Good Vintage by Keikokin [ - ]
"Duncan you ever wonder why we don't just get away from all these mortals? Sometimes they just make me sick. They all seem to have such high expectations but then they just die." Methos swirled the wine in his glass, staring into it's depths. His feet were kicked up over Duncan's best piece of furniture, the divan he bought in Paris.
"Methos, I think you've had enough," Duncan moved to take the glass away from his friend but with surprisingly fast reflexes Methos moved it out of the way.
"Ah, ah, ah Highlander." The oldest immortal alive shook his index finger in a scolding manner.
Duncan rolled his eyes and giving in, kicked his feet up and over the side of his chair. "Yes, do let your hair down for a change. Honestly, for someone so old you can be such a stick in the mud. I'm just doing a bit of philosophizing. There's no harm in that."
"Ach, just don't get too morbid on me this time Methos." Duncan gave a mock toast in his friends direction.
They sipped at their wine companionably for a few minutes. Suddenly Methos broke it. "I need to get laid."
Duncan laughed. "Is that's what's wrong?"
Methos threw a pillow in his direction. "Bastard."
Still laughing the Highlander rolled toward his friend. "What's her name?"
"Not a her," Methos mumbled unhappily.
Duncan's eyebrows rose significantly. "What? I never knew you were like that!"
"Like I could tell Mr. Prim and Proper," Methos snorted.
"Well, you just told me," Duncan pointed out.
Methos glared at his wine. "Shit how much have I had?"
Duncan got up and walked over to the divan, sitting down next to it. "I can't say for sure my friend." He took the wine glass from Methos without any problems at all. "But if you give me any indication at all that you just meant that I might be inclined to rid ye’ of your problem."
"Look out, he's slipped into Highlander speak," Methos teased with a tweak of Duncan's nose.
Shaking his head Duncan figured it was time to let Methos sleep it off. He began to rise to his feet only to have Methos pull him down by the wrist. "You are my problem MacLeod, always have been and always will be I suspect. If there is a God and he made you to torment me he did a fine job and really, truly hates me."
"Why would you be saying that?" Duncan asked kneeling at Methos's side, letting his gaze roam over his strong, tall well-toned friend's body.
"…Because I've spent most of your life counting the ladies in and out of your life. I stopped counting at fifteen. After a hundred years I gave up hope. Are you telling me I only had to wait a few centuries for you to look in my direction?"
"You've been chasing me all these years?" Duncan asked in surprise. "Why did ye ne'er tell me?"
Methos threw an arm over his eyes, sighing in exasperation. "Maybe the vintage was never good enough. I'm probably just dreaming now anyway and will have a hangover in the morning to prove it."
"You know what the mortals say?" Duncan grinned and swung his long-legged friend up into his arms with only a slight stagger.
"What's that?" Methos grinned putting his arms around Duncan's neck.
"Never waste a good bottle of wine," Duncan leered, kicking open the door to the bedroom and then kicking it closed behind them.
[[Report This]]