Methos entered the bedroom and stopped dead on the threshold. There before him was his Highland Barbarian, on his knees with his hands manacled before him. He was wearing the kilt Methos had given him for his birthday and had added a torn and dirtied shirt. Duncan's hair hung loose and there was a look on his face that said he'd die before he submitted to his English captor.
Methos' lip twitched. "Rediscovering your roots, Mac?"
Duncan dropped out of character, grinning up at his husband. "It's been a while since we've 'played'. The twins are sleeping through the night now, and Joe and Richie offered to baby-sit. Unless you're too tired..."
Methos bent over to kiss Duncan. "Never too tired for you." In truth, he was feeling better than ever these days. His Immortal healing had returned to normal, and his new research project at the Mediatheque was mentally challenging. "How do you want to play this?"
Duncan's smile widened. "I'm your newly captured prisoner, a rebel whose men have been harassing your lands for the past few years. At your orders, I've been brought to you to...interrogate."
"Mmm," Methos said, caressing Duncan's tangled curls. "I like the way you think. Full out, then? Safe word?"
Methos nodded. "Acceptable. I doubt you'll shout your cousin's name in bed - unless there's something you need to tell me."
Duncan's grin grew cheeky. "Wouldn't you like to know? I put an outfit for you to wear on the bed. They're on loan from the Paris opera house so don't damage them."
Methos looked over at the bed and sighed as he saw the boots, breeches, and doublet of a mid-17th century English gentleman. "Well, it would have been worse," he said philosophically. "You could have gone Elizabethan." He noticed some other things laid out on the bed and raised an eyebrow. A riding crop, more cuffs, and a flogger lay on the bedspread. He picked up the flogger and tested it against his leg, discerning that it was a medium weight one, heavy enough to give a satisfying thud but not heavy enough to leave marks.
"Well then, I'll just change, shall I?"
Methos disappeared into the bathroom with his costume and the crop. Duncan took a deep breath and then dropped back into character. By the time the bathroom door opened again, he was the rebel MacLeod, scourge of the English lords who had usurped Scottish lands, defiant captive of one of them.
"Well, well, well," drawled an arrogant voice. "What do we have here?"
MacLeod looked up to study the man who had just entered the room. His eyes trailed up long legs encased in boots and breeches, up the long doublet with its falling lace collar, to the surprisingly short hair. A cleric or a scholar, then, and not one of the fops of the English court, he thought. Not that it mattered - he was English and needed to be swept from the land.
Sharp eyes met his, amusement in their hazel depths, and MacLeod flushed as he returned his gaze to the floor in front of him. He heard the man approach and the tip of a riding crop inexorably forced his chin up.
"It's dirty, whatever it is," the drawling voice continued. "One would think a bath would not go amiss. Or a bucket of cold water, at the least."
MacLeod glared at the man who held him captive. "I'm clean enough for the likes of you," he said, his rough voice betraying his Highland origin.
The man chuckled. "It still has spirit. Tell me, MacLeod - do you know who I am?"
MacLeod pulled his head away from that annoying crop and scowled. "Aye. You're the English bastard who's taken our land."
"I am Lord Adam Pierson, and I was given this land by King Charles."
"It wasna his to give," MacLeod muttered.
"Be that as it may, I hold this land now, and what I hold I keep," Pierson said, a hint of steel in his voice. "And you, sir, have been burning my crops, stealing my cattle, and harassing the villagers under my protection. Do you deny those charges?" MacLeod raised his chin defiantly but said nothing. Pierson leaned closer so that his face was inches from MacLeod's and said, "You defy me? Good. I like a challenge."
MacLeod spit in his face.
Pierson straightened and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his face. "That," he said calmly, "was a mistake." Before MacLeod could blink or move, Pierson slapped him across the face, hard enough to cut his lip. MacLeod licked the wound with his tongue but continued to glare defiance.
Pierson pulled back, circling his captive, his crop trailing over the torn shirt as it explored the Highlander's back, shoulders, and chest. "You belong to me as well, MacLeod, and the sooner you accept that idea, the better."
