Disclaimers: The characters in this story originate from Highlander: The Series, and are used without permission. This story contains an m/m relationship so don't read it if you don't like that. Thanks to Jen, 'tilla, and Wombat for the beta.
Duncan was not really surprised to find Methos lounging on the couch in the loft. Joe told him that Methos had been staying at the loft since leaving Paris the week before. No, MacLeod was not surprised, but still it startled him how easily Methos made himself at home despite all that had happened between them.
The book Methos had been reading lay across the back of the couch. The man had a hand on the sword that lay near him and was looking intently at the elevator, but other than that he looked completely relaxed. MacLeod's stance was very guarded, and the younger man suddenly felt foolish standing there with sword drawn while his friend sat so casually. Methos continued to regard him, now with slightly upturned lips. Annoyed that Methos could make him feel so foolish, he forcefully thrust his katana back under his coat.
"Make yourself at home," he grumbled, as he stepped from the elevator.
"I wasn't expecting you back from Paris so soon," Methos replied, unperturbed.
MacLeod shrugged. "I got tired of the weather."
Methos laughed. "And this is such an improvement."
Mac just shook his head. He was tired--too many hours of air travel--and he wanted to go to bed. He was not in the mood for the banter, so he said nothing. Instead, he began moving around the loft, starting to unpack.
Sensing the tension in his friend, Methos sat up and started gathering his things. When Mac finally noticed his preparations to leave, Methos said, "I'll get going. It's not too late to find somewhere to stay."
Duncan frowned. He had not meant to be so hostile, had not even realized he was doing it. He did not want to further damage this already crippled friendship. He put the pile of shirts he was holding into the drawer and then purposefully walked over to where Methos was tying up his boots.
"No, you don't have to do that. You're welcome to stay, as long as you don't mind the couch. You've crashed on it enough times before." He tried to put the sincerity with which he meant the invitation into his voice.
Methos had stopped tying his shoes and was looking at MacLeod with a bland expression Duncan couldn't read. Finally, Methos said, "I am going to be in town at least five or six more days. I don't want to impose on your hospitality for that long."
Duncan bit his lip at the reminder of the distance that had grown between them. Methos would not have thought twice about imposing before. Before. MacLeod wanted things like they had been before. He tried to put on a convincingly friendly smile, and said, "No, really, I insist. There is no reason you should have to find somewhere else to stay. Besides, I'd like you to stay. I'm not in the habit of turning friends out on the street." By the end, his smile was genuine.
Methos seemed a bit startled, but he nodded after a moment. "Ever the generous host," he smiled, a little sadly.
MacLeod finished emptying his bag and then brought blankets out for Methos to use on the couch. He was astonished at how quickly the belongings Methos had just gathered had come to be scattered about the loft again. Methos followed his gaze, and shrugged with a smirk. It was on the tip of MacLeod's tongue to ask Methos what he was doing here and why he was leaving so soon, but the suddenly closed expression on his friend's face when he began to ask made him pause. He wondered if he was really so easy to read that Methos had known what he was going to say. Instead, he just said, "I'm tired. I'm going to try to catch up on some sleep. Make yourself comfortable."
"Thanks, MacLeod," Methos said, seemingly as surprised as MacLeod himself at his sincerity. Mac nodded, and then tucked himself into bed where he almost instantaneously fell asleep.
It was easy to fall into old patterns over the next few days. Mac wondered a couple of times if it could be genuine, if they could regain so much lost ground so easily without discussing everything more thoroughly. Finally, he decided he could do it if Methos could. And he decided to ignore the tensions that rose up between them at times, the times when things were not quite the way they had been. He felt comfortable around his friend again, like he had not in a long time. Sharing once again the easy comradery felt good.
It was on the fourth day after he had returned from Paris that Duncan felt the shimmering tension, the slight vibration crawling up his spine and into the back of his head that indicated the presence of another of his kind. He and Methos had been lounging in the kitchen, enjoying a breakfast of muffins and juice, while Methos told an outrageous tale from a time when he had advised a Chinese emperor. The emperor had witnessed the death and resurrection of one of Methos' friends at court. Though the man had fled immediately, the emperor became obsessed with immortality, sending mission after mission out to find the secret of eternal life. Meanwhile, Methos had remained at court and one close call after another threatened to reveal his own immortality. The chain of chance events and Methos' attempts to cover them up became ridiculous. The story ended with the emperor personally patrolling the coast with crossbow in hand for a great white fish. The story left them both laughing hard, and MacLeod choking on his juice.
