Work Text:
(THIS IS JUST AFTER THE BAR SCENE WHERE METHOS HAS JUST COME BACK FROM BUYING SOME SOCKS AND RICHIE FINALLY FIGURED OUT THAT METHOS IS METHOS)
The elevator finally was called to the first floor. Methos glanced up from his chair, and purposefully put his feet on the table. He was not meeting MacLeod at the elevator. He hadn't quite reached that level of desperation. Besides...over the past 24 hours there had been too much Methos bashing for his taste. Duncan had a lesson to learn. What MacLeod saw may or may not be what MacLeod gets. Methos hadn't decided yet.
But as MacLeod stepped the elevator, Methos saw his face. Damn it, the boyscout was carrying the world again. He did that a lot. All Methos wanted was to be laid. He hadn't come all this way to have MacLeod ignore him in favour of that...whelp.
MacLeod didn't say anything as he went to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a large scotch. Hum...not a good sign. And he was still being ignored. He theatrically cleared his throat. "A-hem," he enunciated clearly.
"That boy is going to get himself killed," MacLeod spoke for the first time.
He didn't see how this related to him. Or the bed. Or him, in the bed. "Tragedy. Horrific waste. Mac, I'm horny."
"Don't you care?"
"Of course I care. He gets himself killed I may never get fucked."
"This no time for jokes, Methos!"
Methos stood up, sighing. He went behind MacLeod and began massaging the Scot's shoulders. They were very tense. "No, it isn't," he agreed, diplomatically. "But you can't involve yourself in this, Mac. It goes against everything you believe in."
"I know that!"
"Then why aren't we in bed?"
"I can't tonight."
"You...what?"
"Not now, Methos."
"Yes, now. I didn't come all this way because Seacouver has shoe- stores. Richie fights his own battles. He doesn't need you. I do."
MacLeod pulled away. "I'll be on the couch tonight."
"But I fall off the couch!"
"You weren't invited."
Methos paused. "I'm not...invited? Should I have phoned first and made a reservation? If I put down my sword and give peace a chance would you dive to rescue me?"
MacLeod shook his head. "Not funny."
Methos tried one more time. "Make love not war?" he said, almost hopefully.
MacLeod gave a sound of disgust before standing up and stalking out the door
Methos looked at the couch, at the bed, and at door. "Is it all right if I take the bed, then?" he asked the empty room.
Hours later elevator went down again. Methos had been dozing, but the sound and the presence woke him up. Methos waited in bed, pretending to be asleep as MacLeod stripped on his way to the bed. MacLeod curled up on his side, and without protesting let Methos wrap his arms around his chest.
"You can't live their lives for them, Mac. They have to make their own mistakes."
"This one will cost him his head."
Methos hugged him tighter. "I know," he whispered. "But there is nothing you can do."
MacLeod gave a shaky sigh, and went to sleep. Methos stayed awake until the body in his arms stopped shaking and decided it was time to get involved. Screwing up Richie's life was Richie's problem. Involving Duncan meant war.
(THE SCENE WHERE METHOS GOES TO SEE THE OTHER METHOS. WHY ELSE WOULD HE NOT WANT TO INVOLVE HIMSELF AND THEN SUDDENLY POOF!!! HE'S WILLING TO GET INTO A SWORD FIGHT?)
Methos carefully cut off the crusts of the sandwiches, and glanced up at the coffee brewing. If Duncan didn't arrive home soon, the coffee would be ruined, and that was what he was hoping would impress the Scot.
The elevator went down, and came up again with MacLeod. Or at least Methos hoped it was MacLeod. He moved to where his jacket was just in case, and then relaxed when he saw the Scot.
"Rough day?" Methos called, and then frowned as he wasn't answered. "MacLeod, I said, 'rough day?'"
MacLeod came up behind him. "What are you doing?" he asked, peering over Methos' shoulder.
"Making dinner. Hungry?"
Duncan swirled his finger through the spread, and held it out for a second. "Peanut butter?" he asked.
"Supper," Methos corrected, grinning. The grin died as MacLeod turned him around and smeared it on his nose.
"Going all out, Methos?" MacLeod asked, amused. He bent his head and began licking up the dollop up.
"No...but would you like me to?" Methos asked, hopefully. MacLeod's tongue tickled.
MacLeod laughed, pushing him away. "This is too much. Get out of my kitchen."
"I'm cooking here!"
