Work Text:
Clue Bus
by KateKintail
He was no stranger to being hit by a speeding bus. He knew well the feeling of bones shattering, lungs collapsing, ribs snapping. A body tried to bounce against the front of a bus in an equal but opposite reaction but, with the bus moving forward, it stayed plastered there. Usually you were either dead or unconscious by the time you hit the pavement. Right now, Duncan wished for as much in courtesy.
As it was, he had enough left in him after the hit to lift his hand, grab the beer on the table in front of the old man, and drink it down. It was disgustingly cheep and made him wish again to be unconscious. Being drunk was a good alternative.
"Come on, MacLeod," Methos said, reclaiming his beer and taking a froth-filled swig. "Don't tell me you didn't know."
Duncan raised his eyes from the tabletop. They were a gentle brown but wide with insistence. Methos was nothing if not mysterious.
"You attract immortals like a magnet, practically one a week. I'm bent on keeping my head-to-body region entirely intact. So of course I want you. Why else would I stay here? And then when I have a chance to head off to a lovely exotic hideaway, I still end up right back here at your side. You turn evil and try to kill every friend you have, and I track your ass across the world and hand you a weapon. Kronos comes to town and even though I'd spent literally hundreds of years in his bed, I turn against my brother for you."
"I thought…" His throat was dry, and the hit from the clue bus had knocked most of the ability to reason out of his head. He licked his lips. "What about Alexa? And didn't you have sixty-something wives?"
"I didn't say I liked men exclusively," Methos said, staring at the Scot. "I like you. I said I want you."
Duncan's eyes flittered over Methos' face, then down. Nervously, they darted back up and landed on the can of beer. He wanted to steel it back but couldn't seem to move. Maybe Methos was doing this to catch him off guard. Maybe Methos was actually planning to kill him tonight. Maybe Methos… was kissing him.
Duncan had been hit hard, and he couldn't say he wasn't stunned now. But Methos cupped his cheek gently with a hand in a way Duncan had never before felt. The kiss was pointed, forceful, yet Methos' lips were soft and tongue respectfully stayed put. Until Duncan requested it with his own. He returned the kiss, slipping his arms around Methos to pull him close. Beyond the taste of beer there was more, a taste that went with the smell and touch. Really, how could he not have seen this coming? All the wisdom and mystery in the man seemed at hand now. Or maybe he was just reeling from the shock of realizing he wanted Methos right back.
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