MacLeod glared. "I willna tell you anything."
Pierson laughed softly. "Who said I was going to ask you anything?"
MacLeod blinked. "Then why did you bring me here, if not to learn about the other rebels?"
Pierson sighed. "Fighting, war, death - so tiresome, don't you think? There are much more...pleasurable ways to occupy one's time."
MacLeod frowned, not understanding this arrogant English lord's meaning. "I dinna know what you mean."
Pierson gently tapped his crop against MacLeod's lips. "A mouth can be used for much more satisfying exchanges." He ran the crop down MacLeod's chin, then dropped it to his chest, trailing over the exposed skin and gently circling a displayed nipple.
MacLeod's eyes widened and his breath caught. He pulled away from the crop again, awkwardly shuffling backward on his knees. "You wouldna! The Church forbids - "
"I don't really care what the Church forbids," Pierson said coolly, advancing on MacLeod even as the Highlander retreated.
"You - you blasphemous devil!"
"Ah, I see you already know my reputation. That makes this so much easier."
"I'll die before I let you touch me!"
A corner of Pierson's mouth twitched. "Outraged virtue - so refreshing but a little trite. Am I to understand you've never played with your fellows as a lad?"
"Ah, you don't know what you're missing." MacLeod had been backed up to the wall and Pierson leaned in closer to murmur, "I shall enjoy teaching you the delights of the flesh. When I take your sweet virginal body, you'll howl with pleasure and beg me for more."
"Never!" MacLeod said fiercely.
"You think not?" Pierson said, a smirk on his face as he leaned close enough for MacLeod to feel his breath on his cheek. "I've had better men than you begging for my favors."
MacLeod glared at him. "A MacLeod doesn't beg."
"A challenge," Pierson purred. "And one that I will win." He straightened and stepped closer so that his crotch was in MacLeod's face. "The first thing I want is that sweet mouth on my prick."
MacLeod looked up at him defiantly. "Never!"
"You think not? Tell me, MacLeod, were you captured alone?" MacLeod went deadly still, the color draining from his skin, and Pierson smirked. "My men are building a gallows even as we speak. Defy me, and your friends will swing for it."
"You are a monster," MacLeod ground out, his fists clenched.
Pierson nodded. "Indeed. I take that as a refusal, then?" He stepped away from MacLeod, toward the balcony windows.
"Wait!" Pierson looked back inquiringly, and MacLeod licked his lips, trying to restore the moisture to his dry mouth. "If I...agree. Will you set them free?"
"Set free a pack of barbarian wolves to prey upon my cattle and people again?" Pierson said indignantly. "I think not!"
"Free them," MacLeod said stubbornly. "Or you might as well hang me first."
Pierson studied the handsome face, noting the stubborn set to the mouth and chin. "One man freed for each act of pleasure to which you willingly submit. In addition," he said before MacLeod could speak, "your men will agree to leave my lands and my people alone."
MacLeod considered it for a long moment. "Agreed," he said heavily.
"And you will remain here as surety for your people."
"Dinna you trust my word?" MacLeod said indignantly.
"I trust you about as far as I can throw you," Pierson said dryly. "Agreed?"
"Aye," MacLeod said reluctantly.
"Furthermore, should I die of anything but old age, you and your people will pay with your lives."
MacLeod's eyes widened. "But any man can die of other than old age!"
"Then you'd best make sure I stay alive," Pierson retorted. He returned to stand in front of MacLeod. "And happy. Starting now."
Reluctantly, hesitantly, MacLeod lifted his manacled hands and unfastened the front of Pierson's breeches. He could feel the bulge underneath, half-hard already, and it made his hands shake. He cast one last look up at Pierson's face and, seeing the implacable look there, returned his attention to his task.
As soon as the lacings were undone, the prick pushed free of the confining clothes and MacLeod's breath caught in his throat at the sight. Pierson's cock wasn't as thick as his own but it was as long or longer. He took it in his hands and stroked it slowly, amazed by how different it felt to hold another man's cock in his hands.
