|Throne Chair Fantasy
The setting is Methos' apartment from the episode FUOT, the one with that wonderful, inspiring throne-like chair. And those lovely pale blue boxers!
This story is definitely rated NC-17, think of the old saying about "sucking the chrome off a trailer hitch" - if that idea doesn't appeal to you, go away! Shoo! All the rest of you, hold on tight!
Yes. Oh, my gods and goddesses, yes
I can barely breathe, let alone think, seeing him sprawled before me in that throne-like chair, negligently swirling his glass of cabernet. Methos lean frame is clad only in those pale blue cotton boxers. One long leg is thrown over one arm of the chair, the other stretched out to the floor beside my feet. His head is tilted up, chin resting on hand, his beautiful lips held in that wonderful "almost-a-smile". Wicked, wicked gleam in those eyes.
I am lost in those eyes, my soul shattered, my inhibitions gone. Oh, to gaze into those hazel depths forever. Beginning to tremble, I can no longer trust my legs to keep me upright. I fall to my knees near the base of the chair. Looking up into his eyes, I shock myself, finding the tip of my tongue sneaking some moisture to my dry lips. He watches this; one eyebrow raises in question as to just what is being offered.
I can feel my heart beat faster. My throat is just so dry... I reach for his wine glass and he lets me take it. Taking a sip, I savor the burst of wet flavor on my tongue, in my mouth. Placing one hand along his cheek, I slowly press my lips to his and feed the wonderful vintage back to him, carefully, not wanting to waste a single drop. My tongue can't resist the temptation before it; I gently lick along the line of his sensous lower lip.
Methos closes his eyes and swallows. I lean back slightly and watch his throat move, fascinated with the motion beneath his skin. Opening his eyes, he sighs and reaches his long, graceful fingers towards my hand as he takes back his glass.
His sparkling hazel eyes meet mine in unspoken challenge. Methos dips his fingers into the blood-red liquid. He takes one long, wet finger and slowly traces lazy circles along my open mouth. My turn to close my eyes and savor the feel of him.
A shiver rises along my spine. Unseeing, I reach out with my tongue and capture the slender digit, sucking it into my mouth, tasting more of the wine. Swirling my tongue roughly around the folds of his knuckles, I begin a slow, steady, hard rhythm of suction and release.
My eyes fly open when I hear him gasp. The wine glass falls to the floor, forgotten. Methos' eyes have narrowed, and he leans towards me. I gulp and quickly release his finger. He places his hands, those slender, powerful, ancient, deadly hands, on either side of my head, fingers slowly winding themselves in my hair.
A kiss from him, then, one utterly mind-blowing, searing kiss, and I moan in my throat. Blackness swims at the edge of my vision.
His hands pull my head forward to his chest, offering my mouth first one brown nipple and then the other. My lips, tongue, and teeth worship his skin, bringing each tiny nub to hardness, coaxing a low moan from him that I can feel rumble in his chest. I am fascinated with the texture of his skin against my mouth; the smooth brown circles of flesh with their tiny, hard centers, and the silky hairs surrounding them.
Pushing me back slightly, Methos lifts his leg from over the arm of the chair and repositions himself on his throne. I am now kneeling between his thighs, his hands still locked in my hair, my mouth again on his chest, suddenly aware of the hardness and heat pressed to my belly...
Mentally slapping myself into greater awareness, I suddenly remember I also have hands to pleasure him. I slide my palms up his thighs, slowly, reveling in the roughness of sparse hair over smooth skin and hard muscle, until I reach the thin cotton material covering his groin. Slipping underneath their looseness, my fingers gently trace the junction of his legs and groin, feeling the soft skin over the hard tendons beneath.
