Fic: "The Eyes Have It"
"The Eyes Have It"
by AD absolutely
Beta: mackiedockie (Thanks!)
Gift for: anya2112 (Happy holidays!)
Crossover: Highlander/Sherlock
Pairing: Methos/Sherlock
Rating: NC-17
Characters: on stage -- Sherlock (age 25), Methos (Adam), off stage -- Amanda, Mycroft
Word count: 1700
Warnings: language, sex
Summary: In 2001, seeking diversion from their long lifelines, the immortals Amanda and Methos plan a heist at a minor British government building. Sherlock Holmes has not yet invented himself as consulting detective, but will soon do so. PWP
****************************************************************************
From: it.takes.a.thief To: pale_horserider 23-08-2001
Subject: Re: Reconnaissance
****************************************************************************
Dear Adam,
You are so full of shit.
Love, Amanda
*****************************************************************************
From: pale_horserider To: it.takes.a.thief 22-08-2001
Subject: Reconnaissance
Some pictures have been blocked by † Immortal Mail to protect your privacy
*****************************************************************************
My Dearest Amanda,
I finished the reconnaissance as you requested, and have determined that while your plan is basically sound, I must report a potential complicator who could prove to be a thorn in your lovely backside -- though I expect you will find him as diverting as I did.
When approaching the target building from the alley access, as we discussed, I encountered a thin young man huddled with his back to the wall of the building. My first thought was homeless, and ignorable, but then his eyes met mine -- exotic, aqua pools, dove-wing shaped with the fire of intelligence blazing -- and my second thought was that nothing got by this waif and he would have to go away so that I could case the joint in proper fashion.
"'Hello there," I greeted him. "Hungry?" I started to offer him money in hopes that with funds he would hurry away to fill the needs and cravings that can hardly be met without the ready cash in this humourless century.
He flicked his hand in a go away gesture. "Too busy," he replied by way of explanation and failed to reach out and accept the notes I brandished at him. It was about then that I realized just how beautiful a creature he was with a head of untamed dark curls, retroussé nose and pouty lips. He in turn scanned me up and down, not at all in a salacious manner, but as if I represented a puzzle in need of solving and lacked pertinent pieces.
"What are you?” he asked me baldly; his voice flat, face blank.
"Just a guy out for a walk -- and you?"
"No. No you're not. A spy or a thief.”
A laugh slipped out. "Really, I'm just a gamer out playing Immortal Quest. Your turn."
He paused a moment, searching my face for the answer to some question he hadn't bother to ask aloud then as if answered, said, "According to my brother I'm a junkie, and a sad disappointment."
I went with my gut reaction to that. "Nope. No you're not."
He shrugged then responded, "The latest diagnosis: manic-depressive disguised as a sociopath -- I’ve got them all fooled." Then he transformed his face with a smile. It was a bit scary I have to say.
"Don't they call it bi-polar now-a-days?" I'd quickly fallen into the spirit of this odd conversation.
"Yes, they do," he replied, "One of the many things we've renamed to prove to ourselves just how civilized we think we've become."
"Yes, like calling a whore a sex worker."
"You're even less politically correct than I," my thin young alley dweller observed.
I tried a new offer to move him from the alley, "Let me buy you lunch."
"Really not hungry."
Time for the hands on approach. I reached down and gently touched one sharp cheek to see what he would do -- he didn't flinch, but held my gaze without apparent emotion, as I studied his exotic eyes.
"Why are you here?" I asked.
He replied with a question of his own, "Why do you carry a sword?"
Observant little wretch. I caught him up by the lapels of his ratty coat and pulled him to his feet.
"Never fear, I'm standing too close to draw my sword -- of steel."
We were practically chest to chest. He balanced himself by placing his hands on the flare of my hips, effectively blocking me from retrieving my blade. The wall of the building was mere inches from his back -- he leaned into me away from the bricks. Flight, fight or....
Hard to say who moved first, but when our lips closed together, I think it surprised us both. Blokes don't always bother with kissing, at least not in alleys. There was a bit of a struggle as he resisted having his back pinned against the rough textured bricks. I insisted though. Exploring his mouth -- he tasted of cigarettes and biscuits -- I had a scary moment when I interpreted his extreme tentativeness for lack of experience, until his, "hmm" clued me that my advances were on the civilized side of the consent line. Inevitably we broke away for air. I rested my mouth at the base of his wonderfully long neck.
