![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kathierif_ficTitle: The Boat That Rocks
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kathierif_fic
Fandom: Highlander
Pairing: Methos/Duncan MacLeod
Rating: FRM
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit.
Warnings: slash and a boat
Word Count: 1570
Summary: “Some experiences,” Methos mused, “are worth getting repeated, and some…not so much.”
Author’s Notes: Written for![[community profile]](https://s.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kink_bingo, prompt vehicular. The idea came to me because I wrote “sex on a fucking boat!” next to the prompt, for whatever reason…
“It’ll be fun. You’ll enjoy it. What can go wrong?”
Duncan rolled his eyes good-naturedly at the constant stream of muttered bitching that came from the other man and tried not to pay attention to him. Instead, he focused on the fishing rod in his hands, the sensation of the sun burning down on him and the faint taste of wind on his lips.
“What fun is it to sit around in a nutshell of a boat and not doing anything for hours?”
Duncan felt the muscles in his shoulders relax, and he looked at the other Immortal over his shoulder before pushing his sunglasses up his nose. “You could’ve said no, you know,” he pointed out with a small twitch of his lips. “You could’ve stayed home, Methos.”
“What, and leave you alone and without a babysitter, having all the fun?” Methos snorted and wriggled his toes slightly. Unlike Duncan, he wasn’t holding a fishing rod and had spread out on his back along the entire length of the little fishing boat Duncan had rented for them, his legs crossed at the ankles and his t-shirt riding up, to reveal a think stripe of pale stomach. He’d put one arm behind his head and used it as a pillow, while he used his other hand to shade his eyes.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Duncan pointed out quietly. “I’ve managed to get by just fine without you watching my every step, you know?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Methos sighed and grumbled a little more under his breath.
“Seriously, MacLeod,” he started after a moment, “do you really think you’ll catch anything here?”
Duncan shrugged. “Who knows?” he asked back.
“I’m pretty sure you won’t,” Methos said archly. “I just hope you packed lunch.” His toe nudged the small cooler Duncan had brought with him. “And something to drink.” He grinned and arched his back slightly. “Hey, MacLeod, do you know what’s the difference between that beer you like and sex in a boat?”
Duncan rolled his eyes again, but before he could open his mouth for a reply, Methos had answered his own question. “There isn’t any difference, both are fucking close to water.”
“Ha, ha,” Duncan said, but Methos just grinned, highly satisfied with himself and relaxed, just the way Duncan had wanted to have him – except that he hadn’t wanted to be the butt of the Old Man’s jokes – jokes that were at least as old as Methos himself.
Duncan raised his eyebrows. “Sounds like you have some experience with that,” he said challengingly, but Methos only laughed.
“I have experiences with almost everything,” he mused after a moment. “It’s just that some of them are worth getting repeated and some…not so much.”
A dark shadow crossed his face for a brief moment, and Duncan put his fishing gear aside. Methos was probably right and there was no fish willing to get caught today, besides, this promised to be even better.
“And?” he asked, going for playfully obtuse. “Is fucking in a boat worth getting repeated?”
The shadow disappeared as quickly as it had come, and the skin around Methos’ eyes crinkled in obvious amusement.
“Are you telling me you’ve never made this particular experience? Somehow I find that hard to believe.”
Duncan shrugged. Of course he’d done it in a boat before, especially if the barge he lived on counted as a boat. Methos knew that. The Old Man just wanted to tease him, again.
Methos slowly sat up and raised both eyebrows.
“I haven’t done it on this particular boat, with you,” Duncan replied and raised his eyebrows, to match Methos’ expression. “So…I’d like to find out if it’s an experience worth repeating.”
Methos shook his head slightly. “Right here, where everyone can walk in on us?” he asked, but if Duncan wasn’t mistaken, he sounded intrigued.
He looked over the side of the boat, toward the shore, which was far enough away, at least in his opinion.
“Everyone walking in on us deserves the sight,” he decided, “I don’t know too many people who can walk on water.”
“And you’re also willing to take the risk of turning the boat over?” Methos asked. “Because let me tell you, that is not an experience worth repeating.”
“We’ll have to be careful,” Duncan grinned and reached for the hem of Methos’ shirt.
