Turn Back the Night p2/3 Torchwood/Highlander crossover [NC-17]
“Oh, no you don’t.” Jack glanced down at the restraining hand, then back up at Methos with a faint air of puzzlement.
“Why not?” He asked. He didn’t get an immediate answer as Methos slid out of his coat and hung it up, then bent to remove his boots. “And why do you have this thing about taking your boots off as soon as you get in?” Methos looked up at him and grinned.
“When you’re taking someone’s clothes off, haven’t you noticed that your fingers don’t untie knots very well by the time you get to their feet? I’m making your job easier, Harkness.”
“Ah. In that case...” Jack shrugged out of his own coat and made short work of removing his boots while Methos chuckled.
“That’s better.” Methos grasped one of Jack’s hands and drew him close, not to kiss, just to hold. Cheek pressed to cheek and arms wrapped around each other, they re-established the connection between them before moving as one to claim each others lips.
“I’ve missed you,” Jack whispered against Methos’s mouth as he paused for breath. “I’ve missed this.” He felt Methos smile.
“That makes two of us.” Jack was unable to say anything in reply, as Methos had taken possession of his mouth once more and was kissing him as if there was no tomorrow and not much left of today. Jack moaned into the kiss and returned it in kind, loving the way that a kiss could feel so demanding and gentle at the same time. Hands began to wander, searching for skin to touch, and they broke apart as their clothes became a barrier to what they both wanted and needed to feel. Jack’s braces had already been slid off his shoulders and his shirt unbuttoned but his t-shirt and Methos’s penchant for chunky jumpers had proved too big an obstacle to surmount, and still remain connected physically. Clothes were shed in double quick time as they tried to maintain that connection to each other with their eyes alone, before moving back toward each other in the first steps of a dance as old as time itself. Jack’s mouth traced a path across Methos’s skin, biting gently at the sensitive spot on his neck before sweeping across shoulders that were far more substantial out of clothes than they looked in them. Methos hissed with pleasure and let his fingers glide over Jack’s shoulders and back and hips until he was holding on so tight that he could feel his fingertips digging in to soft flesh. Methos landed on the bed with a dull thud and a slight bounce, not entirely sure whether he’d been pushed down there, or whether he’d fallen backward and dragged Jack with him. Not that he was bothered either way as the net result was the same; they were both where they wanted to be, entangled with each other on a horizontal surface. The ensuing tussle for supremacy ended up with Methos gaining the upper hand and he pinned Jack to the bed with as much of himself as possible while still managing to reach all the sensitive spots on Jack’s skin that he could.
It didn’t take long before Jack ceased his half-hearted struggle against Methos and relaxed under his attentions instead, body arching into each kiss and caress, silently begging for more. Methos carefully sat back on his heels for a moment, breathing heavily, eyes drinking in the sight before him. Jack whimpered at the loss of stimulation.
“You stopped.” How Jack managed to sound both accusing and desperate at the same time with so few words made Methos tingle all over, he wasn’t sure he’d managed to hone that skill to quite the same level despite his advantage of years. He leaned down to nibble Jack’s lips playfully, as he dug the lube out from under the pillow.
“Not for long...” He whispered against Jack’s lips, conscious of them curving into a smile against his own. He felt rather than heard the reply as Jack’s breath puffed gently across his mouth.
“Good...” Methos shuffled backwards on the bed and flipped open the lube, coating his fingers liberally. He stole another glance at Jack, who had let his eyes drift shut while his hips strained toward Methos. Much as Methos wanted to take Jack and make him scream, he realised he needed something slightly different; he didn’t think Jack would mind and he was sure he’d still coax a yell or two out of him.
Jack’s eyes flew back open as the lube-slick fingers touched his cock, coating him thoroughly. It wasn’t the touch he’d been expecting, but he wasn’t going to complain, not at all, not when Methos’s hands felt so good. Their eyes locked, and Methos gave Jack a rather predatory grin that made him shiver inside and out.
“Change of plan.” Methos growled, before slithering up Jack’s body and kneeling over him. His brain barely had time to register Methos’s intent as he carefully lowered his hips, impaling himself on Jack’s cock.
Methos paused, gasping, letting the initial burn of pain settle to the more bearable sting of pleasure, and consciously willed his body to relax further so he could take more of Jack inside himself. He felt his body comply with gratifying rapidity and inch by careful inch he lowered himself onto Jack’s straining cock until he could at last feel Jack’s balls against his arse. He drew a deep shuddering breath and opened his eyes.
Jacks clenched his fists into the duvet, desperately trying not to move, not to thrust up into the hot tightness that was slowly enveloping him. He’d been partly shocked out of his haze of lust by Methos’s change of plan, knowing that obtaining maximum pleasure for both of them required intense concentration and more than a little restraint. Restraint on his own part wasn’t something that he usually brought to a bed that contained Methos; he’d been shown that it wasn’t usually necessary. Right now it was, and Jack was finding it hellishly difficult. He watched Methos, the hazel eyes squeezed shut in concentration, head flung back, chest heaving, droplets of sweat running down the fair skin that Jack was just dying to lick away. It seemed forever before Methos stopped moving and opened his eyes. Jack thought that he looked all-powerful, like some sort of Greek God. He hadn’t realised he’d said this aloud until Methos ground out breathlessly,
“I’m not Greek. And being a God is overrated.” Jack intended to answer, but found himself unable to as Methos began to move and the resulting waves of pleasure stole all his breath as he struggled not to come right there and then. Methos grinned at his reaction and settled into a gentle rocking motion, unable to stifle his moans as each tiny movement drove Jack’s cock deeper into his arse. Soon they were both shuddering and gasping, and Jack realised he couldn’t hold back much longer.
“I...” he panted. Methos became very still, and reached out with one shaking hand to touch Jack’s clenched fist. He closed his eyes, and drew a deep breath before opening them again and letting his gaze bore into Jack’s.
“You can move now,” Methos whispered. Jack needed no further urging and grabbed one of Methos’s hips in a vice-like grip as he thrust upwards into him, hard. He wrapped the other hand round Methos’s cock and smeared the pre-come over the sensitive head before gently squeezing it. The groan this produced in Methos went straight to Jack’s cock and he thrust upwards again, this time to be met by Methos’s hips pressing downwards, driving him deeper; the resulting moan was torn from two throats. All restraint and concentration was thrown out of the window at that point as Methos instinctively thrust forward into Jack’s hand before driving himself back onto Jack’s cock, fingers clamped on Jack’s arm hard enough to draw blood. Not that Jack noticed as he drove himself as deep as he could into Methos’s body; they were beyond conscious awareness, focused entirely on their mutual need for release. Methos came first, spurting over Jack’s hand, and chest and face, shuddering and calling out wordlessly. Jack could not resist the clenching of Methos’s muscles around him, and screamed his own release as he emptied himself with one last thrust into Methos’s body. Methos collapsed against Jack with an inarticulate moan, and Jack carefully wrapped his arms around him, unable to help flinching slightly as sweat found its way into the open scratches that Methos had left on his arm, but needing to hold the old immortal close to stop himself from falling apart.