Big Mac Attack
by Luminosity


Disclaimer: Not mine. I wish. But we all know that already, don't we?

My first PWP. I had to get it out of my system. I never think of my stuff as memorable enough to dedicate to anyone, but this is for mousehounde, who asked me months ago to write something for her-- something with no blood, where no one dies.

Thank you Suze. Thank you Melissa.


The comforting drip of rain whispered a lullaby to the two men dozing next to each other in the barge. Two half-empty snifters of brandy refracted the light from the bedside table lamp, striping their bodies with a soft, golden glow.

With a contented yawn, Duncan pulled himself up onto his left elbow and gazed down at the relaxed figure lying next to him. He chuckled quietly, surprised all over again at his own carnality. Casting aside the evil sufficient unto the day, he reached over and fluttered his fingers across Methos' bare, warm stomach. The older man sighed and settled more deeply into the pillow, seeming to sense the nearness of Duncan's hand.

Quietly, cautiously, Duncan slid his arm softly under the light coverlet, down Methos' right side, down his leg, all the way to his knee, gently tickling his way back up his inner thigh. He barely brushed over soft pubic hair, his fingertips coming to rest just below the older man's navel. Methos' cock tapped at the side of his hand, and Duncan drew the covers up to peek at his lover's body.

What had he ever done to attract this man? Just a guy. Right. Duncan had never considered himself a special man, and he discounted those who did, as a matter of course. Except this man. Nearly everything that Duncan considered the norm, even in the skewed existence of immortals, excepted this man. Marveling at his good luck, he rubbed his fingers on the semi-erect penis and felt rather than heard the sharp intake of breath as he stroked down, all the way down. He smirked with sudden devilish inspiration. He gently cradled his hand around Methos' balls and pulled them up slowly, easily, fondling each one.

Balancing on his elbow, Duncan eased his left hand underneath Methos' neck and lay his head on the pillow, resting his forehead against the other man's hair. He exhaled warmly. "Methos?"


"Does this feel as good as I think it does?"


Duncan cupped his fingers and dragged his hand back up, encircling the erect shaft, and he flicked his thumbnail gently back and forth across the tip. Aha! Things were looking up. He felt the slow surge of blood and warmth in his hand. A sense of knowing filled him, and he suppressed a chuckle. Grunting in effort, Duncan draped his right thigh over Methos, pinning him to the bed.

"I wish you would situate yourself, MacLeod."

"You know you love this. Relax and shut up."

Checking his mental list of "Old Man Do's and Don'ts," Duncan quietly lapped at the tip of Methos' ear, breathing a slow, steady, rhythm that counterpointed the motion of his hand. His focus faltered as he felt Methos shift in the bed, turning his lithe body to face him. Duncan inadvertently bit down on the earlobe as he felt his hips thrust impulsively into the hand that had found and encircled his cock. He was hard again, and the sensation of the other man's cool palm around him was intoxicating. Two minutes into Operation Two-fer, and he was already losing control of the situation. This would never do.

"You just won't let me do this, will you?"

"Do you want human sexual response or not, MacLeod? I have no control over these involuntary reactions to heavy breathing in my ear, not to mention your unconscious humping of my leg. What do you want, wicker?"

"Methos, " Duncan hissed moistly, snaking his tongue gently into the other man's ear, simultaneously squeezing his fist and rubbing his thumb over the head of the older man's cock, feeling the sudden slick wetness drip forth. More amused than disappointed, he stifled a grin as Methos distractedly dropped his hand to rest on the coverlet.

Duncan discerned that his humid whispering catalyzed a shiver that ran down the length of Methos' right side, and shivered himself as Methos, with a slow, smooth motion, billowed the blanket off of them, and then lay back into the pillow, turning his head away. He rocked into Duncan's palm, setting a lazy rhythm. "Would you rather I ignored you, and went back to sleep? You know, you disturbed a perfectly good nap." Pleasure played across his profile, belying his caustic petulance.

Exasperation slipped out with his exhalation, and Duncan was momentarily peeved. Methos did that to him a lot, but especially in bed. In the one place where Duncan had no confusion, no question of inadequacy, in the one place where practice made perfect; he felt off-balance with Methos. Once again, this man proved the rule. What to do? What to do? "I would rather you just relax and let me...." Duncan loosened his grasp on his partner's shaft, caressing it just gently enough to let Methos know that he was still touching it, and continued stroking him softly. He curled his fingers together and softly scraped his fingernails around its swollen thickness. "How do you do it, Old Man? How do you manage to remain so calm and distant while I'm trying to jerk you off?"

The older man surreptitiously arched his hips into the air, thrusting his cock into the imaginary hope of friction. "Centuries of intense, compartmentalized concentration, MacLeod." In spite of his nonchalant tone, or maybe because of his effort maintain it, Methos closed his eyes and quietly began to pant. A flush of fevered sexual excitement bloomed across his collarbones. The exasperation faded as quickly as it appeared, and Duncan's eyes gleamed.

