Work Text:
One
“You did what?”
“I bought a place.” Methos shrugged. Gave MacLeod a sidelong glance. “What? A guy can’t have too many bolt holes.”
The Scot was still surprised. “So, where is it? Holy ground, I suppose.”
“Um, no. Not exactly. No.” Methos put his hands in the pockets of his coat and kept walking.
When it was apparent more information wasn’t going to be forthcoming, MacLeod stopped. The old man went on several feet before he too stopped. He turned and looked at his friend.
“Mac?”
“Adam?” The Scot mimicked his stance and tone. “Are you going to tell me about this place?”
Grinning, the ancient nodded. “Yes. That’s why we’re here.” He gestured expansively at their surroundings.
“What? You bought a place at the marina?” Now the Highlander grinned. “Mr. I-hate-water bought a seaside condo?
“No, I did not buy a condo.” Methos pointed toward the docks. “I bought a houseboat.”
Two
“Aragorn did what to Boromir?!”
Methos jumped at his lover’s sudden question. “Ah, hey, Mac. Thought you were asleep.“ The old man reached to blank the computer screen, but his hand was grabbed and forced away.
“I thought you were asleep with me.” MacLeod peered intently at the typing that filled the screen. “Uh.” Still holding Methos’ hand, he scrolled to the beginning of the page. Read until he reached the end. “Um…”
“Well, what do you think?” The old man had been watching his lover’s face. He couldn’t help smiling at MacLeod’s obvious embarrassment.
The Scott wasn’t sure how to answer. “You wrote…that?”
Methos’ answer was a shy smile and a nod.
“God, Methos. That’s por--”
“Erotic fiction, Mac. Specifically, ‘slash’ fan fiction.’
“It’s erotic all right,” the Highlander admitted with a snort.
“Right. But do you like it, Mac? Do you think it’s any good?”
The Scot blushed. “Methos.” His lover’s name came out squeaked. “I, well, yeah, I guess it’s pretty…hot.”
The younger immortal considered what he had just read for a moment. “So, you see, um, that kind of thing going on when you watch ‘Lord of the Rings?’”
Methos laughed. “Yes. Yes I do, Mac. Don’t you?”
“No. Not usually. No. But, well, maybe…”
The old man got up. Pulled the Scot into his embrace. “So, tell me, do you think what I wrote was realistic?”
The Highlander’s eyes glinted. “Well, I don’t think that’s anything we’ve ever done. Yet.”
Three
“Methos.”
“MacLeod.”
“Why’d you bring me out here?”
“Independence Day.”
“So, when did you start celebrating the Fourth of July?”
“When I found out about the fireworks.”
“Huh? Fireworks? What does that have to do with anything? Wait. You’re going to tell me how you invented them. Yeah. Right.”
“No, Mac. That’s not it at all.”
“Okay. Then, what?”
“I’m going to toss you in the back seat of the SUV and blow you until you come. During the ‘grand finale.’”
“Oh.”
Four
“You liked it.” Methos turned to his friend. He was clearly astonished.
The Scot looked at him and nodded once. “And what if I did?” He had, actually. Much more than he was willing to admit.
“You’re kidding, right?” Hazel eyes narrowed as the ancient immortal peered at MacLeod. “No shit, you did like it!”
This time the younger immortal shrugged. “I told you I did. Okay? Don’t make such a big fucking deal over it, Methos.”
“Not make a big deal? Come on, Mac. Give. Me. A. Break. This is a first.”
“Stop it, Methos. You’re exaggerating. I’ve liked other…stuff.”
The old man threw back his head and crowed. “No, no, no.” He turned to his other companion. “Come on, Joe. You’re his Watcher. You’ve read his Chronicles. Has he ever…?”
“Hey, don’t get me in the middle of this.” The greybeard mortal knew when to stay out of domestic disputes.
Both immortals turned to glare at Joe.
“Coward.”
“Yes,” the man agreed. “Besides, I have my Oath to uphold."
Methos blew a raspberry.
MacLeod lost it and started to laugh. “Okay, okay. It’s true. That’s the first time I’ve ever had chocolate stout. Of any kind. English or American.”
“But you like it?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Good. Joe, buddy, set us up with the oatmeal stout.”
“Oatmeal?!”
Five
“I was drunk, MacLeod?” Methos glared at the Scot. Then at it. Oh, god. He’d never live this one down. Not as long as the bloody Highlander was alive.
He whirled, and advanced on the diabolically laughing man. “And you… You let this happen. Why MacLeod? Why?”
The Highlander stopped rolling on the floor and sat up. Wiped away his tears of laughter. Finally managed to get himself under control. He did his very best to look into the hazel eyes of the naked, irate man before him.
But he never quite made it. Something…came up…and caught his attention.
Methos was caught too.
LATER…
Methos lay on his stomach. His head pillowed on his arms. He looked over at his lover. “All right, MacLeod. I want the truth. Why?” The old man’s tone was quiet. Silky. Dangerously so.
“Because?” The Scot shrugged. Then he smiled and leaned in for a kiss.
The ancient rolled away. “No.”
“Hey!” MacLeod reached for his lover. Only to have him slip away completely.
“N. O. Not until you tell me why you let this happen. No, wait. How did it happen?” Methos’ brow furrowed as he tried to remember the night before.
“We went to that faculty mixer for the History Department.” He shook his head. “I didn’t drink that much… It ran over, so we went out to dinner. You, me, and the TAs…”
Seven teaching assistants. All between twenty-one and twenty-four. They’d ended up in a burger joint not too from Joe’s bar. Then they’d gone on to Joe’s.
The nine of them hadn‘t stayed long, though. “I was sober when we left there, MacLeod. I was sober when we got to the club.” Yes, they had wanted to go dancing. At Rick’s Café. Methos remembered the awestruck look on the kid’s faces when they had been allowed to go right in. Past the block-long line of people waiting.
The old man paced up and down his side of the bed. “Mixer. Dinner. Joe’s. Dancing. Damnit, MacLeod…”
“What happened?”
“You said it, Methos. You got drunk. Plastered. Shit-faced. So did Amy, Wes, Caryn, Jan and Jennie. We took Wes, Caryn and Jan home. You decided you were going to be carsick. So I left you with Amy and Jennie at their place when I took Ron and Pat to Joe’s to get their cars.”
“When I got back to get you, it seems you and your cohorts had sobered up enough to have another round at the local bar…”
Methos groaned. He was starting to remember bits and pieces. “Which is right next to…”
“The tattoo parlor. Yep.”
“But, I was drunk.”
“But, you’re an ac-tor, dahling.”
“MacLeod!”
The Scot dashed into the bathroom and slammed the door. Locked it.
Methos growled in frustration. At not being able to strangle his lover. His lover who was giggling like a madman in the safety of the bath.
Dubious safety, the old man thought. If he could only find that hairpin…
MUCH LATER…
“Methos?”
“What?”
“Um. I’m sorry. Really. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have left you.”
“Damn straight.”
“Methos?”
“What?”
“Is it okay to tell you I like it?”
“You do? Really?”
“Yeah.” The Scot replied softly.
The ancient leaned over and ran his hand over his lover’s bum. “I’m glad.” He looked over his shoulder. “But I think my dragon is prettier than yours.”
End
Originaly posted 10-27-02
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.