Straight and Low
Duncan honestly thought -- whenever he had thought about it, which wasn't all that much, just a small obsession two or three times an hour for the last eight years when he hadn't anything more life-threatening to do -- that once he'd made the first move on Methos it would be all plain sailing from there.
The old bastard was clearly waiting for him to do it. He couldn't have made himself more available over the years without hanging a sign around his neck. Staking claim to his couches time after time with his legs spread and his neck bared and that 'come and get me' dare glinting in his eyes. Sidling inside his personal space at every opportunity. Sprawling across his bed, for crying out loud. Could the man have been any more obvious?
Boy, was he wrong.
startlingly wrong. Wrong on the scale of that
Part one: The first move is the hardest. Yeah, right.
"Come for dinner
Methos glanced up from the chessboard. "Sure." He paused with his fingertips just touching his queen. "What's the occasion?"
The queen was
wrong piece for Methos to be playing at that point, so it had to be a
those in a long time." And Methos lifted the queen and placed it down
the board. "Check and mate." He grinned up at
As it was, he simply ignored his ignominious defeat and concentrated on the word 'mate', letting his imagination run wild. He'd feed him dinner, flirt a little more openly than usual, ply him with some of the finest wines in his cellar and let nature take its course. Methos would be eager, and skilled beyond his wildest dreams. And he was capable of some fairly wild dreams. He'd take that long, hot, body into his arms and into his bed and wipe that smugness away with his mouth and hands and cock. Over and over and over again.
It was a good plan.
It was a bloody atrocious plan.
What had he been thinking? Methos' sea anemone recipe called for a variety of bizarre ingredients that he'd never even read about, let alone seen. Vaguely unpronounceable things. And was that passum, or possum? Good grief. Liquamen? He didn't want to know. This was turning out to be a lot more complicated than he planned. Fuck it. He'd go with something simple. Soup was simple; soup he could do. A thick seafood soup with sea anemones. Delicately flavored, sensually textured, as smooth and creamy as Methos' skin. Oh yes...That was a much better idea.
But he had to stop thinking about Methos' skin or he'd never get it done on time.
And for a while it seemed like it was a better idea; the soup was coming together nicely, simmering away in the big pot on the stove, smelling damned good even if he said so himself. Bread was warming in the oven and a bottle of really exquisite Semillon Blanc was chilling next to the salad in the fridge. A simple meal, not too overdone, not too heavy.
time, but not as late as he sometimes showed up. Everything was ready,
quite beautiful. Sparkling crystal, snowy white linen -- the works.
A wrinkle of confusion creased Methos' brow. "Thanks." He sniffed the air. "That doesn't smell like my sea anemone recipe." He wandered into the galley and lifted the saucepan lid, peering into the pot. "Couldn't manage the liquamen, huh?"
You'll have to show me how it's done, sometime."
Methos slipped away and turned to lean back against the bench. "Maybe I will. Sometime."
Methos shrugged. "Sure."
his wine and
Methos tossed back the last of his wine. "Starving."
He was thinking about that; thinking about fucking Methos' mouth, or his ass, blowing him where he stood, or something equally pornographic and satisfying rather than thinking about what he was doing.
He should have been thinking about what he was doing.
Distantly, he realized that something was burning. Then, somewhat less distantly, he realized it was him.
"Shit!" He almost dropped the tray of bread. The dishtowel he'd been using as a potholder had caught on the burner and was well alight by the time he snapped out of fantasy-land. He managed to get the bread onto the bench in one piece but the towel was still flaming away merrily.
out of his hand and dumped it in the sink, turning the water on to
"Steady on there, hot stuff," Methos said with a smirk, dusting some
burning embers from
"I'll just go
He'd rarely been so glad of the barge's open design than he was at that moment. He strolled up to his wardrobe beside the bed and unbuttoned his shirt, checking over his shoulder to see if Methos was watching. The contrary bugger wasn't. He'd snagged one of the incendiary dinner rolls and was nibbling on that instead.
"I've got some movies we can watch later if you like,"
He found a plum-colored silk shirt he hadn't worn in a while and pulled it on. He considered not buttoning it, but that perhaps would have been a fraction too obvious. He settled for just doing up a few in the middle. Methos smiled appreciatively as he walked back down to the galley, so he thought he'd probably made the right decision.
"Looking forward to it," Methos said as he came near. The Subtext Meter pinged again.
He managed to
dinner on the table without further mayhem or wardrobe despoilage, but
it was a
near thing with Methos standing close to him, six foot of utter
head to toe black.
