|Over the Edge
Warning! Rated NC-17. All those not considered legal in their domain must turn back now. Also, if you are not interested in the depiction of consensual homoeroticism, turn back. (I'm sure you got the idea from the pictures above...)
Summary: Duncan has no idea how far he'll go until Methos decides to show him.
Claimer: They belong only to each other. Lum painted the picture that inspired, Rachael incited a riot and added some shading, Killa worked on tint and definition. Look, ma, I *can* write a PWP!
Feedback: Please! to elynross
Duncan ran through the night in his mind, trying to pin down when things had gotten out of control. It had certainly started innocently enough. It was Valentine's Day, and Methos had surprised him with dinner and drinks at a restaurant Duncan himself might have chosen. The meal had been companionable -- and sexy, Methos in rare flirtatious form, idle touches and sidelong glances combining with the excellent wine to leave Duncan feeling more than pleasantly aroused. Then a walk at the beach, accompanied by a few stolen kisses and surreptitious caresses. Just as Duncan was going to suggest that they might take things back to the loft, Methos had produced what he indicated was the crowning touch to the evening: tickets to a show. And of course, it being Methos and Valentine's, it wasn't just 'a show' -- it was an erotic poetry reading down at 'The Edge' cafe. It had seemed like a fun idea, after the two bottles of wine; Duncan had even agreed with Methos that delayed gratification added a certain piquancy.
But things hadn't been quite as he had expected, and he didn't quite know how he'd ended up here, lying on a soft, red leather couch with Methos behind him, one of Methos' hands resting on Duncan's hip, the other curved above them. Duncan found himself very aware of the feel of the raw silk of Methos' shirt against the back of his neck as he moved, the rough weave of his own pants as Methos fondled his hip. He tried to figure out what to do with his hands and ended leaning up on one elbow, the other hand resting in front of him. There was the sensual sound of instrumental blues weaving through the room, low and lush. He couldn't quite pinpoint the source; it seemed to emanate from the walls, a throbbing, sultry rhythm that slid erotically through his body. The air was redolent of vanilla incense and the spicy scents of the cafe upstairs, the odors mingling with the melange of perfumes and aftershaves of the clientele, the combination heady and intoxicating.
Around them were other couples and multiples who were relaxing on couches, sprawling on the pillows scattered across the black tiled floor, curled on and tucked under a wild variety of blankets. The pillows and coverings all looked like they'd been recycled from old curtains and bedspreads, the ambience one of comfort and worn elegance. The indirect light of numerous torcheres caused iridescent stars pasted on the ceiling to glow, a few strategically placed candles in iron sconces casting heavy shadows on the waiting audience as they got comfortable around the raised wooden platform in the center of the room. The stage itself was lit by more direct lighting, the heat of the spots shining there and on other tableaus around the space making the rest of the room feel cold in comparison.
Looking around, Duncan saw what seemed to be every possible combination and variety, from a couple of guys sitting and holding hands at a table in the back to what seemed to be a small orgy starting in the corner. The participants had barely been clothed to start with, and they were rapidly becoming less so. Duncan felt himself flush at the voluptuous, carnal noises that one of the women was making as two of the men ran their hands over her body. Everyone was there to see and be seen: Goths and leather dykes, Masters and slaves, plus the occasional lingerie-clad sweet young thing, male and female. Some were wrapped up in blankets against the chill of the room, others more concerned with personal display than personal comfort. Last time he'd seen a collection like this, it had been in a French brothel in the 1870's.
He'd thought about opting out when they'd walked into what was obviously The Edge's dungeon, but the look on Methos' face had made him think that maybe that's just what the other man had expected. When he found out that Methos had made reclining reservations, he decided that he'd been manipulated, but he accepted it with fairly good grace. After all, he'd thought, what could happen with an audience in place? Twenty minutes later, time spent with Methos shifting and sliding against his back as he supposedly tried to get comfortable, Duncan was ready to bolt. The cool of the room contrasted sharply with the heat being generated in it, to which Duncan could testify, having shamelessly watched a couple of 'private exhibitions' that only failed to qualify for public indecency because it was a private club. Duncan wondered how long Methos had had his membership and how often he used it. He had originally tried to ignore the decor, but Methos had made it difficult, leaning forward to whisper in his ear and ask his opinion of the various exhibits, as he was doing now.
"Look at that one, Mac, tied to the crossbar. Think you'd like that? Would you do that for me?"
