Computing by Kijikun (NC-17| DM\M)
Title: Computing
Author: Kijikun
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairing: DM/M
Spoilers: None really, but ignores the existence of Endgame and The Source
Prompt: Technology
Summary: Methos doesn’t claim to have invented the internet. Just the first computer.
ETA: A/N: All errors should be fixed now. Pre-final version had been accidentally posted. Sorry about that.
Duncan laid tangled with Methos on the large bed in Methos’ mid-sized townhouse. It was quiet and dark, and for once things felt calm. As close as it sat from the local University campus where Methos taught classes, the streets were just as quiet and dark as the townhouse. Duncan knew that if he went to the window he’d see the soft glow of street lamps and the dim light of the moon. He didn’t move, though, drifting in and out of sleep.
“Mvinwitme,” Methos mumbled into Duncan's skin as they lay tangled around each other.
“Mind repeating that in English, Methos?” Duncan teased before he yawned.
“You should move in,” Methos repeated. “It'd be great. I wouldn’t have to get up early to make it across town to campus, bigger bathroom, no visitors calling at all hours needing Duncan MacLeod of the Clan Macleod to save their kittens.” He buried his face against the side of Duncan’s throat, nuzzling lazily.
Duncan stroked a large hand down Methos’ back, his calloused finger tips catching the skin in places. “What about the loft?”
“Keep it, obviously. Nice and practical for when we aren’t speaking,” Methos told him dryly.
“We always talk to each other,” Duncan reminded him.
Methos opened one eye. “We do not. I can remember several times when we weren’t talking.”
“Most of the time I talk, you nod sagely and drink your beer. When you’re not telling us about one of your wives.” Duncan chuckled. “Or how you invented the internet.”
“I’ve had lots of wives to talk about, and I never claimed to have invented the internet. Just the first computer and beer.” Methos paused. “Well the first good beer.”
“Right, just those things.” Duncan fought to keep a straight face.
Methos rose up on his arms to look down at Duncan. “Well a few other things here and there, but I don’t like to brag.” He leaned down and nibbled his way into Duncan’s mouth.
Duncan rested his hand on Methos’ back, the other hand curling around Methos' wrist. “You brag? Never.” He couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice.
“You're one to laugh, you probably blew up the first computer you came across. Barbarian.” Methos bit Duncan’s bottom lip playfully.
“It wasn’t my fault!” Duncan protested. “And Connor said he’d never tell that story.”
Methos started laughing, resting his forehead against Duncan’s. “You really blew up the first computer you came across?”
Duncan tried to look affronted and failed. “Connor’s always had a thing for new technology, but it didn’t like me much. I didn’t blow it up as much as give it a mental breakdown. ”
Methos was still laughing when he kissed him. “I’m not sure if I even want to know what you did.”
“I don’t even know what I did,” Duncan muttered. “And I still don’t believe you invented the first computer.” He said the last part teasingly, coaxing Methos down on top of him.
“1623, granted we couldn’t program it but I rather liked it,” Methos told him between kisses that were growing longer and messier by the moment. “Too bad the original and some of the designs were lost in a fire.”
Duncan made a distracted noise and cupped the back of Methos’ head as he kissed him deeply. His other hand slid down over Methos ass, drawing a moan out of him.
“Is that a hint to stop talking, Mac?” Methos asked, rocking his hips against Duncan’s. His growing erection slid along Duncan’s.
“About computers.” Duncan pulled Methos’ head down and plundered the older man’s mouth with his tongue. His fingers ran further down Methos' ass to make circles around his opening.
Methos moaned softy and pressed back into Duncan’s touch. “Right. Shutting up now.”
Duncan chuckled darkly into Methos' shoulder and bit down gently. He pressed his finger inside, loving how Methos just opened up for him. Years of practice, Duncan figured, but didn’t like examining it too closely because he knew damn well who helped in a good portion of that practice.
Methos clutched at Duncan’s shoulder and made a soft sound a soft sound. “Lube is under the pillow,” he managed as Duncan pressed the single digit in and out. His cock twitched, brushing against Duncan’s.
Duncan reached back and grabbed the tube from under the pillow. “And I thought I was the Boy Scout.” He told Methos, sliding his finger out and then coating his fingers with the slick fluid.
“You are.” Methos groaned as two fingers were pressed into him. When Duncan crooked his fingers inside Methos and brushed against his prostate, the rest of his words came out scrabbled. “I’m just--fuck--I’m just practical.”
Duncan chuckled, then moaned as Methos pressed back towards his fingers then rocked forward against Duncan’s erection.
