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"…In Bangkok makes a hard man humble…"

"Methos, give it a break, will you?"

"…Not much between despair and ecstasy…" The ancient immortal looked over at the Scot. "Give me one good reason why I should?"

"Because I asked? Please?"

"One night in Bangkok and the tough guys tumble… Sure, Mac."  Methos stopped singing and began pacing the hotel suite's living room.

Tonight was the presentation ceremony for new Chess Master Alexi Androvitch AKA Adam Pierson. He'd thought about inviting Joe.  But he'd heard that Amy was going to be in Seacouver. And long hours sitting on a plane weren't so good on the arthritic, aging mortal. So he fell back on his old pal MacLeod.

Been surprised when the man said yes right away. Without Methos having to spend days cajoling him. Considering all the snide comments he'd made when Methos--pardon, Alexi--had started his campaign for the mastery, the old man had wondered at the easy capitulation. He looked over at the Highlander.

"So, Mac, what are you going to do today? Punting? Croquet?  High tea?"

The Scot paused to consider--punching that aristocratic nose. "No.  I thought I might check out a couple of the temples."

"Ooh. Excitement! Bald men in yellow robes. Chanting." Methos settled into a sprawl on the couch. "But you won't let me sing," he said petulantly.

"Sing? You want to sing, Methos. Fine." MacLeod reached out and snatched a fistful of the man's sweater. Pulled him up just enough so he could reach the pouting lips that had been taunting him. He'd teach the old bastard a lesson. No more teasing. He kissed him. Laid one on Methos as if he were one of the innumerable women he`d had.

"Um. Um? Um!"

Methos responded to the Highlander's kiss without hesitation. He wasn't about to waste this opportunity. He opened to MacLeod. Reached to hold him. Pulled him down and cradled him with his body. He didn't know how long he would have before the younger immortal came to his senses.

He was prepared to take anything he could get.


Methos came out of the bath and looked over at the bed. Grinned to himself. MacLeod must have roused while he was in the shower. Just long enough to climb back into his black boxers. Then rolled over and fell asleep again. He was sprawled attractively amid the while silk sheets.

The ancient studied his lover for a moment. Lover of a moment?  Probably. Soundlessly, he gathered up his things and left the room.

He'd made his opening gambit. The next move was MacLeod's.
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One night. One more night. I stand at the foot of his bed. Gods, how can he be so beautiful? It's all I can do to make myself turn away from that perfection. His perfect body in black silk boxers.  A body I know almost as well as my own.

A body he uses against me. Teasing. Taunting.

Torturing.

No one knows. Not Joe. Not Amanda. Though I think she suspects.  I see the way she watches me. She had been in my place, after all.  But I don't think she ever saw this side of MacLeod.

Yeah. He saves it all for me. His guilty pleasure.

He doesn't hide anything. The manacles. The--implements. He laughingly refers to the diamond stud he makes me wear as my slave earring. Yeah. And everybody laughs with him. What a thoughtful master Adam has. Right. I reach up and pull the earring out. Toss it on the dresser. Next to the collar.

It's time.

He's sleeping soundly. Of course he is. I've been drugging him regularly. I know exactly how big a dose to give him to keep him out while I--while I mangle my hand enough to get it out of the handcuff.

The Scot forgot I'm still a licensed physician. Funny, the things he forgets. Like all the times I came through for him.

I said it was time. I pick up the wrench…

It's time.

MacLeod is going to wake soon. Won't he be surprised? I practically giggle. He looks positively fuckable like that. Spread out and chained. That oiled, gleaming golden body stretched tight against the white satin sheets. Oh, yeah. I've been a busy boy.

Yes, oh, yes. Mr. `Watcher' Dawson is going to get an eyeful. Mmm. I have to admire MacLeod's taste. The black toys look nice on him. The tightly laced cock cage. The one with the ball spreader and cockring. The nipple clamps with the pendant weights.

I know how they feel, of course. He bought them for me. The biggest. Heaviest. Oddest. Nothing was too good for me.

Taking my place astride his chest, I peer down into his face. Watch his closed eyes. Wait for them to open. He stirs just a bit.

Realizes right away he`s caught. He makes muffled noises behind the black dildo gag in his mouth. Not the largest. I didn't want him to suffocate in his sleep.

Now he's pulling frantically at the chains. He should know better.  He installed them himself. Swore a gorilla wouldn't be able to get out of them. I believed him.