“We?” Methos repeated darkly, but he didn’t put a lot of a fight when Duncan pulled his shirt up, over his head, and dropped it to the planks of the boat.
He carefully moved until he was in between Methos’ legs, now uncrossed, and waited until the rocking of the boat had subsided again.
Maybe, he thought, this wasn’t such a good idea after all, but one glance in Methos’ vaguely amused hazel eyes stopped him from voicing his thoughts. What was the worst that could happen? No Immortal had ever died of drowning, at least not permanently.
He reached out and let his hands wander over Methos’ lean stomach, his thumbs brushing over the dark discs of his nipples teasingly.
“You just have to hold very still,” he murmured, and then, he leaned over him for a deep kiss, ignoring the words Methos tried to form around the assault. He was sure they were sarcastic anyways, and in no way helpful to the current situation.
Methos’ teeth closed around the tip of his tongue, sharp and painful and unforgiving, and Duncan jerked back with a force that almost made their little boat sink.
Methos’ arms shot out, to grab at the sides of the boat and cling to the wood, his knuckles whitened from the strength of his grip. “I have to hold very still?” he hissed. “Maybe you should listen to your own advice, MacLeod!”
The rest of his words were swallowed by another kiss, and this time, Duncan didn’t stop until he felt Methos’ shoulders relax under his touch.
Duncan guided him down again, into a supine position, and slowly stretched out on top of the other man.
“See?” he breathed, “everything’s all right.”
“If you drown me, I swear, I’ll shoot your ass,” Methos murmured shakily.
“I won’t drown you,” Duncan promised and worked a hand between them, opening the button on Methos’ jeans and grasping the zipper in between sweaty fingertips. “Lift your hips a little.”
Methos exhaled, but he didn’t protest and lifted his pelvis, pressing it into the contact with Duncan’s body, and letting Duncan reach around with his hand, to squeeze his ass and slowly work both his pants and the boxer briefs he wore underneath down to mid-thigh.
Methos made a faint sound at the back of his throat and tipped his head back, exposing the vulnerable length of his throat, and Duncan took advantage and closed his lips around Methos’ pulse point, sucking softly while he struggled with his own pants, the belt buckle catching and refusing to cooperate with his fingers. The boat started to rock again, the sound of the waves lapping against the wooden planks filling his consciousness just as much as Methos’ narrowed eyes and the paleness of his throat, quickly hidden by Methos ducking his chin again.
Finally, his belt opened, and the yanked his pants down, freeing his already half-hard dick. He quickly stilled again and let the boat even itself before he reached between them with one broad, sword-calloused hand and took both their dicks in hand and squeezing them tightly together.
The sun was burning down onto the nape of his neck and his naked, exposed ass, the sweat was starting to tickle his eyes, and when he closed them, his awareness narrowed to just Methos, the waves, the sun and the boat, but quickly, his arousal and the rush of blood in his own ears overtook his senses and the speed of his hand increased.
Methos groaned underneath him, the vibrations travelling through Duncan’s chest and his entire body, and Duncan echoed the sound and tightened his grip at tiny little bit, until it was almost painful, his touch only eased by their mixed pre-come and sweat.
“MacLeod,” Methos groaned, just as orgasm overwhelmed both of them, and cold wetness seeped into the cuff and the knee of Duncan’s pants in a stark, shocking contrast to the heat of his and Methos’ come between them.
Methos hissed and cursed while squirming, which didn’t help with the strong rocking motion of the boat, and when Duncan forced his eyes open, he realized that the cold wetness came from the water that had ran over the side of the boat and had collected at its bottom.
“Told you to be more careful,” Methos muttered, a frown on his face, and Duncan kissed his nose gently.
“Okay,” he whispered, “so maybe that isn’t exactly something to be repeated. But I didn’t drown you.”
“My ass is wet,” Methos said in obvious agreement, “I’m sticky and cold and just hope you brought something to clean up with.”
Duncan smiled and handed him his own shirt, now wet, before wriggling his own pants back up his legs.
Methos looked at him and suddenly started to laugh. “Really, MacLeod,” he said teasingly, “this is not the boat that rocks.”
That comment along, Duncan thought, almost justified tossing Methos’ skinny ass over board and letting him swim to the shore, but instead, he just leaned over and kissed the laughter right off Methos’ lips.