"Are you all right, Mac?" Methos asked, pouring some more wine for them both. "You seem a little...distracted."
The soup was
judging by the crotch-rattling little noises Methos was making as he
ate it, he
thought so too. All
"This really is very good," Methos said, pausing to break open a roll. "The Romans thought sea anemone was an aphrodisiac, you know."
"Of course the Romans thought any number of ridiculous things were aphrodisiacs so you can't really take their word for it."
The corner of Methos' mouth twitched. "No more so than candlelight and a bottle of decent wine."
throat and reached for the wine and the moment was gone. Damn it. There
only a dribble left in the bottle and Methos held the empty up with an
"What's your pleasure?" he asked, surprising himself with how husky his voice had gone.
Methos came over and peered over his shoulder at the rack. "The Chateau Y'Quem?"
Methos looked a
puzzled, but he didn't move away. More importantly, he didn't pull a
"Do I have something on my face?" he asked, lifting his hand to
And dear God,
tasted wonderful. Wine and spices and something that had to be just
And pushed him away. Hard.
Part two: When is a Methos not a Methos? When he's Adam Pierson, of course.
What the fuck?
Methos slipped away and retreated to the far side of the room. "I can't do this, MacLeod."
Okay, the old guy was jittery. He could deal with that. It had probably been a long time for him. "It's okay... I won't do anything you're not ready for."
Laughter snorted out of Methos' nose. "You just did."
Now he was really confused. "Then that must have been someone else kissing me back a minute ago. Funny, it looked just like you."
"I didn't--I can't... Damn it, MacLeod. You have the worst timing ever."
Confusion was turning into utter perplexity. "Methos, you're going to have to explain. I have no idea what you're babbling about."
pacing back and
forth, obviously having some sort of serious dilemma.
"Methos, whatever it is, we can work it out. I can help you."
Methos laughed bleakly and pulled his hands free. Then he dropped the bomb:
"Adam Pierson is straight."
"I'm sorry," he said as the chuckles died away. "Hell, Methos, if you didn't want me you could have just said. You didn't need to make up something as ridiculous as that."
"It's true!" Methos protested. "Adam Pierson is as straight as they come. A Kinsey zero. No guys, not now, not ever. Just women."
It was weird
talk about his alter ego as if he was a real person instead of just a
Methos rolled his eyes. "I'm not talking about Methos. I'm talking about Adam. Adam Pierson, mild-mannered ex-Watcher, is your basic hetero."
"Oh no, you don't," Methos countered, side-stepping neatly. "I've got a good few years left in dear Adam, not to mention a doctorate in the offing. Ask me again in ten years when I'm someone else. I'll make sure the next one's queer."
This one was
queer if you asked him. And..."Ten years?" Anything could happen in ten
years. He wasn't waiting ten years. He was cranky about waiting ten
Methos was edging towards the door, but
Methos stopped in his tracks and blinked at him. "I'm all you can think about?"
and tilted his head. Oh yeah.
"Mac, no," Methos breathed, stiffening in his arms.
Methos nodded, looking distinctly unhappy about the fact. Perversely, that made him feel a lot better. Not as great as he'd feel with Methos writhing and sweating beneath him, but for non-naked, non-contact amusement, it would do for now. This was a long way from over.
Methos slipped his arms free and stepped back. "I should go."
"You don't have to."
Methos looked him up and down. "Yes, I really do."
Methos made for
grabbing his coat on the way.
"Oh, and Methos...?"
sardonic eyebrow lift that
"The straight-guy act needs a little work."
He could have sworn Methos stuck out his tongue at him as he fled.
Part three: The things we do for love -- or at least a really hot fuck.
It was probably
a bad thing
Certainly it was a low-down, dirty, unethical trick to play on a friend. Terrible. Awful. But that didn't stop him from thinking about it. Fantasizing about it. Plotting out the how and when and who. He could do it. It would be easy.
It would be wrong.
him. Of course never was a really long time and anything could happen.
possibly forgive him long enough for
Of course Methos might kill him two or three times first and that would be a pain in the ass (not to mention painful) but it was a small price to pay. It wasn't like Methos would take his head for it. Would he?
Methos one could never be one hundred percent sure about anything.
And another. And another.
Sometime after the eighth or ninth, beer became scotch, and sometime after the fifth or sixth scotch, Methos appeared at his elbow like some apparition out of a Dickens novel. The ghost of orgasms yet to come -- or something.
even through all the booze
Methos rolled his eyes. "And here I was thinking that you were too much of a gentleman to mention that."