My hands are drawn to the heated flesh between them. Beneath the boxers, I trace the swell of his cock with my fingers, feel it jerk and fill and lengthen. Moaning against his chest, I wrap the fingers of one hand around his swollen shaft, smooth skin over hardening steel. Pulling down on his foreskin, my thumb slides up and over the mushroom-shaped head to feel the wetness gathering there. Spreading the moisture underneath my thumb, I begin to slide my hand down, up, down again: a rhythm even older than Methos. My other hand dips lower between his legs, rolling his balls within their sac of soft skin. My mouth continues to torment his nipples. I hear a gasp and a hiss of breath between teeth...
Methos arches up and lifts his hips off the seat of the chair. I quickly move my hands to the elastic of the boxers and pull them down, over and off his perfect ass, carefully avoiding catching his erection. He lowers himself back into the throne chair. As he disentangles his hands from my hair, I lean away from him and slide the boxers down his thighs and legs. I lift each ankle one at a time, and completely remove the unwanted garment, tossing them over my shoulder. Methos is now exposed in all his glory.
Oh, gods, I am starving and a feast is laid before me.
Before I partake, my vision fills with the awesome sight of a naked, fully aroused Methos - pale face now flushed, eyes now hooded, lashes shielding the hazel depths, lips parted, chest lifting and dropping with his harsh breathing, hands fisted. He looks beautiful, deadly, dangerous: a force of nature to be truly feared. I tremble and swallow hard. My eyes follow the darkening line of hair leading from his naveldown to his groin. There, crisp, dark curls give way to the rise of hisblood-engorged manhood, angry-looking, almost purple, vein pulsing,wetness glistening from its head...
Hands grab my hair roughly and Methos pulls me to the center of his need, his legs spread wide. Without conscious thought, my tongue reaches for its reward, licking the moisture beaded at the slit, just a taste to tease my hunger. A gentle nip with my teeth at the side of his cock and it jumps. Again, I wrap one hand around the base of his rod and the other fondles and rolls the heaviness beneath. I purse my lips and blow air softly across the wet, purple head. My efforts are rewarded with a jerk and another loud gasp.
As his hands push my head down, I open my mouth wider to accept his thickness. My lips surround him and my tongue swirls around the head of his member. Another downward push on my head and my mouth is filled completely. Matching the slow rhythm that Methos sets, my hand begins to stroke up and down.
I close my eyes and let my other senses blossom. A rising heat fills my belly. One hand feels slick with a combination of pre-cum and saliva. My mouth is filled with his hard flesh, sliding over my lips, teeth and tongue. Cheeks expand and contract with the strength of my suction. My nose is surrounded, filled with his musky scent as I strive to breathe. My jaw is beginning to ache, and dizziness fast approaches. Time to up the ante.
I carefully insert the middle finger of my free hand into my mouth beside his pumping cock. Gathering as much slickness as I can, I slide the wet finger down, below his tightened balls, wiggling my hand under him along the cleft of his ass, to find his puckered anus. I circle it once, and gently insert the tip of my finger. Almost pushing me over backwards, Methos tightens his grip in my hair, groans loudly and arches up off the chair. Pushing harder now, I slide my finger further in, curling it, searching for the soft bump of his hidden pleasure.
A rising cry fills my ears. "Oh, sweet goddessssss!" Methos strains and jerks beneath me as I stroke his prostate once, twice, three times. His hands are twisting painfully in my hair; unbidden tears begin to fill my eyes. Relaxing my jaw as much as I can, I swallow his considerable length and drink of his essence as I ride the jerking force of his violent orgasm.
His spasms gentle, his body relaxes, his hands release their deathly grip in my hair. I slide my finger from him as gently as I can, but I feel him stiffen for a moment and hear his gasp. Chest heaving, Methos drops back into the chair and I slowly uncurl my hand from around his cock. I soothe his softening, trembling flesh with my lips, kissing and licking tenderly, murmurring soft sounds of comfort.
Methos' hands find the sides of my face and gently pull me up to face him. I watch as his eyes soften; tenderly, his thumbs wipe the traces of my tears from my cheeks. Leaning in to me, he slowly brushes his lips over my red, swollen mouth, tasting himself on my skin. "Thank you," he whispers. "Now, how may I return the favor?"