Very Late Fic for Challenge #1 - Extra Credit (D/M)

[carenejeans]

Extra Credit
by Carene
Fandom: Highlander, D/M
Rating: Adult
Note: Written for Challenge #1: Crackfic challenge. Prompt: Aliens made them do it. Sorry this is so late!


Duncan and Methos lounged on the couch, together but apart, a pair of amiable bookends. Two pairs of long legs comfortably stretched out, two open books (a book on gothic architecture and a new edition of Don Quixote), two pairs of earphones tangled together on the low table because they had found something they both could stand (trad jazz, played low), a bottle of scotch passing between them, and an empty afternoon to enjoy it all.

The buzzer sounded.

"Probably kids," Methos murmured.

"Mm," Duncan said, and turned a page.

The buzzer sounded again. Duncan sighed and snapped the book shut. "Guess I'd better check."

"Mm," Methos said, without looking up from his book.

Duncan took the stairs down to the dojo two at a time. He wanted to send the interloper on his way and get back to -- an image of Methos stretched out on the couch flashed into his thoughts -- back to his book.

As he reached the door, he could see several people moving on the other side of the frosted pane. Slight and slender. Kids, he thought. Probably selling magazine subscriptions.

One of the indistinct shapes leaned on the buzzer.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Duncan muttered irritably. He popped the deadbolt and flung open the door. "We're closed -- oh," he said to the person standing at the door. A smile lit up her face, then was gone, as if controlled by a switch.

"Amanda," he said, and then frowned. He didn't feel her presence.

Amanda looked at him as if he were an unusual species of fish, came inside without a word, and stood staring at him. "Amanda, what--" Another person stepped across the threshold.

A slight and slender person.

"Aman--" Duncan looked from one Amanda to the other.

"Yo!" A third, and final Amanda sashayed into the dojo and looked Duncan up and down. "Knock Knock," she said seriously.

Duncan opened his mouth to speak, shut it, opened it again.

"You're supposed to say, 'Who's there?'" she said, frowning slightly.

"What?" he said blankly.

"Who, who," she said, stamping her foot. The second Amanda sidled up to the third one and whispered something in her ear, at the same time, pointing at Duncan. They both... looked at him. He felt a strange sensation in his throat and mouth. All three Amandas watched him carefully.

"Who's... there?" he heard himself say. His voice sounded like it was coming through a telephone speaker.

"Dot," came the rapid-fire reply.

"Dot... who?" Duncan said unwillingly, in the same telephone-speaker voice.

"Dot's for me to know and you to find out!" The Amanda look-alike threw back her head and made a noise like the laugh track to an old sitcom. Every hair on the back of Duncan's neck stood up.

The joke having spun out to its end, the three Amandas filed past him. The first one held a small video-camera above her head, turning slowly as she went. The second pecked at an electronic notebook with a stylus. The third sauntered with her hands in her pockets, chewing gum, blowing great pink bubbles and snapping them. At the lift, they all turned and looked expectantly at Duncan.

"Come with us, please," said the first Amanda, aiming the video-camera at him.

Duncan closed the door, turned the key in the lock, carefully put the key in his pocket, and followed the Amandas into the lift, all with no volition of his own -- as if he were being tugged along on a leash attached to his thoughts. The three Amandas lined up against the wall of the lift, regarding him owlishly, and he flattened himself against the opposite wall, recoiling not so much in fear as in aversion to something he knew could not be real, and yet was there, mocking reality and making hash of his attempts at rational thought.

The lift clanked to a stop, and the gate raised by itself. Duncan tried to rush into the loft, to warn Methos, but his legs felt as if they were tied together, and the three Amandas marched out of the lift ahead of him.

Methos looked up from his book. He dropped it. "What the--"

Duncan's legs were suddenly freed, and he stumbled into the loft, rushed towards the couch, was brought up sharply, spun around, and dropped to the couch, almost bouncing out of it. Methos had half-risen, but he sat down abruptly.

Before either Duncan or Methos could speak -- or, indeed, gather enough wits between them to form a complete sentence -- the first Amanda, the one with the video-camera, which she continued to hold over her head like some strange beacon, stepped forward.

"We have only a short time to complete the experiment. Please cooperate and remove your clothing. Thank you."

The second Amanda looked up from her clipboard. "We would like a demonstration," she said. She looked at the first Amanda as if for verification she was doing it correctly. "Please," she added, and nodded briskly. "Thank you."

The third Amanda rolled her eyes. Stepping forward smartly, she raised her right hand in a strange salute, making a V shape with two fingers on each side. "We come in peace!" she said, smiling brightly, "Klaatu barata nickto! Take me to your leader!"