The merriment vanished immediately, though, to be replaced by looks of intense concentration on the faces of both men as the third immortal came into range. MacLeod moved toward the entrance of the loft, drawing his sword. Methos stayed back, but his hand went to his blade as well. When the door to the back stairs opened to reveal a man of medium height with scraggly brown hair and wide grey eyes, Duncan relaxed visibly.
"Michael! It's great to see you again," he said, his smile widening to a grin as he engaged the other man in a hearty embrace. "God, it's been..."
"Thirty years," the other man supplied.
Mac was still grinning when he stepped back. "What brings you here? Oh! I'd like you to meet a friend of mine. Adam Pierson. Adam, this is Michael Hanson. We met in the first world war."
"And have had some good times since then, too," Michael added. "Remember that time in New Orleans? You were so drunk, and that girl...what was her name?"
Mac laughed. "Anna," he said shaking his head in recollection. Michael was grinning and Methos was smiling politely. "Yeah, I remember. Come on in. We were just having breakfast. There's plenty if you want some."
"That would be fantastic," Michael replied. He eagerly followed MacLeod into the kitchen. "As a matter of fact I haven't really eaten yet today. I just flew in last night."
Methos offered juice to the new immortal, which Michael accepted with a nod.
"Are you staying long?" Mac asked. He was surprised to see this friend, but glad he had so suddenly dropped by.
"I'm afraid not. I'm just passing through," he said, then his face went serious. "Actually I'm hunting someone. Brian Casey. You remember him." It wasn't a question.
"I do," Duncan said, but changed the subject before that part of the past could cast too somber a mood over this reunion. "But tell me what else have you been doing lately?"
"Well, I was spending some time in Australia, but lately I have been doing a bit of traveling. I just ran into Robert and Gina last month. It was good to see them. They told me all about their last wedding. Say! You wouldn't be that Adam, would you?"
"Much to my chagrin, yes, I am," Methos said lightly, with a bit of a smile as he remembered events.
Michael burst out laughing. "Gina told me all about you. You really staged a fight with Robert?"
Methos and Duncan close to simultaneously began their rendition of events until, in the end, all three of them were laughing so hard they were gasping for breath. Duncan smiled at Methos, glad again for the renewed comfort between them.
"Listen, Mac," Michael began, "I have some things I need to do, a killer to track, you know, the usual stuff. But can we maybe grab a late lunch somewhere and catch up."
They quickly made plans, and Michael left the loft.
When MacLeod turned back to Methos, he found him smiling slightly. "What?" he asked.
"It amazes me how many friends you have walk in here. Sometimes it feel like bloody Grand Central station, but it is rare and precious nonetheless. Especially among our kind."
MacLeod looked at his friend. He knew Methos was somewhat of a loner. "You want to come to lunch with us?"
Methos laughed. "Oh, no. I think you two are going to spend the whole time reminiscing about past exploits and conquests. How dull can you get?"
MacLeod laughed, too, and then together they cleaned up what had become a rather messy breakfast.
Lunch proceeded as Methos had predicted. They ate on the patio of a restaurant across from a park Duncan favored for his morning jogs. Duncan found it felt good to be laughing and talking about old times after what had been a stressful and serious few months. They continued to talk long after they had finished eating and only left the restaurant after several annoyed glances from their server. MacLeod suggested they take a walk in the park and continue their conversation.
As they reached one of the less populated trails, Duncan asked the question that had been on his mind since breakfast. "Why go after Casey now, after all these years?" Casey had been an acquaintance during the war, and all three immortals had been assigned to escort a medical contingent out of enemy territory after a lost battle had marooned the hospital on the wrong side of the retreating front line. MacLeod's unit had not yet met up with the group when it was set upon during the night by enemy troops, troops led to the camp by Casey. The betrayal took the party by surprise and led to the slaughter of nearly all of the medical personnel and wounded, as well as the deaths of many of the escorting soldiers. MacLeod had only arrived in the aftermath. He remembered how ready they had both been to challenge Casey, but the man had disappeared and much time had passed. To be so actively seeking Casey now suggested something more recent.
