Carene (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
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crack_van2004-03-31 01:34 pm
carenejeans.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2004-03-31 01:34 pm
Entry tags:
Conjugal Visits, by Taselby (NC-17)
Fandom: HIGHLANDER
Pairing: Duncan/Methos
Author on LJ: unknown
Author Website: http://www.tenebris.org/mbb/taselby
Why this must be read: Why? Well, I'll tell you. This story will give your heart a good wrench, pull it out by the roots, slam it to the ground, stomp on it -- and then pick it up tenderly by its trembling little heart strings and give it one soft kiss.
Duncan and Methos are -- I don't want to too much away, since the plot unfolds in such a delicate and devastating way -- forced to live apart after events that leave them both blaming each other, and themselves. They only meet, in secret, once a year. They've been doing this for fifty years. The story takes place during one of their yearly visits (which Methos, bitterly calls "conjugal visits") and the angst has, shall we say, built up. Almost the only way they can reach each other is through pain.
Some painful bubble of desperation burst inside him and he shoved Methos back onto the damp ground, darkly satisfied at the small grunt and gasp he made. Kisses turned brutal, bites tearing at the chapped lips, already cracked from the wind and cold. Duncan's teeth scraped along the unshaven jaw, savaging the pale neck. Underneath him, Methos twisted, panting harshly, filling the air with small, sharp sounds. Duncan sank his fingers into the layers of dirty wool and slammed Methos' shoulders back into the ground, leaning down heavily to hold him in place. Methos' skin was cold, even under the collar of his sweater.
Duncan just bit harder, hard enough to hurt, to wound, pinning him to the ground with the weight of his body, thrusting dry against a convenient hip. His mouth flooded with the sharp metal-salt tang of blood. The faint noises Methos made were almost lost under the deep rasp of his breathing, and his hands in Duncan's hair tightened, pulling, painful. He didn't care. It was good, good to finally hurt a little outside like he hurt on the inside, good to finally have some kind of genuine reaction from Methos, good to bury his mouth against that cold flesh and try to call the heat back to the surface.
Beneath the blood and the corrupt scent of old wool, Methos tasted like salt and damp. He tasted like tears. Skin pale and perfect under Duncan's hands and mouth, heat flowing only where he'd broken through and made Methos bleed.
That stopped him short. Shakily, he leaned his head against Methos' heaving chest, as if seeking comfort--as if he had the right to ask for anything just now. Methos lay perfectly still, permitting the intimacy, if not encouraging it. The message was clear: any solace Duncan received would have to be taken; none would be volunteered. "Methos?" he asked, looking up.
"Do you feel better now?" Methos asked, his voice steady and inflectionless.
It's a brilliant and breathtaking story. But oh, man, give back my heart.
Conjugal Visits
Pairing: Duncan/Methos
Author on LJ: unknown
Author Website: http://www.tenebris.org/mbb/taselby
Why this must be read: Why? Well, I'll tell you. This story will give your heart a good wrench, pull it out by the roots, slam it to the ground, stomp on it -- and then pick it up tenderly by its trembling little heart strings and give it one soft kiss.
Duncan and Methos are -- I don't want to too much away, since the plot unfolds in such a delicate and devastating way -- forced to live apart after events that leave them both blaming each other, and themselves. They only meet, in secret, once a year. They've been doing this for fifty years. The story takes place during one of their yearly visits (which Methos, bitterly calls "conjugal visits") and the angst has, shall we say, built up. Almost the only way they can reach each other is through pain.
Some painful bubble of desperation burst inside him and he shoved Methos back onto the damp ground, darkly satisfied at the small grunt and gasp he made. Kisses turned brutal, bites tearing at the chapped lips, already cracked from the wind and cold. Duncan's teeth scraped along the unshaven jaw, savaging the pale neck. Underneath him, Methos twisted, panting harshly, filling the air with small, sharp sounds. Duncan sank his fingers into the layers of dirty wool and slammed Methos' shoulders back into the ground, leaning down heavily to hold him in place. Methos' skin was cold, even under the collar of his sweater.
Duncan just bit harder, hard enough to hurt, to wound, pinning him to the ground with the weight of his body, thrusting dry against a convenient hip. His mouth flooded with the sharp metal-salt tang of blood. The faint noises Methos made were almost lost under the deep rasp of his breathing, and his hands in Duncan's hair tightened, pulling, painful. He didn't care. It was good, good to finally hurt a little outside like he hurt on the inside, good to finally have some kind of genuine reaction from Methos, good to bury his mouth against that cold flesh and try to call the heat back to the surface.
Beneath the blood and the corrupt scent of old wool, Methos tasted like salt and damp. He tasted like tears. Skin pale and perfect under Duncan's hands and mouth, heat flowing only where he'd broken through and made Methos bleed.
That stopped him short. Shakily, he leaned his head against Methos' heaving chest, as if seeking comfort--as if he had the right to ask for anything just now. Methos lay perfectly still, permitting the intimacy, if not encouraging it. The message was clear: any solace Duncan received would have to be taken; none would be volunteered. "Methos?" he asked, looking up.
"Do you feel better now?" Methos asked, his voice steady and inflectionless.
It's a brilliant and breathtaking story. But oh, man, give back my heart.
Conjugal Visits