Title: Evenings End

Author/pseudonym: Ascend

Rating: NC-17

Pairings: D/M

Archive: Sure, just tell me where so I can visit

Category: M/M, BDSM,

Disclaimer: I don't own them if I did I would have to treat them better. No money made, only wished for. If you want to sue me go ahead, you can have everything except my computer and my dogs.

Notes: A Midnight muse attack, my muses made me write this.

Summary: Methos teaches Duncan the joys of playing BDSM games.

Warnings: M/M, BDSM, Please consult your personal limits when deciding to read this one or not.

A very big, thank you to DesertRat, and Ashlyn for beta reading services they made my thoughts become readable.

By Ascend

With a growl of triumph I felt the orgasmic surge of pleasure burst from me. I thrust into the waiting mouth once, twice, three times and filled it with my milky white secretions. A small bit seeped out from the sides of the dark, bruised lips and drew twin lines down the strong chin to mingle with other darker fluids still present on his strong chest.

Unsteadily, I took four backwards steps to collapse onto the soft padding of the couch, adopting the true boneless sprawl peculiar to the sexually stated, arms loose at my side, one leg over on the cushions the other hanging limply over the side foot resting on the floor. I felt the lure of post- orgasmic sleep seep over me. Before my eyes could close, a quiet whimper interrupted my thoughts, drawing my attention across the room to the dark, pleading orbs of my lover.

*********

They had reached a new level of play today; he had correctly gauged that his lover was ready for the next stage in his training. Yes, he could feel his lips turn upward in a satisfied grin, the last few hours had been wonderful. Oh yes, his pet deserved a reward. Duncan had behaved remarkably well tonight.

It had all started with a movie, he couldn't remember what the title was, but the conversation that it inspired was very clear in his memory. It was about Half an hour into the movie that Methos had turned to Duncan.

"I am never sending you to rent a video alone again."

"The video clerk recommend it" The Scot replied defiantly.

Thirty more minutes into the movie.....

"MacLeod, exactly what type of movie did you ask for from this 'clerk of questionable taste'?"

"I told her that I was making dinner for a friend, and wanted to get lucky."

A few more minutes into the film, Methos turned looking at his lover.

"Have you ever done something like that?" He waved one beer laden hand at the screen.

"What, crawl around on the floor, or beat someone with a belt?" Duncan turned towards him one eyebrow raised in question.

Methos surged, settling deeper into the couch, choosing his next words carefully, injecting just the right blend of sarcasm and boredom.

"No, not that exactly but games, I am sure you have played *games* before?"

Both MacLeod eyebrows rose as he turned his head away and took a sip of his beer before answering.

"Ah, of course I have, but with your history I wouldn't think you would be interested."

"It's fantasy Mac, fun, conceptually adult, intense mind blowing sex. Why wouldn't I be interested?" He rolled his half-empty beer bottle between his hands glancing up sideways to see his lover's face as he processed his last comment.

"So..." When the next question came Duncan's voice was deep slightly husky, deliberately casuals. " When you play, are you a top or a bottom?"

Methos stared at the amber bottle in his hands, taking a long pull of the warming liquid before answering, again choosing his words very casually. "I can only bottom to a very experienced player who I really, really trust." With a quick motion he drained his beer. "So, I guess that means I am a Dom."

The Scot's eyes had narrowed. "Do you want to play?"

Methos rose from the couch, answering over his shoulder, hiding his grin of triumph as he pulled two more beers out of the refrigerator.

"Sure, just tell me when."

It was two weeks later, that Methos came home to find the paper wrapped box and note on the kitchen counter. The note was short and to the point. 'I want to play, tonight. Duncan'. Inside the box were a collar, black leather, with cheap metal studs, with matching cuffs, and a black leather nine tail whip.

To the Scot's surprise they did not play that night, or even that week, instead the time was spent expanding Duncan's vocabulary, with words such as, negotiation, safe words, scenes, start and stop cues, quick release clamps.

"I'm not talking about the few minutes of slap and tickle that you're used to with Amanda here, Mac. If we are going to play we are going to do it right."