Methos sighed and ordered a double. "Another great myth bites the dust."
"Careful, Mac, that almost sounded bitter," Methos chided with utter insincerity.
bastard. "Blah, blah, blah..." He looked up and nodded to Joe for
another shot. It arrived, sliding down from the newly established DMZ
far end of the bar. Joe had too much sense to come any closer.
Methos smirked and leaned closer, talking almost directly into his ear. "Still horny?"
Methos went very
"I think you lost something, MacLeod," Methos whispered, tossing his hand back at him. "I found it somewhere it didn't belong at all."
"You should keep an eye on all your appendages," Methos told him with a purely Adam smile. "No telling what might happen to them if they wander into the wrong places."
He was only vaguely aware of bar patrons scuttling out of his way as he strode out of the bar. There was only one thing on his mind.
This was war.
All bets were off.
Adam Pierson was a dead man.
Sanding was cathartic -- probably not as good as knocking down walls, but he had few enough of those as it was, so sanding it was. He just kept ripping off the surfaces and plotting the downfall of one Adam Pierson. Back and forth, back and forth, plot and counter-plot.
pain in the
ass had merit,
Shooting him would have a certain poetic justice. He was still a little pissed about that shot in the back all those years ago. He'd always felt Methos had enjoyed it just a bit too much. Perhaps he could shoot him. Nah...shooting was definitely too good for him.
Maybe he could find a garbage truck to run him over.... A full one.
Whatever it was
need to be public -- very very public. Le Blues Bar was the perfect
would be less than happy about it, but
And of course,
would need to leave
He had an alter ego to kill first.
Part four: Blue balls. Nobody's friend.
And he was a bastard who'd spent the past few nights remembering the touch of Methos' skin, the taste of his mouth, the quick, skilled heat of his tongue. That made him a horny bastard with blue balls. It was not a good combination.
He was sitting in his usual spot in Le Blues, innocently plotting the demise of the object of his affections, not bothering anyone, (except Joe with his semi-regular requests for scotch) when Methos wandered in. And he was not alone.
Very obviously not alone.
It all had to be
All he could do was watch and imagine himself in the woman's place. Although he hoped he wouldn't be laughing quite so vapidly. He would, however, be leaning back into Methos, grinding his ass over the thick ridge in his groin, slipping his hand back and down Methos' thigh, tilting his head to one side so Methos could bite his neck. Guiding his hand to cover his own hard cock, turning in his arms to smile darkly and whisper something filthy into his ear, something that would make Methos' breath quicken, make him grab his car keys off the bar and tug Duncan out the door.
And maybe they'd
And it would be
Damned good. If
through the light crowd lining the bar and made a space for himself
to them. Methos slanted a knowing, superior look at him from behind his
"Oh my god!"
Methos and his
to look at him. He thought Methos' hand twitched a little towards his
"I thought you'd
bugged and his
face went a color that couldn't have been healthy. He snatched his hand
and laughed without a shred of amusement. "I'm sorry,
The woman twisted out of Methos' arms. "What is all this about, Adam?"
Methos told her, glaring daggers at
"You didn't tell
you were bisexual,"
"I'm not!" Methos blurted.
"So you're gay." Said with a very Parisian matter-of-fact-ness.
"No!" Methos was shouting now and people were starting to turn and stare.
"But you slept with this poor man."
his eyes at
"Adam! That's a terrible thing to say about someone who loves you so." She picked up her handbag from the top of the bar. "I think I should go. You boys have a lot to talk about." Tossing her head, she brushed off the hand Methos placed on her arm.
"No, Adam. I'm leaving. You should stay and work things out with your friend."
"He's not my friend," Methos growled.
That might prove to be something of a challenge.
Part Five: Return of the Adam -- The Pierson Strikes Back.
On the other
heart never won fair....
They pinged even louder when Methos smiled. A quick, nasty smile that said no good could come of this. And it didn't.
The attack came out of nowhere, stunning in its obvious simplicity.
"You gave my
herpes, you bastard!" Methos shouted, loud enough to be heard in
Then two unexpected and yet reasonably predictable things happened:
At the top of his voice, Methos yelled (in French this time for the edification of the majority of the clientele), "I hope your tiny, diseased prick falls off!"
And a large,
cocktail landed on
"That was quite
you put on last night, buddy," Joe said as he put
"Take you long
the cocksucking cowboy out of your hair?" Joe was having entirely too
fun with this,
He glared at him. "No." Actually he'd had to shampoo three times before he'd got all the butterscotch smell out. But he wasn't telling Joe that.