He said, "Wow." Good sign I'd say, though I don't always keep up with the sudden changes in word meanings popular amongst the twenty-somethings, but "wow" seems safe, don’t you think? I licked at his neck lazily, the kind of neck immortals dream of... sucked just strong enough at his Adam's apple to leave my mark. "By the Mayan god of chocolate, you are edible!"
He snorted what might have been a laugh, then attacked my neck with his lips and teeth. He slid his hands upward from my hips traveling slowly up my torso, pinching my nipples along the way. He ripped open my shirt without regard to those useless little plastic buttons, stripping them all away. They landed amid the grist of the dirty alley pavement, lost. Then he grabbed my shoulders and spun me around so that my back met the wall. He hiked my vest up under my arms so that he could touch my skin. He lowered himself with that mouth against my chest, tasting, as he sank slowly to his knees and I against the bricks. My belt and jeans buttons gave way, quickly loosened by nimble fingers and he yanked my pants 'lastic down neath my balls. Angels wept. His mouth -- those lips -- hot around my hard cock. I combed my fingers through his riot of curls, reining him back. "Slow down, kid. I'm only human."
He pulled away briefly, "That remains to be seen." Yes, that was a bit eerie even for this old immortal, but his mouth was back in place stealing what little sense I might have once claimed to have had for a short period of time during the Reformation, I believe it was, no, I'm wrong it was -- never mind. This kid was good. Damn good. The center of the world was my cock with that exploring tongue mapping me like a new continent, and I the last male creature able to really feel the reach of an orgasm throughout my electrified body, my senses overloaded, he demolished me -- I may have sparked blue -- at least behind my eyes. (Is that how it is for women?)
"No, not quite human."
"What?"
"You need to remove that sword laden mackintosh and turn to the wall."
"Oh!" I complied, dropping my coat unceremoniously. It landed with a thunk on the alley pavement. I half expected him to dash away when I turned my back or alternatively cosh me a good one. (Yes, yes, I know, stupid.) Then the distinctive rustle of a condom foil being ripped open assured me that I had turned my bare backside to an only moderately crazed kid, not a complete psychopath.
"A pre-lubed prophylactic!” The kid enthused like he was quoting an over the top advert. “Could there be anything more civilized and tidy? Close, but not really touching. So English, wouldn't you say?"
"I'd say you talk too much. Time to apply yourself to the task at hand."
"Yes, sir!"
A finger, apparently moistened in the packet, ventured down my cleft slowly, then paused before circling. I shifted a bit, bracing myself, hands against the rough brick, spreading my legs, and inviting him in with a twitch of my hips. Mind over body I allow an enthusiastic, but journeyman entrance -- way more slowly than required. He stretched me too gently and I finally mentioned, "Not delicate, go for it." But he seemed to be back in his exploratory mind zone, and I accepted that he would take his time, slowly tormenting me with his precise fingers. I may have started to vibrate. Was that me humming?
"Please!" I demanded. OK, that sounds more like begging, but I was extremely forceful about it. Finally, he removed his fingers and I felt the first bobbing press of a thicker member nudging -- again too slowly. Once he was past my ring I leaned back on him, hurrying the ecstatic process. Finally there was an exaltation from my young topper, mingling with my own keening. I insisted on 'faster' in several languages, he laughed and complied. We pumped along nicely together for -- I have no idea how long -- but once the young master had found his mark the sensation became too delicious for time to exist and all my molecules thrummed to such a state that I'm sure that our union will be detected in another galaxy in the far future. I sizzled, he shouted and must have come, my vision greyed...
If you're lucky he's still standing guard outside your target.
Love, Adam
****************************************************************************
text#8340
Progress?
MH
****************************************************************************
text#26846
Yes.
Have intercepted your potential thief.
He was a good fuck.
SH
***************************************************************************
text#8341
So, safe to proceed?
MH
***************************************************************************
text#26847
Yes!
SH
**************************************************************************
text#8342
Thank you, brother. (Intercourse beyond job requirement, but it is always good to enjoy ones work.)
