Friends in Low Places
by Suze


Just a little song-inspired sex scene to keep me from getting too far behind with the DMSG challenges. The song was by Garth Brooks. The only thing the song and the story have in common is the title.

Oh-- do I need to tell you that it's D/M? Naaah. I probably don't even have to tell you that it's Methos on the bottom again. I'm not predictable, just fanatically loyal and obsessed. Enjoy. Duncan certainly did. <weg>

Not mine, no money. NC-17 for explicit, blatant wallowing in juicy male/male sex-- nothing shy or implied, the real thing. No in-depth beta on this one; take it as is, or scream and hit delete. And yes, all feedback is accepted, appreciated, and horded for a rainy day. <g>

Duncan muffled a groan as the hands on his legs traced a burning path across his skin and began stroking the trembling muscles of his inner thighs. The relentless mouth was still feasting on the sensitive skin behind his left knee. A small nibble, a taste, a lick, then the sensation of warm air as his torturer retreated and blew softly across the wet skin. He lost track of the mouth as the hands moved again and cradled his balls in a warm, gentle grasp. Two fingers caressed the smooth skin behind his testicles in repetitive, deliberate strokes, then continued on to brush lightly against the tight ring of muscle hidden between his cheeks. His hips arched off the bed, silently pleading for more. Please, this time let them do something. In unspoken reply, the fingers stroked again, teasing the opening with delicate malice before one of them entered, paused, probed briefly at his prostate-- and retreated. Duncan swallowed his sob of frustration.

How long had it been now? Two hours? Three? How much was he supposed to be able to take? He clenched his hands into the sheet as a humiliating groan escaped his lips, almost past caring if he showed weakness to the demon that was kneeling over him, exploring his body and testing his limits. He wanted...he needed...Oh, dear God. The mouth was back. The warm lips closed over the tip of his aching cock, slid down over the head, and the interminable sucking began again. Was this finally it? Was he going to be allowed to come this time?

No, not yet. The delicious suction ended as the hot mouth withdrew from around the head and travelled down the shaft, nipping and licking along the vein with a fiendish, insatiable appetite. The fingers that had so cruelly abandoned his ass just moments before were now combing through the soft hair around his groin, pausing to brush lightly over the tense muscles of his stomach on their way up his body. Wet heat closed around his testicles as first one, then the other, was drawn into the devilishly talented mouth, sucked briefly, then released to be exposed to cool air in a mind-blowing interchange of erotic sensations.

That mouth. That wonderful, tempting, delicious mouth. Dear God, how he wanted to taste it. He ached with the need to pull his tormentor up, thread his fingers through the soft hair, and hold that mouth prisoner against his as he drank his fill of the sweet, hot nectar of unquenched desire. But he had tried that earlier only to learn, painfully, that that was the one pleasure he was going to be denied. His feet, his neck, his balls, his cock and every inch of skin in between could all feel the seductive pleasures of that mouth, but he wasn't allowed to taste it, to kiss it, to drown himself in it. And so the desire to win possession of it grew stronger, and remained unsatisfied.

Duncan cursed silently, working his way through four hundred years worth of creative invective in a futile attempt to distract himself from the hands and mouth that were slowly, thoroughly breaking his restraint and self-control into tiny pieces and chewing them up. His current situation was his own fault and he knew it-- the result of foolish pride and testosterone induced one upmanship. Someday, surely, he would learn not to get himself into these situations. Someday he would know better. Someday he would be smart enough to just smile and accept as true any of the unbelievable stories the ancient son of a bitch told him. And someday, surely, Methos would let him come.

The old man couldn't keep this up forever, could he? For one soul-freezing moment Duncan considered the possibility that with five-thousand years of sexual experience to draw upon, Methos could keep this up forever. He was going to spend the rest of his life trapped on this bed at Methos' mercy. And at this point, he was convinced that mercy was the one thing missing from Methos' extensive repertoire. Shit. Didn't the old man know that the customer was always right? Duncan searched his list of curses again, looking for one strong enough to describe his foolishness in paying Methos to do this to him. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Then the welcoming heat of Methos' mouth engulfed his throbbing cock once more as the talented hands moved over his chest to his nipples, and Duncan conceded that even with the prospect of endless hours of erotic torture ahead of him, if he had it to do all over again he'd still meet Methos' price-- and consider it  twenty thousand dollars well spent.