Duncan looked over to where a young man was tied to a hanging crossbar, dressed, if you could call it that, in bits and pieces of black leather and metal. The only reason he could determine the sex of the individual was that his outfit was cut to make it obvious, exposing numerous piercings, his head completely encased in a zippered mask that left only his mouth free. There was a whip hung next to him, and an employee charged with making sure that nobody went overboard. Duncan found himself wondering what would count as going overboard in a place like this and whether the young man was an employee or a paying customer.
"For you, or to you? Get serious, Methos. Do I look like the type?" He knew he'd made a mistake as soon as he spoke, his voice, raspy and thick, betraying his level of arousal. He wasn't naive, nor did he object to the scene itself, but he wasn't sure exactly what Methos had in mind. That thought was both alarming and frighteningly arousing. There was something about a dominant, aggressive Methos that made Duncan fear for his sanity even at it made his cock stand at attention. It appealed too much.
"You don't seem to have any problem with tying me up...or vice-versa." The tone slid into his ear to coil itself around his cock, pulling it tighter against the fabric of his slacks.
Duncan shifted a bit, catching his breath when the movement made Methos' own arousal obvious. He held himself still, though all he wanted to do was press back even tighter. He dug his hand into the soft leather of the couch.
"What's the matter, Mac?" Methos breathed into his ear, sliding one hand around to flatten against Duncan's stomach, pulling him back against Methos' hips.
"Methos!" Duncan hissed.
"Yes?" The innocent tone was accompanied by a less than innocent tongue, curving around his ear and stroking heat directly to his groin. Methos' hand moved to pull up Duncan's shirt and pinch his nipple, sending another a jolt of arousal through him.
"Stop it." Duncan looked around, but the only person who seemed to notice was a young woman across the room who smirked briefly before leaning over to kiss her girlfriend. He breathed a sigh of relief, until he realized that they were both watching him now. It made him both harder and more nervous.
Methos bit his ear. "You can't mean that. Why on earth would I want to do that?"
"In case you haven't noticed, we aren't alone."
"And your point would be...?" His hand slid down to curve over Duncan's aching cock, squeezing.
Duncan grasped Methos' wrist. "Methos, I don't intend to become one of the displays!" He swallowed as a young man in front of them looked back and grinned, his eyes sliding over the reclined forms. "Move your hand." The gleam in the man's eyes affected him as had the gaze of the women, and he found it hard to catch his breath.
"Your wish is my command." Methos obediently began stroking the length of Duncan's cock, outlining the rigid shape with his fingers.
"Methos!" Duncan whispered harshly, attracting the attention of a waiter clad in a demure French maid's outfit, with six-inch heels. He waved him away with one hand while trying to move Methos' hand to less dangerous ground with the other. Their actions were relatively tame compared to those of some others, but that was little comfort.
"Shall we call over the slave, Mac? See if they'll share? Would you like to have him touching you?" Duncan looked over to where a man and woman had a nearly nude blond on a leash, his g-string barely sufficient to contain him. Chains ran from the pierced nipples and genitals to a ring to which the leash was attached. Judging by the slave's strut and expression, he was having the time of his life. As Duncan watched, with Methos stroking and fondling him, the woman tugged the slave close, kissing him before pushing him down to his knees. While her partner idly stroked the slave's back, looking around the rest of the room, the woman spread her legs and the slave moved between them, burying his face between her thighs. Duncan started when Methos spoke again, lost in the overwhelming sexual aura of the room.
"Let go, Mac. Nobody knows us. Nobody cares, they're all busy with their own pleasure...let me touch you. I want to touch you." Methos stroked his tongue along the curve of Duncan's chin, cupping his free hand around the other side of Duncan's face, turning it until he could reach his mouth. His voice deepened ineluctably. "I need to touch you."
Methos' hunger was obvious, and Duncan found himself responding heedlessly to the demands of lips and tongue, even as he was aware of the eyes on them -- perhaps because of the eyes on them. When Methos pulled back, he looked deeply into Duncan's eyes. "Don't be scared, Mac. I won't do anything you don't want me to."
Duncan smiled and spoke without thinking. "That's what I'm afraid of." The faint quiver in his voice betrayed his confusion and lust.
Methos' own smile was dangerous. "What? Of what you want? Don't you trust me, Duncan?" His palm flattened and stroked against Duncan's hard flesh as he thrust against Duncan's hips.
Duncan moaned at the combination of his name caressed by Methos' voice and his body by Methos' own. "Yes," he hissed. "You know I do. But-"
"Nobody's looking at us, Duncan." Methos pulled Duncan's head so he was looking off to the right. "If they're looking at anything, it's the young man in the cage."