"You know the oath I swore to Diane..." MacLeod nodded. He remembered: The grass had been slick with blood, even where Michael knelt cradling the wounded form of the young nurse. MacLeod had not been able to hear the words of comfort Michael had offered to the woman. Only later did he learn that it was Michael's promise to look after her family that allowed the girl to die in peace. MacLeod knew that Michael had taken the oath seriously, watching over Diane's daughter and, later, her granddaughter.
"Michelle died six years ago," Michael continued. "A car accident. I never imagined I would be released from my oath so suddenly. I'd loved her since she was a little girl. I was a wreck. When Casey showed up at the funeral, I was ready to tear him apart with me bare hands. I tried hunting for him then, but he disappeared again. Time passed and I lost interest in the chase. Then, three months ago, I received a letter from the bastard. He described to me how he caused the car accident. The letter contained a pendant she always wore as proof. I have been hunting him since."
When Michael finished his summary, Duncan tried to offer comforting words to his friend, but Michael shook his head and said, "In a way, it is old grief and old anger. Now I think I'm looking for closer more than anything else."
MacLeod stared at the immortal. Michael had an ability to emotionally accept what life threw his way that MacLeod did not understand. It seemed that time, even in very small doses, was an incredibly powerful balm to this man. Already, the traces of anger that came with the retelling had faded from his face as his mind moved on to a different subject. "Have you ever been to Australia, MacLeod? They have some of the most remarkable animals there..."
They wandered along the wooded trails, talking, until they came a clearing that opened onto a small pond. The water looked tranquil in the warm afternoon sun. Both men stopped to admire the view at the end of the trail. Michael leaned against a tree, interested in relaxing a bit before returning the way they had come.
"Adam seems like a nice guy," he said.
Duncan smiled. "It took me long enough to figure that out."
"Are you two lovers?"
Duncan turned sharply to face him an absolutely shocked expression on his face.
"I guess not," Michael said with a slightly embarrassed laugh. "In fact, by the expression on your face, I'd say the thought never even crossed your mind. I'm sorry. I misjudged. I just figured, with the two of you living together, and obviously so close...."
"We're just friends, and sometimes barely that," Mac said, feeling the need to make it clear there was nothing else going on between his friend and himself.
"Ah, I should have known. Your tastes have always been a bit narrower than mine. You have to admit he is a good looking man. If I didn't have other things to pursue at the moment, I might have decided to see if he was interested." A mischievous smile came into Michael's eyes. "I mean, that long lean body, those narrow hips, those strong arms. I bet that short hair is very soft to run a hand through. And I could easily fall asleep each night to the cadances of that voice. A very good attractive man, indeed."
MacLeod was looking at his friend as if he had sprouted a third eye. This whole conversation was making him uncomfortable, hearing his one friend talking about another friend that way.
"Well, like I said, more limited tastes. Listen, MacLeod, I am meeting one of Casey's students tonight. When I defeat him, I am hoping to get my next lead on the man. If you don't mind I'd like to walk back alone. I need to prepare myself for a challenge."
MacLeod nodded, and then reached out to grip his friend's forearm. "Good luck. I hope you find what you are looking for." Then as Michael was just heading back down the trail, he could not resist calling out: "Watch your head."
MacLeod leaned against the tree Michael had vacated, just watching the ripples in the pond. His mind, however, refused to be occupied by the view and kept returning to what Michael had said about Methos. He was beginning to feel increasingly uncomfortable, and, what was worse, his mind was conjuring up bits of images he had taken with Byron's quickening weeks before, but had not chosen to examine closely. This was not something he wanted to think about. He turned purposefully toward the trail, determined to leave the disturbing conversation with the pond.
Duncan was in a much better mood by the time he returned to the loft. He shifted his grip on some shopping purchases he had made to push up the grate of the elevator. He entered to find Methos just getting ready to leave.
"Did you have a nice lunch? Get a chance to go over all the good old days?" Methos' tone was friendly, with the usual undercurrents of perpetual amusement.
"Yeah, yeah. It was great. Are you going somewhere?"
Methos looked at him quizzically, but answered, "I have some shopping I need to get done."