"Cos, you know, it's damned hard to get the smell of a cocksucker out of anything usually. The girls are always complaining about it." Joe's grin was sly and knowing.
The grin widened. Joe was clearly loving this. "I know you're in a mess of trouble, MacLeod." He laughed, shaking his head. "Adam's got you by the short hairs, hasn't he?"
But he wouldn't
be for much
longer. And then Methos would be in
Because eventually Methos would forgive him for last night's and any future stunts -- though it might take him a little while, a lot of groveling, and possibly sizable applications of hard currency -- and then he could take that long, hot, infuriating body to his bed and screw him senseless. Now there was a thought to keep him warm in the meantime....
And Joe was
"I said: if you
jokers want to keep drinking in my place, you'd better start acting
ages." He might even have been serious, but
He tossed a bunch of notes on the bar to pay his tab and stood up. "Don't worry, Joe," he said as he shrugged into his coat. "It won't be for much longer."
overly reassured by this.
Bearding the lion in his den had seemed such a good idea at the time. A simple confrontation to sort this idiocy out at last. Simple, straightforward. Honest. And okay, he was less than confident that anything to do with Methos could be described as any of the above, but damn it, short of killing the man or going quietly insane, he was running out of options.
But now that he was standing in front of Methos' front door, feeling his presence screeching in his head like faulty brakes and wondering what the hell he was going to say when and if Methos actually opened the door, he was less than certain that this was anything approaching a good idea.
He had his best smile all prepared, but it fled in the split-second between Methos flinging open the door and the sword point reaching his throat. He swallowed and tried to resurrect it.
"Hello, Methos?" Methos hissed incredulously while the sword point dug a little deeper. "You fuck over my date -- try to fuck over my entire life -- my carefully constructed life, thank you very much -- and all you can say is 'hello, Methos'?" The sword was whisked away. "Get inside."
Which was probably a Sign. And not a good one. Suddenly, his neck itched. But it didn't stop him trying on the smile again and saying, "I see you got my roses." He could still salvage this.
No, he couldn't. Cold steel plunged through his chest, the death he'd been expecting flooding over him in a hot, panicked rush.
He died to the sound of Methos snickering.
Methos was still
Like where your clothes had gone while you were out cold.
Or how you came to be lying balls naked on the floor of a lift with an armed and possibly insane Immortal.
"Oh good," Methos purred. "You're back." He pressed a button and the doors whooshed open.
It was a huge
Too little, too
Methos gave him
little wave from behind the closing doors. "Bye, MacLeod."
It should have
been hard to
feel murderous in the midst of having to scramble for a single shred of
dignity, not to mention cover from an indecent exposure charge, but
Part six: No sex plus no sense makes
A sensible man
taken the never-to-be-mentioned-again-on-pain-of-death lobby incident
subsequent attention of the gendarmerie) as a hint. A big one.
It was revenge.
No, it was sex.
All right, maybe it was a little of both and maybe it was something else entirely, but he couldn't really think about that, because the important thing was that Adam Pierson was going to die. The method no longer mattered as much as the end result.
He was a man clinging to the edge of the windowsill while some bastard pried his fingers off one at a time. If Methos wanted him insane, then he could give him insane. And how. He caught sight of himself in the porthole window, his face reflected against the black river. His hair was wild where he'd dragged his fingers through it and his brows were drawn down in a scowl so deep they almost met in the middle.
And still, he didn't think he looked all that bad.
But, out of force of habit and nothing else, he threw himself in the shower and tidied up a little. Tonight was the night. He was going to find Methos and end this, one way or another. So it was only right that he looked his best.
In the end, he
to look far for him at all. The soon-to-be-late Adam Pierson was at Le
the first and last place
Keeping a sharp eye out for the gendarmerie. They'd let him off with a warning yesterday, his indecent exposure being explained away as a buck's night prank gone too far, but lurking armed and dangerous in a public place might be a bit harder to explain away. And certainly inconvenient. He had plans for tonight that didn't include a jail cell.
It was nearly before Methos'
swelled and shifted, becoming the familiar cacophony in his head.
Once more, with feeling.
He peered out
corner of the wall and picked Methos out of the straggle leaving the
could see Methos was tense, cautiously looking for the source of the
as he headed for his car.
He caught the
flash of a
smile in the streetlight, before Methos strolled on over, as relaxed
arrogant as you please.
said when he came near enough. Which was nearer than
Prick. "Ha. Ha.
got me arrested, you know."
Methos flicked a look below his belt. "It was cold in that lift, wasn't it?"
