Imsak

Methos isn't the first person or the last to call him a control freak. And it's not without some basis in fact. It's who he is. Duncan knows this; he's just not wild about being reminded of it. And Methos knows it (or he should, Duncan's told him often enough) but it doesn't stop him from muttering it whenever he thinks Duncan needs reminding.

Which is probably what's happening now, Duncan thinks as he lets Methos tie the blindfold over his eyes. They're in bed – their bed – after a more-than-usually annoying day where Methos seemed incapable of doing a single thing Duncan asked. He'll forgive him, of course, because he loves him -- and because it's not like Methos being annoying is anything new. But it still grates.

So, he's not entirely sure why he's agreed to this. Methos isn't playing their usual game. In fact, he seems to be playing an entirely new game to which only he knows all the rules. It shouldn't surprise him as much as it does.

It makes him wary, but he'll be damned if he's going to let Methos know that. The blindfold is black silk and smells of Methos, and he can't see a damn thing through it. Which he supposes was the point when Methos dared him to try it. Back a few minutes ago, back when he was still in control, back when he was under the illusion that he knew everything there was to know about Methos in bed.

Stupid, really. He should know better.

But he's here now and if Methos can feel Duncan's heart thudding in his chest, he's not saying. In fact, he's not saying much of anything at all, just helping himself to Duncan's body at irregular intervals. His cock is throbbing in time with the quickening beat of his heart already, but he knows without being told it's a long way from being over yet.

Methos catches his wandering hands and presses his arms up above his head, stretching himself out on top. He's a solid, irresistible weight pressing him down. Holding him there. Duncan can feel his hot breath on his face and he lifts his mouth towards it, licking his lips. Out of the dark, Methos crushes his mouth down into Duncan's, kissing him with a desperate savagery that shoots straight to his cock.

"I want you to wait for me," Methos whispers against his lips.

Duncan searches for his mouth, finds it and kisses him with all the feeling he has no words for. Methos is clearly, unmistakably, in charge, in a way he's never been before. He's still not sure how he feels about that. And he's not at all sure what Methos is up to, but with every part of him heating with the force of Methos' fire, he's willing to play along.

Methos breaks away and warm, rough fingers pinch his nipple. "Can you wait for me?" he asks, his voice near Duncan's ear now.

Of course he can, he wants to say, no problem -- only Methos' tongue is in his ear now and he can't think about anything else. It's wet and hot and deft and makes his whole body want. He arches up, tries to bridge, but Methos has him in an iron grip and won't let go.

A sharp little nip to the inside of his upper arm, where the skin is thin and vulnerable, stills him and makes him squirm all at once. This isn't how he usually likes it; he likes the easy give-and-take they usually have and this isn't anything resembling that. He's not sure what it is, but he suspects Methos has decided there's something he needs. If nothing else, it will be interesting to find out.

He spreads his legs and winds them around Methos, rubbing their cocks together. Methos grinds down him in response, slow and rough all at once. It's good, but it's nowhere near enough – nothing like what he really wants.

"Come on, Methos," Duncan says, shuddering with Methos' teeth grazing his throat. "Fuck me. You know you want to."

The laugh Methos gives is dark and purely sexual. "Not yet…." That laugh again and lips ghosting over his own. "Not for a long time yet. Can you wait for me?"

The automatic 'yes' stalls in his throat while Methos kisses him again, long and slow and completely thorough.  All he can manage is a weak nod he's not even sure Methos can see.

Methos licks his nipple. "Do you want me to stop?" Hot breath on wet skin makes him shiver deliciously.

"No…" His voice sounds odd, rough with the rush of desire reaching up to close around his throat.

"Good. Stay just like that." Methos presses Duncan's hands up and back to rest high above Duncan's head.

Duncan manages to stay still, even though Methos is wriggling down his body, hands teasing and hot and everywhere. Sleek, hot skin slithers over his cock as Methos shifts down with his hands smoothing down Duncan's flanks. And his mouth….