MacLeod starts to growl. I don't care. I stare into his eyes.  Or try to. He won't look at me. Choosing instead to roll his head from side to side. I know very well he's not going to loosen the gag that way. I smile and tell him so.

There are words mixed with the growls as he replies. Oh, he is so pissed! I continue smiling as the Highlander's movements become more violent. He arches up from the bed. Trying to knock me off, I'm sure. But he stops in mid-movement.

His eyes had been closed in concentration. They fly open.

"Surprise," I whisper.

There's an explosion of curses behind the gag as he realizes I've stuffed his ass, half-way up his colon, full of black beauty. And there's still half a foot sticking out. He's not too happy being nailed with the biggest fucking dildo you can get.

I can't help myself. I reach back and give the dildo a little nudge. MacLeod's eyes goggle.

And I finally see what I want to see. Fear.

It's time.

After I shower, I dress in stuff I got at the thrift store last week. Faded and soft-from-washing jeans and tee shirt. Too-big sweater. Broken-in boots. An old grey duster. Dressed like I want to dress, I begin to feel more like… I feel less like MacLeod's toy.

I pick up my duffel of clothes. Laptop. Backpack with books and odds and ends. My Ivanhoe is carefully sheathed. My other weapons as carefully hidden.

One last look around the loft. One last thing to take care of tonight. I call Joe's. Knowing there won't be anyone there until later. Several hours later, to be exact.

"Hey, Joe, it's Adam. Mac wants you to drop by after you close the bar tonight. He said to use your key and come right up. See you later." I snicker to myself. Wouldn't want some stranger to find the great MacLeod like that.

Done.

Finally done.

I cross to the bed. Admire the dagger standing upright from his chest. Gods, doesn't the Highlander make a beautiful corpse?

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One night I'll get up the courage. I'll fix dinner, maybe. Noh, nothing too formal. Maybe I'll get a DVD, beer, his favorite popcorn. Something fun. That would be good. I try to think what kinds of movies he likes. Draw a complete blank.

I look over at him. He's standing, just standing there, talking to Joe. And every female--and half the males--in the place are eyeing him. I've never noticed Adam get that reaction before.

Maybe because that's not 'Adam.' They must be talking Watcher business. Serious Watcher business. He's agitated. Animated.  Yeah, totally. He turns to look at me, and Methos almost smiles.  Goes right back to arguing with Joe a second later.

God. What do I really know about him? I know he likes beer. But he's just as likely to drink something else. Including chocolate milk right out of the container.

He's got eclectic taste in music. Doesn't like opera. Knows the classics like he wrote them, and gee, why am I surprised at that? I laugh at myself. If I only believe half, no, a quarter--a fiftieth--of what he says, that still leaves an awful lot of 'truth.'

I want to trust him. I do. It's just that, well, he's just too good at lying.

Okay, back to the idea.

'Hey, Adam, let's ditch this place. I've got free beer and a movie at my place.'

Too casual. I need to be more direct.

"Adam, let's go back to my place and screw."

A hand falls on my shoulder. "Good idea, Mac."


Sometime after he fell asleep I got up and took a shower. I'd have invited him along, but he looked so adorable curled up asleep. Like a little kid.

I dressed in black boxers, remembering Connor's first rule. `Fighting naked--not good.` And climbed back into bed. I pulled my lover close. Fell asleep wondering what life would be like with the oldest, snarkiest man alive. If I dreamed, they must have been good. I woke up smiling.

He wasn't in bed with me, but I could feel him close. "Methos?" I looked up from my sprawl across the bed to see him standing in the moonlight streaming through the windows. "You okay?"

The old man turned. Smiled. "I'm fine, Mac." He came over and settled back into my arms. Pulled the gleaming white sheet over us.

"I was just thinking. I'm glad you finally asked."
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I don't like to lose. I guess that's why I've been alive for over five thousand years. Me and my head. In good times and bad. When all the rest of the world is sick and dying. Whether I've been rich or poor. We made good partners.

And now, now I'm giving it up.

I glance at the man I'd just stripped down to black boxers and shoved into bed. I shake my head. I have to stop for a moment and get myself together.

He's sprawled in the middle of the bed. His gold skin warm against the cool white sheets. I want more than anything to join him there. Join with him there.

But there's no time. I've been given no time.

He's coming. He'd sent the headhunters who had ambushed MacLeod.  As a warning. He wanted the Champion. Correction. He wanted `a' Champion. He'd given me the choice.