“Fuck-Mac, no more teasing tonight.” Methos sounded like he’d meant it to be a command but it came out with a pleading edge.
They’d been teasing each other all night, and the earlier mutual blow jobs had only taken off part of the edge.
Duncan pulled his fingers from Methos’ tight body and kissed him again roughly.
Methos eased up to a sitting position and then rose up onto his knees. Then he was pressing himself down onto Duncan, his head tipped back in ecstasy.
Duncan groaned and resisted the urge to press up into Methos' tight hot passage. “Christ.” Duncan breathed.
“Just Methos.” He chuckled breathlessly. Then he started to move, lifting and pressing back down.
It left Duncan panting and he gripped Methos’ hips as he thrust upwards. The movement drew a sound out of Methos and he started moving faster. Duncan groaned thankfully and raised his knees slightly for more control of his thrusts. Fire pooled in Duncan’s belly and everywhere their skin touched, Duncan felt a pleasure akin to pain.
Soon there was nothing but the hot press of skin and the harsh sound of breathing as they moved together. Striving for accord like they did in everything they did, until they found it and Methos was curling down over Duncan whispering. “Your mouth, Duncan-unn-“
And then Duncan was kissing him hard, his teeth scraping Methos' lips, as he stroked Methos’ penis. Duncan swallowed up Methos’ sharp cry as he came, feeling the older man’s body tighten impossibly around him and a hot surge on his hand and belly. He struggled to keep thrusting, wanting to wring every moment he could out of it, part of him always sure that this would be the last time. Duncan opened eyes and looked up into Methos' hazel eyes, and Duncan couldn’t even start to put a name to the color they were at that moment. Then his orgasm was there and he couldn’t keep his eyes open, let alone remember his own name.
Methos was tracing patterns on his chest when Duncan opened his eyes again. He leaned down for a tender kiss. “We’re a mess.”
“Hmm?” Duncan murmured. He was content to lay there with Methos’ weight against him.
“No, really, we’re a hot sticky mess, I think we both need a shower,” Methos poked Duncan’s chest. He started to get up from the bed.
“Later,” Duncan told Methos, pulling him back down onto the bed.
Methos made a token noise of protest then curled around Duncan.
Duncan carded his fingers through Methos’ short hair and listened to the sound of their breathing in the quiet dark.
Author: Kijikun
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairing: DM/M
Spoilers: None really, but ignores the existence of Endgame and The Source
Prompt: Technology
Summary: Methos doesn’t claim to have invented the internet. Just the first computer.
ETA: A/N: All errors should be fixed now. Pre-final version had been accidentally posted. Sorry about that.
Duncan laid tangled with Methos on the large bed in Methos’ mid-sized townhouse. It was quiet and dark, and for once things felt calm. As close as it sat from the local University campus where Methos taught classes, the streets were just as quiet and dark as the townhouse. Duncan knew that if he went to the window he’d see the soft glow of street lamps and the dim light of the moon. He didn’t move, though, drifting in and out of sleep.
“Mvinwitme,” Methos mumbled into Duncan's skin as they lay tangled around each other.
“Mind repeating that in English, Methos?” Duncan teased before he yawned.
“You should move in,” Methos repeated. “It'd be great. I wouldn’t have to get up early to make it across town to campus, bigger bathroom, no visitors calling at all hours needing Duncan MacLeod of the Clan Macleod to save their kittens.” He buried his face against the side of Duncan’s throat, nuzzling lazily.
Duncan stroked a large hand down Methos’ back, his calloused finger tips catching the skin in places. “What about the loft?”
“Keep it, obviously. Nice and practical for when we aren’t speaking,” Methos told him dryly.
“We always talk to each other,” Duncan reminded him.
Methos opened one eye. “We do not. I can remember several times when we weren’t talking.”
“Most of the time I talk, you nod sagely and drink your beer. When you’re not telling us about one of your wives.” Duncan chuckled. “Or how you invented the internet.”
“I’ve had lots of wives to talk about, and I never claimed to have invented the internet. Just the first computer and beer.” Methos paused. “Well the first good beer.”
“Right, just those things.” Duncan fought to keep a straight face.
Methos rose up on his arms to look down at Duncan. “Well a few other things here and there, but I don’t like to brag.” He leaned down and nibbled his way into Duncan’s mouth.
Duncan rested his hand on Methos’ back, the other hand curling around Methos' wrist. “You brag? Never.” He couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice.
“You're one to laugh, you probably blew up the first computer you came across. Barbarian.” Methos bit Duncan’s bottom lip playfully.