Mac nodded, and began putting his purchases away. He glanced over at Methos to see him sitting on the couch, bending over to tie his boots. The smooth curve of his back and shoulders was visible even through the thickly-knitted sweater. Michael's words came rushing back to MacLeod. For a moment, he found himself noticing all those things. He felt stirrings....
"Hey, MacLeod!"
MacLeod blinked and shook his head to find Methos looking at him. "Sorry. I was a million miles away," he lied. "You know how it is sometimes. You get caught up in the past." Methos gave a sympathetic nod. MacLeod turned to continue putting groceries away. Hiding behind the refrigerator door when he knew his face must be flushed. Say something mundane, innocuous, he told himself, before he guesses something is wrong. Milk. He was almost out of milk. Now, find a mild voice for the meaningless request.
"Hey, Methos, could you grab some milk while you're out?"
"Sure." He heard the reply and then moments later the grinding of the descending elevator.
"Damn," he swore, peeking out from the refrigerator door. He tried to banish the thoughts he was having, but they refused to cooperate. Michael's words, those memories from Byron, and various previously benign images he had of Methos all swirled together increasing his arousal. And he had to admit that much. He was aroused. In fact, very aroused.
"Shit," he swore again. This was his friend he was thinking about, and this was a man. He was not so narrow minded as to begrudge Michael his choices the few times their revelries had ended with Michael in bed with a man rather than a woman. But that was Michael. He was Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, and that was not who he was. Until now, a small voice whispered.
The fact that he was attracted to his friend was painfully obvious. However, it was not an attraction he thought he wanted to act on. He made the choice to ignore it. As long as the issue was not out between them, he could pretend it did not exist. He hoped.
Decision made, he sat down with a book of Japanese poetry and worked at banishing the unwanted thoughts.
Methos returned several hours later. They had a late dinner together. Conversation was minimal, but in the comfortable way of people who are close enough that casual silences don't become a burden. The night was finished quietly reading. Mac sighed when he finally climbed into bed, congratulating himself on his control of his emotions even now when the newness of this discovery made him hyper-aware of how the man moved, how he had sprawled across the couch as he read.
Duncan dreamed. At first he was sitting outside of his barge in Paris, watching some sort of marching band wind its way by. Then Amanda was there and he invited her inside. And then they were undressed in the bed together and she was touching him. Her touches moved lower as her kisses trailed down along his neck and then to his chest. She slid her way down until she was kneeling between his legs, her fingers pressing into his thighs. She wrapped her mouth around his erection, adding tantalizing darts of her tongue. Then she released him to look up and meet his eyes. Only it was no longer Amanda, it was Methos. Their eyes met for a moment, and MacLeod could only think how beautiful his friend was with eyes darkened with desire and with the slightest sheen of sweat on his forehead. Then the dark-haired head ducked down, mouth totally engulfing the erection. MacLeod cried out, coming almost immediately. When it was over, he could do nothing but close his eyes lazily.
When he opened them again, he was in his bed alone in a darkened room. He could hear the sounds of Methos snoring softly across the room, and sighed. He rolled over and felt the physical evidence of how very real his dream had been. He silently slipped out of bed, the floor cold against his bare feet, and slipped into a fresh pair of sweats. This time, when he climbed back into bed, he fell into a dreamless sleep.
Duncan awoke after dawn. He could hear the sound of Methos sleeping still. The sun was filtering in through the windows, brightly illuminating the loft. He decided he would get no more sleep and there was no point laying about bed. He padded silently toward the kitchen, thinking to start some coffee, but froze when he saw Methos.
His covers had come off during the night. He lay, clad only in boxer shorts, on his back in full display, the morning sun softly lighting the long lines of his body. One leg was slightly bent; one arm was thrown casually across his eyes. His chest rose and fell in time with his snores. It was far, far too much of that long, muscled body for Duncan to see. He moaned very softly, almost immediately very very hard. He felt light-headed, his rapid breathing not bringing enough oxygen to his brain. Methos moved in his sleep, and the delicate play of the muscles beneath his friend's flesh drew another moan from MacLeod. Methos moved again and Duncan started. He did not need his friend to wake up and see him staring at him like this. He hurried into the bathroom, closing the door before Methos awoke.