Duncan shuddered as he looked over at the exhibit he'd been trying his best to avoid. The cage was about five feet by seven, the floor padded and comfortable, and the young man in it was...
"Now, I'd like to see you like that, Duncan. Hands chained behind you, thighs spread, on display."
Duncan groaned at the lascivious tone, looking on helplessly. The man was displayed as Methos had described, and his beautiful erection drew Duncan's eyes; swollen and purple, arching up to the man's pierced navel. Another man stood next to the cage, encouraging people to touch and stroke his pet, between times speaking in a low but audible tone: "Stay hard for me, pet. Just a few hours, pet, then I'll let you come. You'll do that for me, won't you, pet?"
"Would you stay hard for me?" Methos whispered, his hands continuing to play with Duncan's shaft, petting it through the cloth, driving Duncan insane with need. "Imagine how it would be, all those hands on you, touching you... "
Duncan's mouth went dry as he felt himself caught up in what Methos said. He could feel the iron bars, feel himself on display, and it was insidiously tempting. He tried to pull himself out of it. "I'd look a fool."
"I don't think so." That sensuous voice was pulling at him, seducing him into the fantasy. "I'd oil you, of course, so that your skin would gleam in the light the way his does. You don't see anyone here thinking he's a fool, do you? Isn't everyone admiring?"
Duncan cast a glance around the room; it was true, in here there was no condemnation in anyone's face, merely open desire. He flushed as he caught an occasional eye turned in their direction, but he found himself responding to the attention. He saw that the man with the slave was now standing behind his partner, his hand down her blouse as he watched the slave devouring her. Her own eyes were fixed on Duncan and Methos, and as he looked up, she licked her lips and smiled at him. He quickly turned his eyes back to the slave, but he made no further move to stop Methos' hand, succumbing to his own exhibitionistic desires.
"You're much better looking than he is, you know. Sexier. The way you handle yourself and move... No one would watch the stage at all if I had you in there." Methos pressed into him. "I don't know that I'd want anyone else touching you..." His voice changed to a matter of fact tone. "They're going to start, it seems. Do you think he can stay hard while everyone reads?" Then he changed again, his voice sounding like dark chocolate. "I know you would for me."
Duncan gasped as Methos' hand slid under the fabric to grasp his naked cock, the rough touch of his calluses shocking against flesh sensitized by the rubbing cloth; he only just prevented himself from thrusting helplessly into that hot touch. "Methos, I-"
"Yes? What? Can you stay hard for me, Duncan? During the readings? I'd like that. Do you want to please me?"
Duncan couldn't breath, could barely think. He tried to say something, anything, not sure whether he wanted to make it stop or make sure it didn't, unable to get past the velvet voice murmuring lewdness into his ear while Methos' hand continued squeezing and stroking him, a thumb slipping over the wetness of the tip, tugging down the foreskin to pet the sensitive flesh beneath.
"Say yes, Duncan. I promise you won't regret it."
Unable to form the word, Duncan nodded sharply, abandoning himself to the devil who held him captive with his voice as much as his body.
"Good." The sensual satisfaction in that single word sent a sharp jolt of lust through Duncan. "Just relax and watch the show, Duncan. And don't make me stop."
He tried to obey, but the readings themselves barely registered. All he could see was the woman across from him as she came, clenching her thighs around the slave's head; the man in the cage, uninhibitedly exhibitionistic, displaying himself for his Master; the lesbian couple as they watched what Methos was doing. All he could feel was Methos' hand as it stroked and explored him. When he felt Methos tugging his pants open, Duncan felt a belated surge of panic. It was all he could do to stop himself from getting to his feet and leaving, but he knew that would only draw more attention. He shivered as he felt the cooler air against his rigid cock and hoped pointlessly that the darkened room concealed his exposed state from the rest of the patrons, even as he knew that they could see him as well as he could see them. He couldn't seem to close his eyes, needing to see who was watching him.
"Sssh, Duncan. It's okay." Methos nuzzled his throat as he pushed the fabric aside, sliding his hand down Duncan's hips to bare him completely. "Lift your hips, Duncan." Hypnotized and lust-driven, Duncan found himself obeying unquestioningly, and he realized that he'd completely abandoned himself to Methos' desires...and his own.
"You're so beautiful. I hope everyone sees that. God, I wish I could taste you."