"...And all lost forever when Pompeii was buried. A shameful waste of good talent, but I must admit that a volcanic eruption was a fittingly poetic ending for a world-class brothel."

Duncan refilled Methos' snifter, pushed his friend's legs off the couch, and reclaimed his seat in front of the fireplace. A cold night, a warm fire, an old brandy, and swapping tall tales with Methos-- it had been a long time since he'd felt this relaxed, or had this much fun. Ah, the simple pleasures of male bonding.

"Sounds good. Did you spend much time in the American west during the last century? There was one in San Francisco that I loved. They had a girl there that...well, let's just say she had the most talented mouth I've ever encountered."

Methos smiled, sipped his brandy appreciatively, and gestured for MacLeod to continue.

"No shit. She could do things to a cock that would drive you crazy. She'd get you right to the edge, then she had this little trick she would do with her tongue, and-- damn, I haven't thought about her in years!" His cock hadn't forgotten, though. Duncan rearranged his position as memories of long ago nights in San Francisco awoke the flesh behind his zipper which twitched in appreciation.

"That good, huh?" Methos shifted and spread his long legs wide as he sank deeper into his end of the couch. The tight jeans gave visible proof that he was enjoying Duncan's memories, too.

"Yeah, that good. Almost worth what the madame charged for her."

"How much?"

"Allowing for inflation, two thousand dollars a night."

"High. Even for San Francisco during the gold rush. But you paid it, obviously." Methos snickered and drank again.

"Well, I had to know what all the fuss was about, didn't I?" Duncan grinned, relishing the chance to tell these stories again. It wasn't something he felt comfortable discussing with Richie yet, and Joe was obviously out of the question. The last thing he wanted was to tempt the Watcher to include these particular stories in his chronicles. Sharing the memories with Methos was almost as much fun as the experiences themselves had been. "What about you? What was the price of the most expensive prostitute you ever knew?"

"Today's equivalent? Twenty thousand a night." Duncan choked and sputtered as burning liquid went up his nose. Abandoning his now empty glass, he snatched a tissue from the box on the table and wiped very expensive brandy from his nose and chin.



"This story I've got to hear. I can't imagine what any woman could do to a cock that would be worth twenty thousand dollars a night. Tell. Now." Duncan's cock was standing up and paying attention as his mind raced over every sexual experience he'd ever had, wondering what he could possibly have missed.

Methos tilted his head and peered at MacLeod from beneath his lashes before replying. "Your provincial roots are showing again, Mac. I never said it was a woman."

Two minutes later Duncan's laughter had died down to occasional snickers and he was finally able to collect enough breath to speak.

"You went too far that time, old man. The story about the shepherdess, the bell and the lost sheep, I believed. It sounded like you. The snake dancers and the mistletoe I bought for the sake of the punchline. I was even willing to suspend disbelief and accept the one about the raft, the virgin, and the goldfish-- it was too much fun not to. But this? No way. I might barely, under extreme duress, possibly believe that there was a woman worth that, but a man?"

"Why not? Why is that so hard for you to believe? I never thought you had a problem with bisexuality, MacLeod. I thought you were more experienced than that. Don't disappoint me." Methos smirked at Duncan and set his empty snifter on the table.

"I'm not as uptight as all that, Methos. I've been with men and enjoyed it. I've even had male prostitutes, believe it or not. Not in a hell of a long time, but I've done it. But I've never heard of one worth twenty thousand a night, and I've certainly never had one that was worth even close to that. And I don't believe you've ever paid that much either. Not in your wildest, most debauched dreams."

Methos continued to consider MacLeod from beneath his lashes, then suddenly uncurled from his sprawl and in one fast, irresistible movement pounced on MacLeod and pushed him back against the cushions. Duncan reacted reflexively and caught Methos at the hips, lending support and balance to the slender body. Methos relaxed into Duncan's hands, braced his forearms on either side of Duncan's head, and leaned in until his breath, hot and redolent of brandy, stirred the fine hairs at the side of MacLeod's neck.