Duncan took the sandwiches and tossed them in the garbage. "This is a sign that I ought to have been home earlier. Give me four minutes and I'll have a real meal started."
Methos opened his mouth to protest, but MacLeod pushed him out. Methos smiled...this was more like it. "I've got a game," he called, leaning on the island.
"Can it wait until after I have the water on?"
"I suppose," Methos sighed. He began flipping a coin as MacLeod put the water on. He noticed the sly glances to his fingers as Duncan tried to pretend that he wasn't watching. Last night was a bad start to what was going to be an excellent weekend.
Duncan glanced up at him, and then saw the coffee, "Well, at least you got something right," MacLeod said.
Duncan was always an observant boyscout. "Hey, who loves you," Methos said, modestly.
"So...about this game," Mac said, moving into Methos' space.
"The game. Right. The rules. Must have rules. I mean, what's a game without rules?" Methos asked, slightly distracted. "You flip the coin. Heads, you take off an article of clothing. Tails, I do."
"And then?"
"What ever happens happens."
Duncan nodded a few times, and then smiled, flipping the coin in the air. Methos snatched it before it landed. He glanced at it in secret and then looked up at MacLeod with a completely innocent smile. "Tails," he announced without showing it. He pulled off his sweater.
Duncan shook his head. "Do you ever do anything the simple way?" he asked.
"You don't know me, do you MacLeod?"
Duncan flipped the coin again. Methos snatched at it, but Duncan tried as well. Methos caught it, glanced at it, and grinned wider. "Tails again," he said, flipping the coin back to Mac. He took off his jeans. MacLeod shook his head, and flipped it the final time. It had to be, Methos wasn't wearing anything but his boxers.
The coin didn't even make it to the apex of its arch before the two of them leapt at it. MacLeod caught it for the first time, so Methos pounced on him. Duncan landed on his back in the kitchen. They rolled around, Methos trying to wrestle MacLeod's hand open so he could grab the key, but Duncan finally threw him off and displayed the coin.
It was tails.
"I think you don't play fair," MacLeod said, pushing to his feet.
"Why would I want to?" Methos asked, peeling off his shorts. "Your pasta's boiling over," he pointed out.
"Damn. Don't go anywhere."
Methos glanced down to his naked body. "Where am I going to go?" Methos asked, mildly.
"I don't know. But I am willing to bet you've run off with as much on."
Okay...maybe MacLeod did know him. Methos wandered off to put some music on. By the time he returned, Duncan had started the pasta sauce.
Duncan pushed him backwards to the front of the elevator. They kissed again, and the elevator started moving downward. "Damn it!" Methos swore, and then squawked as Duncan grabbed him and threw him into the narrow hall between the elevator and the wall.
(RICHIE/DUNCAN RETURNING THE SWORD SCENE. DON'T TELL ME YOU DIDN'T WONDER WHERE METHOS WAS DURING THIS EITHER. PLUS...WHY DID DUNCAN HAVE ENOUGH FOOD FOR TWO WHEN RICHIE WASN'T EXPECTED???)
Methos didn't think Richie would ever leave. It was damn cold by the fire escape and all the whelp had to do was take two steps into the loft and see him standing there. The door locked from the inside, and not even he could pick a lock naked. Duncan was a dead man.
"You can come out now," MacLeod said after the elevator went down again. Methos stormed out of the narrow hall, furious.
Methos stopped, suddenly. "Where are my clothes?" he asked, suddenly very suspicious.
Duncan was in the middle of dividing up the pasta. He looked up, but hid his angry hurt at Richie's stupidity well. "In the fridge. Grab the salad while you're in there."
Methos opened the door and threw his clothes back on the floor to warm up. Hum...tomato and feta cheese. The romaine wouldn't have left a mark, but the prepared 'scout had already tossed it with the dressing. And all the while Duncan wore a nice, light coloured shirt. Silly, silly Duncan. Some might call it a food fight; Methos knew it as revenge.
Splat.
Duncan touched the back of his shirt. It took a moment for the Scot to recognize the tomato pulp. "What the...Methos!"
Most of the lettuce caught MacLeod on the left side of his face, but a single leaf landed on his shoulder. Methos licked his fingers clean. Yummy. Just enough basil. Could have used a bit more pepper, though. He decided this wasn't the time to share that with MacLeod. In fact, this wasn't the time for any kind of discussion. He threw the emptied the bowl on MacLeod and bolted for the bathroom.