Duncan and Methos stared at her.

The first Amanda glowered. "These allusions are not appropriate to our assignment."

The third Amanda made a face and snapped her gum. "Don't be such a stuffed shirt."

The first Amanda looked down at her chest, puzzled. Then she shook herself and pointed to Duncan. "Please begin."

"Begin-- what?" Duncan felt Methos's shoulder against his. "What are you doing?" he whispered as Methos's hand stroked up and down his thigh.

"I'm not doing it. Or at least," he added, frowning, "I can't not do it."

Duncan remembered the leash tugging at his thoughts. "What are they?" His mouth felt dry, and sweat trickled down his spine. Methos's hand paused at his crotch. "For god's sake, Methos!"

"Can't help it," Methos said tightly. Then, "I want you."

"You want-- well, this is hardly the time for it!" Duncan tried to push Methos's hand away, but found himself instead enveloping Methos's hand in his own and squeezing it tenderly.

"Oh, God." Duncan turned on the three Amandas. "What are you doing to us? What do you want? Who are you!" He was furious, even as he felt a pleasurable tingle as Methos drew his thumb across Duncan's palm.

The three Amandas held a whispered consultation.

The second Amanda bowed. "Forgive us. We shall introduce ourselves."

"Knock, knock!" the third Amanda said with a bright smile, but subsided as the first Amanda shot her a quelling look.

"We are 'students'," the first Amanda said, a bit tentatively, as if not sure she had the correct word. "We have an 'assignment'."

"To study," the second Amanda scratched at her notepad with her stylus and read aloud, "intimate relations between and sexual practices of adult cohabiting human males, natural habitat." She looked around the loft. "Earth, as you call it."

"Earth?" said Duncan.

"Sexual relations?" said Methos.

The third Amanda sighed impatiently. "We want to watch you Do It," she explained. "Two-backed beast. The old in-and-out. Hey, bay-bee, hubba-hubba. Et cetera."

Duncan and Methos looked at each other. "We don't Do It," Duncan sputtered. "And we're not cohabiting. We just... that is, Methos is..."

"I sleep on the couch," Methos explained. "Though I've been wanting to Do It for months." Duncan stared at him. Methos shrugged helplessly.

The second Amanda squinted at her notepad. "Your emotional profile indicates you are intimates."

"We're friends!" Duncan said. Methos snuggled up against him, and he tried to elbow him off. "Nothing more." He hunched a shoulder against Methos, who was nuzzling his neck. "Will you stop that," he hissed.

"Can't, sorry," Methos murmured. The touch of Methos's lips against his skin made the back of Duncan's throat ache.

"Let me get this straight," he said, trying to take charge of the situation. "You expect us to have sex, in front of you, for a -- class assignment?"

They all nodded seriously. The first Amada regarded Duncan as one would look at a particularly bright spaniel. "That is correct."

"Correct. Right," Duncan said sourly, trying to move away from Methos.

"Roses are red, violets are blue, let's you and me, baby, woo-woo-woo-woo!" The third Amanda performed a short backwards shuffle.

The first Amanda looked exasperated. "This one is studying popular culture," she explained.

"No shit, Sherlock," Methos murmured. The third Amanda heard him, and her eyes lit up. She reached into her pocket and produced a pink diary with a cat cartoon on the front. With a great show of concentration, she licked the tip of a pencil and wrote it down.

Duncan glowered at the three Amandas. "Who are you, really? Who put you up to this?" It must be a joke, he thought, even as he knew it wasn't. Amanda wouldn't be impossible to impersonate, not even three times over. But not even Amanda herself could make him do things he didn't want to. Well, she could make him do things he didn't want to, but not with her mind. That is-- He shook himself and tried again. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Virtuous outrage looks so good on you, MacLeod," Methos purred next to him. Duncan felt Methos's tongue on his neck and jerked away.

"Methos, be serious. Or are you in on it too?"

"Paranoia, on the other hand, is not your color." Methos sighed, his eyes on Duncan's neck. It made Duncan's spine melt. "This isn't a joke, I'm afraid. Congratulations to us; we have apparently been chosen for First Contact with an alien species."

The three Amandas listened to this interplay, their eyes swiveling from Duncan to Methos as if watching a ping-pong tournament.

Duncan put his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes. "This isn't happening." After a moment, he said, "Leave my hair alone."

Methos let a lock of Duncan's hair curl around one finger. He turned to the Amandas, who were studying them with great interest. "Just out of curiosity -- where are you from?"