MacLeod stood under the stream of hot water, trying to relax. If this was going to be how it was, things were going to be very difficult. The image of Methos' sunlit body was still like a fire in his mind, and his groin twitched ever more insistently. Realizing he was going to have to take care of it, he wrapped a hand around his cock and began a slow pumping motion that quickly gathered speed. With his eyes closed under the cascade of warm water, it was easy to imagine another set of hands on him, long fingers caressing him gently, replacing the hand at his cock. He came lost in his dream, almost crying the name out loud.
Duncan leaned against kitchen counter slowly sipping his coffee. He could hear the soft sounds of falling water from the shower Methos now occupied. He shook his head again. He could not even begin to explain to himself how things had gone this far this fast. At this time yesterday, he had been blissfully unaware of his feelings.... He stopped at that thought, shy of admitting he had felt any of this before yesterday. He was almost glad when the ringing phone broke through his contemplation.
"MacLeod," he answered.
"Ah, so good to hear you again. Brian Casey here."
MacLeod felt a chill run through his body at the familiarly musical voice and cavalier tone.
The phone fell back into its carrier with a dull click. Duncan stared at it even after he let his hand fall to his side.
"Not good news, I'm guessing," came a voice from behind him. MacLeod turned to see Methos toweling dry his hair.
"No. Remember I told you Michael was fighting one of Casey's students last night? Well, apparently Casey was in town, too. Casey says he has Michael, but isn't interested in him. He told me only the more powerful quickenings are worth his time. He will let Michael go if I meet him in a fair challenge this afternoon."
"And do you believe him?"
"Well, he always was a cruel bastard, but I don't remember him breaking any rules when it came to a challenge."
"Then why does he need Michael? If a fair challenge is what he wants, why not just come out and challenge you? Think about it, MacLeod."
Mac pressed his lips together, considering. "I can't just leave my friend."
Methos' eyes narrowed and his expression hardened. "Michael is an Immortal. He was challenged. Apparently, he lost. That is our game. It is not your place to interfere."
"He's my friend!"
"It was his challenge." Methos' voice was low and even.
"Well, I've been challenged now!" Duncan exclaimed, storming out of the kitchen. He quickly tied back his hair, and then grabbed his coat on the way to the door.
"Wait."
MacLeod stopped at the level of command in that voice. He turned to face Methos.
"Let me at least call Joe and find out how many 'students' Casey has with him." Methos' tone was calmer, still harsh but falling into more familiar cadences. Duncan nodded.
MacLeod waited, watching his friend's face darken as he talked with the Watcher on the phone. When Methos' had replaced the phone and turned toward him, Duncan said: "Bad news?"
"Two students. And if this guy is playing true to form, it is almost definitely a trap. He hasn't taken a fair challenge in the last three decades."
"Well, I don't see that I have many choices here..." Methos fidgeted. Duncan continued, "I am not going to walk away from this challenge."
Methos' face twisted for a moment. MacLeod could not read the thoughts there. After a moment, his friend's features smoothed out. "I'll go with you. If your friend is still alive, it will be three on three. Maybe we can keep things fair."
Duncan was startled. "Why? You never fight when you can avoid it."
"Somebody has to keep you out of trouble." Without another word, he grabbed his coat and sword and headed for the door. MacLeod had to hurry to catch up.
MacLeod did not like the looks of the warehouse. He glanced over at his friend. Methos' face was impassive. MacLeod felt a sudden pang of trepidation about bringing this man into danger. Michael had sought Casey out, and MacLeod had accepted Casey's challenge, but Methos was only involved in this fight because o>
Methos had returned moments before to where MacLeod crouched in the shadows of an adjacent building, having completed as much scouting as he could do without entering the range of any of the immortals inside. MacLeod was not pleased with the news he had brought back. Casey was waiting in the center of the warehouse. One of his students was holding Michael, temporarily dead, to the left side of the tableau. The second student, Duncan assumed this was supposed to be Casey's ace up the sleeve, was stationed on a catwalk as a sniper.
"I can get to the catwalk from the third floor of the building next door." Duncan looked up, surprised, when Methos spoke. "I might be able to take him out without entering Casey's range."
"You take out the students while I engage the challenge?"