He can stay still; he knows he can. It's not so difficult – right up to the moment when he feels Methos' breath, hot and humid with the promise of his mouth on Duncan's cock. He reaches for Methos' head and sinks his hands into soft, thick hair.

And Methos stops.

If he could see, he knows that he'd see Methos watching him. Waiting, probably with the unanswered question still in his eyes. Instead, there's only silence and the cool touch of the air on his skin. Duncan takes his hands away and wraps them around the cold brass of the bed head. Methos still isn't moving. He's waiting for something more.

Duncan knows what it is. "Yes." Silence still, so he says it again the way he'd want to hear it himself, "Yes, I'll do what you want."

Methos doesn't answer at first, except to lay his hands on Duncan's skin somewhere in the neverland between hip and thigh. Smoothes them out to settle on the sides of his hips, holding him, solid and grounding.

"Good," Methos says at last.

Then Methos is licking the tip of his cock and his brain is too crowded with pleasure to think of anything else. Tiny licks, never in the same place more than once. Small touches that find every nerve ending and torture it endlessly, patiently.  His hands are still on Duncan's hips, fingers spread wide. He licks some more, longer this time, base to tip, the point of his tongue darting into the slit. Duncan's balls tighten with every touch. But he knows without asking there's a long way to go yet.

"Don't come yet," Methos whispers, about half a second before he swallows Duncan's cock whole.

Christ. He's always loved the feel of Methos going down on him, but now, like this, in the dark with nothing but his own words to keep him still, it's never seemed hotter. The pleasure spears up inside him, sharp and gorgeous and unbearable. Methos is making small sounds around his cock, writhing against his legs while he takes him deep. Methos' hard, damp cock is nudging against his calf and in a rush Duncan wants it much, much closer. His fingers close tight around the bars of the bed frame with the effort of keeping still.
.
He's knows without being told it's going to be worth the struggle. But damn, it's hard.

Maybe Methos can feel the trembling in the muscles of Duncan's thighs or maybe it's just one of those Methos things – inexplicable and perfect – but Methos is lifting his mouth away just at the moment when Duncan decides he can't possibly keep the promise he's made. Breath hisses sharp through his teeth with the touch of the cold air after Methos' scorching mouth.

But Methos isn't stopping, isn't leaving him, he's just moving on. The bed shifts and Duncan drags breath into his body, the way he'd forgotten to do moments before. Firm strong hands, massaging and gentle, smooth over his thighs. He shudders and spreads himself wider. Methos murmurs something that might be his name, breathing hotly over his skin. Duncan feels it in every pore.

A pause, a moment while Duncan waits and wonders what Methos is doing out there in the quiet dark. It's close to unsettling, but the shiver that runs down his spine is almost entirely anticipation. His cock twitches.

The firm pressure of Methos' hands smoothes up the inside of his thighs, little prickles of electricity sparking with each displaced hair. Duncan curls up with the press of Methos' hands on him, lifting his ass from the bed. Breath wafts hot over his balls. His own breathing is loud in his ears – slow and steady yet, but it's an effort to keep it that way.

An effort that's completely wasted the moment Methos' thumbs slip inside him, splitting him open. Methos buries his face in his ass, tongue stabbing deep, biting and licking at him until he doesn't know pleasure from pain and doesn't care. All he knows is that he wants it never to stop. Hot, slick flesh impales him. Methos is as relentless – ruthless – as he's ever been, fucking Duncan with his tongue until spots of light dance behind the blindfold and his only words are an endless babble of wanting.

But if Methos can hear him he's not saying. He's not doing anything but driving Duncan insane with his thumbs, his mouth, and oh Christ, his tongue. It's almost too much.

Almost.

The pleasure is short-circuiting what's left of his brain, but the part that remains remembers his promise to wait. So he does, riding the sharp, spiking waves of sensation while Methos devours him.  Every stroke of Methos' tongue is exquisite torture, making him want to push into it and pull away at the same time. The need to come is fierce, desperate. Then Methos is easing off, pulling back and soothing him, drawing him down into some semblance of coherence with the touch of his hands and the sweetness of his mouth.