The three Amandas looked at each other. After a moment they seemed to come to a silent consensus. The first Amanda clasped her hands in front of her and said seriously, "We come from the planet Zeist."

Duncan closed his eyes. This wasn't happening. "Planet Zeist," he echoed. He turned to Methos. "There isn't a planet Zeist. I refuse to believe there's a planet Zeist. This must be a joke, or some kind of horrible test. They're not aliens, they can't be! Zeist," he scoffed.

Methos laid a warning hand on his arm. Duncan's breath caught, his thoughts derailed for a second as he felt nothing but the warmth of Methos's hand. Methos squeezed harder and all the breath left Duncan as he followed Methos's stare.

The first Amanda seemed for a moment to grow larger, though she didn't change her size so much as enlarge her presence. Duncan felt a chill flood through him as his mind was filled with images -- of scenes and places not of this earth -- of a teeming metropolis with sweeping towers, of dark skies with two moons -- of vast orange fields of alien corn. After that came a reeling kaleidoscope of stars and planets and black empty space, a brief feeling of brakes and a view of a small blue planet that got bigger and bigger and became recognizably Earth, and then for some reason, rides at Disney World. Then it all faded. As he came to, from what had felt like a short, sharp dream, he became aware of two things: that he was both shivering and covered with sweat, and that Methos was tugging at his belt.

"Will you stop that?" He clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering.

"No," Methos said, and pulled the belt from the buckle. "Told you, I can't."

"They're forcing you?" Duncan pushed half-heartedly at Methos's hands.

"Not exactly." Methos looked at him ironically. "It's more like they've reversed the poles of inhibition and desire."

"Inhibition," Duncan licked his lips nervously. "Desire."

"Yep." Methos nodded, and popped the button of Duncan's jeans. "Try to resist," he said. "See what happens."

Duncan glanced at the three Amandas, who were watching them as if they were fruit flies under a microscope. He frowned, and then forcefully pushed Methos's hands away from his zipper. He held Methos's hands in his, then slid his hands up Methos's hard, muscular arms, to his shoulders, pushing him back into the couch, grinding his hips against Methos, feeling Methos's cock against his own as he--

"Good... God." Duncan tried to pull away, but only pushed harder, tried to look away from Methos's eyes, but only lost himself in those eyes so bright with desire, tried to pull Methos's sweatshirt into place, but instead ran his hands up under it. He let himself sink down into Methos's sympathetic embrace, laid his head against Methos's chest, felt Methos's heart beat against his cheek.

"So what are we going to do?" he whispered.

"Well, just guessing here, but I expect we're going to Do It."

"But--"

"Duncan," said Methos softly, and despite himself, Duncan smiled at the use of his given name. "What can it hurt? They're students, they'll do their assignment, they'll go back to class and we'll never see them again. Next semester they'll be studying the mating habits of mud-boles."

"What is a mud-bole?"

"Nothing, I made it up -- but you take my point?"

"The sooner we-- get on with it, the sooner it'll be over?"

"How romantic. But yes."

"Well, this isn't romantic! We're a science experiment! This is not how I--" he stopped.

Methos smiled at him, and gently stroked his lips. Duncan wasn't sure whether he was doing it on his own or not. "Now, that's a bit more romantic."

As easy as that? Duncan thought, their lips touched, and opened, and they kissed for the first time as if they'd always been kissing, a surprising and new sensation, yet somehow familiar, freefalling from friendship into love.

The scratching of a stylus on a notebook brought Duncan back to his senses.

"I wish they didn't look like Amanda," Duncan said through gritted teeth. "One Amanda watching would be bad enough, much less three."

The first Amanda turned to the second. "You said taking this form would make him feel more at ease," she said, somewhat accusingly.

"It should have," the second one said, consulting her notebook. "He and the woman are intimates."

Duncan exploded. "That's just the problem! We --" He stopped. He put his head against Methos's forehead and whispered. "They're children, aren't they?"

"Barely pubescent, would be my guess," Methos said. "No real understanding of sexual intimacy. Or good manners, or the scientific method."

"That's just great," Duncan said. "Sexual exhibitionism for a trio of teenyboppers. All for science, of course."

"But a bit exciting, don't you think?" Methos captured Duncan's hand and kissed his wrist.

"No," Duncan lied. "It's humiliating. I won't stand for it."

"And what do you propose to do about it, exactly?" Methos said reasonably, licking Duncan's wrist and up into his palm.

Duncan shook him off, though the effort caused him to bend Methos backwards in a kiss that took his breath away. But he finally managed to disentangle himself from Methos' arms and stood, bending slightly to adjust his fly.

"No," he said simply, to the three Amandas.