He also found out that Methos did not play with "mail order crap" but, had his own custom-made hand-tooled leather toy collection. Not that Duncan was allowed anywhere near it, Methos had this old-fashioned ideal that he should learn to make his own toys, start his own hand made collection.

"If you're going to play with me, you are going to learn how to do it right, from the bottom up."

Duncan had, of course worked with leather before, belts, scabbard, harness work and soon had produced a pair of wrist cuffs that passed Methos' standards. Only then did the fun begin.

**********

Pulling him-self up to raise his head against the cushion at the end of the sofa Methos raised his chin at the man still kneeling at the edge of the carpet.

"Come here."

Desire stirred briefly in his well-sated groin as he watched his play-toy struggle across the floor towards him. Crawling was hard work when both arms were bound tightly behind your back, elbows pulled uncomfortably tight and wrapped with thin strips of white leather till the tendons of your shoulders strained, causing a sweet agony of their own. His legs lightly bound at the ankle, the leather thong there thin, stretched but unbroken. Legs restrained more by will than by cord, ankles held together, willingly accepting his right to control.

Acceptance, was one more step his lover needed to take in his desire to learn his own mental and physical responsiveness, learning to lose himself in the joy of accepting another's will.

**********

At first the sessions had been short, fun, more playful. Methos smiled remembering the first time. Duncan, spread eagle on the bed, new fleece padded leather manacles securing him in place. His naked body had been tense, a light sheen of sweat covered it. He had wanted this, had asked for it, but now, tied down, unable to move Methos knew he was having second thoughts. Like any new pet, Duncan would have to learn to trust him. He had stared at Methos unbelieving when he had pulled out the horse tail whip.

"That' no going to hurt?"

"No, it's not." For the first time he spoke the all-important words. "Trust me."

He had kept the games light, gentle, easy bondage, hot and cold play, and light erotic pain. It was three months later Duncan had finely asked for the next step. That night as they lay spooned up in bed after a play session, Duncan's warm weight comfortable against his back. He could feel Duncan's lips as the Scot, interspersed his words with soft kisses across his shoulders. "I know you are holding back with our, games."

Methos had had to remind him self to breathe, not to hope too much, and to respond with out betraying his eagerness. Was Duncan ready to advance to the next level, so soon? "Oh, how do you know that?"

Ignoring his question Duncan continued the light dry kissing down his back. "I am ready for more."

Methos arched his back against the ticklish lips, working to keep his voice steady as he answered. "What exactly do you mean, more?"

"More pain, more control, more submission. Teach me how good it can get." And so he had.

*****

It had been a long hard journey, for Duncan, but Methos made it as pleasant as he could. He slowly taught the proud Highlander the joy of submitting to another's will, the freedom of giving up all control to another, how incredibly, erotic properly applied pain could be. Now he was beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Speaking of light, he raised one hand to the lamp behind his head, highlighting the shape moving across the loft towards him.

Long dark hair hung limp sweat and blood soaked down his beautifully bowed back. Properly, Duncan kept his head down bracing himself with his shoulders as he painfully inched closer to Methos.

Idly Methos noted that they would have to get the carpet cleaned again, as pink tinged sweat dripped off Duncan's sides, the wounds that caused the staining long since healed, but he could still make out the even lines of blood marking the torso of his lover. He licked his lips remembering his earlier feast of sweat-blood spiced Highlander nipples. Lifting his foot he placed it on the bowed shoulders, stopping his pet's advance a foot from the couch. Light pressure raised the Scot to his knees, struggling to assume a pleasing position. As his foot dropped lower, pressing between open thighs, the beautiful face obediently remained lowered and not a sound escaped those rich, swollen dark lips. Yes, he had been exceptionally good tonight and deserved a reward a reward that had been often begged for but not often granted during the last few weeks of his training.

"Duncan, my buff Highlander, roll over and show me your belly."

