckle, he teases Methos's anus with the dildo. “Don't you dare come, boy,” he warns. “Or I'll leave you here and invite over Connor, Richie, Amanda, Joe, and anyone else I can think of to partake of this sight.” He punctuates his threat with another sharp slap to the reddened flesh.
Methos swallows loudly, "Yes sir."
"Good boy," Duncan replies, smoothing his fingers over the warmed flesh and presses the dildo forward just a bit, just the tip within Methos' body. "Now, let me ask you again, Methos. Will you agree to wear a kilt at the ceremony?" Not surprised when Methos doesn't answer his question, Duncan slaps his ass again. “You didn't answer my question, Methos,” he murmurs, easing the tip back and forth without moving it too much.
Methos shakes his head slightly, still. Duncan is unable to see most of his expression, as a blindfold covers it. His cock, however, is red and dripping slightly, hard and jutting underneath his body. Not that easy, Mac...I mean wrench it from me...take me to the edge and then ask.
Nodding at Methos' reactions, Duncan pushes the dildo in further, his other hand reaching around to grasp Methos' turgid length. "This," he says, pulling slightly at Methos' cock, "is not to gain any relief until I tell you to, is that understood?"
"Oh yes...” Methos moans, pushing back against the dildo first, then moving his hips toward Duncan's hand. His breathing picks up, this is what he's wanted.
Suddenly, Duncan lets go of both the dildo and Methos' cock. Before Methos can realize it, Duncan's own cock, slamming in fully to the hilt, has replaced the dildo. His hand returns to Methos' cock as his hips begin a slow, deep thrusting. "Now, Methos, answer my question. Will you wear a kilt at our wedding?"
Methos groans loudly, his back arching as Duncan impales him, his breathing short and rapid. He bites his lip to keep from coming, as Duncan sheathes himself. His beloved Highlander has pushed almost all of his buttons, and he can feel himself get closer. At the moment, he's inarticulate.
"Methos, answer me!” Duncan demands, snapping his hips forward, burying himself into his lover again.
Methos's mental tone is a breathless groan of need. Hair, Donnachaid. You...feel..good...brother.
Squeezing lightly on Methos' cock, Duncan reaches up with his other hand and grips the dark hair in his fist, pulling his head backwards a bit. "Answer me, Methos."
Methos groans, panting with the effort to keep from coming. Duncan can feel him pulsing slightly, and he finally relents, "Yes, Duncan.” His voice is breathless, and hoarse. Once he says the words, he whimpers slightly in his throat. I yield, my brother. I will wear a kilt. And I'd be honored.
At the soft, barely heard words, Duncan instantly softens his demeanor. Lightly stroking Methos's body where his hands already are, he nuzzles at Methos' spine. Methos continues to pant. He still hasn't been told he can come. He whimpers again, a husky plea falling from his lips, "Sir? Please?" And then the mental groan turns louder. Bite me, Duncan. If you want me to come...
Smiling slightly at the request, Duncan stretches up a bit to press his lips to Methos' shoulder. Suddenly, his teeth latch onto the tendon in the older man's shoulder, his hips slamming home once again. Whimpering in his throat, Methos tries to keep from coming, he's still not been given permission. He loses the fight however, and comes with a roar, his whole body shuddering and shaking under Duncan, his warmth tightening around Duncan's cock. The feeling of Methos' body tightening around him, of feeling Methos's orgasm, sends Duncan over the edge himself. Methos sags in the restraints, panting heavily as he comes down, groaning periodically.
Very carefully extricating himself from Methos's body, Duncan works quickly and tenderly to remove the various restraints on the older man's body, then pulls him into a gentle embrace. "Thank you, Methos," he murmurs gratefully.
Methos smiles slightly at Duncan, "You do know I was being difficult on purpose, yes?” He snuggles close, rubbing his wrists a bit.
Duncan grabs his wrists and lightly licks the marks there. "I know. That's what made it all the more entertaining, Old Man."
Methos closes his eyes at the sensations Duncan's tongue is producing. He clears his throat a little, after trying to say something once. "Ask me again...now."
Nodding, Duncan looks at Methos seriously. "Methos, would you do me the honor of standing next to me at our wedding, wearing a traditional kilt?"
Methos smiles, his eyes full of emotion, but he says, in a solemn voice, "I would be honored, Donnachaid. I can think of no higher honor.”
Duncan happily grins. "Thank you, Methos."