Your Ass Is Mine

Title: Your Ass Is Mine
Author: Anu (anubeta@lycos.com)
Fandom: Highlander
Pairing: Duncan/Methos
Rating: NC-17
Type: PWP
Feedback: Makes me happier than a good blowjob.
Warnings: My first Highlander fic.
Summary: Methos is pissed. Duncan better watch out in those dark alleys.
Beta:

**********

That was it. He was going to kill that Scottish bastard. Methos stalked down the street, his coat blowing in the wind and rain, adding to his irritation without realizing it. It was dark, and as pissed as he was, he could be deemed truly frightening.

He felt the tell-tale buzz in Joe’s bar, and with it was Richie’s similar-yet-different one. Methos slammed open the door, letting it bounce against the wall, and stood there like a dark, drippy fiend.

Richie and Mac were up in an instant, having felt his buzz and been startled. “You!” he said, looking pointedly at Mac. Mac swallowed. Richie cowered, sitting back down.

“Yes?” Mac asked hesitantly.
“PINK!”
“Pardon?” Joe asked, from half-under the bar.
“YOU PAINTED MY BEDROOM PINK, YOU FUCKING HIGHLAND PRICK!” Methos said icily, stalking up and shoving his nicely-shaped, gloriously large nose in Mac’s face, glaring with anger-small eyes.

“Peach.” Mac mumbled, correcting Methos’s error. He had moved in with the moody immortal after a long bout of seeming calm, peace and bliss as lovers. He had gotten sick of Methos’s shabby apartment décor in typical Adam Pierson style, and repainted the bedroom a faded peach color.

“Peach? Macleod, it is PINK.” Richie added. A glare from Methos shut him up.

Duncan tried a different tact. “Methos, I can explain…”
“Don’t pull that line on me! I had 68 wives, do you know hony tny times I used it?”
“Um…sorry?”
“Not as sorry as you will be.”

“What’re you going to do to me?” Duncan whimpered.
Joe chuckled from the bar.

Methos smilerilyrily, and spun on his heel, then went back out into the rain.

“That man looks too smug to be safe around.” Richie commented.
“For a few days, anyway.” Joe added.

Mac glared at them, and slumped down in a chair to drink his scotch.

“Methos is pissed. Duncan better watch out in those dark alleys.” Joe said to Richie.
Richie nodded his agreement, belched, and added, “Think the old man’ll let him sleep in the bed so he can smother him in his sleep?”
“Naw,” Joe teased loudly, “he’ll make him sleep on the couch so that it won’t be as messy when he kills him.”

“I’m sitting right here, you know.” Mac stated.

There was no reply from either watcher or student, but for amused smiles and muffled chuckles. And a single giggle from Richie. Mac looked up from his glass. “What?”

“Oh, nothing.” Richie defended.
“Nothing at all. Just memorizing how you look now, before he gets a hold of you.” Joe replied, quite seriously.

“Oh no.” Mac said, and put his head down on the table.

*****

It had stopped raining, but it was still very dark. Methos had cut his tires, so Mac was walking, hoping the older immortal hadn’t wreaked such havoc at home.

Upon reflection, it probably hadn’t been a great idea to paint the bedroom peach without asking Methos.

Duncan felt an immortal buzz, but couldn’t figure out where it came from. He checked his sword, patting the blade, and walked a little faster.

The buzz seemed to dart about unbelievably, moving place to place before he had a chance to figure out who it might be, friend or foe.

And when it came close, he was unprepared.

Mac pushed his face up from the pave walk, spitting dirty puddle water. He looked over his shoulder, but saw no one. What the hell?

Mac got up, and kept going. The buzz kept up with its games, but slowed enough for him to note that it was a very familiar one. Richie was unlikely to play cheeky games with him. But it wasn’t Methos’s style, to push him face first into the mud and run off.

But then, Methos was quite mad at him, and had the makings of a killer. He might hurt Mac a little more every time he came near, until he got to the apartment, and then kill him for revenge. Now that would be more of the old guy’s style.

The next time the buzz came close was in an alley, and Mac suddenly stopped and whirled, hoping to keep Methos from tripping him again. The alley in front of him was empty.

Because Methos was behind him.
Duncan had no time to reflect upon this, however, because he was suddenly shoved face-first against the side of a building.

“Why hello there, what have we got? A pink-painting-bastard. How interesting.” Methos hissed sultrily in his ear.
“Get off, Methos.” Duncan growled.
“I plan to. And I’m taking you with me.” Came the reply.

The words and their accompanying lick to his neck arrested his attention, and he could feel his cock taking an interest in that proposition.

Methos reached around him and groped his member with professional skill, and rubbed him though his jeans. Mac groaned “Please.” and butted against Methos, feeling Methos’s hardness through the soft sweats he wore against his buttock.

Methos chuckled darkly. “I’m mad at you.” He informed Mac, then swiffed down his pants and boxers, baring Mac’s shapely arse to the cool night air. Mac wriggled, whimpered.

Methos slid lubed fingers between his buttocks, and Mac breathed deeply and adjusted the angle of his hips in invitation, eager for penetration. They slid inside him, one after the other, and after a few glowy minutes in which he nearly saw stars, Methos’s fingers held him open.

Mac knew why, and grunted in eagerness. Methos slid in where his fingers held Mac open, and removed his fingers. Holding Mac’s hips steady, he arched up and ground in a circle, feeling hot silky flesh encompass him. He let out a low growl.

Mac’s rigid organ in his palm throbbed, slicking his fingers with pre-come. Methos hummed a meaningless tune as if in ignorance of the event, and patiently thrust, pulling Mac slowly at the same time. Mac fairly howled with frustration.

“Shh.” Methos said, glancing about them for voyeurs. Two men with their pants about their ankles in an alley would attract attention only if noted by a careful observer, but two screaming men in an alley with their pants about their ankles would bring the whole neighborhood out to watch.

To placate his whimpering highlander, Methos began a hard, fast rythm, sucking on the salty-tasting back of Mac’s neck under the ponytail.

Within minutes hot creamy fluid squirted across Mac’s lower belly and Methos’s hand, and with a satisfied, desperate grunt, Methos took a deep breath and drove in one final time, twitching deeper spasmodically as he came.

They leaned together on the wall for a moment.

Mac was the first to speak. “You still mad at me?”
A chuckle. “No. But you do have to make up for it.”
“How?” he asked, as suspiciously as he could with Methos’s cock still plowed up his ass.

“You have to repaint it.”
That didn’t sound too hard. Was there some trick?
“In a thong.”
There it was. The catch.
“While I watch.”

Mac was silent in shock. It sounded…rather nice. To tease Methos mercilessly…lots of ‘breaks’…the lure of a thong, with nothing else…? Definitely.

“Mac?” Methos asked wonderingly.

“What color paint?”



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