Yes, it bloody was. "Warm at my place though. We could let bygones be bygones."
Methos sighed and tilted his head, slanting a look at him. "You know I can't."
"Stupid is as stupid does," Methos shot back with an edged smile. "Look, MacLeod--"
That was it --
against the wall with the whole of his body, gathering up his hands and
them. Methos was struggling, but
"Interesting foreplay," Methos gasped. "Going to drag me off by the hair next?"
"Maybe later," he murmured, millimeters from Methos' throat.
he bared a little more of his neck. He was breathing fast and deep, his
little nipples bumping against
And unless that
was a gun
in Methos' pants (and this was Methos, so the chances of that
than average) he was more than a little pleased to see him. It was so
good he almost forgot he was here to kill Adam, not fuck him. Damn, he
like he'd spent a thousand years perfecting the art. Maybe he had.
killing him could wait. Methos' arms were wrapping tight around his
hands busy finding
Coming within inches of the gun he had tucked into the small of his back.
And was more impressed than he would ever let on. He should have known there was a reason Methos was such a smug bastard. Killing him could definitely wait.
He curled one hand around Methos' hard-on, bringing it to his mouth. "Tell me you don't want this," he whispered, letting his breath feather over the tip.
"You talk too
much," Methos groaned, pushing his cock between
It'd been quite
since he'd blown anyone in an alley, but for this he'd risk it. He
hands around Methos' skinny hips and swallowed him down. Methos made a
like he was dying and grabbed two handfuls of
He sucked harder and slid his hands around the lush curves of Methos' butt. Warm, smooth skin and hard muscles tightened under his fingers and still Methos was making those inflammatory little noises and fuck, he was going to come in his pants if he didn't end this soon. He hummed and sucked hard and pressed his tongue along the underside of Methos' cock.
"Jesus -- Mac,"
Methos gasped, shuddering and coming, shoving his cock impossibly far
He rocked back on his heels and grinned. "Guess Adam's straight days are over."
Methos looked down on him with a saccharine smile and patted his head. "Guess again."
Uh-oh. The sword was in
hand faster than he'd thought anyone could move, the pommel connecting
Part Seven: Who dares, wins.
Someone was poking him. And not in a good way.
Then it all came flooding back to him in a single, mortifying rush. The whole catastrophe: alley, Methos, blowjob, near fatal head injuries.... And what the fuck was that smell? He looked around.
Garbage. Dear god. He was lying in garbage. Fucking Methos must have dragged him on top of the trash bags lying around the bar's back door after knocking him on the head. Apparently this was public humiliation, part three. He picked himself up, shaking his head to clear it.
"Jesus, MacLeod, what the hell happened to you?"
"What the hell happened here, Mac?" Joe demanded again.
"Methos," he spat, fairly spluttering with rage. He'd said it before, but he was going to say it again: Adam Pierson was a dead man.
Joe nodded like
He'd gone wrong somewhere along the line; that much was clear. If he'd gone with his first instinct then none of this would have happened. He'd let Methos distract him from killing Adam, which was what he should have done in the first place. Bloody Methos, he was distraction on two legs. And he played it for all it was worth.
Well enough was
was done with playing around. Done with being distracted by smooth,
and a fuckable little ass. It was Time. Now all he needed was the right
Which was harder than he would have imagined. Every time
And no matter
how it was
done there would be no feeling sorry for him. No last minute reprieves,
Anyway. The garbage smell was finally gone -- he hoped -- so he stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, wondering idly how hard it would be to procure cyanide these days.
He didn't go to
that day, or the next or the next. He stayed home. There was a plan
in the darkest recesses of his mind. And he had a constant stream of
boys and girls bringing him the best food and booze
Staying home was step one of the new master plan. He wanted to make Methos sweat; make him wonder where the next attack was coming from. Anticipation was everything.
Well, actually it was only a quarter of everything; at the moment the other three quarters were preparation, infatuation and masturbation. He was well accomplished in all four by now. A master, if you like. In fact, he was starting to think that if masturbation was an Olympic event he'd be a gold medallist. He probably should have felt worse about that. He didn't.
Because every time he jerked off, every time he took his cock in his hand, he could see Methos where he should have been, naked and sweating, begging for Duncan to fuck him. Begging looked good on him. It was an image that never grew old, no matter how many times he used it. And soon, sooner than Methos could know, it would cease to be fantasy and turn into living, breathing, throbbing reality.