MH
by AD absolutely
Beta: mackiedockie (Thanks!)
Gift for: anya2112 (Happy holidays!)
Crossover: Highlander/Sherlock
Pairing: Methos/Sherlock
Rating: NC-17
Characters: on stage -- Sherlock (age 25), Methos (Adam), off stage -- Amanda, Mycroft
Word count: 1700
Warnings: language, sex
Summary: In 2001, seeking diversion from their long lifelines, the immortals Amanda and Methos plan a heist at a minor British government building. Sherlock Holmes has not yet invented himself as consulting detective, but will soon do so. PWP
****************************************************************************
From: it.takes.a.thief To: pale_horserider 23-08-2001
Subject: Re: Reconnaissance
****************************************************************************
Dear Adam,
You are so full of shit.
Love, Amanda
*****************************************************************************
From: pale_horserider To: it.takes.a.thief 22-08-2001
Subject: Reconnaissance
Some pictures have been blocked by † Immortal Mail to protect your privacy
*****************************************************************************
My Dearest Amanda,
I finished the reconnaissance as you requested, and have determined that while your plan is basically sound, I must report a potential complicator who could prove to be a thorn in your lovely backside -- though I expect you will find him as diverting as I did.
When approaching the target building from the alley access, as we discussed, I encountered a thin young man huddled with his back to the wall of the building. My first thought was homeless, and ignorable, but then his eyes met mine -- exotic, aqua pools, dove-wing shaped with the fire of intelligence blazing -- and my second thought was that nothing got by this waif and he would have to go away so that I could case the joint in proper fashion.
"'Hello there," I greeted him. "Hungry?" I started to offer him money in hopes that with funds he would hurry away to fill the needs and cravings that can hardly be met without the ready cash in this humourless century.
He flicked his hand in a go away gesture. "Too busy," he replied by way of explanation and failed to reach out and accept the notes I brandished at him. It was about then that I realized just how beautiful a creature he was with a head of untamed dark curls, retroussé nose and pouty lips. He in turn scanned me up and down, not at all in a salacious manner, but as if I represented a puzzle in need of solving and lacked pertinent pieces.
"What are you?” he asked me baldly; his voice flat, face blank.
"Just a guy out for a walk -- and you?"
"No. No you're not. A spy or a thief.”
A laugh slipped out. "Really, I'm just a gamer out playing Immortal Quest. Your turn."
He paused a moment, searching my face for the answer to some question he hadn't bother to ask aloud then as if answered, said, "According to my brother I'm a junkie, and a sad disappointment."
I went with my gut reaction to that. "Nope. No you're not."
He shrugged then responded, "The latest diagnosis: manic-depressive disguised as a sociopath -- I’ve got them all fooled." Then he transformed his face with a smile. It was a bit scary I have to say.
"Don't they call it bi-polar now-a-days?" I'd quickly fallen into the spirit of this odd conversation.
"Yes, they do," he replied, "One of the many things we've renamed to prove to ourselves just how civilized we think we've become."
"Yes, like calling a whore a sex worker."
"You're even less politically correct than I," my thin young alley dweller observed.
I tried a new offer to move him from the alley, "Let me buy you lunch."
"Really not hungry."
Time for the hands on approach. I reached down and gently touched one sharp cheek to see what he would do -- he didn't flinch, but held my gaze without apparent emotion, as I studied his exotic eyes.
"Why are you here?" I asked.
He replied with a question of his own, "Why do you carry a sword?"
Observant little wretch. I caught him up by the lapels of his ratty coat and pulled him to his feet.
"Never fear, I'm standing too close to draw my sword -- of steel."
We were practically chest to chest. He balanced himself by placing his hands on the flare of my hips, effectively blocking me from retrieving my blade. The wall of the building was mere inches from his back -- he leaned into me away from the bricks. Flight, fight or....
Hard to say who moved first, but when our lips closed together, I think it surprised us both. Blokes don't always bother with kissing, at least not in alleys. There was a bit of a struggle as he resisted having his back pinned against the rough textured bricks. I insisted though. Exploring his mouth -- he tasted of cigarettes and biscuits -- I had a scary moment when I interpreted his extreme tentativeness for lack of experience, until his, "hmm" clued me that my advances were on the civilized side of the consent line. Inevitably we broke away for air. I rested my mouth at the base of his wonderfully long neck.