"You don't believe it because you've never had me, MacLeod. And I never said I paid that. I charged that."

Twenty thousand dollars and cheap at the price. But the next time they did this-- and Duncan was determined that there would be plenty of next times, even if he emptied all his bank accounts doing it-- he was going to insist that the old man add kissing to the menu. Damn Methos and his snickering 'I'm your whore tonight, and prostitutes don't kiss, MacLeod.' Even if it cost him double, he didn't care. It was only money, after all. He had to know what it felt like to kiss that talented mouth, what it tasted like, what it smelled like.

The mouth in question was working its way around his neck, lapping almost daintily at the small drops of sweat pooling above his collar bone. Methos was stretched across him now, every inch of his smooth, firm body pressed to some corresponding part of MacLeod, caressing and stimulating him as Methos writhed and twisted, moving constantly but never breaking the sweat-slick contact between them. Duncan's arms were clasped around Methos' back, his cock was oiled and held firmly between Methos locked thighs, unable to thrust as hard as it desired, but reveling in the friction afforded by the artificial channel.

God, no. He didn't want to come now. Not yet, not after waiting this long. He didn't want to come across Methos' thighs. He was going to be buried balls deep in Methos' tight, hot ass when he came. Duncan unwrapped his arms and closed his hands over Methos' hips, lifting him away and freeing his tormented cock.

"It's now or never, Methos. And for this much money, it had damn well better be now."

Methos never paused, never spoke. Smiling complacently at Duncan, he positioned himself, braced with one hand and guided the enraged cock into his welcoming body with the other. Slowly, the tight ring of muscle gave way, then closed tightly over the head. Snug, hot, maddening-- as Duncan pushed upward Methos' body opened before him, then closed around his cock like a hot, satin glove, several sizes too small. A short pause, then Methos leaned back against MacLeod's raised knees and began moving. Slowly, gently, with a small, enticing sideways wriggle on the upstroke, and an audible purr of satisfaction when Duncan's large hands tightened on his hips and pulled him back down.

Completely engulfed in the tight, hot channel, MacLeod's cock was pulsing in sync with Methos' movements. He watched Methos' face, poised above him as they continued to move together. The eyes had darkened with pleasure, the normally pale skin was flushed and damp, the thin, soft lips were parted, drawing in air with small pants and gasps. Those lips. Those wet, unattainable, forbidden lips. Duncan felt the frustrated growl building deep in his chest long before it could warn Methos by escaping from his mouth.

On the next downstroke, when Methos settled and paused, Duncan held on tight and turned, flipping them and landing with Methos trapped, pinned beneath him. A small grunt of surprise, or maybe pain, then Methos accommodated the new position, raising his long legs and locking them around Duncan's wildly pumping hips. Never pausing, never missing a beat, they fought and strained against each other without words, and Methos won. Duncan had paid for and was allowed the use of Methos' body, but the long, graceful neck twisted and turned, denying his searching mouth the prize of Methos' kiss.

Finally, Duncan growled again and settled for what was offered and devoured Methos' neck, first sucking then taking small, fast nibbles of the damp, salty skin. Methos' cock was trapped between them, dancing over his stomach, leaving a blazing trail of hot precum in its wake as they moved together. Duncan pounded harder and faster into the eager body beneath him and was rewarded with small gasps and moans, in sync with the helpless jerks of Methos' body as Duncan's relentless cock set the rhythm between them.

Now he could come. Now, with Methos' legs wrapped tightly around him. Now, with the slender body trapped and trembling underneath him. Now, with his cock plunged to the hilt in Methos hot, tight ass. Pushing. Thrusting. Again. Again. And again.

Now. Dear God, yes. Now!

Duncan didn't move when he felt Methos leave the bed. He didn't open his eyes as he followed the sounds of the other man gathering, then donning, his clothes. He feigned sleep when he felt the bed move again, and with a level of restraint he didn't know he was capable of, kept his breathing even as Methos' lips brushed softly, lightly over his.

But as gate of the elevator lowered behind the older man, Duncan opened his eyes and smiled into the dark. He wondered if Methos had plans for the weekend. Maybe he could talk the old tart into giving him a friend-of-the-owner discount.

 The End