Instantly the Scot's shoulders lowered and with out a sound he rolled over. Maneuvering himself lengthways and using his bound shoulders to brace himself, he arched his back, lifting his groin hopefully towards his captor, the bulk of his weight balancing on his sore, still healing shoulders. Methos dropped one hand to stroke the dark head and at the same time nudged the straining thighs with the edge of his foot and watched as Duncan's muscles trembled as he parted them, leaving the bound man painfully balanced on his crossed, lightly tied ankles

Slowly, he trailed his foot up one shapely calf reaching the taut, blood coated thigh. He paused to remember the thin lines of blood the cane had left there an hour before. Now, although the wounds were gone the healed muscles were coated with dried blood and other fluids that had seeped from between the firm buttocks.

He continued his foot's slow appraisal of the form trembling under him. His toes paused to toy with the end of the white leather thong that crossed and wrapped in on itself, in a diamond pattern tightly encasing Duncan's straining flesh. For a moment he admired his knot tying skill, studying the swollen bit of flesh straining to escape its cage of leather. A particularly cruel bit of knot lore taught to him by Kronos that both stimulated and confined its wearer's passion.

Ignoring the almost sub vocal whimper and occasional tremors his actions produced, he continued his exploration, sliding his foot over the flat planes of Duncan's stomach, smearing the blood and sweat that glistened there. His toes paused a moment to flick at the swollen, reddened nipples, one nipple was still cruelly imprisoned in a metal clamp, the dark flesh trapped tightly between its jaws, causing a single drop of fresh blood to bead up. He paused for a moment to flick at the bit of metal, and Duncan released an uncontrolled whimper, along with the now very noticeable trembling.

His eyes continued the path his foot had started, drinking in the sight of his lover's long graceful neck, the taut line broken by the black, silver studded, gem encrusted leather collar. He had made that collar for his pet, hand stitched the leather, choose the colorful, costly gems, carefully bent each silver stud. It was lined with sheepskin, buckled on snugly, but designed not to hamper breathing. His beloved had earned the gift a month ago after a long intense session and major break through. Soon, Duncan would be ready for the last step in his plan.

Soon. But for now, his head was bent, neck exposed as his property attempted to use the top of his head to steady his submissive arch and take pressure off his tortured shoulder muscles. Methos could see the fresh blood visible on his lower lip as teeth clamped down on the forbidden words.

His toes were still idly playing with that last bit of metal still attached to his lover. Strong agile toes grasped the thin chain attached to the second unused clamp. His eyes fastened on his Highlanders tightly drawn face as he suddenly, sharply jerked his leg upward receiving the agony filled cry as his due as new lines of blood escaped down the bronze chest.

He dropped the metal links on the floor, as the stifled sob turned to whimpers. Methos ran the ball of his foot over the bit of tortured flesh, feeling the tingle as the weak blue sparks vainly attempted to heal yet another small torment inflicted on the sweat soaked skin. The harsh panting, interspersed with moans, was loud in the small room. Methos waited his foot negligently making small circles on the shuddering body of his prize. Waiting, to see if his toy would break his silences, thus ending the oh, so complicated game they played. But the only sounds issuing from those dark, swollen, abused lips were low moans and incoherent whimpering. The delicately curved body stilled, offering itself to his touch, his will, accepting what he chose to inflict, both pain and pleasure.

"You have done well tonight my buff stud, perhaps I shall reward you."

As he spoke his foot traced down the straining torso to again play with the loose strands of leather at the highlander's groin. His eyes stayed focused on the now raised head, staring at the dark pleading eyes of his prey, wondering if his student would now break. In the past accepting pleasure had sometimes been a harder lesson to learn than accepting the pain. The battered mouth slightly moved, silently mouthing the word, 'please'. The hopeful dark eyes once again meeting his, begging as the dark lips repeated their silent plea. 'Please.' His slight frown turned them away as new tremors wracked the tortured body. They would have to work on that, begging even silently, was not appropriate.

Indecision flirted across his mind; perhaps he should withdraw the reward as he had so many times in the past. He would not want to coddle the man. His toes wrapped around the three inches of leather throng hanging from the bottom of Duncans purple hard cock, as he considered his choices. Having attained his own release three times that evening, he was comfortably sated and did not feel like moving from his place on the couch. On the other hand, if he did not reward Duncan's exemplary behavior, he might want to stop playing these delicious games. Glazing down on the sweet, glistening body of his lover he made his decision.