But he was starting to see where he'd gone wrong now. He'd been treating this as a seduction, albeit the weirdest one he'd ever seen, when in fact it was a battle, a struggle for supremacy. The art of brinkmanship. Who dares, wins.
And no one did daring like Duncan MacLeod. Methos was his -- it was just a matter of time now. Adam Pierson was a dead man.
Part Eight: Any problem that can't be solved with a sword can probably be solved by a piece of eight gauge fencing wire. Or reasonable facsimile.
Le Blues was the
shoulder-to-shoulder scrum on Saturday nights and this one was no
Joe was behind
watching him with an unconvincing smile. He mouthed something over the
Joe narrowed his
him, but gave him the beer anyway. He had that 'I wanna talk to you,
MacLeod' look on his face but
The first beer
was gone in
no time. Methos was still chatting up the redhead and not making a lot
headway, as far as
He watched her
over to him and smiled to himself as Methos took it, sniffing warily.
But because, when you came right down to it, Methos had giant, cast iron balls (figuratively, of course; Duncan was intimately acquainted with the size and texture of his actual ones) he erased the wary frown in a heartbeat, raised his glass high, looked Duncan straight in the eye, and smirked.
After beer six
excusing himself to the redhead and sliding out of the booth, looking
direction of the men's room.
The men's room
was a miasma
of urine-stench and overly bright lights, the same as always. Methos
fronting up to the urinal at the far end of the row, leaving a gap of
between himself and the next guy.
He strode up to the urinal next to Methos', catching him just as he unzipped. Methos turned to him and smirked as he pulled out his cock.
"Didn't you see enough the other night?" Methos said in a quiet purr.
Not quiet enough
he didn't say anything else.
Behind him, the
and closed with another bang. A guy took position on the far left,
himself and peeing noisily.
He reached into his pocket and palmed the (fully charged and only slightly altered) taser, then a single smooth -- so smooth you would have thought he'd practiced it more than just the hundred or so he actually had -- movement and stuck the live end into Methos' stream of piss.
hammered heifer and went rigid, falling straight back to the tiles. And
there, his mouth hanging open and his cock hanging out.
"He just collapsed!" he yelled, feigning panic with his fingers over the absent pulse in Methos' neck. "Help me get him out of here!" he ordered a man who didn't look quite as drunk as the others.
The man nodded and squatted down next to Adam's dead body. He gestured at the exposed genitals. "Shouldn't someone...?"
"No time for that, man -- help me get him out of here!" God, it was hard not to smile. And laugh. And punch the air in one of those idiotic victory dances. But he managed.
Between them, they hoisted Adam from the floor and maneuvered their way out the door and into the bar.
Which only added to the surrealness of the situation. He couldn't have scripted it better himself.
He thought he
redhead in the crowd, but he barged on past her without a word. He saw
stuck behind the bar with an unreadable look on his face.
"Need to put him
the office, Joe!"
It was all working out perfectly.
Part Nine: Alas, poor Adam we knew him well.
"Damn it, Mac, what'd you do to him?" Joe snapped when the door was finally shut behind them.
done to me,"
"You gotta do better than that, man. He is gonna kill you when he wakes up." Joe perched on the edge of his desk and shook his head. "Maybe more than once."
Joe was looking
at him with
more questions than he was willing to answer at that moment, so
But someone to fuck...oh yeah. Even with a slightly scorched cock, Methos was every bit as hot as he'd always been. Just a little more...dead than he was used to. But that was only temporary. Very temporary, if Methos was true to form.
Of course she
"Tell me what happened," she said in a low voice as she examined Methos' still body.
the men's room and he just collapsed,"
"Give me that lamp!" she ordered, flinging a hand at the light on Joe's desk.
Joe handed it to
without a word, though
The doctor shone
into Methos' eyes one at a time, but
And bent and began giving him CPR.
She blew into Methos' mouth one more time and sat up, putting her hands in the middle of his chest. "He will die if I don't."
It was a
judgment call, but
She paused the compressions. "Are you sure? Are you the next of kin?"
The doctor looked at him a moment longer, then tugged her hands away. She looked down at the body one more time and shook her head. "I had no idea he was so sick."
"He was always
Across the room,
"Diane de Poitier," she murmured, shaking his hand and slipping hers free. "I am sorry that I couldn't do more for your friend."
"What happened?" one of the waitresses called. "Is Adam all right?"
"I am sorry, but I have to tell you M'sieur Pierson has passed away. There was nothing I could do." She shook her head and slipped away into the crowd.
He pressed his back to the door and waited.
Part Ten: Good things come to those who wait. Sometimes.