He said, "Wow." Good sign I'd say, though I don't always keep up with the sudden changes in word meanings popular amongst the twenty-somethings, but "wow" seems safe, don’t you think? I licked at his neck lazily, the kind of neck immortals dream of... sucked just strong enough at his Adam's apple to leave my mark. "By the Mayan god of chocolate, you are edible!"
He snorted what might have been a laugh, then attacked my neck with his lips and teeth. He slid his hands upward from my hips traveling slowly up my torso, pinching my nipples along the way. He ripped open my shirt without regard to those useless little plastic buttons, stripping them all away. They landed amid the grist of the dirty alley pavement, lost. Then he grabbed my shoulders and spun me around so that my back met the wall. He hiked my vest up under my arms so that he could touch my skin. He lowered himself with that mouth against my chest, tasting, as he sank slowly to his knees and I against the bricks. My belt and jeans buttons gave way, quickly loosened by nimble fingers and he yanked my pants 'lastic down neath my balls. Angels wept. His mouth -- those lips -- hot around my hard cock. I combed my fingers through his riot of curls, reining him back. "Slow down, kid. I'm only human."
He pulled away briefly, "That remains to be seen." Yes, that was a bit eerie even for this old immortal, but his mouth was back in place stealing what little sense I might have once claimed to have had for a short period of time during the Reformation, I believe it was, no, I'm wrong it was -- never mind. This kid was good. Damn good. The center of the world was my cock with that exploring tongue mapping me like a new continent, and I the last male creature able to really feel the reach of an orgasm throughout my electrified body, my senses overloaded, he demolished me -- I may have sparked blue -- at least behind my eyes. (Is that how it is for women?)
"No, not quite human."
"What?"
"You need to remove that sword laden mackintosh and turn to the wall."
"Oh!" I complied, dropping my coat unceremoniously. It landed with a thunk on the alley pavement. I half expected him to dash away when I turned my back or alternatively cosh me a good one. (Yes, yes, I know, stupid.) Then the distinctive rustle of a condom foil being ripped open assured me that I had turned my bare backside to an only moderately crazed kid, not a complete psychopath.
"A pre-lubed prophylactic!” The kid enthused like he was quoting an over the top advert. “Could there be anything more civilized and tidy? Close, but not really touching. So English, wouldn't you say?"
"I'd say you talk too much. Time to apply yourself to the task at hand."
"Yes, sir!"
A finger, apparently moistened in the packet, ventured down my cleft slowly, then paused before circling. I shifted a bit, bracing myself, hands against the rough brick, spreading my legs, and inviting him in with a twitch of my hips. Mind over body I allow an enthusiastic, but journeyman entrance -- way more slowly than required. He stretched me too gently and I finally mentioned, "Not delicate, go for it." But he seemed to be back in his exploratory mind zone, and I accepted that he would take his time, slowly tormenting me with his precise fingers. I may have started to vibrate. Was that me humming?
"Please!" I demanded. OK, that sounds more like begging, but I was extremely forceful about it. Finally, he removed his fingers and I felt the first bobbing press of a thicker member nudging -- again too slowly. Once he was past my ring I leaned back on him, hurrying the ecstatic process. Finally there was an exaltation from my young topper, mingling with my own keening. I insisted on 'faster' in several languages, he laughed and complied. We pumped along nicely together for -- I have no idea how long -- but once the young master had found his mark the sensation became too delicious for time to exist and all my molecules thrummed to such a state that I'm sure that our union will be detected in another galaxy in the far future. I sizzled, he shouted and must have come, my vision greyed...
If you're lucky he's still standing guard outside your target.
Love, Adam
****************************************************************************
text#8340
Progress?
MH
****************************************************************************
text#26846
Yes.
Have intercepted your potential thief.
He was a good fuck.
SH
***************************************************************************
text#8341
So, safe to proceed?
MH
***************************************************************************
text#26847
Yes!
SH
**************************************************************************
text#8342
Thank you, brother. (Intercourse beyond job requirement, but it is always good to enjoy ones work.)
MH