Methos shrugged, and gave MacLeod a half-smile. "I'm pretty good at the whole sneaking around thing."
"And I'm not," MacLeod finished for him.
"I'll signal you once I'm in position."
It was on the tip of MacLeod's tongue to say something else to the retreating figure of the slimmer man, but he did not know what; instead, he just gritted his teeth, felt the hilt of his sword, and tried to prepare for the battle ahead as best as he could while he waited. He hated the waiting. It was only Methos' restraining presence, urging caution, that had kept Mac from charging in when they had first arrived. He could not help but envision Michael's chances dwindling as late morning bled into late afternoon. A flash of reflected light hit him in the face. He found the source at a third floor window, and pulled silently to his feet.
Warily, he pushed open the sheet of corrugated metal that served as a door for the warehouse. As he entered, he saw Casey waiting in the center of the room, sword drawn. MacLeod's practiced eye took in the layout of the warehouse, lingering a moment on Casey's man standing with sword drawn over Michael inert form. It took an effort of will not to glance at where he knew the sniper must be waiting.
MacLeod advanced.
"It's been a while," Casey began, voice a little bit too excited. "I hear you've grown stronger, much stronger. I'll enjoy your quickening."
With that, Casey lunged forward for his first blow. MacLeod countered easily. The two men circled each other, testing back and forth. After they had traded seven or eight blows, MacLeod judged this man to be a less skilled swordsman. He could win this, if the sniper was neutralized. If Methos succeeded. MacLeod decided to chance a more aggressive move. Two easy swings drew Casey forward and then a feint brought his sword too far outside. MacLeod slid into a lower stance to press his advantage. The other man hissed as MacLeod's blade raked his side. When he saw the bloody blade raise up for a higher blow, he ducked and rolled away agilely. He regained his feet and the two men began circling each other, now nearly ten feet apart.
MacLeod prepared his next attack, but was brought up short when a gun shot echoed throughout the empty warehouse. Fear brought a rush of adrenaline and his heart rate doubled, pounding painfully in his chest. He was almost startled when he didn't feel the tear of a bullet entering his body. Casey looked perplexed, as well. The pair of them spared only seconds attention from the other to take in Methos' lean figure on the catwalk, leveling the rifle. The soft thud as the body of Casey's collapsing student hit the ground, his sword falling harmlessly next to Michael, completed the picture for both men.
MacLeod's relief was cut short, by the cry of rage that issued forth from Casey's throat. Casey gave himself over to his anger, charging MacLeod, putting all his fury into one blow. It was not difficult for MacLeod to slip under the frenzied attack to deliver the killing blow. The shock vibrated through his wrists as his sword severed the narrow column of flesh. MacLeod watched the head fall to the floor with a wet thud, and then the warehouse was preternaturally silent.
The pressure built in the air until it was a palpable thing. MacLeod tried to prepare himself for the coming flow of power, but still he cried out when it hit him. The electricity crackling through and around him gradually found a center above his heart, pounding inward in violent waves. The familiar sensations of the quickening pulsed through him He was pulled upward for one last surge of power before he was dropped, trembling, to the ground.
Duncan remained on hands and knees, gasping for breath. A hand closed around his shoulder. A voice floating from an inordinate remoteness was asking if he was all right. Methos. Duncan struggled to sit up, shaking his head furiously to clear it.
"We should get out of here," his friend said quietly. "Unless you want two more fights on our hands." MacLeod nodded and took the proffered hand, glad for the strength his friend added in hauling him up.
Michael groaned and began pulling himself up across the room. Wide eyes took in the scene around him. Mac heard him clear his throat several times before his voice returned to normal.
"I guess I owe you two many thanks," he said, joining them. "I'd've liked to have taken that bastard myself, but.... Right now I feel like getting really, really drunk."
"Dinner first," MacLeod laughed. "And then we'll see about the other."
The three Immortals did end up thoroughly inebriated. MacLeod was glad he knew the way back from Joe's as well as he did, because he was not sure he and Methos would have made it back otherwise. MacLeod could hardly do more than fall into his bed when he got back to the loft. Michael was going to curse his early flight, MacLeod thought ruefully, before he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Duncan chopped carrots methodically, sliding them into the pot with a practiced hand. He was smiling. Things, for once, had turned out for the better. All his friends were safe and that left the Highlander with a great sense of satisfaction. Michael, miraculously, had made his flight. Methos had left early to spend the day touring used book stores. MacLeod had been content to spend the day working in the loft. He pulled a green pepper from the refrigerator and began slicing it deftly.