"Taste it," Pierson said, his voice low with need. "Take it into your mouth and suck it."
MacLeod grimaced at the idea and Pierson cuffed his head. "Do it," he ordered. "Remember your friends."
Tentatively, MacLeod licked at the tip with his tongue and was startled by the low groan from his captor.
"That's it," Pierson moaned, his head falling back and his eyes sliding shut. "More."
MacLeod opened his mouth, taking in the crown of Pierson's prick. It tasted clean, as if he had recently bathed, with slightly bitter overtones, and MacLeod was surprised to find it wasn't too horribly unpleasant. Pierson groaned and reached out to grasp his head so that he could push his cock deeper into MacLeod's mouth. The Highlander tried not to gag, relaxing his mouth and throat around the intruder. He was relieved when the long prick retreated back so that just the crown was in his mouth and he drew in a deep breath, then Pierson was pushing back in again.
"That's it," Pierson muttered, eyes closed as he concentrated on the mouth he was fucking. "Use your tongue...no teeth, dammit! Yes...yes...just like that..." Pierson's hips pumped faster and MacLeod spread his manacled hands as far apart as he could to hold onto the pistoning hips, to keep Pierson from ramming his cock down his throat. MacLeod's eyes were watering, his lips felt swollen and battered, and his jaw ached from being stretched around the large intruder. Fluid was leaking down his throat from the prick in his mouth, and he swallowed convulsively.
Pierson groaned and grasped MacLeod's head, holding him still so that he could thrust. Once, twice, then he was coming and MacLeod had to swallow rapidly as his mouth was flooded.
Pierson sighed and held MacLeod's head still for a moment, then he reluctantly pulled his cock free from the warm haven. His fingers trailed across MacLeod's swollen lips, and MacLeod repressed an urge to lick them.
"Was that...satisfactory?" he asked, aware that his voice was husky.
"Oh, yes," Pierson said, then smirked. "For a virgin, you have a remarkably skillful mouth. Natural talent? Or," he said, his fingers tightening on MacLeod's chin, "did you lie to me?"
MacLeod's eyes met Pierson's. "I didna lie. I am untouched by man."
"But not by woman, I'll wager," Pierson said, releasing MacLeod's chin. "Tell me, is there a particular woman waiting back in your bed?"
"No," MacLeod said quietly. "I have no woman, although I have known a few."
"Good," Pierson said, stepping away but leaving his breeches undone. "Because you won't be seeing your Clan again."
"My men?" MacLeod asked, his voice sharp.
"Have no fear, my Highland Barbarian. One has won his release already, and another will soon join him. Stand up."
MacLeod rose, a little awkwardly with his hands bound together by two feet of chain, and stepped forward. "What so you intend to do?"
Pierson moved behind MacLeod, pressing his chest against the Highlander's back. MacLeod could feel the heat of Pierson's body through his thin shirt and was uncomfortably aware that the English man's naked genitals were pressed against his ass. He shivered.
Pierson leaned forward to murmur in his ear, "I intend to have your delectable virgin ass." MacLeod flushed and tried to step away but Pierson's grip stopped him. "Problem, Highlander?" he asked, and nipped at MacLeod's earlobe.
"Aye!" MacLeod broke away, breathing heavily. "I cannae do this!"
"You'll do as I say," Pierson snapped.
"Nay! 'Tis sin, and I'd rather die than burn in Hell."
Pierson grabbed him and MacLeod was surprised by the strength of his grip. "Oh, you'll burn, all right, my pretty Barbarian!" He manhandled MacLeod over to the bed, using the weight of his body to pin the Highlander over the end board. MacLeod fought with all his strength but to no avail. Pierson secured his manacled hands, then straightened up, panting from exertion. He brought his crop down sharply along MacLeod's ass.
"Willing to behave now, my captive?"
MacLeod thrashed in his bounds. "I'll never submit to you!"