Mac pounded on the door. "Let me in!" he shouted.
"Oh, yeah. Like that would really work, Mac," Methos called back.
"Are you going to stay in there forever?"
"We both know I can."
"Methos...please. Come out."
"Not until you apologize."
"I'm the one covered in dressing!"
"You're also the one who had enough time to throw me my clothes, you bastard."
Mac grew quite. Methos crossed his arms over his chest. He decided now was the time for flattery. "It was an excellent dressing, by the way," he called.
The silence continued for about three seconds and then he heard MacLeod laugh. It was enough. He unlocked the door and picked off one of the cucumber slices from Duncan's shirt. "I'm not just saying that," Methos said before popping it in his mouth.
MacLeod kissed him, but chastely on the forehead. "Get dressed. We have to go down to see Joe."
Methos stopped chewing. "But we hadn't--" he needlessly pointed out.
"And if you hadn't started the salad war we would have," Duncan said. He pulled off his ruined sweater. Methos mouth dropped further open as Duncan reminded him of what he had just missed.
(OKAY, CUT TO THE SLASHSCENE RIGHT BEFORE THE LAST ONE. THEY'RE ALL WEARING DIFFERENT CLOTHES. NOTICE THE SATISFIED SMILES AND RELAXED BODY POSTURES OF MAC AND METHOS???)
Eventually the elevator started moving up. Methos had been staring at it for the past two hours expecting it to do exactly that, but he still jumped at the sudden sound. He stood up, balancing his sword just in case, but dropped it when MacLeod stepped out of it. Methos suddenly knew Mac hadn't taken the head, but Richie was still alive.
"Don't say it," MacLeod said, holding out his hand.
"Say what?" Methos asked, cocking his head.
"What ever smart or clever thing that was on the tip of your tongue. I just want to go to bed."
"Oh?" Methos blinked slowly. Maybe he read the Scot wrong. "Richie--?" he asked.
MacLeod waved off the question. "Richie's fine. I meant I want to go to bed with you."
That was better. Much better. Methos kissed Duncan hard, pulling out the hair tie. "That's not exactly what you said, is it?" Methos asked, and then pulled away. "Strip," he ordered.
Mac frowned. "What?"
"Strip. As in take off your clothing? Now, please," Methos crossed his arms over his chest.
Duncan wanted to play. He stripped down, Methos watched amused as MacLeod tried to keep a straight face. "Now what?"
Methos led him to the bed, and pushed Duncan down to a sitting position. "Lie down. I'll be right back," he said, and went to where his bag lay. He took the vial of oil out of its pouch and stripped. It didn't look like Mac needed all that preparation, though. He poured a dime size pool of oil and rubbed it in his hands until it warmed up. MacLeod stared at him, and sucked in his breath as Methos gathered his cock up and worked the oil over it. "Umm."
"Oh, it gets better," Methos promised. Although this was pleasantly diverting, too. He straddled Duncan's lower belly, and after a moment of fumbling lowered himself down on MacLeod. Ahhh. Duncan slid inside him, and he spent a moment motionless, accustoming himself to the width and length of the man. He laughed as Duncan's hands moved up and pinched his nipples. The slight pain ran through him, and he responded by tensing his muscles against MacLeod.
Methos used his thigh muscles to rise and fall on the cock inside him. "We call this posting to the trot," he said, between gritted teeth and gasped as Duncan's hands moved to his hips, trying to make the thrusts longer and deeper. Methos let him. He leaned forward and kissed Duncan's forehead and chin before touching the man's lips.
MacLeod grabbed him reared up so that they were both were in a sitting position. They stayed like that for a second, before Duncan moved again, throwing Methos on his back. Methos locked his ankles around MacLeod, squeezing. "Although this is fun, too," Methos said.
But Mac was beyond the conversation level. Duncan turned his head and groaned, slamming against him one last time before coming. Methos held him until the last shudder passed, and then pulled away. Methos took out the vial of oil one more time, and poured a little on Mac's palm. He worked it over the calluses himself, and smiled as MacLeod curled up on his side. Methos shifted over so that they lay like spoons, and then Duncan's hand was over him, teasingly He sighed as MacLeod worked over him; He bent his head, and Duncan kissed the tendons of his neck through the skin.
"Please..." Methos whispered, once, and the teasing ended. He squeezed his eyes shut and let go. He fell asleep with Duncan's hand still over him.
(THE REST OF THE EPISODE FOLLOWS)