Duncan uncurls his body, slipping his legs down Methos' sides to rest them on the bed. Methos is still touching him, moving up his body again, his hands hot and teasing on Duncan's skin. The bed dips as Methos crawls up him. He can smell Methos' arousal, stronger with every second, every movement Methos makes.

Hard, damp flesh nudges his cheek and Duncan turns towards it, mouth open and watering for the taste of it. He needs his hands for this, but the last thing he wants is for Methos to stop. It seems like Methos is reading his mind again, or else the need is written all over his face, because before Duncan can say anything Methos is leaning forward, lifting Duncan's hands away from their deathgrip on the bed head and putting them on himself.

Now he can have what he wants, what he craves.

Duncan wraps one hand around Methos' cock and brings it to his mouth. He knows without seeing that Methos is watching his every movement, so he draws it out while he can, licking delicately at the tip, rubbing it over his lips. His other hand is cupping Methos' hip and he can feel the tremors running through his lover's body. It's good to know he's not the only one being driven out of his mind here.

At last he takes Methos into his mouth. He goes slowly at first, pulling him into long, slow, voluptuous strokes, savoring the taste, the power of having Methos vulnerable to him. Long, long minutes of nothing but the flesh filling his mouth and the sound of Methos' breathing, rapid and harsh in the silent darkness.  

Then the temptation is too much and he takes Methos deep, swallowing hard. His lips burn with the width of Methos' cock stretching them wide and he presses his tongue along the length of his shaft. A deep, low note of delight escapes from Methos' mouth.

Methos pulls back, slowly, and pushes back in, just as slow. Duncan's hips curl up, his cock seeking, needing, and finding nothing but the cool air. He'd whimper if he could find the breath, but breathing would mean letting Methos go, and there's no part of him that's ready to do that.

Methos is fucking his mouth now, the thrust of his hips steady and assured, taking him, owning him. Heat sears him with every stroke. He could come from this, has done before, just letting the delicious sensation overtake him and send him crashing into orgasm without ever being touched.

But not this time. This time he will wait for Methos. No matter how long it takes.

Duncan smoothes his hands over Methos' ass, feeling the trickle of sweat running down his spine. The taste of pre-come is strong in his mouth, making him swallow around Methos' shaft. Methos moans and misses a beat. It's good to know he's not the only one going out of his mind here.

With a sharp hiss, Methos is pulling away, backing off and leaving him gasping and aching. But there isn't time to feel bereft, because Methos has a hand under his hip, turning him over, lifting his ass and spreading his legs in one fluid, silent movement. Duncan groans, low in his throat, at the thought of having Methos inside him.

At first it's just a finger, slippery with something cool that does nothing for the fire burning under his skin. Methos' finger, long and deft, pressing deep inside him and hooking down into just the right spot with an arrogant ease that makes him gasp and buck against it. Methos' other hand is cupping his balls, rolling them on his fingers, distracting him just enough that he can bear this. Barely.

Three or four ragged breaths and Methos is adding another finger to the torture, upping the stakes and making Duncan wonder how he ever thought it would be easy to do as Methos asked. Methos is stroking him from the inside, reaching deep into him and laying him bare. Wordless, useless begging leaps out of him unasked, because with every touch Methos is telling him that it's a very long way from over.

Three fingers make him burn, heat moving like shockwaves through him. His legs are shaking, but he spreads them wider anyway. He needs this, needs to open himself to everything Methos wants to give him, find whatever is Methos thinks he needs to know. He's never been afraid of the unknown and this is no exception.

Even if he feels like he has his toes curled on the edge of a cliff.

Then Methos is twisting the fingers inside him, doing something with the press of his thumb on the flesh below that makes Duncan wail with the sharp, sweet agony of it. His cock drips. Sweat runs from his forehead as he rests it on his folded arms.

One at a time, Methos slips the fingers from his hole. Slowly. With long, savoring touches so Duncan can feel how slick and open he's left him. If Methos is planning to fuck him, surely it will be now. He doesn't know if he can wait much longer.