"You'll submit if I have to beat you bloody," Pierson growled. He brought the crop down again and MacLeod bucked, but he bit his lip to still his cry of pain. Pierson forced MacLeod's feet apart, then secured them to the footboard.
He stepped back and drew in a deep, lustful breath as he surveyed his captive. MacLeod was spread over the end of his bed, panting and struggling, his kilt stretched tight over his luscious ass. He was a beautiful sight and Pierson was tempted to linger, watching him. However, he had a barbarian to tame.
He shed his doublet to allow his arms freer movement, saying, "And now it's time to teach you a lesson."
MacLeod struggled to free himself. "There's nothing you can teach me, Sassenach!"
Pierson picked up the flogger, bringing it down sharply against his thigh. MacLeod flinched but tightened his lips, determined that his captor wouldn't hear him make a sound. Pierson saw and smiled wickedly, then swung the flogger so that it struck MacLeod squarely across the ass. MacLeod grunted under the impact and surged against his bonds for a moment before settling back into stoic acceptance.
"Ah, determined to play the tough guy," Pierson said, amused as his captive turned his head and glared at him. "Let's make this more...interesting, shall we?"
With a quick movement, he flicked the kilt up, baring the Highlander's backside. MacLeod roared in anger and fought furiously against his bonds while Pierson stood back and watched him in amusement. He wasn't worried that the man would break free - both the bed and shackles were more than strong enough to hold him. In the meantime, the show MacLeod was putting on was quite enjoyable.
At last, MacLeod sagged against the bed, panting heavily. His wrists were chaffed, his hair a tangled mess, and his clothes were drenched with sweat but he still glared at Pierson as he returned to the bed.
"Are you quite finished?" Pierson asked politely.
"Go to Hell, y'English bastard," he growled.
Pierson tut-tutted at that. "It seems you still need a lesson in manners," he said, once again striking with the flogger. "You will address me as 'my lord'."
MacLeod gasped as a series of blows landed with precision across his exposed ass. "Never," he ground out between clenched teeth. "I'll see you...dead first...and spit...on your...bloated corpse."
"Need I remind you that my death means your own?" Pierson noted with satisfaction that the bare skin was turning a lovely shade of red with each succeeding blow.
"It'll be worth it," MacLeod snarled.
Pierson chuckled. "Why, MacLeod, I'm heart-broken! And after all we've meant to each other." He dropped the flogger on the bed beside his panting captive. "I suppose I'll just have to see if I can change your mind."
He picked up a bottle of salve from the bedside table and returned to his helpless captive. MacLeod turned his head and watched as Pierson poured a handful of the slick lotion, then his eyes widened as he saw Pierson step closer to his exposed ass. He began thrashing again in his bonds. "Stay back! I'll kill you if you touch me!"
Pierson ignored him, running his slick hand over the reddened ass cheek. "By the time I'm through with you, my pretty barbarian, you'll be begging for me touch."
"Another challenge," Pierson murmured, and dribbled some of the salve down the dark crease. One finger followed the liquid's flow, teasingly circling the puckered entrance to his captive's body. MacLeod bit back a groan and Pierson's grin widened. He let his finger travel further south until it encountered the full balls and hardening cock. "Well, well, what have we here?" he said, running his fingers teasingly along the satin-like flesh. "It appears that part of you is interested. Very interested."
"You bastard!" MacLeod snarled, trying to will his body not to respond to the seductive touch. It was difficult not to, though, as his lordship was caressing his swollen prick, his touch just enough to torment but not enough to satisfy. MacLeod bit back a groan and tensed his muscles, determined not to betray his rising need.
A sudden wet warmth shattered his resolve and he couldn't help the groan that escaped his lips. A chuckle from Pierson told him that the man had heard but at the moment MacLeod couldn't care less because the vibration around his prick nearly took his breath away. That wetness was Pierson's mouth, and that thing vibrating against his prick was Pierson's tongue, and why hadn't anyone ever thought to do that to him? He bucked involuntarily, felt his prick slide deeper into that silken throat, and couldn't help groaning again. The mental image of Pierson on his knees, his irritating mouth wrapped around MacLeod's prick, was so arousing that he felt his body shake with imminent release.