Methos convulsed, gasped back into life, and scrambled to his feet. "What the fuck happened?" he demanded.
In two quick
struggled, then went
"What. Did. You. Do?" he whispered, death in his eyes.
"Adam had a
accident in the men's room,"
"That part I remember." The pressure on his throat increased. "And...?"
"And he died."
"In the men's room?"
"Witnesses?" Methos was starting to hyperventilate.
He nodded again.
"The whole damn bar knows, okay?" Joe said. "Your doctor friend announced to the whole place that Adam Pierson was dead."
"Maybe I should
cutting a little lower," Methos hissed, jamming his knee between
close against him was having the predictable result and
It was too much
to hope that
Methos wouldn't notice. He pushed even closer, put his lips to
"You told the
bar I had herpes,"
Methos' head tilted to the left. "You scared off my date."
"You left me naked in a public place." He was still pretty pissed at Methos for that, but the lower half of his body clearly hadn't got the message. His hips twitched reflexively, rubbing his aching cock along Methos' leg.
practically raped me in an alley," Methos breathed, his mouth inches
He drew Methos' hand away from his throat and held onto it, rubbing his thumb over the pulse. "You enjoyed every minute of it."
"That's not the
point," Methos answered, his eyes on
"You left me lying half-dead in the garbage." His hips were flexing continuously now, riding Methos' thigh.
"My heart bleeds...." Methos' voice was low and throaty.
"And you picked my pockets." He still wanted his stuff back, too. But not as much as he wanted...other things.
"I left you your
sword." Methos pressed his hips closer; he was just as hard as
Stinking, festering garbage."
Millimeters between them now. "You're damned lucky I didn't take your head."
came up --
"I don't think so," Methos said with that saccharine smiled that boded no good. He reached up the back of his shirt and came up empty.
Methos cut him off. "Where's. My. Sword?"
"Mac, you'd better get him out of here before we have any more uninvited guests," Joe said, finally reminding him that he and Methos weren't alone. He'd been so quiet he was probably taking notes.
"Yes, Mac," Methos put in snidely. "You'd better get me out of here." His thin smile was pure satire. "Like to see how you plan on doing it."
the wall with his arms crossed across his chest. He didn't ask what was
Which was good
The van backed
alley in all its gaudy green and gold glory.
"It's a dog-grooming van," Methos said flatly.
"No." Methos crossed his arms over his chest and resumed sulking.
"It's the only
"I could walk."
"A hundred people out there in the bar know you're dead. What if one of them saw you just walking around looking completely not-dead?"
Methos' mouth twisted. "I could call a taxi."
"And go where? You're dead," Joe put in irritably. "Just get in the damned van, Methos. The pair of you are giving me a migraine."
"Fine," Methos grumbled after the requisite eye rolling and show of disapproval. "But I get the front."
Methos narrowed his eyes. "I will have a sword again soon, MacLeod. Do remember that."
"I'm going to cut off your cock and stuff it up your arse for this," Methos called sweetly.
Part eleven: Sex and Death.
stopped about two
kilometers from their destination. Prior to that Duncan had been
annoyed and entertained by a constant torrent of complaints ('It reeks
of dogshit in here, MacLeod!'), threats (generally involving the
his head from his body, but occasionally becoming more creative), and
(cock size, multiple variations on 'your mama', ethnic slurs and
ever-popular 'how stupid is Duncan MacLeod?')
fallen silent and
But they were here now. And all Methos' threats were moot, because as soon as they'd driven through the gate, they'd been on holy ground. An old convent, tucked away behind a grove of birch trees, far from anywhere. Amanda had owned it for years. Of course, he lied outrageously when she'd asked him why he wanted it, but then after everything she'd put him through over the years she had it coming. He wasn't going to lose any sleep over it.
From behind him, Methos spat something that sounded like, "Wuss!"
"You heard me. Coward. Holy ground -- what a cop-out."
favor of self-preservation."
"My self-preservation, sure."
Methos grinned. "Very good! He can be taught."
Methos tilted his head and parted his lips. "Depends on the lesson."
irresistible and he
Methos weighed a
Methos raised an eyebrow. "So...no fucking?"
was wide and
"Really?" Polite confusion creased Methos' face, belied by the darkening of his eyes.
He should have
wary when Methos opened his mouth obediently, licking his lips as
Methos was doing
with his tongue and the suction of his throat that was utterly perfect,
his hands on
And it was so fucking good with Methos' silky throat working over his cock like the tightest, slickest fist ever. He was almost -- almost -- there. Then Methos worked a finger into his ass and sent him flying over the edge.