*end.
Author:
kathierif_ficFandom: Highlander
Pairing: Methos/Duncan MacLeod
Rating: FRM
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit.
Warnings: slash and a boat
Word Count: 1570
Summary: “Some experiences,” Methos mused, “are worth getting repeated, and some…not so much.”
Author’s Notes: Written for
kink_bingo, prompt vehicular. The idea came to me because I wrote “sex on a fucking boat!” next to the prompt, for whatever reason…“It’ll be fun. You’ll enjoy it. What can go wrong?”
Duncan rolled his eyes good-naturedly at the constant stream of muttered bitching that came from the other man and tried not to pay attention to him. Instead, he focused on the fishing rod in his hands, the sensation of the sun burning down on him and the faint taste of wind on his lips.
“What fun is it to sit around in a nutshell of a boat and not doing anything for hours?”
Duncan felt the muscles in his shoulders relax, and he looked at the other Immortal over his shoulder before pushing his sunglasses up his nose. “You could’ve said no, you know,” he pointed out with a small twitch of his lips. “You could’ve stayed home, Methos.”
“What, and leave you alone and without a babysitter, having all the fun?” Methos snorted and wriggled his toes slightly. Unlike Duncan, he wasn’t holding a fishing rod and had spread out on his back along the entire length of the little fishing boat Duncan had rented for them, his legs crossed at the ankles and his t-shirt riding up, to reveal a think stripe of pale stomach. He’d put one arm behind his head and used it as a pillow, while he used his other hand to shade his eyes.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Duncan pointed out quietly. “I’ve managed to get by just fine without you watching my every step, you know?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Methos sighed and grumbled a little more under his breath.
“Seriously, MacLeod,” he started after a moment, “do you really think you’ll catch anything here?”
Duncan shrugged. “Who knows?” he asked back.
“I’m pretty sure you won’t,” Methos said archly. “I just hope you packed lunch.” His toe nudged the small cooler Duncan had brought with him. “And something to drink.” He grinned and arched his back slightly. “Hey, MacLeod, do you know what’s the difference between that beer you like and sex in a boat?”
Duncan rolled his eyes again, but before he could open his mouth for a reply, Methos had answered his own question. “There isn’t any difference, both are fucking close to water.”
“Ha, ha,” Duncan said, but Methos just grinned, highly satisfied with himself and relaxed, just the way Duncan had wanted to have him – except that he hadn’t wanted to be the butt of the Old Man’s jokes – jokes that were at least as old as Methos himself.
Duncan raised his eyebrows. “Sounds like you have some experience with that,” he said challengingly, but Methos only laughed.
“I have experiences with almost everything,” he mused after a moment. “It’s just that some of them are worth getting repeated and some…not so much.”
A dark shadow crossed his face for a brief moment, and Duncan put his fishing gear aside. Methos was probably right and there was no fish willing to get caught today, besides, this promised to be even better.
“And?” he asked, going for playfully obtuse. “Is fucking in a boat worth getting repeated?”
The shadow disappeared as quickly as it had come, and the skin around Methos’ eyes crinkled in obvious amusement.
“Are you telling me you’ve never made this particular experience? Somehow I find that hard to believe.”
Duncan shrugged. Of course he’d done it in a boat before, especially if the barge he lived on counted as a boat. Methos knew that. The Old Man just wanted to tease him, again.
Methos slowly sat up and raised both eyebrows.
“I haven’t done it on this particular boat, with you,” Duncan replied and raised his eyebrows, to match Methos’ expression. “So…I’d like to find out if it’s an experience worth repeating.”
Methos shook his head slightly. “Right here, where everyone can walk in on us?” he asked, but if Duncan wasn’t mistaken, he sounded intrigued.
He looked over the side of the boat, toward the shore, which was far enough away, at least in his opinion.
“Everyone walking in on us deserves the sight,” he decided, “I don’t know too many people who can walk on water.”
“And you’re also willing to take the risk of turning the boat over?” Methos asked. “Because let me tell you, that is not an experience worth repeating.”
“We’ll have to be careful,” Duncan grinned and reached for the hem of Methos’ shirt.
“We?” Methos repeated darkly, but he didn’t put a lot of a fight when Duncan pulled his shirt up, over his head, and dropped it to the planks of the boat.