A release that was halted by a firm tug on his balls, and he swore, fluently and imaginatively. Pierson chuckled as he continued suckling him, and MacLeod flushed in embarrassment as he bit his lip, determined not to let the man coax another sound out of him.
That resolve was blown away by the sudden press of a slick finger against his puckered opening. He froze in astonishment at the invasion, even as another groan forced its way past his lips. "Please..."
The warmth around his prick disappeared as a honeyed voice murmured, "Please what?"
"Don't," MacLeod managed to say, squeezing his eyes shut and tensing again to keep from thrusting back on that probing finger.
"Don't what?" Those sinful lips were moving over his intimate flesh, kissing and licking and teasing. MacLeod bit his lip over another groan; surely the man was a demon, for no mortal man could possibly be this skilled in the seductive arts.
"Dinna do this to me," MacLeod said, begging for the salvation of his soul. "I'm a man, for God's Sake!"
Pierson chuckled again and one hand skillfully stroked his captive's swollen prick as the other continued to probe and stretch MacLeod's opening. "I am well aware of that fact." He abandoned his current pleasuring, noting his prey's reluctant protest, and shifted on his knees so that his face was pressed against the heated buttocks. Using both hands, he parted the reddened cheeks and blew across the pucker. MacLeod shivered at the sensation. "Do you think this makes you any less of a man?"
"Doesn't it?" MacLeod said uncertainly. The sensation of warm breath over his sensitive pucker was intriguing, and arousal warred with his earliest teaching.
"Of course not," Pierson said firmly. "I've been buggered any number of times, and you don't doubt that I'm still a man, do you?" He traced the pucker with the tip of his tongue.
"No, my lord," MacLeod managed to say, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to concentrate on what was happening to him. The priests had certainly never mentioned this in their list of carnal crimes, and how could something that felt so good possibly be bad? He felt something soft prodding against him before pressing inside and gasped as he realized that it was Pierson's tongue, and that it was thrusting into his asshole.
Helplessly, he felt himself coming, his semen splattering against the footboard and covers and floor. MacLeod felt Pierson's laughter rather than heard it as the man was still thrusting his tongue in and out of his body, but at the moment he didn't care. All that mattered was the pleasure burning through his body, dissolving his bones and melting his brain.
He moaned a protest as that sinful tongue stopped, then shivered as Pierson abandoned his assault and stood up. The remnants of his shirt were torn away so that Pierson's mouth could map his spine, and MacLeod shivered as he felt the heavy weight against his back once more. Pierson's bared cock was once again hard, and it pressed against MacLeod's heated flesh as if seeking entrance.
"You're mine," Pierson murmured against his ear. "My lusty Highland whore. Aren't you?"
"No," MacLeod protested weakly, aware that it sounded more like a 'yes'.
Pierson chuckled and pressed another kiss against his skin, then straightened up and reached for the salve again. MacLeod caught his breath as hot, hard flesh pressed against his loosened opening; panicked, he thrashed in his bonds, trying to escape, but his lordship was there, holding him still, inexorably pressing inward. He panted, trying to accept the aching fullness, determined to accept and endure as generations of his Clan had accepted and endured what Fate threw at them. Another kiss to the back of his neck and murmured reassurances were his reward, and he felt surprisingly grateful for the reassurance.
"There," Pierson murmured, stroking him as if he were a skittish horse to be tamed. "That's all of me. Relax; you're doing just fine." MacLeod drew in a deep, shaky breath, and the feeling of painful fullness eased. "That's it. I'm going to move now."
The full feeling retreated, and MacLeod breathed a sigh of relief. Then it was back, pressing slowly back into his body but it wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as it had been earlier. MacLeod relaxed a little more and shifted his feet slightly to find a more comfortable stance. Pierson murmured appreciation and praise, continuing to slowly thrust in and out, shifting slightly as he did so. One of the thrusts bumped into something inside MacLeod, and a wave on unbearable pleasure zinged through his body as he gasped.