When the wave of presence washed over him, he reached for his sword, but relaxed when Methos appeared. He was carrying several packages and had a pleased smile on his face.
"I take it your trip was a success."
"Most definitely," he confirmed. "That dinner?"
"It will be in a couple of hours. It's early yet. Have a beer," Duncan suggested.
"Don't mind if I do."
MacLeod stopped him before he got to the refrigerator, though. Methos looked up surprised. Duncan stared into the hazel eyes for a moment, trying to decide how to express his gratitude. He decided on simply.
"Methos, thank you," he said.
Methos nodded, understanding. "He was your friend and I know you value your friends."
Duncan was suddenly uncomfortable with the sincere moment and turned back to cutting the vegetables. Behind him, Methos leaned back against the counter with a sigh.
"I am leaving for Paris tomorrow."
MacLeod whirled around, shock painting his features.
"I told you I was only staying for a few days. Don't you remember?"
Duncan nodded. He remembered. Only somehow he had thought, now that everything was all right, that Methos would be staying. MacLeod shifted his expression to a more casual one, but continued to face Methos. "Right. I guess I forgot. When do you think you'll be back?"
There was a long pause. Too long a pause. And then Methos quipped, "I'll send you my itinerary once I finalize my plans for the next six months." There was bite in his tone. MacLeod was not sure what set off the alarms in his head, but there was definitely something wrong. He recognized the variety of sarcasm Methos had used to drive him away in the past.
"Methos."
The hazel eyes that snapped up to meet his were sparkling with anger, but the face was closed. Duncan tried desperately to discern what was under that mask, but whatever his friend was hiding was too carefully disguised.
"Methos, what's wrong?" he tried to put as much caring as he could into his voice. He saw a flicker in his friends eyes and realization dawned.
"You're thinking of leaving," he said, appalled.
Methos smirked. "Oh, bright boy. I only just said as much," he mocked.
"Permanently."
Methos' smile vanished. The sudden lack of emotion on his face frightened MacLeod.
"Why?" he asked, forcing the words around the sudden tightness in his chest. His confusion at the incomprehensible mingled with the vague feeling of betrayal.
"Why? Why do you think, MacLeod?" The anger in his eyes was genuine now. "Being your friend has never been easy. But the last few months.... I couldn't deal with the constant judgement in your eyes every time you looked at me. I don't need it. I don't want it! You think I don't know what I've done? Somehow, somehow, after so much time hiding alone, I came to care about you. And I was such a fool. I guess I had forgotten how much it hurt. So I decided it was time for me to disappear again. That's why I came here. To close up the few affairs I had left in this city. There weren't many, but I haven't lived this long by being careless. I was planning to go back to Paris and do the same."
"But now...I thought we...." All Duncan felt now was a mixture of confusion and pain as he looked into his friend's face. The older man looked less angry, now, and a little sad.
"I know, this week. It felt good to pretend everything was back to normal. For a while, I thought about not leaving at all. Now I don't know. We haven't really resolved anything MacLeod, just ignored the issues. When the next ghost from my past arrives at your door, you'll react the same way. For all you may think I am some cold, hard old man, I don't have the strength to stand under your judgement twice. Do you know what it does, how it tears, to have your closest friend decide you are a monster, to see it in his eyes every time he looks at you? I am going to go to Paris, and I am going to think things over. I will make my decision there: either you'll come home one day to find me putting my feet up on your coffee table and enjoying your beer, or I will be gone."
The anger in those hazel eyes was gone now, replaced with calm and touched by weariness. MacLeod knew then without a doubt that if Methos went to Paris alone to make this decision, he would lose him forever. "No..." he whispered the denial.
Duncan moved in closer, laying a hand on Methos' shoulder. Methos jerked at the touch, but did not retreat. "No," he repeated more firmly. Methos' eyes had gotten wide, and his posture had gone defensive, his fingers curling around the edge of the counter top behind him.
His laugh was nervous. "What are you going to do now, MacLeod, bully me into staying?"