Slowly, he raised his leg high, pulling and releasing the knot binding the Highlander's straining flesh, drinking in the sudden thrashing of Duncan's head and the almost, but not quite coherent cry that his actions produced. Violent shudders surfed across the still painfully bowed body before him, despite the agonizing pleasure coming from his now free cock, Duncan maintained his submissive position. The joy of submission had been a hard lesson for his pet to learn, and he was doing so very well at it.

Dropping his leg, Methos half sat up on his cushion, in spite of the half-aroused interest at his loins, he was tired, it was late and he wanted to sleep. It was time to end this.

"Kneel up."

He watched through barely opened eyes as MacLeod struggled to the ordered position, his swollen, glistening, weeping, cock standing straight out, rejoicing in its sudden freedom. Again the dark, full bottom lip was being abused by its owner in a futile effort to contain the needy moans and whimpers.

Reaching out one hand, Methos grasped a strand of the sweat soaked hair tugging not to gently as his obediently dog shuffled closer. Using the convenient hair leash he maneuvered the huge Scott against him, Duncan's dark thighs straddling his braced leg. A whimper escaped those clamped lips as he felt the hard column of the other's flesh press into his calf. There he paused a moment, playing with the strand of hair in his hand, as usual, constantly testing the obedience of the bent-headed man trembling on the floor.

The raising and lowering of his lover's chest accompanied by harsh pants of breath was the only movement. The firm flesh pressed against his leg trembled but did not attempt to generate any friction. Bringing one hand to rest on the dark strands of hair he bend over to gently kiss the top of Duncan's head.

"Good Boy."

The bound and straining shoulders trembled and the bowed head thrashed once, then stilled under his hand. The harsh breathing increased in hope, whimpers fought their way past the clenched jaw. The dark eyes studied the floor as his hand gently ghosted over the bent head, lifting the strong chin. He neither avoided nor pressed into the gentle caresses, accepting only as much as Methos would grant. One finger slipped unresisting into the hot moist cavern of the Scot's mouth to fondle his tongue. Pulling himself up Methos leaned over to gently lap at dark, swollen lips, licking, and nibbling. Softly he slid his tongue into the Highlander's mouth, sliding over his teeth, caressing the limp tongue. As he tasted, he teasingly pulled Duncan's head closer, pressing his lips tighter, and swallowing the moan as he flexed his foot, slightly raising and lowering his leg. He knew his Highlander couldn't take much more, so, in a voice husky with love, he spoke the words.

"You may move."

With a harsh cry the Scot's hips undulated wildly, then settled down to a slow deliberate rhythm. The dark eyes raised for a moment meeting his in a desperate plea, mouth once again silently mouthing, begging for permission. Methos met the desperately pleading eyes with a cool stare of his own and watched in satisfaction as a convulsive shudder ran through the Highlander's body. With a submissive bowing of his neck Duncan returned his gaze to the floor, his harsh panting breath a counter points to the trembling pressure moving up and down his calf. Methos' hands stroked down the bowed head lifting then lowering the mass of dark hair, then returning to the crown, gently scratching and petting him as he spoke.

"You did well tonight. I am pleased." Settling back against the pillow, he looked up through lowered lashes and uttered three words, granting the reward his lover had earned.

"You may come."

With one, two hard thrusts and an earsplitting, incoherent cry Duncan came, shuddering hard against Methos' leg, shooting white ropy strings of cum up his chest and stomach, trapping Methos leg as he collapsed against the couch.

*****

A short time later they lay on the bed, Duncan again spooned up against his back, clean damp hair brushing against his cheeks. Methos listened to his lovers deep even breathing as he snuggled closer to the warm solid form. Tonight has gone well, very well. Rewarding himself he reached deep into the dark recesses of his mind and brought out the secret image carefully nurtured there.

He was on his knees, a collar on his throat, his mouth desperately worshiping a dark cock as the sound of a whip reached his ears seconds before the pain reached his back, his head trapped under the heavy Scottish kilt. Someday he would make it real.

The End