"Refusal is not an option for the experimental subjects," said the first Amanda.

Methos muttered something about lab rats. Duncan ignored him.

"Why should we do this?" Duncan said stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest.

The second Amanda looked up at the ceiling, then down at Duncan, then up at Duncan where he was pressed against the ceiling, then down at Duncan as he hit the floor with a thud.

She aimed her eyes at Methos. He raised his hands. "You've convinced me," he said quickly.

Duncan tried to stand. He hurt all over. His vision was drenched in red. He wanted to put his hands around that Amanda-- that -- alien and strangle her -- it. Then Methos was there, between Duncan and the three aliens, blocking Duncan's view of his nemeses.

"Stop," he whispered. "You can't win."

"Damn it, Methos! They've no right!"

"But they do have the power," Methos said.

Duncan floundered, tried to regain his feet, and then slumped. "Yeah."

"Come on, up."

Duncan stood, feeling like every bone in his body were grinding together, and let Methos lead him to the bed. To the bed, he thought, feeling a flutter of panic in his stomach followed by a flutter of something else in the vicinity of his cock.

"Besides," Methos said, "how bad can it be?"

Duncan looked at him suspiciously as Methos's hand travelled down his back to rest on his ass.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Duncan growled. Then he blinked. "You have the most beautiful lips," he said. "Have I ever told you that?"

"No, oddly enough, you haven't," Methos said.

They stumbled to the bed, Methos guiding Duncan firmly when he tried to veer back to the couch, or worse, to where the three Amandas stood watching them with identical patient, earnest expressions. Pain simmered through his battered body, his cock was hard where it pressed against Methos's hip, his brain was reeling from everything. The more he fought, the more he took Methos into his arms; the more he resisted, the more he kissed him, his face, his throat, his beautiful lips. The tumbled into the bed, and he struggled to rise, pinning Methos beneath him; he tried to pull Methos's hands away from him, and rent Methos's sweatshirt from neck to waist. He pushed Methos away, and heard Methos's muffled cry against this chest.

"Air, Duncan," Methos gasped. And Duncan held him gently, loosened the hammerlock around his neck, and eased down next to him. Reversed poles of inhibition and desire. Maybe, the thought came to him through a haze of lust and confusion, if I give in, submit, I can get away from him.

This was in fact, an excellent plan, and might have worked, except now it was too late. For now Duncan, as he gave into Methos's embrace, and submitted to his lips and tongue and hands, to Methos's fingers twining around his cock -- Duncan found he no longer wanted to get away. He returned Methos's kisses with an urgency that was all his own.

"Methos," he said softly, as he pushed Methos's jeans down over his hips. Methos kicked them to the end of the bed, and stretched, naked and beautiful and obviously ready to Do It.

"Hmm?"

"They're still there, aren't they?"

"I'm afraid so, MacLeod." Methos took Duncan's face in both his hands. "It doesn't matter."

Duncan was surprised to find this was true. It didn't matter that the three silent shapes were watching, observing, and -- he gritted his teeth -- recording. Methos smiled and Duncan's jaw unclenched. Nothing mattered but that smile. Nothing mattered but (finally, something deep inside him said) easing his body down on Methos. Nothing mattered but kisses that started at the tip of Methos's nose and ended on his cock. Nothing but Methos's wordless cry as he came in Duncan's mouth -- and his face, afterwards, his eyes gleaming, sated and still hungry. Nothing mattered but Methos's long muscled back under his hands and the hot sweetness that filled Duncan clear down to his toes as he entered Methos (the appearance of a small vial of lube in his palm at the critical juncture went unnoticed). There was nothing in the room -- or in the world or the galaxy or the universe -- but the two of them.

Tangled together, they caught their breath. Duncan sighed and closed his eyes.

And opened them.

"They're gone," Methos said. "But they've left a message."

Duncan twisted around on the bed and looked where Methos pointed.

It was not one message, but three. Three shimmering symbols hovered in the air, almost transparent, not-quite-there in a way that made Duncan's head throb. Methos shifted next to him and Duncan glanced at him. Methos had grabbed up a pen and was swiftly and accurately sketching the alien symbols on the sheet.

"Decoded, these probably say 'Goodbye, lab rats'," Methos said.

"Yes." Duncan nodded. Not that he held out any hope of ever decoding the symbols. Unless all those stories about alien abductions were true, and the symbols were catalogued on an Internet site.

The symbol on the end seemed to wink, then changed. Despite himself, Duncan smiled. "Look, he said softly.

Methos looked up and grinned.

A new message had appeared, written on air in an immature hand, in glowing pink: "See you in math."

--End