"No..." MacLeod found it hard to concentrate standing so close to the body he had so recently come to appreciate. He could feel the heat of the skin through the sweater where his hand rested on the shoulder. His body was reacting to the fact that they were mere inches apart now. "What I am going to do now is ask you to stay and try to convince you that that's what you want, as well."
"I know myself well enough to know that what I want is not the pain you are offering."
The remark cut into MacLeod, finally opening his eyes to the damage he had already inflicted. Now he had to see if he could undo it. His other hand rose nearly of its own volition to find a place on Methos' cheek. He said: "I do not think you are a monster, and I know you are not a cold, hard old man. I don't want to lose you."
Methos stared at him. Duncan held his eyes even after the intensity of the gaze seemed to burn a hole in his soul. God, he was beautiful. Duncan let his thumb brush over those lips once before leaning in to kiss him.
Methos' eyes widened, but he did not struggle. Then his eyes slowly closed as his lips parted. Duncan slipped his tongue between those lips. He let his tongue run lightly over the other man's teeth before pressing further in and tentatively touching the tip of his friend's tongue. Once the connection had been made, the older man reacted fervently, thrusting his tongue against Duncan's own. Sliding his hands down Methos' back, he pressed into the kiss harder. His partner made a little noise of pleasure. When his hands reached the small of the elder man's back, he pulled the other to him, and the body yielded, fitting easily against him. MacLeod moaned as his erection was pressed against by a muscled thigh. He was pleased to feel an answering bulge pressing against his own leg. He was surprised by the need and the surrender he felt in the slim body. The kiss ended, leaving two flushed faces.
Methos was looking intently into his eyes. "This isn't...this isn't just to get me to stay, is it?"
"No. It's hardly about that at all."
Methos leaned in, running his tongue lightly over Duncan's ear. MacLeod took advantage of his suddenly easy access to the other man's neck. Methos whispered into his ear, warm breath tickling, "Then what is it about?"
"This," MacLeod answered, pressing his groin against the other man and slipping his hands beneath the sweater. The body in his arms suddenly seemed to be having trouble holding still. "Good," came the none-too-steady reply.
The sweater was easily disposed of. Mac took ample opportunity to let his hands explore the muscles of the now-bared chest while his mouth contemplated the jaw line and then returned to the parted lips. The intensity of the kiss and the feel of Methos' long fingers trailing down his chest drove Mac's hands lower. Without breaking the kiss, he struggled with the button fly, made more difficult when Methos refused to keep still. As he slid one hand into the pants to guide Methos' erection out and slid the man's jeans down with his other hand, he did break the kiss. He stared a moment into darkened and slightly clouded eyes. Methos' hands gripped him more tightly and appeared to have lost the ability to move. Rapid breath came in and out through parted, ever-so-slightly swollen lips. MacLeod drank in the dreamy expression on that beautiful face for several seconds before an urgent thrust from the body before him reminded him to move on.
He dropped slowly to his knees before the other man. He laid down a trail of kisses along one hip, letting his hands lightly caress buttocks and thighs. He moved to stroke an inner thigh with one hand, using his other to hold back straining hips. He let fingertips move from thigh to cock in a ghost of a caress. He heard another moan from the trembling body and decided to relent. He carefully took the tip of the erection into his mouth, using his tongue to add sensation. He was unfamiliar with giving this sort of pleasure, but he knew what he liked, and concentrated on giving Methos that as best he could. From the increasingly insistent reactions of the body under his hands, he judged he was succeeding. When the body suddenly stilled, Duncan was holding the entire length of Methos' erection in his mouth, one of Methos' hands tangled in his hair. Then the older man thrust again, deep into MacLeod's throat. Duncan kept up the suction as the wave of orgasm swept over his friend. He held his friend's flesh in his mouth until the gentle trembling in the body ceased.
As he let go, he felt hands slip down and cup his face, slim fingers tenderly caressing his cheeks, tilting his gaze upward. He saw Methos smiling down at him. This was one of a few perfect moments in his life, and he made no effort to move. He only did so when Methos gently pulled him upward.
"Shall we adjourn to the bed?" Methos asked with a surprisingly shy smile on his face. Duncan nodded and allowed himself to be led, lost in the wonder of new discovery.
The End