Duncan groaned, the sound dropping into a moment of relative silence and spiraling into the room to join the assorted quiet gasps and groans that filled the dark corners, the voices of the readers merely a background to the ecstatic noises of the crowd. He looked around wildly and caught the eye of the man standing beside his pet's cage. Unable to look away, Duncan was pierced by a gaze both appreciative and knowing, and he felt a hot flash of mortified pleasure and strange pride as the man smiled.
He felt Methos shifting behind him and groaned again as he heard the sound of a zipper being lowered, then felt Methos' naked cock press against his ass.
"I'm going to take you, Duncan. Right here, in front of everyone. Do you want that?"
Duncan bit his lip until he tasted blood, the words nearly enough to make him come, and his hips surged forward against Methos' enfolding hand.
"I'll take that as a yes..." The rich amusement shivered against Duncan's ear. "You want it, don't you, Duncan? Tell me you want to feel me take you, feel my cock sliding into you, moving in you, slow and deep, feel them watching us..."
All Duncan could manage was a throaty moan and a press of his hips backwards, his eyes still on the slave in the cage, who was stroking his cheek against his Master's arm while the man idly stroked and fondled him, his own eyes still on Duncan. Duncan slid his own hand around behind him to press Methos' cock more tightly against him, feeling a tight pleasure as he heard Methos' breath hiss in through his teeth. Grasping lightly, he stroked his hand up and down, feeling the loose skin of Methos' foreskin move against the velvet hardness beneath.
Duncan felt Methos shift his hips again, then Methos' hand slid to his ass, cupping and opening him.
"Help me, Duncan."
Duncan wrapped his hand around Methos' cock, guiding it between the cheeks of his ass, shivering as he felt it pressed against his opening. He bent forward slightly to make it easier, then rubbed the wet tip of Methos' shaft against his ass, the pre-cum mixing with the sweat and oil of his body to ease the penetration. He felt incredibly vulnerable and exposed, and his swollen flesh ached with an overwhelming lust. As he felt the head of Methos' cock press into him, he moved his other hand to grasp his own shaft, pressing tightly to keep himself from coming. There was a brief moment of pain as the head slid past the resistant ring of muscle, then nothing but delicious fullness and thick pleasure.
Slowly and steadily, Methos slid into him, his hot mouth pressed tightly against Duncan's ear, every word shivering along Duncan's spine. "God, you are so tight. So good...incredible. Such an incredible fuck. You make me so hot, Duncan. Watching you, watching other people watch you, knowing they want you...." Methos caught Duncan's earlobe in his teeth, biting sharply as he sank in completely.
With some portion of his mind Duncan felt that he ought to have resisted this exposure, that he should be ashamed, but all he could feel was a heavy, inflaming pleasure and an odd sense of pride and satisfaction at the hunger laced through Methos' voice. He moved his hips, gasping as Methos pulled back and thrust against him, his cock brushing roughly against Duncan's prostate and driving any thought out of his mind but a irresistible need for completion.
"Make me come, Duncan." Methos' voice was thick and hot.
Reaching and grasping Methos' hip, Duncan began tightening and relaxing against Methos' cock, moving his hips, judging the other man's pleasure by his groans and guttural sighs. He knew that there were a number of faces turned their way, but he couldn't bring himself to care, knowing only that the thought of them watching turned him on more than he could have imagined.
He felt Methos stiffen behind him briefly before he gave one last, sharp thrust and came. Trembling, Duncan held off his own climax, remembering Methos' request--his order. He felt as if there were fireworks going off inside him, sending hot sparks and ribbons of fire shuddering through him. He lay trembling, listening to Methos' heavy breaths, squeezing his buttocks gently to make him gasp.
"Behave." Methos sank his teeth into Duncan's shoulder, sliding his hand to cover Duncan's own where it grasped his throbbing cock. Then he pressed his mouth against Duncan's throat, licking the sweat-damp skin, nuzzling gently. "You are so unbelievable."
Duncan laughed breathlessly. "Me?"
"Yes, you." Methos made a move to pull Duncan's pants up, but Duncan stopped him. "What?" Methos breathed in his ear.
"The show isn't over yet." Duncan smiled to himself as he felt a shudder move through Methos. He opened his hand enough to slide his fingers between Methos' so that they could stroke gently along his cock together. With his free hand, he pulled Methos other hand to his mouth and began to run his mouth along the long fingers. Turning his attention outward again, he smiled at the man by the cage, noticing that the slave had been watching them. Drowning in his delayed arousal, he spared only a thought to wonder how the pet would be punished for his disobedience, his mind turning towards his own reward.
you know you want to read the Poetry from The Edge...