Pierson chuckled and nipped at his neck. "Like that, do you?"
Annoyingly, Pierson held still. "Beg me."
Indignantly, MacLeod said, "I will not!" Pierson shifted again, just enough to nudge that spot of pleasure, and MacLeod gasped. "My lord!"
"Beg me," Pierson murmured, pressing kissed against MacLeod's neck and shoulder. "Ask me to fuck you. Beg me to pound you into the mattress. Tell me that you're mine, my slut, my whore."
"No," MacLeod ground out, but another nudge made sweat break out on his forehead. "Oh God! Please!"
"Please what?" Pierson was rotating his hips, just grazing that pleasure spot, and MacLeod wished that his hands were free so that he could pull the infuriating man against him.
"Fuck me!" MacLeod snapped. "Now!"
"You're hardly in a position to give orders. Beg me, my whore." Pierson snapped his hips back and forward once, making MacLeod gasp, then stopped again.
"Please!" MacLeod begged. "Please, my lord! Fuck me!"
Pierson pulled out and slammed back in twice, striking the pleasure spot with each stroke. "Who do you belong to?"
"You!" MacLeod gasped, rocking under the sudden assault on his body. A fire was building in his belly, burning through his rock-hard prick, and he tried to rub it against the bedding so that he could get satisfaction but it wasn't enough. With a growl, he pushed back against the cock invading his body, trying to get more of that searing pleasure.
Pierson gasped and then, with a growl, increased the speed of his thrusts. MacLeod's body shook under the force of the pounding he was getting, and his cheek was getting rubbed raw against the bed linens, but he didn't care. His lordship was nailing his pleasure spot every time with his thrusts, and it was all so good, and he was going to come any minute...
With a howl, he exploded, once again dousing the bed and linens. Pierson wasn't far behind him; he shoved in one last time as he convulsed and spilled his seed. MacLeod sagged in his bonds, grateful for the firm bed under his body. In the morning, he would no doubt be sore and humiliated at the way he'd responded to the English lord, but right now he was too sated to care.
Groaning, Pierson forced himself to stand and slide his cock out of his captive's body. He bent down to unfasten the leg shackles, loosened the manacles from the bed frame, then dragged his exhausted captive up onto the bed. Pausing to fasten the chain to the headboard, he crawled into bed and wrapped his arms around the Highlander, then nuzzled at his neck.
"Mac? You okay?"
Duncan gave a contented sigh and lifted his head to kiss Methos tenderly. " 'M fine. Sore, but it's a good kind of sore."
Methos smirked slightly. "I take it that my response to your fantasy was satisfactory?"
"More than satisfactory, but I refuse to say more. You've got a swelled head already." He tugged at the chain joining his manacles together and frowned when it wouldn't come loose. "Methos? Any reason why I'm still shackled?"
Methos' smirk developed into a full grin. "I thought that - after a little rest - a certain Barbarian would be ready for another lesson. The shackles are to make sure I'm not strangled while I sleep."
"And God knows I'd be tempted to do that." Duncan murmured, rolling his eyes. "I've created a monster."
"Unless you'd rather not..." Methos reached for the chain, to unfasten it from the wall.
Duncan pulled him back down. "Of course, you know that we Highlanders are resilient, tough nuts to crack and nearly impossible to subdue."
Methos grinned as he settled back on the bed, leaving the chain as it was. "I've heard that about you. However, certain English lords have a reputation for cheating to get what they want."
"Why am I not surprised?"
"Hush," Methos said, pushing Duncan's head back down on the bed. "Your Lord and Master is tired and desires a few hours rest before he returns to sodomizing his new captive."
Duncan snorted but let Methos wrap him closer in his arms. He could use a little sleep, too, not to mention time to plan his seduction of a certain English nobleman...