“It wasn’t my fault!” Duncan protested. “And Connor said he’d never tell that story.”
Methos started laughing, resting his forehead against Duncan’s. “You really blew up the first computer you came across?”
Duncan tried to look affronted and failed. “Connor’s always had a thing for new technology, but it didn’t like me much. I didn’t blow it up as much as give it a mental breakdown. ”
Methos was still laughing when he kissed him. “I’m not sure if I even want to know what you did.”
“I don’t even know what I did,” Duncan muttered. “And I still don’t believe you invented the first computer.” He said the last part teasingly, coaxing Methos down on top of him.
“1623, granted we couldn’t program it but I rather liked it,” Methos told him between kisses that were growing longer and messier by the moment. “Too bad the original and some of the designs were lost in a fire.”
Duncan made a distracted noise and cupped the back of Methos’ head as he kissed him deeply. His other hand slid down over Methos ass, drawing a moan out of him.
“Is that a hint to stop talking, Mac?” Methos asked, rocking his hips against Duncan’s. His growing erection slid along Duncan’s.
“About computers.” Duncan pulled Methos’ head down and plundered the older man’s mouth with his tongue. His fingers ran further down Methos' ass to make circles around his opening.
Methos moaned softy and pressed back into Duncan’s touch. “Right. Shutting up now.”
Duncan chuckled darkly into Methos' shoulder and bit down gently. He pressed his finger inside, loving how Methos just opened up for him. Years of practice, Duncan figured, but didn’t like examining it too closely because he knew damn well who helped in a good portion of that practice.
Methos clutched at Duncan’s shoulder and made a soft sound a soft sound. “Lube is under the pillow,” he managed as Duncan pressed the single digit in and out. His cock twitched, brushing against Duncan’s.
Duncan reached back and grabbed the tube from under the pillow. “And I thought I was the Boy Scout.” He told Methos, sliding his finger out and then coating his fingers with the slick fluid.
“You are.” Methos groaned as two fingers were pressed into him. When Duncan crooked his fingers inside Methos and brushed against his prostate, the rest of his words came out scrabbled. “I’m just--fuck--I’m just practical.”
Duncan chuckled, then moaned as Methos pressed back towards his fingers then rocked forward against Duncan’s erection.
“Fuck-Mac, no more teasing tonight.” Methos sounded like he’d meant it to be a command but it came out with a pleading edge.
They’d been teasing each other all night, and the earlier mutual blow jobs had only taken off part of the edge.
Duncan pulled his fingers from Methos’ tight body and kissed him again roughly.
Methos eased up to a sitting position and then rose up onto his knees. Then he was pressing himself down onto Duncan, his head tipped back in ecstasy.
Duncan groaned and resisted the urge to press up into Methos' tight hot passage. “Christ.” Duncan breathed.
“Just Methos.” He chuckled breathlessly. Then he started to move, lifting and pressing back down.
It left Duncan panting and he gripped Methos’ hips as he thrust upwards. The movement drew a sound out of Methos and he started moving faster. Duncan groaned thankfully and raised his knees slightly for more control of his thrusts. Fire pooled in Duncan’s belly and everywhere their skin touched, Duncan felt a pleasure akin to pain.
Soon there was nothing but the hot press of skin and the harsh sound of breathing as they moved together. Striving for accord like they did in everything they did, until they found it and Methos was curling down over Duncan whispering. “Your mouth, Duncan-unn-“
And then Duncan was kissing him hard, his teeth scraping Methos' lips, as he stroked Methos’ penis. Duncan swallowed up Methos’ sharp cry as he came, feeling the older man’s body tighten impossibly around him and a hot surge on his hand and belly. He struggled to keep thrusting, wanting to wring every moment he could out of it, part of him always sure that this would be the last time. Duncan opened eyes and looked up into Methos' hazel eyes, and Duncan couldn’t even start to put a name to the color they were at that moment. Then his orgasm was there and he couldn’t keep his eyes open, let alone remember his own name.
Methos was tracing patterns on his chest when Duncan opened his eyes again. He leaned down for a tender kiss. “We’re a mess.”
“Hmm?” Duncan murmured. He was content to lay there with Methos’ weight against him.
“No, really, we’re a hot sticky mess, I think we both need a shower,” Methos poked Duncan’s chest. He started to get up from the bed.
“Later,” Duncan told Methos, pulling him back down onto the bed.
Methos made a token noise of protest then curled around Duncan.
Duncan carded his fingers through Methos’ short hair and listened to the sound of their breathing in the quiet dark.