"Methos?" Duncan whispers, his voice rough.

"Not yet," Methos answers, though he's shifting up close like he doesn't mean it.

Duncan holds his breath and waits.

"Roll over for me."

Duncan's on his back in a heartbeat, reaching for Methos, pulling him down to lie on top of him, reveling in feel of Methos' hard body over his own, seeking his mouth blindly and finding it with a moan that dies on Methos' lips. He can't help thrusting up against Methos' cock; the need to come is almost too much for him. Too much for thought or reason; the promise losing its importance in the face of the vicious need tearing through him.

Methos grinds down on him, once, with a groan that Duncan feels echoing through both of them, then he's gone. Pushing himself up and away, defying the grasp of Duncan's hands as he tries to keep him close.

There's a moan of disappointment somewhere inside him, but there's no time for it to come out because Methos is straddling his hips, settling his ass over Duncan's throbbing cock and sinking down on it in single smooth movement.

Levitation has never seemed such a possibility. Methos is oiled and excruciatingly tight around him. He's not moving, just enveloping Duncan in the heat of his body while he pants with ecstasy. Duncan curls his hands around Methos' narrow waist and rocks up into him, sure that now that the end is in sight. Methos shudders under his hands.

He wants to thrust up hard, to batter Methos out of control and into orgasm, but he's very aware that he's promised to wait. So he rocks steadily instead, concentrating on the shift of his body into Methos', drawing it out, waiting. Waiting for Methos to give the word.

He's not sure when he realized he was no longer in control, but the knowledge is there nonetheless. Perhaps it was the moment he agreed to wait for Methos, perhaps it was long ago, back when he looked at Methos and truly saw him for the first time. Perhaps all his famed self-control was never anything but his own conceit.

Whatever, whenever it happened, it's all out of his hands now, if it was ever any other way. There's a curious kind of freedom in accepting this; he's free now just to live each moment of pleasure as it comes. And that, it seems, makes every second burn even hotter. He can feel everything in sharp focus even if he can see none of it.

Methos is riding him slowly, fine tremors running through his thighs. Duncan runs his hands over him again, savoring the strength under smooth, thin skin. He wants to touch Methos' cock, but he knows without being told this isn't the time. So he loves Methos with the touch of his hands everywhere else, relearning the swell and slope of him in the darkness.

With that feral instinct Methos has, he seems to realize something's changed and he raises the stakes by lowering himself over Duncan's body. Breath catches in Duncan's throat as his cock goes deeper when Methos leans all the way forward, spreading himself over Duncan's chest and bringing their faces close together.

Methos' mouth is hot and quick as he's kissing him, deep, hungry kisses. And suddenly the need is right there again, as sharp as it ever was. He's buried far inside Methos and all he can think of is finding a way to get deeper, to push himself in under Methos' skin. His hips are twitching, but the angle's all wrong for what he really wants.

"God, Methos," Duncan hisses close by his neck.

His hands are on Methos' ass, full of the smooth swell of his cheeks and when he reaches a little lower he can trace Methos' opening, stretched tight around his cock. A small, needy sound escapes Methos and he tilts his ass up for more. A quick bite to the tender place beneath Methos' ear makes the noise longer and lower. He presses his fingers in harder and rocks up so he can feel his cock moving into Methos' hole.

"Not yet," Methos breathes brokenly.

There's less conviction in Methos' voice this time, and Duncan knows that right now he could push it and Methos would give in. He could roll them over and take Methos hard, the way he's dying to, fuck him into the sweet, yielding submission he knows Methos is capable of. But, as tempting as that seems, he's given his word and to break it now would spoil everything. So he keeps on, fucking Methos in long, slow strokes, drawing it out until they're both sweat-soaked and panting.

Then Methos is lifting himself away, breath hissing between his teeth as Duncan's cock slips from his ass. Duncan curls up from the bed and follows him blindly. A hand in the center of his chest stops him, pushes him back against the bed. Methos' hand smoothes down his chest, down his belly and over his cock.

And between his legs.