"Are you concentrating now?"

Abruptly, not allowing Methos the chance to react to the weight pushing his body down into the feather mattress, Duncan straddled him, leaned over him, and laughed at him. Methos gasped. Duncan felt a renascent heat emanating from his body as his hands wrapped around Methos' cock, pulling it into an embrace with his own. Duncan rocked his length against Methos, smearing and mingling their juices together with several upward strokes, refusing to stroke back downward. The odd rhythm seemed only to excite Methos more, and he made futile grabbing motions for Duncan's hands.

"Nuh-uh-uhh, Methos. I wouldn't want to break your concentration," Duncan leered, unable to hide the sense of balance regained. He released his hands from the two distended members. He knew that he had Methos' undivided attention, and he caressed and spirited the searching, gesticulating hands down onto the sheets, stroking them into unwilling stillness. He loomed over the supine man, his body a caltrop of pointed fingers and toes. "Shhhhh. That's right. Stay calm. Go to sleep."

Duncan met Methos' irritated, excited, anticipatory gaze, and with the smooth, controlled fluidity of a dancer, he pulled himself up and backward, and leaned against Methos' leaking cock, lubricating himself with its slick wetness. Poised in midair above his partner, he floated motionless, slyly contemplating the now fully-awakened body beneath him. He did not move until he sensed the trembling figure lift up, trying to penetrate him.

"You don't mind if I use this, do you? I thought not." With a sound not unlike a chuckle and not unlike a moan, Duncan leisurely pushed down, impaling himself into an inescapable position. He then stilled, allowing his body to accustom itself to the coveted invasion. He began to rock forward and back, side to side, contracting his interior muscles around the presence that filled him. He lifted his body up onto his knees and descended with agonizing, ecstatic deliberation, fucking Methos in slow motion, again and again--the tension of his control finding expression in the rippling muscles over his thighs and belly. Smiling breathlessly, he noted the his partner's lusty approval and relish, and, taking Methos' face in hands, forced him to meet his eyes. "Oh. Did I wake you?"

"MacLeod, you don't have to do all this work by yourself, now that I'm, uhh, up." Methos managed to gasp, his eyes tearing at the extraordinary pressure Duncan was placing on his already oversensitized cock. As he spoke, Duncan held his gaze, unshakably drawing it down to the remarkable, intentionally pornographic sight before him. "May I?"

"Now that you mention it--"

Duncan pushed back down onto Methos' thickness, and he leaned over to kiss off the sweat that had beaded on his upper lip. As his tongue slipped into the welcoming mouth, he guided Methos' fingers to his turgid flesh, groaning and bucking powerfully as he was taken in hand. The sleek gentleness of Methos' kiss and the firm grasp on his shaft was nearly enough to finish him, and he felt his cock swell to painful proportions. Methos matched Duncan's own rhythm, and as he sped up, the friction and sliding of Methos' hand increased. The sensation of pushing down onto Methos' cock and pushing up into his grip was more than he could sustain. He reached down to slow the stroke.

"Don't tire yourself out..." Duncan glanced at Methos' face. He was flushed, his face and hair damp with a sparkling sheen of sweat. He looked as if he were in rapturous pain, breathing raggedly, holding his body taut underneath the sexual onslaught of a Scot on a mission. The grip and motion on his cock did not break, did not change rhythm, and Duncan felt another wave of voluptuous pleasure.

His controlled onslaught slipping and feeling every bit a wild man, Duncan rocked, bracing his arms behind himself. He drove himself faster and faster, gyrating, searching for one spot of unbearable fulfillment and striking it over and over. Throwing his head back, he pinpointed his own concentration to that five percent of his body where palpable pleasure and burning pain fused into a new, well-nigh intolerable sense of impending gratification that would not be denied. He felt the cock buried within him start to swell, felt that he could not bear another millimeter of the excruciating stretching, could not bear another burning touch on his prostate. Yet, he would not stop, could not stop himself from the undulating motion, even if he wanted to. Duncan wailed. He felt himself coming, shooting out, spilling over Methos' fingers and onto his belly and chest.

"It's all right... all right, Duncan," Methos groaned, his cries ululating in rhythm to his own cadence in and out of his lover. As he heard Methos' breath catch and howl in orgasmic release, Duncan reeled with satisfaction. He crumpled over his lover, breathless, sated, sleepy. Methos' fingertips brushed his hair back from his face, and he murmured softly. Methos slipped out of him, and Duncan slid to one side of the bed, still sticky, still tingling.

"God, Methos. I almost came that time."

"Good, MacLeod. Can we go to sleep now?"