Fine.

I look at what I've written on the computer. I've given them everything. Including the location of my journals. The real ones.  Zoll will have a field day.

The names of my solicitors. I smile. The Watchers won't profit off of Methos. Everything goes to charity. Everything except what goes to Joe.

I look at the little clock in the corner of the screen. Almost time. I have to go. Since I'll have to walk to the church. St. Julien's. That was my choice too.

Finish things, Methos, I tell myself. I blank the computer screen and take up my last journal. I hold the pen poised.

God. I have nothing to say. Nothing. Because I should have said everything before now. But I waited because I was afraid. Except now I can't imagine what it was that frightened me.

I jot down a few words. Close the book. Caress the cover one last time. A caress that should rightly go to MacLeod. I suppose I'm glad we never…

Not something I need to think about now. No. Instead I prop my sword where he'll see it when he wakes.

One last time I look at the Highlander. He hasn't moved. Not at all. I suppose I should be glad he was so exhausted. I couldn't have dealt with him awake.

I go over and turn on the lamp by the sofa. Make sure the fire is banked. Know I'm stalling. And that I can't help myself. At last I head up the stairs.

On the deck I stand looking at the moon shining on the Seine for just a moment. Check again to be sure the door is locked.

Have to keep the Highlander safe.

"Of my own free will," I say softly. Repeating the last words I would ever write.

"I love you, Duncan MacLeod." I say aloud the last words I will ever speak.
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"I remember, oh, gods, I remember that. The de Valicourts were having one of their spats. The one just before they renewed their vows."

"That's the one. The only way I could get Methos to help was to give him the barge."

"Dad! You gave him *Nobile*?"

"I did."

"He did not," Methos said primly. "He was just using that as a ploy to get me to come and live with him."

"Methos," the Highlander growled.

"Duncan," Methos growled right back. Then he pounced on his mate.

There was an outraged chorus of, 'ewwws' from the children. But Methos didn't care. He kissed MacLeod twice. Then once more for good measure. When he came up for air, they were alone. "Hey, what happened?"

"Ian and Rich packed them all off."

"Good for them," Methos said. Of all their children, the eldest--the twins--were most reliable. At sixteen, though, they had recently chosen to go off to the Academy. "God, but I hate to see them leave. Amanda's nowhere near as capable."

"Maybe we shouldn't have named her Amanda," MacLeod said with a snide chuckle.

"Maybe." The ancient immortal sighed. "But considering we used her genetic material to make our Amanda…"

"True. Guess we're doomed."

"Ah, but we've got the rest to fall back on. Thank the maker," Methos said fervently. "Now, come to bed. I have something for you. If you've been a good boy, that is." The old man was grinning.

"I have been an excellent boy…"


The pinging of the intercom woke Methos. He looked over at his mate. Sleeping the sleep of the excellent--and well-sated. Oh well. The ancient had a feeling he knew what the late-night call was for.

"Yes?"

"Poppy, it's Ian. Debra's awake. Should I…?"

"Bring her here. She`ll be hungry." Methos went to the door and took his newest child from his son. "Go back to bed. I'll keep her with us."

The boy--young man--nodded sleepily and went back down the hall to the room he shared with his twin.

The ancient looked down at his fussy daughter. Tried to smooth her wild red hair. Not that it did any good. He smiled. Remembering another little girl with hair just as wild. But hers had been dark as MacLeod's.

He looked out the window. Up at the two moons that ruled this world. They'd come to New Brisbane twenty years ago. Starting over when their brood on Calliope was all well settled. It was what they did. Had been doing for a long time. He and MacLeod had beaten the odds. Lived to move among the stars.

But, Debra was the last child they would raise here. In two or three decades they would move on again. Start over on another colony world. Raise an eleventh family.

Methos stood quietly, contemplating his life with his mate and his families for a long while. Unaware he was being watched.

MacLeod hadn't moved from his sprawl amid the white gossamer-silk sheets of their bed. The alabaster hue of his lover's skin contrasting with the inky blackness of boxers caused a sudden hitch in his breathing.

Imagine that. After four centuries, seeing Methos wearing his underwear could still turn him on.

"Methos?"

"Hm?" The man turned and moved to sit beside the Scot. Debra had finally settled down to eat.

"Methos, have I told you lately how much I love you?"

The ancient man tilted his head. As if seriously considering the question. Then he smiled. "Even better, love, you showed me."


Completed 3-6-03

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