With a groan, Duncan is parting his thighs, lifting his knees and bending them back against his chest to hold them there. If Methos wants him, he can have him, any way he likes.

Methos is shifting on the bed, moving between his legs, his hands skimming up the insides of Duncan's thighs, pushing them further apart. Moving himself up the length of Duncan's body. For an instant, Methos' cock nudges Duncan's asshole and the breath catches in his throat.

But whatever Methos has in mind now, it isn't that. His hands find Duncan's face, holding it steady while he kisses him again. He sucks Methos' tongue into his mouth, strokes it with his own, finds the soft flesh of Methos' lovely lower lip to nibble. Methos curls his fingers into Duncan's hair and uses the leverage to tip his head back and expose his throat, tearing his mouth away.

Duncan would protest; it's on the tip of his tongue to do just that; but Methos is sucking and biting at his neck and he has no breath to spare for it. It's all gone in a single, broken moan as Methos finds every sweet spot he has and makes love to it patiently. He can feel the need tightening inside him again.

But Methos is on the move again, shifting downwards once more and pausing to torture Duncan's nipples some more. He's biting harder this time; alternating the pain with soft, wet strokes of his tongue. Need is running in acid spikes under Duncan's skin; every touch of Methos' mouth taking him nearer and nearer the edge.

He may well be babbling, but if he is he can't bring himself to care. All he knows is that if he hadn't given his word he'd be on top of Methos right now, fucking him into oblivion. But he's promised to wait, to do what Methos asks, no matter how little he wants to.

Only that isn't strictly true, he thinks as Methos slithers down his chest once more, as much he's desperate to come, he needs to see this through even more.

And then all of a sudden, Methos is inside him, ball-deep and irresistible. It's too fast, but the small pain is good; without it he suspects it would be all over, resolutions or not. And Methos is taking him hard and fast, driving him into the bed with the force of his thrusts. He's had Methos inside him so many times, but it's never, never felt quite like this.

Pain slides into pleasure, almost without his noticing. All he knows is that Methos is fucking him at last and the pleasure consumes him. Sweat drips from his skin and his voice breaks over the endless stream of 'yes' escaping his mouth.

Methos has both hands gripping Duncan's ass, holding his hips steady while he pounds into him. Soon, god, it has to be soon. But Methos isn't saying anything, isn't releasing him from his promise, isn't showing any sign (the bastard) of coming himself. He's just slamming himself into Duncan's ass over and over again.

Duncan's sure he's never been harder. He aches everywhere -- well, everywhere that's not on fire anyway. And still Methos is fucking him in that implacable rhythm, never faltering for even half a stroke. He clutches desperate handfuls of the sheet in his fists, hanging onto control by the tips of his fingers.

"Methos, please!"

"Not yet."

And he means it. He's slowing down, the thrusts becoming lingering strokes by degrees. Long, steady strokes that do nothing to ease the burning inside him. His back arches and forces Methos deeper, but there's nothing that can make him move any faster.

But it's good, so fucking wonderful that he doesn't care, as long as Methos keeps fucking him, it's all good.

Then, as if Methos really has been reading his mind all along, he does stop. Stops and pulls out, ignoring the dissatisfied growl that Duncan can't help. He's pulling out and moving back.

"On your knees," he whispers.

There's no choice for him, and Duncan does it without ever considering otherwise. He rolls over, hissing as his cock brushes the tangled sheets. Resting his head on his crossed arms, he tips his ass up and hollows his back. Any pretense of pride went out the window long ago. And he doesn't give a damn.

"Jesus, Duncan," Methos breathes with his hands on Duncan's thighs.

The bed tilts a little as Methos moves behind him and Duncan finds himself holding his breath. It can't be much longer now, not with Methos needing this as much as he does himself.

Wrong again, he has time to think before Methos' mouth short-circuits what's left of his mind. Methos' mouth -- Methos' tongue. It's entirely possible he could die of this. It's also possible he won't care. As long as Methos doesn't stop licking him.

