A shrug. "Believe me or not... It's not like I can show you a film or
anything."
"Methos," Krycek sat forward, emphasizing his point, "you hate to fly.
That's a well-established fact. No fucking way you're gonna convince me you
were a test pilot on supersonic spy planes."
Methos shrugged, unconcerned. "I've done many things over the years...
more than you'll ever know. I was a test pilot for the military and I
did fly the SR-71 Blackbird."
Krycek's eyes narrowed. Dammit, Methos was always leading him down the
garden path with completely unbelievable stories of his exploits. "What
altitude and speed did you achieve?" He asked, hoping to catch the ancient
one out with details.
"Well," Methos reclined back on his sofa, languidly holding a half-full
beer in one hand, "the Blackbird could reach a sustained speed of mach 3.2...
popular opinion was that it had an altitude ceiling of 85,000 feet, but
I climbed to 100,000 once."
Krycek groaned his defeat and sat back in his chair. Lifting his glass, he
took a healthy swallow of vodka and swallowed with a smile. Irritating
though Methos could be at times, he always kept a bottle of Krycek's
favorite vodka in the freezer. Small things like that kept Krycek coming
back for more. The drink... more often than not a great conversation
and/or argument... and the sex... Well, Methos could and did make Krycek
howl like a hyena, begging for release, writhing with pleasure. Every time.
Krycek simply could not get enough of the man.
His eyes darkened at the thought and he rose to his feet. "Didn't you say
you had a brand new bed to break in?" He asked smiling down at the ancient
immortal.
"Hmm, yes, I did." Methos flowed up off of the couch and led the way to the
bedroom. He turned on the lights and pointed at the bed in question.
"Well, what do you think?"
"Nice." Krycek started to move toward Methos, intending to catch a kiss.
"Nice?" Methos voice was outraged. "That's all you can say... nice?"
He backed out of the mortal's reaching arm. "I waited over eight months for
the damned thing. Ordered it special. It's made of Tasmanian Sassafras—the blackheart variety. Cost a fucking fortune. And all you can say is
nice?"
"Methos, the bed is gorgeous... a work of fucking art, okay." Krycek moved
in again, managing to get his arm around the immortal's waist. Leaning
forward, he started nibbling at Methos neck... that always worked.
"Mmmm," Methos let his head drop back, allowing Krycek easier access to his
sensitive neck. "'m glad you like it."
"I love it. it's the most beautiful bed I've ever seen." He sucked on an
earlobe. "Now, let's fuck."
Methos grinned. "Thought you'd never ask."
heh
Untitled PWP
by Jennie
Krycek glared at Methos. "I don't believe you," he stated flatly.