He carefully moved until he was in between Methos’ legs, now uncrossed, and waited until the rocking of the boat had subsided again.
Maybe, he thought, this wasn’t such a good idea after all, but one glance in Methos’ vaguely amused hazel eyes stopped him from voicing his thoughts. What was the worst that could happen? No Immortal had ever died of drowning, at least not permanently.
He reached out and let his hands wander over Methos’ lean stomach, his thumbs brushing over the dark discs of his nipples teasingly.
“You just have to hold very still,” he murmured, and then, he leaned over him for a deep kiss, ignoring the words Methos tried to form around the assault. He was sure they were sarcastic anyways, and in no way helpful to the current situation.
Methos’ teeth closed around the tip of his tongue, sharp and painful and unforgiving, and Duncan jerked back with a force that almost made their little boat sink.
Methos’ arms shot out, to grab at the sides of the boat and cling to the wood, his knuckles whitened from the strength of his grip. “I have to hold very still?” he hissed. “Maybe you should listen to your own advice, MacLeod!”
The rest of his words were swallowed by another kiss, and this time, Duncan didn’t stop until he felt Methos’ shoulders relax under his touch.
Duncan guided him down again, into a supine position, and slowly stretched out on top of the other man.
“See?” he breathed, “everything’s all right.”
“If you drown me, I swear, I’ll shoot your ass,” Methos murmured shakily.
“I won’t drown you,” Duncan promised and worked a hand between them, opening the button on Methos’ jeans and grasping the zipper in between sweaty fingertips. “Lift your hips a little.”
Methos exhaled, but he didn’t protest and lifted his pelvis, pressing it into the contact with Duncan’s body, and letting Duncan reach around with his hand, to squeeze his ass and slowly work both his pants and the boxer briefs he wore underneath down to mid-thigh.
Methos made a faint sound at the back of his throat and tipped his head back, exposing the vulnerable length of his throat, and Duncan took advantage and closed his lips around Methos’ pulse point, sucking softly while he struggled with his own pants, the belt buckle catching and refusing to cooperate with his fingers. The boat started to rock again, the sound of the waves lapping against the wooden planks filling his consciousness just as much as Methos’ narrowed eyes and the paleness of his throat, quickly hidden by Methos ducking his chin again.
Finally, his belt opened, and the yanked his pants down, freeing his already half-hard dick. He quickly stilled again and let the boat even itself before he reached between them with one broad, sword-calloused hand and took both their dicks in hand and squeezing them tightly together.
The sun was burning down onto the nape of his neck and his naked, exposed ass, the sweat was starting to tickle his eyes, and when he closed them, his awareness narrowed to just Methos, the waves, the sun and the boat, but quickly, his arousal and the rush of blood in his own ears overtook his senses and the speed of his hand increased.
Methos groaned underneath him, the vibrations travelling through Duncan’s chest and his entire body, and Duncan echoed the sound and tightened his grip at tiny little bit, until it was almost painful, his touch only eased by their mixed pre-come and sweat.
“MacLeod,” Methos groaned, just as orgasm overwhelmed both of them, and cold wetness seeped into the cuff and the knee of Duncan’s pants in a stark, shocking contrast to the heat of his and Methos’ come between them.
Methos hissed and cursed while squirming, which didn’t help with the strong rocking motion of the boat, and when Duncan forced his eyes open, he realized that the cold wetness came from the water that had ran over the side of the boat and had collected at its bottom.
“Told you to be more careful,” Methos muttered, a frown on his face, and Duncan kissed his nose gently.
“Okay,” he whispered, “so maybe that isn’t exactly something to be repeated. But I didn’t drown you.”
“My ass is wet,” Methos said in obvious agreement, “I’m sticky and cold and just hope you brought something to clean up with.”
Duncan smiled and handed him his own shirt, now wet, before wriggling his own pants back up his legs.
Methos looked at him and suddenly started to laugh. “Really, MacLeod,” he said teasingly, “this is not the boat that rocks.”
That comment along, Duncan thought, almost justified tossing Methos’ skinny ass over board and letting him swim to the shore, but instead, he just leaned over and kissed the laughter right off Methos’ lips.
*end.