He's showing no signs of stopping yet, for which Duncan finds the strength to be very grateful. Duncan's flesh, so recently stretched and pounded, is exquisitely sensitive and every stroke of Methos' tongue sears a path up his spine as it traces everywhere his cock has just been.

Somewhere in the overwhelming pleasure, the need for more begins to drop away. He still can't catch his breath, but the words die away. He's lost, wrapped up in it, floating and buffeted all at once. Right now is everything. And right now is so very beautiful....

He hasn't even the breath to whimper when Methos pushes back inside him, fucking him slow and deep. Steady, long thrusts, with one hand in the small of his back and the other holding his hip steady. Every sensation seems huge; it feels like every pore and nerve ending is open -- bare -- abraded and exposed.

It would be like drowning, only there's no fear at all. No pain, no desire for anything other than for this to never end. There's nothing in the world but Methos' cock inside him and the joyful singing of his own body. The darkness is perfect for this, he realizes. Methos must have known….

The thought breaks in half when Methos pulls out of him again.

This time all it draws is a sigh and the distant expectation that there's something else Methos wants. It doesn't take long to find out what that is. Methos pulls him sideways, down into his arms, curling himself around Duncan's back and holding him close. And finally, there's the thick, sweet pleasure of his cock sliding back inside Duncan's ass. Where it belongs.

Dear god. He hadn't thought anything could feel better, but he was wrong -- again.

There's no way he's not going to come. He can feel it now, building in his balls and spreading all over his body like liquid fire. It's more than he can control, a power he can't deny -- can't stop. Doesn't want to stop.

Methos is still moving inside him, more strongly now. So close…so fucking close and all he's waiting for is a word and it will all be over. He can feel every bump and ridge of Methos' cock, every hair on both their bodies, even the air shifting on his skin. The rasp of his own breath sounds harsh in his ears. Methos' breath on the back of his neck is pure torment.

And then Methos is curling his hand around Duncan's cock, rubbing his thumb around the tip, breathing something into his ear he almost can't catch over the roar of his own heartbeat in his ears. Something that sounds like, 'soon….'   

The word breaks him open a little bit more, though he didn't know there was anything left. The only word he'd rather hear is 'now'. He shoves back onto Methos' cock. Forward into his fist. Finds a rhythm. Curls his toes expectantly. Soon. Soon. The word becomes a mantra, echoing in his head. Soon, soon….

Methos falters, thrusts in hard twice, pushing himself inside so far Duncan can almost taste him. Methos' voice is rough when the word finally comes, but there's no way Duncan could miss it.

"Now!" Methos gasps.

The orgasm doesn't come from anywhere he expects; it's like every cell in his body is coming all at once. He's crying out in an endless stream of nothing, clutching Methos close and coming with him. And it goes on forever. Lights flash in his blindfolded darkness while his body convulses. It's like falling, dying, only he knows Methos is wrapped around him, holding him close, keeping him safe. The come spurting from his cock is nothing compared to the fire melting his spine, exploding in his brain.

His body is running away with him; there's no controlling it, no stopping it. All he can do is go with it. And he does. He's lost in the freedom of being utterly beyond control and it is sweet beyond imagining.

It takes a long, long time to come back to himself when it's finally done with him.

At first all he can do is drag huge lungfuls of air into his chest and shudder with the aftershocks. Methos is still inside him, but he's still, his face pressed against Duncan's neck and his breath coming in hot, labored gusts. Duncan finds the energy to lift one of Methos' hands from where it rests on his belly and press a kiss to the palm.

There aren't any words for what he's feeling and he's too wrung out to seek any. But that's all right; the touch of Methos' fingers tracing random patterns on his skin tells him everything he needs to know. He is loved, understood, wanted.

And control is and always will be an illusion.

The End

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Notes: Thanks to MacGeorge and Athena for the beta-reading.  You guys rock. Written as a small thank-you to the ladies of my lj friends-list who in fact, also rock.

In case you were wondering, 'Imsak' refers to the tantric practice of withholding orgasm through nine penetrations. And yes, I've played with the concept a a little.