He wasn't even finished coming when Methos shoved him back hard. So hard he banged his head on the armrest at the far end of the sofa and saw stars. No time to count them all though, because Methos was all over him, all come-flavored mouth and fast, clever hands.
Except 'entice' wasn't really the word for the way Methos was dragging him along by the short hairs.
His cock was
the last of his orgasm when Methos pushed his legs apart and pushed
between them. This wasn't the way he'd planned it at all. Which should
told him something about Methos and the futility of making plans, but
He lifted his
bridged off the sofa, tumbling them both to the floor. He hit hard and
landed on top of him. Something crunched against his over-sensitive
cock with a
crack like a lightning strike and
screamed, right in
It barely registered with the agony in his groin grabbing all his attention.
"Christ, MacLeod. I think you broke me." Methos was curled on his side, his hands clutching his groin. "What the hell was all that about?"
His pain was
"Shit, Methos --
Methos flinched and covered it with his hands. "Don't touch it, you idiot."
"It will heal,
"Yes. Eventually," Methos hissed between deep breaths. "It just has to go down first."
Ouch... "Can I help?"
Methos opened his eyes and looked him up and down. "I sincerely doubt it."
That look again, but much more predatory. Panic flickered again. He was beginning to wish he was trying to seduce Adam instead.
"Give me a minute."
Now that his
contorted with pain, he looked wonderful. Lots of slender muscle and
that darkened to gold on his well-made forearms. Arousal shivered
He could still salvage this; make things go exactly the way he wanted.
onto his hands and knees, he crawled over to where Methos sat.
help," Methos murmured, letting
Just a bit.
But it was all
Methos sighing and gasping underneath him while he licked and bit
Methos' broad chest. He spent a long time there, long enough to have
distractedly with his hands tangled into
Methos' cock was
hard, still lengthening and filling when
A tug on his hair brought him upright to look a question into Methos' eyes.
Methos grinned. "Wanna fuck?"
the sweetest things,"
He took Methos
arms and kissed his mouth at last. It started out slow and easy, and
fast and messy before he could think. Methos' tongue was bloody lethal.
moaned and shifted beneath him, but
over to lie flat on his back with an amused and hot-eyed Methos
top of him.
"I have to check
make sure it still works, don't I?" Methos said as he nipped bruisingly
"Slut," Methos whispered as his cock began to press inside.
Methos pouted. "Can't I do both?"
Methos kissed him, almost chastely, on the mouth. "I'm sorry. Can we fuck now?"
Then Methos was
rest of the way inside him and it was better than anything in even his
most pornographic fantasies. Methos felt huge and hard inside him (not
was ever going to tell him that; the man was quite smug enough
But damn, Methos felt so bloody good, stretching him so wide
went off behind his eyes. And in other places.
Then, with barely a pause for breath, Methos was riding him harder than anyone had ever dared. Every second or third thrust was nailing his prostate -- perfectly. He may have -- hell, did -- babble a lot of nonsense. Somewhere in the middle of all that he gave up any thought of it being any other way and let Methos batter at him long and hard until he fell into an orgasm so intense the world went gray and strange for a long moment afterwards.
Methos slid out
in with a
little wriggle and breathed deep for a while, then propped himself up
elbow, smiling like a slightly debauched angel as he looked into
"Thank you," he said.
"Poor Adam...." A wicked light was starting to glimmer in Methos' eyes. "Poor poor old Adam."
Truth began to dawn on him. And it wasn't good. "You--you--" And he was spluttering again, but he couldn't help it. He was losing what was left of his faculties.
Methos shook his head sadly. "It was his time."
"You said he had
another ten years!"
That cracked him up. "Come on, MacLeod! Adam's had this face for eighteen years. You really think anyone's going to buy it for ten more? Get real."
Any remnants of
"Oh, stop frowning," Methos chided, standing up and dusting off his ass. "You'll rupture something. Something else. You got what you wanted. I got what I wanted. It's win-win. I thought you were all for that."
was. This was
far from normal. This wasn't even in the same time zone as normal.
"So now I'm supposed to just forgive and forget?" he growled, standing up because the view of Methos from that angle was just too distracting.
his lips and
held his ground. "William Harden has a lovely place in
"Who's William Harden?"
Methos rolled his eyes. "Me. Or he will be when I go collect his papers."
Methos stuck out
Thanks very much to Athena, MacGeorge and Tritorella for the beta reading. This one's for my Em for her kink!fic challenge, and also because she makes me laugh.